thinking about calling up ex!sylus after a fight in some random alley in the n109 zone ends horribly. in your eyes, the world is spinning. you stumble into a wall and let gravity slide you down on your knees. and there's blood. so much blood. but you're alive, thankfully. you can't say the same for the five guys who ganged up on you.
you fish around your pocket for your phone, struggling to unlock it with your slick, red fingers. once you're in, instinct takes over reason. you call the one person you know will make it to you in time.
the phone rings once. twice. it's the most agonizing five seconds of your life as the pool of red on your feet grows bigger.
when his voice cuts through the silence, you waste no time in telling him what's happened to you.
you're far too gone to really consider the words you choke out. you can only hope that it's enough for sylus to find you as your vision goes dark and your consciousness slips.
he arrives in less than ten minutes, with the help of mephisto who he sent out to locate you.
his heart sinks when his eyes catch the trail of blood leading into the alley. he steps off his bike and runs. one defeaning thud of his boots on the concrete after the other.
he finds you soon enough. and with the state you've been left in, he's inclined to think of the worst.
sylus kneels before you. he wills his fingers to stop shaking as they inch closer to your neck. a weight is lifted off his shoulders when he feels your pulse that's barely there. it's weak, but it means only one thing. that you're alive.
he takes you back to his manor. large hands work to delicately patch you up.
you'll have much to talk about when you wake up—if the desperation in his voice as he begs you to keep yourself awake is anything to go by. if what you had uttered before falling unconscious (faint, broken whispers of i love you. the kind that he only used to hear in the dead of the night on his bed, with you in his arms) should mean anything.
thinking about jason, and how he never truly feels that he's home even as he stumbles into your shared apartment after a long night of patrol.
not until he sees you, dozing off on the couch with a book laying flat open on your stomach, head hung over the armrest in a way makes your neck ache and pulse. not until he's taken off the leather gloves from his hands and has his fingers hovering a few centimeters shy of your skin. a beat passes before he lets himself finally touch you, let his fingers glide. slowly, until he's cupping your cheek between his palms. like he's figuring out if this is a dream—like he's trying to convince himself that it isn't.
not until your eyes flutter open, and he can only watch in disbelief when your pupils widen, shine in equal parts relief and joy as you take the sight of him in. your eyes scan his face, no doubt looking for new scars or bruises to fret over, and jason's breath all but catches in his throat over how much you care.
"jason."
not until he hears you and your voice, hoarse and muddled with sleep, but no less loving in the way you say his name. no less affectionate in how you speak to him.
"you're home."
not until you take his hand in yours and thread your fingers together. you bring your entwined hands close to your lips to press a featherlight kiss over his knuckles, with a kind of softness that astounds him. makes him wonder how much of this he truly deserves.
but you spare him no time to sit with his thoughts before you sit yourself up and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him flush against your skin. and though jason has always been one to run hot, he feels a kind of heat no sun nor flame will be able to provide now that he's in your arms.
"i am."
and finally—finally, jason is home. finally, jason is with you.
min ho who claims to hate you, insists that you're the most annoying, bothersome person in his life, but is also the one who knows every little thing there is to know about you.
min ho who complains that you talk too much, that he's never given a moment of peace whenever you're around because of your incessant yapping, but he's the first person to bring up the latest episode of your favorite show. the topic sends you into an unstoppable spiral, has you going on and on and on that you don't even have the time to think about how he knew there was a new episode to begin with. min ho rolls his eyes once your rambling ends, makes a quip about how he didn't know you'd talk that much, and acts as if he hadn't been listening intently to every word that came out of your mouth. like he didn't ask you questions, brought up details from past episodes that he knows would get you to talk more.
min ho who drags you through the mud for being such a picky eater, eyes the vegetables you shove to the side of your plate with disdain, but he wordlessly reaches into your plate to pick out everything you don't like before you can do it. he leaves just enough of it, though, if he knows it's not something you're allergic to. he doesn't give you the chance to whine, claiming that your not eating of those nasty veggies is the reason for your skin breaking out. but really, min ho just wants you to eat something healthy for once.
min ho who comments on your less than decent grades, borderline making fun of you, but he gives you a copy of his meticulously written notes complete with a set of practice problems. he tells you to meet him in the library after your classes, and you find him in one of the tables tucked at the very back, away from prying eyes. he's got almost every inch of the table's surface covered with notes and books and flashcards, and you spot a bag of snacks he'd smuggle in hidden beneath. you gather the courage to ask him why he's putting in so much effort for you, and he says it's because your grades are pitiful, that he can't let anyone associated to his name horrendously failing.
min ho who confesses in the quiet of the night, just before a week long break from school when he knows no one will be checking the dorms. who remembers that you like confessions that are intimate, none of those grand, over the top gestures in public but rather, something that's shared between two people. between the only people who really matter.
it works for him, too, because in all the years he's spent dating, asking girls out left and right like it's as easy as breathing, you're the only one who's brought him to such a state. an embarrassingly deep shade of red dusting his cheeks that's thankfully hidden by the darkness of his room. the hesitation in his voice that's so unfamiliar, it tastes like acid on his tongue. the way he stumbles over his words, flailing helplessly as you stare at him wide eyed.
it's maddening, what you've done to him. how you seem to have no knowledge of just how deep his feelings run for you.
but it's worth it, min ho thinks, when your stunned expression morphs into one of delight.
it's worth it, when you take his hands into yours, clutching at his fingers for dear life as you tell him that you like him too.
heading straight for caleb's apartment after a bad day at work where he takes one quick look at you, stares for half a second at your eyes that are notably absent of their familiar shine, and pulls you into a hug. strong arms circle around your waist. he lets one of them stay there, endlessly pulling you flush against his body, while the other creeps up to the back of your head. caleb tucks the crown of your head under his chin, letting the pointed bone dig at your scalp just so, in the way he knows you've always liked it.
he feels you breathe.
in—
a deep, steady inhale that greedily takes in his scent. he smells like home, you once said. of sunsets, wasted away at the backyard as kids, the fabric of your shirt clinging to your backs with sweat. of being called back to the house by grandma, the offer of cookies fresh from the oven too enticing to refuse. caleb hopes you find the nostalgic comfort your shared childhood brings as the tip of your nose brushes against his neck.
—hold,
you pause, chest drawn back. he pats down your hair. long fingers work to pull apart the knots and tangles. he catches the strap of your workbag just before it falls to the floor with a heavy thud.
—and out.
it's shaky, the way you breathe out, hot air wafting at his skin in tiny puffs. your shoulders tremble the slightest bit.
you're trying. you're trying. to pull yourself together. to hold onto the last vestiges of control you have over your emotions. it's hard work, he knows, so he holds you. just a touch tighter. grip growing a tad more firm, but no less tender. no less gentle.
"i'm here now, pipsqueak." his voice no louder than a whisper. "no need to keep holding on for me. let go."
your body tenses under his touch. a beat, and you fall limp, slumping against his chest. you choke out a strangled sob as hot tears spill past the corner of your eyes uncontrollably.
caleb feels the strike of something sharp and painful in his heart when your cries don't let up. he can't stand it. he wishes, desperately so, for the demise of anything and everything that could bring you pain to the point of tears. you don't deserve to be brought down like this.
"i've got you now. it's ok."
but no matter. he'll be here. time and time again, caleb will be here. tirelessly, unconditionally, to help you back up on your feet.
a/n: listen. listen to me. this started out as something ENTIRELY different to what it ended up being. it's supposed to be a fun little piece, maybe even a tad suggestive. like im not even sad rn so idk how we got here.
ex!dick grayson can't stand it when your phone rings after a mission briefing. he doesn't even have to look your way to know that your lips are curled into a stupidly sweet smile when you read the caller id. but he does, like the sick masochist he is, and he's struck square in the chest with something that's entirely too similar to what he felt when you both called it quits a year ago.
he hates it when he spots you rushing to the zeta tube not even five minutes after you came back from that mission. you're already dressed for a date. he knows, despite the leather coat you've got wrapped around your frame, because he catches sight of the little black dress you're wearing beneath it.
he hates it even more because it all used to be him.
his calls that brought a smile on your face.
his eyes that you're wearing that dress for.
him driving you on the back of his motorbike to make it to your reservation, barely skirting the grace period.
and as much as dick tries to convince himself that he's moved on, insists to his family and friends that you seeing other guys doesn't affect him because it's been almost a year since you've split up, he can't deny the part of him that clings to the promise you made to each other all those years ago. that it would be you and him, hand in hand, against all odds. until your dying breath.
rafayel waxing poetic about you in lemurian because there are certain things about you that the english language can only dream of describing and you're trying to get him to translate it for you, nipping at his sides and pinching his cheeks to get him to budge or at the very least, stop. the combination of his silky smooth voice speaking in his native language and this look he's giving you—eyes bright, the lines of his face softened—is just unfair. it's too much. but he goes on and on and on, until finally, the sight of your cheeks flushing a bright red and your hair a perfect mess from all the tugging you did brings him to a pause.
rafayel chuckles, curling his fingers around your wrists before uttering one final phrase in lemurian.
and this one, you know.
"i love you." he says. but it's so much more. so, so much more. you can tell, by the weight his eyes carry, unmoving in the way they gaze at your own. you know, too, by the words he'd spoken earlier in the comfort of the language he's known since birth. even without really knowing what they all meant.
you know, so you say it back to him. not nearly as perfectly pronounced as he did, but he's said it to you enough that the syllables hardly feel foreign on your tongue.
it does the trick. rafayel brightens. slips two fingers beneath your chin to pull you into a searing kiss, his arm slipping around your waist to swiftly sit you down on his lap, and it's enough. you may never know what he said to you, what he said about you. but this, this is enough.
Hii again, sorry if I'm asking for a lot of Cedric requests (you can ignore this if you'd like). But there's this idea that's been plaguing my mind, where Cedric has always been told he has a lovely, charming, or beautiful smile that brightens up people's day or anything of the sort. But to him he doesn't really know what people mean when they say that. Until he sees reader's smile that just instanyly brightens up his day. "7 billion smiles, but yours is my favorite"
Thank you for reading thiss
hi nonnie! im assuming you're also the one who sent the ced request i got prior to this one and if so, please dont apologize!! i truly adore this man and i love writing for him! i hope i was able to do your prompt justice w this one eheh MWAH <333
if cedric's got a sickle for every time someone has told him he had a pretty smile, he'd be bloody rich by age fourteen.
he's heard it from everyone. from strangers on the street, older men with a head full of gray hair seeing a reflection of themselves decades ago in his youthful eyes. from letters he'd find slipped into his bag, secret admirers waxing poetic about his smile, how it had been enough to make the hour and a half they spend in snape's class bearable, how seeing him from across the great hall at dinner was the one thing they look forward to the most.
he's heard it first, and perhaps most often, from his own mother, who'd take his cheeks into her hands and look at him as if she's holding the entire galaxy between her palms.
"you've got the loveliest smile, my dear boy. never lose it."
but he doesn't know what it means, to have a smile that brightens up the room. he can't wrap his mind around how one tiny smile can be enough to rid someone free of the burdens they accumulate as dawn turns to dusk.
cedric doesn't understand until he finds himself tucked in a corner of the library, buried under a mountain of books and parchment on what's supposed to be a weekend spent at hogsmeade.
he normally has a better hand at managing his responsibilities, but the combination of head boy duties, quidditch season starting in two weeks, and the workload that comes with n.e.w.t. level classes has made it impossible to do anything but thank merlin that he even manages to get through a single day.
cedric fights the urge to groan as he feels the seeds of an all familiar headache sprouting. an invisible force pounds against his head, a faint thud every few seconds that sends a twitch to his eye, but he knows it won't take long until he feels like an ogre is bashing his head against the thick books laying in front of him.
he wishes nothing more than for you to be here, with your own share of work, filling the stifling silence of his own little corner of the library with your frantic scribbling on parchment.
you'd let him take a break by now, body slumping against yours as he slots his head on the crook of your neck. he would breathe you in, greedily, and bite back a grin when you giggle at the ticklish feeling of his nose brushing against your skin. your fingers would find themselves tangled with his hair, tugging at the roots and digging at his scalp with enough pressure to release the tension on his shoulders.
he needs you, overwhelmingly so, but your friends had already whisked you off to hogsmeade before he could even ask if you'd want to join him.
at this point, he'd much rather take the ogre than spend another second alone.
"there you are."
cedric's head snaps towards the direction of your voice. he knows you're talking, watches the open and close of your mouth and the almost animated expressions your face dons as you approach him, but he's not hearing any of it.
he sees your smile, a reflection of the sun and the stars, and finally, he understands just how powerful it can be. he remains in a trance even as you clear a spot on the table for you to sit. his body moves entirely on auto-pilot, thighs spreading apart to make way for your legs as he drags himself and his chair closer to you. you've barely touched him, and yet he feels as if he's being pulled into a warm embrace by the clouds as you fish for his hand, locking your fingers together.
"love? are you alright?"
cedric swiftly slides his arms around your waist. he rests his head on your lap and hopes that the quiet hum he lets out is enough to quell your worries.
"better, bug. now that you're here."
vividly, he can imagine the face you make. a grimace in feigned disgust, your bottom lip between your teeth as you try to hold back a giggle.
"that's cheesy, ced." you give his head a light shove before running your fingers through his hair, to which cedric responds with a laugh and the tightening of his arms. he's given you no chance of escape, palms clutching onto the flesh.
"it's the truth."
and it is. if your smile had been enough to ease the ache in his body, brighten his day despite his workload that refuses to decrease, what more now that he's got you in his arms.
being a med/premed student and having zayne as your boyfriend is literally a godsend. he helps you study for your exams, quizzing you on each topic until you nail them down and explaining those you just can't seem to wrap your head around in a pace most comfortable to you. he's patient, always adjusting how he teaches things in whichever way you can grasp them quickly. sometimes, he likes to challenge you, asking questions in between each point of the procedure as a way to work your brain. other times, he guides you carefully through it, holding your hand each step of the way. he speaks slowly, emphasizing the key points and allowing the little gears in your mind to turn.
he makes sure to reward you accordingly. a kiss on the tip of your nose for every five questions you get right. on the cheek for every ten. one on the lips if you can explain concepts or procedures without stuttering. a whole night of cuddle time if you manage to make it through your study sessions.
and something more, something a little heated if he feels you've surpassed your limits for the day and yet you insist on doing more. one hand on your thigh, his hot breath fanning across the skin behind your ear as he coaxes you into going to bed, and you're a goner, already mindlessly following zayne to your bedroom with a few disgruntled complaints about how unfair he is muttered under your breath.
how else is he supposed to ensure you get enough rest anyway?
and he talks you through it on days where it's exceptionally hard. when you feel like you're drowning in coursework and just barely passing test scores. when you lose sight of the future and begin to question the decisions you made. he moves your hair out of the way and wipes the tears off your face, reassuring you that it'll get better soon, and he'll always be by your side through ups and downs.
