#‘broken up’ in the sense that somebody says we need to stop or pause or whatever but. we just start acting more committed and like a couple

[johnlockdynamic]

genuinely so fucking weird that the gym is our safe space.

[elslittlestories]

The week after - Hunter (The Bad Batch)

This is a follow-up to "The morning after", a short fanfiction toying with the idea of an asexual Hunter and sensory issues. There should be a part 3 some day...

Gender neutral reader

1.5k words, some allusions to sex but nothing explicit

[Read on AO3]

⚠️Updated version available under the title:

Hunter stands at your front door, staring at you while he waits for your answer.

“You’ve got some nerves,” you say.

It’s been a week since that party on the beach, the kiss you shared and…everything else. Maybe asking you to go for a walk, like he has done so many times since you met, wasn’t such a great idea after all. But he’s not ready to give up.

“I’m sorry, I…Can we talk?”

You huff, intrigued despite yourself. After all, he’s here, and he does look sorry. You refuse to let hope take over you, but you step away from the door to let Hunter in. He follows you and you both sat across the kitchen table.

“I wanted to apologize,” says Hunter with a slight quaver in his voice.

“Took you long enough”, you can’t help but grouch.

Although it doesn’t bring you the sense of revenge you were looking for.

“I know…I needed it. I left Pabu for a few days.”

“So I’ve heard. Omega said you and Tech had some errand to run.”

“We visited some friends. A married couple.”

Hunter pauses, hands fidgeting, before he adds, “for advice.”

The leap your heart makes in your chest makes you dizzy. This time, there’s no stopping the foolish wish that he might love you after all.

“You needed advice from a married couple,” you repeat.

“I…wanted to figure out if what I was feeling was uh…more than friendship?”

Again, his voice gives away his fluster. The contrast with his confident stance is unsettling.

“…and?” you breathe out.

“And…I- Hum…Are you sure you don’t want to take a walk?”

At this point Hunter can’t look your way and his body feels so restless he fears it might trigger another meltdown. Even though he has taken every precaution to avoid it by wearing his most comfortable clothes and keeping his gloves on.

You take pity on him and agree to follow him outside, despite the throbbing of your heart. Without a word, you head down toward the beach, keeping an awkward distance between you.

“I don’t understand what’s going on,” you say, making an effort of keeping your tone gentle.

Motion is already starting to ease Hunter’s edginess and when he starts speaking again, his voice is more gathered. What he struggles with is organizing his thoughts…

“It’s really important that you get that you are not the problem here. The reason I rejected you- it’s got nothing to do with you. I never wanted to make you feel like you didn’t deserve me. Anyone would be lucky to have you- not that I want you to go with somebody else. Well unless you want to. I’m not trying to force you into anything. I know I hurt and I’m sorry. So sorry.”

“Are you trying to say you…want to be with me?”

The words seem even more foolish said out loud, but your pulse is racing and every inch or your body tingling. Your mind is already feeling up the blanks for him. He must have panicked because it was his first time, which would also explain his not so satisfactory performance.

“Well, I-…I like you.”

It takes every last bit of control in you for not tripping on the sand.

“I would love to share something with you,” he adds, flexing his hands. “But…”

“Ah,” you say with the wrong kind of butterflies in your stomach. “Here comes the but.”

Hunter looks at you, broken. He searches carefully for his words, toes digging into the sand for anchor.

“I don’t think I’m fit for this kind of relationship.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” you ask, your annoyance rising up again.

“I-…I can’t sleep with somebody.”

You stop dead. This chat is reaching a level of confusion you would never have expected! Hunter turns around to face you, cheeks pink and eyes avoidant.

“Sleep, as in sleep? Or the naughty one”, you hear yourself asking without thinking.

“Er…both? It’s uh…I think I struggle with the skin on skin contact.”

“And you only found out now?”

“Well, I didn’t have much experience with that until the other night.”

His face takes a darker shade. You can’t believe your ears.

“Nobody ever touched you? Not even a hug?”

“I was always wearing clothes.” Hunter shrugs.

The reality of this man’s life fully sinks into you. Your throat tightens as you try to imagine a child rising up without ever truly feeling the warmth of someone else against him.

“Is it okay if I hug you now?”

His eyes widened and you decide you don’t need his permission. You pull him against you and squeeze hard when you feel his arms closing around you.

“That’s so sad,” you whisper.

“It’s no big deal, really”, he replies with an uneasy pat on your back.

You step back, surprised to find your sight blurred.

“This kind of hugs works just fine for me,” he smiles.

“Is it because of your enhanced sense?”

“That’s Tech’s theory, yes. I’ve always had trouble with touch and texture.”

“Oh…”

There’s a silence as you take the news in and link the dots with your memories from that night, the fact that he never seemed to fully be touching you. Not in the way you were craving for him to touch you.

Hunter resumes walking, you catch up with him to ask:

“How does it feel?”

He sighs and doesn’t answer right away.

“Like staring at the sun but you can’t close your eyes.”

Mindlessly, you look up at the sky and squint at the brightness. Something twist inside you.

“So you didn’t have a good time, did you?”

“Not really, no,” he answers with a silent apology.

It makes your guilt flare up.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought I could just tough it out.”

“That’s not how it’s supposed to work. We’re supposed to both enjoy ourselves!”

Hunter stares in the far and quietly says: “I’ve never been interested in that, to be honest.”

You frown.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“My friend warned me this pill might be the hardest to swallow,” he makes himself joke.

“I mean, have you seen yourself in a mirror?”

It’s his time to frown, so you add:

“You’re hot, Hunter. Half of Pabu must be fantasizing about you and you’re telling you have zero interest in- in- in…the thing!”

He rubs the back of his neck with a chuckle. He never quite understood what people saw in him in that regard, but his brothers have made him aware of it in various teasing ways. Until now he just didn’t realize the fact that he never ever reciprocated the attraction was unusual.

“But wait! What about kissing?”

He winces. You catch it.

“I don’t mind the…closed-lip ones,” he says as gently as he can, aware he’s close to hurting your feelings.

“You don’t mind them.”

While your broken ego whales about your inability to entice desire in a man, you’re more concerned about having forced Hunter into something he clearly didn’t want to do. The question escapes your lips before you can stop it.

“Was there anything at all you enjoyed that night?”

He gives you another of his apologetic, sad puppy look and you feel sick.

“But…” you add, “you were…hard.”

“I mean, the machinery is working.”

Somehow, his answer makes it even worst.

“And to be honest, I was expected something to kick in at some point. But with the sensory issues…it just never came.”

He notices how pale you are and quickly adds:

“It wasn’t so bad. I was probably more content by giving you a good time than anything. I’m not sure I did a good job with that, though…”

“First times are meant to be messy, but I wasn’t expecting to force you into yours!”

Hunter takes your wrist and waits for your eyes to meet before uttering:

“Hey, you didn’t force me into anything. I overestimated my abilities and chose to go through with it anyway, so that’s not on you, okay?”

You nod, giddy from his strong aura and the feeling of his gloved hand on your skin.

“This sucks,” you mumble.

He let go of your arm.

“Tell me about it…”

You walk in silence until you reach the end of the beach and turn around. Hunter wouldn’t mind sprinting away, if only to get rid of the tensions in his body. He’s never felt more exposed in his entire life.

“Maybe I should give you some space to process all of this,” he says hesitantly.

“Yeah…”

“I- uh…I’ll just go, then.”

He means to add he’ll miss you, but he doesn’t. After one last look and a shy smile, he bolts away. The run does help a little, but he’s got a burning question on the tip of his tongue, and he knows he won’t find rest until you’ve answered it. He speeds up, waiting for the rush of endorphins to wash over him and take away the dread that you might not want to see him for a while…

***

This headcanon of Hunter is very dear to me, I can only hope it resonates with someone else in any way.

I should probably have edited this more, but I'm too impulsive for this shit!

Thank you so much for reading and bearing with me 🥰

[plush-rabbit]

The Dateable's Making You Flustered

Request: Flustered scenarios with the dateables

A/N: Sorry for the bit of delay!! I really need to work faster with these (1k each)

-

Barbatos:

It’s been such a long time ever since the butler has felt some sort of attraction towards somebody. It surprises even himself and he’s able to see into the future. Yet, when he was given- or rather forced- into a day off, the first place where his mind had wandered had been to you. It was you that he thought of first. He didn’t have a clue on what he wanted to do, but when he was told that he had the day off- no exceptions- his mind had automatically gone to spending time with you. Barbatos wonders what changed that made you so important to him- he wonders when it happened, how it snuck past him and caught him by surprise.

He invited you on his day off, had sent you a quick message asking you’d like to accompany him around Devildom to pick up a few things for himself rather than the usual outing to the market. You had graciously agreed and now he stands beside you, his hand on a book and you peering to see what’s written on it.

“What’s the book about?” You ask, haven given up on trying to figure out what it was that had gotten his attention.

A few demons reach around and pull a book away from the shelf, talking excitedly to one another and he moves to stand closer to you. He smiles at you and holds the book close to him, already deciding to purchase it. “It’s an old tale from Devildom, similar to your Hansel and Gretal but this one is a bit more heavy.” You give out a hum, pleased at his answer and nod your head. “If you’d like, I could lend it to you once I’m done.”

“Oh!” You gasp, grabbing at the same book and holding towards you. “I’ll just take one with me,” you offer and he can’t help but feel a little disappointed that you didn’t want to take his. “This way, we can read at the same time and then discuss. If it’s supposed to be similar to Hansel and Gretal, I’m sure that I’ll enjoy it. Plus-” you look up at him, your smile kittenish the book pulled to your chest- “it can be like our secret book club. I’ve been needing an excuse to go to the castle and visit, so this will be perfect,” you say excitedly, see-sawing between the tips of your shoes and back to your soles.

“You don’t need an excuse to visit the castle.” He hooks his arm with yours, slowly pushing you away from where a growing crowd of demons appear. “You know you’re always welcomed. The Young Lord would never dare to shut the door in your face.” He stops near the corner end of the store, his eyes attracted to a few trinkets where he reaches for.

The book is lowered and you shift your stare to where you both once stood. “And you?” His attention is grabbed immediately and he looks at you with a confused stare. You meet his eyes for a moment before you pull away. “Would you mind if I came over?” You clear your throat and look down, your bottom lip pinched between your teeth. “I wouldn’t want to…” you trail off, clearly unable to find the proper words. “I wouldn't want to distract you or make your work any more difficult than it already is.”

He can feel the back of his neck grow hot. He can’t be mistaken by what your words mean. You want to know what he thinks of you, if you’re welcomed in his eyes. His shoulders lower and he smiles at you, his hand reaching out to take your book from your hands. When you look up at him, he has his gaze kept on the title of the book, following the rise and fall of each letters.

“You’re always welcomed.” He takes in a small breath and fixes his gaze back to you. “You could never be a distraction for me. If you wish to have a secret book club with me, then I am more than honored to be your guest.” He clears his throat and looks away from you, his smile slowly growing but wavering as he lets out a shaky breath. “You make work easier. I enjoy my job, but I must say that when you’re around, the only thing I can think of is finishing in order to spend more time with you. Being around you is… nice.” He returns his stare back to you. “I’ve been around for a very long time, but when you’re around me, well, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so young. I’m not sure what it is about you-” he raises a hand and holds your cheek- “but I find myself happy whenever I’m with you. So please, never think that you are a bother towards me. You’re always free to visit- whether it be for our secret book club-” he returns the book to you, smiling when your fingertips brush against his- “or just because, I’ll always make time for you.”

It might be cruel of him, but he can’t help but smile and let out a quiet chuckle when you press your face against the book. “Barbatos,” you say in a hushed whisper. He only hums in response, glad that his words had such an effect on you. You look up at him with a faux pout and furrow of your brows while he stands there with a wide grin. Your eyes turn away from him and you finally let a smile appear. “Thanks for the reassurance,” you mutter.

“Of course. Nothing that I said was a lie, so it was quite easy to let the words out, you know,” he teases, grabbing the book from you before you have another chance to hide yourself. “Now, is there anything else you’d like to see in the store, or do you wish to go somewhere else?”

“I uh-” still flustered, you rub your cheek where his hand once was- “can we check out the manga section?”

He hooks his arm through yours, his body close enough to where he can smell the sweet scent of your perfume. “Lead the way,” he says, following your footsteps through the store. He isn’t sure when his feelings towards you had changed, he doesn’t even recall the giddiness of when it all started, but he doesn’t mind it. It’s a nice change of pace. You’re something unpredictable and reckless, and something soft and fragile, and he welcomes having you so close to him, to where he could lean over and press his lips against the crown of your head and keep you protected under his touch. Barbatos welcomes the change that you brought and while the change wasn’t originally for him, he enjoys that it is for him now, that you’re the one that gets to be close to him and that gets to have the pleasure of having you wanting to visit him.

Simeon:

Who could have ever thought that he, an angel, would fall in love with a human? The very thing that an angel had created a war for, the very thing that caused him to lose those close to him, and the very thing that had shown just how different he was from someone he had considered a brother, he now commits the same unholy act. He must be a hypocrite. He is a hypocrite. The very thing he turned a blind eye to and here he is, so undoubtedly in love with a human that he fears his wings will be ripped from him, his blood staining his clothes and his halo broken beyond repair. Terror makes his blood run cold and yet, he cannot look away from you. Simeon keeps his gaze upon you with a mixture of hesitation and melancholy and you just smile back at him, the phone in your hand shared between the two of you as you watch a parody of a teen romance on an application.

“It’s amazing how much people have grown to like this er, show?” He asks, still unsure of what to call it. “It’s considered a show, right?”

Your shoulders raise in a shrug and you give him a small, tight lipped smile. “I guess. I think most people refer to it as a series.” The phone is lowered and it returns to your lap. “It isn’t wrong to call it a show, but since they’re short little bursts of episodes, I think people find it easier to call it a series, but it can go any way.” You move away from him, scooting until your thigh is at an angle and your knee is pushed against his. “Anyways, to answer your question, yes people do like it. I think since it’s like a parody but also suspenseful with the cliffhangers, it keeps people entertained.” He nods his head slowly, and he tries to ignore the rush of cold that is now at his empty side. “Did you like it?”

His eyes slightly widen, and his lips pull into a thin smile. “I- Well, considering the fact that it’s written and done by one person- I- It certainly is different than the things I usually consume, but-” He struggles to find a way to finish his thought without offending you in any sort of way and ends with a stiff nod of his head.

It’s a tense moment that doesn’t last long enough to linger on when you suddenly laugh. Your laugh is loud as it effectively gets him to snap his mouth shut. Your hands are waved in front of you and your knee leaves his as you curl onto the couch. “You don’t have to force yourself to like it, Simeon, I only wanted to show it to you, because you asked what I was watching.”

He appreciates you giving him an easy out, and he releases a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding. It’s a slow release and suddenly he can breathe again. “Well thank you for sharing it with me. I appreciate that from you.” Silence lingers and it isn’t like before where it’s tense, it’s lighter now, but it still feeds him an odd sense of air where he’s stuck between a breath, his eyes stuck on you.

Once more, your laughter fills the room and it’s short and sweet, a gift given to him for just the moment. “Of course, Simeon. I like spending time with you, and I especially like sharing my interests so I guess, thank you for allowing me to do that.” Your hand reaches towards his and he sees the slightest pause from you, the way your fingers twitch until you allow yourself to hold his hand and give it a gentle squeeze.

Warmth returns to him, something akin to a summer’s day in the Celestial Realm, and even though all air has left him once again, he is breathless in a way that matters, weightless and joy illuminating him. When he meets your eyes, he cannot look away and he cannot help but return your smile. The clock ticks onwards and he’s left with a heavy heart. He’s read about the perfect moment, thought about writing something so trivial and false, and yet, the perfect moment sits before him with their hand in his.

“I have to be honest with you,” he murmurs and his eyes feel hot, a lump forms in his throat that makes his words sound tighter. “I- I don’t-” How could he ever phrase what he wants to tell you? How could he drop that sort of confession on you? You know the story, would you ever want him to actually confess to you, to repeat the past mistakes and know the horrid outcome? He frowns. His eyes are stuck on the floor, running along the edge of the carpet and he can feel your gaze on him, your eyes that are heavy with concern and ever the angel, Simeon spares you and gives you the easier answer. “I’m thankful to have met you,” your name is a sweet whisper on his lips, a taste of sweet peach that makes his heart full and heavy. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as wonderful as you. I see you and I think that I’ve found something even more pure than an angel.” With every word, his hand turns to slip into yours, his gloves thin enough to feel the small crevices and calluses on your hand. “Even if you are human and you’ve committed sin, I still think that you are the most pure of them all with your kindness and generosity.”

He isn’t sure what he had expected, but he hadn’t expected to have you plant your face against the soft back cushion of the couch, your face held there for moments. Your hand slips away from his and he’s left holding empty air. His hands fret over your body and when you pull away, your face is flushed, your hands covering the lower part of your face as you look at anywhere but him.

“Simeon,” you whine, closing your eyes tightly. “That’s really sweet.” Your voice is high-pitched and your eyes open once more, as your hands finally lower. “I think I might actually die, that was really nice and something that I don’t hear often.” You finally look at him and your smile is ever growing. “Especially from an angel,” you say with a half-hearted chuckle.

His smile is soft and to him, it dulls compared to your brilliance. As if you were a puzzle, he fits into your hand with ease and grace. “Well if you were to die, I would return you in any way that I could.

Solomon:

He’s human, ageless and immortal, but human. He’s lived and loved, lost and grieved, and he’s gone numb and distant to emotions. He didn’t mind it, he welcomed it. He hated losing and hated the people that he lost and the empty space that they left. He promised that he wouldn’t ever want to feel that sense of sadness ever again. Then you came into the picture. He’s been called shady and worse words than that, but you don’t call him that. You hold his hand and you welcome him into your arms. You go on and on about the human in him and how you love that he’s there with you. Solomon isn’t sure when it was that he broke his own promise, but when he looks at you, he’s willing to love again and again.

The kitchen is a mess and powder covers the counters. His hands knead the dough and the smell of garlic and onion sizzled with oil is heaven in the air. You measure the ingredients and whisk at the eggs. It’s domestic and it’s something that leaves a storm of butterflies in his stomach. He could watch you forever, in the kitchen, with an apron tied around your waist, flour in your hands and the tip of your tongue peaking past your lips as you concentrate on rereading the cookbook. It’s domestic and it’s something he had long forgotten that he wanted.

“I have the ingredients memorized, I could simply tell you what to add,” he muses, returning to forming the bread into its shape.

“Knowing you, you’ll add something in there,” you quip, your smile now directed at him, with your tongue still pinched out. “Plus, it’s just reading. I can read,” you say with a defensive tone. “Just start dressing the bread with garlic and then we can get on with breading the chicken.” You jerk your head to where the chicken rests on the cutting board, the flour beside it.

“Okay,” he sings under his breath, returning his attention to the dough before him. The room is filled with a song from the Human Realm, a classic that has him feeling warmth in a kitchen that is not his, but with a person that is. It makes him long for another time, but when he catches you in the corner of his eye, he’s glad where he is. “I like your song choice,” he says, instantly biting the inside of his cheek once the words had left his mouth. It’s been so long since he’s ever tried to have an actual connection with someone, and he’s sure he wasn’t ever this awful at it.

“Yeah?” You step close to him, holding your hand out. “Care for a dance then?” Your smile is crooked and eyes gleaming with excitement as the song is replayed with a touch of your hand.

He’s frozen for a second, stuck in time, and rooted into place, his hand moving through thick amber as he lets his hand rest in your palm. The room is spun, colors mixing with each other and slowly blurring until he stands still, pushing you away and pulling you close, laughing and letting his hand rest against your side, his hand feeling the soft curve against your ribs. Your hands are powdered and his smell like bread, and your laugh is young and youthful. He can’t help but follow, letting his smile break out and hand slipping out of yours, to encase you in a hug where he traps you into a swaying motion.

The song fades and he’s forced to pull away, to step away from you and there’s hesitation is his steps and movements. His hands linger for a second too long, his eyes still stuck on you and his smile much softer than it was before. It’s a few seconds of silence where you take in deep, heavy breaths, and sway lightly to the song that approaches.

Your name is said and it’s sweet like honeysuckle and addicting like a drug. It’s a night where he invited you over, and now you two are busy making dinner in the kitchen and you’ve given him instructions and kept a close eye on what he does. Your perk your head and nod, allowing for him to continue. “Thank you for coming over,” he says with a tight smile on his lips.

“Anytime, Sol,” you respond, coming beside him once more. You bump your arm into his, leaning to look at the garlic mixture in a bowl. “You know I like spending time with you, so anytime you need a cooking partner, you can always call.”

He doesn’t say anything, only nodding and trying to keep the butterflies in his stomach at bay while his heart beats frantically against his chest. You move away from him, returning to where the powder rests in a bowl and he’s left without, and while the distance is short, it’s something that is unwelcomed. He’s left with dough in his hands and you’re away from him, and loneliness settles.

“Can I call you whenever?” He asks, an easy smile on his lips, but there’s a plea in his words. He’s never been the needy type, but he needs you.

“Of course, you can,” you respond and you’re as kind as ever. You turn away and close the bag of flour, pushing it aside to clear the space at the table.

Like a drug that leaves his mouth dry and heart racing, feeling as if he’s about to die, he calls your name. You’re so close to him and yet, you aren’t close enough. He needs you. He needs you beside him. And he takes the first step, standing in front of you with a red kissed face as stares at the cabinets against the wall. You call his name and your hand is tender against his neck, leaving a white stain that snows onto his shirt.

“I just wanted to thank you. I know how busy you can get and I just-” he can feel the telltale sign of tears and he wonders when he’s gotten so emotional- “I like spending time with you. I like your music choices and I like it when you cook with me- even if it’s just you giving me instructions- but I like it.” His tongue touches against his lips and he looks at you, fiddling with the end of his shirt. “I think you’re great and I just need you to know that if you ever need anything, I’ll be more than happy to help. I would do whatever it would take to make you happy because you have a really nice smile and I don’t think you should lose that.” His heart echoes and his smile is gentle and nervous. “Thank you for being with me.”

You stare at him and he wonders if he had overstepped only to gasp when you bury yourself against his chest, patting at his shoulder and pulling away with a hand covering the lower half of your face. “Solomon,” his name leaving your lips sends a jolt of electricity through him, “I’m glad. Thank you,” you whisper. Your hand reaches to pull his away from his shirt and you hold it in yours. “I like being with you too. Us humans have to stick together, right?” You say softly, letting your fingers run over his scarred knuckles.

He nods silently and leans over, his lips pressed against your forehead. “Yeah, us humans have to stick together,” he whispers against you, smiling when he feels your own lips against his knuckles. He’s with you, at this very moment, he stands in a kitchen with music playing, holding you close to him, and for a moment, he can pretend that this won’t ever end, that he won’t ever have to move away from you and risk losing you.

[westiec]

June 9: Ace Rights Wangxian!

A/N: I've thought about this conversation between them since I finished the novel. While I would broadly classify WWX here as "sex-favorable asexual" and LWJ here as "grey-ace/demisexual (Wei Ying specific)," each person's experience is unique and neither of these are mine. I beg your forgiveness if anything I've had them say rings false. This fic is largely a discussion is about their sex life, but nothing more physical than kissing is shown in this story.

Read on ao3

🖤🤍💜

Wei Ying likes everything Lan Wangji does. Lan Wangji knows this to be true, because Wei Ying tells him, in exactly those words, every time Lan Wangji draws his husband close and asks what he would like.

But.

Perhaps there should be no "but"—Wei Ying is vocal, even loud, in his enthusiasm for all the ways Lan Wangji touches him, all the ways he takes him apart and feasts on the sight and sounds and sensation of his body.

But when Lan Wangji asks his fantasies, hoping to fulfill Wei Ying’s desires as fully as Wei Ying has fulfilled his, they are games, stories, often moments from their own past or clichés from romantic tales or erotic literature, and if playacting is the shape of Wei Ying’s desire, then Lan Wangji will do his best, but.

The jingshi glows warm tonight, and the day has been a good one, and when Lan Wangji draws Wei Ying into his lap and asks, "What would you like from me?" and Wei Ying replies, as he always does, "I like everything Lan Zhan does," Lan Wangji pauses.

"Wei Ying," he asks, "is there nothing in particular you desire from this husband?"

"Lan Zhan?" Wei Ying is confused. Lan Wangji considers the shape of what he has been wondering and arranges the words.

"You know there are many rules about restraining desire and excessive indulgence in physical pleasure," he begins.

Wei Ying grins. "Ooh, is this a new game? Have we broken rules, Lan Zhan?"

"Hush," Lan Wangji says, softening it with a kiss. "Listen." Wei Ying settles into Lan Wangji's arms, his thoughtful face on.

"In my youth, I did not understand these rules, why the other disciples joked about them. To me, they seemed simple, easily followed.

"Then, Wei Ying."

Wei Ying’s cheeks flush, and Lan Wangji has to restrain himself from taking that beautifully reddened skin between his teeth.

"I felt urges so intense they frightened me, reactions in my body I had no context for." He feels the corner of his mouth twitch. "I thought the problem could be solved if only you would learn to observe the rules."

Wei Ying laughs. "And yet I remain a problem, eh Lan Zhan?" he says, eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Never," Lan Wangji disagrees. "It was only ever that I had not yet learned how to hold wanting you inside my skin."

"Lan Zhan, you can't say things like that," Wei Ying protests. "It makes it sound like you wanted to ravish me all the time."

"I did want to ravish you all the time," Lan Wangji replies easily. "I do still. I'd never felt anything like that before, nor for anyone else, since. When I look at you, when I think about you, sometimes when I'm doing something else entirely, the wanting is there, dozens of different ways I desire to have you. Just now, I wanted to bite your cheek." Wei Ying shudders against him, breathing coming faster as Lan Wangji speaks. "What I wonder," he asks gently, "is whether that is how it feels for you."

Wei Ying's brows draw together. "Lan Zhan, you know I love you. You must know I love what we do together, all the ways you love me."

Lan Wangji kisses the wrinkle away. "I do know. I only ask to see if there is something you want that I haven't offered, or..." this is the delicate part "...or anything you don't don't want that you accept only because I want it from you."

"That doesn't make any sense," Wei Ying argues. "Everything I like, I like it because you want it from—oh..."

He pauses, and Lan Wangji can see the ideas rearranging behind his eyes. He is so grateful for the ways Wei Ying understands him and for the second chance he has been gifted, to be able to understand Wei Ying in return.

"Oh, so... for you, the wanting is separate from the—" he waves his hands, blushing again "—the loving me of it all?"

Lan Wangji tilts his head side to side. "Not separate," he says, "but distinct. Like a hunger that remains, whether a meal is spread out before me or I'm practicing inedia, only for Wei Ying."

"Lan-er-gege!" Wei Ying squeezes him tight and buries his face in Lan Wangji's chest. "The things you say..."

Lan Wangji holds him. Sits with the ever-present simmer under his skin and waits.

"I like that you want me," Wei Ying admits, in his smallest, most honest voice. "I don't know that I feel that hunger the way you describe, but it feels good that I'm what you want, just as I am."

He wipes his face against Lan Wangji's chest, and Lan Wangji's heart clenches at the wetness that clings to his eyelashes when he looks up. "Is that okay?" Wei Ying asks. "I'm sorry if I'm not—"

Lan Wangji cuts him off with a kiss, and Wei Ying melts into it, like always.

"No sorry between us," he insists. "Just as you are, as you said. If you wanted nothing more from me than someone to buy you Emperor's Smile, that is what I would give you, and gladly."

"Well I certainly won't turn that down," Wei Ying chuckles, "but I've grown rather spoiled by the rest of it too. I think we'll keep things as they are, Lan Zhan, everyday and all."

"If it's ever too much, if I'm ever—" he needs Wei Ying to understand, needs him to know that he's not beholden to what he said once or what he says now.

"I'll tell you," Wei Ying promises. "I don't think you could be too much for me, Lan Zhan, if I'm honest, but I'll tell you."

Lan Wangji nods and lets his body show the gratitude he feels for the promise, for Wei Ying’s understanding, for everything about the man in his arms. Wei Ying meets him, warm and welcoming as ever, opening to receive all the love and desire Lan Wangji has to give. Their lips and bodies move in tandem, a dance they've both learned all the steps to, until Wei Ying suddenly stops and pulls back.

"Wait!" he says, looking stunned, "Wait, so you mean to tell me all that poetry about desire and yearning and aching for the touch of your beloved is literal? People are really walking around out there feeling a physical need to, to kiss on somebody? Isn't that distracting??"

Lan Wangji can't help but smile. "Highly."

"And some people feel like that for more than one person? Maybe even for anybody attractive they see?"

"I believe it differs in focus and intensity," Lan Wangji says, "but as I understand it, yes."

"Holy shit," says Wei Ying, looking a little gobsmacked by the very idea. "All this time, I assumed that was metaphor."

Lan Wangji loves him so, so much.

"Well. WELL!" Wei Ying says, as he pins him with a serious look. "Anytime you're feeling too distracted by all that yearning, you just come and find me, husband. It won't do to have Hanguang-jun incapacitated by his amorous desires."

Lan Wangji chuckles. "If my husband insists."

"He does! This Wei Ying will accept as many kisses and everydays as his poor, horny husband requires." His grin is wide and beautiful and so fond, and, as ever, Lan Wangji wants to kiss it right off his face.

So he does.

🖤🤍💜

#PrideMonthSnippets Masterpost here!

[helloalycia]

my patient’s neighbour [three] // wanda maximoff

summary: your relationship with Wanda gets a little bumpy when her work life crosses over with your personal life.

warning/s: implied kidnapping, mentions of anxiety

author's note: so the ‘i love you’ confession was actually inspired by an incorrect quote on @aquamarinescarlet’s page! i thought it would be cute aha

part one | part two | part four | part five | part six | part seven | masterlist | wattpad

It was two months into our relationship when I knew I'd fallen in love with Wanda. I can't remember the exact moment when it hit me – I guess it had happened gradually over time – but I remember the embarrassing moment when I told her.

She'd brought me as her date to an Avengers party thrown by Tony Stark. I'd been to one of them before, about a month into dating her, as she'd wanted me to meet her friends from work AKA the freakin' Avengers. They were actually really great and (somewhat) humble people. I didn't expect to become 'friends' with any of them, more just be friendly whenever I saw them through Wanda. To my surprise, I became quite good friends with Natasha Romanoff.

We had the same dark sense of humour, both had an unexplainable obsession with horror films and she was genuinely just really easy to talk to. I wasn't expecting it, but it was nice to gain a new friend in addition to a new girlfriend.

So, I was at my second Avengers party with Wanda by my side, but the party had ended about half an hour ago and I may or may not have been drunk.

We were sat on the couch, conversing with the other Avengers, and I was sat between Wanda and Natasha. The others were involved in their own conversations and I was too dazed to realise what I was doing until it happened.

"Wanda has no idea I'm in love with her," I said (not-so) quietly, leaning over to my left, into Wanda's ear unknowingly.

Wanda, who was playing with my fingers in her hand, paused and glanced to me with bright eyes, a surprised expression on her face.

"You're in love with me?" she asked, lips twitching into a smile.

I blinked, her words settling in, before I licked my lips. "Oh, sorry." Turning to my right, I moved to Natasha's ear, whispering loudly, "Wanda has no idea I'm in love with her."

Natasha glanced to me with a quirked brow, amused smile on her lips. "She doesn't? You sure about that?"

"You're in love with me?" Wanda repeated, sitting forward and earning my attention.

I gasped, wondering how she knew, before slapping Natasha's arm and looking to her with a frown. "You told her?! I trusted you!"

Natasha ignored me, instead looking to Wanda with an encouraging look. "I'll leave this one to you. Good luck."

She stood up, heading over to Thor and Bruce Banner on the other couch, and I booed her as she left.

"Yeah, run away, you secret-give-away'er!" I called after her with a pout, before crossing my arms.

"I think it's time I take you home," Wanda said decidedly, trying not to laugh as she pulled me up off the couch.

"I don't like Natasha anymore," I mumbled, allowing Wanda to take me away.

She bid her goodbyes to her teammates before leading me to the lift. I don't really remember what else happened until we were suddenly at my house – well, my parents house, but they had given it to me as they travelled the world with their retirement money. She was leading me inside and to my bedroom, getting me dressed like the sweet girlfriend she was, before tucking me into bed.

Of course, being the clingy drunk I was, I pulled her on top of me and didn't let go as I wrapped my arms around her.

"Stay," I mumbled into her shoulder, closing my eyes.

She chuckled, trying to pull away. "Y/N, you need to sleep, c'mon."

"I will," I whined, not letting her leave. "If you stay with me."

She paused, before giving in with a sigh. "Fine."

Tiredly, I smiled. "Yesssss." I patted the spot next to me. "Right here, please."

In the light of my bedside lamp, I saw her roll her eyes playfully, before turning off the lamp and jumping under the covers with me. I sighed with relief, cuddling into her side without hesitating.

"I love you," I mumbled, barely thinking about it.

She tightened her embrace and I felt her kiss the top of my head. "You're probably gonna forget you said that in the morning. But I'll remind you. And if you still think it, then I'll reply."

Her words went into one ear and out the other. I hummed in response, not knowing what I was answering to, and let myself get lost in her scent as I drifted into a peaceful slumber.

When I woke up the next morning, I quite liked the idea of sharing bed with Wanda and waking up to her dishevelled hair and our intertwined legs, even though I didn't remember inviting her to stay. Of course, I also had a banging headache and felt like someone had hit me with a train, so I didn't get chance to appreciate it much.

"Fuck," I mumbled, pulling the duvet over my head to block out the sun streaming through the slit in my curtain.

Wanda, who was shuffling beside me, yawned and stretched her arms. Suddenly, I heard quiet laughter, before she spooned me, wrapping her arms around my stomach and pulling me closer. Her leg raised and clung to my waist, and as much as I appreciated the way she fit perfectly against me, I was still in pain.

"Why did you let me drink that much?" I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut.

"I believe that was your own conscience decision, dorogoy (darling)," she said in that know-it-all voice of hers, and it was hard for me to be annoyed at her because she had a raspy, morning voice and her accent was especially thick with fatigue and damn, Wanda Maximoff was pretty sexy in the morning.

"Whatever," was all I said, but I placed my hand on hers and joint our fingers together.

"You know," she started, tucking her head comfortably into my neck, "I quite like waking up to you like this. You're very cute, even if you're cranky."

Despite aforementioned crankiness, I cracked a smile. "I like this, too."

It was very domestic, something I didn't get the privilege of experiencing with Wanda because she worked a lot, and it felt good.

After hanging around in bed for a little while longer, I got up and showered whilst Wanda offered to make me some breakfast – "Pancakes are a hangover's cure! Or at least according to Tony". After getting ready, I came downstairs to find a stack of pancakes and maple syrup waiting for me.

"You are a Godsend," I told her, pressing a haste kiss to her lips before sitting at the table with the pancakes. "Thank you."

She chuckled, grabbing her own pancakes and sitting opposite me. "Anything for you."

After I dug in, complimenting her on how delicious they tasted, a comfortable silence fell between us. Well, until Wanda spoke up cautiously.

"So, does anything from last night ring a bell?" she asked, making me look up to see her staring eagerly.

My content expression fell. "Shoot, did I do something embarrassing?" I facepalmed. "God, what was it? Did I fall asleep on somebody?"

She smiled with adoration, eyes twinkling in the morning sun. "No, nothing like that."

I could tell there was something though, judging from her hesitant expression. I scrunched my face with regret.

"What did I do?" I asked, unprepared to hear it. "Did I say something to you?"

She played with her fork, twisting it around in her plate nervously, which was very unlike her. "Yeah, actually, you did."

I waited, feeling like the silence was deafening the longer she stayed quiet.

"You said you were in love with me," she said, voice so soft and quiet that I barely heard it.

I felt my heart drop to my stomach. "I what?"

"I mean, technically you said I had no idea you were in love with me, but I think you were supposed to tell Nat that," she continued, eyes avoiding mine. "Then you told Nat and you got mad at her because you thought she told me."

I facepalmed for the second time that morning. "Oh, God..."

"Then you invited me to stay the night and told me you loved me before you fell asleep," she finished rambling. "I just, er, wanted to check if you meant that..."

I raised my eyebrows with disbelief. "Are you kidding?" I reached over the table to grab her hand. "Wanda, of course I meant that! But I hoped to tell you at a better time than by accident whilst I was drunk."

Blue eyes flickered to mine, excitement creeping onto her face. "You meant it."

I breathed out, realising what exactly I'd just said. "I– yeah. I meant it. I'm in love with you, Wanda."

Her smile widened. "I'm in love with you, too."

My heart fluttered in my chest as I relaxed my shoulders. "You love me."

She giggled, squeezing my hand. "We just did this."

"Right! We did," I said, shaking my head, grin forming on my lips. "Sorry. I'm just so happy right now."

"Me, too," she said in agreement, thumb stroking the top of my hand.

I didn't think things could go wrong from here. I was on top of the world! But of course, the world had a funny way of ruining things.

—

Dating a superhero had its pros and cons, I suppose, but neither really showed themselves to me often as it was as if Wanda's superhero life was separate to the one we shared. When she and I were together, it was just us. And she would leave for work and I wouldn't think about it. Then she would return and it would be us again.

If I took a moment out of my day to stop and really think about where she was, what she could be doing, the danger she could be in... I just couldn't do it. Even when she would show up to our next date with a fresh bruise from training, or a broken bone from a mission gone too far, I'd worry about it for the time being then try to let it go. Those weren't superhero perks, those were reasons to be concerned. And I couldn't handle imagining the time when she'd come back to me in a worse state, or to not even come back at all.

So, her superhero life rarely overlapped with our shared one. And I was happier that way. Until it did.

I was running errands one day, little things that required me to run around the city – dry cleaning, grocery shopping, picking up some DIY stuff for my house. It was a pretty relaxing, fun day. I'd treated myself to lunch, was soaking in the sunshine and planning to unwind with some Netflix on the couch.

"Hold on, I need to unlock the front door," I mumbled into the phone. I was talking to Wanda, catching her up with my day as I returned home.

"Try not to drop your phone this time," she teased from the other end, and I could just imagine the smirk on her face.

"So funny," I said with an eye roll. "Real comedian."

She laughed as I placed my phone in my pocket, not quite hanging up. Pulling my keys from my shopping bag, I fiddled with them, attempting to find the key for my front door.

Suddenly, something metal and cold pressed to my back and I jumped, dropping my keys with surprise.

"Don't draw attention," the person said, and I went rigid, looking up to see a reflection of someone unrecognisable in the glass of my front door. "You're going to leave your things here and come with me."

"Who are you?" I asked, trying to turn around, but the object pressed harder into my back, making me wince.

"Leave your fucking things here and give me your hand," the man ordered, ignoring my question. "Phone included. And don't even think about making a call."

I swallowed hard, panic settling in as I listened to the threatening stranger. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I realised that the stranger had no idea I was already on a call. With an Avenger nonetheless.

"I'll put it down," I narrated my actions, soon coming to realise that the object behind my back was in fact the barrel of a gun.

Hoping Wanda was still listening in and could hear the exchange, I put my phone on the ground and placed my shaking hand in the man's outstretched one. He tucked his gun back into the waistband of his jeans before tugging me down the steps and to a black van parked opposite my house.

Too paralysed with fear at the sight of two more strange men getting out the van, I felt my throat go dry and words get stuck at the bottom. Looking around, I hoped to find a neighbour's eyes or dog-walker's lost gaze, but nobody was here. Whoever these men were had timed their entrance perfectly.

When we reached the van, the back doors were opened and the man spun me around roughly before placing a bag on my head and shoving me inside. Hot tears ran down my face as I squeezed my eyes shut, wondering what the hell was happening and who these people were. But mostly, I hoped Wanda was already on her way.

—

The whole incident was over soon. That's what we were calling it now. The 'incident'. Of course, it could have been called other things... the kidnapping, the abduction, the capture. But we settled with the 'incident'. It was less explicit, as if minimising how utterly terrifying the whole experience was.

I never did find out who those men were. Wanda offered to tell me, feeling a need to explain herself and blame herself and drag herself down in the dirt to make me feel better, to bring me out of my silence and give me something to feel good about. I recalled her mentioning they were after her, getting to her through me – her girlfriend.

She rescued me quite quickly. Being tied up and locked away and left to cry like a child, wondering if I was going to die any minute at the hands of captors whom I had never met nor done anything to in my life, wasn't fun. People always wonder what they would do in those situations; maybe they would square up and put up a fight; maybe they would scream and shout and get everyone's attention; maybe they'd even retort with sarky remarks and go out with a blaze of glory.

I never imagined what that would be like, but I discovered I could do neither of those things. I just let them take me, let them threaten me and point their guns at me and tie me up and lock me away and–

I let myself cry and feel terrified and shake and lose my words and imagine the worst. Some would call that giving in, but this wasn't something you could prepare for. Surely my response was justified? I wasn't sure. I just knew that when Wanda burst onto the scene, taking out the men with ease and taking me out of there, taking me home, I was momentarily safe.

But then as she began to ramble off her explanations and apologies and regrets, I found myself turning in on myself, unable to hear her out. I didn't blame her one bit, but I also couldn't listen to one more second. So, I tuned her out.

I sat on the couch, staring at the way the thread was coming loose on one of my cushions. I thought about how quickly the whole 'incident' had happened. How one minute I was sat in a cell and now I was sat on my couch. How I was then shaking with fear and now I felt nothing.

"...you listening? Hey, are you okay?"

I only tuned back in when she sat on the cushion I was looking at. Her fingers rested on my cheek, guiding my head upwards so I was looking her in the eyes, glassy and red and swollen from crying. I probably looked the same, though I was all out of tears.

"I promise you nobody will be back here," she said with certainty, thumb stroking my cheek. "There's S.H.I.E.L.D. agents posted all along the street. And I'm happy to stay here if you need me to. You're safe now."

I knew I was. And despite my calm exterior, my heart was still racing in my chest, adrenaline still pumping through my body as if expecting to make a sudden break for it.

"What are you thinking?" she muttered, eyes flicking between mine curiously. "Talk to me. Please."

I shook my head, looking away. "I'm okay."

"It's okay not to be," she said quietly, squeezing my hand.

"I know."

So, we kept that bit up for a few more days, maybe a week. Me pretending I was okay, though still distant from Wanda as if she'd caught the plague, and her pretending she knew I was telling the truth.

But I knew she sensed the nightmares I had, waking me up in cold sweats. I knew she saw the way I tensed when a shadow cast along the wall from a moving object. Or the way I never faced the front door when unlocking it to get inside.

I guess she couldn't take it anymore at some point, possibly a week or two later, as when I was mixing my soup in a bowl after heating it up in the microwave, she sighed loudly.

"You okay?" I asked, glancing up at her. She was stood by the counter, seeming tired.

She'd been staying with me since the incident happened, obviously, and it was nice having her around so much, despite the circumstances. But I knew she was worried and had been keeping it in. I just didn't have the energy to acknowledge it.

"I'm fine," she said quickly, though her fingers still drummed on the countertop.

I let it go, shrugging, before paying attention to my soup. Her impatience was obnoxiously loud, filling the house with a discomfort she was dying to express. Eventually, she did.

"I'm not fine," she decided, and I stopped stirring my soup as I looked to her tugging on her sleeves distractedly. "I'm not fine because you're not fine."

"I've told you I am," I said monotonously, eyes boring into hers.

"I know you're not," she said, crossing her arms and hugging herself. "I've noticed you and..."

I quirked a brow. "And?"

She frowned, eyes softening with empathy. "Don't make me say it, Y/N."

I pressed my tongue to the back of my teeth as I looked down to my steaming soup.

"Talk to me," she pleaded, rounding the counter and leaning beside me, searching for my eyes. "I just want to help."

I swallowed hard. "I have nothing to say, Wanda."

"A really scary thing happened," she began hesitantly. "The fact that you don't have anything to say– that you've not said anything, isn't right."

"Well, I guess there's something wrong with me," I said dismissively, before grabbing the pepper grinder before me and using it.

"No, there's not," she reassured, not giving up. "You just need to talk.”

I set the grinder down, turning to face her abruptly. She straightened up with surprise, taking a small step back.

"What do you want me to say?" I asked, voice calm but full of unintentional malice. "Huh? What do you want me to tell you? That I'm terrified somebody is watching my house, waiting for a quiet moment to break in? That I have to follow you into every room you go in because I don't want to be left alone? That I can't fucking sleep because I'm scared that when I close my eyes, I'll be locked in a nightmare I can't escape? Is that what you want me to tell you? Does that make you feel better, Wanda? Because it doesn't make me feel any better. It just reminds me how fucking terrified I am."

I pocketed my shaking hands, blinked away the tears that threatened to fall, swallowed down the lump rising in my throat. She watched me, unsure what to say at first and I didn't blame her. It was an outburst waiting to happen.

"I'm–"

"Don't say you're sorry," I snapped, before flinching at my tone. "I know you're sorry. And I don't blame you for what happened. I just– I don't know what to do anymore."

Her eyes were studying me like green lasers burning holes into my skin and I hated that I couldn't meet them. I hated even more that I couldn't leave the kitchen out of anger or frustration because I was too scared to be left alone without her by my side.

So, I leaned against the counter, turning away from her, and let out a shaky breath, eyes burning and heart thumping in my ears. Her arms suddenly wrapped around me without question, and I let her take me into her chest, squeezing me so tight so I knew she was there.

Closing my eyes, I felt tears rolling down my cheeks, but no sound came out. I struggled to breathe, unable to take in air through my nose as I stuffed my head so hard into her shirt that I couldn't see a thing except darkness. I knew I'd eventually be okay, that I'd eventually get back to some sense of normalcy. But for now, having her here with me was okay. And I found it much better to just be with her then have to go over and talk it out.

She was warm and strong and smelt like home and God, I loved her. I was lucky to have her.

—

It took about a month and a half to get over the incident. And after that, we never brought it up again. It was just easier that way. We continued on like usual, falling back into our old routine of having a separate us and her separate superhero life.

At some point, I thought it would be nice for her to meet my parents. They were back in town for the week, wanting to check in and see how I was. It was nice having them around and I was excited for them to meet Wanda, who I'd mentioned in some of our Skype calls.

"We don't have to make it a thing," I said as I proposed the idea. We were cleaning around Anna's apartment as she napped in her bedroom. "It's not like an 'oh, meet the parents' thing. They just happen to be in town and we're having a dinner, so I thought you might want to come. If you don't, it's not a big deal. I haven't told them to expect you. Not unless you say yes. Which you don't have to."

She chuckled, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Dorogoy (darling), calm down. Breathe."

I neatened the cushions on the couch with a bit too much force. "Am I not breathing? I'm pretty sure I'm breathing."

Her hands slipped into mine as she spun me around to face her. An amused smile on her lips, she said, "You need to relax. If you're like this now, then who knows what you'll be like on the night of the dinner?"

It took me a second to realise what she'd said and when I did, my eyes widened. "Wait, the night of the– does that mean you're going?"

She laughed, tugging me closer to her. "Yes, I'm going. I'd love to meet your parents!"

My shoulders relaxed as her fingers played with mine mindlessly. A smile appeared on my lips as I said, "Thank you. I– it'll be fun. No pressure. Just a dinner."

"Just a dinner," she confirmed, before kissing my forehead gently. "Can't wait."

And so on the day before my parents left for Scotland, yet another trip on their never ending retirement travels, I waited for Wanda to pick me up so we could go to a restaurant to meet my parents, who were already there after spending the day shopping in town.

She arrived at the door with a beautiful smile and bright eyes, looking me up and down.

"Just on time," I teased, tilting my head to the side, before being serious. "You look amazing tonight, Wanda."

"As do you, moya lyubov' (my love)," she said sweetly, leaning forward to kiss my cheek, before stepping inside. "Also, these are for you."

She removed her hand from behind her back as I closed the door, revealing a gorgeous, colourful bouquet of flowers.

"I saw them and thought of you," she began to explain without even realising how cute she was; a smile crept on my lips as she continued, "but then I realised I've never gotten you flowers before which is very dumb of me because a pretty girl deserves pretty flowers, right?"

There was no doubt that my face was heating up from the attention, flustered yet honoured at her words.

"Wanda, I love them," I said, accepting the flowers and meeting her gaze. "And to be fair, nobody has ever gotten me flowers before."

"You're kidding," she said with disbelief, stepping forward and wrapping her arms loosely around my waist. Reading my serious expression, she added, "Not even for your birthday? Or a celebration?"

I shook my head. "Nope."

She gave me a knowing look. "Well, that's very unfortunate. But I'm glad I could be the first."

I held her gaze, amusement dancing in her smile. Mirroring her expression, I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her nose, making her scrunch it up delightfully.

"Me, too," I said, and I meant it.

"Come on, we should get going," she said, squeezing my waist before letting go. "Don't want to be late, do we?"

"We do not," I agreed, before putting the flowers in a vase of water and leaving them by the door.

"You ready?" she asked, holding open the front door.

I intertwined our hands and met her smile with my own. "I'm ready."

Taking the girlfriend to meet the parents. What could go wrong?

[honeymoonjin]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5.9k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: cursing, panic attack

A/N: apologies for my tgm crimes here but i gotta keep you on your toes since you have the old plan. also i'm not going to spoil anything but day 25 has one of my fav scenes in the show so far ;;-; so please enjoy this chapter and i will continue to work hard to finish the following one and get back into the posting routine!

DAY TWENTY-FOUR

You’re roused from sleep by the feathered sensation of fingertips on your jaw. Twitching slightly, you try and move away from it, burrowing deeper into the warm, gently rocking pillow your head is propped up on.

Before you can slip back under, however, the fingers give one last attack: a sudden flick to your cheek that echoes with a thwack. You flinch and furrow your brows, grumbling your displeasure since your words haven’t quite found you yet.

“Get up, sleepyhead, unless you’d rather I just piss in the bed.”

That’ll do it. You shoot up so quickly your vision swims, one side of your face feeling cold without the comfort of Yoongi’s chest. “Fuck you, go pee,” you slur, eyes still half-closed, the morning glare peeking through a gap in his curtains.

Yoongi happily but hurriedly trots off to the bathroom, giving you a moment of respite to collect yourself. It takes a few moments to recall the previous night, not just the way Yoongi’s voice had made you cum in your room, but also the way it later lulled you to sleep as he told you hushed stories of his childhood or anecdotes from his days as a sex education teacher.

You can even hear his voice now, just barely slipping under the crack of the door, humming and singing under his breath as he washes his hands.

When he finally exits, you’re propped up by pillows, duvet tucked over your knees and eyes crinkled fondly at his bedhead.

“Oh, no,” he starts with a frown, “you better get that look off of your face.”

Your smile drops. “What?”

Taming his hair with a few flat strokes, he shakes his head. “I need somebody sane in this house to talk to. You aren’t allowed to fall in love with me, it’s conflict of interest.”

Mouth dropping open, it takes you a few minutes to note the subtle curl to his lips. “You dick! I’m certainly not planning on it, don’t flatter yourself.”

“Hey,” he defends in a drawl, no attempt at modesty as he shucks his pyjamas before browsing his chest of drawers, “it’s been done before. You come for the massive dick and stay for the massive heart.” He pauses, shoulder muscles flexing as he reaches in to a drawer, pulling out a pair of dark wash jeans. “Stop looking at my ass, I’m trying to lecture you.”

On the contrary, you lower your gaze and narrow in on it. “You’re starting to develop a little bubble butt, Yoongi. It’s very cute.” Not leaving him time to protest, you barrel on. “Besides, your dick isn’t that big.”

“That’s only because you’re comparing mine to hyung’s. And Namjoon’s. And… And Jungkook’s, I guess. And-” Suddenly he cuts himself off, throwing himself back on the bed with his back hunched in despair. “Fuck, do I have a small dick?”

“Mm, not really,” you dismiss easily, deciding to finally get out of bed and pick out your own clothes - selecting them from Yoongi’s drawers, of course. He makes no protest, still staring blankly at the jeans in his hands. “You just have steep competition here. There’s nothing wrong with small dicks, either. They’re cute.”

Now visible from your angle, Yoongi’s face twists in a grimace. “But my dick isn’t small, right?”

You shrug, slipping on one of his FG shirts and a pair of sweatpants loose enough that you have to knot the drawstrings. “If it helps you sleep at night.”

He spares one somber glance down between his legs before he slips on a pair of underwear, finally stepping into the jeans. There’s a brief period of comfortable silence, before he lets out a small sigh. “Can I… Can I confess something to you?”

Although a quip would be easy enough to say, you sense the joking is over. “Of course, Yoongi,” you assure instead, sitting cross-legged on the unmade bed beside him. He doesn’t meet your eye, busying himself with slipping a shirt over his head. “What’s up?”

Once he’s fully dressed, he still keeps his eyes low. “When you- On Monday, when you voted out Jin-hyung. I was so glad.”

You pause for a moment. “Because you wanted him out of the competition?” you venture, but he shakes his head dully.

“Because I thought he might look at me again if he didn’t have you.”

Something sinks in your stomach, cold enough to make you shiver. The guilt in Yoongi’s voice doesn’t conceal the open vulnerability of his expression as he fiddles with his bitten fingernails. “What do you mean, Yoongi?”

“What him and I had earlier wasn’t healthy, I know that,” he defends to himself, “but… I still miss it. I miss him. But even when I spoke to him after the elimination, all he would talk about was you. And I can’t even be mad, because I get it. And I- If I’m honest,” he murmurs, feet scuffing restlessly on the carpet, “I don’t even know what I’m wanting to achieve by telling you this, but I couldn’t stand not having anybody know about it. I never wanted it to get this messy. I told myself I wouldn’t let my feelings get caught up. But I think a little heartbreak would be worth it, for him. Is that stupid?”

You feel so unanchored, like there’s nothing for you to grab onto to steady yourself. More so, you feel entirely incapable of helping your friend like you so desperately want to. “It’s not stupid,” you begin, reaching out to cup one of his hands snugly between the two of yours, head resting on his shoulder in solidarity, “and I’m so sorry. Does he- does he know you feel this way?”

“I don’t think so,” Yoongi admits in a low voice, leaning into your touch. “If he does, then he must not like me since he’s not acknowledging it. And if he doesn’t, then he must have never even considered me like that. I know I was a distraction at best.”

You knit your brows together, deep in thought to try and find the right words to say. “Or perhaps he knows and he’s respecting your boundaries by letting you initiate, especially since he was the one who took advantage of you last time. And perhaps he doesn’t know, and it’s only because he’s so caught up in his own feelings that he hasn’t considered that you may feel the same. You just don’t know these things, Yoongi. I didn’t know how you felt either until you told me.”

He nods slowly, jerkily. “Yeah,” he says weakly. “Jungkook said almost the exact same thing, actually.”

You pull back slowly, curiosity colouring your tone. “Jungkook?”

Yoongi manages a shy smile, cheeks colouring slightly. “He approached me. We- we talk a lot, way more than hyung and I ever did. I know Kookie has a crush on me, and we said we’d take things slow, but dammit, I can’t help but like the kid.”

You let a surprised laugh bubble up your throat. “That- I was not expecting that, but I’m so glad, Yoongi. Even if you don’t have Jin, I’m glad you’re letting yourself be happy with others.”

His smile falters. “Is it greedy that liking Jungkook doesn’t make me want Jin-hyung any less?”

You go still, thinking of your own blooming feelings for... Well, for most of the people in this house, if not - at least a little bit - all of them. “I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “I’d like to think not.”

Yoongi lifts his gaze to you, carefully studying your face. “Do you ever worry,” he begins, so softly that you have to strain to make the words out, “that our feelings have been set up. By the show, I mean.” His brows furrow deeper. “We’re living in a practical paradise - luxurious house with no real jobs, our food is paid for, we’re literally getting rewarded to have sex. It’s so artificial, you know? So who’s to say that our feelings are artificial, too? I- I’ve been thinking about that a lot,” he admits with a pensive stare.

You can’t lie. You nod. “I’d like to think not,” you repeat hollowly, “but… I mean, yeah, this feels like some alternate reality, and thinking of any of you in normal, mundane, real-life scenarios seems so strange. Like, can you picture Hoseok sitting down and doing his taxes?”

Yoongi snorts, shaking his head in bemusement as a line of tension eases from his shoulders. “I hope he hires an accountant. I certainly wouldn’t trust him with my money.”

You let out a deep sigh and fall backwards onto the duvet, air punched out of you on impact. “The thing is, Yoongi,” you declare in a matter-of-fact tone, “we have no way of knowing what life will be like once all this is wrapped up so why even bother worrying?”

He turns slightly, just enough to watch you warily over his shoulder. “Maybe because I could get my heart broken?”

You pout at him. “Tell me how that’s any different from developing a crush in real life?”

He opens his mouth, furrows his brows, and closes it again. “I- Ugh. Fuck you for being correct.”

Pleased with yourself, you hide your grin as you playfully knock his side with your foot, making him recoil with a groan. “Be as cautious or as impulsive as you want, but even if all this is fake, you could’ve just as easily developed those feelings outside of the show. Like come on, if you saw Jin in the grocery store don’t tell me you wouldn’t fall in love on sight!”

Yoongi shakes his head again, a wry smile playing at his lips. “I see your point… and now I’m picturing Jin getting groceries and looking hot doing it...wow.”

You cackle at the dazed look on Yoongi’s face, using his arm to pull yourself up off the bed, patting him on the shoulder. “Good talk, champ. I’m off to chow down on the leftover pork from last night. Care to join me?”

His eyes glitter, but the doctor declines. “Yoonji said she blackmailed one of the production team to bring her fried chicken from her favourite place. She’s hiding it in the bunk room, but you didn’t hear that from me. She’s selling some to me for a small fortune, the little devil.”

“Less than half a week here and she’s already set up a black market,” you muse, “I think I may be in love with her, Yoongi.”

“Don’t you dare.”

--

While the kitchen is empty when you first arrive, it only takes the sizzle of pork belly in a saucepan to draw your roommates down.

Jin is first, silently rummaging in the pantry and fridge for some side dishes to add to the mix. In return, you begin boiling some hot water, adding instant coffee mix to two mugs.

As the others join, the line of mugs and glasses on the kitchen island grows, until even the two Min twins are hovering in the kitchen, looking suspicously still hungry after their illicit breakfast.

There aren’t enough chairs at the table to seat you all, but luckily Taehyung and Jungkook are happy hunched over the bench in the kitchen, sharing a set of Airpods and snickering at a seemingly endless stream of TikToks.

At the table, Namjoon, Hoseok and Yoongi chow down on their meals, the latter with a considerably smaller portion made up mostly of meat. Yoonji and Jimin are on either side of you, with Jin on one end, chewing slow to savour each bite.

It’s the first time in a while that you’ve all shared breakfast at the same time, and you’re struck with a deep feeling of fondness at this little family-like group you’re living with.  Jimin sneaks extra strips of meat or spoonfuls of rice into your bowl when he thinks you’re not looking; Hoseok listens enthusiastically to Namjoon’s explanation of a summer school course he’s taking, even as he has to ask for clarification just about every second sentence; Yoongi splits his time between checking up on the two maknaes with a soft look, and scowling at his sister’s teasing comments.

“Any plans for the day?” Yoonji asks suddenly, tugging you out of your musings. She’s dressed sleekly in a black velvet mock neck shirt and high waisted denim shorts, her face as stark a resemblance to her brother as ever, with two sharp lines of black on her lids being the only visible makeup. “Except, I suppose, the mandatory fucking.”

You huff with pink cheeks, never growing used to hearing it so openly. “The days kinda blur together a little when you have no real responsibilities,” you admit, “I should probably find a hobby or something.”

Yoonji’s eyes crinkle in faux empathy. “Oh, honey, you’re gonna be so out of it when you return to the real world. You all will,” she adds, before shrugging, “except maybe Namjoon. Seems like academia doesn’t stop for anyone.”

You can’t help but agree. “He has more brain cells in his pinky finger than I do in my own body,” you swear, “he could break an arm and still type a thesis one-handed.”

Halfway through a mouthful of food, you’re rewarded to the ungraceful yet endlessly endearing sound of her snorting, a hand cupped over her mouth. After swallowing, she turns towards you to respond. “I haven’t known him for long, but that seems to check out. He’s quite the character, huh?”

You don’t miss the meaningful lilt to her voice, nor the quirk of a sharp brow. “He’s a good guy,” you reply under your breath, gaze darting down the table to where the man himself is engaged in an intensely enthusiastic discussion (okay, closer to a TedTalk) with Hoseok, now using pieces of meat to create an abstract diagram in his otherwise empty bowl. The latter looks bewildered, but is nonetheless paying deep attention to every word.

It’s impossible not to feel soft inside as you look at the pair of them, all complementary contrast. Hoseok with his slender nose and harsh facial structure and Namjoon with a round, gentle face. One of them dressed in sleek black and the other in oversized earth tones, the typically reserved one animated and the bubbly one focused in. It had taken you barely a month of shared living to become completely fond of these men, not just Namjoon and Hoseok but all of them, and as much as it was nice to have someone new in the Villa for a while, Yoonji’s presence makes you more aware of the fact that you and the seven guys had developed a certain equilibrium that seemed slightly off-balance with the change.

It makes you worry about what other disturbances this delicate system could hold, and if returning to the real world would be a shift large enough to permanently upend it.

Wishing to dispel the pessimistic narrative beginning to form, you focus in on Yoonji again. “Anyways,” you start, “how are you finding the Villa so far?”

“Certainly an interesting look behind the veil, though it’s really not ideal having to-” Yoonji’s cut off by the chirp of an incoming message on her phone. “Sorry, one sec,” she mumbles absentmindedly, but you don’t miss the way her face falls when she reads the message, immediately glancing directly across the table to where her brother sits.

To your growing concern, Yoongi is also reading a message on his phone, and he quietly excuses himself from the table, leaving his bowl half-eaten. He jerks his head towards the front door, and Yoonji manages a quick apology before they’re leaving the room.

All startled out of their separate conversations, the remaining members of the household sit in confused silence, enough that even Taehyung and Jungkook turn around from their phones.

“What’s going on?” Jungkook asks in a worried voice. “Where’s Yoongi-hyung?”

Nobody replies, Jin just shaking his head with a grim frown and leaving the table himself, going after them.

“Guys,” Taehyung says more insistently, eyes not leaving the empty seats at the table.

“They both got a text,” you say with furrowed brows, “Yoongi and Yoonji. Must’ve been bad news, judging by their faces.”

“Jin-hyung’ll find out what’s going on,” Namjoon assures, though it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself, “let’s just clean up for them and wait for an update. Yeah?”

The two youngest nod solemnly, still with a single Airpod each bobbing in their opposite ears.

For a while, the group of you remaining sit in silence, as if caught up in some spell that would only be broken once Jin returned with some answers. The absence of Yoongi at the table is so much more pronounced, and you can’t help but feel the sickening worry swirl inside you when you look at his bowl, chopsticks strewn carelessly beside it.

Everyone is just waiting for bad news. You’ve felt this looming dread before, and it either came with a swoop of relief or a blow of despair. Your teeth find your thumbnail as you wait helplessly to see which one it’ll be.

It feels like an eternity before the door finally opens, making everyone jump, but only a few minutes have really passed. Jin is panting slightly, like he ran back from wherever Yoongi disappeared to.

“He’s-” he starts quickly, before a tremor passes over his face and he grimaces, jogging over and falling heavily into his chair at the table, face in his hands. “Their dad is in hospital. Heart attack.”

“Oh my god,” Namjoon breathes, brows knit together in sympathy. “Is he okay? Was it serious?”

Jin shrugs, looking up enough to run his hand over his face and take a shaky breath. “He’s alright for now, but apparently they need to make sure it doesn’t repeat anytime soon. If he settles, he’ll be fine, but there’s a chance that he might suffer another attack. Yoongi and Yoonji are going to the hospital now to stay with him until they’re more certain he’s stable. Just in case.”

“When is he coming back? Yoongi-hyung?” Jungkook’s eyes are wide, shiny. He can’t stop fiddling with his fingers, self-soothing.

“Not for a while, I don’t think,” Jin divulges with a pained expression. “He needs to be there for his family right now. That’s all I know, I’m sorry.”

The front door creaks, and all of you instinctively whip your heads towards it, as if Yoongi himself might be returning already, but you’re greeted with the weary face of Producer Sejin, joining you at the table, taking Yoongi’s old spot. Taehyung frowns deeply at the choice, turning his face away.

“What’s going on?” you ask quickly. “What happens to Yoongi? And us?”

“Yoongi is… He was in a rush to get going, understandably, so we didn’t speak in great depth. But he in short stated that he’d return when his father was in better health if the place was still open for him. I’ve got in contact with the higher-ups, and we’ve agreed to put the show on a temporary hold.”

“On hold?” Jungkook asks in a nervous voice. “What does that even mean?”

Sejin clears his throat stiffly and clicks his tongue. “Well. It means we’re putting a stop to the game for now, in short. If Yoongi is able to return by the end of the week, we’ll resume as usual. Otherwise, we’ll consider him to have permanently left the competition, and we’ll be forced to continue the game without him.”

You frown, fighting the urge to cry. This all feels so wrong, like he’s been taken from you with little hope of reunion, and discussing it like administration feels so clinical. “So we’re just sitting here, not knowing if he’s going to come back home, waiting around in limbo?” As soon as you finish, it feels like the word home lingers in the air longer than the rest of them. And perhaps this house doesn’t feel like home to you, but it certainly seems like six of the seven pieces of home are around you right now, and it’s not the same without him away. By the way the others are solemn and red-eyed, you probably aren’t the only one that’s begun feeling that way.

Sejin just shakes his head slowly, as subdued as you all are. “Listen, I know this isn’t ideal. The boss wanted to film it, make a big drama out of it, and then kick him off the show for views. I’m doing the best I can here to compromise and give him some dignity.”

Eyes widening, you stare at the round eyes of the cameras in the living room. “Are you- are you even allowed to say that?”

“I cut the camera feeds,” Sejin says in a defeated tone, “the show is officially off-air for technical difficulties. You can do what you want here while you wait - hell, you can leave if you want, just please be prepared to come back on the Sunday. We’ll have a discussion about whether Yoongi can return, and what we’ll do if he doesn’t. Understood?”

“Understood,” Namjoon offers up for the group, and the producer leaves with another sigh and an attempt at a comforting smile. You can’t help but feel bad for him, working such an emotionally draining job, especially when you’ve heard nothing but bad things about his employer.

Once the room falls into quiet again, Jin stands up, chair legs scraping against the floor. “Okay, I think we should decide as a group what we’re wanting to do. Stay or go?”

You open your mouth to give your two cents, but before you can, Jungkook suddenly chokes on a sob and covers his face with his hands, Jimin immediately scooting his chair closer to wrap an arm around his shaking shoulders.

“Hey, what is it?” Jimin asks quietly, but the room is so silent that you all catch it. “Talk to me, bun. What is it?”

Jungkook takes a few stuttering breaths to compose himself, sniffling. “I don’t want you all to leave too,” he confesses, Jimin’s thumb catching a tear dangling on the tip of his nose, “isn’t Yoongi-hyung enough?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” the elder promises, pressing a kiss into his hairline before looking up at the rest of you, eyes widening intentionally. “We’ll stick together through this until he comes back, yeah? It’s not all bad. The cameras are off, remember? We can have a break now, we don’t need to worry about the show. Isn’t that nice?”

After a moment’s considering, Jungkook nods slowly. “‘t is nice,” he admits begrudgingly. “But only if everyone stays.”

You can’t help but smile fondly, getting up yourself to come behind him, stroking his hair back. “We’ll stay, of course we’ll stay. Let’s spend some time together tonight, we can put on a movie and snuggle, how about that?”

He perks up at the thought of this, glancing around the table as the others nod in affirmation. “I’ll bring down the blankets,” he bargains, cracking a small smile, and the rest of the room relaxes, immediately bursting into sound as everyone arranges the necessary supplies for a good quality movie night, almost back to normal.

Jungkook, as the member of the Villa in most urgent need of a pick-me-up, is given movie choosing privileges, so the seven of you tuck in for a rewatch of his favourite Spiderman movies, perhaps the only thing that can keep him glued to the screen.

At first, the absence feels overwhelming to you. Try as you might through the opening sequence, you can’t shake it. Your mind counts heads without thinking, keeps looking at the space on the couch where Yoongi liked to put his feet up. Even though you know it’s his father who is unwell, not him, there’s the sick swelling in your stomach that makes you feel like his departure is final, and shortly after the title card plays out, you’re quietly excusing yourself and stumbling to the back door, in desperate need of fresh air.

It’s cold outside, a brisk wind cutting through you. You barely make it around the corner out of sight before your legs buckle, and you let yourself fall into a pathetic crouch, your weight propped up against the side of the house as you try to suck the chilled air into your lungs.

The panic creeps up on you in swells, the irrational fear that Yoongi would leave the show and you’d never see him again and everything would fall apart suddenly feeling like a whole tsunami crashing against you. Your fingers claw at the exterior wall as you fall back onto your behind, unable to even keep yourself in a crouch.

More so than the intrusive thoughts, it’s the image of Yoongi’s face falling, of him rushing out of the house in frantic distress that replays in your mind and leaves you suffocating. He looked so scared, your calm, reliable Yoongi. He was like a pillar, but that news was a fell swoop he couldn’t stay strong against. Your heart burns for him, cramping and aching in your chest.

For a moment, you picture yourself staying out here, gasping for breath until the sun goes down. You feel alone, more than ever since coming here, and even as the thought spooks you, there’s no energy in your body to do anything about it.

Just as your breaths start to sound more like death rattles and you curl your face towards the ground, a warmth envelopes your back, arms circling your middle and lifting you up.

“Hey, breathe, breathe with me, Y/n. I’m here.”

You recognise the voice. You recognise the built torso holding you steady, but your mind isn’t putting the pieces together, and so you simply squeeze your eyes shut and allow yourself to be maneuvered around there are hands on your face and a deep voice instructing you to look at me. I’m here; look at me.

You crack your eyes open, body heaving with the effort it takes to get any oxygen in your lungs, but you’re met with the soulful brown eyes of Kim Namjoon, narrowed in concern.

His hands are warm despite the frigid air outside, and you let yourself melt into him, eyes sinking to watch his lips mouth instructions, demonstrating exaggerated breathing for you to follow.

You feel distinctly like you might vomit, but you force yourself to match his breaths. The shuddering in and stilted out aren’t as fluid as his, but slowly your heart doesn’t thud in your ears and your body doesn’t shake as violently.

You feel damp, sweating all over, and your whole body aches, but your hearing begins to properly tune in again, coherence creeping back. “Na-Namjoon,” you gasp, wishing you had the energy to grab his arms or hug him or something other than lying limp against the wall of the house.

“Shh, hey, don’t strain yourself. Take it easy. I’m here.” He’s crouching in front of you, eyes locked onto you as he continues to hold you steady, jaw kept aloft by his hands. “Keep breathing, and it’ll go away. It’s a panic attack, I’ve had my fair share. You’ll come right.”

Trusting him despite the persisting burn in your chest, you let him coach your breathing for several more minutes, the heightened air influx making your head go light and floaty.

Once a counted breath turns into a yawn of exhaustion, you know the worst has passed. It leaves you boneless, not a single ounce of power left in your muscles, but you can breathe again, and it’s all thanks to the man across from you.

“I’ve never had one before,” you manage, voice cracking, “not like that.”

Namjoon’s lips press together in sympathy, and he turns to prop himself against the side of the house beside you, letting you continue breathing independently. “Is it Yoongi-hyung?”

You nod weakly, and the academic hums in confirmation. “I used to get panic attacks a lot in university. I used to hate them, thought they meant I was weak. Like I couldn’t handle the pressure as much as I thought I could. But, you know, these days I just figure I’m only panicking because it means so much to me. And I don’t think that makes me weak at all. It just means I care. Don’t feel ashamed about this, Y/n. All it means is that you care about hyung a lot.”

All the breath in your lungs leaves you in one rush as you prop your head in your hands, knees tucked towards your chest. “Yeah.” You wish you had something more appreciative to say, but your mind is waterlogged, weighed down and not functioning.

Namjoon doesn’t seem to mind the curt response. “I care about him a lot too. He’s like the glue for us, isn’t he? I’m worried to fall apart without him here keeping us in line. But we survived before we knew him and we’ll survive now. What’s better is supporting each other and waiting to see how we can support Yoongi-hyung, too.”

“You’re right,” you admit with a heavy breath, wiggling your toes to will energy back into them. “We’ll be okay.”

Namjoon bends sideways to bump your shoulder warmly. “That’s the spirit. Now; I’m happy to stay out here as long as you need, but Jungkook was the first one to notice you had been gone for a while, and I think he’s probably getting concerned by now. If you’re up to it, I can give you a hand to get inside and join the others again. What do you reckon?”

You lean your head back against the wall, taking a moment to consider. “What movie is he putting on next?”

“He mentioned wanting to check out Paw Patrol on Netflix.”

“Let me die out here,” you plead weakly.

Namjoon laughs, the sound like comfort itself, and stands up, offering you a hand. “Come on, kitten, up we get.”

In the end, the Netflix viewings manage to distract you for the rest of the night. When your limbs are tangled together and snacks are flowing, it’s easy to tune out of reality a bit and focus on the television screen in the comfort of shared company. Jungkook clears space on the couch for you the second you return, and clings to you for hours, his chin on your shoulder. You don’t complain, feeling soothed by the physical closeness. But the hours pass, and when the majority of you can no longer hold in your yawns, Seokjin gets up to turn the lights back on and clean up.

“Let’s get some rest,” he decides, and it’s that return to the real world that immediately dampens the atmosphere again, the group of you turning solemn. You pause to pull out your phone, sending Yoongi a quick message of support, and that you all missed him already, but no reply comes.

Without words being spoken, the seven of you remaining find yourselves flocking together as you make your way up to bed. Jin flanks the maknae as Namjoon and Hoseok lean heavily into each other, the four of them disappearing into Jin’s room. You naturally fall into step with the remaining two men, Taehyung linking his arm into yours and holding you close all the way to Jimin’s room.

Somehow, the house is too quiet. Even though Yoongi wasn’t a particularly noisy housemate, his absence cloaks the air.

You have no energy to shower. Washing your face is as much as you can manage, and Taehyung is even more despairing than you are, slumped on the toilet seat as Jimin cleans his face for him.

The uncertainty is what makes your heart flutter on edge, unable to wind down, and you know from the restrained looks of fear and distress in the guys’ eyes that they feel the same. The show would be undoubtably ruined if Yoongi couldn’t return. But more important than that, Yoongi would be ruined if he lost his father so suddenly.

Knowing Yoongi is hurting makes you ache, and you cling to your lovers like they’re your anchors in a churning sea, tucking your face firmly into Taehyung’s shoulder. It soothes you a little to be pinned between them, but the three of you still lie awake as the minutes blink by agonisingly slow.

At some point, you must fall into a fitful sleep, because when a sudden noise fills the room, it rouses you aggressively, and you almost kick Jimin’s shin in the process. Grunting, the half-asleep man rubs his face and twists around, fumbling on the nightstand for the offending noise.

It’s Taehyung’s phone, vibrating against the wooden table, and once Jimin blinks twice at the glaring screen he gasps and yanks the charger out, sitting up in bed. “It’s hyung,” he declares in a voice more vulnerable than you’d ever heard from him before. “Wake Tae.”

You force yourself to dispel those last few wisps of sleep from your brain, and gently shake Taehyung awake. According to the clock on the nightstand, it’s almost two in the morning, but your heart leaps as Yoongi’s face fills the phone screen, looking right at the three of you.

“I thought you would be together,” he states with a rueful smile, though you can see that it doesn’t quite reach his reddened eyes. “Sorry for calling so late.”

“Don’t apologise, hyung,” Taehyung whines, half of his weight on you as he leans in close, “we were so worried about you. How’s your dad?”

Yoongi’s brows furrow beneath mussed hair. “Not great,” he admits. “A little more stable, at least, but he’s pretty confused right now. Nurses worry that it might have affected his brain.”

Your heart sinks, both at the thought of a relatively young man suffering such awful health complications, but also at how Yoongi was trying to hide his exhaustion and distress. “Oh my god.”

“Mm, we should know soon what the damage is,” Yoongi explains further, rubbing his eyes with the hand not holding his phone aloft, “and if he’s alright I can head back h- head back to the Villa. He’s just been sleeping a lot today so… We don’t really know how he’ll be until he’s conscious for enough time. Yoonji’s with him at the moment, I just wanted to duck out and give you guys an update. Where are the others?”

“Jin-hyung’s room,” Jimin answers, even as he’s throwing back the covers. “They’ll want to hear from you themselves, just hold on a minute.”

You hear Yoongi’s voice echoing from the phone and strain to make out his words as Jimin heads to the door. “No, no, don’t wake them. I actually wanted to ask if you’d like to come visit? Of course none of you know my dad, and he doesn’t know you, but- Well, Yoonji and I could do with some company.”

You jump up, rushing to Jimin’s side. As he naturally accommodates your presence and pulls you flush against him, you lift your face up to the phone. “We’ll be there,” you assure Yoongi, “just please get some rest tonight. It’s been a rough day.”

Yoongi’s pained smile breaks your heart, and Jimin leads the phone back to the bed so that Taehyung can say a final goodbye before the three of you hang up and crawl, exhausted but somewhat relieved, back into bed.

[fruitydiaz-archived]

for the prompts: #70?

70 — “After everything we’ve been through, you still don’t think that I love you?”

buddie fluff!

from this prompt list

“Do you think you’ll ever find love again?”

They’re in Buck’s kitchen, Chris sitting on the couch catching the end of their movie, while Buck and Eddie wash and dry their dishes, when Buck blurts the question out suddenly. Eddie pauses mid-wiping down a plate, and raises his eyebrow, turning slowly to give Buck an amused look.

“That’s a question,” He says after a moment. Buck flushes a little and rolls his eyes.

They’d been talking about a call they had this morning. It was one of those old married couples that always hit Buck right in the gut. He had sat to the side on the curb with the wife, while they carried her husband to the ambulance, and listened to her tell him their love story.

He didn’t even try to hide his tears as he climbed back into the truck with the rest of the team.

“I’m sure I will. I’m not interested in looking for it right now, though,” Eddie says, smiling over at Buck. “I’ve got everything I need right here, you know?”

Buck turns to look over at Christopher, smiling at the look of his face, transfixed on the movie.

“Yeah, I know,” Buck nods, turning off the sink and grabbing an extra towel to help Eddie dry.

“It just — don’t you get lonely sometimes? It’s been so long since I lived with somebody else. Sometimes I just think...it’d be nice to have someone to come home to.”

Buck’s starting to think maybe he shouldn’t have gone ahead and had that extra beer. He’s not sure what’s gotten him thinking like this. He and Taylor decided they were better as friends a long time ago — and since Eddie had broken up with Ana around the same time — they just filled the space for each other. He hasn’t really felt lonely in a while. He doesn’t really want someone else to be here...he wants Eddie to stay.

Eddie looks at him for a moment before he grabs the last plate from his hand and puts it away. He sighs and leans against the counter, reaching for his beer.

“You could always move in with me. Then you can come home to us,” Eddie says, like a joke. Except it’s not; he’s mentioned moving in to Buck at least a dozen times over the last couple of months, since they both got out of relationships and started spending almost every non-working moment in each other’s homes. Buck never seems to think he’s serious though.

“Right,” Buck chuckles, ducking his head. When he looks back up at Eddie, he’s a little shyer and quieter. It’s the look he gets when he starts to doubt himself, and it always makes Eddie want to reach out and shake some sense into him.

“It’s just different I guess. I want to come home to someone who loves me.”

That hits Eddie like a punch.

His body tenses up and he feels a wave of emotions building up in his chest. He’s hurt, for one, and angry.

“Buck,” He starts, running a hand over his face. He crosses his arms and sets his bottle back against the edge of the counter, glancing out the window. The city lights calm him a little bit.

“Why do you think I keep asking you to move in?” He asks eventually, his voice soft. Buck tilts his head to the side and shrugs.

“To save money?”

Eddie looks at him, unimpressed. It makes Buck shrink in on himself a bit.

“You don’t think it’s maybe because I want you there?” Buck blinks at him.

“Eddie…”

“No, listen to me, Buck. I don’t think — I don’t think you understand.”

Eddie looks down again and brings a hand up to his face, pressing his fingers into the bridge of his nose as he thinks. His head’s spinning a little bit — not drunk, just overwhelmed and dizzy — because of Buck. Because of all of these feelings he has about Buck that have been building up inside of him for years. Because it’s getting harder for him to pretend that he just wants to be friends with him.

These last months have been nice, the way they’ve slid perfectly into the empty spaces in each other’s lives. But any time they have a conversation like this, Eddie feels that fear spike up in him, the fear that he’s about to lose one of the best things that have ever happened to him. Sometimes he thinks he should just tell him, just rip the band-aid off and finally expose the softest, most vulnerable part of himself that he’s been guarding all these years. He knows Buck would never leave him — especially not over the fact that Eddie loves him. But things would change, they’d have to. And that’s the part that holds him back most of the time.

But tonight feels different. He knows Buck wants this as much as he does — he has to. But Buck will never be the one to make the first move, because he’s weighed down by his past: by the abandonment, the neglect, the fear that he’s too much for anyone to stick around for.

Eddie’s not sure how he doesn’t get it at this point.

“After everything we've gone through together, you still don’t think I love you?”

“I know you love me, Eddie—“

“No, Buck,” Eddie says again, and his voice is worn and exasperated. “No, you don’t. I love you. Christopher and I are here with you almost every night we have available. You keep the cereal we like stocked in your pantry just in case we’re here for breakfast. I keep those weird vegan protein bars you like. You have a drawer in my room with sweatpants and t-shirts and a spare uniform just in case. I broke up with Ana and haven’t even thought about another person in months because...I don’t want anyone else.”

Buck swallows hard.

“I don’t understand…”

“I’m in love with you, Evan.”

“...Eddie...”

“I mean it. And you don’t — you don’t have to say anything back or...or try to let me down gently, or whatever. I just...I need you to know. You always say you’re alone and that no one ever really wants you. I need you to know you’re wrong.”

Neither of them says anything for a moment, and Eddie busies himself with his beer, trying desperately not to let the panic take over him, trying desperately not to feel like he has to pack up his stuff and grab Christopher and get out of there immediately. He’ll give Buck space if he needs it, but only if he asks.

God, he hopes he doesn’t ask.

“I love you, too,” Buck says eventually, quietly. Eddie looks up at him. “I’ve just...I really like you, you know? This thing we have with each other. It’s special...and it’s different. And I’ve always known that, so I just...I never wanted to risk losing it. I’m so used to people I love leaving, Eddie.”

“I’m never leaving you,” Eddie says instantly, confidently. Buck stares at him wide-eyed, before the softest smile Eddie’s ever seen spreads on his face.

“I know.”

Eddie’s pretty sure that they should kiss, pretty sure that that’s the thing that they’re supposed to do next, but he can’t move. He’s fixed to his spot against the counter and Buck seems fixed to his spot in front of the sink, because all they can do is stare at each other, grinning like two fools in love — because that’s what they are, aren’t they?

Eventually, Christopher’s movie ends, and he calls out for Buck and Eddie.

“Dad, Buck, can we watch another one?” He calls, a hint of mischief in his voice. He knows he’s usually only allowed one movie and then he and Eddie have to head home after dinner. Buck grins.

“How about I pack a bag and we head back to yours and we can start another one there. Maybe I can even...stay a couple of days?”

“You moving in already?” Eddie teases and Buck rolls his eyes.

“Well, you’ve only been begging me to for months now.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure. Go pack a bag and I’ll get Chris ready.”

Buck nods and then turns to run up the stairs to grab his bag — but he stops. He turns around and looks at Eddie, a small smile on his lips and a glint in his eyes, cheeks a little red.

“Um,” He mumbles, taking two large steps to close the gap between them and ducking to the side. He leans in quickly and presses a shy kiss to Eddie’s cheek and then steps away.

Eddie stares at him, a little stunned. He’s never known Buck to be shy with physical affection, especially not with someone he likes, but it’s endearing and sweet and breaking Eddie’s brain a little with the realization that they’re actually doing it. They’re crossing this line.

Buck spins around and disappears up the stairs into his loft before Eddie can say anything, leaving his mind speeding a thousand miles a second into the future, imagining all of their future kisses, their future dinners, Buck moving in officially, no longer having to travel 20 minutes to see each other, no longer spending the night alone in his bed wishing Buck was there with him, waking up to his face in the morning, kissing him goodnight.

Maybe they’ll even get married. Eddie would like that. He’s pretty sure Buck would too.

Not that he’s in any kind of rush.

He’s got everything he could ever want right here, right now.

[neoculturetravesty]

We met in online class - Part 8

Image adapted from here.

Pairing: Renjun x Reader Genre: College AU, romance, angst, fluff Warnings: Strong language, descriptions of anxiety and trauma response, a character gets Covid-19 Word Count: 3.8k

Navigation: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | You are on Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Last Part

A/N: The Dreamies are best friends and you can’t change my mind.

What do you do when everything that makes you a person starts to feel rudimentary? When you start to feel like an imposter in your own body? When nothing feels real and everything feels inconsequential and the world spins but you stand still?

You do what you’ve always done. You let your body keep you alive.

And that’s what Renjun does. He lets his body take over. He lets it put one foot in front of the other. He lets it make him breathe in and out. He lets it keep his heart beating.

Because his mind had stopped functioning. He felt a numbing take over. Like a warm trickle that started from the crown of his head had run down to his shoulders, numbing everything in its wake. Like his kind body knew that his mind needed protection that way. He feels numb and that’s all he feels.

So he concentrates on every breath. In and out. In and out. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, outside the hospital ward, counting every breath this way. Has it been weeks? Months? Years? Why does time have no meaning? Who decided when the hours would turn to days and days would turn to weeks, anyway? Who decided that time must be measured in the ticking of clocks and in the flips of calendars? How did any of this make sense?

Time should be measured in other ways that would make it seem more real. Time should be measured in the number of times Renjun had hid under the stairs so he could block out his parent’s fights. Time should be measured in the instances Renjun had fed himself dried laver because his parents had a screaming match about whose responsibility it was feeding him. Time should be measured in the days Renjun was alone and scared, waiting for his parents to come home. Time should be measured in the nights that Renjun had spent trying to make peace with the fact that he might never get to return home and that he’d have to stay with his grandmother for all the nights to come. Time should be measured in the last time Renjun felt happiness. Time should be measured in the last time somebody had loved Renjun. Time should be measured in stolen childhoods and resentments and broken relationships and the number of times a person can be abandoned. 

Because that would make a lot more sense than seconds, hours, and fucking days. But how long had it been in any of those measures? He still has no understanding of that.

So he lets his body take over. He breaths in and out. He keeps his heart beating. He puts one foot in front of the other. And he has no idea how doing so has led him to this place. Like his feet carried him where his mind didn’t even know he wanted to be.

But he has walked and there you are. Walking down the stairs looking like you always do. Smiling. Happy. Content. Looking more beautiful than you’ve ever looked. Did Renjun ever think you looked anything less than the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen? Renjun doesn’t remember the time. But you look up then and see him standing there. And your smile fades. The light in your eyes dim. The skip in your stride falters. Of course. Renjun was putting out lights everywhere he went.

You see him and approach him, slow and cautious. Like one would approach an injured cat. And Renjun wonders what he must look like. He finds himself speaking out of his body’s own accord. Because he spoke the words before his mind had even had the thought.

“I know you hate me.” he says, although he doesn’t recognize his own voice. His body is here, doing all the work for him. But where is his soul? 

“I don’t hate you, Renjun.” you say quietly and Renjun finds himself smiling a sad smile. Of course you didn't hate him. You weren't capable of hatred. It was one of your biggest flaws that had made him fall.

“You should hate me.” Renjun tells you. And he watches your pretty face moving. Like you weren’t sure what you had walked into outside of your own home.

“I…” you pause, maybe to read his face. Like you were picking your next words carefully, weighing them against what you saw before you “... Renjun, are you okay?”

Renjun looks away. Was he okay? What did it mean to be okay? Had he ever been okay? He looks back at you. How could he tell you that nothing in his world was okay? How could he tell you that he didn’t even feel like a person? How could he tell you that he felt like a punching bag for his family and his life and the universe? Why couldn’t you just tell?

“Renjun… um, I know it was a lot. What happened. But, your friends care about you, you know? I know you fought but… it’s nothing you can’t work through…” you’re speaking to him carefully, like if you make one wrong move, Renjun would lash out at you. Truth be told, Renjun is not sure how he’d react to anything anymore. His mind is numb. He doesn’t know how he’s still moving, breathing, speaking. He doesn’t even know why he came here, to you. But his body answers.

“Can I come in for some ramyeon?” he asks suddenly. When was the last time he ate? He doesn’t remember. Why doesn’t he remember anything anymore?

“Um, I…” you hesitate a bit but stop when a car drives in and pulls up in front of you. And that’s when Renjun notices that you’re pulling a travel bag behind you. 

“Are you…” Renjun begins to ask but the car’s window has been rolled down and Wong Hendery is waving at the two of you. Even through his numbness, Renjun can feel his heart clench. Of course. Renjun thought he had the power to break your heart. How very conceited he had been to think that. He had probably been a roadblock for you at best. It made sense. You should be with Wong Hendery. He was taller and stronger and more handsome. He came from better means. He was probably nicer to you. He probably listened to you when you talked. He probably got to know you. He probably knew your favorite tea because Renjun certainly hadn’t taken the time to find out. He probably admired you and took you out and knew your life and all your problems. He was a much better man for you than Renjun ever was.

“I… I’m going to be out of town for a bit.” you say slowly, and if Renjun wasn’t so numb, he’d think that you almost look apologetic. 

“Oh. Okay.” he replies.

“We can talk when I get back?” you ask cautiously.

“Okay.”

“If you want to, I mean.” you add.

“Yeah…”

“Okay… I’ll see you, then.” you say, looking at him like you’re trying to say something but deciding to move ahead instead.

“See you.” 

You walk on, rolling your bag behind you when you slowly turn to look at him. “Renjun, um…” your stop for a bit, like you’re not sure whether you should say what you want to say “... take care of yourself.” you sigh and walk away from him.

Renjun watches as Wong Hendery gets out of the car and helps you load your bag into the trunk. He even opens the door for you and helps you put your seatbelt on. Had Renjun done any of these things for you? Probably not. What was it that Renjun had wanted from you, again? He doesn’t remember. He doesn’t remember a time when he was with you for a reason other than your company. Other than wanting you by his side. So what the fuck was it that he had wanted from you? All the material benefits he had ever wanted seem so pointless. So small. So incredibly inconsequential. How could he have possibly wanted them from you? How did he ever think that you were anything less than the most giving person in the world? How did he spend all that time blocking you out when you had brought him so much lightness? Why didn’t anyone ever tell him that all that he had wanted would mean absolutely nothing when you were walking away from him with another man?

Renjun wants to stop you. ‘Don’t go with him. Stay with me. I need you.’ he wants to say. ‘You only fight with the people you truly love,’ you had told him. So why didn’t you remember your own words?

But walking away you were. And that was the truth of it. Renjun didn’t deserve happiness in any way, shape or form. Who was he to stop you after all he had done to you? This is what he deserved. To be beaten down till he didn’t feel like a thinking, feeling person. Just a breathing, walking body. 

So his body carries him home. Although Renjun had never known what home really meant.

As it would turn out, home meant the apartment, where he lived with his friends.

Or what had been his friends before he had done everything in his power to push them away. He doesn’t know how his body remembers his code or how it automatically rids itself of his shoes and jacket. How his feet carry him to his room of their own accord.

He pauses only when he sees Jisung sitting there at his desk, playing video games. He looks up startled as he sees Renjun at the door. 

“Renjun…” the boy says, game forgotten. His eyes follow him as he makes his way from the foot of the door to his bed. He waits, eyes wide, hesitating. 

“Where have you been?” Jisung asks, turning in his chair, eyes taking in Renjun’s demeanor.

Renjun is silent for a moment. He doesn’t know what to say. He sits on the edge of his bed and he feels that trickle once again that starts from his head and crawls down to his shoulders. Except this time, it weighs him down. Like a stronghold was actually pressing him down till he felt he was sinking, sinking, sinking. He feels his lips moving.

“My grandma has Covid.” he finds himself saying.

Had he looked up, he would’ve seen how Jisung’s face had gone from being cautiously surprised to openly panicked. How the boy was struggling to find something to say. “Is she okay? Where is she?”

“In the isolation ward.” Renjun says and he is surprised by how normal his voice sounds.

“Wait… hold on, Renjun, please… stay right here...” Jisung begins as he scrambles out of his seat and out the door. The poor boy never knew what to do in these situations. Renjun feels bad. The boy was way too young and innocent to have Renjun around him right now. Because Renjun’s shoulders were carrying the weight of the world. His heart was carrying nothing but emptiness. His presence was burdening, and that’s exactly what he didn’t want to give his young roommate: his burden. 

He hears more people walk in. Jisung had apparently gone out to call for backup. Because no way was the boy equipped to deal with what was unfolding in front of him on his own. And now Jeno and Jaemin are walking in behind him, concern on their faces as they approach Renjun.

“What’s going on?” Jeno asks softly as he sits next to Renjun, turning his attention to him fully. Jaemin and Jisung stand by the bunk bed, waiting for Renjun to speak.

“My grandma has Covid. She is in the isolation ward. It’s bad.” Renjun repeats. A pause hangs in the air before anyone speaks.

“Fuck, Renjun… I am so sorry.” Jeno finally says. He exchanges a look with Jaemin and the boy grabs the wheelie chair and brings it closer while Jisung sits on the floor. They all huddle around Renjun, waiting, listening, protecting.

“How long has it been, Renjun?” Jaemin asks kindly. 

“Um. I don’t know how long she had it before she was brought to the hospital. No one’s really told me much.” Renjun replies, looking at nothing, looking at no one. He can see Jisung sitting by his feet, looking up at him. He can feel Jeno and Jaemin close on either side of him. But he dares not meet any of their eyes.

“Is that why you haven’t been home much this past week?” Jeno asks.

“No, I, uh. I only found out yesterday afternoon.” Renjun answers and he’s surprised that he replied in actual time units. “Before that, uh. My… my parents are getting divorced. So, I had been going down to see them. It’s why I wasn’t at the party.” 

There is a profound silence in the room as his friends absorb the information. Jaemin is the first one to break it.

“Why didn’t you tell us, Renjun?” he asks softly, kindly.

“I, uh…” Renjun thinks for a moment. Was it only last week that the taxing calls from his mother had resulted in him blocking out all the people from his life? Was it only a couple of days ago that his biggest worry had been his parent’s failing marriage? Was it only two nights ago that he had avenged his bad luck by lashing out on all his friends? “... I don’t know. I didn’t want to bother you guys, I guess. You all had exams.”

“We would’ve wanted to be there for you even if we had exams, Renjun.” Jaemin says, leaning his head down to face Renjun so he would look into his eyes.

Renjun peeks up for a moment but wishes he didn’t. Because now there is a lump in his throat. Jaemin was looking at him so kindly even though Renjun had done nothing to deserve his kindness. He swallows so his voice would be steady before he speaks.

“Still. I, uh. I didn’t want you guys to worry.” he says.

“It’s okay for us to worry about our friend, Renjun.” Jeno says and this time, Renjun can’t possibly hold back the tears that sting his eyes.

“Renjun… have you eaten?” Jaemin asks, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Um…” Renjun’s voice comes out husky. So he clears his throat. “No, I haven’t.” And suddenly he feels how hungry he really was.

He feels a scramble at his feet. “I…” Jisung speaks awkwardly but purposefully. “... I’ll get some food.” and Renjun realizes that if Jisung is the one putting himself in charge of food, then his friends must really be pushing themselves to take care of him. The boy gets up and leaves the room and Jeno speaks again.

“When did you find out about your parents?”

“Um… maybe last week? I don’t know. My mother had been calling me a lot during exam week. I went to see them the day of the party.” Renjun is finding that the more he talks, the more he feels the heaviness in his shoulders ease.

“You should’ve told us. We would’ve come with you.” Jeno says and Renjun sees that he’s wearing a crease between his brows.

“You guys had the party.” Renjun says and somehow saying it out loud makes him realize how dumb this reasoning was.

“You are more important to us than any party, Renjun.” Jaemin says and Renjun doesn’t know whether to cry or to smile. It wasn’t often that his friends spoke this way. But it was oddly comforting that they were speaking this way now. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted to hear the words they were speaking to him.

“Yeah… I… I guess I didn’t know that.” Renjun purses his lips because he’s sure that any breath he lets out would choke him. So inhales deeply through his nose.

“Your grandma… do you know how she is doing?” Jeno asks.

“I don’t really know. My mother’s been with her. I could only wait in the lobby. I just know she’s on life support. And that can never be good.” Renjun bites his lip.

“People have survived Covid even after they’ve been on life support, Renjun.” Jaemin says.

“Yeah, but. She’s so old and frail…” Renjun’s voice cuts off and he’s not sure he can go on any longer. He balls his hands into fists as he fights his tears.

Jaemin takes his hand, gently prying it open before he holds it. “She’s stronger than you know, Renjun. She brought you up all on her own. She’s been living all on her own. She’s been supporting you all this time. Older people have been cured in hospitals. She will be, too.” Jaemin says with so much certainty that it fills Renjun’s heart with hope. He nods. It was so strange having another perspective presented to him. One that told him that being in hospital didn’t mean death and misery. That it could mean cure and recovery and health as well.

“Are you allowed to see her in some way?” Jeno asks.

“No. But they needed a family member on the outside to get like… medicine and stuff. My father has been there but given the situation with my mother… I don’t know how much longer he’d want to be around.”

“We’ll take turns.” Jeno says looking at Jaemin and he nods. “You can rest tonight as long as you’d like. We’ll all go one by one.”

“I’ll take the first shift. I’ll go in the morning and Jeno can take over in the afternoon.” Jaemin nods.

“I’ll call my mother and ask her what things we might need during this time.” Jeno plans some more.

“I’ll make a list of all the duties we will need to be on top of. Medicine, food, any change of clothes Renjun’s mother might need.” Jaemin adds with purpose.

Renjun feels the tears again. He hadn’t even asked for this but his friends were already making up a rota to help him during the worst time of his life.

“I’m really sorry.” Renjun says, only now he is saying it mindfully.

Jeno smiles gently and puts an arm around Renjun and brings himself at his eye level. “What do you have to be sorry for, huh?”

“I don’t know… just for everything…” he tries to explain but finds his throat getting thick again.

“We’ve been really worried about you, Renjun. We just wanted to give you some time.” Jaemin says in a soft, nurturing tone.

“Everybody, man. Chenle told us that you must be going through some real shit and Mark gave us an earful for not probing you for information. But Jaemin said you would probably like some space.” Jeno tells him and Renjun is surprised to find out that his friends had picked up on his aloofness. At the same time, and as if in a sudden moment of clarity, he is not surprised at all. Of course they picked up on it. These people were his friends.

“That was a stupid idea, though. I don’t think we should’ve left you alone. Let’s always probe him in the future.” Jaemin reflects, shaking his head.

“Yeah, let’s always probe him.” Jeno repeats and Renjun finds himself sniggering through the tears.

Jeno rubs the back of Renjun’s neck. “We’ve got you, man,” and finally, and miraculously, he believes it.

Jisung walks in right then, holding onto what looks like laundry. “I… I put this in the drier. It is nice and warm. You… you should shower and change because you’ve been in the hospital.” Jisung says awkwardly. Renjun looks up and can’t help but smile because he can’t believe the boy that was most like a younger brother to him was taking care of him. “And uh, you both as well. Shower and change and uh… I’ll change and sanitize these sheets.”

Jeno looks up and smiles at him as well. It’s such a weird feeling, this odd sort of pride when you realize that your youngest is growing up and taking care of you. This is an extraordinary, bizarre moment in every possible way. But Renjun accepts this moment with open arms over all the moments he had been given these past couple of weeks. 

“Um… I think you have to put your contaminated clothes in like, a plastic bag. I’ll Google how to disinfect them. But you should all shower before the food gets here.” he says again, awkwardly moving from the foot of the bed to his desk.

“Okay, Jisung.” Renjun says, smiling a tired but genuine smile.

“Yes, big brother.” Jaemin chuckles. 

“Okay… let’s shower and disinfect.” Jeno says, patting Renjun on the back before getting up. 

The four boys reconvene in the living room later, fresh and clean and comfortable, sitting round the coffee table on the floor, looking up in surprise as Jisung brings in boxes of pizza and sets them up.

“Is Jisung really setting up the food he bought?” Jeno asks in mock wonder. But set them up he does and he even goes so far as to place a piece in front of all his friends and pour out coke for them in little paper cups. And when Renjun doesn’t pick up his slice right away, Jaemin leans in and feeds him his own. And eating makes Renjun feel so much more hopeful. The four friends eat and talk as if the fight hadn’t even happened in this very place just a couple of days ago. Like all was well and the only thing that mattered was that they needed to be there for Renjun when he was hurting. 

And in that moment, Renjun realizes that his body was kinder to him than his mind had been. Because his mind had been telling him to hide away, to block everyone out. To suffer in silence and believe that nobody cared for him. To never open up because nothing good could ever come out of it. His mind had told him that his friends didn’t worry about him. That nobody in this world cared about him.

But his body had kept him alive. His body had numbed his mind and led him to all the people he loved. His body knew that Renjun had friends who truly cared for him. Who would sit and listen to him without judgement. Who would hold no grudges and be there for him when he needed them. Who would huddle around him to protect him, hold his hand when it needed to be held, feed him when he was hungry and tuck him in so he could finally get some sleep. 

His mind had worried and worried till it could worry no more because it was so damn tired. But his body had been so kind. His body reminded him that he mattered. That he was loved. That he was not alone. Because he always had his friends. And him and his friends had always been a dream team.

Copyright © 2021 NeoCultureTravesty. All rights reserved.

[slashbitch2]

Extra Complications

never expected to be crushing on an animated character but here we are

Next Chapter

It was sneaky. Perhaps cheating by some standards. But from your perspective, it was a damn good plan.

Ironically you'd seen the advertisement for the Alchemax internship right after being flung into a wall by the very same woman who'd likely approved the broadcast. Olivia Octavius, or Doc Ock as you ought to refer to her in costume. Though she'd given you little time to read up on 'how to apply', as moments later a car was thrown in your direction, which was very inconsiderate of her, but was also all the persuasion you needed.

At this point, you'd be willing to do anything if it contributed to thwarting her, surely, very evil plan. Of course you admired the woman for her general genius and eccentricity, but the constant unprovoked conflict was becoming tiresome. It felt as if she were trying to determine how much of a threat you posed, whereas, you liked to think your legacy as 'that Spider-Person who sometimes saves the day' was all the evidence necessary.

Honestly, you weren't certain as to what exactly her, no doubt, villainous plan entailed besides patrolling the streets in green swimming goggles and black spandex with ridiculous plastic tubes jutting out of her back. In fact, it was ridiculous that no one had made any attempt to stop her yet. Unlike your identity, kept secret by a more modest spandex suit, hers was public knowledge.

Sometimes, it seemed as though you were the enemy here.

Which is precisely why infiltrating her team of scientists was more than appropriate. You were about to single handily take down an international threat, one hidden in plain sight, but left untouched due to the company's vast money, leverage and prestige.

Someday the city would thank you for your many sacrifices. Specifically for voluntarily working another job without pay. Y/N Y/L/N, broke intern by day, friendly neighbourhood Spider-Person by night.

"Excuse me?" A voice called from the left, your vision of them obstructed by an inconveniently placed potted plant. "Are you the new intern?" The person stepped closer, briefly glancing up at you, then back down at a sheet of paper. "Y/N Y/L/N?" The woman's timid appearance hardly screamed villainous scientist, but then again, looks can be deceiving.

"Yes, that's me." You stood, reaching out to shake her hand.

She sighed in relief, shaking your hand a tad too enthusiastically. "Lovely to meet you. I'm Marie and I'll be getting you settled in for the first few days."

A spark of disappointment flashed across your mind. Olivia hadn't been there for your interview, nor had any sway in your hiring, and now she wasn't even the person greeting you on your first day. Although you had no right to be, you felt rather offended by the lack of challenge she was providing. It was almost too easy.

---

To be fair, Marie was the perfect candidate to give you a tour of the facility. She was kind and patient, but not condescending. She seldom spoke beyond what was required of her, unless you asked something work related, when her lengthy response would affirm her status as an epicure of scientific knowledge. By midday, you'd decided she was someone to befriend, and subsequently accepted her invitation to have lunch together.

You were also hoping that the team would eat lunch as a group, but alas, more disappointment. Instead, you spent the break sitting in an awkward silence with Marie, who seemed to loose basic communication skills when presented with food. In spite of her lack of engagement, you still took the opportunity to try and ascertain information about the project you'd be working on, though each time she expertly diverted the interrogation, or ignored your question entirely.

Who knew working for an evil, secretive corporation would be so boring?

It was a test of patience to be sitting in the same building as Olivia Octavius, while forced to shadow an incredibly kind, but slow eating woman. Realistically, you knew there'd be plenty of time to investigate, though you were reluctant to end the day without any progress. So, while Marie was still distracted by her lunch, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom.

She dismissively approved with a wave of her hand, allowing you to slip away from the dining hall. You vaguely remembered the location of Olivia's office as being on the top floor, indicated by Marie's imprecise pointing. She'd explained that very few had clearance to get in, but you'd already thought of a way to get passed the security.

Who aside from the highest ranking scientists had access to every room? Janitors, of course. Because, for some reason, cleanliness was more important than security.

It didn't take long to locate a cleaner, or much effort to pickpocket the security card. To be on the safe side, you even had an excuse ready: that the man had dropped it, that you were simply looking for him to return it. And if Olivia caught you in her office, well, she wouldn't (Spider-Senses and all). Again, it was almost too easy.

There was a minatory silence as you walked along the final corridor toward her office. Part of you felt as though this was some kind of elaborate trap, the repeated phrase 'too easy' coming to mind as you reached the door. Though the logical part of you must've known this was a fatuous suggestion, and took control.

With a final pause to confirm nobody was approaching, or was already waiting inside, you scanned the key card. The action was rewarded with a satisfactory beep, followed by the door sliding open so fast it appeared to have vanished.

The office was smaller than you anticipated. Or maybe it was the bareness of the room that caught you off guard. The woman was insane, yet her work area hardly reflected her deranged mental state. Everything was so perfectly neat that you began to wonder if you'd actually walked onto a movie set, or a photoshoot, which would've explained the strange ring lights hanging from the ceiling.

Upon reaching the centre of the room, you were struck by the realisation that you truthfully had no reason to be here. Even if the office had been as messy as you'd expected, it was unlikely that she'd leave her super evil plans lying around. Rather, It'd been some morbid curiosity that had lured you here. To see where The Doc Ock worked, where the alter ego was likely created. The reality was underwhelming to say the least.

Deciding that you'd spent enough time admiring an incredibly bland office, you exited back out into the empty corridor, nonchalantly throwing the security card behind you, certain someone would eventually return it. Then, as if right on cue, you sensed somebody approaching, soon followed by footsteps resonating from around the corner. With no way of avoiding them, you kept your head down with the intention of blending in.

Olivia Octavius rounded the corner, not sparing a glance up. She was frowning at a piece of paper, her full attention directed to it, blissfully unaware of your presence.

Instinctively, your entire body tensed at the sight of her lithe frame and mass of hair spilling out of its messy bun. Any other circumstance and you'd have fled by now, through a vent, out of the window, it didn't matter. Though you had to remind yourself that there was no reason to be afraid now. There was no possible way she could know your identity.

Nonetheless, as you passed her with less than a metre of space, you held your breath. She said nothing and you both kept walking in opposite directions.

It seemed the coast was clear. You released the breath you'd been holding and kept moving until. "Hey, wait a minute."

You froze, aching to ignore her and escape. Her voice was deep, more so than you were prepared for. While fighting, few words were exchanged, and even then they were unintelligible. Although, now was the worst time to be thinking about previous interactions, so with much difficulty, you cleared your mind. As far as anyone knew, including yourself, you were just the intern.

You ran a hand through your hair nervously, straightening out your lab coat and turning to face her. She was stood at the far end of the long white corridor, entirely unthreatening when compared to Doc Ock, who would've loomed over you menacingly.

Remembering the role you were meant to be playing, you choked out a response. "How can I be of assistance?"

"You're the new intern, right?"

"Yeah." You considered approaching to shake her hand, but the idea of awkwardly marching the length of the corridor to greet her was rather unappealing. "That's me." You settled for a polite smile and shoulder shrug instead.

She screwed up her face in consideration before crooking a finger. "Come with me."

Swallowing any concern, you nodded hesitantly. The prospect of returning to the office you'd broken into only moments ago had you dragging your feet.

She waited patiently until you were by her side to continue. "Don't worry." She scanned her key card. "I don't bite." Her tone was playful, her eyes kindly mocking.

"Good to know." You muttered, following her inside. You took a second to look around the room with mock curiosity, feeling her eyes trace your every move. Like a predator, eyeing up its prey, determining your weaknesses. Unlike the encounters with Doc Ock, it was uncertain who had the high ground here. Her gaze was putting you on edge, not dissimilar to how your character of 'the intern' would react.

"So..." She shuffled some papers around on the desk, finding what looked to be your application. "Ms. Y/L/N right?"

You confirmed with a nod, summoning the resolve to amble toward her desk.

"Take a seat." She gestured to the chair opposite, letting you sit before proceeding. "Tell me about yourself, Y/N."

You started to think of an adequate answer, but she interrupted a second later, contradicting her initial inquiry. "Are you okay with me calling you Y/N?" She leant her head on a closed fist, narrowing her eyes.

Although the question sounded considerate, you didn't feel the implied sincerity. Even if you wanted to say no, that didn't feel like a suitable response. "Sure."

Somehow, it felt like she was establishing dominance through the polite act, and combined with being under her scrutinising glare, the performance was working.

"Great." Suddenly, she leant back in her chair, all evidence of the hostile act disappearing instantaneously.

"What'd you want to know?" Mirroring her relaxed posture, you attempted to re-establish some control.

"Oh, anything." A flicker of something passed in her eyes, piqued interest possibly?

You began routinely rattling off some basic facts about yourself, nothing too specific or personal. Facts that would answer any follow up questions she might have, and yet said nothing about you. Surprisingly, she seemed hooked on your every word. The thought crossed your mind that this might be the real interview, that everything else up to this point had been a sham. But you settled on a more unsettling justification. That she was committing everything you said to memory.

Coming to the end of the informative monologue, you decided to take a risk. "Do I get to ask a question?" You raised an eyebrow challengingly.

"Inquisitive. I like that." She stated, folding her arms on the desk. "Go ahead."

You decided to see how far you could push your luck. "Tell me about yourself." You smugly repeated her vague first query. It was the Doctor's turn to come up with an answer to the ambiguous demand.

She scoffed, realising your plan to make her struggle. "Touché. But I'm rather busy, so how about you pick a more specific question."

Narrowing it down, there was only one thing you wanted to ask. "Can I see the-" You waved your arms around, imitating tentacles. "the suit?"

She chuckled, slowly standing. Judging from her lack of surprise, this was likely a request she'd heard many times.

First, she removed her glasses. Then slipped out of her lab coat. Next to go was the shirt, which she pulled over her head while maintaining eye contact. You wanted to look away, out of respect, yet you didn't. Without the shirt, you noticed she was already wearing the suit underneath and had the harness strapped to her back, confirming your suspicion that she always had access to the weapon. As she was stepping out of her trousers, the arms (tentacles?) inflated, and within moments were threateningly extending to their full potential.

She smiled proudly, enjoying your stunned expression. "As good as you expected?"

"Better." Unable to resist any longer, you stood to investigate the suit in further detail. You'd never seen it stationary, or had the opportunity to try and gauge the details of how it worked. Although you argued this would be beneficial for your next fight, in reality you just wanted to admire the contraption. You circled round, marvelling at the simplicity of the design. It was convenient, yet elegant. "It's beautiful."

Coming to a stop in front of Olivia, she had an unreadable expression. A mix of emotions, most prominently confusion. To your delight, a faint blush coloured her cheeks. Whatever unspoken game you'd been playing, you were winning, or were until she said. "How'd you like to intern for me?"

You quickly recovered. "I already do."

"No." She sighed. "I mean personally. As my assistant? You'd get your own desk, an almost guaranteed job at the end of it and so much more experience than you'd bargained for." She leant forward, a little too close for comfort. There was an unhinged look in her eyes more reminiscent of Doc Ock that both convinced and deterred you. "So what'd you say?"

She genuinely wanted you to work with her.

This hadn't been part of the plan. You'd expected to spend no longer than a few months working at Alchemax. To uncover their evil scheme, figure out how to stop it and hopefully take down the company. An optimistic plan, sure, but one you'd been assured you'd stick to. Although, the opportunity to work closely with Olivia Octavian, with the Doc Ock, was too good to pass on. Not to mention, infinitely more interesting.

You grinned, embracing the insanity that your answer would incur. "I'd love to."

She clapped her hands together. "Great!" Then offered her hand for you to shake formally. "I'll sort out the paperwork and details this evening, but right now if you'll excuse me, I have business to attend to."

She left before you had the chance to say anything else, still in her suit, which left you confused for the following half hour. You finally understood upon catching a glimpse of a news alert on your phone.

Doc Ock Seizes Bank, Has Taken Hostages!

You sighed. Today was going to be a long day, and things were only going to get more complicated.

[topazy]

The Fierce And Broken

2.07

Masterlist

“She’s going to break your heart.” You shoved Murphy playfully, as he continued to tease you. “I’m telling you, this could be the thing that pushes you over the edge.”

“The only thing that will push me over the edge is you John,” you quipped back.

“Raven hates me.”

You couldn’t argue with him. “Well...she has her reasons, but I’ll work on it.”Murphy let out a snorting sound. “Just give it some time, I at least want you to be civil.”

“You know you’d rather spend your time getting into trouble with me, than being bossed around by Jackson all day.”

You chuckled at his comment. Murphy was right, you had now become Jackson’s go to girl which didn’t bother you so much, but knowing you’d need to spend so much time with Abby was another issue.

“I’m never bored,” you shrugged.

A few hours prior you were surprised to see Major Byrne being brought into medical care because he had been punched in the face, but what surprised you more was finding out it was Raven that had hit him.

“Life down here is never going to be boring.”

He had a point. Lexa wanted Finn, and the grounders could attack at any moment. The mountain men still had the rest of your people, and Lincoln still had to be handcuffed like a criminal in case he turned back into a reaper. The chanting of ‘Jus drein jus daun! Jus drein jus daun!’ Seemed to be getting louder as well.

“One life for all of us...”

You stared at your friend wide-eyed. “John,” you said in a hushed whisper. “We can’t have this conversation.”

So much for getting Raven to like him.

“I know you are thinking the same as me Alba, you're just too afraid to admit it.” You pouted at his comment. “Does she make you happy?”

“She does,” Murphy tutted, causing you to smile. “What’s wrong with that?”

You knew from the mischievous look on his face, Murphy was still teasing you. “Nothing makes you happier than being back home in the ark.”

“Whatever,” you shook your head when you noticed Jackson waving you over. “I need to go, I’ll catch up with you later.”

—

“Hey, what’s going on?” You asked confused.

Raven looked furious as she walked besides Bellamy towards the ark station. She paused briefly to link her hand with yours, taking the hint you walked beside her.

Raven scoffed, “Jaha and Kane are back.”

Oh, this wasn’t going to be good.

“They are having some bullshit meeting that none of us can attend.” Raven continued ranting until you reached the door to the council meeting room. “Can anybody hear anything?”

You and Bellamy both shook your heads. Bellamy gave you a small smile when he noticed you and Raven holding hands. You’d never talked about how open you’d be about your relationship, but right now Raven needed you and that’s all that mattered.

You jumped back slightly when Abby opened the door. She looked just as taken aback to see three faces staring at her. Raven was quick to say what everyone was thinking, “What’s happening?”

“You were in there a long time,” Bellamy added.

Abby looked as if she was thinking up a new lie to tell. “There was a lot to talk about.”

“Well, what’s going on?” Raven asked, the irritation in her voice becoming more obvious.

“There was a lot to talk about.”

You frowned at the doctor repeating herself. She wasn’t prepared to give any of you real information. “We aren’t letting Lexa take him.”

Bellamy nodded in agreement. “Alba’s right, we are not turning him over to the Grounders.”

“If you give Finn over now the commander will know the power she has over us,” Abby glared at you as you continued to talk. “What happens when she wants somebody else to pay? What if it was Clarke’s blood she wanted?”

“Enough. Step aside now,” Abby said in a warning tone. “We’re all trying to find a way out of this.”

You stood in silence until all the council members were a good distance away. Bellamy let out a deep sigh, “they’re gonna give him up.”

Raven shook her head and began mumbling before walking towards the exit. “They can’t, we can’t turn on each other.”

You stayed back sensing Bellamy wanted to talk to you alone, and you were right. He leaned in closer to you, “do you still have your dad's gun?”

“Yeah?”

“Keep it close, I have a feeling we might need it.”

—

Gulping down you pushed the flaps to your tent open to see Raven rummaging around her bag for something.

“Fuck!” She hissed.

You moved fast to her side as she winced in pain. It’s fine she sighed, revealing the small drop of blood coming from her finger. “It’s just a paper cut.”

You held her gaze, “how are you holding up?”

“I’m not.”

At least she was honest. Raven was one of the strongest people you knew, and it was hard to watch her struggle. You sat down on the edge of the makeshift bed, and Raven did the same a few seconds later. “I just wish things were different, you know?”

You smiled softly, “things will work themselves out.”

You felt yourself melting into the touch of Raven’s hand as she brushed strands of hair behind your ear. Without warning her lips were pressed against your own. It was a soft and gentle kiss.

Leaning back you chuckled, “I almost forgot what I came to tell you. There’s plenty of bedrooms in the ark available now, we don’t need to stay out here in a tent anymore.”

“Is this just Jackson’s ploy to have you within shouting distance during the night?” She laughed.

“Most likely, but it will be so much more comfortable.” Standing up you noticed Raven’s finger still bleeding. “You sure you don’t want me to look at that? It’s maybe deeper than it looks.”

“It’s just blood they want.”

You kissed Raven on the crown of her head before adding another layer of clothing to your outfit. A longer top that would cover your waistline and hide your gun.

“Whatever happens Reyes, I’ll always have your back.”

“Likewise.”

—

Standing outside the drop ship you couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Somehow you, Raven, and Bellamy had managed to sneak away without getting noticed, but you had a feeling that wouldn’t last long.

You had your gun at the ready hearing somebody entering the drop ship. You stood confused upon seeing who it was. “John?”

“Ooh, hey, hey, hey.” He held his hands up defensively.

“Murphy. What are you doing here?” Bellamy asked.

Murphy looked at you, as he shrugged. “I was invited.”

“I thought we could use an extra gun.” Raven turned to look out the doorway. “Finn should've been right behind you.”

“Don’t worry. The spacewalker is gonna be fine.” Murphy said before coming and standing beside you. “Why do you look so surprised to see me?”

“I didn’t know you were coming, that’s all.”

Murphy frowned. “I assumed I was only asked because you’d told me and Raven to play nice.”

“We’ve had bigger things to worry about, I’ve not said anything.”

Something in the way Raven was looking at Murphy made your stomach tighten into a knot. It wasn’t the normal friendly Raven Reyes smile you would get, she was sending him a death glare.

“I’m going to take a look outside.” As you reached the doorway you noticed Finn carrying Clarke. “Somebody find me a rag, or a cloth!”

You ran beside Finn to inspect the bleeding wound on Clarke’s head. Bellamy quickly moved to be beside her once Finn got her inside. “What happened?”

“A Grounder hit her on the head.” Finn’s voice broke as he spoke, you couldn’t imagine the guilt he must be feeling.

“Clarke, can you hear me? You're gonna be fine.” You pressed the rag to her wound, and felt relieved to see the bleeding was stopping. “You just need to rest for a bit, okay.”

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Raven and Finn talking. It was odd to you that she didn’t seem overly concerned about Clarke. You couldn’t help but overhear their conversation. “Hey. It's just a bump on the head. Clarke’s gonna be ok. Are you? We'll figure this out.”

Finn shook his head. “That’s what she said. Right before I almost got her killed.”

—

After a little while Finn began pacing back and forth. “Still nothing?”

You shook your head. Finn groaned into his hands as Raven tried to reassure him. “Just give her a little time.”

“I never meant to hurt you.”

Finn’s confession made you feel awkward, despite everything going on between you and Raven you still didn’t want to get involved in their past relationship in any way. You’d given anything to have Murphy or Bellamy beside you at the moment.

“I know. Truth is, things change. Maybe that's for the best.”

You hoped that was true. Raven’s ability to forgive, and show kindness to those that hurt her never failed to amaze you.

You focused on Clarke and tried your best to block out the ‘We’ll always be family’ exchange. It was a private moment for the two of them to share. You sighed with relief when Clarke opened her eyes, “take it easy when you sit up.”

“How’s the head?” Finn asked, just Murphy and Bellamy came back into view.

“Awesome,” the blonde mumbled.

Finn kneeled down beside her, “When you went down... I thought you were dead. Because of me.”

You stopped listening to the others talking when you noticed the worried look on Bellamy’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“We got company! Get out here. Get down. Grounders.”

You looked past his shoulder and saw multiple grounders. “We’re surrounded.”

—

“They’re not moving any closer, why?”

Bellamy gulped down before answering. “Staying out of range. Probably waiting until it's dark.”

“If we hit them now, at least we'd take them by surprise.” You didn’t like your friend's suggestion, but you knew Murphy had a point.

“We don't even know how many of them are out there,” Clarke said coldly.

Murphy shook his head before scoffing. “I’m not hearing any better ideas, Clarke.”

“We’ll give them something.”

The moment the words came from Raven mouth you instantly stepped closer to Murphy. “The only thing they want is Finn.”

“Finn wasn't the only one at the village.”

You now stood in-between Murphy and everybody else. “Don’t even think about it!” You seethed. How could she even be considering this? “Don’t take another step closer to him.”

Raven looked visibly hurt but still continued, “Enough Grounders saw him at the village. They’d believe he was the shooter.”

Murphy hissed from behind you, “sick bitch.”

Both Bellamy and Clarke tried to talk some sense into her, but she refused to listen. “They want a murderer, we'll give them one.” Raven raised her gun and pointed it in your direction. “Put your weapon down.”

Clarke tried again to talk her down. “Put it down, Raven. Like it or not, he's one of us.”

Brown eyes stared into yours, “Alba move out the way.”

“No, I’m not moving so you’d need to shoot me too.”

“Alba, just move!” Raven pleaded.

Your chest ached with a pain you hadn’t felt before. Raven meant a lot to you, but Murphy was your best friend. Her doing this to him felt like a betrayal. You also found it hard to believe she was still pointing the gun in your direction.

“Raven...this isn’t you. Just lower the gun.”

Finn snatched the gun from her hand. “Stop! Stop! We're not doing this. They’ve got us surrounded. The only thing we can do is stay. And defend this place.” He turned to face the rest of the group. “Murphy, go upstairs. Watch the rear. I'll take the lower level. You four, take the front gate. That’s the plan. All right?”

“I’m going with John.”

Once you reached the top of the drop-ship Murphy squeezed your shoulder. “Hey, are you alright?”

“It’s not me she wanted to hand over to grounders,” you shrugged. “I’m sorry John, I had no idea-”

“It’s not your fault Al, and as much as I hate her right now, I know she wouldn’t have hurt you.”

You said nothing. Deep down you knew Raven was acting out of love for Finn, he was her family. The only friend she had from the ark. What bothered you the most was that you understood why she did it. The impulse to protect the ones you love could cause you to do unthinkable things.

“I probably would have done the same for you,” you mumbled before looking out the window again. “Oh shit!”

“What?”

“Finn’s handing himself over to the grounders.”

—

You watched in disgust as grounders set up a post near the gates of camp. You jumped hearing a voice coming from beside you. “What is that?”

“They want us to watch.”

“We’re gonna get him.” Bellamy announced. “We’ll get in close and we'll hit them hard.”

You shared a knowing look with Clarke, both of you knew that was impossible. The only thing you could do was hope his death was quick.

Kane held onto Bellamy’s shoulder. “Son... there's thousands of them. Even if we could kill hundreds, they'd still wipe out this camp and your friend would still die.”

Clarke stood beside you, “I’m going to talk with the commander.”

“Don’t let him suffer,” you said quietly. “Try and convince her they don’t need to torture him.”

As Clarke explained her plan to the others Raven mumbled an apology to you before returning her attention to the blonde. “Give me your hand.” You watched Raven slide a small knife into her hand. “If she won't let him go, kill her. Things’ll go crazy, and we'll grab you and Finn. Clarke. You have to help him. I owe him my life.”

You silently linked Raven’s fingers with your own, and let her squeeze down tightly. She was afraid. No matter what happened before, and how angry you still were, she was going to need someone.

Minutes felt like hours as you waited for Clarke to emerge from the commander's tent and made her way towards Finn. She can’t save him. You felt Raven tense beside you. You chewed on your bottom lip as you waited for something to happen.

“I’m sorry Al, I’m so sorry.” Raven gasped under her breath as she shook.

You moved your grip to hold onto her tighter, “don’t be.”

Things were about to go from bad to worse real fast. No, no, no. When Clarke leaned in to kiss Finn you realised she was saying goodbye.

When the blonde stepped away from Finn his head fell down into his chest. He was dead. Clarke had killed him. Mercy kill.

You lowered yourself to hold Raven as she collapsed to the ground.

“No! No! No! No! No! No!”

[sometimes-love-is-enough]

re: your last ask about the time travel shenanigans—holy fuck yes please more of this. like, not only is it funny as hell, which i appreciate, but it's also a. more c!thomas and b. points to just how interestingly both the plot and characters of this series have grown over the years and i am ALL for it

"Janus!" is the first thing Thomas exclaims when he sees the Side Formerly Known Exclusively As Deceit rise up where Logan would usually stand. Which just might be a mistake, if Janus’s expression is anything to go by.

Okay, in Thomas's defence -

This is a really, really weird day, even by his standards. Because, like, Logan's currently standing in front of the stairs, and that's not where Logan's supposed to be, and his shirt and tie are all wrong. And had had been grinning. Openly. He had been openly grinning when Thomas had first woken up and looked in his wardrobe and realized that his favorite t-shirt apparently doesn't exist anymore and all his clothes are a half-size smaller than he's used to but also they still fit and - okay, no, back to Logan. He'd gone downstairs and tripped over a chair that wasn't supposed to be there and called out Logic. And he'd been about to ask him what's going on and why everything feels so off and also why Logan's standing in Virgil's usual spot instead of over to the right of the stairs. But then he'd noticed all the aforementioned Very Weird Clothing Things. And he'd stopped and said, "Uh, Logan?" and Logan's grin had dropped and he'd stared at Thomas for a full ten seconds then whispered, "what the fuck," with great emotion.

And then Patton had shown up with a ridiculous amount of pun-riddled cheerfulness that Thomas had been able to clock as sixty-percent fake within about half a second. And his clothes had been all wrong, too, and after a lot of confused, borderline-incomprehensible yelling at each other, Roman had showed up and added to the chaos.

"I am scared and confused and on the verge of completely losing it!" Thomas had declared at some point, which had been the cue for an ominous music sting somewhere to Thomas's right that made everybody jolt in terrified unison.

"Did somebody say scared and confused and on the verge of completely losing it?"

"Virgil, thank god!" Thomas had practically yelled, and just about thrown himself across the room to get to him - before pausing midway and allowing his brain to process... wrong hoodie. Wrong amount of eyeshadow. "Wait. No, hang on, is this - "

"FUCKING WHO," Virgil shrieked, leaping backwards half a flight of stairs, which had led to another round of confused yelling, with Thomas trying to assure them all that he's fine he hasn't had some sort of strange head injury or whatever, he's just really happy to see Virgil and no of course that's not weird, what do you mean who's Virgil, that's Virgil right over there, Roman please put down that sword things are already out of hand -

And at some point Thomas had got it into his head that the most reasonable course of events was to summon the one person who always seems to know everything that everybody else doesn't, which brings everything up to speed, more or less. Roman had gone, "Thomas, what are you doing," and Thomas, feeling slightly manic at this point, had said, "I'm trying to summon a demon, obviously," because the best way to get hold of a certain someone probably is blatant lying, and boom, instant Janus.

"Jeee-sus Christ on a cookie-shaped canoe, what is he doing here?!"

"Janus!"

So, Janus pops up, he looks literally the same as he always has (except maybe with shorter hair? Wait, they all have shorter hair, including Thomas, wait a second -) with his half-snake-face and his hat and gloves that cosy-looking capelet of his. And although his expression reflects faint bewilderment and that very particular 'wait, what' emotion that results in being pulled abruptly away from something you were busy with, he looks so normal that Thomas thinks for a moment he might be the only sane person left.

But then Janus makes a series of start-and-stop noises of incomprehension, and gestures wildly towards Virgil, who's crouched midway up on the stairs behind Logan, looking like a cornered wild animal, and snaps, "Why for the love of everything that's holy would you tell him my name?"

"You think this is me?" Virgil retorts, hands going up to grab desperately at the bars lining the side of the staircase. "I don't understand anything that's going on! He somehow knows my name! He's - he's being nice to me!"

It suddenly occurs to Thomas that this might just possibly be a time travel sort of thing. It would explain the clothes shift. And the altered layout of his house. And the fact that when he'd checked his phone this morning it had told him it was 2016, and also it hadn't been his phone, it had been the one he'd broken a few years ago in a tragic piano-moving-related accident.

...Okay, yeah, this is absolutely a time travel thing.

"Is somebody going to explain why Thomas ruined all of our heartfelt name reveal moments in one fell swoop?" Roman demands. "I thought we agreed we were going to do them gradually and draw them out as long as possible for dramatic effect!"

"I agreed to none of that," Virgil snaps from his position halfway up the stairs.

"Yes," says Logan, "yes, I think we all would like to know what's going on. Thomas? What's going on?"

"Uh - " Thomas, who has just come to a rather startling realization about time travel and also about how shitty his Sides' taste in costumes were pre-wardrobe change, doesn't really have a prepared answer for this. "I have... I am - I just - "

Thomas struggles for words. Really struggles. And everyone's just standing there, watching him with expressions that range from terror to confusion to suspicion, and they all look so weirdly young in a way that's hard to pin down. It's the clothes. It's probably the clothes, or maybe it's the way they hold themselves. Roman, carelessly confident, without a doubt in the world. Patton, still wearing a fixed dad-grin, politely baffled and looking back and forth. Logan, who hasn't been systematically beaten down and pushed back over the course of many, many years. Virgil, who's basically just a ball of grey-and-black anger and acerbic anger at this point. Janus, who's... Janus. Who's looking at him in a way that Janus has never looked at him before.

And Remus is probably lurking somewhere in the back of his mind, too, doing whatever Remus does, and - would Remus be any different now, four years prior? Thomas hadn't had any significant problems with intrusive thoughts, not back then... or, well, back now. Maybe he's calmer, maybe Thomas could actually talk with him. Try to work something out, try to understand.

But wait, he's still got to give the Sides right here and right now an answer.

Hm.

...Thomas has been through a lot in the past four years. Not, like, fantasy protagonist a lot, but more like a extended psychological journey of self-discovery and mental health crises. Now, he wouldn't trade any of this for the world, because he's learned a hell of a lot about himself in the process - but also? The Sides have put him through a lot of horrifying realization-type things.

Which is why he absolutely one hundred percent deserves to do what he's about to do next.

"I," says Thomas, with an extraordinary amount of confidence and self-assuredness, "am psychic."

And the dead silence holds. Now even Patton is staring at him in disbelief. Janus has graduated into outright horror, his face twisted up into a oh god no I am somehow responsible for letting him delude himself this far expression.

"Thomas!" Roman gasps, almost instantly lighting up with genuine enthusiasm. "Oh, Thomas, I'm so proud, we've been working on this for years. Tell me, does this extend to telekinesis, or just somehow knowing all our names and nothing else?"

"What?" Janus says. "What - no. No, you can't seriously be going along with this - what? That... what? That doesn't even make any sense?" He turns wildly from left to right, and - okay, it's very enjoyable to see him out of his depth, to be perfectly honest. Thomas likes Janus a lot, knows he has his best interests at heart, but the whole courtroom thing had been a major dick move. This is satisfying. "Are any of you getting this? Does anyone here understand what's going on?"

"I'm psychic," Thomas repeats doggedly. "I acquired magical psychic powers and now I know all of your names and tragic backstories. Surprise! I unlocked my full potential and the ninety-percent of my brain power that I wasn't using."

"That's - that's a widely-perpetuated and wildly incorrect myth," Logan says weakly.

"Nope. Turns out it's true, and I was only using ten percent of it, and now that I've gone full big-brain, I know that Patton's repressing all his bad feelings because he doesn't want to bother anyone with them, Virgil acts all scary and menacing because he thinks it's the only way that I'll ever listen to him, and Janus is secretly a huge dork with a heart of gold - uh, yellow, I guess."

"How dare you," Janus breathes, looking horrified.

"Wha - " Patton suddenly looks very pale indeed.

"Also, Roman, you're my hero; Logan, please never stop smiling like that ever again, it's literally my favorite thing in the world and if you ever stop being enthusiastic about teaching me things I will cry - and Virgil, I love you."

Virgil lets out a choked little noise like he's just been punched directly in the stomach.

"I love all of you," Thomas adds, an afterthought. "I never say that enough. Janus, that goes for you as well. You're right, I need to take care of myself more."

"I'm - " Janus is still looking around at everyone in complete disbelief, but now his gaze fixes onto Thomas, his eyes wide. "I'm what?"

Thomas is now on a roll. An extremely cathartic sort of roll. "And Remus -"

Everybody immediately panics. Virgil and Logan's hands both immediately leap up to clasp over their mouths, which seems to be a reflexive reaction on Janus's behalf. Patton lets out a deranged-sounding high pitched giggle that edges into genuine hysteria.

"Brother? What brother? I don't know what a brother is!" Roman says loudly. "I've never had a brother in my life! Thomas, your glorious psychic powers are malfunctioning. Have you tried turning them off and turning them on again?"

" - I'm not going to lie and say I love him, but -" Thomas stops abruptly, and staggers  backwards to catch himself on the couch as a thought strikes him out of literally nowhere. "Son of a bitch -"

"Does being psychic make you swear a lot?" Patton asks weakly. "Because, uh. Not sure I like this side of you, kiddo - "

"Logan," says Thomas. "Logan, what's the date today? This is so, so important, what's the date."

"It's... October," Logan says, very slowly. "October twentieth. 2016?"

"Holy shit," Thomas whispers, and then says it louder, "holy shit. Okay, listen. I was going to sort out all of our collective psychological issues in one impressive emotional speedrun, but I've realized we have something much more important to do." He pauses, and takes in a very deep, shuddering breath. "Guys. We can save Vine. Excuse me. I've just realized I’ve got to make a lot of calls."

[firstfullmoon]

Do you have favorite quotes related about the importance of small details?

“The precious intimacy of little things.”

— Daphné du Maurier, I Will Never Be Young Again

“On my windowsill when I got home, there was a tumbler with pink jelly in it, and embedded in the jelly, sliced strawberries and bananas… [my neighbour] cooks at odd hours. She must have made the strawberry jelly this morning. When I buy baklava, which is not often because I eat too many, I leave a few for her on her windowsill, with a headscarf over them so the wasps don’t come. For these little gifts we don’t thank each other with words. They are commas of care.”

— John Berger, From A to X: A Story in Letters

“I suppose I could spend time theorizing how it is that people are not bad to each other, but that’s really not the point. The point is that in almost every instance of our lives, our social lives, we are, if we pay attention, in the midst of an almost constant, if subtle, caretaking. Holding open doors. Offering elbows at crosswalks. Letting someone else go first. Helping with the heavy bags. Reaching what’s too high, or what’s been dropped. Pulling someone back to their feet. Stopping at the car wreck, at the struck dog. The alternating merge, also known as the zipper. This caretaking is our default mode and it’s always a lie that convinces us to act or believe otherwise. Always.”

“One of the woman was gently arranging an older woman’s collar beneath her sweater, freeing it from the cardigan’s neck, using both of her hands to jostle it free but also seeming to spend a little more time than necessary, creasing the fold of the collar, the other hand kind of resting on her shoulder, the two of them chatting the whole time, sitting there holding each other, nodding, my head twisting toward them like a sunflower as I finished the stairs and walked by, so in love was I with this common flourish of love, this everyday human light.”

“but her need to share the photo with me [...] smiling and looking at it, smiling and looking at me looking at it, me smiling and looking at her looking at it, which is simply called sharing what we love, what we find beautiful, which is an ethics.”

— Ross Gay, The Book of Delights

“He’s got a fever. He’s all alone. So I’m gonna buy him something to eat.” “The congee downstairs is quite good.” “He doesn’t want congee.” “What does he want?” “Can’t taste anything so he wants sesame syrup.” [...] “What are you cooking?” “I had a sudden craving for sesame syrup.”

“Why did you call me at the office today?” “I had nothing to do. I wanted to hear your voice.”

— In the Mood for Love, dir. Wong Kar-Wai

— Danusha Laméris, “Small Kindnesses”

“It all matters. That someone turns out the lamp, picks up the windblown wrapper, says hello to the invalid, pays at the unattended lot, listens to the repeated tale, folds the abandoned laundry, plays the game fairly, tells the story honestly, acknowledges help, gives credit, says good night, resists temptation, wipes the counter, waits at the yellow, makes the bed, tips the maid, remembers the illness, congratulates the victor, accepts the consequences, takes a stand, steps up, offers a hand, goes first, goes last, chooses the small portion, teaches the child, tends to the dying, comforts the grieving, removes the splinter, wipes the tear, directs the lost, touches the lonely, is the whole thing. What is most beautiful is least acknowledged. What is worth dying for is barely noticed.”

— Laura McBride, We Are Called to Rise

“I’ve never told you this,” she said. “But there’s something about taking the cart back instead of leaving it in the parking lot. I don’t know when this came to me; it was a few years ago. There’s a difference between leaving it where you empty it and taking it back to the front of the store. It’s significant.” “Because somebody has to take them in.” “Yes. And if you know that, and you do it for that one guy, you do something else. You join the world…You move out of your isolation and become universal.”

— Andre Dubus, “Out of the Snow”

“It’s true that, in Vietnamese, we rarely say I love you, and when we do, it is almost always in English. Care and love, for us, are pronounced clearest through service: plucking white hairs, pressing yourself on your son to absorb a plane’s turbulence and, therefore, his fear. Or now—as Lan called to me, “Little Dog, get over here and help me help your mother.” And we knelt on each side of you, rolling out the hardened cords in your upper arms, then down to your wrists, your fingers. For a moment almost too brief to matter, this made sense—that three people on the floor, connected to each other by touch, made something like the word family.”

— Ocean Vuong, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous: A Novel

— Ada Limón, from “The Great Blue Heron of Dunbar Road”

“I’m doing a balancing act with a stack of fresh fruit in my basket. I love you. I want us both to eat well.”

— Christopher Citro, from “Our Beautiful Life When It’s Filled WIth Shrieks”

“One of the primary ways we connect with each other is by eating together. Some of the connection happens simply by being in the same place at the same time and sharing the same food, but we also connect through specific actions, such as serving food to one another or making toasts: ‘May I offer you some potatoes?’ ‘Here’s to your health and happiness.’ Much of our fundamental well-being comes from the basic reassurance that there is a place for us at the table. We belong here. Here we are served and we serve others. Here we give and receive sustenance.”

— Edward Espe Brown, Tomato Blessings and Radish Teaching

“Attention is the beginning of devotion.”

“Now in the spring I kneel, I put my face into the packets of violets, the dampness, the freshness, the sense of ever-ness. Something is wrong, I know it, if I don’t keep my attention on eternity. May I be the tiniest nail in the house of the universe, tiny but useful. May I stay forever in the stream. May I look down upon the windflower and the bull thistle and the coreopsis with the greatest respect.”

“it is a serious thing

just to be alive on this fresh morning in this broken world.”

— Mary Oliver, Upstream: Selected Essays / from “Invitation”

— Wendy Cope, “The Orange”

“After learning my flight was detained 4 hours, I heard the announcement: if anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic, please come to the gate immediately. Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there. An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress, just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly. Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her problem? We told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she did this. I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly. Shu dow-a, shu-biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick, sho bit se-wee? The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—she stopped crying. She thought our flight had been canceled entirely. She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late. Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him. We called her son and I spoke with him in English. I told him I would stay with his mother until we got on the plane and would ride next to her—Southwest. She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it. Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and found out, of course, they had ten shared friends. Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours. She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering questions. She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—and was offering them to all the women at the gate. To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California, the lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies. And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—non-alcoholic—and the two little girls from our flight, one African American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice and lemonade, and they were covered with powdered sugar, too. And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing with green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere. And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought, this is the world I want to live in. The shared world. Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped—has seemed apprehensive about any other person. They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women, too. This can still happen anywhere. Not everything is lost.”

— Naomi Shihab Nye, “Gate A4″

“Then there are the things, if you are particularly lucky, that this person has done for you while you’re away: how in the pantry, in the freezer, in the refrigerator will be all the food you like to eat, the scotch you like to drink. There will be the sweater you thought you lost the previous year at the theater, clean and folded and back on its shelf. There will be the shirt with its dangling buttons, but the buttons will be sewn back in place. There will be your mail stacked on one side of his desk; there will be a contract for an advertising campaign you’re going to do in Germany for an Austrian beer, with his notes in the margin to discuss with your lawyer. And there will be no mention of it, and you will know that it was done with genuine pleasure, and you will know that part of the reason—a small part, but a part—you love being in this apartment and in this relationship is because this other person is always making a home for you, and that when you tell him this, he won’t be offended but pleased, and you’ll be glad, because you meant it with gratitude.”

— Hanya Yanagihara, A Little Life

[letstalkabouttvshows]

Here's part 3 (: Hope y'all like it!

Happy New Year, everyone!

*****

I can't walk away

Part 3: But all I really wanted was you

*****

After such an eventful day, Alex couldn't believe he was about to have this conversation with Michael. In his head, it didn't even make any sense.

As he sat back and Michael got up, Alex had no idea where this might go.

Michael took a deep breath to prepare himself to let out what he was holding in since Forrest's arrival.

- When my mom died, I was a mess. I was hurt, angry and I made a lot of wrong decisions.

- Well, a lot happened. It was too much for anyone to handle. It's understandable, Michael. - Alex said with a soft, understanding voice - I hope you know that.

There. Michael thought.

There's so much love in Alex's words to him.

- I know. But it doesn't change the fact my decisions hurt the people I love. I never really apologize for it - He looked at Alex with teary eyes but a steady focus - It doesn't change the fact for a moment there, I ... I chose somebody else over you, Alex - Michael paused - We never really talked about that.

Alex didn't know what to think at this point.

He didn't have any issues with Michael's past relationship. So much so that discussing Maria and Michael never crossed his mind.

But, it hurt to hear Michael say he once wasn't Michael's choice even though at that time, they weren't in a place where they could choose each other.

But, for Alex, that didn't mean he felt like Michael loved him less or not enough. It was just too much heartbreak at once for them to handle given everything that had happened to them.

Alex looked at him without knowing what he was supposed to say.

- You deserved better than that out of me, Alex - Michael said with regret.

- You... don't need to apologize, for falling in love with somebody else. There's no need to explain either. It's... just what it is.

Michael let his head down.

Falling in love.

That part has been what Michael was fearing to talk to Alex about. He did have feelings for Maria once, and he grew to care for and love her while they were going out.

But he never fell in love with her and part of him already knew that wouldn't happen when he started the relationship.

For Michael, Maria was a lifeline.

A breath of fresh air in a period where every step he took, he found out something that made him stop breathing out of heartache.

- I wish I could look back at my relationship with Maria and say I was with her only because I liked her so much. But that wouldn't be true. Well, not the whole truth, at least.

Alex tilted his head still trying to make sense of what actually was consuming Michael.

- Part of me wanted to be with her because I knew it would push you away, maybe for good. It, it was easier like that. - Michael admitted quietly.

Alex looked at him and there were a few seconds of silence.

He got up and stood in front of Michael but didn't say a word.

- Which makes me a jerk to both of you - Michael continued - Maria Deluca deserved better than that too. Not some dude that used her like a wall to avoid things.

Alex took a deep breath and replied:

- You said it yourself. You liked her, cared for her. I know you made her happy. Don't sum up your entire relationship to the part of you that was broken.

- And what about you? - Michael's eyes met Alex's.

Alex looked confused.

- What about me?

- What do I do to the part of me that dated your best friend? - Michael said without flinching - That... that chose to hurt you in that way? - Michael took a second and continued:

- What do you do with that, huh? - Alex took a step back - I know it broke your heart and I also know you will never throw any of it in my face - Michael said gently.

Alex now started to understand. Michael felt guilt. Forrest coming back triggered it all.

- I was a complete jerk to you, Alex, and you are the person I love the most. I let go and you deserve better.

Deserve better? Alex thought.

- I thought the days of self-loathing were behind us - Michael looked sad and Alex got closer - You are acting like I didn't make mistakes. I was a mess too, Guerin. We both were - Alex firmly replied - I need you to look at me and listen. You and Maria, part of me felt like I deserved it after what my family did to yours. It was a fit punishment to see you move on - Michael shook his head in defeat - We both hurt each other out of fear and heartbreak, Michael, more than once - Alex now was close enough to put his hands on Michael's cheeks - But we are not like that anymore. - Alex paused - My heart is not broken and it's because of you. - Alex smiled and took another pause - We are not broken anymore.

Michael looked at him with so much love in his eyes. Alex had the same look to him.

- I am sorry for doing that to you - Michael apologized wholeheartedly.

- I know. - Alex said lovingly, holding Michael close.

*****

Alex and Michael were laid in bed as Alex finished telling Michael everything about his new discoveries.

- And that's been my day! - Michael frowned.

- This ain't good.

- I know - Alex replied. Michael then laughed, shaking his head - What's funny? - Alex didn't understand.

- We should be celebrating our official new living situation.

Alex chuckled.

- Yeah, we should. - Alex said, smiling and touching Michael's cheeks - But hey, this is our picket-fenced yard holding aliens thing. I wouldn't have it any other way.

They both smiled at each other.

- So, what's the move now? Whoever owned that journal, they were definitely alien.

- Yeah - Alex frowned.

- What is it?

- I think he's playing me. Forrest.

- What makes you say that?

- He's leading me on. Try too hard to make me believe he just wants to level up at Deep Sky. It doesn't add up.

******

Alex woke up to an empty bed the next morning.

Ready to grunt about the lack of his boyfriend by his side, he turned around just in time to see Michael come in with a tray full of pancakes, waffles, bacon, eggs, orange juice, and coffee.

- Breakfast in bed. Really?

- I think we deserve it. - Michael placed the tray between them with the biggest smile and then, kissed Alex gently. Alex chuckled.

- How are you feeling today?

- Better. Thanks to you - Michael answered planting a soft kiss in Alex's cheek - So, are you ready to fill everybody in?

- Yeah. Are you totally ok with the plan?

Michael nodded.

******

- An alien glass journal? Really? - Kyle asked - Am I the only one hoping it's a manual explaining all things Oasian? It'd sure make our lives easier - Alex, Isobel, Liz and Rosa laughed.

-Well, that would be amazing, wouldn't be? - Liz replied.

- Yeah - Everyone agreed.

- So, you think something is up with Forrest? - Max asked with a concerned look.

- Yeah. Definetely. That's why we need you, Iz.

- Me?

- Yeah, you are the queen of mind escapes. Wanna build one inside a blue haired historian's head? - Michael asked.

- Yeah, sure. But how am I gonna get close to get inside his head?

Alex and Michael looked at each other.

- We have a plan. And while we execute it, we need you, Rosa, to go into the cave. See if you can pick up any frequency, or any anything, actually - Alex explained.

- I'm down - Rosa agreed.

- We can go with her - Max offered.

- Are you gonna say anything to my uncle about any of this? - Kyle asked Alex.

- Not yet - Alex answered - but soon.

*****

Alex met Forrest at the Crashdown.

- Now you are the one setting dates outside of work - Forrest said to Alex with a grin as soon as Alex got to his table.

- Well, I got us out the office for the day.

- You did?

- We do have a mystery to figure out, don't we?

- And we are working here? - Forrest asked.

- No, someplace safe.

*****

Alex opened the door to his house and invited Forrest in.

- This brings back memories - Forrest said. Alex didn't care for the comment.

The minute Forrest walk in he could see right away how Alex's house was different.

Before, Alex didn't have much. The only thing it could indicate a feeling of a home was Alex's instruments. But now, his place seemed fuller. More alive.

- Wow - He noticed.

- What? - Alex led them into the living room.

- Your place looks... different - Forrest pointed out. He noticed the pictures on the wall, how there were a few things out of place, a little bit messier than the order he remembered Alex liked.

- Oh, yeah? Please, sit - Alex offered. Forrest took a seat on the couch - Well, it's not my place anymore. I mean, not my place only. It's Michael's too.

Forrest looked surprised.

- Really? Never took you as someone who would go that fast into a new relationship - Forrest said bluntly and asked - I know we didn't discuss it yesterday, but how the hell you and Michael Guerin happen?

- I can answer that - Michael replied coming from the kitchen.

- Michael! I thought you were out already - Alex said looking at Michael.

- Iz is gonna give me a lift today. She's running a little late - Michael replied sitting next to Alex, running his hands through his back.

Forrest noticed the gesture. So did Alex who couldn't help but smile discreetly.

- But, answering your question, Forrest - Michael continued - It happened because of a stolen guitar, almost 15 years ago.

- Fifteen years ...? - Forrest realized - You, you are the guy, the guy Alex wrote his song about.

- The one and only - Michael said with a grin.

- Ok! - Alex intervened, patting Michael's leg - I think we are a bit off track here. Forrest and I will be working a project today, from here. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before.

- No problem - Michael replied - So Forrest, anything exciting in your life at the moment?

- Nothing compared to yours, I assume. A house it's a big upgrade from a junkyard.

The doorbell rang.

- I'll get it - Alex said it.

Isobel came into the living room.

- Well, you're late - Michael grunted.

- You are early - Isobel replied. Noticing Forrest - Oh, blue haired guy, Forrest, right?

- Yes! - Forrest got up and reach his hand - Nice to see you.

Isobel smiled.

- Yeah, it is nice to see you - She took his hand and close her eyes.

*****

Part 4 coming soon (:

[dylanlila]

Scrapbooks Of Flowers

the fifth photograph: scrapbook of poppies

"When the lights go out, will you take me with you?"

- Summertime, My Chemical Romance

"That's what real love amounts to - letting a person be who they really are. Most people love you for who you pretend to be."

- Jim Morrison

They run through endless fields of gold which are nowhere near endless or golden, but they choose to believe how they are. All four seasons splash into one and Dorothy’s choice of clothes finally seams rational, with her gloves and short sleeves and waistcoats made out of various colorful materials that shouldn’t make sense, but do. An eternity of memorable every day moments meet up under gloriously ordinary circumstances which all lead to Revelius feeling like he’s finally found himself in a happenstance worthy of a book dedication or a songwriting experience. He lifts up his arms as he runs thinking about the way his life during this very hour must look like from a foreign point of view. He hopes it looks like a painting.

What can he say, he loves it when the reflection compliments the original creation, whatever it might represent.

Simply put, he likes to see the beauty in things.  Including the parts in which they are broken. Light always finds a way to slip through the cracks. You just have to turn it on.

So, he runs. Scraped-up knees and all.

Dorothy has somehow managed to get away from him. She's so far into the field, the sun complimenting her, embracing her features as if it was always meant to hold her. Her and no one else. It makes him question his sanity, which he, for the record, does a lot of anyways, no matter the circumstance. Today's dilemma consists of wondering if he was running in the first place. Dorothy positions herself on the grass, her back the sole part of her that he can actually see. A strange fear blossoms inside of him, spreading its petals, tickling his sides. Teasing him. What if she doesn't look back?

But she does look back and then, he's already close enough to touch her. He doesn't. He takes a few steps forward and she lies down completely on the grass in return, staring at him from her flowery kingdom. He stays where he is, smiling from the above, not quite certain if he should put his hands in his pockets or not. There are moments like these, when he feels entirely disconnected from his body, when he wishes to observe and observe only, without the burden of existing and following people, endless parts of himself, around.

"Pass some of that magic to me, will you?"

He hears it as a joke, but it rings in his ears like an echo. Probably because he should pronounce it back.

"All of this must look a lot prettier to you than it does for me."

Yeah, pretty in its most enchanting form. The kind that makes you dizzy.

"I would paint you a picture, but I know I would never be able to finish it, so what's the point?"

"And I would never be able to feel. Not like you do."

It. Feel it. But she doesn't end the sentence like that. An image of a tree, with an incredible amount of tangled branches and flowers growing from each and every of its corners, pays a visit to his head. That's how Dorothy's mind looks like, he thinks. His own is more of a train. List of a thousand blurry places, an object trapped in motion. For her, everything is spinning around. For him, everything is moving forward.

"You wanna know how this feels for me?"

She doesn't respond, just in case he doesn't actually mean it, just in case it was a slip. She's giving him the space to drop the subject. He probably would've, if the day wasn't endless and the fields weren't gold.

"It feels like,... like when you dream and you know for sure that you are dreaming, but you choose to dream some more because you don't want the dream to end even though you know that is will... End."

"A comfortable illusion."

The wind that might have been there or might have been not says hello to his hair and ruffles it a bit. Revelius closes his eyes to welcome it, just in case it is there because he knows it would have been much prettier if it was.

He likes to see the beauty in things. The trick is, often times, he doesn't. So, he adds glittery fragments of the things that he does like to his surroundings, hoping that the world might show him some love in return. When it does provide him with anticipated pleasantries, he is never certain of their authenticity. Or their ability to occupy the delicate presence of air, for that matter.

"What do you think about getting gold lockets?"

"Like, for us?"

"Well yeah, but also no. What do you think of the concept? In general, I mean. What do you think of it?"

"I think it's a complete waste of time. If I love someone, I'm pretty sure I can rely on my ability to pick up on the sensation myself. Why would I need a reminder? Everything's already there, in my head... Where is this coming from?"

"Where's anything coming from, Dorothy?"

He appreciates the lack of scientific explanation on her part. Revelius has a special fondness for dramatic pauses. Dorothy usually allows him to pursue that passion. There's also the opportunity to delve deeper into the context of his last sentence. Neither of them pushes the topic any further. Good. He doesn't quite know where he was going with that. It can remain a lousy joke, if it ever gets transported to pages. You know, in case they aren't on those very pages right now.

"What do you think?"

"Huh?"

"What do you think of them? The gold lockets?"

"I'm not sure. It just feels appealing to me. Having a piece of somebody else, somebody that's not you, around your neck, resting on your heart, at all times. Something that's physically there. I like that."

He stops to take a breath. Dorothy tugs on his sleeve a little, almost unnoticeable, she now sitting up. He translates the gesture as an invitation and then allows himself to sit beside her on the grass. Home at last.

"She keeps putting herself into these golden, heart shaped lockets that she later attaches to people, people who offer as little, as much, as a handshake born out of nothing other than politeness."

"Who said that?"

"Nova. The sister! The wizard! School essay or something. I don't know what to do with it."

"She really likes your poems, you know."

"The situation called for silence Dorothy, you should have allowed it." he mutters with a laugh which earns him an annoyed glance and that strikingly familiar eye roll. And a smile. Lip-gloss smile at that. But Dorothy would rather leave it unmentioned. He allows it.

"Maybe we should skip the running part this time." Dorothy proposes only a second before he intended to do the same. The great, the funny, the consuming universe and its tricks.

"Yeah, let's do that."

***

He blinks. One. Two. Three. He blinks and he is still there. And he is still him.

 

He blinks and rain comes falling down.

 

Somewhere in the middle of somebody else’s life, Revelius found himself walking into his own. It’s sort of like a collection of countless little glass pieces belonging to various glorious, glorious and dusty, nameless mirrors. The portrait of chaos.

 

And still, the rain is falling down.

He walks home, chest full of memories that he can't possibly hold, but does; city lights and strangers behind him, their voices now forever engraved on his skin. The mirrors, the reflections, the portraits. Each shadow that crosses his path.

Right there, right beside his former high school  (the keeper of life, the home of some of the mirrors) is a little store. He enters it empty handed, exits with a companion, a little paper bag barely grazing the end of his seemingly endless scarf.

When he pulls out the locket and tucks it under his shirt, it rests surely against his heart.

"I don't ask you to love me always like this, but I ask you to remember: somewhere inside of me there will always be a person I am tonight."

- F. Scott Fitzgerald

"He, like me, is haunted by his heart."

- Mahmoud Darwish

[15-dogs]

chapter 2 - burning pile

pairing: fred weasley x reader

series masterlist

summary: your son asks you a tough question about his father, causing you to reflect on the exact moment you decided what you were going to tell him

warnings: children, the war, mentions of death, getting disowned, description of broken limbs, very light swearing, pregnancy mention

guide: (Y/N) = your name, (Y/L/N) = your last name

word count: 2.4K 

a/n: if your url is crossed out that means i couldn’t tag you! if you want to be added to my taglist for this, either comment or send an ask :) hope you like it!!

●chapter 2●

“Everyone at school has one,” your son stated, “how come I don’t have a dad?”

You clenched your eyes shut. You knew this was coming at some point, but 8 years old seemed far too soon. You smiled softly at your son, Daniel, as you patted your lap. He clambered onto you and you ran your hand through his fiery red hair, wondering how you could explain something so broken to someone so young.

●●●

You ran into the war alone. You were part of no affiliation, no friends by your side, you only knew who you were fighting for. 

Your son, nearly 2 years old at the time, was at your muggle neighbor’s flat. You couldn’t bring him to your muggle parents, not when they disowned you for finding out about your accidental pregnancy.

That’s why you were fighting. For him. For Danny. He needed to grow up in a world where blood status didn’t matter, where he didn’t need to be concerned about having a future or not. For Danny. You had to repeat it to yourself over and over again. For Danny. For Danny.

The war, like wars often were, was ugly. Rubble coating the grounds and bodies peeking out from under it. Being at such a broken place that was once filled with hope and joy was like seeing a photo go black and white.

You did your best to assist where you could, seeing people you went to school with falling lifeless onto the ground. They had families, they had parents that loved them. That was somebody’s child who was chasing death, and you were not about to let them get caught. You would jump in just in time to save them, feeling that was your best bet at contributing to the cause.

So you wandered the halls of the castle, seeking trouble. But, as it always does, trouble seems to find you. A Death Eater appeared from behind one of the many staircases, firing a spell at you. You barely dodged it, slipping behind a pillar, your heart pounding in your ears. You imagined what it would be like to have someone beside you but you couldn’t dwell, you were facing life and death.

You readied your wand before popping out from your hiding spot, firing a stunning spell at the man. He blocked it, but it sent him skyrocketing backwards into another hallway.

You had just found your target, there was no way you’d let him escape. You charged after where you had left him, only to find him missing. Your eyes locked onto a trail of blood that dotted from where you stood to a hallway, which just so happened to have sparks flying from it.

You rounded the corner to see two redheads battling two Death Eaters, your feet bolting to the ground.

It was Fred.

He was laughing at something Percy had said as they battled the men. He looked so...grown up. It had only been 2 years since you last saw him, but he looked different. He seemed genuinely happy. 

But it wasn’t the time to focus on such trivial things, not when the Death Eater you were battling was sneaking up on Fred. Both men were unaware of the cloaked person sneaking up on them, so you decided you needed to take action.

Fred was Molly’s son. If she lost him, she’d be devastated, broken beyond repair. You knew what it was like to have a child, and if you lost him, you didn’t know what you’d do. Danny was all you had and Merlin forbid anyone were to take him away from you.

As those thoughts coursed through your mind, adrenaline coursed through your veins. You watched as the Death Eater you were tracking snuck up on Fred and Percy, your wand readied as you waited with bated breath for the two to move out of the way. However, as the man approached, the brothers didn’t move. Your whole body was itching with anxieties, your eyes flickering towards the shadows. But as the man raised his wand, you couldn’t wait any longer; there were human lives at stake, one of which just happened to be your ex boyfriend.

“Fred, Percy! Get down!” you shouted as you revealed yourself from your hiding space. 

The Death Eater was distracted by your declaration, pausing in his mission to cast the spell. Fred, too, was distracted by your presence, leading to Percy dragging him onto the ground alongside himself. As soon as they were clear, you shot a spell at a pillar beside the man, the cracked tiles crashing down on his legs, trapping him underneath. He let out a shrill cry of pain, his face contorting into something awful that made you almost sorry for him. However, you didn’t want to take the risk that he was the devil in disguise, putting on an act just to garner sympathy from you.

“Stupefy!” you cried, freezing the man in his place.

As soon as the area was clear, you pocketed your wand and ran to the Weasley brothers. You slid onto the ground beside Percy, helping him up.

“Lovely to see you again, (Y/N),” he commented. 

You cringed but put on your best smile. “Been a long time, Percy.”

You recalled the last time you’d seen the stern boy, the one time that Fred took you home for the holidays. His family had welcomed you in open arms and made you quite jealous; your family wasn’t so affectionate.

When you got kicked out of your own house at 18, you weren’t really shocked. Your mother had never truly approved of you and Fred so she had been expecting something of that “sinful nature” for years now. 

When she had kicked you out, you couldn’t even gather most of your things as you found her burning them in the backyard in an old fire pit. You were only slightly shocked that time. Your mother had a saying: put all your troubles on a burning pile because when it’s all lit up, you’ll start to smile. That saying, of course, wasn’t true, nor did you think she took the meaning literally. When you walked outside to speak with her one last time— a regretful decision, you knew— her tears were illuminated on her cheeks from the flames that kissed her.

“You look good, seeing as how you helped Fred and I narrowly escape death, so thanks again for that.” Percy glanced down at Fred, kicking him with his foot. “Suppose you want to hear it from him, too.”

You half expected Fred to say something smart or, at the very least, notice that it was you who saved his life but he didn’t say anything. Come to think of it, he didn’t even move. 

Your heart stopped beating in your chest. You fell to your knees, hovering over Fred’s lifeless body. No, no! You were supposed to be saving him! What did you do?

“Oh, Merlin,” whispered Percy, his pale skin turning even paler. He, too, sank to his knees, shaking Fred’s body. “Oh, shit. Fred! This isn’t funny! Wake up, please!”

As a parent, you had to be aware of your surroundings at all times. Danny was rarely out of your sight, and if he ever got hurt you knew the play by play of what happened. That little skill came in great use as you stared at Fred’s body in the patch of rubble.

“He wasn’t hit,” you assured Percy, “this is shock.” You held your middle and pointer fingers close together, pressing them under his jaw in search of his pulse. As soon as you felt the soft beating against the pads of your fingers, you let out a happy gasp.

“What is it? What are you doing?” Percy scrambled to replicate your actions, pushing your hand aside and replacing it with his.

“That’s his heartbeat. It’s faint but it’s there. We need to take him to the Great Hall so he can get patched up.”

Percy let out a relieved sigh, tears falling down his cheeks carelessly. With the sparks that were being shot from outside the castle, it illuminated his face just right so that it reminded you of your mother. In his hands was Fred— your problem— and the glaring reality became apparent that you desperately wanted to run away from it.

With the wards down at Hogwarts, you could apparate inside the castle. Unable to pick Fred up, you and Percy pushed him up against a wall, his head drooping onto his chest and back slouched. 

“I’ll meet you in the Great Hall, if that’s okay?” Percy asked. You frowned. “I want to check on George, he’s been missing for a bit.”

“Yeah, go check on your brother, I can take care of Fred.” The words left a sour taste in your mouth but you couldn’t help but feel a familiar sense of warmth blossom in your chest as his name rolled off your tongue.

You reluctantly slid up next to him and slung his arm around your shoulder before apparating away. When you arrived in the Great Hall, nobody even realized you were there. You let Fred rest against a wall while you tracked down Pomfrey, who was hurriedly mixing some salve together, an unpleasant earthy aroma drifting your way.

“Madam Pomfrey, Madam Pomfrey!” You waved your hand wildly in the air, the color draining from her face at the sight of Fred behind you.

“Oh, Godric.” The words escaped her lips like a dying man’s last breath as she ran up to you two.

You took her wrist and ducked to meet her eyes, shaking your head. “He’s not dead, he’s just unconscious.”

Pomfrey gripped at her apron as she let out a shaky sigh. She lifted her head up to the sky, hoping that Merlin himself would dry her eyes. Once she had regained composure, she chuckled slightly at the insanity of the situation.

“Unconscious,” she repeated, pointing at you, “that’s something I can fix. Help me get him to that cot right there, dear.”

You nodded and helped Pomfrey drag him to the sheet on the ground right beside you. She rifled through her apron, the many pockets holding vials of wonders. 

“I haven’t seen you in quite some time, Miss (Y/L/N),” Pomfrey noted. She paused, her eyes flickering up at you for just a moment. “Or is it missus, now?”

You flexed your hand in silent rage— you hated those questions. “No, I’m not married, but I appreciate your concern.”

Pomfrey frowned slightly, her eyes moving down towards your stomach before drifting back towards her pockets. She whispered a quiet “aha!” and pulled a long tube full of amber liquid out, uncorking and pouring it into Fred’s limp mouth.

You sank onto the floor beside Fred, resting your back against the wall. Pomfrey looked at you like a mother staring at a lost child. You finally met her gaze, brows knit together.

“How’s your kid?” she asked.

Your eyes flitted to Fred; he was still asleep. “He’s good. He’s safe. Staying with a muggle neighbor at her flat for the time being.”

“He?”

“Yeah, Daniel— Danny. He hates when I call him Daniel.”

A reluctant grin tugged at the corners of your lips. You reached into your pocket, pulling out a wallet-sized, moving photo of you and your son. He was a small boy with fiery ginger hair and loads of freckles covering his face. You spun him around before shrugging him onto your back, him hiding his laughter into your hair.

Pomfrey snorted. She glanced between the photo in her delicate hands, the sleeping boy beside you, and your sunken eyes. “He takes after his father.”

You pocketed the photo, scoffing. “He doesn’t need to know that.”

“Mr. Weasley or Danny?”

“Both.”

Pomfrey shook her head but not truly disapproving of you. You avoided her stare and your eyes happened to get caught on a person waving, causing Pomfrey to turn around as well. She nodded, understanding that they were beckoning her. “Would you stay here with him? I need to care for some others.”

“Won’t be a problem.”

She nodded a quick thanks before scurrying off to the other side of the Great Hall. 

And then you were alone with Fred.

Your eyes roved over his body, mentally taking pictures of how he changed. No matter how hard you tried, the images of Fred the night before he left were seared in your mind. He looked different, like he’d seen things he never intended to. His eyes had a slight depth to them and his skin coarse with dirt.

You didn’t really mean to, but your heart has a funny way of dictating things. You reached your hand out, linking your pinky with his. As soon as you touched, you felt a spark in your chest. No sooner did you touch him than you jumped away.

Your mother might have been right. Problems need to be thrown away because there was no other way that you’d escape them. You needed not to feel such a thing— you were supposed to hate Fred— but a simple touch disproved that.

You spotted every member of the Weasley family at the other end of the hall, their eyes scanning the room for Fred. You looked down at your ex, a sense of sympathy tugging at your heart as you slipped out of the Great Hall unnoticed, leaving Fred to be in the care of people who actually loved him, or at least could admit it.

You needed to burn every memory, every thought, every feeling that was Fred Weasley. Because if you didn’t burn them, he’d be the death of you.

●●●

“It’s rare, Danny,” you began, dotting every freckle that lined his arms, “but some people just don’t have dads. They weren’t born with them.”

“But Ethan has a dad and he also only lives with his mum!” 

He yanked his arm away from you, an oncoming tantrum arriving. You sighed, tugging him closer to you and brushing his unruly hair with your fingers.

“But we’re special,” you whispered, “some people don’t have dads because they don’t need them.”

His displaced anger mellowed, his wide, amber eyes staring up at you, full of hope. “So we don’t need a dad?”

“No, we don’t need a dad, so we don’t have one.”

You never thought that you could do it, but you had; you had erased Fred Weasley from your life. It was then you knew that your mother was right: seeing everything you had with him burn into ashes really did make you smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[liam-93-productions]

Liam’s full interview with Tings Magazine - Part 3

Note: the interview was recorded in may 2020.

(...)

I want to switch focuses to your solo music. You recently put out a new single. Is that leading to another album? Um, I enjoy doing the singles bit a lot more. I don’t know if I’m an albums artist. When I look back on my album, I don’t know if I had a story to tell. I was just trying to put something together and I don’t think that’s the point with an album. I think there is a lot of artists out there like Harry and Ed Sheeran who have a real story in what they are saying. I just like the vibe, I like the vibe of putting out a song and that sort of feeling. It kind of lends to this era and how fast people want content. I just like putting these singles out. I’m under no impression that One Direction is coming back at some point. I am just going to keep going as I’m going and put out some cool new vibes for everyone and see what happens. 

What do you think the future of touring is post-pandemic or for you as an artist? What does a Liam Payne tour look like in the future? The most difficult part of this is learning that we aren’t going to get to perform for at least a year. It’s going to be a long time before those gates open up. I’ve been speaking to other artists and everyone is generally worried that we can’t. There’s going to be a lot more online performances. That’s definitely going to be one of the futures in this business because, at the moment, we are all stuck waiting for when we can perform. But I definitely want to do a tour again. I just spent so much of my life on tour that I don’t know if I can go back in that way if that makes sense. 

The landscape of making money has changed. Some artists lose money on tour...  A lot of artists lose money on tour, more than you think. The gamble and the bet are that people will come see you again. When you are selling a tour... The reason why One Direction was so great was because it was about making memories for people. That’s the whole thing about the tour, whether it be how much money we spent on fireworks at that time. It’s something that you’ll never forget. All of these different elements, like when we built the stage that looked like all around the world. Those were real moments for people. That’s that essence. It’s a really difficult thing for people to grasp because people are so well-adjusted to seeing shows right now that they need more. They need more from the show. You’re got to fly.  It’s like when P!nk did what she did. No one would ever recreate that show. P!nk was amazing at what she did. It was acrobatic, Cirque de Soleil and pop, which was crazy. So, it’s difficult to figure out how you are going to create that moment. I think that’s the thing that’s really holding me back at the moment because I need those songs that are really going to grasp the memory. I want to get out there and have this list of songs that is hit after hit. 

I have a few fun questions. Who’s the coolest phone number you have in your phonebook? What a funny question! Mark Wahlberg, I never thought I'd have Mark Wahlberg.That’s pretty random. He’s amazing as a person. I was fortunate enough to go to his house. He was kind enough to help me with some audition stuff for acting. We went training in his gym, but to go to someone’s house on your second friend meet, he’s so cool. He has the most amazing house. 90210, it’s unbelievable. It’s like he has so much time in his day, he’s a real hustler, go-getter. I was talking about this with Louis. With One Direction, we didn’t have to do any footwork. People would want to work with us, where that’s been a different transition, learning how to enterprise on scenarios, which is difficult. It’s hard to keep people interested in a project that you have going on for a long time and to build a relationship with somebody in that way. I make friends with people quite easily when I’m out somewhere, but I struggle to keep hold of them. 

What’s been the biggest ‘I have arrived moment’ for you? After the band went on hiatus, I was standing in Wembley Stadium. There were ninety-one thousand people watching us, and I even bought a shirt that I wanted to wear for the moment. I thought I might never get to do this again. This is the best moment ever.  It was about a year later, I did this show in Dubai. It was in this park. I was like ‘Oh my God, you booked a park’. I genuinely didn’t eat lunch because I thought I’m going to owe the promoter so much money. I was stressing the f-out. Then I got to the show, I could hear people chanting my name and I thought there’s a few people here. There’s a few thousand people here. And I got out and did the show, and there was a sea of people. The Royal family was there.  I finished the show. I was the only artist. And someone was like, ‘You’ve broken a record’. There were a hundred and then thousand people. I was like ‘Wow’. For me, on that stage, I thought I was never going to do that again. It’s never doing to happen. And then do it by yourself and more. And I genuinely sat in the same chair for like three hours, coming down off of the experience. That was a really crazy moment in time.  During One Direction, we didn’t get to enjoy the parties because we were off on a plane to somewhere else straight away. It was hard to register moments in One Direction. Learning to appreciate and celebrate events is important because you put a lot of work into that time. 

For sure, that’s why so many things fall apart. There’s that pressure to never stop... Think kind circles around. This epidemic has been one of the worst things to happen to the world in our lifetimes. It’s quite crazy that it’s taken this natural pause for a lot of us to step off of that working treadmill, to be able to take in the world.  To get this natural pause out of life, we were all at a height of things, where everything was too much. You look at global warming; you look at all these things, and the worlds gone hold on a minute. And it’s important. Out of this horrible atrocity, there’s a beautiful side out of it. We’ve all learned to stay at home and it will be okay the next day. One of the most beautiful things to come out of this scenario is that we can all realize what we’ve taken for granted before. I can’t believe, in this country, it’s taken an epidemic to get us applauding our national health service. These people genuinely fight diseases every day. They are the heartbeat of the country. It’s only when I went down to the food bank to help out for the day, to meet these people, they genuinely do it because they care about it. They are volunteers a lot of them, and they keep the country alive.