#like that was wonderful and the WAY Ten delivered that line makes my heart ache

[mintedwitcher]

y'know what now that we've canonically established that Fourteen is more emotionally open than Ten ever was can we PLEASE get him talking about the Master, and getting more than just "we were friends at first" like PLEASE.

we now have a Doctor who has experienced two (technically three, silver beard!Simm my beloved) other regenerations of the Master: Twelve with Missy (so sad Missy never actually met Eleven on screen because oh god the CHAOS would've been PERFECT), and Thirteen with SpyMaster. Two very very different versions of the Master with very very different motivations and impacts on the Doctor and I want him to talk about it goddamnit!

I would love to have the Master return in the specials, I really would, but barring that possibility, I just want to see Fourteen actually talk about who the Master is to him.

#doctor who #thoschei #fourteenth doctor #the master #look Ten never got to Actually talk about the Master bc everyone he tried talking TO was like 'uh ew he's the Bad Guy' #even when he was Literally in Mourning #and just once JUST ONCE i want to have him be able to talk about the Master openly #i want more than just 'we were friends at first' #like that was wonderful and the WAY Ten delivered that line makes my heart ache #but I want MORE #like please just. just give me that #if i cant have the master returning in the specials just give me that

[benedictscanvas]

sage-coloured glasses - spencer reid x reader

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral!Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: This is just a barrel of soft cardigans thrown in your face, with just the smallest mention of nightmares

A/N: This is technically a 2nd part to ‘a shared heart’, but there are only vague mentions of it and this can easily be read on its own. I simply wanted some soft Spence in his natural habitat and I hope this can be of some comfort to you too, if you’re in need of it <3

---

His hair was oh-so-soft underneath your fingertips but the thought felt forbidden. You hadn’t expected him to have soft hair. It always looked soft, yes, the small, unruly strands that he regularly curled behind his ear looked like the fluffy hair of a man who felt most at home in a library and wore cardigans. But in the line of work you were in, you were used to things having hard edges and sharp corners.

Not Spencer’s hair. It delivered on its visual promise as you slowly wove your fingers through the strands and tattooed the memory of them into your skin, let it sink into your very bones. When his head had hit your lap on your flight back home with a murmured question of permission, it had been like a magnet. Your hand was in his hair before you even gave him your answer, but it was an answer in itself.

“‘Course, Spence.”

A reassurance. His only response was a grateful hum as he tucked his legs up onto the sofa and you shuffled to make as much room for him as you could. You were slightly falling off the end of the sofa, getting cramp in your toes as you put your weight into your left foot to keep yourself in place. The armrest was digging into your hip and it should have been uncomfortable.

And yet, it wasn’t. Not when you lightly scritch-scratched at his scalp and he turned further into you, the curve of his nose pressing into your knee. Comfort wrapped itself around you like a warm blanket and you could only hope he was swathed in it too.

“Sleep,” you mumbled a few moments later, “I’ll wake you when we land.”

Silence. A rustle of fabric as he brought his arm up from his side, graced your knee with a feather-light squeeze then let his hand rest against your knee, right by his nose. A relieved exhale.

Twenty minutes passed. His breaths were deep and even, bordering on a snore every once in a while. Your fingers hadn’t stilled their dance through his hair, although they had slowed down in time with the rise and fall of his chest. Your neck ached and your heart did too.

Emily crept over with some paperwork after another ten. You reached over and took it with a nod and a smile, grateful that she kept silent too as she returned to her seat next to Derek. There was a little nudging and whispering as she sat back down, Dave turning in his seat to glance back at the two of you sporting a smirk that spoke volumes. No matter, as long as Spencer’s shoulder kept digging into your thigh for the rest of eternity.

It was tricky to complete the paperwork over his head without anything to lean on except your own hand. Another worthwhile sacrifice. Cases like this one were difficult for everyone. It was the type of case that set up camp in your mind in preparation for the nightmares that it would guest star in for the weeks to come. When you relayed that analogy to Spencer a few months ago, he’d laughed. Only someone who understood the feeling could laugh like that.

“Sorry I crashed on you,” Spencer spoke up just as you were forging his signature on a document that you’d all have to sign in time. He’d done it for you before, an unspoken agreement to save each other time.

(it was similar to the unspoken agreement to care when no one else had the time to, or the silent pact to share ‘good morning’ muffins whenever they were available, or the wordless understanding that he was your person and you were his)

You glanced down at him and were surprised to see that he’d rolled to lie on his back, just to stare up at you. Your hand was, embarrassingly, still carding through his hair each time you placed your pen between your teeth to read something through and you couldn’t imagine the angle he was staring from was your most flattering. Still, his eyes sparkled under the overhead aeroplane lights, which you wouldn’t have thought possible. It was likely a matter of perspective.

“Don’t be,” you waved him away, focusing your attention back on the paper in your hand before you gave it all away. Your hand fell limp in his hair, if only because you were too stubborn to remove it. Removing it now, after all, would only be an obvious admission of something you had been failing to hide for months now, “I’ve been told I have a comfy lap.”

“By whom?”

“Cats, mostly.”

He huffed a small laugh that travelled right the way up your spine.

“Cats are intelligent,” he mused quietly, resting his hands on his stomach, one on top of the other. A grounding technique that made you blink, “You can’t be comfortable though, doing paperwork like this.”

“What can I say? I’m a generous person.”

He hummed in lieu of an answer, but you could tell he felt guilty for the position he’d put you in. If only he could see that you were practically hanging off the seat, see the ridge that the armrest was definitely imprinting into your side, then he’d really feel guilty, but of course, that was the last thing you wanted him to feel.

(of course, there was also a part of you that dreamt of apologies whispered into your skin, of fingers skimming over fabric, of delicate kisses pressed to your hip-bone. of a guilt that melts away with each murmured confession of adoration. of a blissful atonement for a sin you’d already forgiven)

“Honestly, Spence, you’re fine. I would’ve moved you if I was uncomfortable.”

And you would have moved by now if you really felt that bad, you thought to yourself, relishing in the fact that he hadn’t moved yet, that you could still feel his gaze on your chin as you pretended to skim over the words on the page, once, twice, once again.

“You want me to take over paperwork duty?”

“I told you to sleep,” you said instead, “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“I did sleep, for at least 30 minutes, which we both know is good for my standards.”

His rebuttal was punctuated by his hands both reaching up, making grabbing motions towards the stack of papers you were pouring through. Knowing how much faster he would be at getting through whatever was left, you heaved the pile into his hands with a sigh and watched as he held them up in front of his face and began reading, blocking your view of him entirely. It was impossible not to feel cheated.

When he reached a section he had to write in, he held his hand up for a pen. You gave him one from your jacket pocket rather than the one that had been in your mouth, knowing that he would be grateful if he knew. When he’d finished scribbling, you’d take the pen back from him, lean your head against the headrest until the cycle repeated. Occasionally he shuffled his head in your lap and your hand would slide a little further into his hair, but nothing was said. You took it as a cue to stay right where you were.

As expected, he finished the paperwork far sooner than you would have done. When he reached behind his head to put it on the table next to you, you took it from him before he could pull a muscle in his shoulder and he muttered his thanks. Now you could see him again, it was difficult to fight off a smile. Maybe the paperwork in the way had been more beneficial than you thought.

Briefly, you wondered how many of your signatures he’d forged in the documents he’d gone through, wondered how much better he was at forgery than you, but you didn’t check the paperwork in case he thought you were checking his work was up to par.

“You just saved me an hour’s work,” you sighed happily, “My angel once again.”

It was a nickname that had stuck around. From the time he’d shared his muffin around a month ago, you couldn’t shake the sentiment off. Not only had you grown closer - bolder - in that time, you’d also adjusted your language accordingly. Angel made a regular appearance, if only to bring the dusty pink to his cheeks that you treasured.

“It’s nothing, you know that,” he insisted, that very same pink blooming up his neck as you basked in the glow, “Besides, you’d done half already.”

He was being ridiculously kind, because you’d be surprised if you’d made it a third of the way through. There was no use arguing it, because compliments were far from Spencer’s strong suit and you’d already got the upper hand using the word angel. Better to agree to disagree.

“Thank you anyway,” you decided would be a good compromise, and from the smile on his face as he stared up at you, it seemed he agreed. It was funny that agreeing to disagree with Spencer mostly just felt like being on the same book, same page, same line. Unfortunately, you couldn’t quite tell exactly which word he’d gotten to, because if you did, you might have kissed him a long time ago.

(and goodness had you thought about it enough times)

When he abruptly sat up from his place in your lap, you suppressed your whine of disapproval as best you could, but there was still a small noise of disappointment that you couldn’t contain. He smiled at the sound, face the right way up now with lines and grooves in all the right places, around his eyes, his mouth, his cheeks. Smile lines are notoriously pretty on people whose smiles are the highlight of your very existence.

“I’m not as comfy as you thought, hm?” you teased, mainly to prevent him from seeing any of the hurt shining in your eyes. He saw it anyway.

“Nope,” he said easily, already sliding all the way over to the other side of the sofa, each inch of distance deepening your frown, “Now I, on the other hand, have it on far better authority that I provide a comfortable lap experience.”

“And whose authority would that be?”

“Henry, of course, and I know you trust his judgement above all others. Come on.”

He actually patted his lap and the swooping of your chest was enough to make you slightly lightheaded.

“Are you sure?”

He gave you a withering look that gave you no choice but to scoot over towards him. Lying down, you mirrored his previous position as your head came to tentatively rest in the little dip between his thighs, as near to his knees as you could get without becoming uncomfortable. He was unspeakably warm and it seeped into your very soul.

“Better?”

“You’re not that comfy.”

A lie. Blatant to both parties as you snuggled into him a little more, allowing his leg to take the weight of your neck. Before you knew it, his hand was resting in your hair too and even though you knew it wasn’t as soft as his, you hoped it was enough. It didn’t move, save for the sporadic slow sweep of his thumb through the strands, but it didn’t matter. He was always more than enough, after all.

“Sleep. I’ll wake you when we land.”

His words were an exact repeat of your own. There was no chance of a long sleep, not with your nerve endings flaring at each and every point of contact between the two of you, but there was also no use arguing. Rest, in place of sleep, was better than nothing. You smiled up at him one last time before closing your eyes, drifting into a half-slumber that consisted mostly of vague musings about the individual notes of his cologne.

Occasionally, when you simply couldn’t help yourself, you’d open one eye, maybe even two, and peek up at him. He looked ethereal, even from this angle. It was likely a matter of perspective.

(it just so happened that spencer thought you looked positively celestial from all twenty seven of the angles he had painstakingly catalogued into his memory. that was likely a matter of perspective too)

---

if you made it this far, thank you for reading! i’m not currently tagging people, since i was away for a while and i don’t want to tag people who are no longer interested - if you would like to be tagged in my fics from now on, send in an ask and i can add you to a main taglist or a character-specific one <3

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine

[hyperfixatedimagines]

The Moon & her Star: Ch 2

Summary: Star crossed lovers trying to make it work but as outside pressures get to them will they choose to stay together?

A/N: Thank you to those that enjoyed the first chapter. I hope you like this one.

(Y/N) knew what their arrangement would be before Luna had even finished kissing her.

She knew Luna would never be with her in the light of day.

Not because they were both girls, Monet had been out and proud since seventh grade (allegedly), but because (y/n) didn’t come from old or new money.

She came from no money.

Luna’s lungs were beginning to burn but she didn’t want to stop kissing (y/n). She knew the moment she stopped (y/n) they would have to talk about the harsh reality of their situation. Luna had plans, plans she couldn’t let (y/n) derail. But god- (y/n)’s lips felt so good. She wanted to throw it all away and keep kissing (y/n) forever.

-

The first month of their clandestine relationship was heaven, or as close as (y/n) ever thought she’d get.

(y/n) loved the secret touches as they’d pass each other in the halls, their fingertips just barely brushing the other’s.

(y/n) loved the adrenaline rush of kissing Luna in the shadowy corners of Constance halls, classrooms, and the occasional girls’ bathroom stall.

Most importantly, (y/n) loved spending evenings in the theater building basement going over her lines with Luna.

Thanks to their passionate kiss that night (y/n) had been able to pull herself together for her audition, and she nailed it.

(y/n) was cast as the female lead for the spring musical, as Maria in west side story.

So she had Luna help her by running lines ,and practicing the choreography together. Luna hated to admit how much she enjoyed the theater, and especially how much she enjoyed acting alongside (y/n).

“You’re overthinking it (y/n),” Luna said as she gently brushed some flyaways from (y/n)’s face.

“Or maybe I’m not thinking enough. This is my one chance Lune, if I don’t-”

Luna cut her girlfriend’s self sabotage off with a delicate finger to (y/n)’s lips.

“(Y/n), you are so insanely talented. These past few weeks that I’ve run lines with you I can see that your star is going to burn so bright. Please don’t overthink it, let your intuition guide you.”

(Y/N) didn’t know how to respond. She’d never heard Luna talk like that.

Luna dropped her finger from (y/n)’s mouth and went to grab the script she’d left on a nearby table. “Now, let’s do another run of the scene at the end of act one.”

“The kissing scene,” (y/n) asked, even though she knew that was exactly what Luna was referring to.

Luna wrapped her arms around (y/n)’s neck.

“I think you need a little more practice,” Luna teased.

(Y/n) wrapped her arms around Luna’s waist, pulling her closer.

“Oh really? Well if it’s for the show, we must practice.”

Luna nodded. “Of course, we have to get it just right. Even if that means doing it over and over,” Luna leaned in closer, “and over again.”

Their lips met and the world around them disappeared. Only their lips and beating hearts mattered.

If only it had stayed that way.

-

The second month of their relationship was….rocky.

As the spring musical approached (y/n) became more and more stressed, unable to enjoy the shadowy kisses and forbidden glances.

Luna tried her best to comfort (y/n) but she had problems of her own to deal with. Her parents were staying at the New York residence less and less. Luna knew it was because of their busy schedules but a part of her wondered if it was them choosing to be away from her.

And then there was Julien.

She had be gaining quite a following online, and wasn’t sure what to do with all the growing attention. Monet had mobilized, but Monet knew exactly what she wanted to do with life. Monet had a clear ten year plan to success, and it included Luna.

There was no Luna without Monet and no Monet without Luna. They had best friends since seventh grade. They both wanted success and would stop at nothing to achieve it.

So they became Julien’s management team. Monet focusing on the business side and Luna the fashion side.

Which left Luna and (y/n) little time to sneak away and pretend they weren’t star crossed lovers.

Luna still came to the theater building basement to be with (y/n) but she was focused on planning Julien’s outfits for the week.

“Lune if you aren’t mentally here what is the point of you being physically here,” (y/n) spat.

She had such little time left until opening night and the director was on her ass about her dancing. The least Luna could do was pay attention the few hours of the day she saw her.

Luna put her phone down, screen side up, next to her on the bench.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

Luna’s phone buzzed with notification after notification. Luna glanced at the phone before guiltily looking back at (y/n).

“Forget it,” (y/n) replied.

(Y/N) sighed and walked over to her book bag.

“I think we should go. I doubt I’m gonna nail the final dance number tonight.”

Luna grabbed her phone and began typing away.

“I won’t be able to see you Saturday. Julien needs me to help her pick out a dress for spring formal.”

(Y/n)’s shoulders sagged. Not surprised Luna cancelled their date yet again.

“Spring formal? Isn’t that months away?”

Luna looked up at (y/n) incredulously. “Do you think the perfect dress just magically appears a week before an event?”

“You’re right, I guess.”

Luna softened. “It’s important to Julien I be there.”

“Then you have to go, be a good friend.”

(Y/n) turned to kiss Luna goodnight but Luna’s phone pinged and once again Luna had mentally left the building. (Y/n) sighed.

“Crap, I have to go meet Monet. I’ll see you next Tuesday?”

She gave (y/n) a quick peck on the lips before leaving.

(Y/n) stood there, wondering where her Luna had gone.

-

In the two weeks leading up to opening night (y/n) hadn’t seen or talked to Luna at all.

Sure she’d seen Luna in class but she knew better than to try to talk to Luna in front of Luna’s friends.

(Y/n)’s texts had been left on delivered for days.

If Luna did respond it was a quick, I promise we’ll meet up soon.

Soon never came.

(Y/N) tried her best to focus on her role, but all she could think about was her failing relationship.

She missed Luna.

And as the distance between them grew the more (y/n) came to resent the secrecy of their relationship.

If people knew they were together then (y/n) and Luna could spend more time together. They’d be able to hold hands in the halls like Aki and Audrey. They could sit together at lunch, and even hang out at each other’s homes.

The more (y/n) thought about what she and Luna could be, the more bitter she became because she knew Luna would never accept it.

(Y/N) stared at Luna in class, wondering if Luna was worth the ache in her chest.

-

Opening night was one day away. (Y/n) had been on edge but that day she was radioactive.

She was messing up her lines, and forgetting dance steps.

The director was worried, and had even threatened to replace (y/n) with her understudy- a freshman. This was her big chance. She couldn’t mess it up now…but she was afraid she was going to.

So she stayed late that day, forcing herself to get it all right.

And it was paying off. That evening (y/n) hadn’t missed one line, and every step was filled with grace.

“You’re going to be the best Maria Constance has ever had.”

(Y/N) turned around, elated at the sound of her lover’s voice.

“Lune!”

She ran towards Luna. Luna stepped into the room meeting (y/n) halfway.

(Y/N) leaned in to kiss her but Luna turned away.

“Is something wrong?”

Luna sighed. “I didn’t want to do this tonight. I know how important tomorrow is to you but-“

(Y/N)’s stomach twisted into knots. She knew what was coming. She’d known this was always going to be the outcome of their relationship. (Y/N) had just hoped it wouldn’t be so soon.

“Don’t. Please Luna not tonight.”

Tears started to prick at the edges of Luna’s eyes.

“(Y/N), you and I both know this isn’t working. Why go on pretending another day?”

(Y/N) balled her fists. “Maybe because tomorrow night is the most important day of my life? And having my girlfriend break up with me the night before is beyond cruel.”

Luna turned to face (y/n). “I’m not doing this to hurt you I-“

“It’s kinda hard to see it any other way.”

Luna wiped away the tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

“Monet and I are going to spring formal together.”

“What?” (Y/n) staggered backwards onto a nearby bench, the wind knocked out of her.

“She asked me a few days ago and I told her I would.”

(Y/N)’s chest began to ache. “Do you have feelings for her?”

Luna sighed. “That doesn’t matter.”

“What do you mean it doesn’t matter? If you’re breaking up with me for Monet I deserve to know.”

Luna took a seat next to (y/n) on the bench.

“I’m not breaking up with you for Monet. I just- when she asked me to the dance I hesitated and she asked if I already had a date.”

Luna turned to (y/n).

“And I realized that we hadn’t talked about spring formal. I realized we hadn’t really spoken in weeks…..I realized it was so easy to forget we were together because we never really had been in the first place. Kissing in the bathroom stall and hanging out in this basement once a week isn’t a relationship (y/n)…we both deserve better.”

Tears ran down the sides of (y/n)’s face as she tried hard to not look at Luna. If she looked at Luna she knew she’d beg Luna to stay.

So she stared at the ground instead. “And we both know you’ll never be better,” (y/n) said with as much venom in her voice as she could muster.

Luna’s stomach sank. She knew (y/n) was right. Luna wanted to be better for (y/n), but she couldn’t be. She was a coward. So she took the coward’s way out and said nothing.

Luna stood up and walked to the door. Just before leaving she turned back to (y/n).

“Break a leg tomorrow night (y/n).”

(Y/N) waited until the door closed behind Luna before breaking down completely. She sobbed into her hands, feeling her lungs burn as she let out silent screams.

She had always known it would end this way but (y/n) couldn’t have predicted it would end the night before her grand debut.

-

Opening night was a blur to (y/n).

All she remembered of the night was the heat of the stage lights, and the silence of the crowd.

The silence. The deadly silence. And the scorching heat.

(Y/N) had waited for that night for months, years even, and now that it had come all (y/n) could think about was Luna La’s peach lip gloss.

She remembered the heat of the stage lights and the silence of the crowd…then she remembered darkness.

#gossip girl 2021 #gossip girl imagine #gossip girl #gossip girl reboot #luna la #luna la imagine #zion moreno

[calpops]

seven days | c.h.

Your baby is born two months early. You and Calum face the complications and uncertainties with each other and the help of family.

10k words

dates with cal masterlist

Copyright © 2020 calpops. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format (translations included).

<< >>

Calum’s world spins in slow motion. He sees you but you’re out of focus, his vision is hazy past tears. He’s numb but somehow he can still make out that your hand is in his, your grip is like iron, the hold you have on each other is unbreakable. He can hear static, white noise tumbles through his senses raised into a panic induced overdrive. He loses you and finds your baby and wonders why there’s no crying. The doctor has her in her arms and she’s saying something, Calum can see that her lips are moving but his mind can’t keep up, her voice is lost to him. Neither of you were prepared for this, the classes and books neglected to ready you for only seven months of pregnancy, ten minutes of labor and the doctor rushing your daughter out of the room. He looks back at you and sees your once outstretched arm fall, your lip quiver, eyes go wild through your weary and worried exhaustion. Your voice finally breaks him.

“Follow them,” you plead and though Calum wants to stay with you there’s someone else in the world who needs him too. Someone else he wants to be with just as much as you.

With every footstep down the sterile hallway he wishes your hand could still be in his. He’s stopped short, a nurse he barely recognizes from his disconnect while at your side stands in front of him.

“They’re bringing her to the NICU,” the nurse says and though her voice and eyes are kind Calum feels fear and frustration rising inside of him, boiling and breaking him as she stands in his way. “You can’t go in yet.”

“What—I’m—she’s my daughter,” he stumbles out, throat on fire and eyes burning just the same.

“They’re getting her in an incubator. She needs oxygen and vital care,” she says and goes on to explain it will take a bit of time. “When she’s ready you’ll be able to go in. You’ll need to scrub up and wash your hands first.”

Calum shakes his head, not quite able to process all of this information on the spot. He lets out a shaky breath, curls his fingers into his palms, feels the coolness of his wedding ring on his skin and it reminds him of you; he lets the thought of you attempt to calm him. His head shake turns to a nod though he’s still not sure he can completely comprehend all that is happening.

“When can I see her?” he finally manages to get out though it’s not without a fight or a broken syllable.

“Follow me,” the nurse offers and without thinking Calum is walking down the hallway again, trailing the nurse to a break in the white wall where a window rests. “You can watch from here.”

The view is startling. Machines and equipment line the NICU, doctors and nurses pass in and out and create fears with every step they take. It takes a moment to find the team that delivered your baby, joined by a few new nurses and another doctor. Just past the crowd he can see the incubator and your daughter being settled within, tubes for oxygen and the like disguising her small face. Her eyes are closed and though she looks peaceful the striking contrast of your sleeping daughter and the dire circumstances are enough to choke Calum. He can’t watch the rest, his eyes skirt to the floor but he stays put. He’s not leaving her, his resolve is shaken but stays intact. He wants you with him, he wants her to be on the other side of the glass, in his arms, welcomed to a world without complications.

Time passes in a blur, his eyes fixed on his shoes and the tile floor below. He’s vaguely aware of other people in the hallway. Doctors, parents, nurses and patients all pass him by without a word. The kind nurse is long gone and Calum finds himself wishing he had asked more questions. The silence is deafening. He wants to have your whispered words of reassurance in his ear. He wants the repeated mantra of “it’s gonna be okay” to be believable. His phone buzzes but he doesn’t reach for it. He knows he should make calls. Tell his parents, inform the guys he left with a million questions and concerns in their minds. He doesn’t have the energy or the will to do so.

His shoulders slump but he straightens himself when a doctor approaches.

“Mr. Hood?” he asks, clipboard in hand and cool eyes sweeping him up and down. Calum nods. “You can go in now. Follow me. We have to get you ready.”

Calum’s heart lurches with the first step he takes to follow the doctor, to be with his daughter. He thinks of you, doesn’t want to imagine the panic and pain that being alone is causing you. He reminds himself Mali is with you, that you told him to follow. He’s led to a solid door and ushered through. There’s a room connected to the NICU; cabinets with scrubs and gloves and sanitizer and a medical sink claim the small space. He realizes all parents must enter through here before getting to their babies. In a blink he’s wearing a gown, and his hands are thoroughly washed. He takes just one second to take a breath, to gather courage, keep you in his thoughts and ready his heart for his daughter.

“We usually encourage skin to skin contact to bond with babies while they’re being treated. You can hold her hand, talk to her, she’ll know your voice,” the doctor explains while they approach the incubator.

There’s a thousand questions swirling through Calum’s mind that he wants to ask the doctor beside him. But his breath catches in his throat at the sight of your daughter. Her eyes are still closed from when he first caught a glimpse of her through the window. The incubator is closed, she’s surrounded by the help she needs but holes provide a place for Calum’s hand to find her. The doctor talks to him, Calum knows he should be listening but the whir of the machinery and the thumping of his pulse inside his ears drown out the words. He keeps his gaze on her, swallows back a sob and feels the ache in his heart grow as he realizes you’re alone in the room down the hall, that she’s right in front of him but they’re separated by plastic and plexiglass.

He wants to say something to her, he can’t find words, more than anything he wants to hold her. He can’t. He sinks down to level with her and slowly reaches through to lightly hold her hand that’s so small it brings tears to his eyes. She doesn’t respond but he feels better having even the smallest form of connection to her. He doesn’t even know when he realized that he was right; your baby is the most beautiful little girl he’s ever seen. Your bet is meaningless, winning and names are lost in the plight of life. The doctor leaves eventually but hospital staff still surrounds the NICU, nurses and doctors ready at a moment’s notice. It’s silent save for the hum of the machines. Only a few other babies are being treated, spaced out to afford families privacy. He doesn’t know how long he stays bent over with his hand lightly on hers before he finally finds words.

“We love you,” he tells her, knowing if you were with them you’d say it too.

It might have been minutes but is more likely hours by the time a nurse pulls Calum from her side. The mention of you finally rousing him from his state. He doesn’t want to leave but he wants you. He wars over it for a moment but nods, gives her hand another touch, tells her that you both love her and finds himself wandering the hallway back to you. You’re stricken when he enters the room. Mali is trying to be a calming presence, to keep you in bed, but it seems a losing fight.

“How is she?” you ask, breathless, hopeless and forlorn.

Calum swallows down a lump in his throat, bites back tears and tries to stay strong for you and for her. A rush of the doctor’s words come back to him. What scattered remnants of pieces he barely heard charge through.

“She’s beautiful,” Calum says first, sits down in the chair at your side and takes your hand as softly as he had taken hers. “The doctor said the first twenty four hours are the most vital. They’ll know more at forty eight and even more at seventy two.”

“I want to see her,” you say and Calum hears the edge of hysteria in your tone.

“You need to rest,” Mali tries but falls short when you and Calum both shake your heads.

“I didn’t even get to hold her,” you cry and it’s enough to bring Calum to you, his arms gently around your shoulders. You can’t hold her, he can’t hold her, but you can hold each other and hope. “I want to see her,” you repeat and the words hit Calum’s skin and wrench his heart.

“We’ll ask the doctor if you can,” he promises, not knowing how physically affected you are from labor, not knowing if getting up and going would be okay or not.

“I’ll go get her,” Mali says and excuses herself from the room to track down the doctor and to give you two a private moment.

You’re both quiet for a few seconds, content to hold each other together in the silence. Calum feels your grip on him tighten as you shift in the hospital bed and eventually pull away so he can see your face. He runs his thumbs over your cheeks to wipe away your tears.

“Are you okay?” you ask him, eyes wide and concerned. “I wish I could’ve been there with you. I don’t know how hard that must have been.”

Calum shakes his head as if he’s trying to shake away your worries. You feeling guilty for not being there with and for him was the same war he had about leaving you behind.

“‘I’m”—he says and sucks in a deep breath—“I’m okay. I’ll be okay. She’s gonna be okay,” he finishes and finds a new mantra though it’s hard to believe and each sentence sounds more like a question than the last.

You nod, a small shudder shaking your shoulders and racking your body. Calum reaches for you again, let’s his hands settle on your shoulders to give you strength and comfort.

“I know she will. She’ll be okay, she has to be, she’s half you and you’re the strongest person I know,” you rationalize, eyes lost to the wall in front of you. You look back at Calum and he sees the stony wall you’ve put up start to crack as you gaze at him. “But it’s okay to break sometimes,” you finish and Calum knows you’re saying it to him, reminding him that he can break into your arms and have you there to help him put back the pieces.

For the first time since your daughter was born Calum allows himself to crumble. The tears he’d been fighting back slide down his cheeks and his shoulders slump with the weight of the world. He’s brought back to you by your gentle pull and finds reassurance in the love you show him. Mali comes back in with the doctor and Calum tries to collect himself, wipes tears from his face and clears his throat.

“I hear you’re asking about your daughter,” the doctor says as she steps into the room and takes a sweeping glance at you, Calum and Mali. “Parents are allowed in at all times. Visiting hours for others are seven in the morning to seven at night. Only two at a time.”

“Can I go see her?” you ask, a fragment of hope clinging to your words and getting lost in your eyes at the mention of parents being allowed in whenever.

“In the morning,” the doctor replies and Calum swallows down a lump in his throat, knowing that’s not the answer you wanted. “Your labor was quick but very intense. Your body needs to rest, the drugs need to wear off, you wouldn’t make it down the hallway in your condition.”

Calum sees the refusal cross your face, the staunch disbelief that you can’t see your daughter almost enough to crack anyone’s resolve. The doctor keeps explaining to you but it falls on deaf ears and interjections. You ask if this way would be possible, if that way would, but nothing seems to be possible to the doctor who means to keep you in bed until morning.

“What if she doesn’t have a morning?” you finally ask and suck in a breath as if the words themselves strike physical pain through you. Calum’s nearly certain they did, just the thought is enough to make his chest feel like it’s caving in.

“She’s stable and comfortable. If anything was to happen we would get you in there. For now, please try to get some rest.”

The doctor gets paged and makes her escape. Calum clutches you, holds you and makes whispered promises he’s not sure can be kept.

“I don’t want her alone,” you whimper and Calum follows your gaze out the door.

“I’ll go—do you want me to stay with you? Where do you want me?” he asks, stumbling over his words, unsure where to go or what to do.

You nod. “Go be with her. Please. Make sure she’s okay,” you instruct and Calum can hear how much it pains you to let him go to her without you. He holds your hand, kisses your forehead.

“I’ll come back to check on you in a while,” he promises. “And I’ll take so many pictures of her. Sweetheart, she’s beautiful,” he adds, realizing his first time in the NICU was so filled with shock that not one photo was taken and the only time you’ve seen her was when she was being taken away.

“Thank you,” you whisper, eyes glossy. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he answers without hesitation but takes an extra second to gaze at you before heading out the door.

He’s back with your daughter before he even realizes it. Her small hand is warm inside the incubator, her eyes are still shut and past the tubes that breathe life into her she almost looks peaceful. He takes as many photos as he can without disturbing her. He settles into the hard plastic chair beside her and tilts his head back until it gently thumps against the wall. His hands find his face and rub at his jaw. He hadn’t realized before but it’s been clenched and holding tension for hours. Time passes as he sits at her side, talks to her, sings and hums when she so much as stirs slightly. He’s able to lull her and he takes those moments as victory and ones to keep with him forever. Once more he wishes you were with them, knowing you would be able to do the same for her with the sound of your voice, the gentle touch of your hand. When it nears midnight and she hasn’t stirred in a while and a nurse has come in to check on her, Calum convinces himself it’s time to go check on you.

He knows he could call or text but he misses you. He’s faced with a conundrum as he gets one foot out the door of the NICU. Now he misses her. But he doesn’t have time to do much of either as the kind nurse he recognizes from earlier stops him once more. This time she has a clipboard with papers and pen in her hand.

“Forms for her birth certificate,” she informs.

Calum gapes at the papers. Even the easiest of questions and information seems impossible. You both still don’t even know her name yet.

“You can take your time on them. I’ll be around to help if you have questions,” the nurse says before excusing herself to rush off to help another patient.

Calum’s left with the clipboard in hand, aches in his heart and questions in his mind. He heads back for your room to find you awake and Mali gone. You smile to greet him but Calum can see how flat the gesture is and he can’t blame you.

“Where’s Mali?”

“Getting a coffee. I can’t sleep and she wanted to stay up with me,” you explain and Calum settles himself on the edge of your bed. He takes your hand and places the clipboard on his lap. “What’s that?”

“Forms for her birth certificate,” he says and sighs. “I can’t even fill in her name.”

You squeeze his hand in understanding. “Do what you can,” you reply and inch closer to take a peek at the papers. There’s a moment of silence between the two of you as you each get lost in your own thoughts. “I know you get to name her…”

Calum shakes his head. All bets off. “We’ll decide on something together. I love all the ones on your list,” he tells you and finally gets a genuine smile from you, eyes alight and all.

“I want to see her before we choose, I feel like I don’t even know her.”

Calum trembles at your words and the honesty in them. You carried her for seven months and had about seven seconds to see her before she was carried off. He leans closer to you, gives you many small kisses from your cheek to forehead as worries and fears tumble inside him, each one coming to life and bringing life to others. He drowns them out, for you and for her. He’s already crumbled once. He wants to be resilient. Mali comes back with coffee in hand and tired eyes but such a sheer will to stay Calum can’t even work up the nerve to even suggest she go home and get some sleep. And in all honesty he’s glad she’s here and can be there with you when he can’t.

“I called mum and dad, I hope you don’t mind,” Mali says when she takes a seat on the opposite side of you, sliding into the chair in a tired yet graceful way.

Calum shakes his head. He doesn’t mind at all. He wanted to do it but didn’t have the heart or the words or the right mind to even dial the phone.

“They’re flying out as soon as they can,” Mali further informs, then sips at her coffee. “We’re all gonna be here for you. Both of you. All of you.”

“Thank you,” Calum gets out past a choked up throat and stands to stride to his sister and give her a long overdue hug. She affords him comfort and when she realizes how tired his eyes are she gives him her coffee and says she’ll get another.

Mali leaves again and Calum spends the next few minutes drinking in the caffeine and soaking up some time with you. He wants to get back to your daughter but the war of you being completely alone confronts him once more. He decides to wait until Mali gets back to head back to the NICU. When she does stride back through the door he gives you a kiss, tells you he loves you and makes a promise to stay with her until morning; until you can be with her too.

He spends the night in the uncomfortable hospital chair, hand inside the incubator, finger lightly stroking her tiny hand in soothing rhythms. He talks to her when the moon is out, he shows her pictures of you and doesn’t let it bother him when her eyes don’t stay open for long. He comes to terms with the fact that she’s resting and when she’s resting she’s getting stronger each and every second. Through the night he shifts in the chair but never leaves it. There’s a kink in his neck and his muscles ache by the time morning comes but those pains are minimal in comparison. He rubs at his tired eyes after waking from a miraculous little doze. He straightens and finds her immediately.

“Good morning,” he sings quietly as he gets level with her. Her eyes are barely open. “You get to see your mommy today.”

He knows it’s not likely, probably impossible, but he swears she smiles when he tells her that. His phone buzzes in his pocket. He has no intention of answering it—he’s surprised it still has enough charge to buzz—but he checks who’s calling. Ashton lights up the screen. Calum sends him to voicemail and jumps when motion in his peripheral startles him. Ashton is standing outside the NICU window, looking in at Calum with his phone pressed to his ear. He frowns when he hears the voicemail greeting. Calum gathers up the courage to leave his daughter. He gives her a small goodbye squeeze on her hand, tells her he loves her and exits the NICU, the routine of leaving the used gown behind already set in stone.

“How is she?” Ashton asks, giving no time or thought to explaining how he knew where to go or why he holds a duffel bag in his grip.

Calum wracks his brain, trying to find the last update from a nurse or doctor but comes up short after his long night. He sighs and his shoulders slump.

“She made it through the night,” he says and hears the desperate intone of needing hope in his voice. “What are you doing here? How’d you know?”

“Mali texted, Luke has Duke,” Ashton explained and lifted a worry from Calum. He’d nearly forgotten Duke in the fray of it all. Ashton hoisted the duffel bag up. “I brought you both clothes, phone chargers, and I even have a present for her,” he continues and rummages around in a small gift bag until he pulls out a plush koala bear.

“She’s in a closed incubator,” Calum says though he knows he should be saying thank you instead. He can’t stop the words once they start. “She can’t have anything in there.”

Ashton nods, knowing the slight bite in Calum’s tone is not frustration at the gesture, just the circumstances. “It can go in her nursery.”

“We don’t even have it set up yet.”

Calum knows he’s starting to crack again but he doesn’t know how to stop himself. If it were anyone else he might have had a fighting chance of keeping himself together but Ashton’s been there for unspeakable highs and lows. He can’t fight himself into submission. He can’t keep himself together without a little help from his best friend. That’s exactly what he gets, a comforting hand on his back as the bags hit the floor and a hug to remind him that it’s not just you and him against the world. It takes a few minutes for Calum to pull himself together, to offer an apology for his tone that Ashton shrugs off in understanding and head for your room, the sudden remembrance that you get to finally see your daughter carrying his steps.

He finds you and Mali in the same spots as last night. He can tell you didn’t sleep. Your eyes are bloodshot and heavy but the smallest of smiles captures your lips when you see him.

“You ready?” Calums asks and you nod, needing no other prompting to understand. “Let’s get you dressed then we can go,” he adds on and searches through the duffel bag for some clothes as Ashton and Mali head to the hallway.

“How was last night?” you ask him as you pull a hoodie on.

“Long,” Calum answers and takes a breath. “But she made it through with no problems. I talked about you, showed her pictures, I think she’s excited.”

You laugh at Calum’s recount of the night and his projection of her possible excitement. It’s the first time he’s heard you laugh in nearly twenty four hours. It’s not as hearty and joyous as usual but it’s a start to feeling normal. You both hold onto that feeling as you exit the room and head to get ready for the NICU.

Calum doesn’t know what to expect when you enter and see her for the first time since she was taken away. He figures you might tear up, that you might clutch him or go straight for her. He doesn’t expect you to freeze in your tracks halfway to where she sleeps. He doesn’t know what to do when you wrap your arms around yourself and tremble where you stand.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, come on,” he tries with a soothing voice. He’s a step ahead of you and you continue to stand still. He backtracks to you, puts a reassuring hand on your back. “What’s going on?”

He focuses on the subtleties of your face and is drawn to your eyes. He sees the way they shine and knows that you’ll soon be biting your lip and scrunching your nose as you do your best to hold back your emotions.

“All these machines…” you trail off with eyes roaming the NICU and the sight of dozens of incubators and the like. Calum knows how overwhelming it is but he’s had time to adjust and get used to the hum and flow of the world your daughter lives in.

“They keep the babies safe and comfortable,” he says, knowing that’s what will get through to you. “I’ll show you, she’s nice and cozy, getting stronger every second.”

You nod and take very small steps with Calum at your side. He doesn’t rush you or push you along. He goes at your pace, his eyes skirting from you to your daughter. He knows you can see her from your vantage point. Her eyes are closed as sleep claims her once more. Calum is used to the tubes that give her oxygen and help sustain her life. It startles you when you first approach and Calum witnesses the tears that finally slide down your cheeks. You’re timid at the edge of the incubator, hands curled into fists and steadfast at your sides. He hears your breath shaking and reaches for your hand.

“You can touch her. Hold her hand. She likes that,” Calum informs, knowing his touch and voice had soothed her through the night whenever she stirred. “Like this,” he says and reaches his free hand toward her, lightly stroking the soft skin on the back of her hand. Her eyes open but she stays calm and content.

You go slowly, as if afraid to startle her or scare yourself. Calum retracts his hand from her but keeps his other in yours for support and comfort. It takes one touch for your fears and stone wall to come crumbling down. Your eyes soften as more tears make stride and a sob wracks your body.

“Hi, sweetheart,” you manage to get out through a cracked voice and Calum smiles at the choice of term of endearment. You’ve always been his sweetheart, now you have one of your own. You look up at your husband and Calum meets your eyes. “She looks just like you.”

Calum shakes his head. “She’s you too, look,” Calum says.

You giggle through another cry but Calum knows the tears and sobs are all born of something good. “She’s got your eyes and purses her lips just like you.”

Calum smiles at that. “But that nose and those cheeks are all you.”

“You think so?” you ask, turning away from her to look at Calum with hope in your eyes. He nods. You turn back to look at her and keep up the small rhythm you have of stroking her hand. “Yeah,” you agree upon further inspection with such adoration in your tone it makes Calum laugh.

For as hesitant as you were to enter the NICU it quickly becomes apparent that nothing in the world will tear you from her side. You take up residence in the chair Calum spent the night in, never once letting your hand leave her, keep your voice soothing as you talk to her. Calum finds his way to the other side, content to hold her other hand and listen to the sweet words you whisper to her.

“I love you so much,” you repeat, having found a new mantra. “I can’t wait to bring you home. You’ll get to meet your auntie Mali, grandma and grandpa, all your uncles. Your doggie, Duke. We’re all waiting for you, whenever you’re ready.”

“Some are less patient than others,” Calum says around a laugh as he spies two people on the other side of the window. You make a confused noise until Calum motions over to the window and you both take in the sight of Ashton and Mali waving behind the glass with glossy eyes and smiles to accompany them.

“They’re really special, huh?” you ask and smile, appreciative for all of the effort they’ve put in. You both know you wouldn’t be able to get through this without family by your side.

“The best,” Calum agrees with fond eyes.

You fall into silence, content to stay by her side and do nothing but gaze at her and each other adoringly. Calum doesn’t expect to look up and find you in tears again but he does and it nearly rips his breath away before he detects that though you’re crying it’s a good kind of cry this time.

“What’s going on, sweetheart?” he asks.

“This is just—it’s all I’ve wanted,” you manage to get out with your gaze roaming from her to Calum and then to Ashton and Mali still watching from the window. “It’s our family.”

Calum smiles at the sentiment and the honesty in your voice and knows the gesture reaches his eyes and hopes you can feel it in your heart the way he does. He knows your rocky relationship with your parents and that you haven’t felt like family in a long time. They have still yet to meet Calum after bailing on a dinner and the wedding. He’s not sure if you’ve called them about the birth or if they even bothered to answer but he’s happy to see you content with the family that chose you.

You sniffle and meet eyes with Calum. “I have an idea for her name,” you announce and Calum’s heart skips a beat. He’s ready to start calling her by her name, to fill out the forms in his hoodie pocket, but then he laughs as he realizes he might more often than not call her a term of endearment, just like he does with you.

“Anything you want,” Calum promises, knowing that it will be perfect because it came from you and your heart.

***

Another day slips by and Calum finds himself alone with your daughter once more. You’ve been brought back to your hospital room to talk with your doctor and see where you’re at and when you’ll be ready to be discharged. Calum asks you to get some rest while you’re in there. You make no promises but heed his words. You both have thoughts of her name in your heads, still undecided, wanting more time with her to be absolutely sure but feeling that it could be right. Calum’s hanging on by a thin and tattered thread. He’s exhausted and nodding off in the chair when Ashton rouses him with a phone call and coaxes him out into the hall, but not before he spends the time to tell her that he loves her. He meets his best friend in the hall, a yawn falling from him, arms wide as they stretch out the aches and tightness from his prolonged position.

Calum rubs at his eyes. “Why’d you drag me out here?”

“I think you should go home for a while,” Ashton says, getting straight to the point. When Calum immediately refuses with a shake of his head Ashton sighs and continues, “just a little while. You’re running on empty.”

“No. No, I don’t want to leave her. I can’t leave them,” Calum refuses, head still shaking and eyes darting to the window.

“Go home. Take a shower. Eat something. Take half an hour to sleep. They need you to be rested,” Ashton says and Calum can almost hear the words he didn’t say. They need you to be strong.

It’s the implication and words unsaid that even marginally make Calum consider the proposition. He runs a hand through his hair as tangles of thoughts snarl through his mind. He lets out an accidentally long held breath and turns the shake of his head into a nod as his shoulders relax. He decides he will, but only after he’s sure you’re okay and can be in with her. He tells Ashton as much.

“Good, I’m on shift right now so I can be in there with them when you’re gone if you guys want,” Ashton informs. Mali had finally gone home to get some rest for herself and Ashton slid seamlessly into her role at your sides to fill in the gaps when you have to be separated.

“I’m sure we’d all love that,” Calum assures, utterly grateful for his family’s presence.

Ashton does as promised. Calum watches as the two of you enter the NICU, sticks by the window until he sees Ashton take her hand for the first time and glow with such love and adoration it makes Calum certain she’s okay in his hands. And yours, though he’s never had a doubt about that. He heads home after waving and blowing a kiss—and laughing when Ashton pretends to snag it from you and keep it for himself. He calls for a car, knowing he’s well past exhausted and being behind the wheel would be dangerous. The car stops at the curb of your home and Calum stops short when he steps out. Two cars sit in the driveway where your cars are usually parked.

He enters the house and is met with disgruntled noises coming from down the hall. He makes way to the back room and finds Luke and Michael in a mess of boxes and half put together nursery furniture. He laughs as he stands in the doorway and it catches his friends attention, they look up at him, wide eyed and startled.

Michael is the first to stand as he abandons a screwdriver on the floor among the mess of cardboard, bubble wrap, and probably unread instructions. “How is she? How are you? What are you doing here?”

“She’s getting better everyday,” Calum answers and doesn’t even question the knowledge they have of her and the troubles she’s been facing. He knows Ashton must have filled them in. “Ashton forced me home to get some rest. But the better question is what are you two doing here?”

Luke blows out an irritated breath. “Trying to build her nursery. We figured Mali and Ash wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon so we might as well be helpful in the meantime.”

“Do they know when she can come home?” Michael asks and tucks his hands in his pockets, eyes sweeping the mess of a nursery. He clears his throat.

“Not yet. Hopefully soon,” Calum answers with an arched eyebrow, also taking in the room.

Luke stands. “Don’t worry. We set up a bassinet by your bed. We read it’s good for newborns to sleep near their parents. Just in case,” Luke informs. “She’ll have somewhere to come home to and rest. Now it’s your turn,” he finishes and waves a hand as if to dismiss Calum from their presence.

“Alright, I’ll take the hint. Just… try not to break anything,” Calum says and excuses himself to head across the hall to his own room. He spots the bassinet immediately and gravitates towards it without thinking. He has the stuffed koala Ashton got for her in his hoodie pocket. He pulls it out and places it inside, optimistic that she’ll be able to come home to it soon.

Calum doesn’t linger at home too long. He showers, eats and struggles to sleep for a while. Luke and Michael make minimal progress in their efforts to put together the nursery. Before heading out again Calum stops by to thank them.

“We couldn’t do this without you guys,” Calum expresses his thanks and means every word of it.

“That’s what we’re here for. It’s what families do,” Luke reassures.

“You can thank us by showing us some pictures of her,” Michael states and tilts his head. “The only ones we’ve gotten are blurry and through a window from Ash and Mali.”

Calum is more than happy to comply, he’s taken dozens, likely hundreds, since the first one he snapped for you. With two of his best friends by his side he swipes through endless photos. Most of just her, nearly identical, some with you and her, some of him and her and a few taken by a nice nurse of the two of you with her. He’s not looking at Luke and Michael—much too busy staring at the screen, wanting to be back with her and you to look at them—but he can feel the smiles in their voices.

“She’s the prettiest little thing I’ve ever seen,” Luke coos.

Michael makes a comment that she’s lucky she favors you over Calum and all three laugh. It’s one of few genuine laughs Calum has had over the past few days and even though it’s at his own expense he doesn’t mind. It feels normal. Michael and Luke aren’t treating him like glass and he feels less likely to shatter because of it.

“I gotta get back to her,” Calum concludes and locks his phone after the last photo is shown.

“Send us new photos when you get there,” Luke insists and lets Calum part with them after a hug for each.

Calum leaves the half finished nursery and hears his friends go back to squabbling.

“Where the hell did the crib go?” Michael’s voice asks as Calum heads for the door.

“I think it’s under the rocker,” Luke says. “Which is under that styrofoam.”

Calum leaves with a grin and gets back to you and her as soon as he can. He has to switch places with Ashton to get back into the NICU. He immediately greets you and her and though he’s sure at this point you both know he tells you he loves you.

“Will you sleep tonight?” Calum asks, knowing it will likely be your last night in the hospital, your visit from the doctor informing you that you could be discharged in the morning.

“No,” you respond.

“Will you at least try?” he questions with pleading eyes. He doesn’t want you to spend a night in a chair after all your body has been through though he knows you will without question. “You need rest,” he reminds. “I did. Now it’s your turn.”

You sigh and Calum can hear how tired you are just from that. You mull it over for a minute and finally nod. “I’ll try. Stay with her?”

“Always,” Calum promises and meets you around the incubator to give you a hug before separating for the night.

It’s another long and restless night for Calum but he finds small joys where he can. He’s happy to see her content and resting easily. He revels in holding her hand and talking to her. The doctor said she would know his voice and as time passes he starts to believe it. He can’t help but think back on all the times had talked to her before he was born. He found comfort in holding your bump and telling you both about his day or humming and singing familiar and beloved tunes. Those days aren’t so far gone and Calum feels a tug in his chest as he realizes how quickly they left. Seven months was too short. But as he gazes down at her he can’t help but be happy to have met her early. He laughs when the thought of her just wanting to meet you as soon as possible enters his mind and knows he’ll have to tell you that, knows it will make you smile. The night goes by without incident and it instills more and more hope into Calum’s heart that she could be going home any day now. He gets a text from you early in the morning when the sun is still making it’s ascent into the sky. 

He finds himself in your hospital room with a view of pink clouds on the horizon and the golden sun greeting you as the doctor says you’re okay enough to be discharged. You both listen to the instructions and advice the doctor gives you and Calum can see the relief and happiness on your face as you settle into the realization that you can be at your daughters side at any and all times. The doctor tells you to rest and take it easy but Calum knows nothing will be restful or easy until she’s home and you both know she’s okay. Your minds and hearts won’t have peace until she can rest in your arms. Calum helps you get ready to leave your own hospital room and head back to the NICU. Over the next couple of days you and Calum find an exhausting rhythm of being at her side. It takes a lot of convincing from Ashton and Mali to let them be there for her while you take just a small amount of time for yourselves. Though it’s hard and goes against all of your instincts to be there with her at every single minute you relent after nearly thirty six hours without real sleep.

The first time you and Calum leave and Ashton and Mali go in together you linger by the window and watch as they take up positions by her sides. Calum feels warm and okay as he watches, he even manages a smile when Ashton and Mali light up when they hold her hands. The first time eases the transition to being able to take small moments away, long enough to eat and stretch your legs. But you never stay away for too long and even when they’re in with her you always find your way to passing the window and checking in on her and them. Nights are a different story. There is nothing that will make either of you leave her side. Days go on with uncertainty and worries but having Ashton and Mali around helps take some of the pressures and anxieties off of your shoulders.

Night settles upon you both with weary exhaustion clinging to your minds, bodies and hearts. Your daughter has been doing well but there’s still no word of when she can go home. It leaves you reaching for fragmented pieces of hope. Curling your fingers around broken shards of optimism and the fabric of each other’s shirts, holding onto all that is dear. Calum tries convincing you to go home for a night but you staunchly refuse, you tell him that you’re okay though your eyes betray how tired and broken you really are. He doesn’t push the matter, just holds you close in the uncomfortable hospital chair and keeps his hand on hers and yours and whispers reassurances all three of you need.

“I don’t even care if we go home soon or not. I just want to hold her,” you whisper and cut through Calum’s attempts at soothing you. “It’s been what? Four days? Five?” you ask and furrow your brows, the concept of time completely lost.

“Six,” Calum answers and is only aware of it from the watch on his wrist. It feels like a lifetime and he realizes that for her it is. He nearly gets choked up but clears his throat and blinks his eyes rapidly trying to keep himself together. He feels you shake your head against his chest as if you can’t believe it.

“She’s so tiny she could probably fit in one hand,” you say and let out a forlorn sigh. “I don’t know if we have clothes small enough for her.”

“We can send Mali out for that, I’m sure she’ll have a field day. We might have to build another closet for her,” Calum says and a small laugh follows, you giggle slightly and it’s more than Calum has let himself expect in a long while.

You lapse into silence, too tired to keep talking but too aware and afraid to fall asleep just yet. Calum’s learned to blur out the noise of the machines and just focus on your steady breathing. It comforts him. Just as he knows the beat of his heart is comforting you with your head pressed to his chest. His lap is numb but he wants you as close as possible.

“Have you thought more about her name?”

“I like what you mentioned,” Calum answers, a tilt of a smile forming for you and the thought of her possible name on his face. “Let’s sleep on it one more night,” he says and hopes that you actually will be able to sleep.

He finds himself nodding off, neck crooked and head falling against the wall behind him. But slumber is quickly taken from him when he feels himself being shaken and hears your breathy whisper.

“Something’s wrong,” you say and he immediately perks up, heart lurching and breath catching at the two words. “Look.”

You point out the window of the NICU where a group of doctors have convened with sullen looks on their faces. There’s a moment where everything is palpable and tense. Calum’s throat tightens and his heart rate spikes with anxiety. He can hear machines beeping but it’s not uncommon. The doctors break their group and start to move.

“Please don’t come in here,” he hears you say but he’s too fixed on watching the doctors disappear from the window and waiting for the door to burst open. Waiting for a doctor to take his daughter away again. “No, no, no.”

Calum’s hand finds hers and it feels just the same as always, warm and soft and perfect. His heart drops. Nothing happens, the door doesn’t open and the beeping stops. He gives it another moment and clutches at his chest with his free hand. He lets out a breath that’s nearly painful. He doesn’t even notice that in the heat of the moment you left him and stood, but now he refocuses, where once there was white edging into his vision as panic picked up he blinks it away and notices your hands are shaking. When you turn back to look at him he sees tears in your eyes.

“It’s okay,” he says and reaches a hand out to bring you back to him. “It’s okay. She’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper and settle back against him, and he can feel the tears on your face as you find a home against the crook of his neck. “I was scared.”

“I know, it’s okay.”

“I shouldn’t have woken you. I shouldn’t have”—you begin but Calum strokes your hair and stops the words from coming out.

“That’s what I’m here for. I would’ve done the same,” he promises and assures. “She’s okay, we’re okay,” he continues when your small sobs and shakes don’t stop. He knows that you’re panic stricken and need to let the fear out. He holds you while you do, keeps his gaze flickering from you to her and lets the hum of the machines settle back in. He runs his hand up and down your back and hopes the rhythmic motion will help to calm you. He’s nearly certain sleep won’t be had any more for the night, he’s been running on coffee, anxiety, naps and adrenaline for days now. Once you’re calmed, or at least calmer, you pull away from Calum and he watches as you move back to her, settle so you can hold her hand and whisper to her. Her eyes are open and she’s calm. Calum notes and realizes how quiet she is, has been since she was first born. Even her cries are small and timid. He listens to you tell her that you both love her, that you can’t wait to bring her home and promise to always be there for her. Once the panic flees you both settle back in for the night but stay awake with closed eyes and hands on hers.

Morning comes in a slow creeping way. Doctors and nurses enter the NICU, you both watch silently as they make sure your daughter is doing well. It’s a silent and solemn affair to watch someone else be able to hold your baby—even if it’s just for a routine check in to make sure she’s making the progress she needs. Calum sees your arms flinching, watches as they calm when she’s back in the incubator and quiet. He knows it’s killing you to not hold her, cradle her in your arms and keep her safe from the world. It’s killing him too. Though you’re both somber and exhausted from the previous night, Calum finds that the morning is easier, he’s a little more light and certain. He won’t call it a good feeling as he doesn’t want to jinx it, but as he stares down at her and her eyes flutter open to meet his gaze he feels more calm and collected than he has in a week. His phone buzzes and though he doesn’t want to peel his gaze away from her he looks down and finds a message from Ashton.

“Ash says we should go get breakfast, he and Mali will come in for her,” Calum informs you and for the first time you don’t argue in favor of staying. Last night was too much, twenty minutes to recollect yourselves sounds good, and you’ve both come to trust Ashton and Mali to be alone with her.

“Alright, just get something quick from the cafeteria,” you agree and give your daughter one last touch and affirmation of love. You’ve both made it a habit to have your parting words to her be “I love you”.

Breakfast passes in a blur, remnants of blueberry muffins get swept into the trash and soon enough you’re both on your way back up to her. You’re stopped short in the hallway, a doctor calling out to you.

“Hoods?”

You both turn and a nervous feeling flutters through Calum’s chest. He holds his breath for a moment as he takes in the sight of the doctor. He exhales when the doctor seems in no rush and holds no note of concern. Calum supposes it’s a routine check in to tell about her progress and what the next steps are. Calum’s about ready to ask if you might be able to hold her soon, knowing how far she’s come and how much better she’s doing but the words get trapped as the doctor starts talking.

“She’s put on some weight. Her vitals are good. We’ll be transferring her to an open incubator for the day and if all goes well she should be able to go home by tonight or tomorrow morning.”

“What?” you ask, voice small in Calum’s ears, tinny and distant as you both process the news.

The doctor runs through it again, tells you slowly and answers questions that pop up during the explanation. Once it all makes sense, once it sinks in and the reality that her and home is coming sooner than either of you could have hoped for you’re both struck with a whirlwind of emotions. You freeze and for the second time the life of your daughter brings Calum to his knees. He doesn’t realize that he’s sobbing until you find him on the floor and your gentle hands and voice start to soothe him. Your fingers run through his hair and you repeat a new mantra that’s carved in stone and faith.

“She’s okay. We can go home.”

Your voice is a whisper and the NICU door opening and closing and footsteps all scream around you both. Calum clutches you and tries to catch his breath.

“What’s going on? What happened?” Ashton’s voice cuts through and brings you both to your feet. Calum doesn’t let go of you, face buried against your shoulder, but he finds some breath and wrestles with words and comes up empty.

“We get to take her home,” you explain and Calum suddenly hears Mali too, excited gasps and squeals sounding all around. Calum doesn’t let go of you but he feels his sister and best friend join the hug and appreciates their presence more than any choked up words could explain.

“Right now? I’ll go get the car,” Ashton asks and is reeling and ready to go but is stopped short.

“Tonight or in the morning,” you explain and Calum is grateful you’re strong enough to find words when he can’t. He continues holding you when Mali and Ashton break away, spilling their excitement out in bursts followed by tears.

He feels your hands in his hair again and the gentle sway of your body rocking him as he tries to ground himself into the reality that she really is okay. That nights filled with worries and days packed with exhaustion and waiting and waiting and waiting are going to be over. He breathes a little easier and finally detaches himself from you. You wipe his tears and he wipes yours and small laughs formed from disbelief and exhaustion spill past your lips.

“We have to finish her forms,” you remind and Calum doesn’t hesitate to dig into his jacket pocket where the papers for her birth certificate have been on standby. All that’s left to fill in is her name. “Should we go with…?” you ask and trail off as you peek at Mali and Ashton who are waiting with great suspense. Calum nods.

You fumble with the paper and pen and write her name out against the wall. You stay silent as you turn back to the group. You can sense Mali and Ashton are trying to be patient but the anticipation grows and keeps them on edge. All you do is silently hand them the paper so they can read for themselves.

“Mila Ashe Hood,” Mali reads in a breathy whisper coated with surprise. “She’s named after us?”

“After her godparents,” Calum says, finally finding some words but getting the wind knocked out of him once more as another group hug ensues. “Thank you guys, for everything, we couldn’t have made it without you.”

“That’s what family is for,” Ashton says without hesitation. “Now get in there and celebrate with her.”

***

“Do you want to hold her first?” you ask and look up at Calum with wide eyes. He meets your gaze, remembers your outstretched arm falling as they took her away, your pained and whispered words of just wanting to hold her, the way you flinched with fear at the sight of doctors outside the window. He wants to hold her but he wants you to have the moment you’ve been missing for seven days.

“It’s all you, sweetheart, you can go first,” he says and is content to watch with adoration and love as you reach into the open incubator she will be leaving for good momentarily to take her into your arms for the first time.

“Hi love bug,” you whisper as she settles in your hold; eyes open, quiet and content. “She’s so tiny and beautiful and perfect,” you say and softly rub her back. Calum sees tears in your eyes and for one of the first times in a week he knows they’re made of happiness. “Are you ready to go home?”

Mila doesn’t so much as squirm and you both take her contentment as a resounding yes. Calum lets you hold her for a few minutes more, takes several photos to capture the moment forever, knowing neither of you will ever want to forget. Mila’s eyes find Calum and his heart flutters.

“That’s daddy,” you tell her in a coo. “Do you want to go see daddy?”

The slow motion of Calum’s world stops as his entire universe ends up cradled in his arms. Mila weighs barely five pounds and Calum surmises your guess of her fitting in one hand would be right. But he holds her with all of the soft strength and love he has and wonders if he’ll ever be ready to let go.

“Ashton’s bringing the car around,” you inform. “Her car seat…”

“Luke dropped by and installed it,” Calum responds and laughs when you give him an uncertain look. “I’ll make sure it’s secure.” He would never let anything bad happen to his baby girl.

The transition from the hospital to the car goes fast in comparison to the agonizing wait of seven days. You both sit in the back with her, holding her hands, talking to her and enjoying the feeling of freedom from the incubator and anxiety. Mila is back in your arms and seeing her home for the first time in what seems like no time at all. The car ride flew by. Calum heads down the hall and takes a peek at the nursery.

“Sweetheart, come look,” he calls down the hall and pushes the door fully open when you and Mila reach him.

The sight of the finished nursery is breathtaking. You and Calum show Mila around her room; from the white crib and the pictures of woodland creatures above, to the rocker in the corner and the endless clothes that line her drawers.

“This is your room,” you coo, and shift your weight from one foot to the other, already noting that she likes a small rhythm when she’s held. “You’ll sleep right here when you’re bigger. For now you sleep right by mommy and daddy.”

You go across the hall to your room where her bassinet is set up and timidly ask Calum if it can switch sides of the bed so she can be near you. You explain it’s so you can feed her easier in the night but Calum doesn’t need an explanation, he’d do anything for you and her. He makes the switch and you gently lay her inside, kiss her forehead and clutch Calum as he stands by your side.

“I want to have more kids, I want her to have a sibling like you and Mali but I can’t go through that again,” you whisper and Calum can hear the heartache in your tone.

He pulls you close. “She will. We wanted to adopt, remember?”

You light up at that and smile with such sincerity it takes the ache right from your hearts. “Yeah. We’ll adopt,” you say and snuggle against Calum’s chest as a smirk grows on your face. “So, do you want to start that process tomorrow or?”

Calum bellows out a laugh and runs his fingers through your hair.

“Let’s take a breather, yeah? Enjoy being home with her for just a bit.”

“Okay,” you concede and Calum lets you drag him to bed where you can both rest. With his arms around you and your eyes on Mila who has fallen fast asleep you let out a content sigh and Calum smiles.

“I love you,” Calum says once and then again, one for you and one for Mila and you repeat the same back to them.

“I’m so happy to be home with my family,” you say around a sigh.

Seven months of pregnancy and seven days in the hospital have worn you both thin but in that moment there’s no other place you’d rather be. Beside your baby and in each other’s arms. The wait and anxiety are worth it once you find that all you have now is happiness and love. Calum and Mila.

<< >>

I can’t believe we’ve finally made it to this point in the dates with cal universe. I’m so appreciative of the support whether you’ve been around since the very first blurb, joined somewhere in the middle or are just finding this world. Thank you all so much. There is much to come, I hope you stick around for the journey.

Premature birth can come with many complications. What was depicted in this fic is one scenario of struggles parents and preemies can face. If you feel so inclined there are amazing charities to check out to help support families and babies in their time of need. Overall, stay kind and spread love and support.

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Tagged: @rosecolouredash @irwinkitten @golden-hood @who-do-you-love-5sos @caswinchester2000 @wildflowergrae @cuddlemecalx @malumsmermaid @babylon-corgis @outerspaceisbetterthannothing @mariellelovescupcakes @xhaileyreneex @gosh-im-short @spookydaddycal @loveroflrh @findingliam-o @flowerthug @g-l-pierce @talkfastromance4 @cashtonasfuck @sc0ttish-wildfl0wer @wastedheartcth @calumscalm @notinthesameguey @lukesfuckingbeard @myloverboyash @treatallwithkindness @haikucal @wiildflower-xxx @calum-uncrowned @egyptiangoldhood @drarryetcetera @another-lonely-heart @megz1985 @idk-harry @dinosaursandsocks @wildflower-cth @idontneedanyone @everyscarisahealingplace @myfavfanficsever @stormrider505 @karajaynetoday @333-xx @calumshpod @calumsphile @calumrose @justhereforcalum @grreatgooglymoogly @calumance @ashhhbeee @chicken-ona-stick @wish-you-were-here-hood @mantlereid @hemmingslftv @homeofpoetry @shamelessfangirl-3

#Calum hood #5sos #5 seconds of summer #Calum hood blurbs #Calum hood imagines #5sos blurbs #5sos imagines #calum hood x you #calum hood x reader #calum hood angst #Calum hood fluff #dad!cal #cal!dates #5sos x you #5sos x reader #5sos angst #5sos fluff #chblurb

[brynnmck]

J/B Smut Swap recs!

I come bearing @jb-smut-swap recs! Presented mostly in posting order because that’s mostly how I read them, though first, my wonderful gift fic:

Jaime’s Game by @catherineflowers29 - SOFTEST BONDAGE EVER. I have told multiple people that reading this story felt like getting a warm hug, but with ropes. And a crucial part of the softness is the vulnerability between them, the way they’re so clearly building their trust in each other, taking care of each other, and there’s just a little bit of adorable awkwardness too as they negotiate this new thing together. It made my heart so glowy and happy. Cathy, thank you so much for volunteering to pick this up and delivering something so well-suited to my requests; I could feel the care you took with this and I appreciate it so much! <333

More recs below the cut ‘cause this got long (as did Jaime, HEYOOO); if I missed anyone’s Tumblr handle, please let me know!

Binary Explosive by @sdwolfpup - Okay this isn’t in posting order but I DID read this first and also it’s my blog and I make the rules. Am I biased about this fic because it’s SDW and because it was inspired by one of my favorite due South episodes? Yes. Does that make this fic any less amazing? IT DOES NOT. This is battle couple/mutual competence kink/danger kink at its finest, crackling with banter and absolutely dripping with (literally potentially lethal) sexual tension, all wrapped up in an entirely swoonworthy established relationship. The cocktail of soft and horny here is thoroughly intoxicating, and it’s so much FUN, with just the right hint of crack, and the ending makes me kick my feet in glee every time I read it (which has been, of my own volition, SEVERAL TIMES). LOVE.

Thrust Exercises by @nire-the-mithridatist - STRIP SPARRING. We’ve all said it but also oh my god STRIP SPARRING. WHAT A GENIUS THOUGHT. This is a fabulous combination of fun and sexy, and they’re so FOND in it, too--nire hits such a beautiful note of playful competitiveness and also a little shyness/awkwardness and a LOT of heat and, has been very correctly noted, a VERY wonderfully slutty Jaime. (Jaime’s premeditation regarding their wedding night is both very horny and very sweet/thoughtful, and thus very Jaime, and also his line about how he quite likes her loud face is right up there with my favorite love confessions, as well as being a thing that Jaime and I very much have in common. AGH SO GOOD.)

Second Chances by @firesign23 - I love me some JAB and the setup of this is so delicious, that Brienne is given a second chance at an opportunity she once turned down. This is another one where all three of them just LIKE each other so much--the J/B is so solid and lived-in and warm, and the history between Jaime and Addam is delicious, and the Brienne/Addam has that little thrill of newness and “oh my god we actually get to do this” (there is a kitchen kiss that is GOOD TIMES for me). So much trust and love here, it’s lovely.

crosslines, the scratches and stains by QuixoticChloe - One of two sex bruises fics in the swap, and SCORCHING hot. This whole thing has such a teasing vibe to it, and a sense of dirty discovery within an established relationship, and the whole “we’ve got a sexy secret and we’re gonna torture each other with it as much as possible” aspect was A LOT. Damn.

Diplomatic Relations by @eryiscrye - In which Jaime and Brienne get married and proceed to scandalize/delight/horrify the entire continent with their loud married sex. IT’S GREAT. It’s Eryi’s so you know it’s gonna be super hot, and she really touched on so many of the greatest hits here: cave sex, armory sex, water sex, quiet sex, alcove sex, SO MANY GOOD CHOICES and so much sweetness to go with them, too. And the other characters’ pained/pleased observations were hysterical. SO much fun.

Apart, Together, Together Apart by greenmtwoman - Oof, this one made my chest ache in the best way. It’s so soft and romantic and LONGING and full of equal parts Brienne and Jaime’s devotion to each other and devotion to their respective duties, which feels incredibly true to them. The way this story builds and releases and then slowly builds tension again is lovely, and it’s bittersweet, but very full of hope for their future.

left your fingerprints all over me by @writergirl2011 - Friends-with-benefits-to-dating, yessssss. The banter in this was adorable, and the connection between them was so palpable, and it was delightful to watch them finally acknowledge their feelings. 

Good Long Line of Praises by @aliveanddrunkonsunlight - In which Brienne discovers that Jaime has a praise kink and we ALL get to benefit. Actually the praise goes both ways here, and the result is lovely--they take each other apart at the same time they’re holding each other very closely, and it’s a wonderful mix of sweet and sexy. Another established relationship fic that included so much joy of discovery built over a strong foundation.

Nights Avoiding Things Unholy by @forbiddenfantasies1 - I was lucky enough to get a sneak preview of this one and when I tell you that it has been living rent-free in my mind ever since... this is LUDICROUSLY, brain-cell-incineratingly hot, with so many delicious horny details, but also with FF’s trademark gigantic heart behind it (I feel like heart + hornt is basically FF’s brand and I love this for all of us). Again, you get such a strong sense that these two LIKE each other so much, even when they’re a little resentful and a lot scared about it, and the filth is so full of genuine affection that it makes it all the more devastating. I literally read this and was like “shit, I gotta up my game” regarding my own draft, lol. SO GOOD.

Light My Fire by @wildlingoftarth - While I fully respect and celebrate the union suit kink, I don’t have strong feelings about it, myself, but this fic made me a convert. The painstakingly sexy descriptions here were SO MUCH, and I’m also such a huge sucker for the slightly chaotic camp counselors vibe of this, that sort of euphoria and recklessness that overtakes you when something time-bound is about to end. The banter was adorable, there were so many moments that made me giggle, and of course it was hot as hell too and I’m very glad that these two dorks FINALLY figured it out.

Clothes (un)Make the Man by @aviss - CLOTHES-SWAPPING YESSSSS. I am such a sucker for that and Aviss delivered on it beautifully; seeing the progression of their relationship was so delightful and the feelings built so well throughout, and there were a couple of lines that made me laugh out loud, and, again, both the tension and the smut were super hot. LOVELY.

I’ll never let you go (if you promise not to fade away) by LadyRhiyana - This fic is going to HAUNT ME in the BEST POSSIBLE WAY. For one thing, I have checked the word count MULTIPLE times to make sure it’s not ten times as long because the world here is so vivid and so affecting that it’s like some sort of magic. I adore the setting here, and Cersei’s POV is spectacular--she’s all sharp edges and frustrated longing for the things she thinks she can’t have and I felt for her SO MUCH. Both she and Jaime are just incredibly, helplessly horny for (HOT MECHANIC) Brienne, and I loved the way that LadyRhiyana made it so clear that having Brienne there shifts the balance for Jaime and Cersei just enough that all their spikes can slide together a little better instead of just eviscerating each other all the time--and yet this happens without ever making it feel like Brienne is just a conduit or a means to an end for them; all three sides of the triad feel thoroughly distinct and important (including a very deft hand with the Jaime/Cersei aspect). It’s also EXTREMELY hot, and the Jaime/Brienne aspect has so much softness to it, and Brienne is so forthright and so kind and so curious, and AGH. I loved this.

a grip so tight I couldn’t tear it apart by @janiedean - The other sex bruises fic, and this one ended up (coincidentally, I assume) being a perfect bookend to the other one--if the modern AU is all about sexy secrets, this canon-based one is all about Jaime and Brienne’s pride in each other and joy in not having to hide their relationship, gleefully declaring their love and desire for each other for everyone to see. I was so happy for them!

with those who know secret things by @sdwolfpup - This has been recced widely and DESERVEDLY SO. The amount of CARE in this fic is overwhelming, and it’s full of all of these subtle details that suddenly come into sharp focus at just the right moment to really devastate you, and by you, I mean me. The prose itself is also gorgeous--the description of Brienne in her ad came directly for my throat (as well as some other places)--and it’s beautiful to watch these two surprise and delight and take care of each other. They’re both so GOOD and Jaime is so soft and vulnerable and Brienne is so kind and incisive and THEY LIKE EACH OTHER AND WANT EACH OTHER SO MUCH I CAN’T. The whole thing is lustrous and wonderful and I adored it. 

Today Will Die Tomorrow by HNJ - This fic also DESTROYED me. The way the time shifts are handled so that we slowly put the pieces of the night together and feel the full impact of each moment, the understated delicacy and very obvious love with which both Jaime and Brienne are handled, the multiple lines that made me catch my breath with how TRUE they were, the way their love for each other uncurls and opens up to the light over the course of the story... it’s really gorgeous and just burrowed right into my heart. I also loved that this was a canon-based first time that focused more on Brienne not knowing what to do emotionally than not knowing what to do physically; I’ve read and enjoyed the latter a bunch of times but the former felt really fresh and fascinating; it was an excellent take. 

Hush by @kiraziwrites - I have a thing for quiet sex anyway, and like everyone else, I will be suing kirazi for the fact that this fic left my brain a smoldering wreckage with nary a coherent thought left for the comment box. The sex in this is so deliciously varied and dirty and every bit of it feels somehow decadent and completely necessary at the same time, and watching their relationship build as they try each new thing is wonderful, and there are so many images in this that have burned themselves into the empty space where my brain used to be and taken up permanent residence. I could list MANY, but a sampling: the glacier comparison, and Brienne’s teeth-marks in Jaime’s jacket, and also Brienne DROPPING A CONDOM IN JAIME’S POCKET AND PROPOSITIONING HIM ARE YOU ACTUALLY TRYING TO END MY LIFE, KIRAZI. It’s also so funny and so fond and the fact that it’s literally exactly 5K is such a flex, I can’t even. Gah. TOO MUCH.

we used to wait by @it-may-be-dull-but-im-determined - I was reading things in update order and I kept thinking that I hadn’t read one yet that I could clock as jencat’s, and then kirazi was flailing about this fic and how beautiful the prose was and how strong a sense of place it had and I was like aha without even having read it yet. And this fic is indeed those things, as well as being sexy as fuck; Jen just drags the tension out and out in this very deliberate-yet-spare-yet-somehow-also-lush way until you want to claw your face off (and then she makes it totally worth the wait, too). Their relationship had some wonderful details, too, to show how well-matched they are--Jaime increasing the speed on his treadmill to match Brienne’s, rather than to exceed it, wasn’t what I was expecting and worked fabulously in this context--and the image of Jaime leaning against the wall at a crucial moment was SO MUCH. Whew. Just lovely.

The Waters and the Wild by LadyRhiyana - The last entry in the swap but by no means the least! This was another one where I couldn’t believe how much happened in such a short space; the descriptions were so vivid and cinematic, I could see the whole landscape unfold in my head, and it included some high-quality competence kink, too. We get just enough backstory to be fully invested in this version of Jaime and Brienne, including their delightful hidden-identity initial meeting, and the tension and affection and trust and frustration between them just simmers and simmers until it inevitably boils over and it’s incredibly satisfying. I also thoroughly adored the ending--including Brienne being as indignant as Jaime at [redacted]--and I would buy this movie so fast if it actually existed. 

#jaime x brienne #jaime x brienne fic rec #braime #jb smut swap #hopefully i didn't forget anything #congratulations to everyone on a wonderful job!

[dropsofletters]

the perks of loving in return

title: the perks of loving in return pairing: wong kun hang/reader genre: childhood friends!au/bridesmaid!au/groomsman!au summary: kun hang has always bled into her life, imprints of images in the back of every moment she has lived. something about him is always present in her, purely stuck to her soul in the most mundane of ways—two strangers united by fate. perhaps, it goes in hand with the fact that he is her cousin’s best friend, but their relationship has never gone past simple conversation. fate takes care of that along with her cousin’s rushed, out-of-the-blue wedding, basically pushing the bridesmaid and the groomsman together once again. type: fluff/romance/humor word count: 12,025 ⚠️ disclaimer: this is part of the love diaries, my valentine’s day project with wayv, if you want to read the rest of the members’ stories, you can click here and find the masterlist for it.

In her life, the concept of time is so tight that she barely had time to breathe. Still, she is one of those people that continues to use watches, the accessory an excuse for her to continue looking down at her arm, rushing from one place to the other, living her life in such a hurry that she barely got time to stop and stare at the beauty that surrounded her.

January is as beautiful as she remembered it, with its mornings that feel like will never come thanks to the Sun taking a little bit more time to awaken and the breeze that clings to her clothes, the perfect mixture of warmth and coldness. Then again, the heat may come from the fact that she is always running around from her campus to her workplace, forgoing the taxis and the helpful car rides to simply take a walk to whatever place she needed to be. She’s punctual, over all, loving when the clock indicates that she is ten or fifteen minutes earlier, indicating that she is even faster than responsibility itself—it brings her pride, taking the few minutes she has to take a break. This eventful morning, she gets to lean against a wall and look at the beauty of the city, how people seem to be slower in this time of the year. Everyone is still dizzy from the holidays, or perhaps putting their health first in the first month of the year, but it is rewarding in every possible way.

Waiting for ten minutes is one thing, but waiting for twenty becomes unbearable for her, growing tired of the glances people thrown her way and the ache that now settles on her fingertips thanks to the coldness around her. After all, being in front of a wedding venue in the middle of her busy day is not exactly what she had envisioned to be doing on her Saturday morning. She could have taken this time to rest before she had to go to her shift in the record store she worked at, or perhaps her fingers could have picked at the edges of her textbook, getting ready for yet another test…instead, she was there, staying after such a long while thanks to her cousin’s quickened and utterly pointless decision of getting married to high-school sweetheart. Surely, she is happy for them…but her back that is now practically glued to the closed door of the wedding venue they were supposed to be checking out is telling her to simply leave as is.

To hell being a bridesmaid. The weather is perfect to sit with a cup of hot chocolate, coated in marshmallows and ready for her to sip on as she thinks of her duties of the morning. Her agenda must welcome her with something new to do and the pleasure of crossing an activity with a bunch of lines after finishing it could never compare to anything else. She is a lover of organization, of color coding and planning the entirety of her life.

Speaking of lovers, someone who is the epitome of a million hearts drawn in a sheet of paper, red and palpitating even in its static figure, is nearing her with quickened steps. The black strands of his hair fell in wavy lines to frame his face, his most delicate features coming from his thin set of lips and playful eyes, like he is mocking the wind for not being able to stop him. Her mind recognizes the slim figure of him, the width of his nose, the shape of his smile when he sees her, one hand lifting up in the air to greet her with a wave, though it may as well be a warning for her to go. She likes to call him ‘lover boy’ with how loving and doting he looks, earning the appreciation of people for as long as she has known him—and it has been a big chunk of time since the first time she got introduced to him—. Life falls in love with him, people cannot figure out how anyone could hate him and she admits that she does not hate him, either, even though their conversations have always been somewhat shortened by reality.

She may call him lover boy in her head, but his real name is Kun Hang. The once youthful teenager that she had met in her cousin’s fourteenth birthday party, the same one that took the time to sneak snacks around during that fulfilling night for her to have and the one who whined when she had to go back home. From then on, she only saw him the year after that, on her cousin’s fifteenth birthday party and soon after, it became more common to see Kun Hang. Her cousin’s internet connection just happened to be faster and whenever she went over, she would be met by the sight of the sun-kissed boy that would always be worried about the amount of time she spent on homework or how she would hunch over when she was writing a paper, but other than that…the further away she got from her cousin, the less she heard from Kun Hang.

Though, she always knew everything that happened in his life—gossip of mouth coming from her cousins, or simply because she saw it on social media. Kun Hang, the ever loved guy, who had gone through a skating phase and fell in love once or twice before he fell to dull silence. Sometimes, when she saw Kun Hang in their spared time together, she wondered if he was part of her imagination, a memory that lingered on the back of every picture or the one voice she heard during birthday parties when she was helping up with the cleaning. Perhaps, Kun Hang came to her when time felt like it stopped, releasing her name in a breathy sigh when he stands in front of her.

He is significantly different, nothing she has not seen in pictures, but it has been well over eight months since the last time she saw him. Athletic in his clothing, his bomber jacket on top of his typical white t-shirt and jeans just exudes his name, it reminds her that Kun Hang has changed little to nothing since the moment she met him when he was just thirteen. If she is a lover of organization, Kun Hang adores to destroy it all—getting to a wedding planning meeting ten minutes late is so likely to be done by him, definitely unexpected from the couple who are actually getting married…but what else can she expect from her cousin?

“Is your cousin not here yet?” Kun Hang asks, trying to calm down his breathing by the time she shakes her head. She feels like she wants to run away, mainly because she has way more important things to do than being stood up by her cousin and his fiancé, but she opts to keep the man company for a little while, taking in the way he leans on the wall beside her. “Damn, and here I was thinking I got here pretty late. I had to park two blocks away from here and run all the way.” He speaks a little too quickly, turning to look at her before giving her a toothy grin. “Hi, by the way, I forgot to say that.”

Unlike her, Kun Hang has always been the calm type. Not exactly in the delivery of his jokes or in the way he dances when he is in the middle of a party, but with time. He thinks he has all the moments in the world to do everything and anything, even leaving some things for the last few hours he has before it needs to be delivered, but she is the complete opposite. “Hello,” She utters, crossing her arms over her chest after she says that. “I think it is the first time seeing you rush for something.”

“I am the groomsman and I can’t do my best friend dirty by not helping him out along the way.” In all honesty, she doesn’t think she has the most excellent of relationships with her cousin. They get along well, but she has always been a bit against his style of living. For her cousin, everything needs to be done and decided in just one second, and planning seems like a stupid way martyrs try to make their lives more difficult. Their argued words are respectful, but in the depths of her brain…she wondered if Kun Hang ever thought the same about her, that she had lived her life in such a methodical manner that she was merely existing. “What are you doing here? He didn’t tell me you’d be coming here.”

“He texted me last night. Said his fiancé wanted me as her bridesmaid.” She rolls her eyes, unaware of why she has to be one of those cupcake-looking individuals that stood behind the couple in the wedding pictures, but after giving it some consideration and being almost physically unable to say no to free food for an unlimited amount of time, she opted to come to this place and expected to get some planning done, as well as having the couple decide where their wedding party was going to be located.

Kun Hang seems delighted, though he quirks his eyebrows at her words. “You? As a bridesmaid? I don’t see you in the spot.”

“Ha! Me neither.” She scoffs out the answer, earning a laugh from Kun Hang. Something about her has always been funny, she found out earlier in her life, as if her imminent sarcasm is the newest of joking forms to him. Sometimes, she believes he just does it because he is like that—the Kun Hang that comes with no warning signs, the young man who will cage anyone in with his charms, and that almost caught her once or twice when she got a good look at him. Most of the time, she refrained herself from talking too much to Kun Hang; though a great man, she knows exactly what would happen with her brain if she got to know him better. It would find the charm in him and twist it to something that would linger fearfully in her heart, like a crush but worse.

Rolling on his side so only his left shoulder is resting against the door, he takes his phone out of his pocket before pressing down on the screen quickly, as if writing a text. “Well, I’m not sure, I haven’t seen you in long…” He comments and with a glimpse at his screen, she gets to see that he is texting her cousin. “Maybe, you’ve changed and now you’re into parties and formalities.”

A chuckle comes from the depths of her soul, feeling her stress dissipating to only a glimmering light in the back of her head. She turns slightly, as well, eager to get a good look of him when he finally lifts his gaze. “Never.” She claims, knowing full well that she would rather spend her free time snuggled up against her bed or simply catching up with music that she has yet to listen to, taking the time to relax rather than stressing out about clothing and talking in social events. “Besides, it has not been that long since you saw me last. It was eight, nine months ago…” The few lights in the sky shouldn’t touch his skin so marvelously, it shouldn’t make him see like he is in the utmost relaxed state, but he is. It shows in the way he simply enjoys the conversation, not even glancing at the time once.

“You keep track.” Kun Hang points out, his lips puckered up in a smile when she widens her eyes.

“Uh, not really…” She whispers, embarrassed from his words before turning her body away, looking ahead of her instead of basking in the warmth of his gaze. “I just know.”

“Right,” He adds. “Sometimes, I forget you really are a know-it-all.”

“Am not.” Argue is what she does, stepping away from the door to stand in front of him. She stretches her arms over her head, wanting to move a bit to feel like she is being useful with her time. From so much running and so much planning, she starts to feel like a marathoner, searching for a free day only to be met with more deadlines. She convinces herself that if she stresses out today, she won’t have to worry the next day, but it has been like that for quite a few years. She is used to it. “I just know that you are always there if I go to my cousin’s or anywhere he’s at.”

Kun Hang shrugs his shoulders, nodding his head at her words. “I am kind of his husband by now, that’s true.” He comments, moving his fingers as if he is playing a piano in the air or simply typing something in the breeze. “Don’t make me remind you that you are always in a computer like this. Last time we saw each other; you didn’t even greet me. That’s why it seems like it has been ages.” When he stops his motions, his talent of speaking as if he has a pout on his face when he is actually smiling surprises her.

“I— You didn’t say hello, either.”

“I am always the one to say hello.” The man indicates easily, a reminder that, indeed, she has always been too busy or embarrassed to spare him more than a glance and a simple wave, but the one that started the conversation was always Kun Hang. He is the party maker, a shade of red that is almost obnoxious, passion in human form. Even in his quietest of states, he manages to have people entertained by him…or at least, drawn to him. “Am I right or not?”

Keeping her mouth shut, she mouths a small: “I guess.” Before Kun Hang claps his hands together.

“I am so right!”

“…I am just so busy.” She comments, trying to defend herself with hard work and pointy facts, but her words are cut short when Kun Hang battles back with facts of his own.

“Do you ever plan to take a break?”

“I don’t.” She answers, a small smile displaying over her features. “I was just about to leave before you got here. I don’t have time to waste.”

“Ooh, sassy.” Kun Hang plays around with his tone, raising one hand in the air for her to high-five and once he does, she can simply bask on the sight of him. So happy, like he is genuinely glad that they get to talk without having anything interrupting them, or where she actually gives him more than one word answers. “Good thing your cousin is already here—” His finger points behind her and clearly, she gets to see the sight of her cousin’s old Volkswagen, obnoxiously yellow and bright, a shade that almost has her closing her eyes. When she hears Kun Hang’s voice, it is mostly teasing, though awaiting at the same time. “Well, now that you are a bridesmaid and I am playing the groomsman role, I feel like I can teach you a thing or two.” She looks at him, frowning at his words before huffing. “I am serious! I will teach you how to relax and enjoy life.”

Shaking her head, she greets her cousin with a wave of her hand. “Get over here, you’re late!” She exclaims, though she lowers her voice to speak to Kun Hang. Mischief is over his features, fixing the bucket hat on his head when she speaks to him. “Take me by surprise. I doubt you will get me to relax.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Hell yes.” She comments, nodding slightly before she pulls the sleeves of her coat down on her hands. Nervousness is brought upon her when she realizes just how much she had talked to Kun Hang in such little time, wondering if she made a fool of herself or if she came off too rude, but instead, lover boy takes his hat off, placing it upon his chest and holding it in place with one hand, closing his eyes thanks to his delighted thoughts.

“I swear I will, I swear over my own name.” He tells her, opening his eyes and quirking an eyebrow soon after. “You just watch.”

Thankfully, the sound of her cousin’s voice is enough to distract her from the promise Kun Hang had just made. In reality, it is probably a play of his words, something that he says to sugarcoat her like he does to everyone else. Maybe, she won’t get to see him until more months and this is just her fix of Kun Hang for the year. Wondering is not something she does, but she acts upon what she actually has planned, which is entering the wedding venue and seeing just how good it is. The only difference is that he has a man by her side, constantly trying to make conversation with her.

It is just one morning with him, she is sure of it. Kun Hang has never been more than just a yearly acquaintance; he won’t be able to actually relax her, take her away from her city-girl lifestyle…but he does an excellent job that day.

📹

On the second week after her first meeting with the soon-to-be-wed couple, she thought she’d be a little bit more lightweight, able to simply text her cousin’s fiancé about the dress and how against she is of wearing tight fabrics, or any skirt for the matter, but that is not the case. Instead, she finds herself in the middle of a dancing class, the sound of some salsa tune reverberating on every corner of the room, holding on to her fingers to keep her sanity. Her legs are constantly moving and not with the need to repeat the steps that the loud dance instructor had indicated, but with the need to run away. If parties are not her scene, much less is an entire dancing routine as the entrance of the groom and bride the passage that she wants to take part of.

She could have said no—but then again, there is something about her that pushes her to finish something that she has already started, like the fear of failure sticks so badly to her skin it is unbearable to keep it there. Think of working out for long hours, only to stop midway through it because she cannot do it anymore, that is simply not her style. Instead, she rushed out of her workplace and took the biggest t-shirt she owned and a pair of those yoga pants she never got to wear in the first place, entering the dancing class that her cousin had talked so excitedly about. At the beginning, everything had been absolutely peachy, two steps to the right, two steps to the left and one to the front. Whatever it was, it was easy enough.

Until she got paired up with Yu Yan’s little brother, the exact replica of her cousin’s fiancé but in male form and definitely more annoying. His height could give have led him to believe he was an adult, a smirk practically plastered on his face when the instructor indicated that they needed to dance together. He really thought that when her back is filled with sweat and her head is thinking of all the possible ways to escape such place—through the window, the door or even by hiding, she doesn’t care at this point—, she is going to stand his…ignorance, his incompetence, his smug face as he makes yet another mistake and they have to go over the routine once again.

The truth is…she is not in the mood. She never wanted to be a bridesmaid on the first place. She would have been fine without the free dinner her cousin had offered whenever she wanted…but her curiousness had won over her, her need to do everything and anything, and now she was stuck with the same annoying tune repeating on her head over and over again.

Pulling away for a brief moment, with the excuse of having to drink water, she pushes her hair away from her face, trying to remember the breathing techniques she once learnt from some online article. This is what wasting her time does to her, when she feels like she is stuck doing something that is not productive. Sometimes, she knows it is important to take a break or two—which she does whenever she can—but this is entirely ridiculous. For someone who spends her afternoons in between punk enthusiast and rock fans selling records in a mall, and who works her hardest in college to get somewhat acceptable grades—with the occasional cry from bad results—, this is the lowest blow to her ego. A reminder that it only takes a single salsa class and an ineffectual dancing partner to reduce her to absolute insanity.

When she twirls the lid on her water bottle, taking a sip of the remaining liquid inside, she notices she had just finished it. Great, exactly what she needed when her mood is going through a volcano and burning itself alive in so much hatred that she could scream. She doesn’t, luckily or not, she is capable of keeping her lips shut when she feels someone’s cold bottle pressing to the side of her arm. When turning around, her mouth is already opening to snap at the individual who had done such an atrocity, but her words die down in the back of her throat when she sees who exactly was trying to bother her.

And the sight of his innocent smile, though a bit mischievous, is enough to have her question if there is one good thing that can come out from this dancing class…

Only one, though. One in the shape of the lover boy that is always a pleasure to talk to.

He chuckles, so heartfelt that happiness suddenly feels to be defined by his name. Kun Hang was in her peripheral vision earlier in the evening, his footwork smooth but also funny when he needs to ease the tension around the air. Something about him makes her feel like there are a million worries in the world, but now—this present that she is living—is just a second. In the blink of an eye, something could happen, something could change, the world will look unaffected, but there are thousands of matters taking importance in people’s lives. For every worry, there is a smile, there is a new beginning, there is a person out there who is trying their best…there is joy. From the early mornings in which she craves coffee more than the sunlight itself, she takes time for granted, planning days ahead, years ahead, always thinking of moving forward and forward and forward. Kun Hang is one of those people that live the moment. “I have some bottled coffee, if you want.” He offers, earning a surprised gaze from the woman in front of him. “Or you can lick the edge of the bottle to see if there’s a little bit of water there. Whatever floats your boat.”

Giving in, she takes the bottle from his hands, almost untouched, the iced coffee nicely welcomed in such a hot day. Kun Hang looks at her when she takes the first sip, hearing her rough voice soon after. “Thank you.” She tells him, pressing her hand against her forehead before sighing. “I really needed the coffee. I feel like I am about to lose my goddamned mind.”

“Is dancing not your thing?”

She takes a glance at the groups of people there, all paired up and conversing, getting ready for the absolute embarrassment that they are going to go through once the wedding comes around and they do a whole salsa routine as an entrance. If outdoing celebrations deserved an award, her cousin and Yu Yan are getting first place. “I have nothing against dancing,” She starts, reminiscent of the moments she danced in her room to the sound of her favorite song or the times in which dancing with her friends just seemed like the only way to stress about something else that wasn’t being better at anything she did. “But fuck, it is difficult when I have a sixteen-year-old boy telling me how a million girls would like to be in my place for dancing with him.” Her nose scrunches up at those words, watching as Kun Hang’s eyes widen, comically but also sweetly. “My question is: do all teenagers have to go through that cringe-worthy phase? Because his is hitting strong, and I am not having it.”

“I didn’t go through it.” Kun Hang says, earning a muffled laugh from her…because she truly remembers that phase that Kun Hang had gone through, in which every videogame he played deserved to be printed in a t-shirt and worn by him until the logo was imperceptible. “I didn’t!”

“Yours wasn’t as strong as mine, I’ll admit that.” She recalls, looking at Kun Hang with adoration in her gaze. The reality is that Kun Hang reminds her of the happiest moments of her teenage years, when all the pressure did not build up with the idea of the future and not becoming a memorable person, but he was always there…static, greeting her even if she was having a bad day and smiling even when she was awestruck by some crush in her high school years. Kun Hang exudes so much whole-hearted contentment, like all he wants to bring to the world is a smile. “This coffee is so good, by the way.”

“Thanks. One of my friends is a barista and I always have him making me the best of the best.” He comments, taking a good look at her before she takes another sip. The bottled drink is given to him, his smile changing to a confused expression almost instantly. “Uh, no, you can have it all—”

“I feel bad taking your caffeine intake away from you.”

“You really think this is my first cup of coffee?” Kun Hang asks, giving her the bottle back before scoffing. “I have at least two cups of coffee floating around this beautiful body of mine.” So energetic, lively, yet so softened in his own way. In the eyes of the world, Kun Hang is the type of guy to love during the summer or to talk to during boring days. He is a party in the form of a nice looking guy, exciting, yet not…what she is used to.

“I didn’t know.” She comments, taking one last long sip before putting the lid on and twisting it around in a secure place. “Unrelated, but sometimes when I have too many cups of coffee, I end up falling asleep.”

“You do?” Kun Hang asks, only to have her nodding as they walk towards the center of the dancing room. “I think it’s just your hard work that is making you fall asleep.”

Chuckling, she responds. “You’re not the first person who tells me that.”

“But it’s true! I would be surprised if you even sleep for five hours.” Guilty, she shrugs her shoulders, earning a small push on her shoulder coming from the man in front of her. “You don’t?!”

“…I don’t.” She announces, looking over her shoulder to see that, not too far but neither too close, there is that stupid teenager waiting for her to dance with him again—stupid and young, taking everything like a joke, imagining himself like the young Leonardo DiCaprio of his generation. “This guy is so annoying, what a fucking imbecile—” She speaks lowly, only to have Kun Hang humming, trying to understand the piece of her mind she had just given to the world. An awkward giggle leaves her lips, wondering why in the hell her patience has to be so damned short and why she can’t keep her mouth shut when she really needs to.

“Bo Jing is the imbecile?”

“…Yes.” She sighs, wondering how long it would take her to have to stand such extravagance for a mere union, but there is still quite plenty of time for it to end. February is just around the corner, Valentine’s Day the moment his cousin decided to marry the woman of his dreams. Does that term even exist in this world? A dream is a goal, for her, what appears in her mind that seems to be appealing enough, she reaches—love has never been that important. Overrated, no one is perfect, no one should be treated as so.

“Hey, Bo Jing!” Kun Hang speaks loudly and her eyes widen at the thought of the boy who exudes the definition of love being naïve enough to talk to Bo Jing about her distaste for him. In reality, the teenager simply raises his head, the eyebrow with a shaved slit lifting up at the sound of Kun Hang’s voice. “I’m dancing with her. You’re taking too long to learn the steps.”

Bo Jing’s face falls at those words, laughing slightly though his face reddened. “I—Uh, I was not, it was her fault.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Kun Hang tries not to pick a fight—much less with someone who is clearly underage and has the ego of a damned celebrity. Instead, he opts to make him feel better, taking her by the arm as he speaks. “Is that so? Then, I’ll have to teach her the steps.”

“Okay, that’s good!” The instructor says, clapping her hands together to start with the class once again. Kun Hang gets in position along with her, though the closeness is unbearable. His breath fans over her face, eyes glistening when he smiles down at her. His grip was not strong, neither was it delicate, it just seemed to be like it was meant to feel like this—with his hand grasping hers at a certain angle from their faces, his legs parting slightly, crooking underneath his weight thanks to the dramatic concept of the dance. She tries to do the same, bubbling up with laughter when he tries to muffle his. The lack of space is not something she would have ever imagined could happen with Kun Hang, and though it is merely for entertainment purposes when the wedding does arrive, she knows that she shouldn’t feel half as affected as she is when his chest press to hers when his other hand rests on her waist. His knee bumps against her, fixing the movement of her knee.

“Thank you for saving me,” She replies, adding exasperation to her tone. The dramatics of her tone fit Kun Hang more than it would ever fit her; he has always been like that—not the type of person to demand attention, but that gets it naturally. Flowers bloom from him, in all shapes and colors, sometimes funny, sometimes beautiful, sometimes there to remind someone in the middle of their hectic day that there is youth in all of us. Immature, Kun Hang is, in the most delicate of ways—he is leaning more towards childishly happy than anything else. “And thank you for cracking all the bones in my body with this position. It really helps as a reminder that I’m getting older.”

“Chiropractor Wong Kun Hang at your service.” The comment sounds so oddly funny in his lips, making her throw her head back slightly as she laughs. Hearing the sound of the music starting, moving the moment Kun Hang starts with the steps. The fluidness is there, though there are still some moments in which they bump against each other or that they laugh when they steal glances and realize that this is way too serious. Unnecessarily so. With his hand now resting on her back and their cheeks practically squished together thanks to the dance, speaking to her even through the music. “Fourteen-year-old me would have screamed if someone ever told him he’d up dancing salsa with you.”

The meaning is ambiguous, perhaps because he truly just did such thing because he didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable with another person…or because he truly enjoys the pace, the natural enchantment, the weightless feeling of being around each other in such a different way. They have been acquaintances for as long as they can remember and still, there is still so much to peel and uncover from the other. “Fourteen-year-old me would have cringed.” She says after he raises her back up from leaning her against her back, the vibration of his laughter matching the rhythm of the music pumping through her skin, becoming one with her heart.

“You, right now, are cringing.”

“…You’re not wrong.”

Serenity settles between them, even if the instructor is clapping to a tempo, screaming for instructions, talking over the music. Even when there are other pairs of feet hitting against the same floor as them, moving with the same motions. Talking to him comes naturally, like he really does make time stop—as if the clock doesn’t exist when she is with him, lovely in everything he does.

📹

What is an instant?

An instant is the blink of an eye, if she’s not sleepy, wishing for nothing more than wrap herself up in her blankets and forget that there is even an alarm, that is. An instant is the breath she gives in normal occasions, reminder that she is a palpable being in the planet. An instant is the seconds in the microwave when she just needs to eat something, but when her stomach is twisting in hunger, it is an entire eternity. When people grow older, instants become more constant—years feel like months, some days feel like years, a moment becomes a blurry memory that feels like it existed but it also didn’t, the greatest of times are considered instants. Her life is full of stressful instants, those minutes in between every planned activity that remind her that the twenty-four hours a day gives are not enough, and will never be enough.

Right now, she feels like she can’t do all the things that she has to. Part of her knows that this just comes with the weight of the amount of projects he has to fulfill, this one professor taking his precious time to ask for specifics that could very well land her a job in the NASA with how picky, petty and meticulous they are. But, in her typical fashion, she has to find something even more stressing to cover up the anxiousness that settles within her when she finally finishes her project and still, still it doesn’t complete the checklist of expectations she had for it.

In her defense, though it may as well not be in her defense at all, she hasn’t been attending to wedding practices or anything of the sort simply because she is busy. She contacts the couple whenever she can, half-assed in her approach because she shouldn’t be caring about someone’s wedding, but there is not a lot of information she can play around with. That is her excuse for calling Wong Kun Hang at ten at night, simply because she needs to stress out about something else and a wedding along with a phone-call with the one lover boy that she has always felt attraction for sounds like the perfect hindrance.

Waiting for him to pick up feels like those mere seconds in which she waits for the water to boil when cooking pasta. Part of her wants to stop doing it, for too much work is not exactly what she needs at the moment, but at the same time—she wants to, but waiting brings anxiousness upon her and it definitely does not feel nice when she wonders if Kun Hang is just being nice and she’ll be able to take off that mask of charisma by calling him so late at night. Not even texting him, calling him.

“Oh, look who’s calling. Finally finished with the studying hibernation season?”

Studying hibernation season, more like her whole life. Though, Kun Hang already knows that. The most important matter right now is how she is laying against her bed, opting to speak lowly on the phone because if her roommate ever hears her speaking too loudly at night, she is definitely going to have to get through an earful of words in the form of a scold. Instead, she wonders what had gotten over her—looking for words is a hassle, going around from touching the hem of her shirt to pressing her palm to her eyes, in hopes of completely forgetting the shiver that runs down her spine when she feels embarrassment creeping up on her.

“Uh, not really. I’ve been working on a project all week, just finished it now…” The same week that she has been avoiding any kind of wedding preparations. She sits up on her bed, legs dangling from the side, fists tightening on the fabric of her blankets, gripping so tightly anyone would think she is having a call with someone of importance. “I was going to ask you how the wedding preparations were going. Did they find the venue? What about the dance, did they finally give up on that?”

“We wish.” Kun Hang adds softly, the rustling of sheets following his statement. Right, some people actually have sleeping schedules…and Kun Hang just seems like the type to have one. “To answer your question, though…” His voice trails softly, unlike his typical cheery tone. There is still happiness in there, threaded in between his sleepiness, but the difference in tone is spectacular. His range changes from cheery to the sweetest lullaby. “They found a venue after looking at a hundred more, but Yu Yan lost her ring after looking for a venue near the beach and getting inside the water.”

Gasping, she imagines the exact imagine in her brain. The waves clashing against each other softly, the scream that probably left Yu Yan’s lips and her cousin’s bank account asking for a break. After all, he likes giving himself a luxurious gift or two every once in a while, practically leaving him void of any money. “No way…”

“You should have seen her. Dude, I told her to not get in the water but then she just got in and honestly? It was expected, I’m not surprised.” Kun Hang’s tone is now more excited, as if he wants her to relive the moment with him. Nonetheless, she can only imagine how bad it feels to lose such a bright, big diamond ring. “By the way, you should totally come with us. In three days, Yu Yan is going to buy her new ring and she asked me to go with her.” The invitation is typical of Kun Hang; he wants everyone feel involved, to spend a good time with the people that surround his life, truly living the best times of his life with people around him. They are not friends, even though they know more about each other than some friends do, but even then…everything has fallen into place for them, not exactly because they seek each other’s presence in their lives.

“Sure. I’ll see what I can do. Is the time confirmed yet?”

“Not really. I’m sure she’ll talk about it in that group-chat she made.”

“The one no one checks?” She chuckles, hearing a laugh coming from Kun Hang.

“That one.” He confirms, though the dull atmosphere in between them is changed the moment a second passes by. Suddenly, she realizes that her previous train of thought was right—they have never actually looked or wished to spend time with the other or even text each other, but they still had each other’s numbers.

“How did you get my number?” It is a weird question to ask…because, well, she is the one calling him at ten at night, practically uncovering the fact that she did ask her cousin for Kun Hang’s number, but that was a childish thing she did a few months ago, just in case she needed it. One never knows when you need an ex-skater to help you out with something.

“Remember that one time your cousin and I were racing with bicycles when we were, like, seventeen?” The memory is engraved in her brain. The cuts that had covered Kun Hang’s youthful face, cleaned up with a cloth even though his tears were impeding her actions, coaxing him through the endless pain with some nagging of her own. At the end of the night, Kun Hang was spared the broken leg and instead, sported a few Band-Aids on his face, of his favorite videogame characters.

“Indeed,” The laughter escapes her lips, remembering the distress she felt when she was called to help Kun Hang out. “What about it?”

“I just knew I would need your number if I ever got in trouble. You know, you’re always so…on time to everything. It’s either calling an ambulance or you.” There is something appealing about being a person of support for him, even if in theory they are nothing more than two people who happen to be in each other’s lives more often than they intend to. “What about you?”

“…I…just asked for your number.” She confesses, leaning back down on her bed before sighing.

“Ooh, that’s so cute.” The compliment should have not brought heat to her face but there he is, being the charmer that he is used to being. It doesn’t surprise her that Kun Hang has one or two people head over heels for him—or fourteen, for the matter.

“What’s cute about that?”

“You didn’t even ask me. That means I make you shy.”

“It would be stupid to ask for your number years after we’ve known each other…to you, specifically.” She retorts, releasing a breathy laugh soon after. “Wait, that sentence didn’t make sense. Too much studying is frying my brain.”

Humming the tune of a song, he interrupts himself to give his response. “Take a break.” He tells her. “I know it sounds impossible to you and you think you’re going to fail if you take a five-minute break, but I promise you, with my knowledge of an average student, that nothing is going to happen if you just…rest.”

“If only it was that easy.” Her mind is trapped in the confines of her own imagination, earning a scoff from Kun Hang.

From his side of the world—his instants being longer than hers, in his own patient mind, Kun Hang believes in the power of letting time be, for a race against the least unintelligible concept of reality, thus only conceptualized by supposition, the Moon and the Sun must be tiresome. In the very end, she’ll end up tired…and she’ll realize she didn’t lose an instant, but she lost a lot of what she could have earned with the littlest moments of taking care of herself. “It is not.” Kun Hang reasons. “But it’s important.”

“Yeah, right. I’ll take care of it later.”

“Later is not now, but I’ll take it.” Kun Hang’s breath fans on his end of the phone softly, coming from the yawn that he lets out. “I’ll head off to sleep. I’ll text you later.”

And unlike anything she has ever said before, she answers with: “Later is not now.” Before realizing what she just said, hanging up in time to hear the sound of Kun Hang’s laughter, meddling with her little goodbye.

That definitely goes to the top ten most embarrassing things she has said in front of him.

In typical Kun Hang nature, though, she does get a text.

📹

You don’t notice the shade of someone’s eyes the moment you meet them, or most likely, you don’t. You don’t notice what they may be going true, if a smile is just there for the sake of it, or if their short replies comes from a place of chillness or simply because they are too shy and anxious to utter long sentences. You don’t know how much time they will take away from your life or how many times you’ll get to hear their laughs. You don’t know if they’ll break your heart or if five years from now, you’ll even remember them—

Right now, she knows plenty of things that she didn’t know about Kun Hang before, when she was merely a teenager. His eyes are so brown they may have been works of a chocolatier in their most inspired night. Kun Hang is not one for short replies, too hyperactive to even be able to keep up with anyone, and he is always trying to make everyone happy—though not perfectly, but that is his charm. He is so raw, just honest with the type of person that he is, that it feels like it is meant to be. Five years or more from the day she got to know him, she can say that she doesn’t hate him. She doesn’t love him. They are not friends. They are not strangers. They are and they aren’t, but what are they?

She can’t specifically answer that, though she knows what she wants to be to him—a friend, the type of friend that they have always been meant to be, but they never became. Actually, she can’t actually answer the title they deserve to have now, for it is far too complex, too long in its story, but she can say where they are and a jewelry store is just the perfect setting.

Pristine glass showcasing the most expensive of jewelry, loudly presented by the ever-charismatic worker there, some good amount taller than Kun Hang. It is far too elegant for people like them, standing behind Yu Yan with equally as lost looks. The woman is definitely more interested, elegant hands grasping the diamonds and the rings in between her fingertips, meanwhile she is trying not to look at the way Kun Hang moves, going from one corner of the shop to another, pacing back and forth, sometimes getting lost in looking at something before returning to his spot beside her. The consequences are almost nonexistent, though, she prides herself in her talent of not being caught when she is stealing one or two glances at him from the corner of her eye.

This is the time of her life where she really is not sure if her mind gravitates towards the action of looking at him because she is thinking of how much his shirt makes him look like he is dressed as ‘Where’s Waldo?’ or because she genuinely likes what she sees. Although, it has never been quite a secret that Kun Hang is naturally attractive—the guy next door type of attractive, where she can imagine him as the type of man most people daydream having as their first love. Charming, with that glimpse of too much youthfulness, like he swears to live under the ‘ride or die’ phrase.

Suddenly, she feels his breath cascading over her ear when he speaks to her lowly. “There’s a pizza shop right in front, you want to go there?”

Weighting the options, it’s either waiting there until Yu Yan finally decides on a ring—and that won’t be soon, really—or going to a nice-looking pizza place, neon lights and yellow along with red colored decorations giving away a nice vibe. “I would love to.” She whispers back, calling Yu Yan’s name softly, only to get a hum from the busy woman. “We’ll go eat some pizza while you…decide…”

“I don’t mind. Bring me some.”

That’s the cue for them to go out of the place as quickly as they can, either because looking around various jewelry places with Yu Yan is tiresome on its own or because they are really hungry. She takes the time to bask in simple conversation with Kun Hang, her hands in her pockets as she listens to him ramble about his favorite choices in food—he’s a wild card, going from the most expected of things to different pleasantries he has tried, not exactly minding the taste of a flavorful pizza. Kun Hang tries his hardest to make her feel at ease, like he has done for the past few years endlessly, and still, she can’t wrap her mind around it.

It’s too difficult to understand why he smiles at her when she tells him her favorite pizza topping, only to earn a chuckle from him. “Typical college student order.”

“Oh, excuse me, you’re calling me typical?” She asks, pushing the door open to see some black haired water, wearing a red cap and the most appealing smile when Kun Hang waves at him, though his attention quickly goes back to the person by his side.

“Not really, but your college should pay you for the amount of publicity you give them. All you seem to care about is that, which is amazing, but…breathe for a second.” His words are not meant to offend her, instead, he is trying to push the worries away from her. Working too hard is her brand, the clothes she wears every morning, afternoon and night. It is, indeed, fulfilling on the long run…but a single failed attempt at something is enough to tumble her down, breaking her to shards of the person she is. “I admire you for never complaining, though.”

Chuckling, she looks at the board that describes all the toppings for the pizzas and types of sauces, only to continue the conversation while doing so. “I do complain. Mostly mentally.”

“Why do you never complain to someone else?” He asks.

“Because I don’t want to bother anymore.”

“You never bother me.”

“That’s because you don’t actually talk to me that much. If I started to ramble about my tests and the topics I’m excited about, and the classes I love and hate and whatever, you probably wouldn’t listen.”

You don’t know how a person is going to react when you open up to them even the slightest. You don’t know if they’ll laugh, if they’ll remain quiet, if they are faking their reactions or they mean it. What she doesn’t know is that there are numerous perks to Kun Hang and they show in the way he looks at her, like she has just described his favorite fairytale, one that brings him memories from his past. In Kun Hang’s case, like she had reminded him of the videogame that he used to play when he was younger.

“I would listen to all of that. I wouldn’t get tired.” He shrugs, licking his bottom lip before biting down on it. Reaching for his wallet inside his pocket, he continues. “You know what? Let’s order something and sit down. Let’s have our first long conversation.” The sincerity and determination in his voice is quickly deleted when his voice drops slowly, eyebrows molding into an expression of insecurity. “If you want, of course.”

It sounds fitting after so many years, and for the first time, she doesn’t question what she knows or what she doesn’t, she simply lets Kun Hang lead the conversation, no matter of pointless of open it is.

📹

One day, everything becomes a pattern.

For example, she checks her phone when she gets out of class, most likely at around eleven in the morning, when she is moving from one part of the campus to the other, tightening the strips of her hoodie to keep it place, smiling at the messages Kun Hang leaves her, to which she responds as quickly as possible. But there are even worse routines, like spending every Saturday helping his cousin get to the aisle with the love of his life and having to deal with the impossibilities of being a bridesmaid. Dress trying is not supposed to be one of those hardships, but when Yu Yan had spoken about short, tight dresses, she had eventually weighted the options of simply leaving the spot at the wedding for someone way more fitting. Someone who, in this instance, is not her.

One of her habits, amongst many others like basically living with her face buried deep in a book and sometimes eating on her bed for being too lazy to even stand up, there is this one that she acquired once entering college. Any possibility of high heels was exchanged for sneakers, all skirts and dresses were pushed to the back of her closet, only purchased to wear once in her life before opting to wear her typical leggings instead. She had become quite lazy with style; she can sincerely accept that. When there are more important matters in hand, wearing a skirt is the least of her worries—beautiful they are, but not good for running around the campus to get to her classes.

Which is why she basically feels odd when she tries the purple dress on, the lilac shade appealing to the eye, but the skirt of the dress short enough for her to bend over and basically have her underwear displayed to everyone in the wedding reception. The more she looks at it, the more she wants to simply say it doesn’t fit her and put on her leggings, because as pretty as it may be, she has grown used to a certain version of herself, hard to battle when she remembers just how much exposure she will get from that wedding. Families and friends alike, all looking at her dancing to whatever song she had learned and wearing a purple dress and most definitely posing for pictures that she will hate in the long run. The only thing keeping this wedding somewhat acceptable is the food and, of course, her dancing partner.

Her dancing partner, Kun Hang, who was trying his suit on earlier and he had looked like the epitome of a prince. Someone like him is not expected to ever wear a tuxedo, but the black fabric and the white of the shirt that he tucks underneath matches him perfectly, wearing the same shade of purple in his tie than the one on her dress. The dress that has her locked up in a changing room, wondering if she will be able to get out without feeling like absolute shit.

The wedding is in two weeks. She better just get out there and be brave. It’s just a simple dress. That is what she promises herself, but the moment she unlocks the door, she releases a shaky breath.

Someone should have listened to her opinion of wearing pants.

Luckily for her, people are too tired with their own looks, fixing the smallest details and going around the shop to look for the shoes that they are going to wear, but a few steps away from the changing room lets her see that there is someone seated there, looking down at his phone with peace, his normal state of mind. Kun Hang still has his suit on, immaculate as in the beginning, but she is now aware of how right she is about the fit and the style, all made for Kun Hang.

Lifting his gaze at the sound of a door closing, Kun Hang barely acknowledges her before returning his gaze to his phone. It takes him around three seconds to look up again, a soft smile caressing his features when he realizes who it is. “Is there anything bothering you? You look like you’re going through it.”

“Trust me. I’m going through it right now.” She finishes, pulling down the hem of her dress before sighing. “It is way too short.”

“Huh, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with a dress. You don’t like them?” Kun Hang questions, not the most observant of men, but when it comes to her, he seems to know much more than she gives him credit for. It is as though she is not as good as she makes herself out to be when it comes to hiding her feelings, or Kun Hang just knows her too well. Shaking her head, she gives him the answer he expected. “You should talk to Yu Yan about the length, then. I’m sure she can get it fixed—”

Plopping down on the seat beside him, she imagined just how much of a mess that would be. This is one of her tipping points when everything in her life seems to be too much and accepting to be a bridesmaid, on top of all, just seems to succeed on breaking her apart. “I’ll just leave it like that.” She comments, watching as Kun Hang reaches for his backpack, taking his leather jacket out of its confines before wrapping it around her waist. “Uh, you don’t have to.”

“I want to.” He comments, looking up at her after tying it in a knot, the closeness long gone. “Besides, if you’re not comfortable with it on its own, then I’ll help you cover it.”

“Thank you.”

“I am here to help.” He comments, taking one look over his shoulder to see the drinking bridesmaids along with the groomsmen, hearing them chatter with incredible excitement, trying on glistening heels and jet-black dressy shoes. Everything seems to be perfect, like it comes out of a movie, and there are two outcasts in the background. Getting his camera, one that she has noticed him using to film the preparations of the wedding, he starts recording with a smile on his face, taking his time to get a good shot.

“What are you recording?” She doesn’t realize that she is practically pressing her chest to his back, resting her chin on his shoulder to see the screen that displays a moment to be remembered.

“The wedding preparations. I had to make a speech but I decided to leave that to someone else and edit a video.” He chuckles at his words, as if there is something funny in that. When his neck turns to have his eyes looking at her, she thinks there is so much care in them. Beauty is one thing, but feeling like he protects her from one gaze is something she is not used to. Her mind is set on doing everything on her own, a lone individual in between seas of people. “I just so happen to have a lot of footage of you.”

Smacking his shoulder, she argues: “I hope it is good footage.”

“The perks of having such a good filmmaker right in front of you is that they are very nice.” He conquers, pride blooming from his words before his shoulders shake slightly with his laughter. “…And…it is always good footage if you’re there.”

For a brief moment, she wonders if this is the time where they actually become friends or the moment she realizes that all along, this entire time, all she has wished for him is to…to like her. Like her how she likes him, absentmindedly and purely, from afar but also so close, having both worlds in their hands. Good and less good, because nothing is bad with them; Kun Hang is a memory she will remember on the day of her death, a man who’ll bring all the shades of him to the room with his blossoming excitement. However, she can’t express that, instead opting to go for the safest, quite lame response and it goes along the lines of:

“Thank you for the jacket. It’s very sweet of you to do this.”

What she means, though, is an entirely different thing.

📹

“Stop recording me as I’m eating a slice of Red Velvet cake.”

“Don’t break the fourth wall for the viewers.”

“What viewers, Kun Hang?!” Now, with her fork dangling from her fingers and her mouth trying to chew on the juicy, delicious, very colorful red velvet, she finally turns to look at him and that infamous camera that he holds in between his hands. It is directly aimed at her, now more shameless than ever, two days away from Valentine’s Day and also, the day of his cousin’s wedding. The getaway is simple, some dinner and dessert to celebrate the couple’s bachelor party. Weird, staged, completely their style and yet, she doesn’t regret cramping more studying in the afternoon to be able to have such delicious meals. “…Oh shit, I forget you’re actually going to air this at the wedding. Don’t you dare put this in.”

Blame it on sugar high, but Kun Hang is a thousand times bolder when his cheeks are red and he is eating yet another slice of those volcano chocolate treats that everyone has been talking about. “Can’t blame me for recording the most interesting person in this event.” He tells her as a matter of fact, with all the width of his chest like he is not even ashamed to say it. At this point, he may not; in between the constant pizza getaways, the texts, the shared smiles and the practices, she doesn’t think there is a line in between them anymore. It is insanely scary, not because of him, but because of the situation. One day, Kun Hang will mean more than he ever has—as a friend, as the person she lost after this wedding, whatever his title is going to be after that. It is the effects of talking back to someone, of returning whatever interest he has in her, friendly or not. “Anything to say about the Red Velvet? Did you like their last album?”

“Huh?” After taking a few minutes to understand his joke, she laughs softly. “Is that the best joke you have?”

“Yeah, sorry, don’t even listen to me.”

Slicing some of the Red Velvet, she feels like she is going to regret ever getting close to him, alone in their shared table while everyone else is dancing, chatting, doing whatever it is that this bachelor party is about. Or not, she may not even regret this at all. This is the magic of him as an irony, making her believe something before her own mind twists around its axis. She brings the fork closer to him, watching as his lips part when she feeds him, a little bit of the frosting falling on his lips before he licks it off. “There you go, now you can judge by yourself.”

“That’s the best cake out of all they gave us!” Kun Hang compliments, wrapping his hand around the camera before zooming in and out of her face repeatedly. “To be expected out of our best food critique—”

Placing her hand on the lens, she sighs. “Can you stop zooming in my face like you’re recording a wild animal?”

“Seeing you out of your dorm is already a rarity on its own.”

“Just eat this Red Velvet cake with me before I actually decide to go back to my hibernation.” Though, it is the only time she ever jokes around with matters like that with someone. Staying in her room has always been safety, four walls that understand who she is and never say anything about it—they are unable to, after all, but Kun Hang seems to look past that. As charismatic as he is, he would be able to easily go to the rest of the individuals in that room and bask in a relaxed conversation, hearty and light, but he decides to stay with her. Out of all subjects, he decides to record her.

That, on its own, is a compliment. A perk, out of the many he has.

📹

The sight in front of her may as well be part of her imagination. She is seated at her desk, probably, still daydreaming about the moment that nightly class finishes with a tender conclusion and no homework, enough for her to go back home and actually catch up with sleep, because the constant ache in her eyes is a huge indicator of her tiredness. Instead, the night welcomes her in such a breezy weather once she steps out of the campus, wondering why in the hell her dorms are not closer and why she should walk all the way there—or perhaps, she should take a taxi, but would that be considered lazy given that it’s just three blocks away?

Yet, the night spits him out magically, placed in front of her with each of his legs resting on the sides of his bicycle. In most occasions, people would have laughed—someone his age would probably prefer a motorcycle for the sake of an aesthetic, but Kun Hang is still hanging on to that old bicycle he got as some Christmas present. He shouldn’t have looked half as heavenly as he did, hair moving with the wind, wearing comfortable clothing for the somewhat cold weather and sporting the biggest smile. Through sunrise or sunsets, Kun Hang always seems to be warm, much more when she nears him as she grins on her own accord, trailing her gaze across the bicycle before speaking up.

“I didn’t know you still had that bicycle!”

“I am saving the environment and doing a work-out, I think I’ll keep it for a while.” Something about him different, like worry really made a home out of his brain and he had gotten to where she was as soon as possible. Earlier on the day, she had told Kun Hang her last class would be at nine at night, but she didn’t expect him to ever get close to the college campus. Some people are passing by, but she is concentrated in what he says next. “Get on. I’m taking you home.”

Scoffing, she looks at him instead of inspecting the bicycle. “We’re both getting on your old bicycle just so you can take me home? What if we fall?” She asks, all too serious about anything in life, but Kun Hang looks for the second helmet by his bicycle, tossing it at her so her hands catch it.

“You’re just lucky I am one with speed.”

Maybe, it is stupid. The fact that she gets on the bicycle, hands grasping for him in order to keep herself in place, smiling when Kun Hang actually goes a bit slower to keep her safe, or at least to make her feel like she is so. The wind knocks the air out of her lungs, a huge smile taking over her face as she extends her neck slightly, only to look at the city surrounding them. Kun Hang speaks over the noise, asking about her day and this may be a warning sign from life, telling her that they are far too close now and she is starting to get lost in the feeling of having him there—

But it is not life that is pulling them together anymore, they are in the same space at the same time whenever they want to. The warning sign should be that this is her decision now, no longer letting everything go but simply deciding to stay by his side. Where are the perks in that?

📹

I procrastinated. Sorry I can’t give you your gift today.

What?

Just…what?

This is not the message she should be getting when she is walking to a beauty salon with the rest of the bridesmaids, when her stress is up the roof with how Yu Yan is basically screaming to everyone’s faces, complaining about even the smallest of things. The messages stare back at her with confusion and the question previously asked definitely goes back in the form of a text. Valentine’s Day is at its peak, people going around with big bouquets, chocolates and busy lives, probably uniting a day between professional life and love. On the other hand, she is living romance through the mind of a petty bride that does not want her hair to even look remotely tussled in any single way, basically having the worker re-do everything they had done before. Everyone else is at the verge of insanity, too.

For a few hours, she doesn’t even check her phone, but she does wonder what kind of gift she could get from Kun Hang. Valentine’s Day is not necessarily…for friends, though it can be, and she is trying to make herself believe that it is something Kun Hang wants to give her for their new connection, not something that lingers with a warm feeling of the culture of love. But it is there, the anticipation, the wonder of what kind of gift she could be getting from him and the message remains unanswered to when she gets out of the salon, hair done and now ready to get her dress on and fix the case of runny lipstick if necessary.

It is when she is nearing her dorms when she hears her phone going off with a text, not once but twice, but then again, she has more important things to do than sit down and reply to the text. On the other hand, it could be a very important e-mail for a project, but she tries to ignore it as she goes up the stairs. Her thighs are aching, head thumping and worries booming with the need of going back home, slipping in the covers and forgetting this wedding even exists, that in five hours to be exact, she is going to be in a wedding and an hour after that, she is going to be dancing some salsa song with Kun Hang.

...The name immediately makes her check her phone.

The grip on her phone is too clammy, too tight, instead opting to click on the video he sent her after saying ‘Finished it!’ in a text. If this is his gift, then it may as well be a long one, over seven minutes of a recording making it look like tough work. Her eyes focus on the filter on top of the recordings, all things that they had gone through for the past month. The way she laughs is what is presented first, cringing at the sight of her laughing at one of the groomsman’s jokes, and Kun Hang was far away to perceive it. Soon after, their conversations are the ones that are being recorded, from the ones they had in the changing room to many they had during practice, where his camera would just gravitate towards her. In there, she notices the adoration in his voice, the sweet tone in which he starts his sentences and how it never dies down.

What she doesn’t expect is to see some pictures scattered at the end, places in which they had been at the same time but they had never connected. Birthday parties, to be exact, in which Kun Hang was leaning over the couch she was seated at, trying to get a glimpse of her work only to have her smiling. They were far too young, too lost in their own thoughts to even wonder what it was that united them…and now, she really sees that Kun Hang has always wanted to be there, desired to get closer but never needed it. Unlike her, whose roses of love bloomed from a textbook, whose favorite romances came from movies, someone who has only thought of the warning signs of crushing on someone, the downfall, knowing how bad it is on its own, but she has never seen its perks.

The perks of liking someone in return. Softly, decidedly, like she means it with her entire heart.

It is cheesy, definitely, she cringes when Kun Hang goes as far as asking her out with simple text at the end of the video—a simple date, he asks for, and she hates that he has gone to this extent to get her attention, but he did. That’s just his style. Obnoxiously charming.

Just…that’s Wong Kun Hang, the utmost form of himself, and she wouldn’t trade him for anyone else. A lover boy, he is, and now it seems he is one for her.

#hendery scenarios #hendery #wayv scenarios #wayv #nct scenarios #nct #kpop scenarios #cpop scenarios #writing #the love diaries #wayv fluff #wayv au #nct fluff #nct au #hendery fluff #hendery au #groomsman!hendery #there you go #another part of the love diaries #tell me what you thought!!!

[evansfm]

𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛 –– 𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐲 .

every  morning  evan  woke  up  to  a  london  sky  that  refused  to  let  the  sun  in  ;  summer  was  drier  than  spring  ,  but  the  clouds  seemed  to  linger  year  round  .  .  .  not  that  she  minded  .  she  had  ,  after  all  ,  grown  up  in  county  dublin  ,  where  things  were  always  a  bit  damp  .  still  ,  the  lack  of  COLOR  could  be  draining  .  .  .  so  she  searched  for  it  in  unexpected  places  ,  creating  little  pockets  of  color  for  herself  in  a  rather  grayscale  world  .  golden  lights  strung  on  her  balcony  ,  isla’s  bright  red  hair  and  matching  smile  ,  an  array  of  bright  letters  boasting  NME  lining  a  wall  ––  covers  from  past  decades  ,  a  rainbow  rubik’s  cube  next  to  her  keyboard  ,  two  framed  photographs  perched  on  her  desk  .  the  first  seemed  like  forever  ago  ,  a  beaming  eloise  with  a  twin  on  either  side  ;  beck  on  the  left  ,  evan  on  the  right  ,  both  planting  kisses  on  her  cheek  one  valentine’s  day  years  and  years  ago  .  the  second  was  more  recent  ,  backstage  at  a  show  in  galway  ;  kieran  sat  in  his  chair  with  his  fingers  intertwined  with  evan’s  as  she  draped  her  arms  over  his  shoulders  from  behind  ,  chin  resting  on  top  of  his  curls  and  a  smile  that  looked  SOFT  compared  to  the  goofy  one  ruairi  wore  ,  looming  behind  her  with  his  chin  on  her  head  .  she  felt  warmth  every  t​​ime  she  looked  at  them  ,  but  there  was  always  a  tug  in  her  stomach  .  .  .  the  undeniable  feeling  of  something  missing  .  she  found  her  little  pockets  of  color  ,  but  they  still  seemed  muted  w​​ithout  the  people  she  loved  ––  the  PERSON  she  loved  .

their  schedules  had  begun  to  clash  ––  and  evan  hated  the  way  she  was  beginning  to  get  used  to  the  dull  ache  of  his  absence  .  distance  had  been  a  part  of  their  relationship  for  months  ,  but  the  time  zones  were  killing  her  .  they  couldn’t  always  make  time  for  hours  wasted  away  on  facetime  ;  she  couldn’t  always  fall  asleep  to  the  sound  of  his  voice  on  the  other  end  of  the  line  .  they  were  both  where  they  were  supposed  to  be  ,  chasing  their  dreams  together  ,  separately  .  .  .  but  evan  was  beginning  to  wonder  if  the  path  she  was  on  ––  the  desk  ,  the  deadlines  ,  the  distance  ––  was  actually  what  she  WANTED  .  there  was  a  lack  of  creative  control  at  nme  ;  she  was  a  part  of  a  greater  whole  ,  confined  to  a  desk  when  she  wasn’t  out  in  the  field  .  she  felt  restless  .  .  .  bored  ,  almost  .  and  with  her  most  recent  deadline  met  and  a  job  of  her  own  ––  evan  connely  ,  sans  nme  ––  waiting  at  the  end  of  the  week  ,  she  was  distracted  .  

“  WHAT  are  you  doing  ?  ”  isla  popped  up  behind  her  ,  coming  out  of  nowhere  to  look  over  her  shoulder  .

“  jesus  ,  ”  evan  startled  ,  nearly  dropping  the  plastic  puzzle  in  her  hand  ,  “  where  t’e  fuck  did  you  come  from  ?  ”

“  charlotte’s  office  .  answer  my  question  .  ”

“  playing  wit’  a  toy  ,  ”  she  held  up  the  half  solved  rubik’s  cube  ,  then  let  out  an  audible  sigh  as  isla  looked  unimpressed  ,  then  jutted  her  chin  towards  the  computer  screen  ,  “  trying  to  put  together  a  mood  board  for  t’is  gig  i’ve  got  wit’  saint  valentine  on  friday  .  ”

perfectly  shaped  auburn  brows  raised  ,  “  we  got  saint  valentine  ?  ”

“  no  ,  ”  evan’s  lips  lifted  into  the  faintest  smirk  ,  “  i  got  saint  valentine  .  ”

“  you’re  bloody  joking  .  shut  UP  ,  ”  isla  gasped  ,  rounding  to  her  side  of  the  table  desk  ,  just  to  roll  her  chair  around  ,  “  and  you  didn’t  fucking  tell  me  ?  ”

“  no  ,  because  you  couldn’t  keep  a  secret  if  you  tried  .”

“  well  that’s  because  it  shouldn’t  be  a  fucking  secret  ,  ev  .  this  is  fantastic  ,  ”  hazel  eyes  widened  with  excitement  ,  “  so  you’re  shooting  them  for  ––  .  .  .  ”

“  t’ey  weren’t  too  explicit  about  it  .  i  know  for  certain  i’m  covering  bot’  shows  at  t’e  o2  ,  documenting  t’e  whole  thing  from  t’e  moment  they  get  there  ,  ”  evan  huffed  a  curl  away  from  her  face  ,  nodding  to  the  screen  ,  “  and  t’en  a  shoot  on  site  at  t’e  venue  .  so  i’ve  got  to  work  wit’  what  i’ve  got  .  i’ve  got  ONE  chance  here  ,  and  nicky  haven  scares  t’e  absolute  fuck  out’a  me  ,  so  i  can’t  blow  it  .  ”

“  nicky  haven  scares  EVERYONE  .  it’s  part  of  h​​is  charm  ,  ”  isla  leaned  in  ,  ma​​king  herself  perfectly  comfortable  in  evan’s  space  as  she  took  the  mouse  and  began  clicking  through  different  ideas  opened  on  photoshop  ,  “  let’s  see  what  you’ve  got  so  far  ––  .  .  .  ”

“  isla  ,  it’s  not  a  big  deal  .  really  i  shouldn’t  even  be  working  on  t’is  HERE  ,  right  now  .  it’s  not  exactly  nme  related  stuff  ,  you  kn––  ”

“  i  TOLD  you  she  was  here  today  ,  ”  a  girl  called  sophie  ,  who  manned  nme’s  front  desk  in  the  mornings  ,  materialized  on  the  other  side  of  evan’s  desk  .  a  junior  writer  ,  andrew  ,  was  hot  on  her  heels  .

“  soph  ,  now  really  probably  isn’t  the  best  time  and  it  really  isn’t  your  busi––  ”

“  someone’s  got  to  show  her  ,  ”  sophie  was  ,  admittedly  ,  obnoxious  .  and  coming  from  EVAN  ,  that  was  a  feat  .

“  show  WHAT  to  WHO  ?  ”  isla’s  voice  changed  in  tone  ,  taking  on  a  hint  of  authority  as  she  looked  at  andrew  ,  “  aren’t  you  meant  to  be  doing  some  social  media  research  right  now  ?  ”

“  i  WAS  ,  but  ––  ”

“  but  we’ve  found  something  that  evan  HAS  to  see  ,  ”  sophie  .  again  .

“  we  ?  ”

“  ME  ?  ”  evan  said  in  tandem  with  isla  ,  brows  lifting  as  she  clicked  the  final  piece  into  place  on  the  cube  .  she  glanced  over  at  isla  and  felt  a  strange  twist  in  her  stomach  when  she  saw  the  redhead  had  gone  rigid  .

“  is  this  about  ––  ”

“  rebecca  stringer  ,  ”  andrew  nodded  solemnly  ,  as  though  evan  was  supposed  to  know  who  the  hell  THAT  was  .

“  better  known  as  BEX  ,  ”  sophie  added  .

it  was  evan’s  turn  to  go  rigid  .  her  back  straightened  ,  and  it  felt  like  ice  had  just  been  shot  through  her  veins  .  truth  be  told  ,  she  was  more  worried  about  conflicting  schedules  lately  .  .  .  not  the  way  bex  sing-songed  a  shortened  version  of  kieran’s  name  .  .  .  or  the  way  she  answered  his  phone  and  simply  couldn’t  remember  who  evan  was  .  .  .  or  the  way  she’d  made  sure  evan  could  hear  her  promise  to  personally  deliver  kieran  to  his  hotel  room  that  first  night  in  los  angeles  .  it  wasn’t  exactly  PLEASANT  being  reminded  of  the  instinct  that  she’d  shut  down  ,  intuition  telling  her  something  wasn’t  quite  right  there  .  her  brows  pinched  together  as  the  rubik’s  cube  slid  from  one  hand  to  the  other  and  back  .  she  glanced  over  at  isla  with  a  prompting  look  .

“  we’re  .  .  .  doing  a  piece  about  nepotism  babies  in  the  industry  ,  and  she’s  a  PERFECT  example  of  one  so  i  was  having  andrew  look  into  the  way  she  interacts  with  fans  and  her  socials  and  what  not  .  she’s  one  of  like  TEN  people  we’re  look​​ing  into  ,  ”  she  explained  with  an  apologetic  look  .  it  was  then  that  she  turned  a  sharp  eye  to  andrew  and  sophie  ,  “  don’t  know  what  THAT  has  to  do  with  evan  ,  though  .  ”

“  see  for  yourself  .  ”

“  SOPHIE  .  ”

“  what  ?  it  probably  isn’t  even  new  information  for  her  ,  ”  she  shrugged  ,  reaching  over  two  monitors  to  hand  evan  a  phone  .  twitter  was  opened  to  a  profile  with  bex’s  beaming  face  in  the  icon  ,  but  the  handle  wasn’t  hers  .  she  gave  the  pair  of  them  a  skeptical  look  before  glancing  over  at  isla  who  only  offered  a  half  -  hearted  shrug  .  it  didn’t  take  long  to  see  what  ,  exactly  ,  sophie  had  been  talking  about  ,  a  slew  of  tweets  and  retweets  .

bexupdates  :  bex  &  kieran  pulled  up  to  the  venue  together  .  .  .  and  then  left  at  the  same  time  .  why  are  they  lowkey  so  cute  annathefound  :  not  bex  wearing  a  baby  tee  version  of  the  found’s  merch  .  .  .  stanning  her  boyfriend  just  like  the  rest  of  us  

ruairidailyposts  :  ok  wait  are  evan  &  kieran  even  dating  anymore  bc  i  could  be  down  with  a  bex  &  kieran  moment  cheerupbailey  :  @ruairidailyposts  you  know  two  people  can  have  a  relationship  without  posting  about  it  right  ???  they’re  in  separate  countries  rn  lol

babybexxx  :  i  just  think  that  bex  &  kieran  walsh  as  a  power  couple  .

bxhq  :  no  offense  but  bex  is  simply  so  much  better  for  him  than  some  rando  from  ireland  like  what thefoundupdates  :  @bxhq  babes  they  LITERALLY  grew  up  together  ????

totallyconan  :  be  honest  do  u  guys  think  the  reason  evan  isn’t  on  tour  with  them  is  bc  they’re  not  together  anymore  like  she  literally  never  misses  shows

adamfitzupdates :  why  are  y’all  so  obsessed  with  a  relationship  that  doesn’t  concern  you  ???  chill bexlevitates  :  @adamfitzupdates  bc  it’s  weird  that  evan  knew  him  for  so  long  and  only  started  dating  him  AFTER  the  found  started  to  get  big  like  that’s  shady

bexupdates  :  find  someone  who  looks  at  u  the  way  bex  looks  at  kieran  on  stage  wtf  did  y’all  see  that

newruleshq  :  no  waaaay  this  man  has  a  gf  when  he  and  bex  look  so  good  next  to  each  other  LMAO  

thefoundupdates  :  according  to  the  girl  who  wrote  the  article  kieran  literally  WALKED  OUT  on  the  interview  ???  rockstar  behavior  but  also  hope  he’s  ok

evan  could’ve  kept  scrolling  for  hours  as  her  heart  rate  began  to  rise  and  rise  .  the  crease  between  her  brows  deepened  ,  and  she  reminded  herself  of  everything  she  knew  to  be  true  .  kieran  LOVED  her  .  twitter  was  a  BRUTAL  place  .  it  was  as  though  the  worst  parts  of  her  subconscious  had  come  to  life  in  280  characters  or  less  .  her  head  began  to  swim  as  her  heart  sank  into  her  stomach  .

“  what  does  t’is  ––  .  .  .  ”  her  voice  cracked  ,  and  she  cleared  her  throat  ,  finally  looking  up  from  the  phone  screen  ,  “  why  ,  exactly  ,  are  you  showing  me  this  ?  ”  

sophie  looked  as  though  she  was  shocked  by  evan’s  question  ,  “  because  i’ve  dated  musicians  .  .  .  and  like  HALF  of  those  are  in  bex’s  likes  .  which  are  public  ,  by  the  way  .  just  doesn’t  seem  subtle  to  me  .  ”

“  are  you  trying  to  insinuate  something  here  ,  sophie  ?  ”  her  tone  shifted  ,  irritated  as  she  handed  the  phone  back  .

“  like  i  said  ,  i’ve  dated  guys  in  bands  ,  too  ,  and  ––  ”

“  enough  ,  ”  isla  snapped  ,  “  you’re  sticking  your  nose  where  it  doesn’t  belong  .  BOTH  of  you  should  be  off  doing  your  jobs  right  now  ,  so  ,  run  along  .  ”

both  of  them  scurried  off  without  a  word  .  

evan  was  still  for  a  moment  ,  but  her  fingertips  were  itching  for  the  keyboard  .  she  was  no  stranger  to  things  like  this  ,  unkind  words  from  strangers  who  didn’t  LOVE  the  idea  of  her  ––  despite  not  knowing  her  .  the  good  outweighed  the  bad  on  the  internet  ,  but  the  voices  who  didn’t  like  her  were  always  the  loudest  .  even  BEFORE  she  and  kieran  had  gone  public  with  their  relationship  .  .  .  even  before  they  were  ever  in  a  relationship  at  all  .  over  time  ,  she’d  learned  to  tune  it  out  and  focus  on  the  kindness  that  flooded  her  comment  sections  and  mentions  .  .  .  but  every  now  and  again  something  slipped  through  the  cracks  .  .  .  and  when  they  did  ,  she  absorbed  them  like  a  blow  to  the  abdomen  .  they  settled  into  her  memory  and  cemented  themselves  there  ,  tucked  away  until  they  found  the  perfect  moment  to  make  her  self  conscious  .  like  the  fan  who  had  commented  on  the  shape  of  her  body  before  and  after  going  to  uni  .  .  .  and  another  from  galway  who  made  it  their  business  to  let  everyone  know  she’d  slept  around  while  living  there  .  .  .  and  every  time  someone  said  she  wasn’t  good  enough  for  kieran  or  any  of  them  .  that  she  had  bad  intentions  ,  leeching  onto  the  boys  for  fame  .  that  her  career  was  based  SOLELY  on  the  four  of  them  .  

if  she  caved  and  kept  scrolling  ,  she’d  commit  it  all  to  memory  .  .  .  everything  that  made  her  intuition  about  bex  STRONGER  .  

instead  ,  she  launched  forward  and  snatched  the  rubik’s  cube  back  up  ,  immediately  distorting  its  perfect  faces  and  mixing  it  up  again  .  it  was  good  to  keep  your  hands  busy  ,  she  knew  ,  when  your  mind  began  to  run  away  .  

the  worst  of  it  wasn’t  even  TRULY  comments  about  their  relationship  .  .  .  those  hurt  ,  but  they  didn’t  sting  quite  as  bad  as  real  -  time  updates  about  kieran  and  bex  showing  up  or  leaving  venues  together  .  she  dulled  the  pain  by  reminding  herself  that  THREE  other  boys  were  never  too  far  behind  .  that  kieran  would  never  .  .  .  COULD  never  .  .  .  

but  then  again  ,  there  was  the  tweet  that  weighed  heaviest  in  her  mind  .  kieran  walked  out  in  the  middle  of  an  interview  ,  and  he  hadn’t  told  her  .  something  rattled  him  to  the  point  of  his  version  of  an  outburst  ,  and  he  hadn’t  told  her  .  that  seemed  like  something  he  would  have  told  her  .  .  .  it  seemed  important  enough  ,  she  thought  to  herself  ,  right  ?  RIGHT  ?

her  throat  felt  tight  ,  and  she  kept  running  the  tweets  she’d  read  over  in  her  mind  .  there  was  a  deep  furrow  in  her  brow  as  she  looked  down  at  her  hands  ,  still  vehemently  mixing  up  the  toy  .  something  felt  off  kilter  .  .  .  but  she  couldn’t  pin  down  which  hurt  more  :  the  slew  of  tweets  from  people  pretending  to  know  what  went  on  in  her  relationship  .  .  .  or  the  thought  of  kieran  doing  something  as  rash  as  storming  out  of  an  interview  ––  and  then  not  telling  her  .  

“  i  didn’t  know  about  t’e  interv​​iew  bit  ,  ”  she  said  quietly  ,  eyes  still  trained  on  the  colorful  cube  .  she  was  certain  her  face  was  the  opposite  ,  color  drained  .  

“  evan  ––  .  .  .  ”

“  it’s  fine  ,  ”  she  said  firmly  ,  “  it’s  probably  not  true  .  just  like  t’e  rest  of  it  isn’t  true  .  ”

her  voice  sounded  distant  .  .  .  and  she  wasn’t  sure  if  she  was  trying  to  convince  isla  or  HERSELF  .  clearing  her  throat  again  ,  she  set  the  toy  back  down  on  her  desk  and  scooted  towards  the  computer  .  

“  i’ve  got  work  to  do  ,  ”  she  said  quietly  ,  getting  back  to  the  monitor  .  though  all  she  wanted  to  do  was  go  home  .  how  many  more  people  thought  that  she  wasn’t  GOOD  ENOUGH  for  kieran  ?  how  many  people  thought  someone  like  bex  was  a  better  fit  ?  how  long  would  it  take  for  the  suggestion  to  become  potent  enough  to  make  the  people  who  KNEW  them  question  it  as  well  ?  and  if  kieran  had  walked  out  of  an  interv​​iew  ,  WHY  hadn’t  he  told  her  ?  

she  glanced  down  at  her  own  phone  screen  ,  hoping  that  maybe  she’d  missed  a  text  or  a  call  .  .  .  but  all  she  got  was  nothing  .  nothing  but  the  words  she’d  seen  written  down  ,  now  cemented  in  her  mind  :  bex  is  simply  so  much  better  for  him  .  .  .  because  SHE  was  there  ,  wrapped  up  in  the  same  world  he  was  in  .  she  was  accessible  .  immediate  .  beautiful  .  

and  evan  was  stuck  in  london  with  nothing  but  time  to  wonder  .

#idk what to taaaag it

[lovehugsandcandy]

auld acquaintance part iii (ColtxMC, RoD)

A/N: But maybe this year, we all need a fresh start. And maybe it doesn’t get all the way there, it rarely does, but hopefully we all can make some forward progress.

Pairing: Colt x MC, ROD

Length: ~3,500 words

Rating/Warnings: N*FW (Swearing. Sex.)

Summary: Junior year.

Colt drums his fingers on the high top table, eyes trained on the path towards the balcony; when he sees an intricate updo edge over, he moves, sliding through the crowd to cut off her path.

“Dance with me.”

“What?” Ellie scrunches her nose but, in her eyes, he can see her waver.

“Please. Dance with me.”

“You hate dancing.”

“I know.”

He can see her mentally debate her decision. In the last year, they have slowly come to a truce, and it looks like she is weighing both pros and cons of spending any amount of time with him. 

At first, the winter had been freezing, chock full of icy glares and strained silence. But by spring, she had thawed, sparing him an occasional half smile, a few small snippets of conversation. Fall brought them together in Organic Chemistry; for all the exams and lab work, the biggest learning had been how effortlessly and flawlessly they worked together. And by the first snow, they were back to some kind of strained acquaintance, perhaps not as easy as it had once been, but a kindling of a start.

And now Colt was going to blow it all up.

“Fine. One dance.” He can feel the chill in her voice but nods, following her as she steps through the crowd to stand wooden, hands locked across her chest, delicate tendrils of hair swirling at her temples in a marked contrast to the glare on her face. “What do you want, Colt?”

“This isn’t any dance I’ve ever seen.”

She groans, low in her throat, but begrudgingly winds her hands around his neck as his gentle fingertips grace the curve of her hip. “What do you really want?” she repeats.

“I can’t just want to spend time with you?”

Her gaze darkens, and he knows she’s remembering last year, remembering storming from this very hotel after he slipped out of her bed. “Apparently not.”

“Ellie, I told you-”

“Whatever.” She edges back just slightly but the distance - mere inches really, nothing notable, less than a gaudy marble floor tile - the distance is still enough to gut him, ache hot and sharp in his stomach. He’s always had a smart remark, something snide and cutting hidden just underneath his tongue, but now he falters, wondering what the magic combination of words and phrases could be, something, anything to ease the tension in her jaw, the shuttering of her eyes.

He’s always been great at words to keep people away; now that he needs words to draw someone in, he’s speechless.

“It’s whatever, Colt.” She interrupts his pained thoughts with a dismissive shake of her head. “Just forget it.”

“I can’t.”

“Whatever.” She sighs, heavy enough to be heard over the dull classical music from the quartet in the corner. “I’m sick of this. Let’s just forget about sophomore year. Start over. Friends? Again?”

Hell, no. Colt does not want to be friends. As grateful as he is that she is deigning to speak to him, what he desires would definitely not be considered friendly. “What’s with the change of heart?”

“New Year? Fresh start? Positive energy?” She softens slightly in his arms, though her lip is still down-turned in a pout. He can’t stop staring, especially now that he knows what it’s like to have it between his teeth.

“That sounds like my New Year’s resolution.”

“You. A resolution? Seriously?” He shrugs. Her mouth opens and closes for a moment before she snarks, “Is this you admitting you’re not flawless?”

“Aw, Ellie,” he drawls. “You think I’m perfect? I’m touched.”

“Hardly.” She rolls her eyes, but he sees a hint of a smile, barely, slightly, almost invisible if he weren’t looking so closely at every movement of her face. “It doesn’t really seem like you to make a resolution.”

“Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf.” She’s looking at him with an eyebrow raised, disbelief painted clear across her features, and he tries with every cell in his body to deliver his next words with a gravity and sincerity from his chest unlearned from anyone else in his life. “Ellie, I’m so-.”

She doesn’t even let him finish the sentence. “It’s fine.”

“Ellie-”

“It’s fine.” She glances away, tone stressed on the last word in a way that lets him know it is decidedly not fine. “It’s not like I wanted to date you.” Some lingering scar inside his ribs twinges. She’s the smartest person he knows, top of their class and quick enough to keep even him on his toes, so of course she’s smart enough to want to stay away from him. His fingers tighten over the tiny beads of her dress, each one pushing a sharp divot in his fingertips. “What was your resolution, anyway?”

“To make it up to you.” This stops her in her tracks and he has to stop as well, lest he land on her towering heels.

“What?”

“To make up for last year. To have a better start to this year. With you.”

She looks shocked, speechless, and he feels like an idiot, standing stock still in the middle of the dance floor while couples spin around them. It’s like he’s standing in judgement, sweating in the grey suit he trots out to this party every fucking year, awkward and lost in the haze of champagne and money.

He doesn’t notice the buzz until it’s echoing against the gilded walls of this fucking room, excitement and rich people coming together into a heaving drone that knocks insistently on his consciousness until it’s impossible to ignore.

Ten. Nine. Eight. 

Shit.

The fucking countdown. 

He sucks in a breath.

She bites her lip and quirks a half-smile, tentative and weak. “You know, I’ve never made a resolution.”

“Because you’re so flawless?” He chuckles when she swats his arm. She moves to hit him again, but he moves faster, grabbing her hand and twining their fingers together, pulling her ever-so-slightly closer.

“Maybe because I didn’t think things would ever change for me,” she whispers.

“Maybe nothing will change unless you make it change.”

Seven. Six.

She blinks up at him.

“You said that freshman year, Ellie.”

“You remember that?”

“Yeah.” He clutches his fingers in hers, warm and impossibly small. “This New Year, maybe I’m the one who wants to change things.”

Five. Four. Three.

“It’s a somewhat ridiculous tradition,” she murmurs. “I don’t know what’s so special about today. You could resolve to change any day of the year.”

She’s not wrong. “Yeah, but you barely spoke to me any of the other days of the year.”

“I was hurt.” 

Two.

He pulls her closer, hand tracing the line of her dress to the small of her back, and the way her eyes water fucking does him in. “I’m sorry.”

Her breath catches and she looks up-

One.

-and the second hangs forever. He can’t pull his eyes from hers and she looks stunned, staring up at him, and he can’t fucking breathe in the middle of the crowd pressing in on him when all he can see is her.

Vaguely, he registers the cheers, couples exchanging chaste kisses and noisemakers ringing shrill throughout the room. None of it alters his focus from Ellie, from her hand cradled in his, from the way her arm tightens around his shoulders, from the way she bites her lip and, God, he’s seen her tilt her head like that in his dreams and he can’t stop himself from surging forward.

She responds immediately, lips fervent against his, and he pulls her flush to his chest. He can’t think, can’t function, not at all; with every motion, she’s stealing sense from his brain and air from his lungs, and it’s all he can do to kiss her back. She drops his hand to wind her arms around his neck, pulling him down, using him for balance as she teeters on her heels.

But he himself has never felt less stable, needing air as he detangles their lips. “I really am sorry.” He barely pulls back, mere millimeters, so his lips catch on hers with every consonant. 

“Seriously? You?” 

“I am. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“I’m sorry, too.” Her breath is warm on his lips, and it takes every bit of his resolve not to close the distance. “I was pissed and overreacted.”

“Let me make it up to you.” This makes her lean back, and her eyes trace his face. He searches around in his pocket until he clasps a plastic card. “Here. Come to my room this time.” He closes her fingers around the card and can’t resist stealing one last breathless kiss.

He doesn’t look back when he walks out of the room, even when he’s walking down the hall and through his door to slump against the bed. He wonders if she will show, if the memory of last year will be enough for his apology to ring true, and he’s half convinced himself that she’s going to go back to ignoring him when the door clicks open and he staggers to his feet.

She shuts the door behind her, then studies him with a keen eye. “You didn’t think I would come, did you?”

“Not at all.”

She shrugs. “Well, like you said: maybe if I want things to change, I need to make them change.”

He nods, steady steps forward until they’re face-to-face, “Your words.” 

“Things changed since freshman year.”

The comment could refer to a million various changes- classes and dorms and friends and majors and apartments - but there is one thing he wants to change, right now, and he can’t wait another second before he tilts her chin up and kisses her, desperately, pulling her in for an embrace that would have sent Ingrid’s prissy elderly relatives to an early grave.

She’s breathless when he pulls back and he wonders, for a second, if he were too hasty, but she only tangles her fingers into his tie and pulls him back, shoving the jacket from his shoulders while his hands dive into her hair, winding his fingers through the updo that probably took far longer to create than it will to destroy.

She moans as he kisses down her neck, bites gentle on her clavicle, and he can’t get his fucking jacket off fast enough to touch her. He traces up the deep slit in her dress and her legs part as she sags against the door with a low moan. His fingers tease higher, under the delicate beading, to where her thighs meet warm and she gasps. When her breath catches, he slides over the silken fabric again, tracing spiraling shapes over what feels like very expensive underwear. His mouth waters and he resolves to look later, but right now he can’t possibly be expected to wait. Pushing her thong to the side, she’s so wet, head craning back as his fingers ease inside her, and the way her voice stutters around his name makes his cock twitch in his stupid fancy suit.

Fuck, he really can’t wait, free hand frantic against buttons and zips, until his cock springs free and his teeth find the slope of her neck. It’s messy and desperate and it takes mere seconds for him to rub slick fingers against her clit, to push her waist against the door until she is barely balanced on the toes of those strappy heels, to lift her thighs so her legs interlock around him, and finally to bury himself inside her welcoming heat.

“Fuck.” The word is punched out from his throat, into the hollow of hers, and he drags his lips across heated skin, nips and bites delivered while she lets out the most delicious moans. 

His thumb is tracing haphazard designs on her clit when she somehow finds a voice to gasp out, “You… you couldn’t wait until we got into bed?”

“I’ve been waiting forever, Ellie.”

“Jeez, it was only five minutes.”

He stares at her, head on, and rasps, “I’ve been waiting a year, Ellie.”

She has no answer to that, only pulls his head down to crash his lips into hers and the passage of time (Five minutes? Ten? Infinite? Mere moments?) is a heady rush of pleasure and heat. Her legs tighten around him, the firm hold matching the vise of her body, and her dress pools below, flowing down the door and into a heap under his feet. His shoes crinkle the fabric with every thrust and he wonders if it will rip, if the expensive fabric will tear because of their frenzied movements, but realizes he doesn’t care much. Any jagged holes and consequent tailoring bill will be worth it for the way she pulls him in, the way she sobs his name, the column of her neck completely exposed for his teeth and tongue to find purchase. His hands press her hips into the door as she quakes around him, name breathy and high in his ear, and he lets go, muscles tightening and releasing as the room splinters and all he can see is Ellie’s perfect pout, wide open in pleasure.

When the world comes back into existence, she’s slumped against the door, hair terrifically falling out of place and it would take only one more tug before her curls cascade to her shoulders (so he tugs, of course he does, right before he eases her feet onto the ground so she can blink slow up at him, wide eyes surrounded by curtains of hair). He slides her out of her dress, one strap at a time, leaving it pooled by the door; he takes a moment to admire the thong (deep red, matching her flush) and then pulls it off, hands tracing greedily down her legs, to join the heap of fabric.

When he ushers her over to his bed, admiring every square inch of bare skin, she slides against the sheets and he covers her body with his own. He’s still dressed, barely, and she looks like a goddess, a goddamn siren, sent from above to tempt him away from the life he leads, offering salvation in the guise of a valedictorian with a winning smile. His clothes take far too long to come off, even with her hands easing the way, and the first touch of his bare skin on hers only inflames him. He ducks his head to taste his way down to the spot that makes her fingers tighten in his hair.

Once she shakes apart and falls boneless to the bed, he crawls up, her hands reaching for him, clasping arms, chest, every inch sliding past her fingers as he slots between her legs. He teases her, length situated right at her entrance and dipping through her folds, until she’s arching off the bed, nails scratching up his spine to his hair until he’s impatient, insane, can’t wait another fucking minute before his hips move, her legs trembling as she wails.

He wants nothing more than this, hours passing with her hands all over him. He tries to make each moment infinite, each kiss and every touch an attempt to prove that this is a New Year’s tradition that should last all year.

It doesn’t work.

In the morning, he rolls over and his arm meets only the cool sheets. His heart lurches, though he belatedly realizes that he should have expected it. Turnabout is fair play. He sighs, raking a hand over his face, and throws on some sweats, one last forlorn glance at the empty bed before heading to the lobby.

He can’t wait for the first hit of caffeine in his veins but freezes when he turns the corner. At a circular table next to carafes of milk and hot water, sit his friends, Ellie perched in the middle, oversized sweatshirt dwarfing her slight frame and hair tied up in a ponytail (he doesn’t know who she thinks she’s fooling; there are tangles framing her face and, if he had his way, he’d fuck her out of that hairdo as well until his fingertips were at her scalp, hair a disheveled mess that would take a shower, a shared shower, to fix).

He grabs his coffee and ambles over, purposely slow, and greets everyone, saving the best for last. “Good morning, Ellie.”

She only stares evenly at him but finally fidgets under his certain gaze. As his eyes sweep down, she pulls her sweatshirt closer and he can’t stop the left side of his lip from quirking.

He knows exactly what she’s trying to hide, knows with abject certainty that underneath the shifting fabric, his marks remain, shadows of his lips and tongue blooming under her skin. The smirk turns into a full grin when she finally glances away, turning her attention out to their friends.

She can pretend all she wants. She’s not as unaffected as she appears to be and, as Colt settles into a stool, he hides his satisfied smirk behind a coffee cup.

~~~~~

Ellie doesn’t mention it, so he doesn’t either, trying to unsuccessfully convince himself that he’s satisfied they are more than acquaintances again.

Until Riya lets it slip that Ellie has a date, a dreamy smile on her face, hands cupping her coffee and sharing detail after morbid detail, blind to Colt’s fouling mood. He knows he shouldn’t but a dark, self-hating part of his mind somehow grabs control of his body and wanders downtown that night, past bougie restaurants and small businesses hawking crap trinkets until he makes it to her favorite taco joint.

Her silhouette beams over guacamole and watered-down margaritas in his memories, mouth open in a laugh, a massive difference compared to the sight in front of him. Because now, she’s perched at the bar with her chin on her hand, vacant eyes watching some prissy asshat from her Bio group. She looks bored, miserable, and her eyes widen in thinly veiled panic as she spies him through the giant glass window. With a few words, she stands and stalks outside. He shoves his hands into his pockets and tries to make his smile a little less smug before she slams the door behind her.

Based on the fire in her eyes, he’s not sure he succeeded.

“What are you doing here?” she spits, hair flying around her face as she points right into his chest.

He smirks. “I can’t walk downtown?”

“Tonight? The very night I have a date? Seriously?”

He shrugs, and a smile plays across his lips as her fury slowly fades into mere annoyance. “Well?” he asks.

“Well, what?”

“How is your date going, then?”

She looks down. “...It sucks.”

“Yeah, looks awful.” She groans in agreement and Colt, who’s never met a risk he wasn’t willing to gamble on, well, he can’t help but try his luck. “Blow him off, then. Let’s get out of here.”

“What? I can’t just-”

“You can.” He shrugs. “Why are you gonna waste your time going back in? Let’s get out of here.”

She gapes back at him. “Just leave? And abandon Tony at the bar?”

“Yeah. Change your night up. Let’s go.”

She looks at him incredulously and then turns back to the bar. He can see her wavering and holds his breath until, finally, her face alights in a devious smirk. “Fine. Let’s go.”

She walks up the street without a second glance, and Colt is grateful as her steps hide his beaming grin. He follows briskly to catch up to where she’s already heading back to campus. And, as they walk, he realizes it’s something.

It’s not a date. Colt doesn’t go on dates. But it is something.

Because from outside the restaurant, it’s easy enough to stroll back to campus side-by-side, arms knocking together as they wander up the street and she complains about an idiot professor.

And then it’s easy enough to swing through the cafeteria minutes before closing for ice cream.

And from there, it’s easy enough for her to edge closer, right outside her room, and easier still for him to press her against the door to capture the vanilla on her tongue, and easiest of all to follow her inside, her fingers tangled in his.

The bed is tiny, spaciousness of the hotel exchanged for a mattress unsuitable for two, but they move as one soon enough. He coaxes fervent pleas from her lips, her hips quake under his tongue, and he knows the jagged lines from her fingernails will take days to heal, each one an aching reminder of her falling apart under his touch.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” she huffs into his skin as he tucks her against him, his chin cupping her forehead. He doesn’t reply, just stares at the ceiling until her breaths slow and, finally, he lets the steady sound lull him into a warm sleep.

The next morning, they get coffee together. While it’s still the shitty campus center coffee, at least she sits with him, their knees knocking together, perched on stools overlooking the quad.

And when Colt gets back to his dorm, it’s alone, but he has three lines blooming red on his back.

For now, that’s enough.

#n*fw #lemon #30 diamond scene

[girlmeetsliv3]

Killing Me Softly III

Sugardaddy!BTS x reader

They were beloved. The very ground they walked on worshiped. It had been that way since before you were born and it would remain that way even after your choice. Decisions decisions, it would decide your future. But why choose one when you could choose them all? If you chose none, well… that wasn’t a decision you could make.

Trigger Warning: The following story contains mentions of manipulation, abuse, and vivid descriptions of abusive acts. The behavior and mindset of the characters in this will be incredibly yandere and toxic. This is a work of fiction and doesn’t represent the character of bangtan sonyeondan. Enjoy ~~~

AN: This is it the conclusion. I hope it’s everything you could hope for and so much more

Word Count: 10k

Tag List: @perrryyysblog​ @purpuravm​ @doodlesandthings​ @catsandstrawberries​ @ireallylikefoodandyoutube​

  killingmesoftlywithhislove    

_Present_

           His hair had grown since you had last seen him, the light curls framing his face nicely. From his posture and demeanor, you could tell he was upset, Hoseok was terrifying when he was angry: the way his eyes would darken, jaw clench, and his lips would curve into a smirk. It was a sign of the danger which was to come. After all, he had only ever been angry once before and it led to the murder of two innocent people. Hoseok was dressed in a black linen shirt with black jeans that fit snugly in all the right places, he looked absolutely beautiful. Seeing him like that caused your heart to ache and anxiety to flare up. He didn’t do it on purpose, or maybe he did, Hoseok could be incredibly cruel when he wanted to. You stepped out of the car, making sure leave enough distance between the two of you where an escape would be possible if needed. You doubted you would make it far though, as the car drove away, and the others were sure to be lurking around just like always. You stared at him straight in the eye refusing to cower even when every single bone in your body told you this was a fight you would not win. Meanwhile, his eyes trailed down your body until they landed on your neck focusing on the chain and pendant hanging on it. Wearing Taehyung’s present had been the right choice, maybe it would lull them into a false sense of security – one could only hope. “Aren’t you going to say hi, Jagi?” If seeing him almost broke you, hearing him speak delivered the final blow. Hoseok opened his arms, beckoning you towards him, and it took everything inside you not to succumb.

“Y/n…don’t you love me anymore?” There it was. He had whispered it so softly, practically whimpered it, and it ground whatever bit of your will was left. All you took was a step towards him, but that was enough for Hoseok who rushed to embrace you wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and burying his face into your neck. “God how I missed you. You have no idea, how I’ve longed for you.” Hoseok missed me? A small smile crept up your face, maybe all hope wasn’t lost. Hoseok let go of your waist to cup your face in between his two hands, he smiled gently. “Y/n,” The smile on his face grew wickeder and the grip on your face tighter, “Don’t ever do that to us again.” Emerging behind him you saw the six men standing a few feet away. This can’t be happening. No. You pushed against Hoseok’s chest, but his grip wouldn’t budge as his nails only dug deeper into your sensitive flesh. “Please Hoseok. Hobi. Don’t do this to me.” Your cries fell on death ears, as you saw Yoongi approaching you with something in his hand. It wasn’t long before he reached the two of you, the object in his hand is a rag which was subsequently shoved in your face muffling your cries. “Puh-please…” Your vision and hearing becoming weakening until your knees gave out letting you fall into unconsciousness.

_Two Months Ago_

           “Jagi…Y/n…wake up.” You opened your eyes, to see the thick forestry opening up into a large clearing. You rubbed your eyes, before adjusting your reclined seat in order to get a better look. The North Joella province was a sight to behold, something you could only dream of yet here it was the beautiful lush landscapes and tall mountain paths something out of a postcard. Through the reflection in the car’s window, you could see the ridiculously large grin on your face, but you couldn’t help it. The excitement and wanderlust oozing out of you. “I’m glad to see you’re enjoying it already.” Hoseok spoke, in a teasing manner head tilted slightly towards you before he focused back on the road. “I must admit I was a bit worried about this trip…” That was an understatement, you had been a nervous wreck at the thought of the eight of you going on this trip together. Sure, you’d been with them before but never for several days in a row – especially not the week that was planned. Hoseok shot you a glance, “Why?” Because they were a lot to handle on their own. Because they were possessive enough as it was and you couldn’t possibly imagine them sharing. It was because you had realized that this arrangement couldn’t go on for much longer, but you had no idea how to tell them. You played with your fingers, forcing a small smile on your face to ease the tension. “I’ve never gone on vacation with you guys, of course, I would be nervous.” You could feel him staring at the side of your face, but Hoseok chose not to comment anymore, focusing on the road ahead. “Don’t worry, Y/n-ah. It’ll be fun.”

           Hoseok and you had arrived together whilst the rest arrived in their own cars. Four cars lined the entranceway to the campsite, all of them sleek in style and the latest on the market. It was difficult not to remember how filthy rich the men were, for they often displayed it in ways no regular middle-class person would: their overzealous fashion, tips, and what they considering ‘small’ gifts. All things that would leave you bankrupt if you attempted to live that way. Still, despite these habits of theirs, they weren’t flashy nor were their egos due to their wealth. All of them were good people – incapable of doing harm to anyone of that you were sure of. The Hanoks were beautiful cherry wood color deep inside a mountain range, one Namjoon insisted all you must hike tomorrow morning. Once Hoseok had parked the car, the two of you walked hand in hand to the central Hanok where the others were preparing a meal. It was certainly a sight to behold, the six of them crowded around pots on noodles and meats, the smell causing you to salivate subconsciously. Namjoon was the first to look up, the others following suit. “Look who finally decided to join. Took you long enough.” He quirked an eyebrow at Hoseok, who simply shrugged it off going ahead to join the others. There was a weird tension in the room, and you couldn’t quite figure out why. The men seemed to be having a private conversation, one communicated through slight body movements and knowing glances. “Babe, come sit down,” Jungkook spoke, waving you over with his hand but you shook your head. “I’m going to go set down my stuff. Which one is my room?” They seemed disappointed at your response, but Seokjin quickly spoke: “The last one in the back, can’t miss it.” You thanked him and moved to exit the room before things could get any more awkward. Your ears picked up on their slight murmurs probably wondering why you were so distant. If only they knew why.

           This was a fantastic idea, y/n. You really had to wait after the trip was over, huh? You couldn’t face the men once the decision had been made, but this was necessary. You couldn’t depend on them forever and now that you had graduated and were turning of age, it seemed appropriate. Even if to them it would seem like the utmost betrayal, they would come to understand. They had to. After walking out of the central Hanok, you saw what should have been your room; if the banner and balloons were any indications. Strangely it looked like the biggest out of the others, which you didn’t get since it would be yours alone. The others were sharing so it made sense they would get the biggest, yet somehow the Yo looked like it could comfortably fit at least ten. You set down your bag in the corner of the room and went to leave only to be greeted by Jimin at the door. “Not thinking of running away, are you?” He cocked an eyebrow as he leaned on the wooden frame. “Thought about it, but I’m so dumb I would probably get lost and eaten by a mountain lion or something.” Jimin chuckled, stepping forward to ruffle your hair. “Don’t be silly, we’d never let you go. Plus, there are no mountain lions in Korea.” You pouted playfully which caused him to lean down and peck your lips. “Now behave or you’ll get in trouble.” He said, as he turned around and headed for the door. “When have I ever?” You joked, causing him to turn back around to wink at you before shutting the door.

_Present_

           You could feel the dampness on the back of your neck and your shirt. The sweat causing the fabric to cling to you in an uncomfortable manner, you tried to open your eyes but found your eyelids far too heavy. All you could do was pick up on the sounds of someone – make that two people talking. Their voices distant and slightly muffled, even though you were sure they weren’t that far away from you. The more time passed the clearer your senses became until you could hear them almost perfectly and it became clear that it was Seokjin and Namjoon having a discussion.

           “…Can’t stay here. We have to move her before she wakes, or anyone realizes that she’s gone missing.”

           “Don’t worry Hyung. Things will go much smoother from here, but we have to wait. Lay low for a while.”

           “The more time we spend here, the more time we give them to find her and take-”

           “It’s going to draw a lot of attention if we’re walking around carrying an unconscious girl. No one is following her or us. No one is going to take her away. Trust me.”

           “Look where that got us, last time.”

           “She’s awake.”

           That last statement hadn’t come from neither Namjoon nor Seokjin, but rather it was Taehyung’s deep baritone voice. He hadn’t spoken the entire time, simply preferring to observe you while the other two talked. So, you hadn’t been made aware of his presence at all. Taehyung was waiting for the chloroform to wear off in order to alert the others, he had been able to tell by the slight hitch in your breath and the way your eyes had slightly moved in your sockets that you were awake. It reminded him of all the times you would pretend to be asleep in the mornings desperate for an extra five minutes of comfort before you were forced back into the cruel world. You could hear his footsteps getting closer until he stopped right by your head. Taehyung crouched down and let his fingertips lightly trail through your neckline. “You know I don’t like to be kept waiting.” His voice aroused something inside you, be it fear for you knew exactly what these men were capable of when upset or something far more twisted. It was those same words that Taehyung always spoke when wanted you to orgasm, usually with his hands around your neck and your body bent at an odd angle. Without much thought, you peeled open your eyes to see him leaning over you staring deep into your soul. His eyes were always wide and alert, you had once confused that as a positive trait. Thinking it made him look almost childlike. Now you realized those eyes made him even more of a predator, allowing him to see everything, especially his prey. Namjoon and Seokjin also walked towards where you were laying but chose to stand beside Taehyung looking down at you.

Your next decision could alter the course of everything that was about to happen to you, so you thought it over before finally speaking. “Where is everyone?” All three men exchanged a look before turning back to you, “Why do you want to know?” Seokjin spoke and you didn’t miss the anger in his voice either. All of them were on edge and that didn’t boast well for your chances of survival, so you had to be quick. “I want to apologize,” Funny enough they all simultaneously blinked in shock, “For what I’ve done.” You weren’t good at lying, in fact, you couldn’t lie to save your life. But what was there to lose, other than the obvious. Namjoon nodded, face completely devoid of emotion. “Fine. We’ll take you to them.” Even though Taehyung was the closest to you, it was Seokjin who scooped you up into his arms refusing to let you walk. It was probably to ensure you didn’t run away, but from how tightly he pressed you against his body, you were sure the man had ulterior motives. They all walked out of the Hanok together, Seokjin and you in the center whilst the others were on the sides. In the distance, you could see the stone path that led up to the mountains where all of you had gone on your second day there. It was ironic that you would recall such a happy memory at a time like this, but maybe it was a way for your brain to cope.

_Two Months Ago_

           “Jeon Jungkook if you don’t put me down this instant. I will fling us both off this rock.” Laugher escaped all of you, as Yoongi continued to pout while Jungkook carried him on his back refusing to drop him even when the two walked so very close to the edge. “Learn to live a little a little Hyung.” Jungkook teased while tilting slightly towards the left where the safety rope barely reached his hips. “Yah. Listen to me or I swear to god.” You couldn’t help but smile at the two of them while you walked with the group, each of them had taken turns talking to you or holding your hand and it was nice. Though the first day had been a bit awkward, by the evening all of you had become accustomed to each other (read you had gotten over your guilt) and had ended up bonding over embarrassing childhood stories; Jin’s were by far the worst his narcissism often landing him in trouble. Then you went to bed with the promise of a long day ahead of you, first the mountains then a club. It was sure to be a fun day, and by the way, Yoongi kept screaming at Jungkook an unforgettable one. “Be careful or both of might actually fall,” Namjoon warned, Jungkook finally listening and letting Yoongi down. Yoongi pretended to frown but the joy in his face was hard to miss. He only ever got this happy when he was high on something and you were glad that it wasn’t the case this time when he glanced back and smiled at you it was contagious. Hopefully, when things end, he’ll still be as happy as this. What you wouldn’t give to see him smile every day as brightly as he was right now.

           “Has anyone ever fallen off these?” Taehyung asked Jimin, who he was beside. The other man nodded, “I think a guy did a while back. Only got a few broken bones, nothing too bad.” Hoseok’s eyes widened, “That’s your definition of not too bad.” Jimin shrugged while both Taehyung and Hoseok looked towards the edge in fear. It was a rather large drop from where you were, after having walked for about forty minutes. Not to mention the housing area was already high above the ground. “For a thirty to forty-foot drop that’s not that bad. I heard he had enough time to make himself into an armadillo, you know? Curl up and protect his head.” Whoever he was, you reasoned the man must be extremely lucky. “How did he even fall?” You asked, which prompted Jimin who was far ahead to turn around. “Maybe he was running from mountain lions?” He stuck his tongue out and you chased after him, trying to hit him playfully. The other’s laughed as Jimin gave chase for quite a while before eventually turning his sight on you, leaving you to hide behind the others for cover.

_Present_

           You had expected to be taken to the central Hanok, the one which connected all the others, but instead, they lead you to the one where you had previously stayed. Namjoon opened the doors allowing Seokjin to walk in first, then Taehyung, before he too stepped inside shutting you off from the outside world. The rest of them Yoongi, Jungkook, and Jimin were there all sitting comfortably on the Yo; staring at you with such scrutiny it felt like you were being dissected. Hoseok stood by the corner, in an angle where he could see everything. His eyesight wasn’t on you, but the rest of his lovers. Seokjin set you down before, walking over to the Yo to sit. Taehyung and Namjoon lingered behind you until Hoseok gave a curt nod and they too decided to sit on the mat. They were all waiting for you to say something, but your throat had dried up. Words being unable to escape but you could feel a sob incoming which would only worsen things. “I want t-to apologize for the way I’ve behaved,” You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, as you tried to reign in the tremor in your voice. “I was. I’m scared of you. What you did and why you did it, I just don’t understand -” It was Yoongi who cut you off, “We did it to protect you because we love you. Why can’t you fucking see that?!” He was seething. Pupils dilating and the vein in his neck popping out. No one said anything, only Jimin moved to lay his head on his Hyung’s shoulder to comfort him. It persisted: their justification of their actions lay solely on you as if you were the one to blame, not them. How could you win? How could you escape? You had thought it easy just weeks ago and here you were back in their hands, they had entrapped you in their spider web. The more you struggled, the easier prey you became.

           “I don’t deserve that love…I don’t even understand why you would.” The sob tore through your throat, tears that you hadn’t even been aware of flowing freely. God, you were pathetic. Could you help it? Wasn’t that why you had needed them in the first place? You couldn’t even face them, preferring to stare at the hardwood floor beneath your feet. Hoseok walked towards you cradling you in his arms and patting your head. “Shh, it’s okay. People make mistakes and they grow, we’re okay with giving you a second chance but you have to promise us you won’t run away again.” With your head buried into his neck, you missed the sadistic smirk on his face. The smile that spread through the other men’s faces at seeing your resolve crumble right before them. This was everything they had ever wanted. Everything they had ever needed. You would finally be there’s and no one could take you away from them. The other’s stood up and crowded around you enveloping you in their warmth. “Before though, there’s something we have to show you,” Jungkook spoke as his hands rubbed circles into your upper back. You peeled away from Hoseok to stare at the youngest, nodding without much thought. At your lack of reluctance, he grinned bunny smile on full display. Jungkook grasped your hand in his and pulled you out of the room, practically running with excitement. Jimin and Taehyung cast a look towards their Hyung’s before walking out and following the two of you, knowing that what Jungkook was going to show you were sure to leave an impression.

Hoseok circled his arms around Yoongi’s waist, peppering kisses along the side of his head. “Don’t worry, she’s never leaving us again. I’ll make sure of it.” Yoongi sighed and leaned into the other’s caresses. Namjoon and Seokjin sighed as well, feeling exhausted after everything that they had to do in order to get you to be there’s. Hoseok turned around beckoning them closer, so the other two joined into their embrace. Being held, kissed, and caressed in order to ease their nerves away. “I promise you all, she’s ours now. Forever. Not even death will do us part.”

 Jungkook had dragged you out of the resting area into an unset path. The soft grass beneath your feet turning into an amalgamation of rocks, broken tree branches, and patches of mud as the forest began to enclose around you. He seemed to be looking for something, his grip on your hand not loosening a bit. It was useless anyway, to run away now would mean certain death either by falling off the mountain or by their own hand. You preferred the former if you were honest. “Jungkook where are you taking me?” Worry evident in your tone, as your brows furrowed. You were deep into the forestry now and were uncertain if Jungkook even knew his way back. Instead of answering, Jungkook simply giggled like a small child. Up ahead, you could begin to make something out weird shapes coming into form the closer you got until… “No! Please dear god. Kookie no. I don’t want to see it.” It was too late, you could see the dismembered rotting corpses perfectly now. You began to hyperventilate as vile from your stomach rose, you hadn’t realized Jungkook had let go of you until you placed both hands on your knees to steady yourself. Jungkook was facing you, with a sinister gleam in his eyes. “Don’t you like it? Figured you might since they’re dead because of you.” No, that wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. Right? Jungkook bent down to be at your eye level, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “After all, if you had just listened that night none of this would have happened. They wouldn’t be dead.” Flashes of that night came to your mind like scenes in a movie. Unable to hold it back anymore, you hurled forward throwing up bile from your stomach. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, “It isn’t my fault. It isn’t.” You repeated it over and over again like a mantra that would assure your mind of its innocence. “Isn’t it though?” Chimed in Jimin behind you, “Isn’t you who disobeyed and wore that stupid dress? Wasn’t it you who insisted on dancing? Didn’t you pick the fight?”

You recalled the events once more, but this time in the way he had said. You had stepped out of line, more than once that night. Refusing to listen to them, and simply doing what you wanted, so was it truly your fault? Taehyung had inched closer to you, in the midst of your spiral. Getting close enough to whisper into your ear the words that would finally shatter you once in for all. “If we did it for you, doesn’t that make you the worst one out of all of us.” When your knees gave out, Taehyung was the one lift you into his arms carrying you the way a groom would a bride. Instead of taking you back to the Hanoks he stepped even closer to the bodies, making sure you could see them in all their glory. “Y/n, there are no more chances after this. I would hate for more people to end up this way, though I’m sure Sihyeon and Jeonhan would make beautiful corpses.” The image of the two of them laying there was now cemented into your head.

_Two Months Ago_

           You hadn’t heard of many clubs in the Jeolla province, but Seokjin had assured you the place the eight of you were going was top tier. Exclusively for the rich and beautiful, as if it was meant to calm your nerves. It did the opposite. You had been out with the boys on several occasions individually, to events, galas, or even the casual dates but never all seven at once. Never in a position where others might begin to wonder what type of relationship all of you shared, they would probably assume you were a prostitute which wasn’t exactly legal. Is all of this even legal? You opted not to ponder on that. Instead, setting out two possible outfits for tonight, one a corseted black top with matching black jeans and the other, and the other a green silk slip dress that ended at mid-thigh. You knew which option the boys would prefer you to wear out, but the dress was so beautiful, and you did buy with the intent to wear on your birthday. Plus, you barely wore stuff like this anyway, one night a year wasn’t going to cause anyone any harm. So you settled on the dress, slipping it on, and going about finishing the rest of your routine until you heard the rasping of knuckles on the door. Not bothering to wait for an answer, the person quickly opened the door and stepped inside. Seokjin was dressed in a light blue button-down that accentuated his features, wonderfully. “You look handsome.” You smiled, as you walked over to kiss him on the cheek. He had yet to say anything merely staring at your dress before his eyes trailed up to meet yours. “Don’t you like it?” You asked, bracing yourself for the blow. “I’d love it if it were off you.” His words were meant to have come off jokingly, but he said in such a serious tone.

“Ha-ha. We don’t have time, come on let’s get going.” You tried to push him aside, to walk through but he wouldn’t budge. “I’m being serious Y/n, don’t wear that out tonight. You’ll draw too much attention to yourself.” He was scolding you the way one might a child, you scoffed. “Right as if walking in with seven men isn’t going to draw any attention whatsoever.” You rolled your eyes and attempted to push past him again, but he gripped your wrist and pulled you tautly against him. “You look like an escort.” It took all your willpower not to slap him right there and then, instead you stooped even lower. “Aren’t I practically one already?” You retorted. Seokjin’s eyes widened and his face grew red with fury, but you couldn’t care less finally pushing past him to join the others. Fuck him, why is he being such an asshole all of a sudden?! You shook your head, trying to ease your thoughts and the deep frown between your brows. The rest of them were already in front of the cars, waiting for you to join. Namjoon let out a wolf whistle when he saw you, causing the corners of your mouth to turn up slightly. Hoseok was smiling at you, so you made your way towards him walking right into his arms. “Do I look okay?” You whispered softly, he hummed in agreeance. “You looked like lust personified, in a good way.” A small laugh tore out if you were lust personified Hoseok must’ve been Aphrodite at that moment. Eventually, Seokjin exited the Hanok, his expression cool and calm. As if nothing had happened. You wondered how he managed to be so in control, even when he should clearly still be upset. You shrugged it off and instead got in the car, the other’s sliding in beside you while Yoongi took the driver’s seat and Seokjin the one beside him.

The drive there wasn’t long the province was rather small and the club was located in what could be considered a downtown area. The hotels, shopping center, and general ambiance letting you know that the men hadn’t lied about the kind of people that habituated there. It was around five stories tall with each floor dedicated to a specific vibe or kind of music, according to Taehyung. As you approached the front of the building, you saw a line of people almost the length of the block. It was a strange sight as you had assumed from how quiet everything around the campsite was that there wasn’t much to do in Jeolla except enjoy the scenery, clearly you were wrong. “Don’t be nervous, okay?” Jimin assured you before the door opened and one by one you all exited the car. People in line stared in awe at the men, some even taking out their phones to snap some pictures; probably assuming they were idols. You couldn’t blame them, they looked like gods walking among the Earth. “We’re going up to the third floor,” Seokjin said, as he led you all inside. Yoongi and Namjoon had wrapped their arms around your waist, causing a few judgmental stares to be sent your way. I definitely look like an escort now. It was different when it was one on one, most people would look at you with one of the men and assume the two of you were lovers. From the way you talked, acted, and openly embraced each other they would have no idea that it was a purely monetary relationship; a give and take of sorts. You had grown used to it, but that too could be dangerous especially when you found yourself falling deeper and deeper for a man who would never see you that way.

At the entrance stood a receptionist in front of a giant elevator when Hoseok said his name he was handed a key and told to board the elevator. The key apparently was the only way to unlock the doors and gain access to the other floors. “Probably to prevent people from sneaking in.” Namjoon had rationalized. It was a snug fit, but not enough to be claustrophobic. Once you reached the third floor, the elevator doors dinged open and you saw a giant dance floor riddled with bodies dancing without a care in the world. Excitement filled you, barely containing itself when you all sat down at a booth. Shots were ordered, minus Yoongi who wanted scotch, and it was three rounds later that you found yourself convincing them to go dance. “What’s the point of going to a club if we’re not going to dance?” You had to scream over the loud music, in order for all of them to hear you. Jungkook rolled his eyes, “You’ve never even been to a club.” True, but that was beside the point. “I want to dance, come on.” Glancing around the table, you saw that no one made an indication to move. So you huffed, beginning to cross over their laps in order to exit the booth. “Where are you going?” Seokjin asked, his hands gripping your waist causing you to stop right on top of him. “I’m going to dance. The rest of you can stay here and be boring.” To emphasize your point, you stuck your tongue out and finished exiting the booth. They all watched with varying levels of amusement as you made your way down to the center of the large swarm of people.

The second you got there, a new song began to play. The heavy bass and accompanying guitar riff causing your heart to thump to the beat of the song. Your hips swayed and you lost yourself entirely to the music, enjoying the ride it was taking you on. The alcohol in your system hadn’t left you tipsy but instead given you a soft buzz that spread throughout your body allowing you to loosen up a bit more. It wasn’t long before a pair of hands found their way onto your hips, and the warmth of another body heated your back. Assuming one of the boys had finally caved, you leaned back until you felt them press their hard-on into your backside. It was then that a voice, not belonging to any of your companions spoke. “How much for a night, princess?” Immediately, you separated yourself from them and whipped around. It was a man in his late thirties with a scruffy beard and lanky body, smelling of cheap cigarettes far too much liquor. “Sorry I think you're mistaken.” You tried to walk away, but the man gripped your forearm and pulled you back. His face contorted into anger, clearly not liking being dismissed. “Come on, sweetheart. I don’t bite, though if you’d let me, I would pay extra.” It was when you felt the sting on your hand, that you realized you had backhanded the man. If he was angry before, now he was livid. He moved forward but was stopped when a cold beverage splashed across your face. Turning towards the left, you saw a short red-headed girl with an empty margarita glass in her hand.

“You whore, what are you doing hitting on my boyfriend? Get your skanky claws away from him.” You wanted so badly to say something, but you were frozen. Couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, and now that you dwelled on it you were having a hard time breathing, your chest beginning to move up and down at an unnatural rate. The two of them seemed to enjoy your reaction, for they had smirks on their faces. Where are they? As if they had read your mind, you felt a jacket being placed on your shoulders before Jimin pressed you against his side. “Come on, Y/n. Let’s go home.” That was it? Jimin made no move to defend you against them, barely even spared a glance. Simply walked you towards the elevator where the others were waiting, their expressions unreadable. Was that all? None bothered to comfort you. None seemed to care. Maybe they didn’t. Maybe the time had finally come. As the eight of you stepped off the elevator, and onto the main entrance you simply kept your head down and tried to make yourself as small as possible. You had already gotten enough attention, you didn’t desire anymore. The ride home was silent as well, save for a few brief conversations between the men, you simply remained stoic. When you finally reached the Hanok’s it took all of your will power to not run straight to your room and burst into tears, instead you said ‘goodnight’ and walked gracefully towards your Hanok. Closing the door, slowly and walking towards the Yo before finally succumbing to the tears.

Tomorrow morning you would end things with them, there was no other way. If tonight was anything to go by the men clearly didn’t care for you as much as they had claimed, especially Hoseok whose ‘I love you’ seemed hollow when you realized they were just words to him. He didn’t love and how could he, when he had six others. When he had to share you. It was inevitable and postponing it until the end of the trip would make it more difficult to end things. Plus, you had already saved up the majority of the money you had been given by them; though that was something they remained unaware of entirely. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I’ll end it and say goodbye to them forever. You prayed they would understand, they had to, plus they had other sugar babies before, so this was nothing new. It wasn’t an arrangement that could last forever, and this wasn’t a fairy tale where all of you would end up happily ever after. Life was far to cruel for that. With your mindset, you drifted off to sleep exhaustion taking you over.

             It was a scream that roused you from sleep. A high shrill, the type that you had only heard in movies, but it was clear as day. Peeling your eyes open, you saw nothing but darkness in your room, your senses quickly adjusting to see that the doors had been slightly left open. You figured the men could be watching a movie, but you hadn’t seen any electronic devices in the central Hanok. Nor did there look to be electrical outlets anyway. You tried to go back to sleep, but a nagging feeling kept you from dozing off again. Something’s wrong, I can feel it. So much like a cat, you stood up with the intent of satisfying your curiosity. You hadn’t even taken off your dress or Jimin’s jacket, but none of that seemed relevant. You stepped out onto the main area and looked around trying to see if any of the boys were awake, all the other Hanoks were dark except for Hoseok’s who had a faint glow emitting from it. Carefully you tiptoed your way over, choosing to go by the side where there was a small window than knocking on the door. You didn’t want to disturb him and make him more upset at you. The closer you got the more disturbing sounds you heard coming from the room, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to rise as adrenaline pumped through your veins. You crouched down to avoid being seen and slowly peered into the room to see what was going on, your eyes widening in horror at what you saw. Before bile rose through your throat and you found yourself having to control the urge to gag.

           Inside Hoseok’s room where all the men laughing and smiling, but it wasn’t a joke or movie that they got entertainment from. It was the two tortured individuals with cuts, bruises, and broken bones that lay at their feet. You recognized them almost instantly, it was the couple from the club, the woman’s cries reaching your ears even outside. The man was screaming incoherent things which only caused the men to laugh even harder before Jungkook kicked him in the throat silencing him effectively. What the fuck is going on? Soon Yoongi and Jimin would begin to tear the couple's clothes off and use brute force to break even more bones. The sound of broken ribs and pelvis would be something that would forever be engrained into your mind. Hoseok stood by the side, watching his lovers partake in their sadistic punishment of the man and women. Truthfully, they deserved it and Hoseok would’ve joined in had his mind not been running rampant with thoughts of you. He had wanted to postpone their confession until the end of the trip, show you how much fun you could have with all of them before asking you formally to be theirs. Hoseok wasn’t sure how you would react, seeing as you were fond of the members but had a preference for him. Not that he minded, but it would cause problems in the relationship if you constantly opted to spend time with him instead of the others. Still, you had done well until now, and Hoseok could see his lovers falling deeper and deeper in love with you every second that passed. He had to admit he was concerned in the beginning that the others wouldn’t understand his need to be with you, but once they began to display the same tendencies, he knew he had made the right choice.

           Tomorrow morning, they would ask you to be theirs and you would say yes. You had to. Hoseok couldn’t fathom a single reason why you wouldn’t, then his eyes locked with yours. Quickly you ducked and made a run for your Hanok, hoping that had just been your imagination that you had locked eyes with Hoseok. There was no way he saw you, right? Your survival instinct kicked in and you reached your room in record time, slamming the door shut and racing towards your luggage. Quickly you changed into much more comfortable clothing and began to pack your stuff, leaving the jacket and dress out. It was when you heard footsteps inching closer to your room that you quickly placed the bag back where it had been and reached for the jacket. You hastily put it on before getting under the duvet and shifting to face the wall, closing your eyes as the door opened. “I told you she was asleep,” Seokjin said, before stepping into the room. The rest followed suit, making sure everything in the room was still intact. You looked so lonely in the giant Yo it really couldn’t be helped that they desired to join you. Jungkook took the first step, discarding his blood-stained clothes on the floor before slipping in beside you. Wrapping his arms tightly around you as he buried his nose into your hair, breathing in your scent. You tried your hardest not to move when the others joined in too, for the slightest movement could let them know you were pretending. Eventually, all of them drifted off to sleep, each curling up beside the other in a way that screamed intimacy, but you were unable to sleep that night the image of their expressions and the bodies replaying in your head until the sun rose.

           When you opened your eyes the next morning, golden sunlight illuminated the room in a beautiful way. What was more beautiful was how it reflected off each of the men’s golden skin, as they all sat staring at you. Faking a groan, you stretched your arms pretending you had just woken up. “What are you guys doing in here?” Their faces were stoic, devoid of any emotion it terrified you. “We want to talk Y/n, about us.” Namjoon started, his hands moving as he tried to elaborate on what he meant but you cut him off before he could. “I think we should take a break.” It felt as if all the light in the room had been sucked up by something. “What?” Jimin whimpered, his voice barely above a whisper. All of them looked to be varying levels of distraught, but none more than Hoseok who you could barely manage to look at. Toying with your hands you breathed in deeply before continuing, “This has been going on for a while and I just think that before we continue, I need some time to think about what I want to do next in my life.” Taehyung leaned forward, his tongue-tied as he rambled. “W-what do yuh-you mean time to think? What is there t-to think abuh-about?!” Jungkook was shaking with fury, this wasn’t supposed to happen. You were supposed to be theirs forever, so what was this bullshit. “I need to figure out what I want to do with my life. I can’t rely on others my entire life, I need to be able to stand on my own.” Yoongi laughed, a genuine one as if you had just said the funniest thing in the world. “You be on your own? Don’t make me laugh. You could barely handle a confrontation last night, without breaking down.” That stung, you knew he did it to hurt you, but it didn’t lessen the blow at all if anything it made it worse. “Exactly, so I need to learn to stand up on my own.”

           Seokjin nodded in agreeance, “Alright. You need time, we understand. Then you’ll come back to us.” It sounded as if he was trying to convince himself, rather than everyone else in the room. “Yeah, I will. I promise.” You were lying through your teeth, but anything to get you out of this situation was good enough. The air was beginning to clear until Hoseok finally spoke, “If you don’t come back, they would have died for nothing.” You gulped and felt the life being drained out of you slowly, there was a wicked smirk on his face which let you know just how much he enjoyed your fear. They knew. Of course, they did, how could you have been stupid enough to think they wouldn’t. These men knew you like the back of their hands and here you had played into their little game. Knowing your options were dwindling the more time passed, you rushed words out of your mouth. “A week. Seven days. I promise I’ll be back to you by then, please.” Your eyes were brimming with tears, as you hoped for some kind of miracle where you got to see the outside world again. After what felt like hours, it was Namjoon who finally spoke. “Alright, a week. Then your ours forever.”

_Present_

           You practically had to be carried back to the Hanok, the men beside you were holding onto you with such force you were sure marks would be left on your body. The sky above you had darkened, small droplets of water began to rain down on the three of you, the smell of rain was always calming except now. Not when you could visualize so perfectly Sihyeon’s dead corpse; you knew it wasn’t an empty threat. They had proven themselves more than capable of taking lives in the name of ‘love.’ The closer you got, you heard the cluttering of pans and smelled the Seokjin’s familiar kimchi. Not wanting to face them all again, you stopped walking. “I want to shower. Can I?” The three youngest looked at each other before Jimin nodded. “Let’s go then.” Once again, you were lifted off the ground. You’re certainly being treated like a baby now. A small snicker escaped your lips causing Jimin to look down at you. “When we trust you again, you won’t have to be supervised.” The bathhouse wasn’t far, and it was possibly the only modern thing about the entire establishment, thankfully because you couldn’t handle bathing in cold water. Not now. Jimin dropped you off at the threshold, and you slipped your shoes off before entering. It was almost as large as the main area, but it was divided into two rooms. A smaller more compact one, for taking off the clothes and storing them into compartments and then the bathing area. Where there were a giant heated pool and a shower in the far corner. None of the doors could be locked, but that may have been for safety reasons. In any case, you stripped naked placing your clothes into a basket and entered the second room. Opting to shower first and then rest in the warm water, your muscles relaxed, and tension eased out of your body everywhere except your head.

           I have to think of a way out. Their planning to take me somewhere else… You had seen enough true crime stories to know that whenever someone is taken to a secondary location their chances of survival are reduced by more than half, that wasn’t a risk you were ready to take. I need them to trust me, but how? You spent almost an hour pondering this until the idea finally came to you. It was twisted and incredibly dangerous, but you had to do it. There was no other way to lull them into a false sense of security. There were several curt knocks on the door before it slid open Yoongi stepping inside. “Food’s ready. Get dressed.” In his hands was a large t-shirt, shorts, and boxers. Clearly, the men hadn’t thought to bring clothes for you, but that could work towards your advantage. “Thanks.” You replied, before standing up and getting out of the bath. Yoongi was clearly not expecting this as he turned his face towards the side, a dusty rose on his cheeks. “No problem.” You got dressed rather quickly, as Yoongi was still waiting for you before finally stepping out into the smaller room and eventually outside. Yoongi’s interlocked his hand with yours using that as reign, instead of carrying you around like the other’s did. “Jin made your favorite.” You nodded, lightly squeezing his fingers. “Remember when you said, that you wanted to show me what the stars looked like here? We never got to do that.” Yoongi didn’t reply simply continued walking, after a while, you shook your head. “Never mind, sorry I brought it up.” His hold on your hand tightened before he spoke. “We’ll have the rest of our lives to look up at the stars.” That was exactly what you feared.

           Dinner was delicious, in a way you assumed all last meals must be. Even if you weren’t going to physically die here, being with the men felt like the death of who you were. All the joy, hope, and excitement you had once held deep within your heart gone. They had destroyed that. Sawed it down until nothing but fine dust was left. They had all conversed with each other as if it nothing out of the ordinary was occurring, as if this was a routine for them. You couldn’t focus on that now, instead, you needed to focus on their weaknesses. How to exploit them and manipulate them in order for you to escape, and you knew just the way. You started by blinking more often and slower each time, pretending to zone out of the conversation, and allowing your body to sway to the side every so often as if it was uncontrollable. Seokjin picked up on it first, “Let’s go to bed. I’ll clean it up in the morning.” Pretending to doze off, you felt arms hoist you up everyone heading towards your old Hanok. Everything relied on who decided to lay beside you, if it was Namjoon, Hoseok, or Yoongi you were doomed. Thankfully the heaven’s seemed to smile down on you as you were placed between Jungkook and Jimin. When it felt like an hour had passed and the breathing of the men had evened out, you began your plan. It all started with a slight whimper, which leads to you pushing back against Jungkook. Subconsciously, he draped an arm around your hips tautly pressing them against his. Then you groaned reaching forward to touch Jimin’s chest, he too drew closer to you. It was a few touches later, that you grew bold slowly grinding your behind into Jungkook’s growing erection. Then your hand ‘accidentally’ dropped and just so happened to caress right over Jimin’s shorts.

           If you were weak and pathetic, then you would make them weaker than you. For when Jimin’s opened his eyes and leaned forward to kiss you while Jungkook pushed up the fabric of your shirt, it wasn’t long until everyone else woke up and joined in too. You had to do whatever it took to survive; morality and guilt be damned. It had been a long night, so it made sense that none of the men would be up by dawn. Bodies far too worn out after everything that had happened, you felt sick to your stomach but there was no time to lose. It was now or never. You sneaked out of the Hanok and dashed towards the rocky path you recalled perfectly, going for the cars would be a reckless decision as they were sure to have hidden the keys – that was time wasted. No, you had to be smarter even if it meant risking your life as you followed the trail up the mountain looking for a spot with more soft grass and less harsh rocks or trees to impale yourself on. Taking a deep breath, you looked up to the heavens and prayed for luck. “Please let me get out of this alive.” With that, you crouched under the safety rope and curled your body into an armadillo position, before rolling down the mountain either to your death or salvation.

               “Mrs. Jung?”

           “Can you hear me, Mrs. Jung?” When you opened your eyes it was far to bright. Sterile colors facing back at you along with the face of an elderly woman downing scrubs. “Do you know where you are?” Glancing around you saw that, there was no one else in the room but the two of you, but there were scattered pieces of clothing and objects that you let know, you weren’t going to be alone for very long. Seeing as you had failed to respond to the nurse, went to walk away. “I’m going to fetch the doctor and Mr. Jung. Please try not to move.” Before she could move away from the bed, you latched onto her arm. “Don’t. Please don’t get him. I’m begging you.” The nurse had seen her fair share of iatrophobia, so she tried her best to calm you down. “I need to get him, so he can check up on you. It’s to make sure your injuries aren’t serious.” She didn’t understand. “No. Not him. Hoseok, the rest of them, please don’t get them. They did this to me.” The words hung in the air, the elderly nurse looking shocked before she nodded. “I’m going to stay right here, but I’ll have to call in a social worker in order to have them contact the police alright?” You shook your head once more, “If they find out they said they’d kill my friend. They have already killed before.” Whether she had experienced something like this before or whether she was that good at her job, you weren’t sure. But everything had occurred just as she said, none of the boys had tried to return to the room yet. All thinking you were still unconscious, the police were called and tipped off. The hospital also went into lockdown to ensure none of the men could leave the premises.

           In less than two hours, six of the men were in custody of the police. Hoseok was nowhere to be found and police assumed he went on the run. A day later, the police had come in for a statement where you gave a statement telling them everything about your situation. They were charged with pandering and soliciting. You were at risk of facing charges for prostitution, but the officers had told you that you could argue you were coerced into it. You didn’t know what to do. The doctor had insisted you remained in the hospital for a few days, to treat your bruises. Thankfully all you had received was a minor concussion and a broken arm – still better than death. You had also learned through the news, that Yoongi was being charged with possession of drugs and potential for using them. It seems someone had previously tipped off the police about Yoongi’s habits. You had wondered who would do such a thing, until Kim Sihyeon threw open your hospital door a few days later, Jeonhan trailing behind her silently. “God Y/n. Thank god you’re alright.” She was a nervous wreck with her hair disheveled, makeup poorly done, and clothes wrinkled. Sihyeon had a lot of time to think about how she had handled the situation and realized that the version of the story Yoongi had told Jeonhan resembled in no way the person you were. It was when she tried contacting you but couldn’t that she realized something was wrong. It was then that Jeonhan stepped forward, “I tried contacting Yoongi and pressing the issue, but he was a wreck. The last time we spoke, he threatened to hurt me if I kept asking questions about you. So I filed a report.”

           With time you came to heal, physically that is, you never did move on emotionally. Even when you tried, fate threw something your way. Be it by forcing you to take part in the investigation to incarcerate the men, seeing Hoseok’s face every time you closed your eyes, or a missed period that could no longer be blamed on stress.  Broken bones are the easiest things to get through, the hardest is deciding whether to bring to life the child of your tormentor. It was Sihyeon who suggested adoption and at the time, it seemed like the right thing to do. So you put up with the morning sickness, fatigue, and monthly check-ups. During that time, you hardly went out or did anything rotting away slowly. Living off the money they had left you, even if it made you so sick you could throw up. If there was anything in your stomach to throw up that is. It seemed a bit sadistic, that their sentencing would be around the time you were due. Finding out the men who had broken you were only going to be in prison for a decade or less, around five years in Jungkook’s case, sickened you. Only the older ones could be found guilty of the murders, with Hoseok still missing they all shifted the blame onto him. So much for loving each other.

           Nothing seemed to affect you anymore. Nothing could make you feel. You had remained that way for months, until this morning. When the labor pains were so intense, they had you screaming. When the living thing inside of you, longed to get out no matter what you wanted. After being rushed to the hospital and nine hours of arduous labor, she was born. Her cries echoed around the room and for the first time in a long time, you felt hope. It was when the nurse placed her between your arms, with her large crescent eyes staring up at you that you began to cry. For everything that had ever happened to you, for everything she represented, and for everything she would. As you held your daughter in your arms, you recognized the familiar curve of her lips and dollop nose. You saw so much of him in her that it hurt, but the longer you stared the more of you appeared in her. If life ever gave second chances, you were sure this was yours. “I love you. So much.” You choked on the words, as you came to an epiphany. If I can’t live for myself, then I’ll live for you.

 _Three Years Later_

Jung Hoseok stood on the other side of the road watching, waiting, for anything interesting to happen. He saw the panic of the baby sitter through the large window, as she cradled your child in her arms. Likely screaming about the alarm that was going off in the house this instant. It didn’t take much for him to set it off, a small well-thrown rock breaking a window was enough. He had longed to go inside but knew that the camera’s surrounding the perimeter of the house would capture him. It was when he saw your car pull into the driveway, that he filled with glee. His lips spreading into a heart-shaped smile, as he watched you anxiously get out of your car and run into the house. You grasped the child into your arms before heading back towards the door, to input the code. Hoseok really needed to get his hands on that code. He watched you scream at the baby sitter, before promptly apologizing profusely. You had become extremely paranoid since he’d last seen you, it was probably his fault but that didn’t matter right now. His entire focus was on the child, the toddler hoisted on your hip who was looking out into the world. She could be his or Jungkook’s, Jimin’s, Taehyung’s, Namjoon’s, Yoongi’s, even Seokjin’s. He hoped for her sake it was the former, he didn’t know how he’d feel about raising the other’s child now that they’d thrown him under the bus. Maybe Yoongi’s was the exception.

It seems the child had spotted him for she waved at him, prompting him to smile and wave back. She was likable enough. Not wanting to risk you seeing him, Hoseok walked away following the crowd of people all going about their day. Soon he would have you in his grasp again and this time, he would never let you go. Even if meant both of you ending up as rotting corpses.

#bts #yandere bts #yandere bts x reader #yandere ot7 #ot7 x reader #bts ot7 x reader #yandere kim namjoon x reader #yandere kim seokjin x reader #yandere min yoongi x reader #yandere jung hoseok x reader #yandere park jimin x reader #yandere kim taehyung x reader #yandere jeon jungkook x reader #polybts #sugardaddy bts #sugar baby reader #self insert #yandere kpop #kpop fanfic #kpop drabbles #bangtanarmynet #Killing Me Softly #part three #girlmeetsliv3

[idlecreature]

the buried fic comment from hell (it's so long i'm SO SORRY, I GOT EXCITED)

DEL.. I WASN’T SURE IF IT WAS APPROPRIATE TO LEAVE A LONG ASS COMMENT ON UR BURIED FIC IN PUBLIC….. SO I’M DROPPING IT HERE i’m so sorry in advance this is about to be a mess,, i’m so fucking emotional right now

((the review under the cut is in response to my fic which can b read here))

okay first –

The mental image of tiny gangly Barnabas and Jonah crouched with their hands in the dirt….. is so fucking cute?? I could feel Jonah’s jealousy just burning off of him. You had me right away. Fuck. You know how to open a story and I’m deeply envious, I’ve always struggled with it. Also, you threw in that little hook:

Despite what Jonah believes, there are some things that just can’t be explained in words.

Barnabas’ voice is so fucking good… guh… you know. I didn’t much care about Barnabas in any deep way before I joined the Jonah server and you guys have all just completely GUTTED me, I can’t believe how much I care about this highly-strung bastard,, he is so GOOD. HE’S SO GOOD???? HE’S SUCH A SWEETIE. LIKE. BARNABAS FEELING GUILTY AND HORRIFIED THAT PEOPLE ARE GRATEFUL TO HIM AND WANT HIM AROUND???? AAAAAAAAAA. And the melancholy aspect, too, which I imagine is how Mordechai was able to relate to him, get attached to him… Barnabas being bitter about how useless his tears are while he’s crying anxiously at the prospect that he might not be able to help those families after all…….

All of those scraps of Barnabas’ letter to Jonah made such EXCELLENT transitions, holy hell. Again I am inspired by your storytelling prowess. I am taking notes, for whenever my ability to write longform fic returns from war. This one was my favorite, made my heart clench:

A good world starts with a good person and a few choices that are made with the heart—

He’s so earnest I’m going to weep ;_; Barny.. you can’t make Jonah a better person he’s AWFUL,,

(Side note, super digging that I can indent stuff, block quoting makes this SO much easier.)

Also really digging that Jonah doesn’t have as nice a reputation as Barnabas… Jonah is the bad influence friend lmfao. AND JONAH’S CAT… I LOVE HIM…

And then you delivered a swift blow straight to the religion kink, as promised… “There’s something undeniably old testament about Jonah; the fire and fury of creation, the self-annihilating stare of Lot’s wife.“ LOSING IT I’M LOSING IT… WHAT A WAY OF DESCRIBING HIM God, here I thought I couldn’t possibly be more attracted to this bastard man. I am aghast at myself.

LOSING IT EVEN MORE OVER BARNABAS STACKING TEACUPS ON JONAH’S HEAD???? Why must you make them so fucking cute oh NO this is going to hurt isn’t it. ((This was the note I stuck in the Word doc while I was reading it and I thought I’d leave it as was for your enjoyment))

“Taking cues from your dreams?” Barnabas replies. “You know only the desperately mad do that?” 

“Or desperately inspired—savants and prophets and visionaries.”

And then you continued to try to kill me… Jonah thinking of himself as a prophet……. hhhhh canon-typical overambitious zealotry I’m HERE FOR IT………

“Are you trying to make me angry with you by playing the devil’s advocate?” 

“Just testing you,” Jonah says in his alloyed voice, silver-and-honey-gold. 

Del I cannot stress enough… My religion kink………. It’s been SO VERY ACTIVATED.

“Your morality has only ever been a thin cover for your shame.”

OUCH, JONAH, JESUS

Every bit of their dialogue was so familiar and tinged with bittersweetness and I owe you my entire life… Sincerely. Ugh. Like, how you described Barnabas’ internal angst about it later on – when he’s thinking of Mordechai, and he refers to "his many dog-eared fantasies” about Jonah it just really vividly conjured the thought of he and Jonah having a sort of? Queer solidarity, ESPECIALLY having grown up together. And that makes Jonah’s flash of betrayal at Barnabas not wanting to be SEEN with him that much more agonizing, personally. Like. I’ve had that happen to me more than once in real life. And much as Jonah is a piece of shit who is absolutely manipulating him………. still, ouch. Ouch. (Barnabas’ thoughts on the company Jonah keeps also made me wince. You did an AMAZING job with all of the internalized shame and frantic rationalizations, hooooooboy.)

The Lukases being colorblind is such an interesting piece of lore by the way I love it????? Now I have. Some questions, about Peter. Mordechai’s characterization in this is so fascinating to me. I’m enTRANCED by how you reverse-Uno’d it so that Barnabas was the reason Mordechai lost himself to the Lonely… the power dynamics……. so tasty. Ugh. And all of the sensual descriptions, especially of that first visit Barnabas had at Moorland house?? I didn’t clip any because I would have ended up clipping the whole fucking thing. It was aching, haunting, beautiful, holyshit. Their romance is somehow more fucked up than Barnabas and Jonah’s…

Also, I was so eager to read this I skipped the tags/warnings and completely didn’t realize Mordechai was going to be an actual vampire so that was a VERY fun surprise lmfao.

Barnabas feels like he’s close to learning something about violence and desire, how close they are, how the wires can get crossed.

THIS QUOTE IS EVERYTHING TO MEEEEEE ugh I’m having an aneurysm over how Jonah managed to fashion Barnabas into a creature that could understand him by gifting him to Mordechai for a while… letting Mordechai crack him open at the points where he was already brittle and experience an influx of some of the true darkness of the world. Just a tasty taste. That way when he discovers the truth of Jonah’s occult interests he won’t run away, because he’s already got his own fingers in the mess. He’s already given himself to one horror, why not Jonah? Shave some of the shine off of his morality, make him nice and gray so he won’t contrast so much with Jonah… And satisfying his curiosity at the same time. Two birds.

Oh, also, still sobbing about this line:

he realises that he doesn’t want to wear any colours that Mordechai can’t properly see.

EVERY TIME I let my guard down for ten seconds you smacked me with more of Barnabas being the most precious bleeding heart in the universe!!!!!! He aches so much for the people he’s trying to help and he hates people like Mordechai but part of him also wants to save Mordechai, somehow… maybe recognizes the parts of him that are like these people, still. Nearly faded but not quite gone yet. And as you’ve already established, Barnabas simply cannot let things go. Can’t disappoint people… can’t leave them when he could be doing something. Anything. Augh, FEELINGS.

Of course he knew Mordechai and Jonah were friends, he’d just temporarily believed in a sane and fair universe where things like this don’t happen. 

AND YOU HAD SUCH A PERFECT BALANCE OF HUMOR… This could have been such a feelbad fic, and tbh it still would have been spectacular. But you always eased it at just the right moment to keep it from going off the rails into irretrievable deepdark territory. Fed me little soft moments so I’d still be vulnerable enough to have my HEART RIPPED OUT LATER…

I’m not super interested in the Buried canon-wise but I love how you’ve written Barnabas’ natural affiliation with it… so subtle but powerful? (Of COURSE Jonah was jealous, lmao. He had to work so hard and he’s still not on Barnabas’ level. There’s some kinda beautiful commentary on ambition versus goodwill in there somewhere but I’m too busy nursing my battered little heart right now to articulate it.) It wove its way in and out of the rest of the plot so naturally, too. For some reason it compliments Barnabas’ temperament as I read it in canon just… so well. Was there a discussion about this on the server, and if so, PLEASE tell me about it sometime I’m so fascinated.

Jonah wasn’t even present for a lot of the fic but his characterization was so INTENSE and luminous, Christ… I know I already praised it a bit but. Woof. I wasn’t expecting to get a taste of his POV at the end and I was so excited I kicked my feet (my cat was very disgruntled) like, this line!!!

Now, he thinks there’s some truth in those false statements, in the lies we tell and why we want to be believed.

GOD, YOU’RE REALLY GONNA GIVE ME FEELINGS ABOUT JONAH AND FUTURE-JONAHLIAS IN THE SAME FIC?????? EVIL… I’m so so so fucking here for it, oh my God, Jonah with an amplifying anxiety disorder, THE PRICE OF IMMORTALITY… too bad the Eye doesn’t let you see the future, Jonah, lmao… the line “immortality just made his anxiety turn nuclear” is SEARED into my brain now, I am NOT accepting canon to contradict this ever again. I’ve always wondered how Jonah’s neuroses might have worsened in two entire fucking CENTURIES and I love the way you wrote it. I am fucking. Losing my mind.

There’s so many other things I could comment on, like. The brief but glorious Jonah-grinding-himself-off-on-Barnabas’-thigh shenanigans. Was incredibly hot, and Mordechai’s poor fragile heart breaking, and Barnabas telling Isabel that it’s fine to call him Barny…….. I’m hhhhhhhhHHHH fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m just!! I am incomprehensible!!! Everyone told me this fic was amazing but it’s fucking amazing, Del, what the hell. I’m never gonna be the same after this. The end was SHOCKINGLY sweet and I have WHIPLASH.

………… So, now that I’ve made you read a novel. Hah. Sorry. My point is. I loved every bit of this. It deserved heaps more praise but my eyes are starting to cross. Thx for sharing :’) 

Love,

Tony xx

TONY. TONY THIS MEANS EVERYTHING TO ME. FIRSTLY I’M SO GLAD YOU LIKED THIS. SECOND OF ALL, THANKS TO YOU I’LL BE SCREAMING FROM THE ROOFTOPS FOREVER HAVE YOU ANY IDEA HOW THIS REVIEW HAS AFFECTED ME? IT’S THE BEST FEEDBACK I’VE EVER RECIEVED IN MY LIFE I FEEL LIKE A FIRSTGRADER GETTING THEIR FIRST GOLD STAR I FEEL ON TOP OF THE WORLD LIKE I COULD THROW THE JEWEL OF THE SEA OFF THE SHIP AND LEAN OVER THE RAILINGS BECAUSE YOUR ARMS ARE AROUND ME TONY IT’S BEEN MONTHS AND THIS REVIEW HAS BEEN A FIREPLACE KEEPING ME WARM THROUGH THE WINTER MONTHS I LOVE YOU DEARLY FOR THIS YOU ARE AN ABSOLUTE CHAMPION IF YOU WERE IN FRONT OF ME RIGHT NOW I WOULD FRENCH KISS YOU WITHOUT HESISTATION UNTIL THE BOTH OF US HAVE RUN OUT OF AIR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! FUCKING BLESS YOU TONY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

#fic review #mayormurdock #what the fuckkkkkk tony when are you getting your sainthood #long post #submission

[bearsinpotatosacks]

Why Lose Hope?- Chapter 2

Chapter 1 , Part 1 of the All the Little Things Seem so Insignificant Now Series

Jim ran from the transporter, his crew behind him as he raced to reach the bridge. The transporter itself being broken from the strain of trying to deliver seven people to another universe. 

He slid in his chair and lent forwards as if it would bring him closer to Bones. They'd somehow managed to get an image on the two versions of him in that universe and had been watching them for the entire ten hours he'd been gone. 

It was bittersweet watching him. Bones' smiles were sour and his movements freaked from the weight of the possibility he may never go home. Yet he carried on. He cared for Leonard, for the animals and crops all while telling tales of his universe, his ship all those miles away.

"Scotty, tell me you've got some good news,"

"Well, Captain, it's fixable but it'll take an hour minimum," The pain was obvious in his voice. "The most you could do is watch for the time being,"

"Thank you, Mr Scott," 

He knew what that meant for Bones, another year until he could see anyone he loved again. Although he had spent the entire time with the other Leonard McCoy, perhaps he loved him? Did it count as self love when it was an alternate version of himself?

It had only been a few seconds for them, but when he looked back at the screen,a week had already passed. Spock had done the calculations, a year for them is an hour on the ship, a month is five minutes and one and a quarter minutes was a week.

Leo, their Bones, was sitting on the porch covered in a blanket. He'd taken ill quickly, their hypotheses had been that a planet with worse technology than they had, even regressing back before the third world war, would be less equipped to handle severe illnesses. 

Leonard was sitting on the other side of the table with half a scarf hanging off his knitting needles. He was talking about something to do with their farm when Leo broke the calm, coughing and spluttering.

"Here," He handed him a glass of water. "Take a nice long drink and you'll be fine,"

Leo did as he was told and lent back in his chair, face a little paler from the exertion of his remaining energy. The weather had changed rapidly in the time he'd been away, everywhere was blue skies and sunshine.

"How about I give you something to take your mind off things?" Leonard asked, only getting a grunt from Leo. "When did you meet your Jim?"

The crew all turned to face him. Uhura giving an amused glance, Spock something actually questioning and everyone else seemingly on the verge of rolling their eyes.

"When d'you meet yours?"

"It was 2255, I was working on a starbase somewhere, a medicine focused one, and I rush over to see a young man, six years younger than me, trying to escape with an IV line in, bandages on, nasal cannula and osteocalcium cream on his legs. He was also on the verge of passing out and was politely yelling at the guard to let him leave," He looked at Leo. "That was when I met James T. Kirk,"

"Sounds pretty on brand for him," Jim tried not to be hurt by that statement, even if he knew it was true.

"I saw him pretty much every day for about eight months, he was recovering from a serious injury involving radiation, an explosion and some angry octosquidarians. Became quite a good friend of mine even when he got transferred out of the ICU. He left, of course, everybody did on that starbase, yet we still managed to keep in touch and when he had his own ship and needed a CMO, well there was only one man for the job," He said and smiled to himself.

There was something about his age, his grey hair and wrinkles that made his smile more heartfelt. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he'd had more years with his Jim, more loving moments and annoying mishaps. He had nostalgia in his eyes as he sighed and turned to Leo.

"How'd'ya meet your Jim?"

"On a shuttle to Starfleet Academy, I was being forced out of my place in the bathroom-"

"Bathroom?"

"I have aviophobia," He nestled into the blankets further. "Jim's face was covered in blood, he'd been in a fight, and I was kind of drunk and spouted all the ways we could die on the thing and how my wife took everything. Then when we landed I found out he was in the same student apartment as me,"

"He was little shit most of the time, but he's also my best friend and the love of my life," 

He stopped and stared out for a moment. Jim was glad, he couldn't take it anymore. It had only been a few hours without him but he knew it had been so much longer for Bones. 

Part of him wondered while they were waiting for the transporter modifications if he'd even love him anymore. Ten years could change a lot in a person, he would know. He went into town and could've easily fell in love with a local, but he didn't. He still loved him and he still loved Spock.

Speaking of which, the other Leonard asked their Bones another question, "When did you realise you loved your Spock?"

"You remember how I had to resurrect Jim?"

Leonard nodded.

"Well, with Spock being a scientist in multiple fields, he could help me in making the serum. He took my place when I was on the verge of collapse from fatigue or hunger or emotion, and I ain't told anyone this, but I meditated with him on the little time I had off and it actually helped," 

Jim smiled at Spock at the image of the two. Bones probably complained that it was useless for an overthinker like him or about the sitting positions being too convoluted for his old joints. Spock had suggested they all meditate together, one of the few couple activities Vulcans were known to do. 

"And when Jim woke up and I couldn't handle the pressure of caring for him and the tabloids calling me Dr. Frankenstein and the looks from all the other doctors and pharmacists and every other medic in the hospital. So Spock listened as I ranted and cried and-" He stopped and took a few deep breaths. "And I realised, oh shit, I think I'm falling for him,"

"Well that's very romantic. When did you tell Jim?" 

"There was a mission involving loss, they made us see supposed ghosts of people we lost and Spock was determined to say he wasn't affected. But Jim invited him over and after a few hours of awkward silences and denying the connection we were feeling, we admitted our feelings to each other,"

"How about you?" He said.

"Spock had a thing, a Vulcan thing that meant he had to go home-"

"Pon farr?"

Leonard nodded, "Things happened, to survive we had to fake Jim's death, Spock didn't know but when he realised he was alive they finally admitted their feelings for each other. Unfortunately for me I realised I loved the bastards," He carried on knitting with a little more ferocity. "It wasn't until we found a giant space amoeba and Spock won our 'Who's going to sacrifice themselves for the sake of science argument' that I realised I should've told him,"

He chuckled to himself, "Well, we managed to save him, of course, and I took that as a sign and told them they had my heart. And apart from a little bump after the five year mission, we ain't never looked back,"

Jim and Spock smiled at each other. They'd visited Ambassador Spock and willed him to tell them his stories like children on Pesach. About peaceful Sunday mornings when he'd meditate and they'd secretly watch their Leonard get ready for church. And about many trips to Vulcan where the Ambassador would show them off like trophy husbands.

They could tell he missed his Jim and Bones, a nostalgic look always distant in his eyes and his house filled with the various photos and videos he kept on his PADD when he went through the black hole. 

At the time, they didn't understand what that felt like, to miss someone with every fibre of your soul. But after watching their Bones survive years and years alone without them, they realised how strangely comforting such an ache was.

The screen in front of them sped up as time drifted on. Relative as ever. Jim took a deep breath as Yeoman Rand handed everyone coffee and settled back in his chair for a long few hours.

I've managed to put a few headcanons of mine into this, like old married mcspirk's habit of Spock meditating, Bones getting ready for church and Jim smiling goofily as he watches his husband get dressed in his sunday best. Also I made up a few things for TOS Mckirk's meeting but the main idea I got from memory alpha is that Jim got hurt in his pre-captain days and met Bones. I would very much like to see this meeting somehow.

This fic will get weirder quite quickly and the schedule I think I might go with is one chapter in the farm universe, one in one of the crew's universe's, back to the farm universe and one in the other crew's universe.

And finally, I added Yeoman Rand! I'm very much in the camp of "I'll add all the recurring characters in tos into aos because someone (JJ Abrams) didn't" so I hope you enjoyed her cameo!

#all the little things seem so insignificant now #mcspirk #leonard mccoy #bones #leonard mccoy prime #bones prime #jim kirk #spock #spock prime #ambassador spock #janice rand #yeoman rand #montgomery scott #aos #tos #star trek #aos star trek #star trek aos #star trek alternate original series #tos star trek #star trek tos #star trek the original series #bear writes #why lose hope?

[irwinkitten]

eye of the storm | a.i

notes: so i originally wrote this last year along with teulu when my great aunt passed away. i had so much grief and i didn’t know how to process or handle it. however, i’ve been looking though old pieces and reworking them, and this beauty came alive, so i decided to share it. enjoy. it is an ashton x oc  warnings: mentions of death word count: 4.2k

buy me a ko-fi (or lunch), please?

-

Ashton could see the group debating on whether to stick around for more drinks or if they should get food. The debate was settled when they realised that they needed something to tide them over the next few hours so they wouldn’t be drinking on empty stomachs.

As they headed out, reaching the first turn on a block, that was when he noticed her.

Her shoulders were hunched over, and when Ashton glanced behind her, he could see why. Without hesitating, he paused, making sure to keep his eyes on her, Calum only pausing a second later when he yelled;

“Hey sweetheart! We’ve been looking all over for you!” Her head snapped up and he was glad he called out. The relief that flooded her features made his heart ache for her, wondering how long she’d been by herself with the group of three men trailing behind her.

He beckoned her over, holding his hand out towards her and she hesitated for a second before rushing towards the invitation, her hand slipping in his. He pulled her into his side, an arm slipping around her shoulders as she tucked herself into his side and he dropped his head to her ear.

“Are you okay?” 

She shook her head minutely.

“Aw man, you getting that piece of ass?” Ashton lifted his head, his features morphing into a scowl. 

“Back the fuck off. If I find out you hurt my girl in any way I’m not afraid to get the cops involved.” The three exchanged wary looks before raising their hands in a surrender before disappearing the way that they’d come.

His own group had only paused a few paces ahead, watched the entire thing fold out. It was only once the other three had gone, he began to pull the unknown girl towards the group.

“We’re getting food and you’re joining us, sweetheart.” His tone held no arguments, but judging from the trembling body, she wasn’t about to argue the offer of comfort and company. He pulled her towards the group and the dynamics changed quickly.

Sierra and Crystal stepped from their partners holds and offered their hands to the new comer who took them gratefully. Both girls looped their arms through the newcomers arms and asked for her name.

Luna.

They asked easy questions about her likes and dislikes until they reached the closest fast food joint and ducked inside. The rest of the group followed, ordering varieties so it could be picked at between the eight of them, nine including Luna.

The two girls pulled the third into the bathrooms and it was only ten minutes after food had been made and collected did they come back to the group, Luna’s face clean of any makeup, the redness around her eyes indicating the tears. Ashton patted the open spot next to him and she perched on the seat shyly until he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer.

“We’ve got you, don’t worry.” His reassurance relaxed her as Calum pushed some food towards her and she smiled gratefully.

They learned she’d just moved over from Britain, that her friend had decided to ditch her early and she’d gotten lost. They had been the first group of people who had helped her, other individuals seemingly walked past her and ignored the group of three that had been trailing her, yelling what they’d do to her.

There was a tremble in her voice, but she pulled in a sharp breath and continued to talk about where she’d moved to, and Ashton realised with a jolt that she was describing the park that was not too far from his place.

That was when he learned she was his new neighbour. 

The night continued, with Luna joining them, drinking and laughing, telling bad jokes that had Ashton snorting his beer and Calum letting out such a laugh that it triggered off the rest of the group.

When they made their way back to his, his being the closest, Ashton walked Luna to her door, making sure she was okay and she thanked him. They exchanged numbers before she headed in and he went to his own home, the rest of the group still up and chatting away.

The following morning, he woke to a text.

‘There’s a thank you breakfast waiting for you guys. You’re more than welcome to come on over.’ And glancing at the time, Ashton knew the others wouldn’t be rousing for another hour and there was no point in even trying to get them to wake up, not even for food.

So he changed into some basketball shorts, pulling on a vest top and tucking his arms into a hoodie as he made his way next door. The morning may have been sunny, but the air was bitter and cold.

He knocked on the door and it opened to find her in her own basketball shorts, a tank top with button down left open, her hair pulled away from her face as she pushed her glasses up her nose and beamed at him.

“Morning, food is still cooking but come on in.” She stepped back and he stepped inside, his lips pulled back into a soft grin as he stepped in.

“Morning. The others will probably be around in another hour or so. Nothing can wake them up at this time, not even the promise of food and coffee.” She laughed. He thought it sounded beautiful.

He joined her in the kitchen, watching as she moved around the kitchen, a soft playlist chiming through as he looked around the room. There were boxes still stacked up around the place.

“So how long have you been here? I noticed the moving vans a couple of days ago.” The question was soft and she smiled gently at him.

“I’ve been here ‘bout a week. Listened to my mum’s advice. Stock the kitchen and then work your way from there. Kitchen is the most important room in the house, because you have your stove for warmth and food to share.” She grinned and it felt infectious, his lips curving up into his own grin.

“A good philosophy to live by.”

“It makes her a great woman. I wanted to keep that going.” He chuckled as he moved from his spot at the bar and stood next to her.

“Okay great chef, what would you like my help with? If you’re cooking for all of us, it’s not fair that I just sit and do nothing.” 

She eyed him carefully before pushing the sleeves of the shirt up to her elbows, his eyes flickering to the array of tattoos that lay on her skin before she handed him a wooden spoon.

“Scramble the eggs, but don’t burn them.” There was a playful glint in her eyes and he laughed as he began to scramble the egg mixture in the pan.

“So what prompted your move over here?”

“I never wanted to stay in England. A relative passed away and left me a good amount of money, which only grew when her properties sold. And even with how... unbalanced the government is at the moment, I still have better job opportunities over here. I know I’ll miss the free healthcare though.” Ashton snorted at that, scrambling the eggs carefully.

“Did you find out where your friend went to last night?” At this, a scoff escaped her lips.

“They decided that they didn’t want to be around the British chick who was gaining a lot of attention. People were getting weird over my accent but they then decided that they were gonna hightail it out of there and just left me. I’m not talking to ‘em at the moment.” She flipped the bacon and Ashton pulled a face.

“Sucks for them, but better news for us. We made a new friend and we get breakfast.” She giggled as they cooked and began to dish up their own plates, making sure to keep the food warm.

“How much longer till they decide to move?” She questioned as she sat at the breakfast bar.

Ashton felt himself grinning as he checked his phone, realising that indeed an hour had easily gone by.

“I’ll send a text to the group chat. I’m gonna bet less than ten minutes.” 

“First person will be over in less than five.” She countered with a grin and he raised an eyebrow.

“Before they arrive, what are we betting on?” 

“If you win? Cooked breakfast for the next week.” He took a bite of the food and immediately agreed to those terms.

“If you win, I’m taking you out and showing you LA properly. Not just the nightlife.” She shrugged.

“If I get swept up by your lifestyle, there will be hell to pay.” She warned him playfully and he grinned as he set his phone on the table. She pulled out hers and clicked on the stopwatch.

“Ready?” He typed out the message.

‘Cute new neighbour has cooked us breakfast as a thank you. I’m going to eat it all if you don’t get over here.’ 

“Set...” His finger hovered over the send button.

Once he hit it and the blue line indicated it had sent he nodded.

“Go.” She hit the timer on the stopwatch.

Both of them were watching the timer creep closer to five and just as it hit four minutes and fifty seconds, there was a knock on her door and she laughed as she paused the stopwatch, making him groan whilst she went to answer the door, a wide grin on her lips.

Calum followed behind her, slightly confused at the joyful greeting he received before he clocked their phones out on the table and noticed the stopwatch. He snorted as he put two and two together whilst she set coffee in front of him.

“You made a bet? You know when it’s food, either it’s going to be me or Mike.” She beamed at him.

“And because you helped me win the bet, you’re currently my favourite. Ashton got default because he helped cook.” Calum snorted into his coffee before he went and made himself a plate.

“No furniture?”

“Not yet. Only had my bedroom stuff delivered the other day. Everything else is gonna arrive in the next couple of days.” She explained and he nodded in understanding as he took the free kitchen stool.

“Everyone else can stand and eat. Also it’s good food, thank you.” 

“No, thank you guys. I didn’t get to really say it last night but you guys probably saved my life. And if you try to deny my thanks I will take away the coffee.” Her tone was playful, a smile twitching at the corner of her lips, so Calum played along.

“Not the coffee! I can’t let you take it from me.” His dramatics drew out another giggle and he found himself smiling. “You’re welcome, then.” He followed on and she nodded her head. Another knock was heard and Ashton got up from his seat, placing his dish in the sink.

“I’ll go let them in, you actually eat please. It’s your breakfast too.” 

“Mitch and Sam headed home, something about pre-booked breakfast plans.” Luke had muttered to Ashton who simply shrugged in return before letting the rest of them in. He tried not to laugh at how tired Michael looked.

“Not one word, Ash.” He warned and Ashton mimed zipping up his lips and throwing away the key, making Crystal giggle. 

Once they had eaten their fill, they began to toss around questions, asking if she needed help with the furniture. 

“I wouldn’t mind a couple of spare pairs of hands. I’ve got the heavy stuff being delivered today I think.” And with that, the group of six firmly agreed that they’d help and make a day of getting to know the new neighbour. 

—

He knew she was in pain. The day she’d received a phone call that had destroyed her world, he was glad he’d been home instead of in the studio like planned.

There was a loud knock on the door and Ashton shifted from the couch, his confusion turning into worry when he saw it was Luna outside. He pulled the door wide open and she jumped.

“Luna, is everything alright?” He could see the tears welling up as she shook her head, pressing her lips tightly together. He didn’t hesitate to pull her inside, shutting the door behind him as he pulled her into the living room and sat her down on the couch.

“What happened sweetheart?” 

“My mum, she-she’s died.” And his heart wrenched as he watched the first few tears fall. He wasn’t overly a cuddly person, but he didn’t hesitate to pull her into his arms, her own wrapping around his chest.

“Let it out, sweetheart.” And she sobbed, gut wrenching sobs that broke his heart.

“I only talked to her two days ago, and she was okay.” She got out between the broken noises escaping her. He could only hold her tighter in response, because he knew that words would do no justice to the pain she was currently feeling.

He held her until her sobbing started slowing down and her grip got loser. 

“I’m sorry.” She whispered and he shook his head. 

“No, you’re hurting and you’ve not got many people. I know that Cal is coming around with Mali,  Roy and Aubrey later. You’re more than welcome to stay and just enjoy the company.” 

He could see her hesitation, but he could also see the exhaustion she was battling with. 

“You’re staying. Take a nap and relax. You can only do so much whilst out here in LA.” She nodded her head and sank back into the couch. Ashton stayed next to her, her feet pulled into his lap. When her breathing slowed down, he carefully moved from the couch and headed into the kitchen, wiping at the few tears that had escaped. 

He sent a text to Calum.

‘Lune’s around. She’s in bad shape, just found out her mom passed away.’ 

‘Shit. We can reschedule, it’s cool.’

‘Nah, I think being around people will help. Just bring some ice cream with y’all.’

When Calum arrived later on with the others in tow, his eyes took in her sleeping form and the fresh tear tracks. He gave Ashton a confused look.

“She’s been crying in her sleep mostly. She cried herself to sleep earlier. I know that this whole situation is her worst nightmare. She’s out in LA and this happened.” The others headed through. Calum felt his heart go out to her.

“You head through. I’ll stick with her for a bit.” Ashton nodded before heading to the other guests and Calum sat himself on the floor, his head resting against the couch by hers. The silence, even as she was asleep he could feel it was heavy. And he understood.

When she woke up, she gave him a tearful smile and he shifted slightly, touching his head against hers. He could see that she wasn’t quite awake, her hand lifting up and running through his hair. 

He hummed softly and waited for her brain to catch up, but he didn’t discourage her once her eyes went wide.

“You’re calm. If that helps, it’s fine. We’re Aquarians but almost the opposite in attitudes. However, we both have the touchy feely side down to a tee.” He teased her and she let out a soft giggle, finally pulling her fingers away from his hair. He smiled at her. 

“Need another cuddle?” She hesitated before nodding her head, cheeks turning pink at the admission. Calum tsked her before pulling himself onto the couch, allowing her to cuddle into his side, both of his arms wrapping around her tightly and squeezing her gently.

“Never be ashamed to admit you need a hug. You’re going through every kids nightmare right now and if you need a cuddle, you need a cuddle.” She sank further into his embrace and they stayed like that for another thirty minutes. 

He could see she desperately needed it.

“Feeling better?” He asked quietly and she silently nodded her head against his chest. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head before the pair began to shift off the couch. 

“Thank you.” Her voice was hoarse and he shook his head, slinging an arm across her shoulders as they finally made their way out from the living room and headed out to the back porch.

“No thanks necessary. You’re my friend and you’re in pain. I know you’d do the same for us.” He whispered before they greeted the others. Mali held her hand out towards Luna and she took a hold of it, allowing herself to be comforted and falling into Mali’s side. Calum wedged himself on her other side and took mock offence at her choosing Mali over him.

This prompted the small giggles and Ashton felt his chest loosen slightly at the sound. 

Soon the night continued and the chatter was mostly distraction for Luna but it worked and she knew that she had a smile on her lips by the end of the night.

He knew that waiting at the airport was risky, but he couldn’t leave her to arrive alone. He knew that she was desperately hurting and seeing a familiar face would at least ease something. 

He knew that there would be paps before long if he wasn’t careful, but when he spotted her walking through arrivals, he lifted his arm, catching her attention and his chest ached as he watched her bottom lip tremble as she made her way over.

He held his arms out and she practically slammed into him, his hoodie muffling the small sob that escaped her lips. And he knew that it didn’t go as she planned.

It took a few minutes before she finally pulled away, her lips pressed together. 

“Let’s get you home first before the inevitable breakdown.” And despite her tears, she gave him a forced smile, wiping her tears away.

Once they were back at hers, stuff unpacked and thrown into the washing machine, she took his hand and pulled him up to her room and despite the implications, he knew it was her preferred way to cuddle. 

He kicked off his shoes and settled himself on her bed as she got changed. And once she was in sleep shorts and one of his old shirts that she’d managed to kidnap during a drinks accident, she crawled into bed and his arms encased her and it was like a switch.

He’d never heard such gut wrenching sobs, but he knew that she needed to get it off her chest. So he simply soothed her, letting her get it all out and just reminding her that he was there and she wasn’t alone.

Eventually her sobs slowed down and he held her tightly. 

“Better?” 

“No. But I don’t feel so broken.” She finally whispered and he pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head.

“I’m good superglue. Ask Cal.” He teased and she let out a noise that seemed more like a strangled laugh than anything. 

“It was just, arguments.” She finally whispered. 

Ashton sighed, placing a kiss to the top of her head as he held her tighter. She was always a family girl, in the years he’d known her now. He understood it when she missed her family so much that it left an ache in your chest. 

“I take it they didn’t like the fact that just because your mom died, it didn’t mean you were going to come back.” She shook her head and a broken noise escaped from her lips. 

“I can never do anything right in their eyes.” She choked out between her sobs and Ashton could feel his anger towards these people that would hurt such a wonderful woman.

She’d put up with so much over the last few years. The rude comments, the over intrusive fans once she was introduced to their friendship group. He knew they took their toll, especially when the paps would get creative about her looks and insult her consistently. But to get into arguments with her family and see her this upset, it made his blood boil and his heart break.

There was a knock on the door and she hid her face in Ashton’s chest, a muffled groan escaping her lips.

“It’s reinforcements. Also known as Calum has come over so you can get all cuddly whilst I make you some food.” His tone was light, teasing as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. 

She finally let go of him, her body curled in on herself as he could see her fight to keep her eyes open. 

“I’ll tell Cal that it’s nap time.” She snorted at that, a few more tears escaping as Ashton left the room and headed downstairs. 

Opening the door, he was greeted with Calum, his eyes concerned and Ashton gave him a small shake of his head as he stepped back to let his best friend through. 

“She’s upstairs and practically dead on her feet. They really fucked up.” He knew that his voice wouldn’t carry, but he couldn’t bear to let it go any louder in fear of his own emotions slipping for her. 

Calum swallowed thickly before nodding. He kicked off his shoes and ditched his jacket, heading upstairs and he found her, tears falling onto the bed sheets. 

“Got room for me, princess?”

“Always.” Came the muttered response, her body shifting as he slid into the bed and pulled her closer. 

-

Calum had left thirty minutes ago, knowing that his two best friends weren’t going to be going anywhere. 

Ashton had returned and it’d been a cosy afternoon spent with the TV on in the background, dozing off every now and then. A few times there were soft whimpers from Luna, but they subsided quickly enough.

But Ashton hadn’t hesitated pulling her against him when he decided to settle for a nap, her body relaxing into his as Calum turned the TV volume down. Once they had both fallen asleep, he slipped out from the house quietly. 

When Ashton had woken up, Luna had rolled over in her sleep, her face pressed into his chest as she slumbered, his arms pulling her close against him. 

Even with her red eyes and puffy face, she still looked beautiful to him.

“Lunes?” His voice was soft as he tried to coax her into waking up. But she either couldn’t hear him or was ignoring him as he gently tried to wake her up.

“Luna, we need to eat.” This gained him some movement, her face pressing into his chest as she let out a sigh.

“No.” The word was muffled as her hands clasped his shirt tighter in her fists, and Ashton didn’t even attempt to pry them off. 

“Sweet Luna, moon of my life, will you please come and eat with me?” His plea was met with silence before she finally pulled her face away, tired eyes meeting his.

“Just, let me not exist. Just for a little bit. ‘Lemme pretend that it’s good till I have to deal with that shit show.” She whispered and he couldn’t deny her at all.

“I’m here for you, during the eye of the storm and then after. I’ve got you Lunes.” He whispered and she sighed, nestling herself back into his embrace.

“Dunno why I keep letting you slip by when you’re this good to me. I should’ve wifed you up a while ago.” Her words were tired and heavy, but he chuckled regardless.

“Wifed me up huh?” His heart was rapidly beating in his chest and he knew she could hear it. How could she not with her face and ear pressed to his chest?

“Loved on you every day. Y’know. All that jazz.” His chest felt like it was burning now, and he desperately tried to keep his breathing even. But then she tilted her head towards him, her eyes holding so much emotion and he knew he was a goner. 

“Kiss me?” 

And he did, his lips trailing soft kisses along her jaw to the corner of her lips first. And then his lips met hers and he felt her practically melting into the kiss.

It was a few moments of them kissing, his lips practically devouring hers and she reciprocated in kind. But the last thing he wanted was for her to make a decision in the state that she was, so he pulled his lips away, his breathing heavy as they processed what just happened.

“When the storm passes, can we-can we still do that?” Her voice was timid and Ashton felt a grin bloom across his lips.

“Absolutely.” 

-

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[corpse--diem]

Ghosts That We Knew | Blanche & Erin

TIMING: A few hours after this PARTIES: @corpse--diem & @harlowhaunted SUMMARY: When Blanche wakes up in the hospital, she has something to tell Erin. CONTENT: House Fire tw (mentions)

Blanche dreamed of darkness until she awoke to a steady beeping and a too-bright light in her eyes. She let out a quiet moan. Her limbs were filled with cement, and she couldn’t really move as she tried to orient herself to her surroundings. Blanche was in the hospital. Oh, the hospital. Fan-fucking-tastic. Properly admitted too, or so it looked from the hospital bracelet around her wrist and the IV coming out of her arm. It took her a second to remember the fire, and it was only then that Blanche forced herself to sit up in bed, chasing away the tiredness that hung around her. Her back hurt. Her everything ached. Her eyes shot around the room, and she saw Erin in the bed next to her. “Erin?” Blanche croaked, voice hoarse and thick. She coughed once, before the questions spilled out of her before she could stop them.  “Erin? Where’s Rio? What happened? Are you okay? What’s - I mean - What’s going on?”

Erin didn’t want to be here. She could leave against medical advice if she really wanted to - wasn’t like she had handcuffs securing her to the bed, which was a surprise in itself. The police had come through to talk to her about the fire and Roland’s death. As far as she knew, she wasn’t a suspect they were prodding too hard. Not yet, anyway. Maybe it was just better judgment keeping the more pressing questions from the woman who’d gone through a trauma like that until later. Turning her head slightly, she peeked behind the half-drawn curtain that separated their beds for the fifteenth time that hour. The guilt needling her bones each time. Still quiet, still sleeping. She couldn’t leave. Wouldn’t. Erin could only hope it was restful. Rest. Roland jumped out in her mind’s eye. She kept seeing him falling over and over into the flames, stuck on a loop. Closing her eyes, she ground her teeth down hard. No. Not now. She wasn’t ready to deal with it, and knew if she allowed those thoughts to permeate, she wouldn’t be able to keep it together. She couldn’t lose control. Not now and not ten feet from Blanche’s bed. What right did she have to mourn him, anyway?

She opened her eyes, forcing her attention to whatever As-Seen-On-TV kitchen appliance was being overhyped on the screen. When she heard Blanche stir, she instinctively shot up, wincing as her bandaged arm hit the side of the bed. “Fuck,” she grumbled. Medication could numb that pain at least. Mostly. She reached over as far as she could, holding a hand up. “Hey, hey, you’re okay. Rio’s fine. You’re fine.” Her chest tightened at her other questions. “There was an accident at the funeral home. Do you--do you remember anything that happened?”

Blanche coughed some more, looking at Erin as she tried to calm her. “I -” She still had the lingering headache that told her she shouldn’t have pushed herself too hard. Her hand rose to her forehead, squinting at Erin. “I remember what happened. Rio and I … I picked us up food while we were both on our breaks. The smoke alarms didn’t go off.” And oh god, the fire had been so horrible. Blanche could almost feel the thick smock scratching the back of her throat as she slumped against the wall, waiting to die with Rio. Things went hazy after that. Rio picked her up and passed her through the door to Erin and the police officer… Her heart sunk in her chest. The police officer. What had his name been? Roland. Blanche saw his burned form once they were finally outside, lingering over Erin while her wounds were getting treated. His words burned her ears. He said her own name as Blanche faded back into unconsciousness, unable to do anything else. “That…. Man.” Blanche didn’t see him fall through the floor, but she had heard it. She had seen the aftermath. The flames leaping out of the hole. She looked at Erin, her mouth going dry. “The one who helped us. He was there and…” She rubbed her aching forehead, shifting in the bed to pull her knees up to her chest. She sucked in a deep breath. “How did it start? The fire?”

The severity of her injuries reflected how much longer her and Rio had been exposed to the smoke and lack of oxygen and Erin physically cringed at the sound of Blanche’s painfully dry coughs. Didn’t have the courage to keep eye contact. Rio was recovering surprisingly well from when she last checked and she had to wonder if that had anything to do with the way he literally punched through that door. Blanche had a rougher journey ahead of her. “Roland. He’s--was the police sergeant,” she said quietly, easing her legs over the side of the bed to better face her. Shoved that swelling in her chest away as hard as she could. Blanche deserved to know the truth, she’d almost died for it, but the words kept sticking in her throat. “This is my fault,” she finally answered with a stoicism that surprised even herself, even if she could only meet her eyes for a few seconds at a time. “My boss. He did this. The one I told you about?” She recalled their conversation very clearly, remembered promising her she had it under control. So much for that. “Let’s just say I gave him my resignation and he didn’t take it well. I think I started something I can’t stop.” That was all Blanche really needed to know. She lifted her chin to face her properly, finally, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Blanche. You shouldn’t have been in any part of this. This is my fight and that sick fuck took it too far--” she paused, chewed at her cheek when her voice rose and nodded firmly at her. “I’m going to make this right.”

Roland. She remembered being an ass to him online. Her heart tightened, and she cleared her throat again as she shook her head. Blanche looked at Erin, pressing her lips together as she digested Erin’s explanation. The situation with her boss - the one that Erin was supposed to have under control. Only for a moment did Blanche feel a spark of anger. But that wasn’t fair, and she knew it wasn’t fair. “This isn’t your fault,” Blanche found herself saying, shaking her head. “You didn’t… You didn’t set the fire. You didn’t lock us in. The only thing any of us can control is ourselves.”  Rio and her were shut in there on purpose. The lock had been tampered with and they were barricaded in, left to die of smoke inhalation and fire. A cruel death, likely meant to get back at Erin. Blanche remembered glumly thinking about how much it would hurt before she lost consciousness the first time. She shifted on her bed again, trying to find a more comfortable position that had her back aching less. Blanche washed a hand down her face, looking away from Erin to stare at the stark white sheets and blanket they put over her. “... I need to talk to you,” Blanche finally said, glancing back at her. The heart monitor picked up the anxiety she felt, and Blanche shot a glare at it. “About… Roland. I saw something. Before they… Before they loaded us into the ambulances.”

Erin didn’t say anything when Blanche insisted it wasn’t her fault. It was. She knew it was and arguing about it with Blanche in this sad, dark hospital room wouldn’t change that. Sure, she hadn’t touched the fire to the house but there wasn’t any question about who had ignited the flame. She shook her head, letting out a long, slow sigh. “Either way, after we get out of here, I need you to keep your distance. No joke. From me, from the funeral h--” She froze, shoulders tensing, face flushing at her glaringly obvious error. The structure stood still, stubbornly intruding on the skyline. From what the police had told her, with enough money and perseverance, it was salvageable. Probably. Not great news but it was better than what she expected. “Stay away from anything to do with this or me,” she said, the edge in her tone sharp and unforgiving. This wasn’t a suggestion and she needed to make sure Blanche realized that. Her eyes narrowed at the mention of Roland, uncertain but far softer than they had been seconds ago. “What do you mean? What about Roland?” He was dead, there was no question there. The doctors had delivered the news personally after she had been taken care of and bandaged up. “What did you see, Blanche?”

The words were cold, but familiar. She hated that they had come from Erin though. Blanche’s eyes closed as she once again adjusted, unable to find a comfortable position longer than thirty seconds. Her legs had this irresistible urge to move; despite feeling like her limbs were weighted down in cement, she wanted to leap out of bed and start screaming. The anger that was there before was back in just a brief instant, her fists curling around the cloth until the skin stretched across her knuckles turned white. Stay away from me. Stay away from danger. “Yeah. Okay,” Blanche said, blankly. “You have it under control, right?” It was a snide comment, but it wasn’t like Blanche had asked for any of this to happen - like she asked to be put in a burning building from some asshole who had a vendetta against an organ dealer. Blanche had grown up used to disappointment, but hearing that from Erin made her so angry that it took her a second to remember the responsibility she had.

That responsibility hit her like she’d been punched in the stomach. The damn ghost situation. Blanche felt the tears prick her eyes, and she felt so ridiculous for feeling so upset over something so stupid when someone had died for her and the rest of them. They couldn’t do a single thing for Roland now. Blanche would have to go and make sure his soul was gone, but other than helping him find peace, there was nothing anyone could do for him now. Blanche pressed her lips together in a thin line, not looking at Erin as she answered her, instead looking at the silent TV trying to sell her some fancy juicer that would break after using it two times. “His ghost,” Blanche said, finally. “I saw his ghost. He … said things to you.” Blanche finally looked at her, her tone softening slightly at she remembered the man’s words. “Do you want me to tell you what he said? Or do you want me to wait?”

Erin wasn’t expecting her demand to go over well but the anger she saw Blanche tensely hold back caught her off guard. Of all people, Blanche deserved to be angry, and especially at her. Stung a little but if that’s what it took to keep the younger woman at a safe distance, she could take it. What hurt more was the question that followed. It hurt because the implication wasn’t wrong. Hurt because it came from Blanche. Guess she deserved that. She clenched her jaw, settling her gaze on the dark window at the far end of the small room, shrugging. “I’m working on it,” she answered simply.

Her attention turned back to Blanche, bristling at the word ‘ghost’, piling onto the confusion that followed immediately after. What would he have to say to Erin? She almost didn’t want to know. He’d made it pretty clear he didn’t want anything to do with her after the arrest and she shifted uncomfortably as her imagination ran wild. He also had no reason to forgive her. Making her feel guilty about his death from the other side didn’t seem like his style. People could surprise you, though. She’d surprised him after all. After a long silence, she nodded her head. “What did he say?” She asked, her voice small but sure. Whatever it was, she could take that too.

Maybe Blanche wasn’t being fair, but right then and there, Blanche didn’t want to be fair. Stay away from anything to do with me. Blanche heard that before, and it meant trouble and pain and, now, it meant death. She thought of the police officer again, how he was so ready to literally carry her out of there, and how his last action was to throw her to safety as the floor gave way beneath them. It wasn’t fair, Blanche realized, to let her anger mask over her duty to the dead. “He said he was sorry,” Blanche said stiffly, her cheek resting on her knee as she stared at a patch of wall. “That he doesn’t understand how you got mixed up in something like this, but…” Blanche was unsure how to word it, and she didn’t want to get it wrong. Honestly, she wasn’t even sure if the memory she had of Roland’s voice was right. But didn’t Blanche owe it to Erin to tell her what she thought she heard? “But he wants you to find your way out of whatever this is.” Her voice hardened again, despite herself. The anger she felt was real, and she was having trouble swallowing it back as she became more and more aware of just how much everything hurt. The pain gnawed at her like an aggravating itch she couldn’t get rid of, even though she was sure they had given her something for the pain. Her fists clenched around the blankets, and for a second she thought the whole room was going to consume her. Breathe, Blanche. Her eyes closed, and slowly, she forced herself to relax out of the stiff position she wound herself into.

“I don’t know if he passed on,” Blanche finally looked back at Erin. “I… couldn’t stay awake any longer.” She was uncomfortably guilty about that. “I’ll have to go back and check later. Once…” Blanche looked around, squinting out into the dark. “Did they say how long we’re stuck here? I want to go home.”

Erin had naively thought she was ready for whatever this fight would potentially give or take away. The nights she couldn’t sleep, which were most nights, were spent picturing the 1001 ways this could go wrong. As if armoring herself with any foreseen pain could make the actual thing more bearable. Didn’t work like that though. Emotions couldn’t be planned out ahead of time. She could suppress them, switch autopilot on when it was necessary to get the job done. She’d gotten good at that. The way Blanche was looking at her--or more aptly, not looking at her--seared a white hot guilt through her chest that rivaled the literal burn on her arm. A look she had thought she had prepared herself for--the anger, disappointment. Roland’s final words only added to the noise in her head. “He’s sorry?” She blurted out while the rest of his final words processed. “Why would-- For wh--” Her jaw slacked as her mind tried to catch up, to try and understand his reasonings. It never quite got there. The man had nothing to be sorry about. No good reason to hope for the best for her. She had gotten him killed and still, he was more kind to her than she ever deserved. Angry tears clawed at her throat, burned behind her eyes until her vision blurred. Oh god, she couldn’t break down right now. Not here. Not in front of Blanche. Wasn’t fair to put that on her on top of everything she’d already endured. “Thank you. For telling me,” she nodded earnestly when she finally pulled herself together.

“I don’t know. They couldn’t tell me how you were doing,” she finally managed after Blanche asked the question. Something about HIPPA or whatever. She pulled her covers up a little higher, afraid if she moved too abrasively or made any sudden movements, the whole room would crumble in on itself. Home sounded good. She wanted to go home. Wanted to disappear into Nic’s arms for a little while. She ran a hand over her cheek, took a deep, sharp breath. “Do you want me to call anyone for you? Or get the nurse to?”

“That’s all he said. I’m sorry.” Granny said a medium’s gift was for the living just as much as the dead, but she couldn’t give the living answers that were not there. What was Roland sorry for? The fire? The way things went between them when he was alive? Blanche didn’t know, and she couldn’t give Erin the answer she wanted. Her job was to speak for the dead, not to put words in their mouth and lie, even if making something up seemed better now. Remembering Granny’s words kept Blanche stone faced as she stared at the wall, not responding to Erin’s gratitude. She didn’t want her thanks, she didn’t want any of this.

Her icy facade only broke when Erin asked if there was anyone she could call for her. A name caught in her throat before everything hit her at once. Everything was fucked. Erin’s home, Roland’s life, Rio, how quickly she gave way to the smoke and how tired she was. Why did this keep happening? If things were just normal she would be sitting here, her mother and father and brother at her side already. If things were normal, Blanche wouldn’t be here at all. She wouldn’t even be in the state. She’d be in Massachusetts, getting ready for her senior year of school if she could have just held on for a little bit longer. It was thoughts she had before, and Blanche knew that dwelling on them would do nothing for her now.

Tears had come out of her eyes before she could stop them, and Blanche crumbled in her bed, right in front of Erin, suddenly too viciously upset to be embarrassed. Her arm with the IV jerked. Blanche knew there was only one person in the entire world that could give her any comfort. “I want Granny,” Blanche said angrily, knowing just how impossible it was. “I want to go home.”

If Erin had known the question would set Blanche off into a torrent of tears, she would have kept her mouth shut. Concern spiked through whatever grief or guilt clouded her thoughts. Granny? The one Blanche had been mourning, who had crossed over not long ago? “Oh, Blanche…” she murmured softly. Words failed her the rest of the way and they died in the air.

Comfort usually came much easier than this but her own pain and exhaustion refused to let better words come. Instead, she shifted tenderly off the bed, wheeling the IV attached to her arm to Blanche’s bedside. “Blanche, I’m s--” she shook her head, sitting at the edge but close enough to rest her hand on the younger woman’s arm. Apologizing again felt hollow. She tried to meet her watery eyes, her sobs piercing her skin like knives. “Please. What can I do? Who can I call? Let me just--please let me help you,” she pleaded. Even if she could just sit there while she cried, to help her feel a little less alone right now, she’d take it. If she wanted to scream at her for putting her in this position, she’d take that too. Anything at all would be better than helplessly watching her fall apart.

She wanted so badly to rip the IV out of her arm and shove Erin away from her. What was she doing? What were either of them doing?! This was so stupid. This was all so stupid! Granny was gone, someone was dead, and they were almost burned alive. Blanche cringed away from Erin’s touch, wanting to rip her arm away from her. What was the point? What was the point of any of this? Delivering messages while she sat in a shitty hospital bed, in pain, exhausted, and angrier than she had been in a long, long time. Hadn’t she accepted this when Granny moved on? Her mediumship was her duty and her responsibility, no matter the circumstances because so few could give a voice to the dead. Who else would have heard Roland? And Roland should be heard, his words and his wishes should be heard. But, Jesus Christ, why did it have to be her? Why did she have to sit here in this shitty hospital room and look Erin in the eyes after she just told Blanche to stay away from her? Why did she have to provide her that comfort? Granny would remind her to be kind and have compassion, but at that moment, Blanche had no kindness or compassion for Erin.

She shook her head, wiping her tears away in fury with the back of her trembling hand. “I want to go back to sleep.” Blanche snarled, finally wrenching her arm out of Erin’s grip. “I want to go home. I want Granny. I want Adrien. Nell. Rio. I just want - I want it all to stop! Can you make it stop Erin?” Blanche looked at Erin severely, unable to truly focus as the hot tears blurred her vision. Erin couldn’t make it stop, and that wasn’t her fault. She was grieving the loss of her home and that policeman she saw - the one who whispered to her before she died. This wasn’t fair to her either, but Blanche was done being fair. Her energy was spent, and she had nothing left to give. Maybe she would regret it later, but now? Blanche just shook her head, pulling the thin white blanket up and over her head as she curled back down into the thin mattress and shut her eyes tight. She could deal with Erin later. She could text someone later. She could deal with anything later as long as she didn’t have to deal with the weight of the world now.

There was nothing Erin wanted more in the world than to make it stop. Make this all stop. The death, the destruction, the fresh pain rippling through town at the hands of this monster. Monster. It wasn’t a word she used lightly anymore but there was no better descriptor for Roy Chambers. Roy and the easy smile he wore while he flippantly decided who lived and who died. Who had to bear the burden of the ash he left in his wake. Erin could take it. She would, whether she liked it or not. She’d signed up for this. Rio hadn’t. Blanche hadn’t. Roland sure as fuck hadn’t. Nothing Erin said or did right now was going to change or dull the pain that Blanche was feeling right now either. She wouldn’t take back her demand, either. This was exactly why she needed Blanche to stay away. Space was the only thing that would keep her safe. If that meant she’d hate Erin for the rest of her days, Erin could only be thankful she had those days to hate her with.

Still, the rejection that came when the blanket was pulled over Blanche’s head gutted her like a knife. She sat quietly at her bedside, hoping maybe she’d rip the blanket off and even scream at her if that was what Blanche needed. When it became clear not even that was going to happen, Erin padded slowly across the cold floor back to her side of the room. Grabbed the curtain that separated the both of them, sparing one last look to the rumpled bed. I’m sorry. I’m here if you need me. I’ll always be here if you really need me. She didn’t say any of those things and knew it was probably better that way. The less she confused the young woman about her previous demand to stay away, the better. She’d done enough damage as it was for one night. With a heavy heart and tired eyes, Erin drew the curtain shut.

#chatzy #wickedswriting #ghosts that we knew #house fire tw #mentions #chatzy: blanche #:/ #meri hurt me with this

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

Lame

Tony hurts his back in the lamest possible way. Tony is in denial, Peter is amused and Bruce just wants to do his job... oh and Rhodey? He thinks it's hilarious.

Tags: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Hurt Tony Stark, Worried Peter Parker, Humor, Medical Doctor Bruce Banner... ...

Warnings: None   Rated: G

Word Count: 3441

Link to AO3 Lame-happyaspie

Peter had been in the lab for less than an hour when he hears a sneeze followed by a distinct 'Ow' coming from his mentor's mouth, across the room.  "Are you okay, Mr. Stark?" he asked with concern.  He couldn't remember ever hearing the man make any sort of noise of pain or discomfort before.  Not around him anyway.  It was worrisome at best.

Tony looked across the room at his mentee, rolled his eyes, and plastered a fake smile on his face.  "Yeah.  Of course. Why wouldn't I be?  I just sneezed. I'm fine." he rapidly defended as he tried to pull himself up a little taller in his chair.

Bringing his brows together in doubt, Peter stood up so that he could get a better look at his mentor.  "You said 'ow', Mr. Stark" he pointed out before bringing his bottom lip between his teeth in a nervous manner.

"I'm fine, kid," Tony replied and that time it sounded almost believe able.  The initial discomfort had faded and the last thing he wanted to do was to scare his favorite spider-child.  He was fine.  Just... tweaked his back a little.  The kid didn't need to know that tough and he was glad to see that the boy was slowly sitting back down with his school books.  That meant he had a moment to try to reach behind himself and rub out the lingering ache.

As Peter worked his way through his maths exercises and finished up the last of his American Civics essay he heard his mentor occasionally grunting or straining in obvious pain.  He tried to let it go because it was obvious that his mentor was trying to be quiet about it.  However, Peter had super-hearing and could hear every small noise that Tony made as he worked.  He could no longer stay quiet when the man hissed as he leaned down to pick up a dropped tool and suddenly he couldn't keep quiet anymore.  "Are you sure your okay?" he pressed hoping that Tony just tell him what was wrong because he was starting to grow a little anxious about it.

"Don't you have some homework to do or something?" Tony mildly bit back with a groan.  Not that he didn't appreciate the concern so much as he wanted to ignore the entire episode into nonexistence.  As long as he pretended he was fine.  He would be fine.  He'd faked 'just peachy' under worst conditions.

Peter smiled, not taking even a little bit of offense from his mentor's clipped response. "Nope.  I'm done," he said with a shrug of his shoulder while dramatically slamming his history book shut.

Sighing deeply, Tony waved a hand towards the holo-table that Peter often worked at when he came over and tried to smirk.  "Well.  Go do something else then," he said, making a point of staying as still as possible as he did so.  He wasn't going to be able to keep a straight face otherwise.  Every small movement caused a jolt of pain to radiate through his lower back and down into his left hip.

The concern didn't leave Peter as he acquiesced and sat down to work on an AI code he'd been messing with for a while. It wasn't much but every time he added some, Tony would go over it with him and help him add things here and there.  It was mostly just an excuse to practice programming language syntax. Eventually, he grew tired of that task and moved on to another, then as the hour grew late his stomach started to growl and he sighed.  "It's almost eight?  Can we go upstairs and eat.  I'm starving," he said as he saved his work and wandered over towards where Tony was still sitting in the same spot he'd been in all afternoon.

"Sure, kiddo," Tony said with a half-hearted smile.  He was sort of dreading standing up.  Especially with the kid standing right there but he didn't have much of a choice.  "Ow, ow, ow... shoot.  Ow." he spat out through gritted teeth as he slowly brought himself to his feet.  The pain was so intense that he couldn't seem to keep his mouth shut no matter how much he wished he could.  He could practically taste the uneasiness radiating off of his kid and it was making him feel that much worse.  Because of that, he tried to bite his lip in order to stop the painful rambling but that wasn't enough to prevent the one last hiss that came through his teeth as he finally straightened himself out.

Peter swallowed hard and shuffled his feet.  "Mr. Stark?" he finally asked when the man didn't make any further movements or complaints.

"It's nothing!" Tony grunted before giving up and falling back into his chair.  Walking seemed like a lot of effort at the moment. He'd have to take something and try again in a few minutes.  No big deal.  He's had worse.  This too shall pass and all that jazz.

"It doesn't look like nothing.  Maybe I should call Dr. Banner or something," Peter said with trepidation.

"No! Absolutely not," Tony firmly stated.  There was no way he was going to the doctor for this.  All he needed was some over the counter medication and a few minutes for it to kick it. Then he sighed.  "Just... just get me some aspirin," he dejectedly added.  Despite the fact that he didn't want the kid to see him as he was, he was actually thankful he was there to go get it for him.  It was a small grace, really.

More than happy to hear that his mentor was willing to ask for a pain reliever, Peter let out a deep breath.  "Ah.  So you admit you're not fine then, huh Mr. Stark?" he teased with a relieved grin.  

Tony tried to smile back but as he did so he shifted a little in his seat causing the smile to turn into a grimace.  "Just go get the Aspirin, kid," he whined without censor but at that point, he was pretty sure he'd somehow managed to break his spine doing literally nothing.  This was how Tony Stark died, slumped pathetically over his desk waiting for a fifteen-year-old to bring him pain medicine from the bathroom than was no more than ten steps from where he sat.

A few short minutes later, Peter obediently handed Tony the tablets along with a bottle of water and the two of them sat there for a while waiting for it to kick in.  During that time, they ordered a large dinner and discussed what show they were going to binge while they ate.  Then, after twenty minutes or so, the food was delivered to the penthouse and Tony sighed. "Okay.  One more time," he grunted as he strained to get up and then grunted again as he sat back down on the penthouse couch.

Being the considerate person that he was, Peter happily fixed his mentor a plate and delivered to him where he sat in the living room.  Tony grumbled his thanks and Peter turned on the newest episode of some sci-fi series they'd been watching together for the last few weeks.

After the second episode had ended and the food wrappers had been cleared, Tony suggested that they go back to the lab.  However, as he moved to stand back up, it seemed that this stationary position had caused his spine to lock up and he ended up slowly lowering himself back down before he even made it halfway up.  He growled a little in frustration as he did so.  

Having watched his mentor all but collapse back onto the cushions, Peter frowned.   "Can we please call Dr. Banner now?" he pleaded because clearly, the one dose of aspirin wasn't doing anything for whatever it was.

Tony nodded his head, closed his eyes, and forced himself to stand back up. It hurt but it wasn't nearly as painful once he was actually on his feet.  He couldn't deny that the upward movement hadn't been nearly excruciating.  Maybe he did need a little bit more than an aspirin.  Not that he was going to say that though.   "Fine but only because it'll make you feel better," he said with a sly smile because he knew it actually would make the kid feel better.  That made for a good excuse should it end up being something really mundane like a muscle cramp or something.  

Once in the med bay, Tony sat at the edge of the white paper-lined table while Peter took up a rolling swivel chair in the corner.  Bruce was quick to enter and started to ask a few questions while taking some vitals and once that was done he cut right to the chase.  "So, what happened Tony?" he asked without judgment.  It was a miracle the man had called him at all.  He'd been know to walk around with fractured bones for days without getting checked out.

"I hurt my back." Tony blandly replied as he pulled his t-shirt over his head to give the other man access to his injury.  

Bruce rubbed his hands together to warm them up a little, asking for more details as he did so.  "Did you fall?  Crash?  Something along those lines?" he asked.  When Tony shrugged his shoulders he proceeded to probe and palpate gently down Tony's spine.  As he made his way towards his lower back he stopped when Tony flinched violently at the touch. "Sorry,"  he said with sympathy and then sighed in contemplation.  "No numbness, tingling, pain in your legs?" Tony shook his head in the negative.  "...and you're sure nothing happened?"

"Nope.  It just... hurts," Tony replied matter-of-factly but he meant it.  Nothing that should have caused a back injury had happened.  They hadn't been on a mission in a month, he'd been taking it easy in the gym in favor of lab time and he'd not slipped or fallen since, well, since he'd stopped drinking over a year ago.

Bruce shook his head and furrowed his brow.  "Something had to have happened.  You don't sprain your lumbar without some kind of trauma," he dubiously pointed out because all signs were pointing solidly towards a sprain.

When Tony shook his head again, Peter pipped up from across the room. "He sneezed," he helpfully suggested because the man had seemed perfectly fine up until that moment and he didn't want his mentor to leave out any important details.  However, by the way, Tony was glaring at him he wondered if maybe he should have kept his mouth shut.  

"You sneezed?", Bruce asked with less amusement than he was feeling but he was glad to have been giving something to go on.  It wasn't completely uncommon for a particularly jarring sneeze to put enough pressure on the back to cause muscle strain but it was humorous.  Mostly because it was Tony that it had happened too.  "Okay, well was it painful prior to that?" he asked in order to be thorough.  

Resigning himself to his fate, Tony sighed. "Nothing happened but I suppose it's been bothering me for about two weeks.  It was fine until today.  Nothing a few aspirins and some topical analgesics couldn't manage," he admitted and watched as his friend glanced down at the tablet in his hands to make some notes.  Probably trying to hide the smile that he was failing to conceal.

"...and then you sneezed..." Bruce managed to ask while still sounding somewhat professional.  

"Yes," Tony replied without humor, and Bruce could no longer hold back his laughter.  Peter was quick to join him, making Tony feel slightly more annoyed than he probably should have been.  "Oh shut up and give me some medicine or something-" he said with an indignant roll of his eyes before pointing towards his giggling mentee, "-and you stop laughing.  I'm injured."

"I'm sorry Mr. Stark-"  Peter cried out, trying his hardest to pause the bubbling laughter, "-but that has to be the lamest injury ever.  The great Tony Stark...  Iron Man sprained his back... sneezing."

Choosing to ignore his overly amused kid, Tony turned his attention back to Bruce who was digging through a nearby cabinet.  "So what's the plan?" he wearily inquired.

Bruce hummed in acknowledgment, not answering until he had two vials and two syringes in hand.  "Two injections.  A steroid and an anti-inflammatory then you'll continue on orals for a few days," he explained, pausing to calculate and draw up the doses.  "You need to work some more stretching into your work out routine and make sure you're not sitting in a chair for longer than thirty to forty minutes without a break."

"You do know who you're talking to, right?" Tony incredulously asked.  Not sit in a chair for longer than thirty minutes? What was he supposed to do?  Stand up to work?  Okay, that was fair, he probably could but come on!  He was in that lab twenty out of twenty-four hours a day, he wasn't going to stand up every thirty minutes... that was ridiculous.  

"I do. Your name is on the chart and everything," Bruce returned with a cocky smile and then look over to where the teenager in the room had finally managed to get himself together.  "Peter, you and FRIDAY are in charge of making sure he's stretching, taking his meds, and getting off his butt while he's in the lab, okay?"

"Yes, sir" Peter replied with a genuine smile and a mock salute.  

Tony once again rolled his eyes.  He didn't need a baby-sitter.  Even if he did, it wasn't like a teenaged boy or an AI could force him into doing anything.  Though honestly, it hurt like hell and he was likely to comply without their insistence. Again he wasn't going to say that.  Instead, he scoffed.  "Like they-" he began, only to be ignored.

"-Alright.  I have your injections.  I need you to lower your pants and lean over the table so that I can get to your buttocks," Bruce said with factitious vigor.  

"I'm sorry, you want me to what now?" Tony quipped, snapping his head towards Bruce with wide eyes while Peter cackled in the background.

"I need to inject these into your buttocks.  This isn't a thrill for me either.  Trust me," Bruce blandly replied.  "Just pull your pants down a little so we can get this over with."

Tony looked over at Peter who left the room on his own accord, though he did snigger a little at the curses that were making their way through the solid wooden door.  Then not even ten minutes later, his mentor was walking towards him, still rubbing his backside.  By some miracle, he managed to not start laughing again before Bruce followed him out and started issuing some instructions.

"Alright, here are your prescriptions," Bruce said and then proceeded to read the labels.  When Tony looked less than impressed he sighed and once again turned towards Peter.  "I need you to please make sure he-" he started.

"-I can handle my own medication, thanks." Tony snipped, grabbing the bottle of tablets and pack of steroids from the other man's hands as he did so.

Not at all surprised by Tony's response, Bruce nodded his head and smiled.  "Well, I hope you feel better.  Remember no horsing around or sitting around for at least a week.  If it gets worse call me."

"Yup.  Got it," Tony returned and then wrapped his arm around the boy's shoulder, that being a fairly common enough occurrence that no one was likely to figure out hat he was actually trying to get some of his own weight off of his back.  The kid had super-strength, he probably didn't even notice.  "Come on kiddo, let's get out of here," he said with only a slight pitch to his voice.  Then he realized the boy was too busy with his phone to actually start walking.  "Who are you texting?"

Peter looked up with a mildly sheepish look.  "No one?" he questioned even though it was obvious enough to have been a statement.

"Right," Tony sighed before the reality of the situation set it.  "Oh my God.  Who did you tell!" he snapped with absolute horror.  The last thing he needed was for anyone to find out he's hurt his back in such an utterly ridiculous manner.  

"Um... just May," Peter replied and then swallowed as he prepared to extend his list.  It wasn't like he was a good liar or anything.  "... and Ned and MJ,"  he added before taking a deep breath and hurriedly tagging on his most recent message recipient. "... and, um. Mr. Rhodes."

"That's it.  Get out of my house!" Tony said, feigning shock and annoyance.  Though to be fair, he was annoyed.  He just wasn't shocked.  Actually he was relieved the list was as short as it was.  It could have been far worse. The kid had Happy and Steve on speed dial as well.

"Mr. Stark!  No..." Peter laughed while simultaneously whining for emphasis.  

Tony was just about to banish the kid further when his pocket buzzed.  He was nearly positive that it was going to be from Rhodey. A glance at his screen confirmed it.   'Hey old man, I heard you sneezed you back out of commission,' the message read, followed up by several laughing emojis.  Tony was not impressed.

'I would like to take a moment to remind you that you're older than me,' he messaged back without hesitation.  The man was nearly two and a half years older than him.  He wasn't going to let that slide. He wasn't old.  

It didn't take long for a second message to pop up.  'I'm still in my prime.  You, on the other hand, threw your back out in the lamest way possible,' he read but rather than reply he glared at his mentee.  

"You're the worst.  You know that?" Tony said before playfully grabbing at the device that the teenager was still clutching.  "In fact, I'm taking away your Rhodey privileges.  Give me your phone."

"No!" Peter half-shouted as he slung Tony's arm off of his shoulders and took off down the hall.

Tony attempted to follow but was immediately halted in his actions when a sharp pain dug into his lower back.  He had to grit his teeth as he waited for it to pass.

Feeling guilty for having prompted the man into trying to run, Peter sighed and returned to Tony's side, silently helping him towards the elevator.  Then, the moment they were back in the penthouse, he left his mentor on the couch while he went to collect a few supportive pillows and a bottle of water.  He also took a moment to helpfully dole out the first dose of anti-inflammatories and carefully read the instructions on the steroid packet before taking those out as well.

Feeling tired, sore, and decidedly defeated, Tony allowed the kid to continue to dote on him for a while.  They watched his favorite movie for once and Peter was eager to jump up and get them snacks and drinks as they watched it.  It also didn't go unnoticed that even as Peter leaned into his side, he made a point of being exceptionally careful not to jostle him too much.  He wasn't sure how he ended up with such a thoughtful and caring kid but he certainly appreciated it.  He smiled to himself and just as he was about to lean his own head onto Peter's when the boy looked up at him.

"Am I forgive yet, Mr. Stark?" Peter asked with a smile.

Tony gave the teenager a scrutinizing look before squinting his eyes.  "That depends.  Who else did you tell?" he questioned, wondering if the kid had since managed messaged anyone else without his knowledge.  Though he assumed not seeing as he hadn't received any more fun messages.

"No one else, I swear!" Peter laughed, sitting up so he could hold his hands out in defense.

After taking a few seconds to pretend like he was mulling it over, Tony eventually nodded his head.  "Fine.  You're forgiven," he said and then pointed towards the hall closet.  "Now, go get me another pillow."

As he watched Peter happily take off down the hall, he smiled.  Then he remembered Pepper and seeing as she lived with him, he was going to have to tell her what happened.   He groaned at the thought and begrudgingly pulled out his phone.  Between, Bruce, Peter, Rhodey, and her... he was never going to live this down.  Ever.

Notes:

Hey! Guess who sprained their back this week by sneezing!

Yeah. So the shots in the butt? The oral steroids and anti-inflammatories? You guessed it. I got those. Only my experience with the doctor was far less amusing.

... but let's face it... hurting your already slightly sore back while sneezing is lame

#marvel #mcu #peter parker #Tony Stark #tony stark & peter parker #peter parker & tony stark fanfic #cross-posted #also on ao3 #marvel fanfiction #mcu fic #hurt/comfort #The author may be projecting #happyaspie writing

[irrcvocable]

                    hi  ,  everyone  !  i’m  j  ,  i’m  twenty  years  old  and  i  use  she/her  pronouns  .  i’m  EXTREMELY  hype  for  this  group  ,  since  i’m  a  thg  stan  and  it’s  what  first  drew  me  to  rp  way  too  long  ago  ,  back  in  the  fanfiction  dot  net  days  .   anyways  !  i’m  happy  to  introduce  my  newest  muse  ,  can’t  wait  for  her  to  d*e  in  the  arena  !  if  you’d  like  to  plot  ,  leave  a  like  for  me  to  im  you  on  tumblr  ,  or  react  to  my  plotting  call  on  discord  for  me  to  message  you  there  .   

[  𝖈𝖍𝖑𝖔𝖊  𝖇𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖙  ,  𝖈𝖎𝖘  𝖋𝖊𝖒𝖆𝖑𝖊  ,  𝖘𝖍𝖊/𝖍𝖊𝖗  .  ]   –––––   introducing  juniper  dalton  ,  TRIBUTE  of  the  74th  hunger  games  ,  representing  district  ten  .  my  sources  say  that  they  are  twenty  two  years  old,  &  that  they’re  pretty  handy  with  a  sickle  &  resourcefulness  .  wonder  if  that  will  do  any  good  in  the  arena  ?  anyways,  caesar  says  you  can’t  miss  them  ,  because  they  remind  everyone  of  flowers  choked  by  thorns  ,  bloodshot  eyes  widened  in  fear  and  grim  realization  ,  lungs  burning  as  instinct  urges  you  to  keep  running  ,  a  cracked  mirror  ,  lost  innocence  as  lamb  becomes  bloodhound  . 

𝚒 . 𝚋𝚒𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚢

tw :  death  ,  mass  shooting  ,  symptoms  of  anxiety  &  ptsd  .

                   𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖈𝖙  𝖙𝖊𝖓  𝖎𝖘  𝖍𝖔𝖒𝖊  𝖙𝖔  endless  fields  ,  grass  stretches  out  until  it  reaches  a  shining  horizon  as  the  sun  sets  on  another  day  of  work  .  tired  faces  ,  lined  with  exhaustion  ,  wrap  rope  around  the  neck  of  a  cow  and  lead  it  into  a  barn  –––  rough  hands  pack  meat  to  be  shipped  off  to  the  waiting  ,  bloody  lips  of  those  who  swallow  the  product  of  their  labor  greedily  and  extend  an  open  palm  to  take  more  from  the  sweaty  ,  calloused  hands  that  give  up  flesh  to  satiate  their  hunger  ,  those  who  offer  their  children  for  their  entertainment  .  DISTRICT  TEN  ,  where  a  man  with  scarred  hands  fell  for  a  woman’s  soft  features  and  her  way  with  the  animals  whose  life  she  valued  ,  even  when  they  would  be  inevitably  led  to  slaughter  .  they  fell  in  love  quickly  ,  they  married  ,  they  formed  a  family  of  their  own  and  trained  their  children  in  their  father’s  trade  .  juniper  was  introduced  to  a  sickle  to  slice  through  grasslands  ,  her  face  cradled  by  gentle  hands  as  they  tilted  her  chin  upwards  to  stare  into  a  cow’s  wide  ,  innocent  eyes  and  appreciate  the  life  they  carried  .

                  𝖋𝖆𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗  𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖉  𝖍𝖎𝖘  𝖉𝖆𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖊𝖗  𝖆  curved  blade  ,  taught  her  how  to  slice  through  the  forage  that  would  then  be  used  to  fatten  their  animals  to  the  capitol’s  liking  .  she  is  the  eldest  ,  her  younger  siblings  have  it  easier  .  by  age  six  she  has  already  nicked  her  fingers  on  her  father’s  sickle  ,  by  age  ten  she  is  introduced  to  it  herself  when  her  mother’s  back  is  turned  (  father  wants  to  prevent  another  incident  ,  knows  his  daughter’s  curiosity  has  not  yet  learned  to  be  limited  to  what  won’t  get  her  blood  spilled  )  .  by  age  twelve  she  is  lacing  up  worn  ,  hand  ––  me  ––  down  leather  boots  by  her  father’s  side  as  they  head  out  into  a  field  as  the  sun’s  first  rays  paint  the  grass  in  a  soft  golden  hue  ,  a  miniature  version  of  the  blade  clasped  between  impoverished  fingers  that  have  to  work  if  they  don’t  want  to  starve  or  risk  the  capitol’s  disapproval  in  the  form  of  a  BULLET  through  a  skull  .

                 𝖒𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖙𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝖈𝖗𝖚𝖊𝖑𝖙𝖞  just  as  she  did  with  the  other  two  dalton  siblings  ,  calla  and  tate  .  she  led  them  to  stables  ,  calloused  hand  leading  miniature  digits  towards  an  animal’s  smooth  coat  .  she  taught  them  that  they  were  beautiful  ,  that  their  life  had  worth  .  while  the  younger  siblings  were  recruited  to  aid  her  in  feeding  the  gentle  creatures  their  mother  spoke  so  highly  of  ,  juniper  was  introduced  to  harshness  early  on  as  her  father  instructed  her  to  keep  her  head  down  and  think  of  her  mother’s  voice  whenever  a  peacekeeper  delivered  cruel  punishment  upon  workers  who  failed  to  live  up  to  STANDARDS  .  mother  covered  their  eyes  every  year  ,  as  blood  was  spilled  in  the  name  of  those  whose  teeth  so  greedily  sunk  into  slaughtered  meat  .  they  wanted  blood  to  flow  in  rivers  ,  they  revelled  in  DEATH  .  mother  sheltered  them  for  the  longest  time  ,  as  long  as  she  could  ,  until  their  exposure  to  the  world’s  cruel  reality  became  inevitable  .

                𝖔𝖓𝖊  𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖓𝖙  𝖆𝖙  𝖙𝖍𝖊  𝖋𝖊𝖊𝖉𝖑𝖔𝖙  ,  one  round  of  BULLETS  to  suffocate  any  hopes  of  instigation  .  peacekeepers  did  not  hesitate  before  they  shot  ,  they  saw  no  humans  but  rather  the  capitol’s  cattle  .  an  altercation  with  one  of  the  peacekeepers  when  they  beat  an  old  man  who  collapsed  from  exhaustion  ,  shouts  of  outrage  ,  silenced  at  the  barrel  of  a  gun  .  a  soft  woman  who  only  ever  wanted  to  protect  ,  too  kind  for  this  world  ,  too  soft  to  be  worthy  of  such  cruelty  ,  among  the  thirteen  fallen  .  mother  gone  ,  father  devastated  ,  children  left  to  bury  her  among  the  wildflowers  ,  cry  into  their  worn   mattress  during  the  night  ,  and  go  out  into  the  fields  the  following  day  for  another  day  of  meager  work  .  death  had  come  QUICK  and  WITHOUT  ANY  WARNING  ,  and  it  left  fourteen  year  old  juniper  terrified  .  it  could  come  again  ,  giving  her  brother  or  sister  a  fever  that  they  would   never  recover  from  .  it  could  come  again  ,  with  her  father’s  flesh  accidentally  sliced  by  a  friend’s  sickle  ,  left  to  bleed  out  in  the  fields  .  it  could  come  again  ,  with  peacekeepers  deciding  her  hard  work  was  not  hard  enough  ,  that  she  was  not  harvesting  enough  food  for  the  livestock  ,  that  the  only  appropriate  punishment  was  death  .  it  could  come  again  at  any  moment  ,  without  warning  ,  and  it  could  take  anyone  away  .

               𝖎𝖙 𝖜𝖆𝖙𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖉 , 𝖛𝖎𝖌𝖎𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖙 , 𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖑 𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌  .  she’s  twenty  two  ,  wearing  a  faded  dress  that  once  belonged  to  her  mother  –––  it’s  floral  ,  and  though  her  mother’s  scent  has  long  since  left  it  ,  the  memory  remains  .  calla  ,  at  eighteen  ,  wears  a  white  ribbon  in  her  braids  as  she  takes  her  place  among  her  peers  for  her  first  year  as  an  eligible  tribute  .  usually  anxious  ,  juniper  is  panicking  .  her  breath  ,  like  every  year  ,  comes  in  short  gasps  as  an  ache  in  her  chest  makes  her  feel  like  she’s  going  to  die  ,  like  her  heart’s  going  to  stop  beating  at  any  moment  ,  like  she  might  plummet  to  the  ground  right  here  .  a  friend  holds  her  hand  like  every  year  ,  whispers  soft  words  in  an  effort  to  soothe  her  ––––  their  parent  died  when  juniper’s  mother  did  ,  and  she  wonders  how  they  have  moved  on  with  their  life  and  how  they  don’t  panic  every  time  a  peacekeeper  crosses  their  sight  in  their  signature  white  .  death  has  been  following  her  like  a  shadow  ,  it  reaches  her  now  as  her  name  is  called  and  juniper  feels  so  much  FEAR  that  it  consumes  her  completely  .  her  friend’s  hand  falls  limp  at  her  side  ,  she  hears  her  father  sobbing  in  the  distance  through  the  ringing  in  her  ears  as  her  stunned  silence  is  suddenly  broken  when  a  harsh  hand  wraps  around  her  arm  ,  a  peacekeeper  intent  on  pulling  her  out  to  the  crowd  and  leading  the  lamb  to  slaughter  .  she  sees  the  white  ,  she  sees  the  gun  on  their  side  –––  fight  or  flight  ,  every  instinct  cries  ,  as  juniper  stares  into  the  eyes  of  someone  and  forgets  every  lesson  her  mother  ever  taught  her  .  this  life  is  worth  nothing  ,  this  man  is  part  of  a  breed  of  murderers  .  his  hand  wraps  around  her  arm  ,  harshly  pulls  her  out  of  the  crowd  and  into  the  clear  path  towards  the  stage  ,  within  a  fraction  of  a  second  juniper’s  choked  out  a  cry  that  carries  both  fear  and  wrath  as  she  dares  to  utter  a  ‘  DON’T  TOUCH  ME  ’  before  sending  a  fist  into  a  peacekeeper’s  face  .  ears  ring  ,  her  legs  shake  as  they  carry  her  up  the  steps  ,  she  takes  the  stage  and  knows  that  she  will  not  let  death  claim  her  without  a  fight  .

𝚒𝚒 . 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚜

full  name  .  juniper  rhea  dalton  .

nicknames  .  june  /  juno  . 

age  .  twenty  ––  two  .

gender  .  cis  female  ,  she/her  pronouns  .

home  .  district  ten  .

orientation  .  panromantic  pansexual  .

appearance  .  thin  ,  toned  frame  stands  at  5′6  ,  defined  bone  structure  .  wavy  brown  hair  is  dry  ,  especially  at  the  ends  (  around  the  beginning  of  her  ribs  ,  will  likely  be  trimmed  by  stylists  )  .  arms  are  notably  toned  ,  as  they  are  where  her  strength  is  gathered  .  malnourishment  from  years  of  impoverished  living  show  in  the  fact  that  her  musculature  is  not  as  defined  as  it  should  be  ,  in  sunken  eyes  ,  in  an  angular  frame  .

strengths .  extremely  proficient  in  wielding  a  sickle  .  resourceful  ,  from  knowledge  of  what  plants  aren’t  poisonous  from  her  own  experience  in  farming  and  feeding  animals  ,  to  a  quick  mind  .  physical  strength  from  labour  .   willingness  to  do  whatever  it  takes  to  survive  .

weaknesses .  crippling  fear  of  death  that  can  make  her  behave  irrationally  out  of  desperation  .  lack  of  any  formal  weapons  training  .  extremely  frail  mental  state  ,  bound  to  snap  at  any  moment  because  of  the  looming  threat  of  mortality  .  underfed  from  living  in  an  impoverished  district  all  her  life  .  currently  living  through  her  own  personal  hell  .

𝚒𝚒𝚒. 𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚜

pinterest  board  .  spotify  playlist  (  under  co.  )  . 

#oddsintro #listen juniper's energy in summary is just a VERY scared rabid chihuahua #thats it thats her #n e ways !!!! i'll be slidin into dms soon ! #also this graphic is NOT thexy but im too excited to remake it so im SORRY

[buckyownsmyheart]

Worth Fighting For [one-shot]

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Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 5.6k (I can’t help it I’m sorry)

Summary: As a new recruit trying to pass the enrolment tests, you need to prove to everyone that you deserve to be a part of the team. To do this, you push yourself to your limits, and get some help from an onlooker.

Warnings: A bit angsty, swearing as per, I was feeling some emotions when writing this

A/N: This is for @yslbuckyx ‘s writing challenge! Congrats on 1k! My prompt was “I’m sorry, I got a little too carried away” 

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You ran purely on spite. You were tired of people telling you that you couldn’t, so you did. You joined S.H.I.E.L.D. 4 weeks ago, to spite your father who said you couldn’t, and had just passed the tactical and mental challenges. These had always been your strengths, learning and memorising new information was something that you enjoyed doing. It sounds nerdy, but frankly you had gotten over being called that since way back in high school. People were always going to talk, so you might as well do what the fuck you want, and for you, that was absorbing knowledge. Since high school, you had learnt Spanish, Japanese, Russian and were in the process of learning Cantonese. Your ability to pick up new things had meant that you were finishing top 5 after 4 weeks in the selection process. At the beginning, there were 60 new recruits, but by the end of the next 4 weeks there would be 10. It was a brutal process, on the first day they lined everyone up and split them in half, and then sent half home, saying that they don’t recruit unlucky people. From those 30, 10 would be removed after the intellect test, and 10 after the next step, the physical test, which was the part that you were most worried about.

 You had never been strong or particularly sporty. You often ran, enjoying the hours of solitude that it gave you, allowing your brain to sort through anything that it might be pondering or struggling with. There was nothing like the feeling of fresh air on your face, or the relief when you stop, and your calves relax and stretch out. But this wasn’t going to get you through the push-ups or sit-ups or whatever else they made you do, so you had to be smart about this if you wanted to make it through to the final 10. You had started trying to build up your strength, but so far you felt you hadn’t made any progress and it was infuriating, but your time was up, and you were absolutely shitting yourself.

 For the next 5 months, you would be put through hell. Testing your physical strength, your resilience and your adaptability to environments. For each month that passed, the 2 people at the bottom of the rankings would be sent home, and you weren’t sure you could face your father if you were sent home, you knew what he would say. “I told you so sweetheart, you’re just not cut out for that sort of thing, why don’t you try something a little more for you? A little more gentle.” You were going to make it through these challenges.

The 20 recruits stood in two lines of ten, some were turning to their neighbour and chatting, but you didn’t feel much like small talk, so you hid yourself in the backrow at the end, trying to avert all attention away from you. Maybe if they thought you were no one from the beginning, and let them have low expectations, then you might be able to surpass those expectations with what little strength you have. Everyone snapped to attention when Captain America and Black Widow walked into the large space you were all standing in, eyeing each and every one of you. You tried to stand tall and not shy away from their gaze, knowing that this was probably just a scare tactic, trying to spot the weak ones straight away. Luckily, from years of practice at school, you had become adept at blending in and becoming invisible, not too proud, not too shy, somewhere in the middle.

 “Recruits,” Captain America addressed the lines, “Today we’re going to start with some basic fighting, I’m sure you’ve all got some experience, so we’re going to pair you up and test your skills, let’s start with a warm-up.” Shit. You had close to no fighting experience, unless you count that one time in your debate class where a boy named Jimmy had tried to hit you, so you kneed him in the balls. That was when you were 12. Why hadn’t you thought about this. You assumed that they would teach you all the basics once you got in, and that this was just to gauge your fitness levels, not to put you up against each other and judge from that. You turned to the girl next to you, her beady eyes located a little too close together on her rather square-looking head. Her biceps looked like they could strangle you by giving you a glance. You looked wildly around but saw that everyone else had already paired off. You gave her a small smile, and Cap started the warm-up. Luckily, at this point there was no actual fighting, and you actually just seemed to be warming up your muscles. You copied your partner’s every move and looked around the room to see how other people were doing it. There were practice punches being thrown, body twists to focus on technique and some more cardiovascular exercises to get your heartrate up. You were glad about your runs, because although sweat was running down your forehead, your breathing was still pretty steady.

 “Alright everyone,” Black Widow’s voice carried across the room, causing instant silence. “We’re pairing you off against each other, this is a no-rule fighting situation. Nothing dirty, but all styles welcome. You two, up first.”

 You realised she was gesturing to you and your terrifying partner, there was no way you were escaping out of this alive. Your legs seemed to move of their own accord, jumping up onto the mat and dropping into a fighting position.

You gulped, took a large breath in and released it, trying to calm your heart thumping in your chest. It might give the opposition a confidence boost to see your chest shaking with how hard your heart was beating, and you couldn’t be giving them any more advantages than they already had. The two of you padded around each other, your fists were raised in a protective stance, and your opponent looked like she was ready to pounce at any moment, and then she did. You dodged the first attack, jumping around her arm and bouncing on your feet. After a few more circles of each other, she lunged again, her fist narrowly missing your torso, but as you were on the back foot, she delivered a kick to your knee, which immediately brought you down to the mat. You leaped back up, bouncing on your aching knee to try and get the pain to go away, and ran over to the other side of the mat.

 “Stop dancing!” A voice shouted from the side, and you shook some hair out of your face to try and focus. People around you were murmuring.

 “There’s no way she can do this.”

 “Look how weak she is!”

 “Hasn’t thrown a single punch.”

 Anger bubbled up inside you, this wasn’t your fault. It was unfair. But you wanted to show them that you could do this. Prove them wrong. And so, you dove back into the fight, trying to put as much weight behind your punches as possible and tightening your core. You got a few hits in, but your opponent was too quick and too strong. She blocked your hits after the initial surprise and fought back. Hard. A volley of punches hit you all over and kept coming as you stumbled back. They merged into one as the floor beneath you spun, and your vision became blurry. When the punching stopped, you realised you were on the floor. Everything hurt, your vision was still cloudy and there were still leers behind you. Determined, you got up, and raised your fists once more, trying to get the world to stop spinning. You focused on the woman in front of you and willed your legs to move. On shaky legs, you moved forward, before a hand was on your chest. You looked up to see Black Widow looking down on you.

 “Alright, show’s over. That’s enough for today. 0530, tomorrow, sharp.” As people left the room, you were still trying to make your legs obey you. You couldn’t appear any weaker in front of the one person you needed to impress, but her hand was still on your chest, holding you back. “Are you in the right place? Do you even want to be here?” Her voice was harsh and scathing, and it felt like a ton of bricks on your chest. Of course she didn’t believe in you either, you had made a fool out of yourself in front of everyone. You’d be surprised if they allowed you to stay to the end of the month, maybe you should have stuck with an intelligence desk job. But that voice in your head that doubted you also reminded you of all the other people that doubted you, and you’d be damned if you let them win. You raised yourself up and looked her dead in the eye.

“This is where I’m meant to be, and I’ll prove it to you. I’ll be in the top 5 by the end of the selection.”

Her voice softened, “You’ve got fire in your belly. Use it.” And with that, she left you, where you remained alone, wondering what you had just gotten yourself into.

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Bucky was sitting down on the sofa, watching an episode of Brooklyn 99, his new favourite show, when Nat came in and slumped down beside him.

 “You know, for a world-class assassin, you have very little finesse.”

 “Says the guy who tripped over the very flat floor yesterday.” She sighed, “There’s a new recruit, she’s weak and can’t fight for shit. I don’t know if she’s ever fought before, but she’s so determined, and it breaks my heart that she won’t make it to the end of the week, because she’s exactly the type of person we want here. Someone with defiance and will do anything to break the odds, but the stupid recruitment team don’t think traits like that are valuable. They want meatheads, the intelligence tests they have to do are just making sure they can do high-school maths, and still half of them fail. Apparently, she was top after that, knows something like 3 languages, but they’re already trying to kick her out and move her to intelligence.”

“Wouldn’t intelligence be better suited for her if she can’t fight?” Bucky replied, looking up at Nat confused.

 “But we need strategists, leaders, not people that will follow every word we say, because we’re not going to be around for ever, and if the next generation only follow our orders, who’s will they follow next? She’s different, she thinks for herself, but Fury’s already on my ass about picking favourites, so I’m just going to have to let her go.”

 Bucky nodded, not sure what else to say, and they both watched the rest of the episode in silence. He did think about the new recruit though, he wondered who they must be to have made such an impression on Natasha, she wasn’t often one to care about people she didn’t know, but by the next morning, all was forgotten as Bucky headed down to the gym.

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After visiting the medical bay, 5 stitches and lots of codeine later, you collapsed onto your bed. You had each been given a dorm along a single corridor, with shared bathrooms at either end. Now you had expectations to live up to and a top 5 to be in, you needed a better plan. One that was going to get you there, but first, you needed to learn how to throw a punch. Tonight, YouTube was going to be your best friend. You watched videos of fighting styles, how to perfect your technique, how to maximise your strength, how to read your opponent. There were tips and tricks on everything from making people make mistakes to building up muscle quickly (naturally of course, you didn’t think anabolic steroids were the answer here). By the time you had gone through these, standing up to practice and do slow run throughs of the moves, it was past midnight. You set your alarm for 4:00, if you were going to do this, it was best to start how you mean to go on.

Your alarm blared as you sat up, feeling like you had only had a few minutes of sleep. You rubbed the tiredness out of your eyes and threw on your gym kit. Before your brain could wake up and tell you what a terrible idea this was, you found yourself in the gym, starting the warm-up that the Cap had shown you all yesterday, and then building on it from the things you had learnt. For an hour you practiced, sweated, and improved. By the time the rest of the recruits had got down, you had had a shower and changed into some fresh gear, ready for the day. The day of training continued, and you found yourself doing exercises, punching bags and using a range of the different fighting techniques. The assessors moved around, taking notes and judging styles.

The days continued like this, but the end of the first week was rapidly approaching, and there was no way that you were not in the bottom two. Although you had improved massively, everyone else had such a big head start, that you were still being beaten in every fight you were put in. You struggled to meet Romanoff’s eye. It had become rapidly known if they called her Black Widow she would kick them out of the programme immediately. On the Sunday, you trudged down to the gym before the others, and saw that the list had already been published. Your heart stopped beating, and then thudded against your chest. Trying to breathe evenly, you looked at the list of names and the rankings. You were 18th. Somehow, you had made it through to the next week. Two names at the end that you didn’t recognise, but then again, you hadn’t really bonded with the rest of the recruits, were in red. Disbelief filled you, how could you still be in? Was the tiredness finally kicking in, and you had reduced your brain to hallucinating? Shaking your head, you looked at the words again, but you were definitely not being kicked out. You were sure others would be sad about losing two members, but you were glad they were gone because it wasn’t you. That’s the thing about running on spite, it doesn’t leave a lot of room for love in your head. You went over to the punching bag and started your routine. What you didn’t know, was that someone had accidentally stumbled onto your morning escapades and was impressed.

 Bucky looked onto the new recruit, smiling. He had first seen her the morning after their initiation into the compound, where he had gone down to the gym early to try and burn off a nightmare, to find someone already there. This must have been the recruit that Nat had been talking about, the one that had had her ass handed to her, but still found the strength to challenge Nat. He knew that although she would never admit it, Nat saw herself in that recruit, and wanted to get her through this process. As Nat was in charge of the selection process, she couldn’t pick favourites and help only them. Bucky, however, wasn’t related to the selection process at all, and so he did as much as he could to help you get through. That week, it was just telling Nat that you had been down here, sweating every morning, watching videos and trying to get your technique up. She had visually seen the improvements and had decided to keep you on. Bucky knew though, that this next week was more fight orientated, and that you needed more than the internet to get you through it. So, he took a deep breath, and approached you for the first time in a week.

 “You want to engage your core a little more, try not to throw your shoulders into the punch so much, rotate your entire body.” Okay, Bucky, you could have started with something a little less harsh, the whole getting people to like you thing Sam was talking about.

“I’m sorry, you are?” There was a hardness to your voice, but your face was soft and open. Seeing you up close, he could appreciate the finer details of your face and the subtle movements of the muscles as different emotions intertwined themselves within your features.

“Sorry, Bucky Barnes,” he stuck his hand out to shake, which you hesitantly took after removing a glove, “I want to help you get through to the next round.”

 “Why?” You asked, still looking unsure at Bucky’s face, and then around as if you were looking for other people around him.

 “Let’s say I’m helping a friend out. I’ve seen you here before everyone, and staying after they’ve all left, and I’m impressed. If you want my help, I’m happy to give it to you.”

 You narrowed your eyes at him, and Bucky thought you might turn down his offer, “Isn’t that cheating?”

 He couldn’t help himself but laugh a little, “Darl, this is life, there’s no cheating, only people who find ways to cope and people who don’t.”

 You didn’t respond, and Bucky could see the conflict in your brain as cogs turned. You considered him, and then shrugged, “Okay, engage my core, what else?”

And that was that, your training together started.

⁎⁎⁎

You were beyond sceptical of Bucky and his help. He coached you for an hour, and all the pointers made sense, but you couldn’t help but feel something was off. Why was he being so nice? His excuse didn’t really make any sense, and you didn’t trust someone without motive, because people always had motive and if you didn’t know it, then it’s most likely to be against you. Until you could figure him out, you decided to take all the advice you could get and try and stay in a little longer.

 When you came back from your shower after parting with Bucky, the group of other recruits had gathered early to see the list. There was an uproar and shouting, people mouthing off the system, and you. “She cheated, there’s no way she’s still in.”

“They need to take likeability into these tests.”

 “Diane and Charlie shouldn’t have been the ones to leave.”

 “I saw her with the Winter Soldier just now, trust her to sleep her way to the top.”

 With the last one, you froze, your blood turning cold. This explained Bucky’s motivations, he was not only trying to get you kicked out, but he was going to make your so-called teammates hate you along the way. Maybe he thought if he spread enough rumours about you, you would leave all by yourself. You weren’t going to let that happen. With 15 minutes to go until Romanoff arrived to start that days training session, you backed away from the murmuring people, trying not to let their words get to you, and trying to use the anger that was bubbling up inside of you to build your motivation. It wasn’t until you got into the changing rooms that the anger faded into irrevocable sadness that often lingered behind the emotions that surfaced. Trying to cough out the lump in your throat and looking determinedly at the ceiling, you focused on the good. You were here, you were through, you were improving day-to-day, and you had already proven people wrong. This was your dream, and you were going to get there eventually. Placing the palms of your hands in your eyes, you tried not to think about the deep loneliness that had etched its way into your bones, chilling you from the inside out. You tried not to think about the last time you had been touched that wasn’t violent or pitying. Repeating to yourself like a mantra, you affirmed, “You can sleep when you’re dead, and you can love when you’re finished.”

 “That seems an awfully lonely way of thinking, sweetheart.”

 Bucky’s voice startled you out of your trance, and you got to your feet, only seeing red. This was the man who was trying to sabotage you, spreading lies into the wind to break you down, and you were going to show him exactly what you thought about it.

“How dare you come in here, pretending like you’re not trying to sabotage my career, my life, by telling the world that I was sleeping my way to the top, and you have the audacity to call me sweetheart? Get out of my face, I never want to see you again.”

 “Woah, woah, woah, where has this come from?” You went to storm past him, rolling your eyes to hide the tears that were building again, but he stepped back, gently placing his arm in front of you. “Look, I don’t know where you’ve got all this from, but I promise I would never tell anyone anything that wasn’t true. I haven’t told a soul that I’m going to help you, and I would never make up something as obscene as you were repaying me with sex? I swear on my ma’s grave that whatever you heard; it wasn’t from me.”

 You looked at him calculatingly, trying to read his expression and find any tell-tale tics that he was lying, but his face was relaxed, his eyes open and almost pleading that you believed him. You had no idea why he cared so much, he had known you for all of two hours, and no he was pretending like you had some sort of trust between you? As if reading your mind, he spoke again.

 “Look, I know we don’t know each other but I’ve read your file, I know about you, about your life. You’re smart, and the sort of person we need as an agent here, Nat said so herself. I know she sees herself in you, but she can’t do anything about it so I’m here to help you. I want to help, I promise I would never do something to hurt you, and I will kick the asses of all of the other recruits for spreading shit about you.”

You couldn’t help but give a small smile at this, sniffing away some stray tears that you didn't realise had fallen. He did seem genuine, and everyone knows that there’s always a leap of faith at some point in everyone’s story, maybe yours was with Bucky.

“Is that a smile?” He asked, “I know this is a new age, but damn, it seems like pigs might be flying!” An unwanted laugh escaped your lips, unable to keep it at bay. How on earth had someone been able to cut through your mask so quickly? You blamed the lack of sleep and ignored any other point your brain might come up with. “You should get back to the other recruits, this week is strength and fitness, and if you don’t beat at least 3 people up that climbing wall then I’m making you get up an hour earlier each day this week.”

 He turned to walk out of the door, and as he opened it, he turned back to you, giving an award-winning smile. Were there butterflies in your stomach? Yes. Were you going to ignore them for all eternity? Also yes. Bucky had been in your life all of two hours, he wasn’t going to be the reason you failed, all because you were touch-starved and lonely. Shaking those unwanted feelings out of your head, you braced yourself for the onslaught of accusations that would be thrown at you, but somehow the prospect of facing them seemed a little lighter than they had before.

⁎⁎⁎

Over the course of the week, you and Bucky had spent over 25 and a half hours working together, not that you were counting. An hour and a half of that was on Wednesday, when there had been an unfortunate incident where you broke down and accidentally spilled your guts to Bucky, telling him everything that had ever got to you. You told him about your father never accepting who you were and pushing you into some mould by sending you off to some faraway school. You talked about how you weren’t even sure if this was right for you, and that you chose what to do next by seeing what people said you couldn’t do. Your hopes and fears spilled out, accompanied by too much snot and a slightly bewildered Bucky. To his credit, he comforted you, remaining silent until you had calmed yourself down. Before you had a chance to apologise, Bucky spoke in a collected but soft voice. He opened up too, telling you about his nightmares, about how after Steve left, he felt the pressure to become the hero that everyone expected him to be. You could still hear his voice crack as he laid himself out on the table, just as you had done.

 “After all I did as the Winter Soldier, I struggled with the idea that I could be a hero like everyone else. I felt I didn’t belong, and I pushed away anyone that tried to reach out. Then I realised that you accept the treatment you think you deserve, and you belong where you allow yourself to belong.”

 Through sleep deprivation, pushing yourself through limits and emotional sharing, you two had become closer than you had with anyone before. The butterflies in your stomach turned into smiles when he walked into the room. At night, you found yourself preoccupied with thoughts of him. Of stupid jokes he’d make throughout the sessions, featherlight touches that stayed hot for minutes after he moved and ways in which you could ease his night-time turmoil’s. He had been kind to you when no one else had, and you let him in where no one else could be. He was your light in darkness and the warmth within your veins, and you had a feeling that you were also his.

Although Bucky had eased your self-deprecating thoughts, they still surfaced every now and again. Frustration often triggered them when you struggled to see progress. You knew it had been such a short period of time, but you knew Bucky must be getting frustrated at you too, and you couldn’t deal with his disappointment among everyone else’s. Although he didn’t know, he had become the thing in your life that held you together, and if he left, you were certain you would fall apart.

 This was all whirling around your mind on Saturday afternoon, until Bucky’s voice cut through your thoughts.

 “No!” Bucky shouted at you, “You’re leaving your side exposed, someone can come in here.” He jabbed you and you let out a growl. You had been training for hours, Bucky putting you through your paces after making you get up earlier than usual, and then stay later afterwards. Today seemed to be one of those days where everything that could go wrong, did. You couldn’t seem to get anything right and were getting more irritated by the second.

 “Can’t you see I’m trying!” You yelled back at him, repositioning yourself to try again. As you lunged at him, he stepped you easily.

 “Too obvious, again.”

You rolled your neck to release some tension in your shoulders and tried again. You jumped to the other side, but Bucky pushed one of your shoulders, “Keep balanced!” You ignored him and went in for another punch. “Legs!” He shouted, sweeping at your ankles, making you stumble back into the wall as his arm crossed over your chest, pinning you down. You felt tears brim in your eyes, the overwhelming emotion from the past few months coming to the surface again. You couldn’t breathe past the lump that was stuck in your throat, and looked Bucky defiantly in the eye, daring him to say something else, because he was just like everyone else. He would leave when he realised that you weren’t going anywhere, and you would be left alone again. It was your fault for getting your hopes up. Instead, his face fell, concern lacing his features.

 “I’m so sorry (Y/n), Oh god,” He said softly, releasing you from against the wall, “I’m sorry, I got a little too carried away. Did I hurt you? Are you okay?” He looked up at you, searching your face and brushing some sweaty hair off of your forehead, “I just really want you to get through, I want you to be in this team. Let’s stop for today, yeah? That was too much.”

You looked up at him confused, watching his shaking hands as they moved away from your face with curiosity. His words were a stark contrast to all the other voices of people that had told you that you were too weak, not made for this sort of world, that you couldn’t do it, but those voices rang louder in the back of your head. Before, they had spurred you on, but now you felt like maybe they were right, and you were stupid to try and prove them wrong. Bucky’s intentions resurfaced in your mind again, and you began doubting the friendship you had formed, wondering what he was doing helping you. You shoved him back, trying to fight back the tears that threatened to pour out of your eyes. “Why are you helping me? Is this some joke to you and Romanoff? See how far I go before I break? See how much I believe I have a friend, before realising you were making it up?” Every doubt you had about him was threading itself into your words, trying to hide your feelings deep under insecurities, and hiding those insecurities under anger and spite.

 He looked at you, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open slightly in a small ‘o’ shape. Then his eyebrows furrowed, and he took another step back. He pointed his finger accusatorily at you, “What have I got to do to show you that I mean it? That I care about your outcome? I’ve known you for less than three weeks and you already occupy every space in my brain. I can’t stop thinking about you (Y/n)! And all you can say is that I’m not sincere? Not genuine enough for you? Shock horror, not everyone hates you, some love you, open your goddamn eyes.”

 Bucky’s voice was filled with a mix of passion and anger, his words shaking and his hands falling limp by his side as he finished. His chest was moving up and down heavily and realisation hit you. This wasn’t a one-way street. You had been so caught up in yourself that you failed to see the obvious. The way that Bucky was also getting up at ungodly hours, making training plans, preparing sports drinks and high energy snacks. He had shown you love in a way that you had failed to recognise because you had never been taught to look for it, and now he was pouring his heart out to you and all you could do was stare back at him. You had no idea what to say, what could you reply to that? How could you tell him that you couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him behind, so you tried to kid yourself that it was all nothing? That he was the only thing keeping you going through this? That he was the person to replace your motivations of spite, to motivations of love?

“Kiss me.” Your voice said, sounding small, but Bucky didn’t need telling twice. He pinned you back against the wall and crashed his lips to yours. Your bodies moulded together, and your lips moved against one another. You both trying to express the repressed feelings, you your gratitude, and him his pure intentions. And whilst no fireworks went off, you felt a sigh of relief exit your body as he kissed you. The tension releasing from your shoulders, and the threat of tears subsiding from your eyes. When you finally broke apart, you looked at him, a small smile appeared on his face.

 “Now that, was worth fighting for.”

 “Bucky, I’m sorry,” you tried to say, but he cut you off.

“I know, I am too, I didn’t mean to raise my voice, I’m sorry if I scared you.”

 “No, you shouldn’t apologise, I’m sorry for not appreciating you, you gave me everything I wanted, and I gave attitude back. I never could be scared of you. The only thing I was scared about is that I might fall in love with you, because that’s a terrifying ordeal.”

 He gave you a soft kiss on your forehead. “You showed me you appreciated me in your own way, you talked me through my nightmares, brought two towels because you know I always forget mine and laugh at my jokes no matter how stupid. You embolden the light inside me by encouraging me to be me. Maybe we both need to work on our communication a little more, but we also speak in a language that the other understands, so it’s okay.” You rested your head on his chest, finding solace in the steady beating of his heart and his hands stroking your hair. You could feel his lips moving against your hairline as he spoke again, “Come on, let’s get some food, too much shouting makes me hungry.”

 You couldn’t help but laugh, “Barnes, breathing makes you hungry, you’re an ogre.”

“A sexy ogre that’s going to take you on a date and ask for Nat for special treatment to pass you through the stages, because I am done with early mornings. I will train you in weapons myself at a reasonable hour.”

“That’s definitely cheating.”

“Maybe so, but it’s more fun.”

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