Betty shook with sorrow, tears falling freely down her face. (Y/N) placed a comforting hand on her back, stroking soothing circles. Her sobs echoed throughout the Cooper household, luckily Betty’s parents were still at work.
“Have you ever loved someone, with your whole heart, but you know that they will never love you back?” Betty whimpered, referring to Archie. However, one person, in particular, came into (Y/N)’s mind…Jughead Jones. They had been best friends for many years, both having similar interests and ambitions. (Y/N) had loved him for years, but never once said anything, in fear of him not feeling the same.
“Betty, there will be someone out there for you. Archie, he doesn’t deserve you.” (Y/N) smoothed down Betty’s hair as she put her head on their shoulder. “He’ll realise that soon enough.” (Y/N) smiled, trying to lighten the dull and depressing mood. Thinking about Jughead wasn’t making things any better either.
“It’s just hard, (Y/N). I’ve loved him for years, and to just have that, that connection, gone. It’s too much at once.” Betty sighed, not realising that her words, also reflected (Y/N)’s circumstances. (Y/N) swallowed hard, their chest tightening, palms beginning to sweat as they thought of Jughead. Repressed feelings, ones that they thought would never take hold as much as it did, all falling down at once. At that moment Kevin burst through the door, holding blankets and ice cream.
“I came prepared.” He smiled, sitting down next to Betty.
“Listen, Betty, if you don’t mind, I’m going to head off. It’s getting late and I don’t want my parents worried.” (Y/N) rambled on, causing a small smile to appear on Betty’s face.
“It’s fine. Thank you, for being here.” And with that, (Y/N) left, they left before the tears could fall, before those walls came crumbling down. They went to the only place they could think of, a place that only they and Jughead knew of. The treehouse, behind both of their houses, the place where the two would play for hours on end, imagining different worlds and realities. If only it were like that now.
Sitting down in the rickety lodge, (Y/N) scanned the shelves, mounted with comics, small figurines, battered and broke, but what caught their eye, was the small photo in a brown, scratched frame. It was of Jughead and (Y/N), they were a few years younger from what they were now, holding each other close, smiling so brightly that the corners of their eyes lifted. It had been awhile since they had taken a photo together, and awhile since either of them smiled like that.
(Y/N) caressed the photo with the tips of their fingers, reminiscing in the memories of “the glory days” they had called it. Basking in the nostalgia in the small rotting treehouse. (Y/N) had only closed their eyes for a moment, when footsteps echoed through the lodge and soon, climbed in Jughead.
“Juggie?” (Y/N) questioned as they wiped the tears from their eyes quickly. Jughead sat down next to them, looking at the photo.
“What’s wrong, (Y/N)? I saw you climb up here from my bedroom window.” Jughead looked over to his house quickly from the small window, before turning back to (Y/N).
“How did you know something was wrong?” They asked, clutching the frame tighter. Jughead sighed, looking into (Y/N)’s (E/C) eyes.
“We haven’t been in here since we were what? Ten?” This caused (Y/N) to frown, looking back down at the photo of them in their teenage years.
“Then what’s this doing in here.” They showed Jug the photo, his face going slightly pale. “Juggie, why is this in here?” They asked again. Jughead closed his eyes, head falling back against the wood.
“That’s my favourite photo of us. We look so happy, I-I didn’t want to forget it. I thought up here, It’d be safe.” Jughead looked down at it, smiling slightly.
“Why were you up here, (Y/N)?” He asked gently. (Y/N) sighed.
“Have you ever loved someone, with your whole heart, but you know that they will never love you back?” (Y/N) repeated Betty’s words, looking daringly at Jug for a second. “You know that, if you were to do something about it, it would put your whole friendship in jeopardy.” Jughead frowned this time, looking out the small window at the tender sunlight.
“Yes.” He mumbled, so quiet, that (Y/N) almost missed it. This caused them to freeze,who could it possibly be? both thought. “For awhile now actually.” Jughead grabbed the photo from (Y/N)’s grasp holding it close. “I kept this photo, to remind me, remind me of the moment it happened.” Pulling out the photo from its frame, Jughead held it up to the fading light. At the back of the paper was a date, the day the photo was taken, and the words “Nostalgia-” written scruffily.
“Wait, Jug what are you-what are you saying?” (Y/N) was far beyond confused, turning more to look at him. Jug put the photo down, meeting their gaze.
“As cheesy and as gross as it sounds, you. You’re the only thing I’ve ever had that’s worth anything to me. The only thing, that I can live for. I-I” The words caught in his throat, (Y/N) took this as their moment, and slowly pressed their lips against his. Jughead froze for a second, before returning the kiss, wrapping his arms around (Y/N)’s waist. (Y/N) moved their hands to his neck, gripping the dark locks exposed at the back of his head. Pulling away a few moments later, Jughead pressed his forehead against (Y/N)’s.
“I’m in love with you, Jughead Jones.” (Y/N) whispered, both of them breaking out into a smile. A smile just like the one in the photo.
“As I am with you, (Y/N) (L/N).” He mumbled, pressing another soft kiss to their lips, both of them wrapped in their own world. A sentimental moment, of fantasy, becoming reality.
The loud chatter of your classmates rings through your ears as you wait patiently for the elevator to arrive. You stare at yourself in the reflective surface of the doors, grimacing at the dark circles under your eyes from waking up so early for class after studying until the wee hours of the morning.
You sigh in content as you step out onto your floor, happy to finally be able to take a nap after relentless studying. Unlocking the door, you step inside your room, enjoying the feeling of the cool air surrounding you whilst you drop your bag to the floor and get ready to remove your make up. Then your phone dings.
Plot: Jungkook jokingly makes fun of you and hurts your feels but makes it up to you
Pairing: Jungkook xReader
Words Count: 2,1k+
Genre: Slightly angst/ Fluff
For Anon, I hope you like it cutie!
Gif isn’t mine, credits to the owner! ♥
‘Jagiya!!!’ A voice called through your apartment.
‘In here!’ You called from the lounge.
Your handsome boyfriend came walking in with a smile on his face, ‘And just where I left you.’
‘Ha-ha-ha, very funny.’ You mock, jumping up from the couch and into his arms.
He happily received you into his warm embrace as he wrapped his strong arms around your built and lifted you into the air. With one fluid movement, he spun the both of you as your legs wrapped around his waist. Coming to a stand still, you both looked into each others eyes before he closed the gap between the both of you. You accepted his soft touch, as your lips moulded together and he inserted his tongue when your lips parted for him. He tasted every inch as if it was his first time.
Air being needed, you pulled away and pecked his nose, ‘How was America?’
‘Oh sweetheart,’ He carried the both of you to the couch and sat down, ‘It was amazing. Like the language was slightly hard but Joon hyung helped us every step of the way. I wish you were with me!’
‘You know I would have come if I could.’ You stroked his face, ‘I missed you a lot.’
‘I miss you too.’ He replied, brushing your short hair out of your eyes before a teasing smile spread on his face, ‘Yah! Why can’t you have long hair like normal girls?!’
‘You know that I don’t like long hair.’ You rolled you eyes.
This hadn’t been the first time Jungkook teased you about your choice in having short hair. You liked the way it looked on you and to be honest, it was less admin compared to long hair. It wasn’t as if your hair was cut in a boy hairstyle, but being Jungkook, he didn’t ever take that into consideration. You loved him very much, but his childish qualities made you want to run into the wall sometimes.
‘And why can’t you wear skirts and dresses like other girls?’ He joked around once again.
‘Because shorts and jeans are more comfortable.’ You rolled your eyes.
He placed a hand on your leg and tugged at the material slightly, ‘More like sweatpants and pyjamas.’
‘Only when I am home!’ You retaliated, anger running high and feeling hurt, ‘Did you comeback from America just to point out what it wrong with me?’
’Well n-no Y/N -’
‘If you hate the idea of how I dress and look, then why are you with me?’ You pushed him away, tears brimming your eyes, ‘I am sorry that my comfort and choice of clothing does not suit your ideal type, Jungkook.’
‘I’m sorry that I am not like those female idols and models. I AM SORRY THAT I AM NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU!’
With that, you ran towards your bedroom and slammed the door with a swift lock, ‘I was just joking….’
Throwing yourself on the bed, you sobbed into the pillow that still lingered with his scent. Angry and pissed, you threw it towards the chest of drawer located close to the door. The object hit a picture frame that came crashing to the ground, shards of glass decorating around the wooden frame. Clutching your legs to your chest, you cradled yourself as the tears flowed from your eyes. Crying, a knock came from the other side of the door.
‘Go away!’ You shouted, ‘Get out of my apartment right now!’
‘Jagiya, I am sorry.’ He apologised, resting his forehead on the door while his fist still stayed attached to the wood ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just joking.’
‘Well you have a pretty cynical way of joking.’ You sniffed.
‘You are just so cute when you get all upset.’ He tried to lighten the mood.
‘Then I must be fucking adorable right now!’ You seethed, ‘Just get out!’
‘But you tease the ones you love!’ He tried to reason.
Sighing, he walked away from the door. Message after message, he flooded your phone.
I am sorry baby!
Please let me in? I never meant to hurt you, I would never do that on purpose!
BABY PLWEAAASSEEE! You know I will beg until you let me. You are my one and only, I tease you because I love you. Baby please….
Eventually the messages stopped going through and he figured that you switched your phone off. Every now and then, he would knock on your door and you would scream and shout at him all over again. Jungkook teased you a lot, and you were okay with it. This time just made you feel lower of the low. He had just visited a different country with thousands of beautiful woman and was surrounded by dozens on a daily basis. It felt as if he was comparing you to something you knew you could never become. You were a simple girl studying animation, nothing more and nothing less. Just mundane.
‘Baby?’ He knocked for the fiftieth time as two hours passed before an idea kicked in, ‘The spare key!’ Running to the counter, he opened it up and found the treasure, ‘Bingo!’ Back before your door, he unlocked it with a victory ‘Jagiy….’ He faded out at the sight of you passed out on the bed, ‘Aish, why did you cry yourself to sleep?’
Stroking the side of your face with his index finger, he pulled the sheets back and tucked you in. You snuggled into the sheets and all but smiled when you felt a pillow in your arms. It was the one you threw away. Jungkook pecked your forehead and walked to the shattered frame on the floor. Clicking his fingers, he ran a few errands before coming back to your place an hour later. Slowly you shifted and sat up, rubbing your eyes. Blinking, you noticed a bunch of roses on your chest of draws alongside the picture. But it was in a different frame. Slowly the door opened and Jungkook peeked in.
‘You awake.’ He beamed, pushing the door more and entering with a tray,
‘Did I not ask you to leave?’ You crossed your arms, glaring at him.
‘You did,’ He agreed, placing the tray down, ‘But you know I don’t listen, I am the maknae at the of day.’
‘I don’t want to repeat myself, Jungkook.’ Your voice cold.
‘And neither do I. I made your favourite by the way, but it’s hot so be carful.’ He motioned to the cup of steaming hot chocolate on the bedside table.
‘Jungkook…’ You were about to complain before he placed a finger on your lips and silence you.
‘Enough with the threats, okay?’ He stated, ‘Listen I am sorry for what I said. Sometimes I speak and think you will understand what I mean, but this time I was wrong. So wrong that it caused you pain, and to be honest baby, I hate myself more then anything. The fact that I made you cry made me want to run into moving traffic.’ He held your cheek, brushing your hands over the tear stains, ‘Those tears should never be anything but good happy ones.’
‘Let me finish. Yes you aren’t an idol or model, but I do not care! If I wanted those types, I would be dating them. Y/N, we have known each other since junior high and I have never been the happiest when you agreed to be mine.’
‘I’m so plain and boring.’ You sighed, pulling away from his touch.
‘You say that, but I see a girl who is interesting and different.’ He encouraged, ‘A girl that doesn’t care what anything thinks,’ He leaned in and brushed his lips against your, ‘A girl who makes me proud and happy that she is mine…and only mine.’
You leaned in thinking he was going to kiss you but he quickly scooped you in his arms, flinging you over his shoulder ‘Yah!! Kookie, put me down!’
‘No,’ He looked behind him with a warm smile, ‘I am still apologising.’
‘Still?’ You asked him with a raised brow.
‘So first, we are adorned with a bouquet of beautiful roses,’ He walked by the drawers, ‘The scent that lingers on you everyday and makes me feel like I am floating. Second we are confronted with a picture of you and I. The picture taken on your senior dance and one of my favourite moments I have shared with you so far, and with many more to come. The frame is a sleek black one because of the dress you wore.’
‘You are so cheesy.’ You huffed.
‘Oh baby, you don’t even know the half it.’ He walked out the door.
Your nostrils were ambushed by the scent of sweet smelling fumes and was lightly light with fairy lights. The furniture was rearranged and pillows scattered on the ground. In the middle lay a tray of all your favourite foods and drinks. The TV was on and before it laid a bunch of DVD’s which were all animation. Walking in, you still hung on his shoulder before he got into the centre of the room. Placing you down, he circled his arms around your waist and kissed your neck as he stood behind your body.
‘Before us we see the setting of our first day,’ He reminded, ‘The night we made a blanket fort and watched movies all night with laughs and amazing food.’
‘Kookie…’ You whispered, all anger seeping out.
‘The movies on the floor represent you and I.’ He pointed at them as you removed yourself from his hold and picked up the films, ‘And since you learning to be an animator as well.’
‘Lady and the Tramp?’ You asked with a raised brow.
‘You are my lady, elegant and beautiful while I am the run of the mill tramp.’ He pointed out.
‘You aren’t a tramp.’ You chuckled before picking another, ‘Tangled?’
‘What more then an artistic girl and a goofy man who fall in love through adventure. I want to have many with you Jagiya.’
‘Beauty and the Beast?’
‘A little rough around the edges but I have found my beauty who will turn me into the prince.’
Tears slowly began to well in your eyes as you looked at movie after movie, finally looking at one with a cocked head, ‘Big Hero 6?’
‘You will always be my Baymax, to hold and comfort me through the hard and rough,’ He knelt before you and kissed your forehead, ‘Someone who will never give up on me and always make me feel better.’
‘Jungkook….’ You sniffed.
‘No more tears…please.’ He pressed his forehead against yours, ‘I have caused enough pain for one day.’
‘But this isn’t pain,’ You looked at him, ‘This is tears of happiness, the only tears I am allowed to shed remember?’ He nodded in agreement, ‘But why are you doing this?’
‘Showing me all this love after I wanted you out?’
He chuckled with a hearty laugh, ‘Because you are my Princess and I am nothing but the little frog that will make you happy even if you don’t see it quite yet.’
‘Princess and the Frog reference?’ You asked with a raised brow.
‘I would say its my life motto, but sure, movie reference it is.’ He kissed your nose.
‘Neither,’ You said softly, ‘You aren’t a frog. You are the handsome Jungkook whom is my prince and man I love with every ounce of my heart.’ You admitted, ‘I am sorry for snapping at you…’
‘No I deserved it. I shouldn’t have said what I said, it was wrong of me and I am the one sorry for teasing you.’
‘Well you know what they say, you tease the ones you love.’ You smirked
‘Yah! That isn’t fair, I said that and you wanted to throw me out your house!’
‘That shows how much I love you.’ You smiled, brushing your lips against his and closing the deal with a sweet simple kiss.
It was nothing but a pressing of your lips in his. There was no movement at all, just the two of you frozen and soaking up each others presences and warmth . He had done a lot to make it up to you and proved that he was dearly sorry and loved you will every ounce of his heart. You felt his thumb stroking your cheek as you pulled apart and looked into his eyes deeply.
‘You are such a tease.’ He said softly.
‘Says the pot to the kettle.’ You shrugged your shoulders, standing up with him in tow. He laughed as he shook his head and lifted you in a tight hug, ‘You are such an idiot sometimes.’
When a tragic accident happens in the heart of your hometown - you’re forced to go back to the countryside you’d sworn to forget. In the midst of your world turning upside down you find yourself in a state of panic when the familiar face returns in your life, Dayton White. From the time you were young he was labeled in your mind as the man who got under your skin, with the past brimming to the surface - will you be able to fight off the landslide of love?
Word count: 3,804
Notes: Cursing, Character Death, Funeral
Let me know what you think! :) if this gets to 100 I’ll maybe do a part two. :)
@woah-broah said: “i was wondering if you could do an imagine of the reader and jughead always sharing glances at each other and being too shy to talk to each other at school. Ronnie and Archie end up getting tired of watching them not do anything and end up talking to them and set them up for a date at pops??”
The cafe you work at is small. It’s located on a back street in Gangnam–it’s wooden paneled walls and hanging ferns contrast rather harshly with the posh aesthetic of the richest district in Seoul, but it’s definitely your favorite place in the bustling city.
You’d come to work there by chance. You came to Seoul about a year ago to pursue your masters in international relations and had been lucky enough to find a reasonably priced flat on the edge of Gangnam with the help of your scholarship sponsors. The place was, in your opinion, much nicer than what you were paying for it, and so you’d sought out the landlord of the flat to find out why you were able to pay so little.
The landlord was an elderly man, approaching his late 70s but still extremely spunky in spite of his age. He’d told you quite bluntly that he liked to help out those who helped themselves, and when the scholarship sponsors had mentioned you’d secured a spot for yourself in a grad school here in Korea, far away from where you’d grown up by working your hardest through undergrad, he’d decided to help you by lowering the rent.
You appreciated the gesture, but still wanted to earn your keep, so after much pressing your landlord said you could work part time at one of his businesses under the condition it didn’t interfere with your coursework.
You’d agreed immediately, and ended up as a regular part-timer at the small cafe. To your chagrin, the kind landlord still insisted you be paid at least some sort of wage, which c o m p l e t e l y defeated the purpose of you wanting to work there in the first place, but you could only argue so much.
Regardless of you feeling like you are getting more than you deserve out of the whole deal, you love your job at the cafe.
Today is just like any other. A few customers litter the tables and chairs in the shop, most spots remaining vacant. The place is rarely ever full. It’s location on a small back street keeps too many people from knowing about it in the first place, but the owner (who you’re sure is loaded) keeps it open as a hobby, he himself spending much of his time in one of the squishy armchairs by the bookshelves when he isn’t out tending to his other businesses.
The entrance to get behind the counter is closed off by a partition. One small table sits there off to the side, hidden away from the rest of the cafe but giving just enough of a view to see if someone walks up to the counter.
You often sit at that table to work on your coursework when there aren’t any customers to tend to. You usually sit there alone, but sometimes one specific customer joins you.
The first time you’d met him was during your first week of work. You’d just finished barista training when he’d walked up–the first customer you’d serve on your own. He always wanted the same thing–a cappuccino with an extra shot–and he always wore a white mask over the lower half of his face.
That first day when he’d headed behind the partition you had left your school books on the table. You hurried in an effort to clear off your belongings so that he could have the table to himself.
“You can leave your things. If you don’t mind sharing the table, that is.”
You’d looked up at the customer, his smooth voice surprising you as you balanced the load of books in your arms, “a-are you sure?”
The customer’s eyes had crinkled in what you assumed was a smile. “I’m sure,” he reached out to take the books threatening to fall from your arms, setting them back in their previous spot before settling into his own seat.
And from that day forward you shared the table–you would study and tend to customers, and he would read a book of his own while sipping at his cappuccino. The two of you never spoke, instead just accepting each other’s company at the table and going about your respective business in silence until he eventually got up to leave, waving and saying goodbye each time.
When you asked your landlord about the customer, he just told you that he was a man who enjoyed his privacy and left it at that.
You never know what day the customer will come into the shop, but, when he does come, it’s always at 6 in the evening when the shop is the most empty. You aren’t sure when it happened, but you’d eventually found yourself hoping the masked man would enter every time 6 pm rolls around. The two of you never talk beyond him ordering his drink, but you still somehow managed to develop a crush of sorts on your tablemate. You don’t take it seriously, of course, but you definitely enjoy having company at the table.
As the clock signals the approach of 6 o’clock you find yourself glancing at the door every few seconds, passively hoping to catch a glimpse of dark hair and the white mask. 6 comes and goes, and you sigh in disappointment.
“Not today,” you mutter to yourself as you make yourself a latte and shuffle over to your table.
Being in grad school means you always have something to do, and so you distract yourself from the subtle disappointment sitting in your stomach by burying your nose in one of your textbooks.
You’re a few pages into your assigned reading for the day when the scratching of a chair being pulled out causes you to snap your head up. The masked customer is there, hanging his coat on the back of the chair before sitting down.
“You’re late today,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.
The customer’s eyes widen for a moment in surprise before crinkling to signal a smile, “I guess I am.”
You both hold each other’s gaze for a moment, you still being slightly shocked that the two of you had actually said something to one another beyond his order.
“Oh!” you push yourself from your seat quickly, “I’ll make your drink.” You hurry away behind the counter so fast that you miss the way the masked customer laughs at your sudden outburst, shaking his head as you go.
You bring back the cappuccino, slightly less flustered after going through the familiar motions of making the drink, and set it down in front of him. He had picked up one of your books in your absence and leafs through it’s pages.
“You’re a student, right?”
You nod, and tell him the program you’re in.
He takes a sip from his mug, only lifting his mask enough to take a drink, but not enough for you to get a good look at his face. It’s always like that–to this day you’ve still never seen his face.
“That’s impressive, Y/N,” he says, crinkled eyes meeting your own.
“Thank yo–wait, how do you know my name?”
He lifts a finger to point to your chest, and you look down, puzzled.
“Your name tag,” he supplies.
You feel your face heat up and you mutter out a weak, “oh, right,” before trying to cover up your embarrassment by taking a drink from your own mug.
Silence falls between the two of you then and you swear he can probably hear your heartbeat.
It takes all your courage to muster up a question: “what’s your name?”
The masked customer studies you for a moment, seemingly contemplating your question before firing one right back at you, “can you keep a secret, Y/N?”
You furrow your brow, puzzled, but nod slowly, “yeah, I can.”
He hesitates for a moment before reaching up to pull down his mask.
His face is immediately familiar because who wouldn’t recognize a face that goddamn beautiful. You pass a billboard of that same face when you take the train to school. That same face pops up on commercial breaks and on cardboard cutouts in cosmetic stores.
And even though Hwang Minhyun is now sitting in front of you, the only thing you can manage to say is, “oh…hi.” And it comes out as more of a squeak than an actual statement.
Minhyun looks stunned for a moment, then doubles over, laughter shaking his lean frame as he clutches that white mask in his hand.
If your face wasn’t red before it sure as hell is now.
“Why are you laughing at me?” you grumble, face burning.
It takes another moment, but Minhyun composes himself, wiping at a tear leaking from the corner of his eye, “Sorry, that was just really cute.”
Just when you thought your face couldn’t get any redder.
“So you recognize me, then?”
your mouth drops open, “you’re kidding, right?” you throw your hands up, “I don’t think there’s a human being in Seoul right now who wouldn’t recognize you.”
He chuckles–a sound that makes your heart skip a beat–and swings the mask around on his finger, “so now you know why I wear this.”
You nod, and place hand on your chest in an effort to calm yourself. It feels surreal, a celebrity sitting in front of you like this, but at the same time it’s comfortable–the same as always. You can’t even count how many times you’ve shared this very table with the man in front of you–knowing his name, when you really think about it, doesn’t change anything. He’s still that same customer who always shares your table.
So you stick your hand out, “well then I guess it’s nice to finally know your name, Minhyun-ssi.”
Your action seems to catch him off guard, but only for a second. He grabs your smaller hand with his own, his grip firm, and beams.
“Just Minhyun is fine.”
From then on Minhyun comes to the shop more often, at least three times a week, and the two of you no longer sit at the table in silence. Instead you both converse constantly; him talking about his schedules and training and you talking about your classes and university life. When a test or quiz rolls around, Minhyun even helps you study, often reading definitions from one of your books and asking for the matching key term or checking your notes as you talk through a concept.
Over the next few months interactions with Minhyun become your favorite parts of your week. He becomes a confidant, and someone who seems to align with your own sense of humor more so than anyone you’ve ever met before. He’s also by far the most considerate person you’ve ever come across, often asking if you’d slept enough the night before or if you were eating properly (which of course you aren’t because #college) but always changing the subject whenever the same questions are turned on him.
It’s strange, just how easily he seems to fit into your routine, and you don’t notice just how much you’ve come to rely on his presence until he stops coming to the cafe. You try not to let it disappoint you too much–when your landlord comments on how down you seem lately you plaster on a smile and say you’re just tired from studying, but you know that he probably knows. You avoid that billboard in the subway on your way to classes. When watching TV you change the channel whenever you see that smile that used to be directed at you flash across the screen.
It’d be stupid to admit that a boy you’ve only talked to at work affects you this much. It’d be stupid to believe that someone like Hwang Minhyun would have come to depend on seeing you as much as you’d come to depend on seeing him. It’d be stupid to cry over it.
But you do.
It’s six weeks before he comes in again,
Your semester is wrapped up and you’ve taken on extra shifts at the cafe. You’ve fallen into a good habit of keeping yourself busy by washing dishes that are already clean or triple checking inventory when you aren’t serving a customer just for the sake of not hoping that a certain man in a certain mask walks through the door. So you don’t notice when he walks up to the counter and rings the bell for service. And you don’t even look up when you approach the register to take his order.
“Thank you for coming in, what can I get for you today?” your hands are occupied by a notepad and pen, ready to jot down whatever the customer wants.
“I’m hurt, Y/N. You usually always know my order.”
You look up then and lock onto those familiar crinkled eyes, your heart rate speeding up because he’s here.
You frown, putting down the pad and immediately turning around to make his drink. Your back is still to him when you say, “you can go sit down, I’ll bring it to you.”
You hear him move after a moment of hesitation, but you don’t dare look up to see him disappear around the partition.
You aren’t mad, just overwhelmed, and the methodical process of making his cappuccino gives you a moment to gather yourself.
Your hands are shaking when you bring the mug to your table and set it down in front of Minhyun.
Once settled in your own seat you steel your nerves and look up at him. The mask is off and the corners of his mouth are pulled down in concern.
He opens his mouth to say something but you cut him off: “You disappeared.”
A pause, then, “I did.”
“You didn’t tell me you’d be gone for so long.”
His voice is calm, yours is shaking, and you take a moment to consider your next words before saying them.
“I missed you.”
Minhyun doesn’t respond, instead staring at you with his mouth slightly open.
You stare down at your thumbs as they twiddle in your lap. Great. You’ve made things awkward–he’s back and you’ve just blown everything.
“I’m sorry, Y/N–” You squeeze your eyes shut, preparing for the rejection. “–I missed you, too.”
Your eyes snap open and stare straight at the man in front of you and he’s…blushing?
“You did?” you ask incredulously.
His brow furrows then, “of course I did, why wouldn’t I?”
Your own brows knit together in confusion, “because you just up and left and didn’t tell me anything for six weeks.”
Minhyun leans back and pushes a hand through his hair, “I know, and I’m sorry, it’s just schedules got really tight and it got harder to sneak past my manager to get out of the dorms for a while–”
“Wait what–you were sneaking out before?” Your mind is reeling at this point.
“Well, yeah. My managers wouldn’t be to keen on the fact that I’m going out to a cafe just to see a girl all the time. Not a great look for an idol.”
Your head feels like its spinning and you take a moment to collect your thoughts, “you sneak out of your dorms…to see me?”
Minhyun takes on the same incredulous tone as you, “why else would I come here so often, Y/N?”
“Because I make a mean cappuccino?” you ask sheepishly.
He laughs genuinely then, shaking his head before scooping up one of your hands with both of his own. “I come here to see you, Y/N.”
And there goes your face again, burning like it’s the damn sun.
Minhyun plows on, “at first I would come here just for a break–it’s secluded and no one has recognized me here before so it was nice to have time to myself. But then you started working here and we shared our table and I just started to crave your company. And then that day came along when you spoke to me for the first time and found out who I was and you still treated me like I was a normal person and I just felt so accepted. So yeah, Y/N, I come here to see you. And I’m so sorry I was gone without telling you but I’m back now and I won’t let this happen again.”
You stare at your connected hands, too embarrassed to make eye-contact until Minhyun gives your hand a squeeze and speaks up again.
“Where’s your phone?”
You look up, thrown off by the question, and use your free hand to pull your phone from your work apron and unlock it with your thumb, “it’s here, but why–”
Minhyun doesn’t wait for you to finish, instead taking your phone and passing you his own.
“You said you missed me, so let’s exchange numbers?” He’s already typing in his contact info but pauses when you don’t respond. “…is this okay, or..?” he says, unsure.
You shake your head, beginning to punch in your own info, “yeah, yeah, of course it’s okay.”
He smiles, with a “good,” before passing back your phone and taking his own once you’ve finished creating your contact.”Now we don’t have to only meet here anymore. Because as much as I love our table, I think it’s about time we meet at some other places, too.”
I threw this together in one sitting with the intention of it being a one shot, but I’m not really satisfied with ending it here and i really don’t want to rewrite it…so I might add to it later? Like another installment? Maybe? Someone decide for me haha.
It had been 2 weeks since my mum had been to the doctors. If she doesn’t stop smoking, her respiratory issues will get worse and most likely will result in cancer, but she refused to stop. The only reason she had started was because my dad died, she said that the cigarettes and me are the only two constant things in her life, and she needs us for stability.
So since she refused to stop I would steal the packers she bought, I would remove majority of them as throw them out my window and leave one in the packet for her, so it was easier to convince her that she had smoked most already.
“I’m home” my mum said as she came flying through the door and gave me a tight hug. She had just got back from work with a bag of groceries and inevitably a packet of cigarettes was hidden in there.
“Alright sweetie, how was school?” She began to enquire as she started to unpack the shopping, as I continued to help in search of the dreaded cigarettes.
“Good mum, I had English today and we started work on a new novel, how was work?” As she began to tell me about how Mary lost the files that needs to be sent out by today, I discovered the cigarettes, emptying the packet I poured all but one into my pocket.
“Anyway mum, I need to get ahead start on my homework, We can talk more at dinner” She had already began to clatter about pots and utensils, so I slipped away into my room.
I pulled the cigarettes out my pocket and went to the window, then I slipped out onto the fire escape. I threw them off one by one, with each on that tumbled towards the ground a little bit of stress left me. It was very therapeutic, throwing away those cigarettes. Not to sound to much like fault in our stars but destroying the things that could kill my mum made me feel some what powerful. But with great power comes great responsibility and I was not responsible, so out of sheer curiosity I grabbed a lighter and set the cigarette on fire, and pressed it softly to my lips. I had never done this before I know I shouldn’t, I’m only 15, It was illegal but the temptation was to much. I wanted to understand why my mum did it.
As I began to inhale the toxic greyness that was begin emitted off the white stick, the sweet smoke drifted coolly down my throat and swirled around my lungs like a hurricane. I exhaled, letting the smoke dance out my mouth as It coiled into the darkening sky of Queens and began to blend softly into the skyline. I understand why I got a rush off of it, I hadn’t smoked before but I made no sense for my mum to do it, defeated I dropped the cigarette and let it fall into the alley way below me,
“Ahh! Shit! What was the?!” Someone began to yell from below. Crap. I precariously leaned over the edge preparing to give an apologetic smile and say sorry, I assumed it would be some drunk or homeless man but much to my surprise, Spiderman stared back up at me and narrowed his bizarrely expressive eyes.
“Oh, your Spider-Man” I said out loud now beginning to panic. Not only did I drop a lit cigarette on someone’s head but that someone was Spider-Man, a fucking superhero! I grew more nervous the longer he looked at me and the crush I had on the hero didn’t help me.
He shot a web up to the platform I was standing on, still holding the cigarette that bounced off his head in his hand.
“Is this yours?” He said, looking confused, I don’t think he anticipated that the crime he would catch someone committing tonight was a dumb teenage girl smoking a cigarette.
“Heh, m-maybe” I flashed him an awkward smile.
“Why were you smoking?” He tried to sound intimidating.
“I wanted to know what it was like, my mum does it, I wanted to understand why”
“Oh” that clearly wasn’t the answer he was anticipating,“What was it Like?” He was now intrigued by my thoughts.
“Aren’t you old enough to smoke yourself? Surely your over 18, right?”
“Oh, um yeah, of course I am” He drastically lowered his voice, making him sound less convincingly older.
“So does that mean your more of a Spider-Boy than Spider-Man?” Both of us had completely forgot the reason why he had swung up to me in the first place, and now entirely distracted with our new conversation.
“No! I’m Spider-MAN! MAN!” he overly emphasised man, he was probably rolling his eyes under that mask.
“Okay, Okay Spider-Man, Calm down” we both fell into an awkward silence, but I didn’t know what else to to say. I wanted to keep talking to him, he was not only a superhero but he seemed interesting,
“So, uh how are you?” Stupid, I mentally faced palmed, he’s a superhero, he’s fucking great.
“What?” He seemed both confused and startled by my question, but there was no backing out now.
“I asked How are you?”
“I’m good, I mean not much crime tonight, so, no injuries” I never thought about it, what if he got injured? Where would he go? Does he have anywhere to go? Does anyone know he’s a superhero? He’s probably about my age, he’s just a kid.
“How often do you get injured?” I pulled the cigarette out of his hand, it had burned out so I threw it into the alley way below.
“I don’t know, depends if there’s a fight really, sometimes the injuries are bad but I’d rather it was me than getting hurt than someone like you” I was nearly blushing, I sat down on the steps behind me and placed my head in my hands. This covered the pink glow on my cheeks as SpiderMan stepped closer towards me.
“If it’s really bad you could come over here? I have a bit of medical training thanks to my parents” My mum and dad were doctors so that gave me some basic knowledge and my mum taught me somethings when my dad’s illness got worse.
“So maybe I could treat some of your wounds, next time?”
“I would really like that, thanks”
“Well I can’t have Queen’s hero hobbling back to their house when I can help”
“I-I don’t actually know your name, What is it?”
“My name? It’s Y/N”
“Y/N, good name”
“Heh, Thanks” I smiled letting the blush fully shine on my cheeks.
He stood in front of me, studying my face as I began to study his suit, It was fascinating. Then the peaceful silence we were immersed in was shattered when in the distance a large, bright, blast boomed just two streets over.
I looked into the eyes of his mask,
“Um…well, you should probably go and help, but don’t forget I can always help you if you need it”
“I won’t forget Y/N”
“Good, I’d rather not see you get hurt, Goodbye Spider-Man” Just as he was about to swing a web in the direction of the blast I said,“Oh and sorry about that cigarette”
“It’s not a problem, and thanks for talking to me, not many people are up for a conversation”
“Your mother fucking Spider-Man, I’ll talk to you anytime”
I turned to head back in through me window and as I glanced back around he was no longer on my fire escape. In the distance I seen him swing from building to building, as he morphed into the skyline.
That night the rain battered down against my window as the storm ragged on outside, initially I thought that’s what the pounding was-or my neighbour got lucky- however much to my surprise and horror it was Spider-Man. He clung desperately to the window frame outside as he clutched his right side, both his suit and hand soaked in blood with his suit littered with tares and cuts. The eyes on his masked had scrunched up and through the window I could hear him moan and whine in pain from his fatal wounds.
Claire had always had a knack for compartmentalizing. Whether it was life after her parents’ death, being a nurse in the War, or her recent life as a solitary nomad, she could separate herself from feeling and fear to deal with the here and now. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and set to work.
Despite Claire, Jenny, and anyone else’s opinions on the matter, Jamie had flatly refused pain medications. The stare down between the two siblings was something to behold, but the results didn’t change. He asked for a towel to replace his pillow, a few drams from the farm’s whisky stock, and to be left alone while his back was tended to. Claire had averted eye contact, but caught the gist of the Gaelic arguments going back and forth from all four Scots. They didn’t trust her enough to leave her alone with him, despite the fact that Jamie could probably knock her flat even in his present condition.
“Is… something funny?”
Claire started, nearly dropping the scissors she was about to use to cut his shirt open.
“Don’t do that!” she scolded.
“Sorry,” Jamie replied, though the curve of his mouth suggested he found her quite amusing. “Ought I not be concerned that ye were smirkin’ whilst preparing to slit my shirt open?”
Claire gave him a look. “Oh, I was not ‘smirking’”.
“Aye. Ye were,” he retorted, eyes gleaming with mischief. Claire gave him a look, then smiled and shook her head.
“I think you may be drunk my lad,“ she rejoined, putting the scissors on the table and seeing his raised eyebrow. “Alright. I might have been,” she conceded, taking a knee by the camp bed and pulling a hair tie out of one of her pants pockets. “May I?” she asked, holding it up for him to see.
“No, I am'ne and aye, ye can,” he replied, resting his forehead on his arms so Claire could pull his hair out of the way.
Being caught up in the bantering, Claire didn’t realize how tense Jamie had been. She reached to gather his hair, expecting the warmth of his body this time, but not his reaction. It was as if he unconsciously melted into her touch; like every wave of his copper hair that passed through her fingers rid him of some burden he carried.
Claire could see his pulse beating in his neck, steady but fast; goose flesh rippled over his arms; she knew without looking that he’d closed his eyes. He looked so young and vulnerable and yet he trusted her, a complete stranger, to do this. Trust was a rare commodity these days. She swallowed, placing a hand on his arm again as a sudden wave of tenderness swept through her. He opened his eyes and looked at her, open and fathomless.
“Ready?” she whispered.
He continued to gaze at her for a moment longer before he nodded.
Claire exhaled, gave his arm a light squeeze, and picked up the scissors again. Jenny had brought a stash of saline and had soaked Jamie’s shirt with it in order to make its removal easier. Claire hoped to trade for some before she left. The antibiotic ointments and fresh bandages were lined up and ready.
“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” she muttered, reaching for more saline.
Claire had hoped that the scabbing hadn’t fused with the shirt cloth but found her hopes dashed as she began to tug on the tattered pieces. Jamie’s skin tried to come up with his shirt. The extent of his injuries weren’t apparent while covered up but she could feel now how many lacerations he must have. Claire looked down, seeing that he was clutching the frame of the cot again. As if he sensed her, he opened his eyes to look at her again.
“Do what ye must. I’ll stand it,” he said gruffly, then shut his eyes again.
Claire pursed her lips, but went to grab more damp cloths from the hearth. Placing these by her other medicaments, she grabbed an end of shirt cloth and the saline bottle.
Alright Beauchamp. Squirt the saline underneath and pull the cloth. Stanch bleeding with the damp cloths. Assess. Clean. Disinfect. Possibly multiple times. Keep the wounds moist until scabbing shouldn’t result in infection. Now, how to do this on a large, pig-headed Scot who refused pain medication…
“This is a lovely place,” she said to try to distract him, selecting a bit of shirt that didn’t appear to stick as much.
Saline and pull, saline and pull..
“Aye,” Jamie muttered. “Aye it’s… been in my family since the 1700’s. Ancestral and all that. It’s a bonny place.”
“Mmm,” Claire agreed, pleased to see no bleeding from the first strip. “Are all your family fluent in Gaelic?”
Jamie’s forearms strained as Claire removed the next bit of shirt, taking most of the healed skin with it, but he made no sound.
"Aye,” he said after a moment, realizing the damp cloths Claire was dabbing him with wouldn’t hurt. “Since we were bairns.”
"That’s wonderful,” Claire replied, giving him a moment to recover. “Language is fascinating. Everything else may be shot to hell but people always find ways of communicating.”
"There are more ways than words to do that Sassenach,” the Scot responded dryly.
Claire wasn’t sure she heard him right but, looking down, saw one blue cat eye crinkled in amusement. She smiled and shrugged in assent, appalled to feel a blush creeping up her neck, but her mind returned to his back in the next instant.
God, what did they do?
"Alright. This is the worst part.”
He’d kept his gaze on her and nodded, gripping the cot tighter and setting his jaw.
Saline and pull, saline and pull…. Jamie’s breathing turned into hissing noises, but he still remained silent…. Saline and pull, saline and pull…. the muscles of his arms strained as he held on…
"Almost got it… keep still…” she breathed. Jamie responded with a huff of breath but continued to do as she asked.
Saline and pull, saline and pull…
"Done!“ Claire exclaimed triumphantly, grabbing for the last of the damp bandages to wipe the trickling blood away. Between the stress of removing the pieces of his shirt and the fire in the hearth, Claire felt her own perspiration make its way down her face and back. She wiped her forehead with her arm, then poured more saline on the cloths she’d put in place.
"Well done,” she said softly, bringing a cup of water for him to drink. “I need to clean and redress it, but that can wait a minute.”
"This isna whisky,” he said huskily, forming what he could of a smile. Claire noted the paleness of his face, but his eyes were still focused.
"I promise you’ll be fully rewarded later. Right now though,” Claire gave another Nurse Randall look, “I need you coherent.”
"Careful lass,” Jamie said as she stood. “A promise is a verra serious thing in the Highlands.”
The human body is a miraculous thing. So many connections and processes required for life to go on. Things seen and unseen that is the makeup of a person. Claire removed the cloths and gazed at Jamie’s back in fascinated horror.
"Bloody fucking hell..”
"Aye. It was.”
Jamie sniffed out an uncomfortable laugh, but the tension in his shoulders had returned. Claire took in his flayed skin, some wounds deep enough to cut the muscle underneath. How could he have stayed still like this, let alone ride a horse?
Claire jumped at her name, eyes snapping to Jamie’s. “What?”
"The uh, captain you encountered..” Jamie looked down then. “T'was him that flogged me.”
She nodded and blinked hard, then turned to her pack. He may have refused his sister’s medicines, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t kill him.
"Why were you flogged?” Claire asked, keeping her tone calm as she spread the topical lidocaine through the welts and blood on his back. It wouldn’t completely numb the area, but it would at least take the edge off.
Jamie made a Scottish noise. “Obstruction.”
"Obstruction? Does that exist now, with no one to enforce it?”
"It does if ye have the numbers to make it so.”
"And he does?” she asked, hoping the talk would at least distract from the first round of cleaning.
"Aye,” Jamie all but whispered, blue eyes staring straight ahead as Claire set to work.
"We served together in the Last War. Randall and me I mean,” he continued. “Near on four years ago now, they evacuated our companies from the mainland. I was… glad to come home, away from all of it.“
Claire felt a pang in her own heart at his words.
"Ye might not have noticed when ye arrived but we’ve many tenants near here. Small places that have been part of this land for generations. We didna have the old ways of collecting rents and pledging fealty but… we look after each other. The way it should be.”
"It sounds wonderful,” Claire replied softly, switching out a used cloth for a new one. “Are there many families?”
"Aye, a fair few. Not as many as there once was but-ah!”
"Sorry. This one’s very dirty.”
"S'fine,” Jamie hissed, burying his face into his forearm.
Claire glanced around for something else. “You still have lamps here. Old habits die hard?”
She saw Jamie smirk despite what she was doing to him.
Claire stopped dead.
Jamie lifted his head and grinned at what must have been a flabbergasted face.
"Electricity. Dinna have it where you come from?”
"No one’s had electricity since the virus outbreak spread to the utility systems.”
"Well, this modest farm never tapped into the utility systems. We harvest it with old fashioned water power.”
"No, I’m not. If ye can patch me up, I can show ye tomorrow.”
"Nice try. You’re not moving from this bed for at least three days,” Claire replied, moving on to the next laceration.
Jamie gave a grunt of amusement, but silence soon followed as Claire continued her work. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but Claire felt a weight to it; it was as if something hung in the air that wasn’t quite tangible, but just within reach all the same.
"Why you?” she blurted. “Why did he come after you?”
“I wouldna give him what he wanted. He..” Jamie shook his head, as if to catch the right words. “It’s… personal. Wi’ him, I mean.”
Claire moved to the table to grab the antibiotic ointment. If the scars on this man’s back were any indication, “personal” was an understatement.
“What was it that he wanted?”
A moment passed. Claire thought Jamie was going to ignore her question, but felt him shift a little as he sighed. Exhaustion and sweat lined his body and, when he spoke, he sounded far away.
“Power. Respect. He demanded it, always. The thing he never understood was what it took to earn it.”
Sensing this was all he would say on the subject, Claire nodded, bending down again to smooth Jamie’s hair out of his face. Still pale, but eyes clear. He blinked blearily at her as she touched his cheek with the back of her hand. Slight fever.
“Rest now, hm? I’ll guard the whisky.”
One corner of Jamie’s mouth turned up and he nodded.
“I’ll hold ye to that, Sassenach.”
Claire chuckled, allowed her thumb one light caress of his cheekbone, then stood and covered his back with a light bandage. She’d have to redo the process again, but Jamie needed sleep first.
Claire turned to tell him so but looked down in time to see that his eyes had already closed and his lips were slightly parted in restorative sleep. Smiling to herself, she pulled a tartan blanket off the high backed chair near the head of the cot and laid it gently over him. Claire curled up into the chair, watching over him until fatigue dragged her under, forcing all thoughts and feelings blessedly from her mind.
No one was sending me prompts so I looked up one for inspiration xD
Prompt: “Are you bleeding?!”
“Are you bleeding?!” Alya exclaimed frantically as she opened the hatch to Marinette’s room and located said girl leaning against her window frame clutching her side.
“A-Alya?” Marinette asked weakly, her pain overpowering any rational thought regarding hiding her wound or making sure Tikki was out of sight. Releasing her grip on the window, she took one wobbly step towards Alya, who had frozen at the hatch with tears glistening in her eyes, but the pain in her side caused her steps to falter as she fell to her knees.
“Marinette!” Alya yelled out, scrambling towards the fallen girl and tripping over her feet to land next to her. Grabbing a piece of spare fabric that littered Marinette’s floor, she hurriedly pressed it towards the wound, gathering her small girlfriend in her arms while doing so.
“It’s okay baby, I’m here, I got you, you’ll be okay,” she whispered in Marinette’s ear, pressing kisses to the top of her head before calling out, “MRS. DUPAIN-CHENG, HURRY, MARINETTE’S HURT!”
Summary: Two weeks after waking up with no recollection of the people and ship around you, you take your future in your hands and try to piece together your past and the events that lead up to you losing your memory of the last five years. This means finally meeting Scotty, the man you just learned is your husband.
Word Count: 1,397
Warnings: Headaches, blood, fainting
Author’s Note: This chapter was so much fun to write. Please let me know what you think! Enjoy :)
A ten year old Gustave de Chagny sat beside his unconscious mother’s hospital bed. The faint beeping from her heart monitor provided the young boy no comfort, however the arm wrapped around him did.
Gustave’s dark eyes looked up at the masked man, to which said arm belonged. He felt a lump develop in his throat as he thought of the haunted half of a face hiding behind that mysterious mask. Gustave heard his heart pound in his ears, as the urge to say something, anything, to the silently crying man, grew stronger. He couldn’t think of what words to use, however.
Mr. Y obviously wasn’t his real name, but Gustave couldn’t bring himself to call the tall, dark-haired man “Papa” either. At least not yet. After a few more moment of worrisome, yet not uncomfortable silence. Gustave opened his mouth to address his father, but out of the corner of his eye, saw Christine stir.
“Mother!” He cried instead, rushing over to kneel by her side. She gently reached out and grasped his hand, before shifting her gaze to above Gustave’s head, and faintly extending her other hand in that direction.
The man took her hand as gingerly as ever, and carefully knelt beside Gustave. His skeletal resembling hand looked even more so when holding
Christine smiled, her youthful looking eyes as bright as ever, despite the healing gunshot wound hidden underneath bed sheets and bandages.
“Gustave, I’ll be alright, I promise sweetheart.” The sound of his mother’s soft voice was enough relief to reduce Gustave to tears. Sobs shook his small frame and he clutched onto her hand as if both their lives depended on it.
Christine looked over at the teary-eyed, masked man, “Erik, I-”
But she stopped mid sentence when Erik raised a thin finger. “Christine,” he sang softly, “I love you.”
For the next two weeks, while Christine was healing from her wound, Gustave slept at Erik’s small, well-hidden house, just on the outskirts of Phantasma. Erik had sacrificed his plain bedroom for the couch in his living room, so that his and Christine’s son would get some sort of sleep. On the third night of their little arrangement, Erik opened the door to the bedroom, only to find Gustave lying awake, far past midnight.
“Gustave,” Erik began, taking a deep breath before striding further into the room, and sitting gently at the foot of the plain bed. “Is everything alright?”
The boy sat up slowly, his hair a mess despite his lack of sleep, “Yes…but I- I can’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking about Mother for long enough to.
Erik nodded, and Gustave knew that his father shared his pain. No mask was enough to conceal the way he felt when it came to Christine.
“Usually when I can’t sleep, she sings to me.”
“What does she sing?” Erik’s voice hitched in his throat at the last syllable of his sentence. The mere thought of hearing Christine’s beautiful voice was enough to render him breathless.
“About an angel. An angel of music,” Gustave answered, unaware of Erik’s presence in the songs he so often heard.
“I can do that,” Erik said softly, not meeting Gustave’s eyes as he sung those all too familiar words. “Angel of music, guide and guardian, grant to me your glory. Angel of music, hide no longer, secret and strange angel.”
“You know the words,” Gustave remarked, lying back down as Erik stepped towards him.
“I do,” Erik agreed, pausing before pulling the sheets up to Gustave’s chin, “Your mother is not the only one who has heard an angel of music.”
“Do you think I’ll ever meet an angel of music?” Gustave asked thoughtfully, as Erik opened the door to leave.
“If you are lucky, perhaps you may,” Erik carefully responded, pursing his thin lips after he spoke.
“I hope so,” Gustave said quietly, sleepiness seeping into his voice as his eyes closed.
As Erik was leaving he could have sworn he heard the boy say, “Goodnight Papa.” But shook his head and decided it was his imagination.
(A/N: hey all. this little thing is the product of exam stress, boredom, and my inevitable relapse into full-on rpdr fanfiction addiction. i’ve never written anything for this fandom before so apologies if it’s not the best. i might continue it if the response is good but if not, it was a lot of fun either way!)
A/N: This was really fun to write! I love answering requests, it makes me really inspired to do well! I should be studying for a math test… but here I am!
Request: anonymous asked: hi can i get a junhoe scenario where you as his so gets roped into playing a hidden camera prank on him like the one chanwoo did to him on mix and match where you pretend to be sick and end up fainting ? but the difference is that he shows signs of concern immediately and panics when you start coughing in the bathroom? and when its all over and the prank is revealed, the boys complain that he showed more concern for you than chanwoo and make fun of him for being whipped ?
Summary: When you play a hidden camera prank on your boyfriend, it doesn’t end up as you expected.
Member: Junhoe (Ikon)
“You’re kidding me,” You deadpan, staring at the six boys standing in front of you. They just proposed the most preposterous idea to you and asked you to play a hidden camera prank on your boyfriend, Junhoe. They want you to replicate what happened on mix and match when Chanwoo fake passed out.
“Y/N, it will be so funny,” Donghyuk says, playfully pushing your knee. You were granted permission to go on tour with the boys of Ikon on the condition that you didn’t get in their way. You know that if you don’t comply with the prank, you will most likely to be sent home. However, you are still hesitant to play a prank of that velocity on Junhoe, already knowing how he’ll react.
“Okay, okay. Fine. I will, but you all have to interject before he freaks out too bad,” you cave after a while of begging. You sigh, devising a plan with the boys before returning to your and Junhoe’s shared hotel room. You peek at the camera that isn’t obvious that’s perched in the corner of the room. You stare at it for a second or two, letting the boys that are observing that you’re about it initiate the prank.
Walking over to Junhoe who’s on his bed, you lay across him, looking at the game he is playing on his ipad. He smiles, “Hello, Y/N.” He greets, not looking away from the screen.
You roll over and reply, “I am going to get ready for bed. I will be back in a few minutes.” He pouts at you, pressing a kiss to your cheek.
“Need help?” He asks suggestively, winking at you. You blush like a crazy woman, running to the bathroom and realizing the other boys just heard that. You screw your eyes shut before forcing out coughs, leaning against the door as you do so.
“Y/N? Are you okay?” Junhoe asks. You hear him walking over to the bathroom, knocking on the door. Ou stifle your laugh and twinge of guilt with your hand.
“Yeah, babe. I am fine,” You reply. He walks back to the bed, sitting down. You cough a couple more times, him asking again if you are alright. You assure him that you are fine before executing the rest of the plan. You open the bathroom door, and collapse to the ground as best as you can without making it look fake.
Junhoe is off the bed in mere seconds and grabbing you. “Y/N! Y/N! Y/N! Are you alright?” He yells, shaking your shoulders. He picks you up off the ground easily and places you on the bed, shaking you harder. “Y/N? Please wake up,” he begs, trying to get you to wake up. He stands up, running out of your room as he searches for the others. You sit up, string at the camera again before shrugging your shoulders as if to say “What next?”. You hear Junhoe’s footsteps returning and you flop back down, landing in your original position.
“I can’t find anyone. Damn it,” he mutters. You hear him tapping away on a screen hastily, probably texting Hanbin or Bobby. You aren’t entirely sure what you should do next, but you know you have to stir the pot a little bit. You open your eyes a sliver, rolling over a little and groaning in mock pain. Junhoe drops his Ipad and turns around leaning over you.
“Y/N? Babe, are you okay?” He asks, voice panicked and short of breath. You don’t respond, closing your eyes again and acting as well as you can. “Y/N? Please answer me,” he pleads, his voice rising in panic.
You hear multiple footsteps approaching and you know the boys are arriving.
“Junhoe? What’s happening?”Hanbin exclaims, running over. Junhoe weakly points to you, still holding onto your frame protectively.
“She just collapsed and isn’t responsive,” He exclaims, checking your pulse. You resist the urge to laugh at your overly protective boyfriend.
“I’m sure she’s okay… Maybe she overheated?” Bobby suggests.
“Not possible, have you felt how cold it is in here?” He asks. “Someone call an ambulance,” Junhoe orders, sending Donghyuk out into the hallway to “call and ambulance”.
“They are coming,” Donghyuk lies. You bite your lip, trying to keep your impending laughter inside.
“Will she be okay?” Junhoe fusses.
“Of course she will be, she’s strong,” Jinhwan says. “She’ll pull through it. I am sure she is just e=tired or burnt out.” You hear more footsteps as the camera crew enter the room. You finally let out your bursts of laughter as you roll onto your back in fits of giggles.The boys bust into an orchestra of laughter.
“What the hell is going on?” Junhoe demands, voice full of confusion.
“It was just a hidden camera prank. Y/N didn’t really pass out,” Chanwoo says.”But hey! Why didn’t you care this much when I passed out!” Chanwoo complains, sticking out his lip in a pout. Junhoe sits there in a daze, face completely blank.
“S-So you’re okay?” He asks you, shaking slightly from the adrenaline rush. You get up and hug him, burying your face in the crook of his neck and feeling secure.
“I’m fine,” You reply.
“You didn’t hit your head when you fell or anything?” He asks, taking you face in his large hands and inspecting your head or any bumps or bruises. You laugh lightly, shaking your head slightly.
“June, I am fine,” You reply, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
“Dude… You’re so hipped,” Bobby teases and the other members agree. You tsk at them and they and the camera men leave after taking the camera out. Junhoe flops down onto the bed, hand covering his face.
“Y?N… You really scared me. What if something really happened to you?” He asks, worry written all over his handsome face. Guilt consumes you slightly as you lay down beside him.
“Nothing will happen to me, I promise. I am always going to be here,” You soothe him. He wraps his strong arms around you, clutching your frame against his strong body.
“You better keep that promise or I don’t know what I would do,” He whispers. The two of your fall asleep that way, the weight of promises hanging idly in the air, a comfortable silence com=consuming the earlier conversation. Both of you are content, and that’s all that matters.
Summary: You are left broken hearted after your boyfriend
breaks up with you over accusations of flirting with the avengers (+ mainly
Bucky). Upset, you go to Bucky and Steve’s apartment and they help you out.
(Bucky also has a crush on you tho, and apologises)
I came up with this idea randomly so I hope its good! Hope
you like it, enjoy! I will probably do a part 2 as this started to get large, so let me know if you would like a part 2. Emma Xx
The words rang through your head, echoing down the corridors
of your apartment and swarming everything you touched. Dougie had consumed your
life and everything which surrounded you, and for him to be cast away from your
life, totally ruined your whole existence.
Everything he touched.
Everything he spoke of; he liked.
“St… Steve?” you whimpered, snuffling as you cleared your
throat slightly. Steve instantly realised the soft and tender voice echoing
down the phone and raced to the door, unlocking it ready for you to appear in a
while. “Y/N? What’s happened?” he panicked, nodding over to Bucky who instantly
seemed alerted. “I went to pick Dougie up from the bar and… and he was there
with like three girls and when I asked him what he was doing…” you sniffled, “he
yelled at me. It’s all my fault!” you wailed. “He said I’ve been flirting with
you guys and shit. So he went off the rails and he’s basically single now,” you
wept, your voice cracking slightly as you finished your sentence.
“Ok, come round, we are both in and we can talk and stuff,”
replied Steve, dismissing your language which he would normally pick up on. Glancing
to Bucky, he softened his face as he put down the phone. “She’s coming round,”
stated Steve, easing off his seat with his coffee mug.
“Oh ok,” replied Bucky, hiding his slight excited-ness at
your presence. “Err, is it wrong to ask why?”
“Dougie thinks she was flirting with us and the rest of the
team. He took it so far he went out drinking and he had three girls hanging off
him when she got there,” sighed Steve, placing his mug in the sink and binned
an empty can of beer. “That’s fucked up,” exclaimed Bucky, easing himself down
onto the sofa.
“Hey watch the language!” chirped Steve. “But I do agree
“I mean, I am a way better boyfriend! I would never do that
to anyone! God, and especially Y/N. She is so nice, you know. And she would
never try to hurt anyone!” spouted Bucky, never seeming to end his personal
conversation. “I know you like her and all, and maybe this is some kind of
chance for you, but not right now, please. She is still heart-broken even
though she will be happy it’s over in the end. Just lay it off, for today at
least,” warned Steve, reaching for the TV remote.
“Hey Y/N,” welcomed Steve, ushering you through the door and
into his arms. “Heyyyy, alright calm down, lets get through the door and we can
talk,” assisted Steve, clutching your frame as you wept into his shoulder.
Nodding through the tears, you walked through to the main living room to where
Bucky was sat on the sofa, looking over to you. “Omg, Y/N, come here!” called
Bucky, opening his arm up for you to sit with him. “What happened?” he asked,
wiping away a tear from under your eye. Sighing, and stifling the urge to weep
once more, you began: “Well Dougie was never very comfortable with me working
around guys like you two and Clint and Thor and stuff. So one day he saw me
training with Clint I think and we were sparring and so we were having a good
time, but he totally took it the wrong way and went off the rails. I came home
and he was in the worst mood and he said he was going out, so I went along with
it, thinking he was gonna blow off some steam. Turns out, when I go to look for
him, he is totally letting loose and making out with girls. I threw a drink at
him and left. I think he followed me out but I just screamed we are over and
then left,” you spouted, turning to Bucky to see his face soft and mellow.
“I just wish he at least trusted me. It’s stupid I know but-“
“-Hey, it’s not stupid. He should have trusted you in your
profession, even if it did mean you were surrounded by hot muscly men!” he laughed
at the end, peering down at himself. Smirking over to you, you peered over to
Steve who was trying hard to hold it in. “Aaha, yeah. That’s a thing,” you
Oops, I didn't send characters... Um... Robert & Vic :) for number 8
#8 - “i’ll be right over”
Robert was sprawled out on the sofa when his phone rang, his face pressed to Aaron’s chest, the television blaring in the background. Groaning, Robert reached across to the coffee table, Victoria’s contact picture flashing on his screen.
“Answer it,” Aaron nudged, muting the television.
Robert unlocked his phone, shifting slightly so he was propping himself up on Aaron’s chest, half smiling at the fingers Aaron was running through his hair as he held his phone to his ear. “Hiya, what’s up?”
“Robert?” Victoria sounded tearful, her voice cracking as she mumbled out his name.
“What’s happened?” Robert was imeadiately alert, scrambling to untangle himself from Aaron.
“I had a few - hic - drinks, and I just, I’m so sad, Rob.” Victoria sounded so helpless, so sad that it had Robert’s heart racing, wondering where the hell she was, what kind of state she was in.
“Are you in the pub?”
“No, ‘m at home.”
“I’ll be right over, okay?” Robert said, already searching the living room for his trainers. He was dressed in his comfy clothes, he and Aaron planning on a lazy night in.
“Is she alright?” Aaron asked, sitting up on the couch. He looked worried, and for a second Robert felt his heart swell with love for his husband, and the love he had for Robert’s little sister.
“She’s really upset about something, I don’t know what,” Robert knew he sounded panicked, grabbing a discarded hoodie of Aaron’s to throw on over his tracksuit bottoms. “I’d better go over there.”
“Do you want me to come?”
Robert shook his head, grabbing the spare key he had for Victoria’s place before he planted a kiss to Aaron’s lips. “I’m sorry, I know it’s meant to be our night in,” he apologised, hating that their lazy evening in was being cut short.
Aaron shook his head, giving him a soft smile. “Go look after your sister, Rob. Text me if you need me, yeah?”
Robert nodded, heading for the front door. He walked the short distance between their flat and Victoria’s cottage, letting himself into the house. “Vic?” he called out. “Vic, where are you?”
“In here!” Victoria called, shouting from the living room.
Robert’s heart broke as he took in his little sister’s position on the living room floor, a picture frame clutched in one hand, a half drunk bottle of wine in the other, her cheeks tear stained and flushed bright red, whether it was from the alcohol or the crying, he wasn’t sure.
“Come here,” Robert eased the bottle of wine from her grip, his stomach clenching uncomfortably as he notice who was in the picture. It was of the four of them, a photo taken long before Andy, even - Victoria a tiny baby bundled up in Sarah’s arms, Robert tucked under a proud Jack’s arm.
“I miss them.” Victoria admitted tearfully, letting Robert hoist her up off the floor, settling her down on the couch. “Do you miss mum and dad?”
Robert nodded, brushing a hand through Victoria’s tangled hair. “Yeah, I do. Everyday,” he admitted, knowing Victoria was feeling the all too familiar ache of grief in her chest, that tight, twisted feeling that made you feel as though it was taking an effort to breathe properly.
Victoria nodded tiredly. “I didn’t mean to get all drunk ‘n sad,” she mumbled, hugging her knees to her chest, looking every inch the six year old kid Robert remembered her being, confused as to where their mum was, why she wasn’t coming home.
Robert sometimes forgot, what Victoria had been through. She’d lost everyone by time she was fifteen, and Robert hadn’t even been around when Jack had died, hadn’t been there to help her get through it.
“I’ll make you a cup of tea, eh?” Robert said, unfolding the blanket Victoria kept folded on her couch. He vaguely recognised it as a blanket they used to have up at the farm, a blanket he remembered used to be thrown over the armchair in their living room, the chair their mum would always curl up in with a book in the evening time.
He tucked the blanket in around Victoria, his sister snuggling into the couch. He padded into the kitchen, flicking the kettle on, setting about making them two cups of tea.
Extra sugar in Vic’s, just in case.
“Here you go,” Robert handed her the cup of tea, kicking off his trainers so he could get under the blanket with Victoria, the raggedy old blanket a familiar reminder of the home they’d grown up in.
It hadn’t always been a happy home, but it had been their home.
Victoria nestled in close to his side, starting to sober up a bit as she sipped at her tea. “Will you tell me about mum?” she asked, her voice muffled by the material of Aaron’s hoodie.
Robert wrapped an arm around her, pressing his chin to the top of her head. “Did I ever tell you about the time she caught me stealing the Christmas biscuits from the tin? It was only November, she went absolutely mad!”
You hurried down the corridor to set the fires before the royals awoke. Other maids bustled past you, lighting lamps and setting the table for breakfast. Most of them spared you a nod when they brushed past you before going on with their tasks.
As you passed the third footman, he slipped you a piece of paper. You nodded your thanks and moved on towards the breakfast room.
Once you had set the fire, you unfurled the note. It was written in a cipher around the key code “Washington”. You worked quickly, pretending to clean the grate, and decoded it.
M received word of mission in NY. Find out more. - W
You threw the piece of paper into the fire and stayed until it had burned completely. Then you got up and set off for the next room. Mulligan- for that was M- had uncovered a secret mission for some of the King’s men and you, ideally placed in the King’s castle, had to find out what.
Washington had sent you over after the war began, securing you a spot as a maid. In the few months since, you had worked quietly and efficiently, returning whatever intelligence you could. Now, though the work was hard, you got to set the fire in the King’s office and in his bedchambers.
As you crept into the King’s chambers, you had resolved to try and speak to him. You could, of course, just look around his office, but there was no guarantee that he had any of the papers that would tell you what you wanted to know.
You were purposefully a little loud unloading your tools and fiddling with the fireplace. You heard him roll over behind you and held your breath as you got up.
His eyes were open and the moment they met yours you returned to the servant role you were acting. “I’m s-so sorry, your majesty,” you stammered, lowering your gaze, “I did not mean to wake you.”
You watched him get up, stretching and blinking in the light of the curtains that some other maid had opened. “I expect better next time,” he said, sauntering over to you.
Fighting the urge to look up, you nodded. “Of course, sir.”
A moment later, you felt his fingers on your chin, forcing you to lift your gaze. You found yourself staring into curious blue eyes and reflexively looked away. He tutted and you reluctantly looked back.
You swallowed, suddenly scared. This was the man with the power and the desire to see your country reduced to a nation of taxpayers. “Who are you?” he asked, smirking.
“Y/N, your majesty” you curtsied.
“A pleasure to meet you,” he said. He let go of you and you took a hasty step back. “I expect I’ll be seeing a lot of you, Y/N.”