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vibraniumwing · 3 years

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i’ve got you, always. [2]

an oliver wood x reader wherein oliver tries to bring the walls the reader built because of a past heartbreak down. will he manage to do that or break his own along the way?

WARNING: angst, effects of toxic relationships mentioned.

A/N: so @harrysweasleys planted this idea into my mind about how oliver wood and y/n’s love blossomed after her heartbreak with fred. (if you do not know that, please do read this before continuing.) so i’ve broken this down into two parts due to the fact that it was too long. i hope you guys enjoy this, i promise things would look brighter in this one.

i’ve broken this down into two parts, find the first part here.

---

It’s been nearly four years since he left Hogwarts, since he left you.

Oliver was doing good, life was going great for him. He was a reserve player for Puddlemere United, he has met a ton of people due to his passion. However, there was still a missing piece within him. A piece that no amount of money and materials can fill in.

He still missed you.

---

“C’mon! Hurry Up!” Oliver’s voice shouted through the chaos as they rushed to the main warzone at Hogwarts, the adrenaline pumping as he saw the school he once attended and deemed as a second home in ruins as flashes of green and red ensued the field, leading a group of his old Quidditch teammates down into the field.

“Professor!” Olive was quick to shout, immediately spotting McGonagall who was tending to students running from left to right. “Tell us where to go, we’re on it.” Katie, an old student and former member of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team added upon nearing the woman.

McGonagall had easily directed them inside the castle, telling them to spread out and assist whoever they could and care for themselves along the way. Oliver sprinted along the hallways- or what was left of it- as he casted spells left and right to shield students from their impending misfortune.

He had run into familiar faces along the way, bumping into Harry once as they both fled their separate ways and from afar he spotted a certain ginger who was running frantically through the crowd, fighting his way through threats; looking for someone amongst the sea of what it seems like never-ending people.

That’s when he heard it, your familiar voice stood out from the loud crashes of walls. “I’d rather die knowing I didn’t live a life under a monster!” He heard it as clear as day, running to over where you are, he immediately casted, “Stupefy!” which sent the death eater flying away, taking you in his arms in a tight hug.

“You have to be more careful, lass.” His voice was rather broken as you took your face in his hands, letting out a shaky breath as he took in your rather relieved smile. He didn’t know what took over him but tears suddenly filled his eyes, the pent up emotions he had overwhelming him as his posture relaxed visibly.

Holding his hands, you let out a soft chuckle, “I’m alright, Oli. Thanks to you, of course.” a shaky sigh soon following as the fear soon slowly sunk in. You leaned into his touch, finding warmth and safety in his touch before giving him a big smile. “We best be off now and fight our way ‘til dawn, Oli. Thank you so much for saving me.”

His heart was jumping out of his ribcage at the sight of you leaning into him, engraving that into his mind as he nodded. “Promise me you’ll be safe, (Y/N).” He said, voice dripping of seriousness as he readied himself to let you go. This earned an eye roll from you but a big smile nonetheless, nodding eagerly, “Of course, Oli. Thank you once again.”

With a reluctant sigh, he quickly placed a kiss to your forehead and let you go, “I’ve got you, (Y/N). Always.” he said, showing you a bright smile as he and you both ran your separate ways. The sudden course of energy flowed through him, making him feel invincible almost instantly.

“Oh and Wood! Whatever you do, don’t tell Weasley you saw me!” Your voice rang out once more, making him stop dead in his tracks. His head whipped to where you were but all he saw was you saving the twin of the man you just said not to mention your existence to.

What do you mean by that exactly?

---

The sun slowly shined through the broken walls of the Great Hall, multiple people either crying or just in a trance due to the whirlwind of events that just happened within just a few hours.

Oliver was by the bleachers, tending to a few first years who were severely injured when he saw a glimpse of your clothes walk away from the castle. He handed the cloth to the boy, “Can you tend to this for a bit?” To which the younger nodded, taking the cloth from him.

He was quick on his feet and ran to you, catching you in the nick of time as well. His hand grasped onto your wrist, making you twirl around to be greeted by the same honey-colored eyes you’ve seen just a few hours back.

And there it was again, the butterflies you’ve sworn to ban from your stomach, it’s back.

“Oli! I’m so glad you’re okay” You breathed out, taking him into your arms for a hug, heaving a sigh of relief at the sudden burden lifting of your chest. You placed your hands on his shoulders, eyes inspecting all over his face and visible skin, looking for any sort of abrasion on his skin, “Are you hurt anywhere?”

This made him laugh rather loudly, shaking his head, “I’m all good. This is nothing I can’t handle, if I survived nasty bludgers to my stomach, pretty much I can handle anything.” He said, smiling at you rather happily before remembering the reason why he approached you in the first place.

“Would you mind telling me why you asked me to keep you hidden from a specific Weasley, (L/N)?” He suddenly asked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his rather tattered jeans, eyes watching how your hands went back to your sides as your body tensed up at the question, clearly caught off guard.

“We aren’t together anymore.” You explained, gently leaning against the bridge as you crossed your arms, now sparing him a sad smile; despite successfully pushing the memories away, you’ve never really recovered from the fear of loving someone and just have them let go in the end. Ever since the day Fred left, your heart sealed the deal of never loving anyone again.

Taking his silence as a notion to continue, “I caught him kissing another girl one night, then when I gained courage to officially break things off, that was also the day that he and George left Hogwarts. I couldn’t bear to see him today after everything he’s put me through.” You further explained, the fear creeping back into your mind as tears started to fall.

Oliver didn’t even hesitate to pull you into his arms, engulfing you in a tight hug to silence the sobs that slipped past your lips. He held a subtle scent of cinnamon and ash wood, making you sink into his embrace further, not wanting to let go from the warmth he emitted.

His hands found its way back to your cheeks, cupping them as his thumb prodded against your skin that glistened with tears, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you through it, love.” His voice gentle as he spoke, afraid of ruining the fragile moment. You smiled at his caring tone, leaning into his touch once more.

“(Y/N), I know this may come as a surprise, and I'll accept whatever reaction you may have, but I just want you to know that I’ve got you, always. I know you’re still going through a lot right now because of your emotions, but I’d be more than happy to help you through it all.” He suddenly said, sincerity dripping with every word he spoke, despite the erratic pacing of his heart.

“I’ve loved you since Godric knows when and I just can’t stand seeing you like this. I won’t mind how long it would take, I’d love you every second of it and even more.” He ended his confession, a shy yet hopeful grin on his lips as he stared at you, readying himself for the probable rejection.

You were stunned into silence, shocked that someone has loved you all his life without the certainty of him receiving the same love back, that someone stayed despite of you losing yourself for another person. Your judgement easily wanted to reject him, to leave him hanging and just protect your heart, but a small part of you just yearned to be held like how he was holding on to you, to feel the warmth and affection he had easily given you over the course of your discussion right now.

All of these emotions were coursing through your body as he patiently waited for your answer, eyes never leaving his rather calm expression; how he reminded you of the same warmth he had always given you back in the day.

“Just promise me to always be truthful and that you won’t hurt me, Oli. I’ll try and learn to love once again, just please promise me this.” Your voice quietly spoke, searching for the sincerity that never left the brunette’s face.

“Of course, (Y/N). I promise to give you what you deserve. I’ve got you, always.”

---

And he did hold on to his promise, Oliver had always been so patient with you; giving you the space you need when you ask for it, the attention, affection and love always there despite him going out to train on a daily basis.

He’d always visit your small business and help out when he’s off from Quidditch training, be proud of all that you have done. He has treated you with the utmost respect and understood days where you just can’t control your emotions and help you through the toughest days and weeks; Oliver had always been there.

Nearly a year into his promise, you’ve realized how much you have fallen for the male, realizing how he effortlessly broke down the walls of fear and hatred for love and replaced it with warmth and security.

How your heart would flutter when you hear him laugh at your rants and stories from the customers you would encounter, how he would always be gentle when tending to you, how we kept the end of his promise, how he only made you feel that you were worth the fight and patience; that’s when you knew you love him.

---

The two of you were sat by the garden of your childhood home, the sun shining through the spaces in between the leaves as you two sat by the bench swing under the tree. You asked him to accompany you to your family dinner and he gladly accepted the offer, even clearing out his schedule for you.

It was still quite early so the two of you decided to kill some time by your backyard, your younger cousin immediately finding him interesting and decided to keep you guys some company, settling himself by Oliver’s lap. His feet were gently swinging the bench as he held unto him, lulling him gently to sleep. “Looks like Theo had grown quite attached to you.” You whispered, giggling softly at the sight.

A soft chuckle resonated from his lips, shrugging lightly as he spoke, “I’ve got my way with kids, what can I say?” tone light and easy as to not wake the child up while his hand rubbed on his back soothingly.

Maybe it was how he looked at that exact moment that you knew you wanted this forever or just the way your heart pulsed out of beat that made you say, “Oli, I love you.” Your eyes were trained on him as you had sincerity painted all over your features, cheeks as red as the sweater he was wearing at the realization of what you just said, “I’m sorry, that didn’t mean to come out-”

“(Y/N), you have no idea how long I’ve wished for you to say those words to me, you don’t have to apologize for any of it. I love you too.” Were his words, tears forming in eyes as his whole body was suddenly filled with gratitude and warmth, Oliver was never the one to cry, but hearing those words from you were enough to move him to tears, knowing that you meant that by heart.

Now wrapped upon comfortable silence, the two of you had the biggest smiles as your hands were now interlocked, his thumb caressing your skin gently. “(Y/N)! Oliver! You guys come in now, dinner’s almost ready and we’re about to take pictures!” your mother called out, hand waving to rush you guys back in.

The two of you looked at each other knowingly before getting up from the seat, his hands cradling Theo as you made your way inside, immediately greeted by your uncles and aunts who you haven’t seen in quite a while.

“Merlin’s beard, who might this be then?” One of your uncles asked, staring straight at your companion who instantly straightened up despite rocking your cousin in his arms gently. He was about to answer when you spoke up, “This is Oliver Wood, a former schoolmate, one of Puddlemere United’s reserve players and most importantly, my boyfriend.” introducing him with a proud smile as you take his free hand in yours, squeezing it gently. This earned hollers from your cousins and older relatives, making your cheeks a warmer hue than how it was already.

He looked rather surprised at the last thing you put, giving you a did you just say what I think you just did? Which you returned with a subtle nod, smiling happily as your cousin took baby Theo in her arms, quietly thanking him. “Before you even ask, you already know my answer, Oli.” you immediately said, reaching up to peck his cheek before leaving him to help out with your parents.

That’s when he knew that he wanted this for eternity.

---

Oliver’s heart was erratic as he touched the small velvet box in his pocket as he led you to the very same place where you first confessed your love for him, smiling at the sight of you nervous and trying to peek through the blindfold, squeaking gently as he let you go, gentle music now filling the quiet space, melding with the noises of the grasshoppers that echoed through.

“You can remove your blindfold now, love.” He said from behind you, to which you happily complied, eyes instantly catching the rather intimate candle-lit dinner set up under the tree, tears springing into your eyes as you searched for your boyfriend, turning around to see him standing with a bouquet of your favorite flowers which he handed off to you.

“This is going to be really cheesy but a year ago, today, a very special girl said something to me under this very same tree. A year ago today, was also the day that I knew that I wanted her- this- for the rest of my life.” He started off, a nervous smile displayed on his lips as he grabbed the same small box from pocket, getting ready to kneel down.

“I know that we haven’t been together for the longest, but being with you for a year was enough to convince me that I would never find another. You might have beaten me to say I love you first, but I want to be the last person you’d ever say it to. So, (Y/N) (L/N), will you marry me?” He finished off, your vision blurred with tears as it was greeted by a simple yet elegant diamond ring.

You were at a loss for words as happiness overwhelmed you, only managing to let out a small “yes” as you opened your arms for him, to which he easily found himself in, capturing your lips in a kiss before slipping the ring on your finger.

“I love you so much, (Y/N)”

“I love you as much, Oliver.”

---

“Are you really sure about this, darling?” He questioned you one last time as his eyes wandered through Diagon Alley, seeing the rather large moving figure of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes come closer.

You had asked if it was alright to personally give your invitation to George, to which he happily agreed, the unnerving feeling of you seeing the man’s twin still present despite the never-ending reassurance that you gave him that it was alright, that you can handle yourself.

“I am, Oli. Don’t worry too much, I’ll be fine.” You answered, finally reaching the front door of the shop. Your hands slipped from his as you grabbed the invitation from your bag, placing a chaste kiss on his lips in the process. “Don’t miss me too much, Mr. Wood”

He laughed softly, waving as you entered the shop, “I’ll try not to!” he answered, peeking through the glass of the door. A wide smile on his lips as you were now greeted by the ginger, nodding at his direction as you pointed at him from the outside, to which the latter waved happily, giving him a thumbs up in approval.

What happened next however, made his blood boil. He knew that Fred would be surprised to see you, but to see him take you in his arms was enough for him to rush inside and blast a hard punch across the man’s face, loathing how he treated you in the past. His better judgement, however, told him not to intervene and just trust your words.

His jaw was clenched shut as he watched the scene unfold, how he subtly heard you voice say that you didn’t want any part of him anymore, that you were done and you were happy with him.

With those words said, a sudden wave of tranquility washed over him as pride swelled over his chest, a big smile on his lips as he welcomed your figure with a warm hug, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead before wiping the tears that managed to escape your eyes, “Are you alright, princess?”

You nodded, not moving from his grasp as you captured his lips in a kiss, conveying how thankful you are for him, how thankful you are that he taught you how to love once again. “I am, love. I’m just so thankful for you, I love you.”

He smiled once more, resting his forehead against yours as he spoke, “You know I love you too, love. You don’t have to thank me for anything.”

“And why is that?”

“Because as a girl told me one too many times before, I’ve got you, always.”

general taglist: @theweasleyslut @violetravens @starlightweasley @eunoia-kth ( i can’t tag you :<)

#oliver wood #oliver wood x reader #oliver wood x y/n #oliver wood fics #oliver wood fic #oliver wood fluff #oliver wood angst #oliver wood imagine #oliver wood imagines

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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 3 years

Text

the story of us

this was requested by @fantasylover16. I genuinely had so much fun with this thank you! I hope you enjoy. Also I said nb jack frost rights and I meant it.

masterlist; my links

This is a story about two people.

One died three hundred years ago and has been alive since then. They have white hair, whiter than the stars, than burning light, than heaven itself. They have blue eyes that remind you of cracked ice in melting winter. They have ivory skin, some say like porcelain, it's more like liquid opal.

The other is twenty two years old. He has black hair, like jet fuel, and midnight. He has green eyes that hold oceans lost to time, that hold memories. He has brown skin that reminds you of cool forest floors and water glistened rock.

This is a story about who they are.

"Percy!" His roommate shouts from the kitchen. "Get your butt down here and tell me if the blue skirt goes better with these glasses!"

He laughs as he pulls a sweater over his heads and grabs his phone, slipping it into his back pocket. He feels the press of his pen as he pats himself down to make sure he has everything and when he is satisfied he bolts down the passage and stops short of the kitchen where Hazel Levesque is parading in front of their grand mirror on the opposing wall. She is decked out in black platform ankle boots, white fishnets that draw out the colour of her skin, slightly dark than his, a bright blue skater skirt and a soft pastel blue crew-neck not unlike his own.

"You Hazel Levesque," He grins bright and unrestrained, "Are a vision."

"Yes," She mutters still swopping between two pairs of clear-framed glasses and scrunching her nose, "But is it enough to bring my crush to their knees?"

"If Reyna doesn't bow down to you I think we can assume she's in desperate need of glasses."

"Well then maybe I should take both pairs and offer her one." She muses, pulling at her afro distractedly.

He snorts, turning to the counter and grabbing a bowl and whatever cereal he can reach first.

"Well," Hazel turns to him, he can see the smile she's trying so hard to hide, "Shall we be off then?"

He blinks at her, blinks again, points an unsure finger at his chest.

"Oh you don't expect me to brave Reyna on my own do you? Besides we're matching today it'd be quite ridiculous if we went out separately."

"But—" He looks to his bowl, as barren as the desert, "But my cereal?"

"I'll buy you breakfast on the way!" She waves the concern off, grabbing his hand and pulling them both out the door.

Despite their height difference, she makes it look far less like he's letting her pull him and far more like she has the strength to straight up carry him across the country.

"Hazel," He giggles, "Slow down."

"I can't Percy," She shakes her head vigorously, practically running through the park next to their building and into the bustling streets beyond. "If I don't do this now I'll lose all my courage and spend eternity in self-damned misery." Her brown eyes, turning honeyed as they catch the sun through the round glasses framing her face, flash bright and bold.

He stops them, pulling her in for a hug, unable to stop the laughter shaking his body." You have never been a coward Hazel Levesque. No matter the day, time or outfit you have always been brave enough to stand up and do what's needed. And telling Reyna you have a crush on her is just another battle you absolutely can win." He pulls them apart, setting a steady green gaze on her excited one. "Now let's get some coffee, and a mint tea for you because you're hyper enough as it is, and then we'll go find the love of your life and I can finally show you the google-doc I have for your wedding."

She strangles his ribs in another hug and then takes a deep breath as she steps away. "What would I do without you Percy Jackson?"

"Let's never find out," He smiles, slinging an arm over her shoulder and directing them towards the Chaos House.

As per its namesake, walking into the café is like being lost in a crowd of sleep-deprived, adhd kids all connected to caffeine IVs. In short: it's chaos. Its their favourite place on earth.

Being hit with a wall of noise after the quiet of awakening nature feels like being sucker punched directly in your ear canal. Percy cannot help but grin as he takes in the racing patrons and the sound of coffee beans being ground and the smell of cinnamon and honey and endless activity.

They immediately spot a group of their friends and bolt for the booth they're all squished into.

"Reyna isn't here." Hazels voice is pitched with panic, "Oh gods what if she's sick today? What if she fell in a ditch on her jog this morning?" She stops right in the middle of the café, brown eyes wide. "What if she knew I was trying to do this and decided to stay home today to avoid seeing me?"

He grabs her arms already shaking his head. "My darling, I need you to take a deep breath. You are spiraling."

Wildness is still tracing her expression but he feels her shoulders rise and fall as she gulps air.

"Okay," He says gently, "Now we're gonna go to our table, have a good time with our friends and if and when Reyna shows up you're going to tell her how you feel and I'll meet you back at home so you can let me know when the wedding is."

She smacks his shoulder gently, nervous giggles escaping her. "Alright fine. I hate when you get reasonable. It's very disconcerting."

"Good thing it's rare," His lips twitch, and they finally start towards their friends.

A loud chorus of hellos and how are you’s ring around his head as they get nearer and he feels right at home amongst it all.

"What's up losers?" He flops down next to Jason, pressing a shoulder into the blondes side in a hug.

Annabeth sits next to the blonde, squished between him and Piper, a leg over Jason's thigh and her hand intertwined with Piper's. Frank is on the opposite side, a casual arm slung over Leo's shoulder. Hazel squeezes in besides Leo and sighs dramatically.

"What's wrong Levesque?" Piper frowns, reaching over to clasp the girl's hand.

"She's feeling put out because she had something very important to do today and her plans are being delayed because a certain someone isn't here."

And just as their friends start reassuring and ribbing her in equal parts Percy's phone rings. With a frown he pulls it from his pocket, as he gets up and waves to say he'll be back in a minute.

"Hello, this is Percy Jackson."

He's not paying attention to his surroundings as he listens to the person on the line so when his shoulder slams into somebody he almost topples to the ground. When he turns around to say sorry there is nobody there; his frown only deepens but then the voice on the phone is pulling his attention and he makes his way outside.

This is story about they meet.

The conversation is a whirl of information about his upcoming course and what his supervisor needs from him. By the time he ends the call and tucks the phone back in his pocket his whole body feels like it's taken on the sky all over again. He has the urge to check if another grey streak has graced his hair. Instead he leans against the wall, ignoring the way his clothes catch against its roughness. He can feel the cold seeping through the cracks in the brick and into the threads of his sweatshirt.

He looks down, pulling his arms over his chest in an attempt to keep the warmth in but as he takes his arms away from the wall he sees the frost outline of his fingers. A clear, already melting handprint marking the brick like a graffiti tag. He steps back, away from the wall, to find his whole body outlined. It reminds him eerily of the chalk markings they do at murder investigations. He's not entirely sure this isn't prophetic.

The frost, little beads of ice skittered in shape, is melting at a rapid rate but the colour catches Percy's eye. It's not the usual dulled, muddy ice that coats his windows in the morning and sits atop the grass each night. It is blue, bright and pure, and looks... happy?

He's definitely going insane. The lack of coffee is getting to his brain and he has officially going mad. He should go inside and get warm and sit with his friends and have 3 espresso shots in a row.

But the phone call is still rattling his nerves and he can't bare to face the café without all his wits about him. So he studies the melted frost outline, curiosity moving him forward to trace it with his fingers. He doesn't expect to feel cold like winter mornings and snowball fights and sleigh rides coursing through his bloodstream. It's shocks him right into a new state of being. It reminds him of a poem his mother used to say at the beginning of each winter. The poem was long enough that he was always asleep by the end of the last verse but he recalls the first part clearly now

Jack Frost was in the garden;

I saw him there at dawn;

He was dancing round the bushes

And prancing on the lawn.

He had a cloak of silver,

A hat all shimm'ring white,

A wand of glittering star-dust,

And shoes of sunbeam light.

The thought is so ridiculous Percy has to laugh. It bursts out of him unexpectedly but once he starts he cannot stop. It feels like the world has turned on its side but he's still walking upright. Everything is slightly dizzying but strangely amusing from this angle. He laughs harder, ribs aching, cheeks stiff, and eyes bright. He's sure people are staring at him like he's mad but he cannot stop. Until he stumbles over the pavement and is falling to the inevitable crunch of his facial bones.

It happens almost in slow motion. He sees the ground coming towards him, bubbling up like it's going to swallow him whole. He stared it down, refusing to close his eyes, as if challenging it to hurt him, to take him as he goes. But then hands, freezing cold even through his layers of clothing, wrap around his waist and he is being hauled up in a rush of wind and dizzying speed. He bumps into a hard chest and feels as if he's stepped into a freezer.

"Hey," A voice low and playful crackles through him, "You okay?"

He turns around slowly, and is not at all prepared for the site he is greeted with. There is so much all at once, startling and glowing and fracturing. His eyes catch an warm icy gaze, blizzard white hair, pale skin, cold-kissed lips, hands running with blue veins and silver rings.

"You okay?" The stranger repeats, looking at him with concern.

He honestly doesn't know if he has the ability to talk. His mouth opens, his throat bobs, but words are lost cargo.

"Can you hear me?" The stranger asks, accompanying the question with sign language.

Percy responds automatically, raising a fist and moving it back and forth; his head accompanies the action but still no words come out.

They smile at him, and start signing another question. He doesn't bother to stop them, tell them they aren't deaf, he can hear, he just can't talk. He's speechless.

Are you okay? They sign.

He nods, and the words stuck in his throat finally tumble out. "Yes, yes," It is croaky with overwhelming emotion, "Thank you for catching me. I’m sorry I uh—" He doesn't have any respectable excuse for being mute for the entire first half of their interaction. He is just completely struck by everything the stranger is.

"Ah so you can hear me," The stranger laughs. He decides the sound is what makes stars. "Well I'm glad you're okay. I'm Jack."

Percy snorts. This cannot be real. Ice, him thinking about Jack Frost, and suddenly his saviour's name is jack? What has the universe been doing with its time to plan this?

“I'm Percy," He stares at them curiously studying the snowflakes that seem to cling to their floppy white hair despite the snow season being weeks away, and the blue eyes that hurtle him to the Abraham lake in Canada. A holiday his family had taken a mere year ago and one of the most beautiful places he's ever seen.

His demigod senses are peeking out their window, as curious as he is. The action puts him on high alert. His instincts are usually only alerted when he's in danger or............. in love.

"What are you?" He cannot stop the question. His mouth has a self-controlled function and no way to override it.

Jack raises their brow, "What are you, Percy?" His name sounds like luxury rolling off the stranger's tongue.

But the question throws him off guard and before he has time to drool over them again he is pulling his pen out and twirling it between his fingers anxiously. "Are you here to kill me?"

That barks a laugh from Jack, who looks so entirely amused he can't help but wonder if he can frame the moment to keep with him forever; a brow quirked, a slight dimple on their right cheek as their smile grows, and bunched freckles as their nose scrunches slightly.

"Get a lot of assassination attempts do you?"

“You have no idea," He feels his eyes roll in annoyance, an automatic reaction after all these years.

"No Percy," Jack says softly. It brushes across his skin like cool paint and snowy pine leaves. "I am here because the moon told me to be."

"The moon?" He sputters, "What do you mean the moon?"

"I mean exactly that. I talk to the moon and it answers."

He can feel his legs grow weak. "The moon— the moon— the....... moon," He mutters, staring at Jack.

They are silent as he attempts to compartmentalize his thoughts. "You know what?" He finally speaks, "That's not the weirdest thing I've ever heard. The children of Demeter talk to grain so this isn't that far out of reach."

Jack just looks at him with a patient, gentle smile on their face.

"So what are you? A child of Selene?"

"I am not a demigod." They shake their head. "I was chosen by the moon three hundred years ago. I am the spirit of winter."

The silence stretches between them like taffy. He isn't sure he's heard this right.

"You're—" He cannot even bring himself to say it.

"Yes, I'm Jack Frost."

Percy's legs give our from under him. Jack is not quick enough to catch him but he lands on a pillow of snow right before he bruises his knees. "You're Jack Frost?"

"Yes. And you are Percy Jackson."

"How—how do you know?"

"I've been alive for a very long time. I know a lot of people."

He just hums, trying to wrap his head sound another layer of myth and fable that makes up the fabric of the world.

"Why are you here?" He finally gutters out. "I mean I know the moon told you to come but why?"

"I uh have a theory but I need to ask something of you in order to know if I'm right."

He frowns, staring up at the stranger. No not stranger. Can you even call someone who's been around for centuries a stranger? What are they a stranger to? They have seen and heard and learnt and loved more than he ever has or ever will. It's more like he is the stranger. "What do you need me to do?"

"I just need you to summon water for me."

A thousand questions sit like caught snowflakes on his tongue but he let's them melt instead of spilling them into the world. Instead he gets up and concentrates on all the water sources surrounding them.

A reservoir one hundred miles away, fire hydrants near bursting with unused pressure, a small pond in a small park about five miles south, and of course the ocean in front of them, no more than fifty miles within reach.

"How much do you need?"

"Give me fifty liters."

He closes his eyes and imagines the pond, the water rippling within it. He imagines holding it in his palm as he would a basketball ball. When he feels a cool sensation wash over his skin he opens his eyes once more and sees a swirling blob of water surrounding his hand, dancing to the beat of his pulse.

"Is this enough?"

"Plenty," They smile and then their hands are reaching out and as if the water knows they're calling to it, it bounces over in little bubbles. As it touches their fingers a ray of light bursts from the contact and it turns to ice. Jack sucks in a breath, watching in amazement as the water freezes and hits the ground in a flurry of snow.

"What?" Percy cannot hold in his curiosity any longer. "What is it?"

"The moon was right." They look at him, eyes sparkling with something more than awe or curiosity.

"About?" He prompts.

"We're soulmates."

This is a story about their destinies.

"We're what?" Percy whispers. He has never gotten loud when he was surprised or angry or sad. He has always been soft.

"I usually need my staff to solidify water but if I use elements touched by my soulmate I can do it without aid."

"This is ridiculous!" He sputters. There is absolutely no way this is real. Seriously? Soulmates? He would laugh if he wasn't so outraged.

"You don't believe in soulmates?"

"It doesn't matter what I believe in!" He growls, "This whole ordeal is completely insane."

"What would it take to convince you Percy Jackson?" Jack just smiles, it is shining with happiness like it hadn't before.

"I have no idea because I have never heard of or encountered a soulmate." He hisses.

"Do you know why you can see me?"

He shakes his head, thoughts swirling faster than the hurricanes his further looses.

"Because you believe in me."

"I thought you had control over who sees you and who doesn't?" He raises a brow.

"Only with children. I can choose to show myself whether they believe or not. I have the ability since enough of them do believe." They say. "But adults are different. If they don't believe I cannot make myself appear to them. I am simply a ghost of their childhood past."

"I don't understand." Percy cannot wrap his mind around this. "How do you know you can only make ice out of whatever water I touch?"

Jack looks around for a brief moment before catching sight of something behind them. In a split second they are there and then they're back.

"Watch," He pours the water from the bottom he'd nabbed over his hand. It falls to the floor as liquid as it had started out.

"That doesn't prove anything, how do I know you're not just making sure you don't turn it to ice?"

"I cannot touch anything without freezing it, especially water." They worry at their bottom lip with their teeth, thoughts flying across their face. "It's like your friend Leo." They nod their head towards the café where Percy can still see his friends snuggled into the booth. "He doesn't necessarily turn everything he touches to ashes but he will always leave a warm imprint no matter how or what he has touched."

"How do you know that?" He gapes.

"Immortality gives you a lot of time to know the world." They shrug. "Now do you believe me?"

"I don't know." He answers truthfully. "I mean if we are soulmates..." He tries to form the question into some semblance of sense and order. "Does that mean I'm tied to you? That we have to like I don't know get married and spend eternity together?"

"No," Jack says gently, "No you can deny this bond if that is how you feel. It does not mean anything except that the universe put our souls in the same constellation. We are free to pick and choose who we love."

“And how will it work if we do decide to get together?” He frowns, “I will age but you will always stay the same.”

They look at him, head tilted, ice eyes bright. “But you know that’s not true.”

Everything in him barrels forward like a tidal wave. It cannot be. No-one knows. Not even his mother. “What isn’t true?” He will play this carefully, like the strings of a harp. He will not let his life crash through the ground.

“Why are you hiding it?”

“I’m not hiding anything.” He is adamant in his stance. He will not bow.

“You are denying the life you chose.” Jack considers him. “Why?”

“I’m not denying anything.” He huffs, “I’m just taking it slow.”

A snort bursts of them, arrogant and amused. “You are taking becoming a God slow?”

“I want to live with my friends before they figure it out!” He cries, all the fear and terror and worry burning through him.

Jack moves closer, presses a cold hand to his shoulder. “It is okay to be scared and angry and worried but do not forget that you are worthy of the title and you should wear it like a crown, not a burden.”

“There is always some burden in this much power.” He is bitter. He is right.

“Come,” Jack pulls them together, “Go meet your friends.” The hug is so cold but comforts him to the bone. “And when you are ready to make a decision, just whisper my name and i will answer, no matter where i am, or how far apart we are.”

He studies the person before him, beautiful and strange in an inviting sort of way, like no matter how much he learns about them he'll always want to know more. "Well you are very pretty."

They laugh, and the sound lights up the ocean inside him. "Thank you."

“Live Percy Jackson.” Jack Frost whispers.

And then Percy is standing outside a café, an icy wind dancing between his fingertips, and the impression of a freezing hug still clinging to his clothes. He realizes he feels happy. He feels safe.

This is a story about their love.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[image id: a poem by John P Smeeton titled "Jack Frost in the Garden" the poem reads:

Jack Frost was in the garden;// I saw him there at dawn;// He was dancing round the bushes// And prancing on the lawn.// He had a cloak of silver,// A hat all shimm'ring white,// A wand of glittering star-dust,// And shoes of sunbeam light.

Jack Frost was in the garden,// When I went out to play// He nipped my toes and fingers// And quickly ran away.// I chased him round the wood-shed,// But, oh! I'm sad to say// That though I chased him everywhere// He simply wouldn't stay.

Jack Frost was in the garden:// But now I'd like to know// Where I can find him hiding;// I've hunted high and low —// I've lost his cloak of silver,// His hat all shimm'ring white,// His wand of glittering star-dust,// His shoes of sunbeam light"

the background is a light blue and white marble. end id]

Tags: @fantasylover16 @queen-of-demons-and-hell @nishlicious-01 @leyontheway @caffeinated-croissant

#Jack Frost x Percy Jackson #Crackships keep fandom alive #Jack Frost #Percy Jackson #PJJG fanfic #the story of us #not edited

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glitteryglitter · 3 years

Text

3+5 (Foxface x fem! reader)

𝙰𝙽: This has two endings so you get to choose which one you want! The first one is all angst and pining, the other one is kind of fluffy. I know that I love a cheerful ending, but not everyone does.

Also, the reader is from district 3.

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: slight angst, violence, and death

𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: Foxface x fem! reader

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 3,644

๑*˚🍓˚*๑

No, no, no. this couldn't be happening. It just couldn't

You stared in horror as your friend and ally, Foxface from district 5 emerged in a horrific outfit on a chariot.

Surprisingly, your feeling of absolute desolation was not from Foxface's outfit or even your own.

Both of which resembled something the Tin Man would wear if he'd donned couture.

Instead, it was a realization.

You would have to kill her.

Allow me to explain why!

You had, like countless others from district 3 in years past had been selected to enter in The Hunger Games and a few days ago, you'd formally met a new friend.

You'd sworn you would have no allies but unfortunately, your friendly personality and cheerful attitude made that a virtually impossible feat.

An extreme problem that as we all know, only results in heartbreak after one's allies are killed.

This certain person, A sly girl from district 5 who was absolutely amazing in every way was someone who you couldn't stop thinking of.

Stealthy, kind, and absolutely, mind-bogglingly good at identifying plants. She was also so smart, with gorgeous amber eyes that always seemed to take your breath away.

Wait-what? Since when did you think about her eyes? You brushed it off.

After all, you had bigger problems and worries.

You smiled placidly and waved to the crowds, all the while stewing over your predicament.

๑🍓๑

You looked over your shoulder at Foxface.

"Are you okay?"

You knew she had been nervous about this, you didn't blame her. You were too.

It was incredibly stressful and you had seen what the others could do.

Even you felt like you didn't stand a chance.

she nodded and smiled at you which for some unknown reason caused your heart to flutter.

Waves of worries crashed through your mind.

What would you do if you were the only two who remained? what would you do if she died?

What would you do in general? You knew you couldn't kill, Finch vowed not to, and you knew there were careers trained to do exactly that.

You were reminded of the gravity of the situation as even more tributes joined the parade.

Only one would live.

Your surroundings swirled in front of your eyes.

Your knees felt like jelly, you would have toppled over if it wasn't for your district partner who had grabbed you before you fell.

Y/n are you okay? The rather mousy-looking boy murmured as he firmly held on to your wrist.

"Yes, I'm fine." You smiled appreciatively. You'd be sad to see him go.

Your mind went blank once more as the parade continued.

Finch's mind was still racing though.

Through the next few days, your friendship grew and you became inseparable.

She couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed.

Every time you smiled at her, she felt a warmth in her chest.

She told herself it was the joy of a true friendship.

She wasn't far off.

It was in fact, at lunch, the day before the actual games that she realized what was happening.

๑🍓๑

Foxface had just sat down at a table, you flopped down beside her and promptly started crying into your bowl of salad.

As she pulled you into a hallway, the careers looked at one another, sharing the same thought; What was wrong?

Of course, they all knew exactly what was wrong, they were going to be put in a fight to the death the very next day, but no one really felt like saying it.

"Y/n what's wrong? You can tell me anything, I promise."

You sniffed a few times and shook your head. "It's okay, I'm fine. I know I'm probably one of the least prepared people here and I don't stand a chance. I guess I'm just a little bit nervous for tomorrow."

That may have been the biggest understatement of the century.

At the moment, you'd rather eat an entire bag of coffee grounds than go into the games, but unfortunately, it wasn't an option.

"No, y/n, trust me when I say you're prepared. Your odds are fair, you're no career, and you're not great with weapons, I'll be honest, but they're still decent. Your reputation amongst the capitol people is better than ever. That means more sponsors. You will. Be. Okay. I know it."

"But- what about you? I don't know what I'd do if you died, you’re one of the few people that I know I can trust, Finch. I can't have you die. You should be the one who wins. not me."

You replied between sniffles.

It was at that moment that Finch realized something.

As she looked into your puffy, bloodshot eyes she felt the warm feeling in her chest from earlier return.

She had a crush.

Not just a little one either.

A big painful crush that would most likely end in heartbreak, but she didn't care.

She decided then and there to do her best and ensure you won.

"We should wait and see, they might change the rules this year. You never know what they'll throw at us. Perhaps there could be two victors!"

It broke her heart to see the glimmer of hope in your eyes.

She knew it was probably a lie, but if that's what it took to make you content, that's what she would do.

You threw your arms around her "Thank you so much, this means a lot." She awkwardly patted you on the back, not quite used to being hugged, let alone by the very person she was hopelessly crushing on. "Now, let's get back to lunch, ally,"

You linked arms and strolled back into the lunchroom, heads held high, filled with renewed, albeit slightly false hope.

๑🍓๑

It was the day of the games. You'd all been placed in your tubes.

Foxface looked over, only to see you positively shaking.

She didn't blame you, half the tributes were.

The countdown began.

You waved and offered her a tentative smile.

Ten seconds to go...

She smiled back.

nine...eight... seven...six...five...She rehearsed the plan in her head.

four...three...two...one...

Chaos ensued.

Foxface bolted. You, in the meantime, de-activated several landmines and pocketed them for future use.

Being from District 3 did have its advantages.

Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad after all!

You'd spoken too soon.

You were thrown out of your small revere by someone grabbing the collar of your shirt.

You whipped your head around as best you could and caught a glimpse of blond hair.

Cato. Oh no- you attempted to kick him in the shin but missed.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the best plan of action.

He pushed you against a trunk of a tree and held his sword to your throat.

A thin line of blood appeared.

He didn't look to be enjoying himself, but he also didn't look like he had any plans to stop your potential decapitation.

Foxface ran through the mess, tributes were being attacked, running, dying, and just overall not having a great first day.

She saw you and ran, only barely avoiding a landmine.

"What are you doing?" she hissed at Cato.

He turned to meet the piercing gaze of your savior.

If looks could kill...He would have fallen over before you could say "career"

Fortunately, this gave you enough time to wriggle out of his arms and kick him in the knees again.

This time, your foot actually made contact with his knee and he fell.

Foxface grabbed his sword and hit him over the head with the hilt. His eyes closed.

"Is he...you know... dead?" You asked, cautiously poking his head with a stick.

"No, probably just stunned. We can leave him, someone else will find him. Let's go, before he wakes up."

You pulled each other through the explosives.

Finally, after what felt like ages the two of you reached relative safety.

๑🍓๑

It was gradually getting darker and you decided you'd be better off sleeping.

You placed some small landmines you'd deactivated earlier in front of the cave to discourage any unfortunate intruders and lay down.

Foxface lay down and passed you a bit of bread from her backpack.

While you ate, the two of you drafted out a plan for the next few days and what it would include.

It was decided that you'd take shifts and alternate between who guarded the cave and who got materials, at night, you'd place a landmine outside so if any unwanted visitors attempted to enter...well..you didn't want to think about that.

Finally, after some time, you felt your eyelids get quite heavy.

You lay down on the cave floor, it wasn't really as bad as you'd thought.

The moss was soft and with Foxface nearby, you felt safe.

She lay down beside you and soon, you had both drifted off to sleep.

๑🍓๑

You woke up with a start.

It was still dark outside.

The sun hadn't quite risen yet and the stars were still visible in the sky.

Then you felt an arm wrap around your waist.

Foxface had thrown her arm around you in her sleep.

You felt your face heat up.

She didn't seem like the type to do this and you were sure if she woke up, she surely wouldn't speak to you ever again.

She would be positively fuming...

Voices, barely distinguishable from the birds in the trees were heard in the distance.

"Wazzamatter?" Finch mumbled, still half asleep, blinking sleepily, oblivious to the fact that her arm was still around your waist.

Your heart melted.

"Nothing, I thought I heard something, but it was just a squirrel."

"We should probably get started, we'll need supplies and it would be better to stay inside during the day. "

You nodded. This would give you time to think about what had happened that morning.

You carefully extracted yourself from her grasp and prepared for the day ahead

As Foxface left, you noticed a small package drift from the sky in a parachute.

Your heart leaped. A sponsor! Foxface was right, they would be of use!

Oh, you could just kiss her right now you were so happy!

Wait- what? She's your best friend! What are you thinking Y/n! You don't kiss your best friend.

You opened it to see bandages, alcohol, and a note.

You stared at the note. "For the couple from 3 and 5, stay safe! -a friend in the capitol"

Your eyes went wide.

Did they think that you liked each other?

Was there a possibility that you liked her?

You sat down abruptly as you realized, Yes. Yes you did.

You shook your head. Now was not the time for crushing!

While you cleaned, you thought about the morning.

You were sure it was just a coincidence, it was probably just nothing. But still- what if she felt the same?

You remembered the note and tried to suppressed the small twinge of hope that it provided.

It was probably nothing.

They must just feel sorry for you.

Unrequited love was definitely a tragedy that the capitol would love.

You continued to mull this over until you heard a rustling in the leaves.

You cautiously poked your head out, only to see Foxface looking quite wounded sitting in the cave's entrance.

You immediately rushed to her side.

"I stole some food from the district four boy and he noticed. Stabbed me with his trident. I don't think it's infected yet, but I don't think I can walk normally."

You looked to the side where your package had landed and grabbed a bottle of alcohol.

As Foxface coached you through bandaging her leg, you only felt your feelings towards her grow. it really was remarkable.

You hoped you'd manage to get through the games.

Together.

๑🍓๑

As the days progressed, you reached a sort of routine and it became almost second nature.

That was of course until the announcement of a feast was made.

You and Finch had made a plan. She'd get materials, you would make sure everything was clear and distract if necessary.

That's when you heard a rustling in the bushes.

The female tribute from District 12, Katniss was crouched in the shrubbery with an arrow pointed directly at you.

You bolted.

You weren't sure where you'd go but as long as Foxface was okay and you weren't shot, you were pretty sure it was the right place.

You felt an arrow graze your leg and you turned around only to have Katniss smack into you.

You tried your best to reason with her while she pinned you down.

She grabbed an arrow from her quiver that would surely end up in your heart.

At that moment, Foxface ran past, and stopped dead in her tracks.

"Go, I'll be okay!"

She opened her mouth to say something, but you cut her off.

"Please! I promise I'll come back, just get to safety!" you cried, sounding rather choked.

Come on, Y/n you can do this. Almost everyone else has.

"I'm so sorry. I wish I didn't have to do this," you whispered.

Katniss's eyes went wide as you shakily held a knife to her throat.

You weren't sure how you felt about this.

"Goodbye, Katniss. Sweet dreams." you cooed.

Before you could change your mind, you sliced the knife through her neck, got up, and ran into the woods, still getting used to the feeling of a weapon in your hands.

A cannon could be heard in the distance.

๑🍓๑

You sat down heavily in shock. You had just done the unimaginable.

You'd killed a tribute.

Foxface plopped down beside you.

"Did you get her?" she asked, her voice sounding just as exhausted and hollow as the both of you felt.

"Yes, I did."

The reality of what you'd done hit you.

Of course, you'd experienced it, but it was a whole different thing to actually admit it.

To say that you'd killed someone and know that there would be no consequences except the moral ones.

The ones that stayed in your mind and haunted you for years to come.

If they did come that is.

"What happened to the others?"

"They killed each other off." She took a few berries out of the backpack that she'd managed to grab at the feast.

What are those?

She gave you a look. "Take a guess"

Your eyes widened.

๑*˚🍓˚*๑

Ending 1 (Angst and death!)

"Foxface, no, please don't do this," you begged

She shook her head. "You heard the rules, y/n there can only be one victor now. It should be you. there's no use pretending like there is another way out for both of us."

She took a handful of berries from her backpack and cradled them in her hands, thinking over her decision.

"But you promised-"

Your words brought her back to the lunch at the training center.

It felt like years ago, but it had only been a few days.

That was when it hit her.

She'd never told you her feelings. The girl she liked- no- loved would never know.

As she thought, a terrible idea came into your mind.

You knew it wouldn't end well but alas, you had been well aware of it from the start.

Finally, you grabbed a handful of berries from Foxface's hand making sure to scatter the rest far away. If one of you had to be a victor, it was going to be her.

You would make sure of it.

“What are you doing Y/n?!” she gasped.

It was too late. You'd already swallowed the berries.

She cradled you in her arms, begging you to stay alive a few moments more.

"Foxface, I wish I told you this earlier, I know you don't feel the same, but at this point, I just need to let you know. You have been a true friend and I couldn't have wished for a better ally. I should have told you this sooner, I love you. With all my heart. I really do and not even death can change that." You rambled. The berries making your mind foggier by the minute.

"Y/n I- I do feel the same. You mean so much to me and if I had only known-"

With that, you kissed her cheek, careful to get none of the night lock near her mouth.

"Goodbye Finch, I love you"

"-If I had known, I would have told you that I loved you too. We would have gone on dates, had a future together, and I know it doesn't seem likely, but we would have made it work, if only-"

her voice trailed off as you went limp in her arms.

A cannon went off.

"if I'd only seen it sooner-" she trailed off quietly.

A loud voice proclaimed Finch of District 5 the winner of the 54th Hunger Games yet she didn’t seem to hear a thing

In fact, she didn't react in the slightest.

Foxface stared at your lifeless body. The color still draining from your cheeks.

Even though you were dead, the night lock berries still staining your lips a deep navy, you had to be the most gorgeous girl she'd ever laid eyes on.

"Goodbye, y/n I love you too," she said, her voice slightly choked with tears she refused to let fall.

She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't give the capitol the satisfaction of seeing her distress.

She would later go on to interviews, refusing to say more than a few grief and anger-filled sentences to let the capitol know exactly how she felt about everything.

They had killed her girlfriend and she would make sure they knew what they'd done.

๑*˚🍓˚*๑

Ending 2 (less sad! Slight angst and swearing, but no death! )

"Foxface, why are you doing this? I should be the one to go, not you."

"No y/n I can't let you. "

"But Finch-"

"Why y/n? Tell me why you should die. You are brave, sweet, and kind. Hell, you even apologized to Katniss before slitting her throat. I should be the one to die. Not! You!"

She was yelling now, but you needed to argue your case.

You had to stifle a hollow laugh. This was the most comically dark and strange situation imaginable. Arguing with your crush about which one of you should die.

"But why? I know you said that I should stay alive, but you keep forgetting about yourself. You have a family to go home to as well. They love you, they care, and they miss you! Plus, you taught me the bravery that you claim I have!"

"You want to know why y/n? It's because I love you. A lot. If you died, I don't know what I would do. " Foxface clapped a hand over her mouth.

"You love me? Like, love me?" You blinked numbly.

She sighed. "That sounded awful, I'm sorry for arguing. I know I shouldn't have said it, but you’ve always stayed by my side. You never failed to see my value. You even convinced me that having a 5 in training didn't make me weak."

"It doesn't though!" You remarked.

"Look at where we are now! The last two tributes. We would be out of this mess too if we just had some way to get out together."

Both of you looked at the ground where the berries lay scattered, looked at each other, and nodded with the same idea in your heads.

Each of you picked up some berries and took a deep breath.

"Foxface, I love you too. I mean it. This is the worst possible situation to ever tell someone this, but it's true."

With that, she kissed you gently.

"So it's settled then?"

"I think so."

"Goodbye Y/n."

"Goodbye, Foxface."

"Okay Y/n you've got this," You told yourself.

3...

2...

1...

"WAIT STOP!" A loud voice shrieked.

You and Foxface both looked up, the poisonous berries inches away from your mouths

"THERE HAS BEEN ONE MORE CHANGE OF RULES"

You stared at each other in confusion.

"CONGRATULATIONS TO OUR FIRST EVER TWO VICTORS, Y/N FROM DISTRICT 3 AND FINCH FROM DISTRICT 5! THANK YOU FOR YOUR ATTENTION! GOODBYE!"

~several days later~

The Capitol was completely taken with the first couple to win the games.

Upon being interviewed, Foxface's response was "We're a team. We always were and always will be," and you couldn't agree more.

๑*˚🍓˚*๑

#the hunger games x reader #the hunger games imagines #the hunger games imagine #foxface #foxface x reader #thg x reader #The Hunger Games

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sher-soc-the-famder · 6 years

Text

The Show Must Go On- Chapter 1

Word Count: 3349

Pairing: Gen LAMP, Platonic Roman&OC

Warnings: Panic Attacks, Amneisa

Masterpost

Read on AO3

Next Chapter -->

In one breath, the world was still and calm, and in the next—

Roman took a heaving breath, and the pull of the muscles in his chest took him by surprise. He stumbled, blinking at the bright lights and tried to brace himself against the nearest surface for balance. The world was spiraling through kaleidoscopes, fire and ice dancing across his skin as something rough grabbed his arm, jerking him back down.

His fractured world spun, and he struggled to breathe through the onslaught of panic, sharper than he could ever remember feeling it. Knives against his chest, the dragon-witch’s roar in his ears, everything was too much, too much, too much-

“–what happened–”

“–breath Roman, I need you to bre–”

“–is he–”

Everything jolted again and his body snapped forward, a sudden stop to his spiraling fall. Glass was shattering all around him, reflecting the dying sun of his thoughts as he tried to gather himself together into some semblance of coherence. It felt like his hands were scrambling against the ground to try and gather the shards, but all he could do was cut himself against the edges.

They were too smooth, slipping out of his grasp, and he was left with an overwhelming feeling of everything being wrong; and something being wrong that only made his panic worse. He was lost in an enchanted forest, agony ripping through his entire being but still there was—

He needed–

Someone important that he needed to reach–

The sensation darted away, buried amongst the roaring in his ears, and the soft sounds that finally made it past the chaos were achingly familiar and desperately unknown to him at the same time. Rising and falling, clearer and louder than he had even heard them, the opening strains of The Nightmare Before Christmas were the veins on the back of his hand, traced over and over again because—

Because–

His breath hitched, stuttering from its ragged hyperventilation, and there was something—tears—winding their way down his face. The world was slotting back into place, slowly and surely, settling around the unhurried music. It felt right, it felt wrong; it clawed against him and threatened to send him spiraling all over again if he thought too long about it.

Roman’s body shuddered as he tried to take a deep breath in, muscles expanding and contracting in uneven intervals. The sensation felt raw and new, and Roman struggled to take another one, struggle to remember what was going on around him, what had happened. The clothes on his back felt too light, even as they tugged against his over sensitive skin; as if these were more comfortable, but he was expecting something more.

“Roman?” The voice was familiar, warm, concerned. The name sat on his tongue like a heavy weight, and Roman struggled to look up from the ball he had curled himself into to see who it was.

“Val–?” His voice caught in his throat. Short hair, and ginger; things that made his stomach sink to his feet. It wasn’t black and long, the face was too round, and Roman didn’t know why he was longing for those details.

“Victoria,” came the correction, gently; but the pitch all wrong, grating at his skin for reasons Roman couldn’t find words for.

“Come on, Disney Prince; five years too short for you to remember my name?”

It was teasing and familiar and friendship and wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

But the words that follow still slipped out of his mouth like snakes, leaving him feeling betrayed by himself and cracking all over again: “Only when you can’t remember mine.”

His mouth snapped shut and Roman shoved his head between his knees again; wishing and hoping (dreaming–) desperately that if he tried hard enough, the whole mess would disappear and he’d–

He’d what?

“Come on, Ro’-yer-boat,” Victoria murmured, “In for four, out for eight, we’ve done this before.” And her words rang with truth, sliding down the back of his throat bitterly to rest near his aching heart. “It’s time to Ro your way back down from panic-town, and then tell me who I need to murder this month.”

A choked laugh tore from his throat, and his voice slurred as a hand reached carefully to card through his hair.

“A prince doesn’t need rescuing.”

“ ‘Course not,” Victoria said, mild and fond, and Roman was hit with the thought that they’ve said this before — that they’ve done this before; danced around each other in the way that only those who truly know each other do. Light touches, intimate gestures, and inside jokes. Laughter on the couch and crying over their mutual crush of Timothy in their senior year.

“It just means that we need to rewatch Sleeping Beauty,” Victoria continued, “or Mulan. Did we ever decide if the Beast counted?”

“His name is Adam, you heathen,” Roman bit out, raising his head to scowl at her. “And he didn’t need saving he could have taken Gaston on by himself any day.”

She smirked back at him, sharp against her round face. And it was familiar; it was safe. It was settling, even if he still felt like someone had carved a limb off of him.

“Mmhmm,” Victoria agreed. “Which is why Belle had to come back to save the day, obviously. Wait, sorry; I meant that she needed to see the Beast beat Gaston.”

Roman let out a sound that he insisted was a frustrated screech. Victoria tipped back and tried to imitate the noise that had escaped his mouth.

“God, no wonder they want you on tenor even though you’re a bass. You can hit some high notes.”

Roman flailed his arm to shove at his best friend—yes, that was it, that’s who she was now. His best friend. He remembered that now as he could center himself in the here and now.

“Hey!” he said defensively. “I am a man, a manly man. A man who is—”

He trailed off, deja vu hitting him in the chest that wheezed the amusement and friendly frustration out of his words.

And there it was again. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, reaching for something—anything—to grasp onto in the distance; almost as if someone had cut off wings that he had used to fly, and now he was about to fall into an endless darkness. But even then he couldn’t help but inch closer, his hand brushing against the awareness that—

“Roman?” His head snapped up and he met Victoria’s concerned green eyes. “Seriously, Ro, you alright? You haven’t had this bad of an attack in forever.”

Her eyes swept over his face, and he realized that he couldn’t quite meet them. His fingers traced patterns on his T-shirt, waiting for the thick silence to break; something more than his need to be perfect holding his tongue. The light cotton twisted in his hands and, finally, Victoria sighed.

“Fine,” she bit out, “I’ll figure it out eventually. But you have to let me drive you home.”

She held her hand out, wiggling her fingers at him. What she wanted struck like lightning and one of his hands dropped down to curl around his keys protectively. Her eyebrow ticked up, and her lips thinned.

“We had a deal, Front-Ro-Seats,” she said sternly. “I get to help with your attacks if you get to help with mine. You’re in no condition to be driving.”

“I can drive just fine,” he snapped back and her eyebrow climbed even higher. He fought back a flush at the action and heaved himself up from the ground to prove his point. Everything tilted and spun, his stomach heaving at the sudden movement as fuzz gathered at the edges of his vision. A hand planted itself at his elbow, steadying and the only thing that kept him from tipping over and hitting the ground once more.

“Just fine, eh?” Victoria mused as she helped him find the world under his feet and gather his bearings. He blinked rapidly, leaning against his shorter friend and letting his eyes sweep through the dark room they were in. Shelves lined up neatly against the walls with boxes sorted on them stared back at him and he put more of his weight on Victoria.

“How ‘bout we make another deal?”

Roman’s eyes drifted down to look at her, and he narrowed his eyes at the smirk and glint in her eyes. He sniffed and straightened best as he could.

“I will not fall for any of your ill-advised schemings—”

“You can drive,” Victoria cut in and Roman felt his mouth slam shut. She grinned at him, nudging him forward, before finishing, “If you skip theater practise tonight.”

A high pitched whine gathered in his throat and slipped from between his teeth.

“But Viiiiiic,” he whined.

“Nope,” she said triumphantly, popping her lips before half-singing, “You had it coming.”

Roman was torn between excitement at the theater reference or feeling betrayed that she’d make him choose between his love of theater and his need to fend for himself.

“Tick tock; Roman’s running on, running on fumes now. Roman’s totally fried!”

Roman couldn’t stop the smile from creeping onto his face even as he shoved at Vic, causing them both to stumble. Victoria took one look at his face and burst into laughter, which set him off in turn, and Roman bent over laughing until his chest hurt and he could pretend that’s why everything still felt like it was still a step off; like everything was an inch to the left from where it was supposed to be.

“I’ll take that to mean theater,” Victoria said smugly when they had calmed down, and dug her hand into his pocket to grab his keys. Roman leaned into the warmth of her body and closed his eyes to gather himself, trying to remember what had happened, and pretending that his best friend wasn’t dragging him out of work like an invalid.

He tried to straighten as they slipped out of the restaurant, pushing up against Vic’s shoulders as people stared at them. Their eyes weighed heavy on the back of his neck and the smile that spread on his face felt as plastic as the fakes he wore for theater. Be tall, be proud, be strong he reminded himself. He was fabulous, he was a prince and he was (supposed to be) better than this.

But that didn’t change the weight against his chest as Victoria led him to his own car and he couldn’t help but collapse into the passenger seat in exhaustion. He couldn’t even remember why he had panicked and the thought clamped around his neck like a shackle. He was at work, doing something with the stove and then...nothing. There was nothing that he could think of that would have set him off, and if Vic found out then she’d worry. And Roman wasn’t supposed to be worrying her anymore.

He ruthlessly suppressed a flinch as Victoria slammed the driver’s door shut and started his Honda up. The engine struggled for a heart-stopping moment before catching and she turned to grin at him.

“Looks like your baby survives yet another day,” she teased and Roman glowered at her, gathering the remains of his pride about him like a cloak.

“Don’t insult Jasmine! She’s a beauty that you just can’t understand,” he protested, pulling himself up to his full height and puffing his chest out as Victoria laughed. She smirked and—

—the expression softened his eyeshadow (who was he? He looked just like him, but why; Roman was an only child, he grew up alone) which had been lighter lately.

“I think I understand just fine, Princey. It’s you who’s a little delusional.”

And his smirk—

“Now look here, Virge, just because you can’t see the beauty that is Aladdin—” His mouth shut off, the banter falling to the floor in tense silence as Victoria’s eyes flickered from the road.

“Virge is a new one,” she said, voice light and quiet. “Not sure where it came from to be honest; one of your weaker nicknames, Roman.”

“Well–” He struggled for an explanation, the image already fading from his mind no matter how desperately he tried to hold on to it. It was a dream and he was waking up and the loss of it was inevitable no matter how much Roman wished otherwise.

“Well, you push me to the verge of snapping, so– so there.”

She hummed in response, and Roman averted his eyes to the window as their town passed them by slowly. He was fine, and if he repeated it enough then maybe they would both believe it. He was the one that looked out for her; the hero, the dreamer, the one that pushed for them to move out and away from their parents to spread their wings. And if he was honest, it scared him, this relapse.

He didn’t want to go home.

“Hey.” Victoria wasn’t looking at him, her voice hesitant in a way that he couldn’t remember hearing from her. “You can talk to me Roman, no matter what it is. We’ll get through whatever it is.”

He bit down on the thought that he didn’t even know what this was; that he was just as much in the dark as she was.

The engine idled, a white noise and then Vic spoke up again, stronger and back to teasing sass so fast he almost thought the moment was imagined; “And if James has been saying anything again, then I can’t guarantee that I won’t need your help to hide a body.”

Roman latched onto the out, helplessly grateful and unwilling to show it. “I am not some damsel in distress in need of rescuing! I am the prince! James is in no way a villian that I cannot slay, with words and wit.”

Her response was warm and fond as they pulled into the lot for their apartment complex. “I have no doubt Roman. I have no doubt.”

Victoria slammed Jasmine's door behind her, hand brushing against the battered car's edge as she watched Roman stumble out of the other side. She gnawed on her bottom lip, wondering if she should call the Doc about what had happened. —her heart had stopped when Roman had stumbled towards the oven he had been working at, and it was only a coworker's quick thinking that had kept him from getting burned. Waiting with bated breath for him to calm down enough to recognize her, for her to even try and talk him down— Vic shook her head, and straightened her back. Now wasn't the time for panic. That was later. When she could lock her door behind her. Right now, she needed to help Roman. She reached out an arm, and smirked at him. Offering to help directly would get his hackles up but— "Yo, Disney Prince, give this princess an escort?" —something a little more covert, he'd accept. Roman hooked his arm through hers and Victoria struggled not to stagger as he leaned against her. Fuck, he needed to sleep and she needed to go panic in privacy. She refused to make things worse for him. "Of course!" Roman said grandly, a tone that Vic might have believed was a good sign if he wasn't putting half his weight on her. "Whatever your heart desires Vic-zen! Say the word, and I shall do my best to provide! Though, if it's expensive enough, it may have to wait until I'm rich and famous while you live in my basement—" Vic's lips twitched up. "Your basement? I take offence to that, I at least, deserve a walk-in closet on the third floor instead. Free therapy for all the suffering your riches and fame bring you." Roman grinned back at her; bright and delighted, yet it didn't match his usual exuberance. Still better than their senior year though.

"You're right, of course you're right. I'll stick you right in next to my hundreds of shoes and my dresses."

She hip-checked him with a laugh, tugging at his arm to direct him towards the elevator. The knot in her chest tightened when he didn't protest, didn't joke about leg-day or how Mr. Schneider would have his head if he didn't remain in some form of shape for his lead parts. She brought her other hand up to tuck gently into the crook of his elbow. Roman leaned into the touch. Something in Victoria screamed as they fell silent in the elevator, not even a hum to go with the cheesy music. She tapped her foot in time with the beat, but it echoed strangely without Roman's smooth voice joining in. The action stuttered, and Vic shrugged as the doors slid up, ignoring the concerned glance that Roman sent her way. She wasn't the one who had a panic attack at work, so he had no right to speak. Or judge. Or whatever. He also wasn't in the shape to try and untangle one of her many, many problems at the moment; that was clear.

They shuffled towards their apartment, and Victoria leaned into Roman's touch herself. Home. They were home, and they could figure things out from there. They always had. Or Roman had, and she had let herself be dragged along by his excitement and passion and life.

Vic dug in her pocket for Roman's car keys, and the key to their home that would be on it as well. She played with the small trinket of Olaf on the end of the keychain for a moment before sliding it into place and ushering Roman inside.

Roman made a beeline for the couch and she caught the back of his jacket with a scowl.

"Noooo," she whined. "Sleep in a real bed, Ro. You'll feel better, I promise."

Roman pouted at her, swaying in his spot.

"Then can I sleep in your bed. I– don't wanna be alone right now, it almost feels like the shadows will swallow me whole, listening to my never ending screams. Oh Horatio, to be or not to be, what is life, but another name for suffering–?"

"Oooookay," Victoria pressed her hands to his back and shoved him towards his room. "You're waxing again, Simba, which means I'm going to make you some hot cocoa and cookies, and then you're going to sleep."

"Don't deserve you," Roman mumbled as he leaned against his bedroom door.

Victoria felt her eyes and smile soften, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek.

"Got it backwards as usual, Ro. B-r-b; don't fall asleep here, or you'll be stuck on the floor and ruin all your beauty and complexion or whatever."

"Meeeeeean, " Roman whined, "You're being mean to meeeee. I am a wonderful, beautiful, talented person who deserves to be pampered, and looked after, and taken to bed when I fall asleep in weird pla—"

Roman snapped his mouth shut, teeth clicking from the force of it. Victoria bit her own tongue as his eyes glazed over. She pressed a hand to his arm.

"I'm going to get that food alright?"

"Yeah," Roman said, his tone distant. "Yeah, a second cookie right?"

Victoria clenched her jaw and didn't reply. She turned her back, hating the very thought of it and hurried to the kitchen.

Maybe he was just tired. It had been a particularly bad attack today—his first in a while—so it wasn't weird that he was acting weird.

...right?

She sighed, bag of store bought cookies in one hand and hot cocoa in the other. The weirdest thing though was, well...

Roman's eyes brightened as she returned, hands making grabbing motions for the sweets she offered him. The weirdest thing was not how tight lipped Roman was being about the problem but how he kept zoning out.

It was like he was seeing something she couldn't. Or remembering something, but there wasn't anything that he would want to remember that she didn't already know. At least, she thought so. She hoped so.

God, she hoped so.

#Sanders sides #TSMGO #Urban Fantasy AU #Panic attacks #Amnesia #Roman Sanders #OC: Victoria #TS-Storytime 2018 Submission

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chogisad · 7 years

Text

Petals Under Our Skin | Sehun AU

Hanahaki Disease: an illness where the patient coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. The infection can be removed through surgery, but the feelings disappear along with the petals.

“Sehun’s throat is sore and he thinks he can feel it; growing and grabbing at his organs, reminding him of how bad he is at love.”

Sehun hates seasonal allergies. Before he's brushed his teeth, his body reminds him that it despises nature. He sneezes toothpaste onto the mirror, starts building pyramids from dirty tissues, and the dorm echoes with his sniffling. On the day Sehun coughs up his first petal, he wants to blame his allergies. It floats, gentle and white, atop his coffee, and Sehun can only blink. He clears his throat, runs his tongue over his teeth, and stares, trying to stop the world from spinning. "You okay?" Jongin asks and Sehun nods, still looking around the room, hoping to find a stray rose to take responsibility. The kitchen counters are bare, the table only playing host to the round terrarium Kyungsoo made a few weeks ago. "I-I think I'm coming down with something?" He voices a fading question. Jongin's brow furrows with familiar concern, searching for the telltale signs of illness before he motions toward the cupboards. Their eyes meet, and Sehun's heart stutters--fearful. "We have Vitamin C supplements. Take a couple." Sehun is in a daze but he nods. His hands tremble slightly as he pours a full mug of coffee down the drain, as he watches the petal get stuck in the strainer. "Too much sugar?" Jongin asks behind him and Sehun can't find his voice. He wonders if he should pinch himself, maybe attempt to control the details of what must be a lucid dream. "Jongin-" Sehun clears his throat. "D-do the petals often kill people?" He doesn't need to explain any further. Jongin knows what he's referring to; the curse of unrequited love. "No." Jongin replies. "People usually get the operation. It sucks, but not everyone is willing to die for love, you know?" And Sehun thinks he must be going crazy. But he picks up the coffee stained petal, feels it's smooth skin between the pads of his fingers and thinks of the boy who smells like spring and forests. He thinks of late night conversations and sharing meals, thinks of the warmth of his body, and how none of this was supposed to happen. "Of course." Sehun replies, still unbelieving. He braces himself against the kitchen sink. His thoughts race-- petals, operation, emptiness, not everyone is willing to die for love, roses-- and Jongin waits, curious to the turn in conversation. "Why do you ask?" Sehun holds his breath. He could say it; I'm in love with him, Jongin! So stupidly in love that my own body is gonna choke it out of me! He could shout a name into the wind, share this burden with someone else, but Sehun is afraid. He swallows the truth cloying the inside of his mouth because he isn't ready to face this, not yet. He changes the subject. Jongin fills the silence with idle talk of dance practice and Sehun nods along. He pretends he cares, too lost to register anything but his own misfortune. So Sehun tells himself he imagined the whole ordeal. He throws the petal away amongst food wrappers and old yogurt containers and moves forward-- it was a trick of the mind, based in exhaustion, due to a lack of sleep. And then Sehun wakes to a rose petal on his pillow, a rose petal on the white tile of the shower, a petal next to his trousers. In a matter of days, he finds himself cowering in the darkness of his room. He crafts excuses of stomach aches and a pounding in his temple. The others worry; they try to pump him full of medicine that is essentially useless. He retreats and shoves petal after petal in pockets and in the back of drawers. He's buying for time now. So Sehun stays away from him. Somewhere in his heart, Sehun still believes he can beat this, still believes he can teach himself to stop loving him in that way. Like the petals, he tucks away memories of walks along Han River, of the car rides and plane rides where they'd spend hours whispering secrets as they crossed borders. The nights that follow, as he lays in bed, cold and alone and coughing into his pillow, Sehun prohibits himself from giving in to the boy on the other side of the locked door asking if he wants tea. He pretends he's asleep, pretends he can't hear the concern, the need to make him better. Sehun will suffer through the withdrawals if it means he can survive for just a little bit longer. Sehun knows no one can help him. Google showcases 20 million search results. The internet and the world can explain the faults of his body better than he can. He doesn't want to read about the operation. He doesn't want to think of the emptiness that follows. He finds the origin of Hanahaki Disease in a book of Japanese myths. The volume is old and tearing, yearning to outlast the consequences of time, and Sehun turns the fringed pages with care. 'Love blooms just as quickly as it wilts.' Sehun reads the story of a prince who became sick with unrequited love. His longing became corporeal, growing and spreading within his body. Thorns and roses; they suffocated him from the inside and the prince died atop a pile of petals his body couldn't contain anymore. Sehun knows he shouldn't, but he rips the entire page out of the book and folds it into his pocket. His throat is sore and he thinks he can feel it; growing, grabbing at his organs, reminding him of how bad he is at love. Sehun wants to rip his chest open there and then. But just as much as it hurts, he knows how god damn beautiful it feels. If it wasn't for the petals, his waking hours would be euphoric, a lucid pleasure with stuttering heart and rose-tinted cheeks. It's stupid how much warmer the sun is on his skin, how his laugh reminds Sehun of ocean waves, of brighter days. His lungs contract, over and over again, and Sehun always shuts his eyes, always pictures the same soft smile. On some mornings, this love feels like it's worth dying for. And then Chanyeol finds his petals. Sehun tries to deny it, but Chanyeol is a furious storm, tearing open drawers, lifting bed sheets, and Sehun can only watch in shameful silence as the carpet litters with white. "How long?" Chanyeol's voice strains. His eyes dance with anger, and Sehun can see the way his hands shake, can feel a familiar fear radiating off of him. "A couple of weeks," Sehun whispers. He stares at his shoes. He crushes a petal under one of his soles. "Is it-" "Don't." Sehun warns. "It doesn't matter who it is." Chanyeol stares at him; disbelieving, afraid, pitying, and Sehun wants to run. He wants to scream, to shake Chanyeol and tell him he didn't want this either. "You can't tell anyone," Sehun whispers, his eyes pleading. Chanyeol opens and closes his mouth, wants to object and drive Sehun to the hospital right there and then. "When are you getting the operation?" Chanyeol asks, crumpling three petals between his fist. The silence stretches between them. Chanyeol waits, his mind whirring away combinations of schedules and excuses, of people for a need-to-know basis. With cold dread, Chanyeol almost drowns in the silence. He realizes Sehun doesn't have an answer. "Sehun?" Chanyeol's voice is quiet, trembling, and Sehun is suddenly standing at an edge, at the cusp friendship, yearning for someone to push him into the precipice. In that moment, Sehun shoulders Chanyeol's pain as well, shoulders guilt and shame and the thought that no one will forgive him if he chooses to die. "In a month," Sehun lies. It's easier this way. Three words are faster than trying to explain why the operation wasn't an option, why he was going to wait until a flower choked the love out of him. "In a month..." he repeats to himself and Chanyeol nods before they're both picking up petals, shoving Sehun's white ocean into black plastic bags. Chanyeol agrees to be his cover. They concoct a story of a weeks-long trip to Paris. They buy plane tickets they'll never use, pack suitcases they'll leave in Chanyeols car while they're at the hospital. This secret stays between them; it'll be buried with whatever other feelings they rip from Sehun's body. A week before it's all supposed to be over, Sehun runs out of excuses. He can't talk his way out of a birthday dinner, and they all pile into one of Seoul's most expensive restaurants. Sehun takes deep breaths, orders too many glasses of water, and Chanyeol's gaze never leaves him. 'Please take me home.' He texts Chanyeol, and the latter tries his hardest to get them out. The coughing starts as Sehun stands up to leave. It's a light clearing of the throat and Chanyeol rushes to his side. In a matter of seconds however, his lungs are contracting and Sehun's entire body spasms. He falls, grabbing for something to stable his frame, and the room becomes shattered glass and chaos as he pulls the tablecloth to the floor with him. The others are frozen in horror as Chanyeol cradles Sehun's head, who's body convulses with the effort of holding on to the petals. He can't do it, and they watch as the floor becomes a white, flowery ocean. Junmyeon steps forward, questions and anger on his lips but it all fades as the coughing quiets. Chanyeol can feel that they waited too long, and nobody speaks. "C-call an ambulance," Chanyeol's voice breaks. Sehun's entire being is exhausted. A single tear makes its way down his cheek, and he wishes he had the strength to apologize, to explain. Sehun looks up at Junmyeon with resigned eyes and a sad smile. His voice is a feeble whisper, but everyone in the room hears him. "White roses." He coughs. "Th-they're your favorite." Junmyeon is the only one to ride in the ambulance with Sehun. "Stop- stop," He orders, batting Sehun's hands away as he tries to remove the mask that will force air into his lungs. Junmyeon intertwines their fingers and watches as the mask's plastic fogs with each labored breath. "I-I'm sorry," Sehun tries. It's too little, too late, but Junmyeon shakes his head. "You don't have to apologize. Focus on breathing." At the hospital, they think he's sleeping. Someone lays something soft at his side, and he wishes he was actually unconscious. "I brought him a bear," Chanyeol says, hesitant. "I thought flowers were too ironic." The silence is tense. Friendship strains under feelings of betrayal and Sehun knows it's his fault. This love will slash more than his insides apart. It pits them against each other in a blaming game, and the air is cold with their resentment. "I had a right to know," Junmyeon grits out. Sehun can hear the anger in his voice, the hurt. "He didn't want you to know." Chanyeol sighs, his words tired. Sehun knows he owes him so much and he’s relieved he isn’t fighting this thing alone anymore.

"That's not fair and you should've-" "Would it make a difference?" Chanyeol snaps. Another silence envelops them. The machine monitoring Sehun's heart spikes, but neither of them notice. Sehun can imagine Chanyeol's spiteful stare, can imagine Junmyeon's helplessness tearing him apart. "He's my best friend." Junmyeon whispers, and Sehun wishes he had more morphine to numb this pain. "Would you have loved him like he needed you to?" Sehun doesn't want to hear the answer. "Of course." And just like that, Sehun wants all of this to be over. Before the operation, Sehun is drifting into unconsciousness. The others visit for hours, promising presents and trips as soon as he's on his feet again. None of them can hold his gaze for too long, aware that Sehun will be a different person when it's time to wake. A shadow steps in front of his bed. Already, Sehun's thoughts are blurring together, a mess of memories and guilt. His stubborn love fights the morphine, clings to the moments that put him on this hospital bed in the first place. His eyes flutter, two tired butterflies, and he wonders how long he has before the flower grips his battered heart. Junmyeon is crying. Sehun tries to move his hand, but Junmyeon beats him to it. His skin is warm, and his thumb rubs comforting strides against Sehun's knuckles. "I just needed more time," he murmurs, wiping away the apologetic tears on his cheeks. Sehun tries to shake his head, but his body fails him. His heart is longing for survival, and his faulty mind-- with all its affection and afflictions-- can't hold out against the drugs courting him to sleep. Sehun wants to stay awake though. He wants to tell Junmyeon this isn't his fault, that he wants him to fall in love with someone he chooses. Sehun does not want to be loved out of responsibility, out of pity. He'd rather tear the most beautiful thing he's ever felt out of his own body, than force Junmyeon to love him in order to save him. He'd rather give up this love, than hold Junmyeon's heart as a hostage, as a sacrifice, as something he had no right to. His line of vision darkens, and as he drifts into unconsciousness, Sehun thinks of only one night. They climbed to the roof of their building and lied side by side, searching the skies for nonexistent stars. Sehun had fallen asleep to Junmyeon's quiet breathing. In the darkness, Sehun had thought I love you for the first time; it was innocent and scared, unknowingly a fatal confession. He keeps those words in the back of his mind, holds onto them for as long as possible, until the operation rips them out of his body. Love is an act of selflessness. Sehun wakes to a room full of balloons and stuffed animals. Junmyeon is asleep in the chair next to him, his body slumped at an awkward angle. Sehun is too bleary to make much sense of anything, to register the empty echo of his own heart. It reaches for a feeling that doesn’t exist anymore; it only grasps at empty air. The room shifts out of focus, the sedatives kick in, but he thinks he sees Junmyeon's fist curled around the petals of a violet. Sehun gives in to unconsciousness with the sleepy thought that violets are his favorite flower.

MASTERLIST

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