so this is quite a soft one, besides from Taehyung’s one so, warning for that, but i wanted to do something cute and innocent, even though im not good at it (i hate being cheesy and the majority of fluff fanfictions are, like, throw up kinda cheesy) but either way here’s how BTS would propose to you!
as always make sure you send me requests for reactions/imagines/preferences!
some of this content is for mature minds only (taehyung) ;)
harry trying to pretend that he’s not sick and going hard for x factor, but then he just wants to be taken care of after
He’d been feeling off all day.
And no matter how many black teas he knocked back at breakfast and how much water he powered through during the day at rehearsals, nothing seemed to make him feel any more perked up and alive. His throat was beginning to sport a slight rasp with his words, his belly bubbling and his appetite disappearing, but he passed it off as nerves, when his wife brought takeaway boxes, full of food from the café into his dressing room, his eyes stinging and his eyelids sitting heavy. Usually, he’s excited to get out on stage and perform, and he’d been excited all week to get back to the place where it all began for him, but once the mid-afternoon struck, all he wanted was to go home and have a bath, a cuddle and a sleep.
Too late to cancel.
But he was thinking, deep in the back of his mind, about distancing him, making himself sick, so he had evidence, proof, enough to show that he wasn’t well enough to sing and to pull out.
But Harry wasn’t one to disappoint. Especially when it came to the fans who had been waiting in the studio to see him. The excited fans watching in front of their tellies in their homes. The fans who were up early to see his performance through a grainy live-stream on their laptop. Shaking hands with Dermot and Simon, who had both popped backstage to see him, a fake smile sitting on his lips as he hoped Lou’s make-up did the trick in hiding just how dull he felt. A little shaky on his legs as he adjusted the legs of his yellow trousers, adjusting the jacket sitting on his shoulders and over the top of his black button-up. Pressing a kiss to his wife’s lips before disappearing to start off the show and to show his face amongst the rest of the contestant occupying the balcony above.
His missus isn’t stupid. And she’s known him plenty of years to see right through the false façades he puts on when he’s hiding something. She knows he’s sick. She knows he isn’t feeling his best and she knows he’s putting on a brave face, all whilst feeling like his immune system was giving up on him. Hating him for how selfish he was to himself and having to prepare to gentle scolding when she next saw him - his outfit change happening in due time - about how many times she’d told him to look after himself and to step back, if needed, to keep his health kicked up.
Except by the time his outfit change had come around, he was in and out and giving his all on a circular stage. The upbeat song doing no good to his sore vocals, falling breathless by the time the song came to its unwanted end and barely being able to speak without feeling as if his throat was burning and the small amount of food that he’d picked at, before he went on after continuous begs from the people around, was slowly rising. Disappearing off stage, wanting nothing more than to be wrapped up in the comforting arms of his wife, his eyes burning with unnecessary tears.
“Hey, hey,” she whispers softly, his face pushed against her neck as he held onto her tightly and sobbed against her neck, “oh, hey now, what’s the matter?”
“Jus’ wana’ go ‘ome,” he mumbles into the material of her sweater, ignoring the tickling sensation of her fingers dragging up and down his spine through the purple material he’d changed into, “please, jus’,” he lifts his head up and she can truly see how pained, how sick, how desperate, he was, “jus’ take me home. I jus’ wan’a go home.”
“We can do that,” she smiles, cupping his chin in her palms and running her thumbs beneath his eyes before brushing over his upper lip, “you’re so silly. God, you’re such an idiot sometimes. You could have rescheduled this performance if you didn’t feel so good. I’m sure people would have understood. Need to think about yourself sometimes, don’t you, hm?” She presses up on her toes and nudges her nose into his wet cheek, “come on. Let’s go say goodbye, grab a couple of plastic bags for the journey home and then we’ll get you tucked up in bed with some water and some tablets and I think I can spare a cuddle.”
“Spare a cuddle?”
“For you? Always,” she grins and feels his stubble against her lips as she presses a kiss to his skin, “I think you could do with a bath, too. How does that sound? A bath, a cuddle and a nice big, clean bed to sleep in.”
“Will you bathe with me?” He questions shyly, his lips quirking up to the side, “please?”
She nods and brushes his fringe back, her fingers raking his brown locks.
Imagine Chris surprising you during an interview. You’ve been on a press tour promoting your first big film, and love to mention your biggest celebrity crush - Chris. During this particular junket, he pops out from backstage as soon as you mention his name. He comes over to you, looking at you with eyes as blue as the ocean, and asks if you’d like to get dinner with him tonight. You’re so starstruck that your stomach fills with butterflies and your mind goes blank. All you can manage is a nod - even if you can’t find words, there’s no way you’re missing your chance at a date with Chris Pine.