#just a moment of respectful silence pleas. thank you

[tiktaalic]

Aaron bass. Rock solid irrefutable proof. That. Okay. Let me start over. Dean has 2 types. Type one. Makes him all giggly. And it is muscle bound hunks who bench and bridal carry. Type two. Dweebiest gay guy imaginable who is very normal about being gay. If you combine type one and type two. You get.

Him. Whcih could mean? Nothing

[seresinhangmanjake]

Come Back Knockin'

Benny Cross x reader (the bikeriders fic)

Summary: When Benny finds out you're pregnant, he panics and takes off. You don't think he's ever going to come back to you, so you start trying to figure out your future without your husband by your side. And then one day, there's a knock at your door.

Notes/Warnings: *Spoiler free*, lots of cursing, mentions of abandonment, angst but not forever, mention of pregnancy, probably typos.

Words: 2900

Part 2: Come Back Together Benny Cross Masterlist 

“Benny, where are you going!” you cry, watching in disbelief as he turns away from you and exits your shared bedroom. “Benny!”

He doesn’t stop at your call. Doesn’t even flinch. Your voice is a pathetic grasp around his wrist that he shakes off like a pesky mosquito. He’s leaving, you realize, and when your body finally catches up with that understanding, you rush after him. 

His strides are long, double the length of yours, and he’s already got his jacket off the hook and is pulling it over his shoulders by the time you’re able to close in on him.

“Benny, don’t go!” you wail in a desperate plea, but it’s still useless, and a moment later you’re chasing him out the front door into the rain. “Please!”

You’re both drenched in an instant, hair stuck to your heads like a pair of drowned alley cats. Your nipples pebble through your thin, white nightgown that now shows every curve of your figure. The denim on his body deepens a few shades of blue from absorbing every drop of the downpour. 

“Benny!” you try once more. 

He doesn’t so much as glance over his shoulder as he crosses the street toward his bike, so you stop your chase before your bare feet leave the last step of your front porch. All you can do is watch. Watch his long leg swing over the seat of the bike. Watch him kick the beast to life. Watch how he glows angelic-like under the intense ray of the streetlight; a spotlight on the man you love who is running away from you. 

You don’t bother calling for him again. Your voice would only be muffled by the relentless drumming of heavy rain on pavement. Benny leans forward, and without checking for other vehicles, pulls into the street and drives until the darkness of night claims every speck of light from his bike. 

He’s gone. 

And you’re alone. 

—

You hadn’t expected him to be overjoyed by the news—it’s why you waited nearly three weeks to tell him—but you didn’t foresee such anger over the actuality of being a father. When you told him you were pregnant, his face had darkened in a manner you’ve only witnessed right before his fist meets the jaw of a rival biker. And, in some respect, he'd treated you the same. Like you were a pest, a nuisance, an object put in his path solely for the sake of pissing him off; the difference being that Benny would never lay a hand on you. So instead, he'd left.

On day three of your husband’s absence, Johnny had stopped by to ‘see if the kid was still alive,’ and you were left with the burden and embarrassment of telling him that Benny had skipped town. Johnny had asked why, of course, so you told him, and by the way his features twisted from surprise to desolation, you knew he also saw little hope in your husband returning to you. 

Benny has had his reasons for not wanting to be a father, failure a prominent knot in the back of his mind, but it’s not as if you planned this. It was an accident. An accident that you can’t just wish away because he doesn’t know how to handle being what you and this baby need him to be. 

“I’m real sorry, sweetheart,” Johnny had said. You’d done your best to hold in the tears while long beats of melancholy silence passed between you. “Listen, you ever need anythin’, you know Betty and me, we love ya, so…”

You’d nodded, wrapping your arms around your middle to stave off a sudden chill. “Thanks, Johnny.” 

He nodded as well, then he'd sighed and glanced around your quiet street as if expecting to see Benny ride up any second. “Well,” he said once it was clear neither of you would be finding that relief, “don’t be a stranger.”

He’d left after that and you haven’t seen him since. Not because you don’t appreciate him, but because he reminds you too much of Benny. Betty had called a few times—she’s as much a mother figure to you as Johnny was to Benny—but you weren’t very forthcoming with enthusiasm at talking baby plans and motherhood. At one point, in an effort to lift your spirits, she’d even mentioned throwing a shower, which immediately made you drop the phone and rush to the bathroom to lose your breakfast. 

When you’d returned, the phone was dangling by the coiled cord, Betty’s concerned voice coming through the speaker. You’d put it up to your ear, told her you'd call her back, and hung up the damn thing. You didn’t call her back. You think she got the message. 

In the weeks that have passed, many of the guys have come by to check on you, and in the beginning, you were somewhat receptive, but it was solely to abstain from hurting feelings and severing ties so harshly. You’re positive the relationships won’t last. You were in the biker lifestyle because of Benny. He brought you into a pre-established family unit, and without him, you don’t belong. 

You know the day may come when you regret letting the club go. Its members are the only people who have reached out their hands to you, but for now, you’re too numb to care, and with that numbness comes self-destruction. And with your particular brand of self-destruction comes isolation. Solitude. Loneliness. You’ve put yourself in place to navigate the future alone. Finding a job to support your child, hoping you’ll make enough so you don’t lose your house—that’s your priority now, and you have no choice but to step up and figure it out. 

—

As it turns out, no one wants to hire a pregnant woman. Well, no one you’ve contacted wants to hire a pregnant woman, but you’re willing to bet they’re a decent indicator of most companies' future rejection. 

It’s your own fault. You shouldn’t be telling them of your condition, but your bones are built of honesty and when they ask if you’ll be able to work long-term, you don’t hesitate to reveal the truth. In fact, the truth is out of your mouth before the thought to lie slithers into your head. 

You’re going to have to toughen up, be someone you’re not used to being, if you intend to survive. And that’s all you let yourself think about anymore. When Benny slips into your thoughts, you work tirelessly to shove him aside. It’s taken practice, self-discipline, but you’ve made some progress. Just yesterday you were finally able to overcome your urge to run to the window at hearing the grumble of a motor passing by your house. 

The next goal is to bag up his clothes and stow them away in the attic, but you’ve yet to face his side of the closet without breaking down. And to make it all the more agonizing, the fabrics still smell like him. You could wash them five times over and it would do nothing to remove his scent.

Sometimes, at the peak of your pathetic impulses, you want to sneak inside and bury yourself amongst the cheap and tattered clothes. Turn them into a blanket. Forget everything. But you’ve managed to resist.

Baby steps, you internally repeat as you bring a spoonful of cereal to your lips. You like the sugary stuff now. The stuff that kids gobble down before school. Bad for an expectant mother, yes, but you’re not about to scold yourself for what little enjoyment you find in this life. 

Suddenly, a knock taps on the door. Your head shoots up and your heartbeat stutters at the sound, but you don’t move to answer it. These days, it’s rare you answer it at all. The guys know not to bother you, as do Betty and Gail and Kathy. If they see you’re home, they leave their tupperware-filled home-cooked meals at your doorstep, knowing you’ll grab them once they leave. Anyone else—salesmen or mailmen or whomever—always gives up after a few minutes. 

However, this knocking has yet to cease. It must be a salesman, you think with a groan, and he must not have gotten the memo from other neglected salesmen that you’re a house to avoid. You can’t afford the latest vacuum model, you don’t care to own a stack of encyclopedias, and for the love of god, if you have to tell one more well-dressed man that your missing-in-action biker husband is not in need of a new shaving brush you’re gonna start keeping Benny’s handgun on the entryway table. 

The tapping turns into full-fledged banging that shakes the house, and now you’re irritated, offended on the weathered structure’s behalf. Your chair scrapes across the floor as you stand sharply and round the corner into the hall. A curse is on your lips as you wrap your hand around the knob, twist, and pull, but it dies. More than dies, it’s sucked right out of your lungs along with your breath. 

You want to slap him, split his puffy lips and watch the blood run down his chin. You want to shove him back so he’ll fall down the stairs and land on his ass. You want to get your breath back because that curse is clawing for freedom and you desperately want to let it out. But you can’t. You’re frozen.

He looks like shit. Well, as much as Benny Cross can look like shit, which is quite unimpressive compared to other men, but at least he doesn’t look well-rested. There’s some satisfaction in that, limited as it may be. 

“Hi, baby,” he says. The low tone shudders your spine. If he’s happy to see you he doesn’t show it, but you know that even if he is, he wouldn’t dare smile after what he did. 

Your swallow is hard, painful, and as the ease with which he spoke those two words sinks in, every emotion you’ve felt since he vanished bubbles over the edge of your resolve.

“‘Hi, baby’?” you echo. “Are you serious? That’s the best you’ve got, you asshole?” Your hand smacks against his chest and the unexpectedness of it forces him to stumble back a foot. You follow his stumble, stepping out onto the porch. “It’s been six weeks, Benny!”

He sighs, holding his hands up in surrender. “I know.”

“Six fucking weeks!” With your second smack, his fingers latch around your wrist, but he doesn’t push your hand away, he keeps it planted above his heart, refusing to let you go. 

Dipping his head, he stares directly into your eyes. The intensity momentarily stuns you. “I know,” he repeats.

“Oh, you know,” you say, trying to jerk out of his grasp. “You abandon your pregnant wife and you think knowing that you’ve done it means a damn thing to me? Fuck off!”

“No,” he calmly replies.

“Yes!” you bark.

“No.”

Tears begin to cloud your vision. He disappeared and broke your heart at the worst possible time and now that you don’t want him here, he refuses to leave. And how horrible, how fucking humiliating to have your husband dismiss your desires so flippantly. 

“I hate you!” you snap.

“I love you.”

“You left!”

“I panicked.” His free hand lands on your shoulder and slides up your neck to cup your cheek. “I panicked, baby,” he says softly.

That gentle tone pierces your skin against your will and seeps into your veins, spreading throughout your body a sedating sensation. Just enough of the drug to slow your violent pulse without knocking you out completely. And in the absence of such potent rage, sorrow takes over. 

Your bottom lip quivers. Salty drops create lines down your cheeks and drip off your chin onto the rotting floorboards beneath your feet. He was supposed to replace those. It was going to be a summer project but a month and a half has already been carved out of the season and the floorboards still bow under your weight.

“Why were you allowed to panic?” you whimper. “I didn’t get to panic, so how come you got to?”

He sighs, his calloused thumb stroking your cheek. He doesn’t have a response but you didn’t expect one, at least not one with any substance, so you continue. “You know what I’ve been doing while you were out panicking? Trying to find a job so I can afford this house and provide for our child the way a parent should. But no one’s been willing to hire me.”

Benny’s brow pinches and his grip on your hand tightens. Broad shoulders fall forward as if you've just placed a few hefty boulders upon them. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” he breathes. “I’m sorry. I shoulda been protecting you from those kinds of worries. I shoulda been here.”

“Well, you weren't.”

“I'm gonna be,” he tells you, but it’s clear he doesn’t believe that you believe him. “I am.”

You wish you could trust his word. You wish it was that simple. You wish you were more forgiving, but a situation conflicting enough to require this level of forgiveness is not something you’ve dealt with before. You’ve experienced loss in your life, and you know it well—your father left and your mother disengaged from motherhood, but neither were so rude as to put you in a place to contemplate forgiveness for their betrayal. Neither came back to request it. 

“Will you wait here?” he asks, “and not lock me out when my back is turned? Please?”

You’re severely tempted to do just that because, frankly, he’s made you wait for him long enough. But for some reason, you don't. You cast your gaze aside, cross your arms, and after a couple of seconds, nod your head. 

In your peripherals, you detect his light smile. Then he turns, walks back to his bike, and wrestles a brown paper-wrapped package out of the pack attached to his seat.   

“What is this?” you ask as he returns to the porch and offers it to you. 

“If I was just going to tell you then why would I have wrapped it?”

You almost roll your eyes at the image of Benny taking the time to wrap anything for anyone, as normally he’d enlist someone else (you) to do it, but looking at it, it really is a poorly packaged mess. Wrinkled and ripped in one spot, with a lop-sided bow tied from the string that’s holding the parcel together. Definitely Benny-quality work for this sort of task.

As you tear through the wrapping, Benny collects your scraps, balling the shredded paper together and setting that ball down on the porch railing. The small blanket in your hands is made of bright green fabric with fringed trim, and when you unfold it, hanging it high to get a look at the full thing, you see a white duckling embroidered into one of the corners. 

You lower the blanket so you can meet Benny's eyes. “Why a duck?”

He sticks his hands in his front pockets and shrugs. “They didn't have any with little Harley’s,” he teases.

To your great internal shame, you have to choke down a chuckle. His innocent joke instantly reminds you that he’s the one man who can make you laugh, the one who won you over because of his subtle wittiness and his less subtle charm. And now you fucking miss him, damn it. You’d convinced yourself you’d gotten over that, but even as he stands within touching distance, holding distance, kissing distance, you miss him.  

He clears his throat. “Um…if you don't like it I can–”

“No,” you stop him, shaking your head. “I don't particularly like you at the moment, but…” You exhale and give the gift another glance. “I like the blanket.”

Benny nods. His adam’s apple bobs harshly in his throat as you refold the blanket and clutch it to your chest. 

“You think you could like me again one day?” he asks. “You know, if I prove myself real well.”

Your eyes narrow as they flick up to his ocean blues. “Prove yourself as what?”

“A husband,” he says. “A father.”

A husband. A father. One of which he’s been good at in the past—prior to the disappearing act, of course—and one of which you used to believe he’d be good at in the future if that was where fate led you, which it has. But…you don't know. 

You have two options. That’s it. Yes or no. Can you risk it or not? It’s a lot to take in but the reality is, there’s a question you must answer before you can answer any others—did the bomb he threw at your lives shatter your heart to an unmendable state? 

You chew on your cheek, your jaw ticks, and then with a huff, you straighten your spine. 

“You can never do this again,” you declare firmly, poking your index finger into the center of his chest. “I mean it, Benny. If you do, we won't be here when you come back.”

The ropes of rigidness unravel from his body. “Baby, this is where I wanna be,” he says, stepping into your space once more. “I promise.”

You can feel your heartbeat jackrabbiting from his closeness now that your overwhelming emotions have somewhat subsided.

“You’re sleeping on the couch,” you tell him.

Benny grins. “That's fair.”

---

maybe a part 2? Let me know :)

Updated Taglist (if you wanna join)

[writingforstraykids]

What are your thoughts on Jilix as fwb? Please, anything 🙏🏻

Hii dear, thank you for the request🖤 As I already had some thoughts on Jilix kissing platonically I decided to take that as a starter. I was working on a fic based on Miu's audio sooo I thought why not combine those?🤭 hope you like it🖤🖤

Pairing: Jilix

Word Count: 3082

Summary: Jisung and Felix have slowly grown closer and became each other's safe haven. Fleeting touches turn into cuddles, cuddles turn into kisses, kisses one day turn into more.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, smut, kissing, oral (ji receiving), whiny!bottom!ji, soft!lix, fwb

The dim glow of Jisung's lamp cast a warm light over the room as Jisung and Felix settled in for the night. They had just finished another exhausting day, performing for thousands of fans and basking in the high energy of the stage. Now, as the adrenaline faded, they found themselves in the quiet solitude of Jisung's room.

It had become a routine for them, these nights spent together. Initially, it was out of convenience and comfort; sharing a room meant they had someone familiar to unwind with after the chaos of the day. But over time, their interactions had evolved into something more intimate, yet undefined.

Jisung was sprawled out on the bed, his limbs heavy with fatigue. Felix, ever the night owl, was still puttering around, brushing his teeth and organizing his things. The two had grown used to each other's habits and quirks, finding a rhythm that worked for them.

"Hey, you coming to bed or what?" Jisung called out, his voice muffled by the pillow.

"Yeah, yeah, just a sec," Felix replied, his voice tinged with amusement. He quickly finished up and turned off the bathroom light, plunging the room into a comfortable darkness, save for the lamp.

Felix climbed into bed beside Jisung, their proximity close but still respectful of personal space. It was a boundary they had naturally established, though it was becoming increasingly porous.

Jisung shifted slightly, turning to face Felix. "You did great tonight," he said softly. "The fans loved your solo."

Felix smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Thanks, Ji. You were amazing too. Your rap was fire."

They lay there for a moment, the silence filled with unspoken words. It was Felix who broke it, leaning over to place a fleeting kiss on Jisung's hair. It was innocent, almost brotherly, but it sent a ripple of warmth through Jisung. He felt a flutter in his chest, a sensation that was becoming all too familiar.

"Night, Ji," Felix murmured, settling back down.

"Night, Lix," Jisung replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

The next night, the atmosphere was much the same. They returned to their room after another busy day, exhausted but exhilarated. As they settled in, Jisung felt a strange but familiar pull toward Felix. It started with a casual brush of hands, a lingering touch that neither pulled away from. Then, a kiss on the temple, followed by one on the forehead.

It was innocent, tender, and filled with an unspoken need. They were both touch-starved, craving the simple comfort of being held and loved in a way that transcended words. As they cuddled up, Jisung felt a sense of peace wash over him. Felix's presence was grounding, a reminder that amidst the chaos of their lives, there was a constant they could rely on.

One night, as they lay in bed, Felix grew a little bolder. He had always been the more adventurous one, willing to push boundaries just to see where they led. As he nestled closer to Jisung, he planted the softest kiss on his neck, testing the waters.

Jisung's breath hitched, and he would be lying if he said it didn't make him feel special. There was a vulnerability in Felix's actions, a silent plea for connection that Jisung couldn't ignore. He found himself leaning into it, encouraging Felix in subtle ways—a gentle touch, a soft sigh, a quiet "yes" in the darkness.

As they lay there, bodies entwined, Jisung's fingers found their way into Felix's hair, running through the soft strands. Felix responded by kissing Jisung's neck sleepily, the sensation sending shivers down his spine.

Without thinking, Jisung pulled Felix up, meeting his lips in a kiss that was both surprising and inevitable. It was a culmination of all the unspoken emotions and desires that had been slowly simmering between them. They kissed with a tenderness that spoke volumes, their need for each other laid bare in that intimate moment.

From that night on, their dynamic shifted. What had started as innocent gestures of affection grew into something more profound. They became each other's solace, their safe haven in a world that often demanded too much of them.

Whenever one of them was hurt, the other was there to kiss away the bruises, offering comfort and healing in the form of soft touches and whispered reassurances. When one of them was upset, the other was there to kiss away the tears, holding them close when they felt like falling apart.

Whatever room they shared became a sanctuary, a place where they could be themselves without the weight of expectations. They would spend hours holding onto each other, their lips meeting in a dance of affection that left them feeling seen and appreciated.

One night, after a particularly grueling day, they found themselves in bed, wrapped in each other's arms. Jisung was tracing lazy patterns on Felix's back, the repetitive motion soothing them both.

"Ji," Felix murmured, his voice heavy with exhaustion and something deeper. "Do you ever think about... us? Like, what this means?"

Jisung's hand stilled for a moment before he resumed the gentle strokes. "Yeah, I do," he admitted. "But I try not to overthink it. What we have... it's special. And I don't want to ruin it by putting labels on it."

Felix nodded, understanding but still needing reassurance. "I just... I care about you, Ji. A lot."

"I care about you too, Lix," Jisung replied softly. "More than anything."

They fell into a comfortable silence, the weight of their words hanging in the air. There was a sense of contentment in knowing that they had each other, no matter what.

As the tour continued, their bond only grew stronger. They navigated the challenges and triumphs together, finding strength in their connection. Every night, they would return to their now shared hotel room, eager to seek solace in each other's arms.

One evening, after a particularly emotional performance, Felix found himself feeling unusually vulnerable. The cheers of the crowd had been overwhelming, and the pressure to be perfect weighed heavily on him.

Jisung noticed the tension in Felix's frame as they entered their room. Without a word, he pulled Felix into a tight embrace, holding him close. Felix melted into the hug, his defenses crumbling as he buried his face in Jisung's shoulder.

"It's okay, Lix," Jisung murmured, rubbing soothing circles on his back. "You're amazing, and you don't have to be perfect. Just be yourself."

Felix let out a shaky breath, feeling the warmth of Jisung's words seep into his soul. He pulled back slightly, looking into Jisung's eyes. "Thank you, Ji," he whispered. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Jisung smiled, his heart swelling with affection. "You don't have to worry about that. I'm not going anywhere."

Their lips met in a soft, lingering kiss, a promise of support and love that transcended words. They held each other close, finding comfort in the simple act of being together.

As the months passed, their nights became a ritual of intimacy and connection. They would talk about their dreams and fears, sharing parts of themselves that they kept hidden from the world. In those moments, they were not just idols but two people who needed each other in ways that went beyond friendship. Until one day, another so far established boundary was bent…

The hotel room was dimly lit, casting long shadows on the walls as Jisung and Felix entered, both exhausted from the night's performance. The thrill of the concert still buzzed faintly in their veins, but fatigue was quickly catching up. They had become used to this pattern: the high of the show, the quiet descent into their shared sanctuary, the solace they found in each other's presence.

Jisung flopped onto the bed, kicking off his shoes with a groan. "I'm beat," he said, his voice muffled by the pillow.

Felix chuckled softly, closing the door behind him. "I know the feeling," he replied, setting down his bag and stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rode up slightly, revealing a sliver of toned stomach, and Jisung's eyes were momentarily drawn to the sight.

They had grown closer over the past months, their bond deepening in ways they hadn't anticipated. What started as simple gestures of affection had evolved into a physical intimacy that neither of them had the words to fully describe. They had found comfort in each other's touch, a way to feel grounded amidst the chaos of their lives.

Felix opened the window, the distant sound of traffic floating into the room. Felix approached the bed and sat down beside Jisung, his hand coming to rest on Jisung's back. "Come on, Ji. Get up. You need to change out of those clothes."

Jisung rolled onto his back, looking up at Felix with a tired smile. "You're such a nag, you know that?"

Felix grinned, leaning down to plant a kiss on Jisung's forehead. "Someone has to take care of you," he teased. "Now, come on."

With a groan, Jisung sat up, pulling off his shirt and tossing it aside. Felix watched him with a mixture of amusement and something deeper, his gaze lingering on the way Jisung's muscles moved under his skin. There was a tension in the air, a current of unspoken desire that seemed to crackle between them.

As Jisung reached for his pajama top, Felix's hand caught his wrist, stopping him. Jisung looked up, surprised, and saw the intensity in Felix's eyes.

"Lix?" he asked, his voice uncertain.

Felix didn't respond immediately. Instead, he leaned in, his breath warm against Jisung's skin as he placed a soft kiss on Jisung's collarbone. Jisung's breath hitched, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Felix..." he murmured, but there was no protest in his tone. If anything, there was an unspoken invitation, a desire for more.

Felix's kisses trailed up Jisung's neck, each one sending shivers down his spine. When he reached Jisung's jaw, he paused, their faces inches apart. Jisung's eyes fluttered closed, anticipation coiling tight in his stomach.

"Ji," Felix whispered, his voice husky. "Is this okay?"

Jisung's eyes opened, meeting Felix's gaze. There was a vulnerability in Felix's expression, a need for reassurance. Jisung answered by cupping Felix's face in his hands, pulling him into a kiss that was anything but innocent.

The kiss deepened quickly, a hunger that had been building for weeks finally finding release. Felix's hands roamed over Jisung's bare chest, his touch both gentle and insistent. Jisung responded in kind, his fingers tangling in Felix's hair, pulling him closer.

They broke apart only when the need for air became too great, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. Jisung's eyes were dark with desire, his lips swollen from their kiss. Felix's pupils were dilated, his skin flushed.

"God, Ji," Felix murmured, his voice shaky. "I want you."

Jisung's heart skipped a beat at the raw honesty in Felix's words. He leaned in, capturing Felix's lips in another searing kiss. "I want you too, Lix," he whispered against Felix's mouth. "So much."

They moved together in a tangle of limbs and desire, shedding clothes and inhibitions. The feel of Felix's skin against his own was electrifying, each touch sparking a fire that burned hotter with every passing second.

Felix's hands were everywhere, exploring Jisung's body with a reverence that made Jisung's heart ache. When Felix's mouth found his nipple, teasing it with gentle flicks of his tongue, Jisung moaned, arching into the touch.

"Felix, please," Jisung gasped, his fingers digging into Felix's shoulders. "I need you."

Felix's eyes met his, dark and intense. "I've got you," he promised, his voice low and fervent. "Just let me take care of you."

Jisung nodded, surrendering himself to Felix's touch. Felix's kisses trailed lower, leaving a path of heat in their wake. When he reached Jisung's waistband, he paused, looking up for permission.

Jisung's answer was to lift his hips, helping Felix remove the last barrier between them. Felix's breath hitched at the sight of Jisung laid bare before him, vulnerable and trusting.

"You're beautiful," Felix whispered, his voice filled with awe. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the hollow of Jisung's hip. "So beautiful."

Jisung's response was a shuddering breath, his fingers threading through Felix's hair. Felix's mouth moved lower, his kisses becoming more fervent, more insistent. When he finally took Jisung in his mouth, the sensation was overwhelming.

"Felix!" Jisung gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily. The pleasure was almost too much, a white-hot intensity that made his mind spin. Felix's hands held him steady, guiding him through the waves of sensation.

Felix's mouth worked with a skill that left Jisung breathless, each movement pushing him closer to the edge. When Jisung felt himself teetering on the brink, he tugged at Felix's hair, pulling him up for a kiss that was desperate and needy.

"I need you inside me," Jisung whispered against Felix's lips. "Please, Lix. I need you."

Felix's eyes darkened with desire, and he nodded, his breath coming in harsh pants. "Okay, Ji. Okay."

"Relax, Ji," Felix whispered, his voice soothing as he squeezed a generous amount of lube onto his fingers. "I don't want to hurt you."

Jisung nodded, his trust in Felix absolute. He spread his legs, opening himself up to Felix's touch. Felix's fingers were careful and deliberate as they prepared Jisung, each movement slow and controlled to ensure Jisung's comfort. The initial intrusion was met with a sharp intake of breath from Jisung, but he quickly adjusted, his body relaxing under Felix's ministrations.

Felix's free hand stroked Jisung's thigh, his touch a grounding presence. "You're doing great, Ji," he murmured, his eyes locked onto Jisung's face, watching for any sign of discomfort.

Felix moved with a deliberate slowness, the careful preparation intensifying the anticipation between them. His fingers worked gently but insistently, each touch drawing soft whimpers from Jisung. The sounds of his need filled the room, a symphony of whines and gasps that only fueled Felix’s determination to drive him wild.

“Felix, please," Jisung whimpered, his hips moving restlessly. "I can't wait anymore."

"Patience, Ji," Felix murmured, though his own voice was strained with desire. "I want you to be ready."

Jisung's response was a high-pitched whine, his back arching off the bed. "I'm ready, Lix. I need you now.”

When Felix deemed Jisung ready, he withdrew his fingers, reaching for the condom. Jisung watched him with half-lidded eyes, his anticipation building with every passing second. Felix rolled the condom on with practiced ease, applying more lube before positioning himself at Jisung's entrance.

"Ready?" Felix asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jisung nodded, his eyes full of trust and desire. "Yes, Lix. I'm ready.".

He locked eyes with Jisung, searching for any last sign of hesitation. Seeing only desperate need reflected back at him, he pressed forward, slowly entering Jisung. The initial stretch drew a sharp cry from Jisung, his fingers clutching at Felix's shoulders, nails digging in as he adjusted to the intrusion.

The sensation was overwhelming—a perfect blend of pleasure and pain that made Jisung’s head spin. His breath hitched, his chest heaving as he struggled to accommodate Felix's size. But the discomfort was quickly overshadowed by a growing wave of pleasure, each inch driving him closer to the edge.

"Move, Lix," Jisung pleaded, his voice breaking. "Please, I need more."

Felix began to move, his thrusts slow and measured at first, giving Jisung time to adjust. But the pace quickly grew more urgent, the need to be closer, to feel more, overtaking them both. Jisung’s legs wrapped around Felix's waist, pulling him deeper, his head thrown back in ecstasy.

"Felix," Jisung moaned, his voice high and needy. "Oh god, you feel so good. So good."

Felix groaned in response, his movements becoming more forceful. "You're perfect. So perfect."

They moved together in a frantic rhythm, their bodies seeking an intimacy that went beyond the physical. Each thrust, each touch, was a reaffirmation of their connection, a silent promise that they were in this together. Jisung's hands roamed over Felix's back, his nails leaving red trails in their wake. Every movement, every sound, drove them both higher, their need for each other consuming them.

Jisung's whimpers turned to cries of pleasure, his body trembling with each powerful thrust. The pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak, every nerve ending alive with sensation. "Lix," he gasped, his voice breaking with need. "I'm so close. Please, don't stop."

Felix’s response was a growl of determination. "I've got you, Ji. I'm not stopping."

With a final, powerful thrust, Felix drove them both over the edge. Jisung's cry of release was loud and desperate, his body arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crashed over him. Felix followed moments later, his own release shuddering through him as he buried his face in Jisung's neck, their bodies trembling together in the aftermath.

They collapsed together, their bodies slick with sweat and trembling with the aftershocks of their release. Felix remained inside Jisung, their breaths mingling as they held each other close, the intimacy of the moment grounding them both.

Jisung’s fingers threaded through Felix’s hair, his touch gentle, soothing. "That was..." he began, but words failed him.

"Incredible," Felix finished for him, his voice filled with awe and contentment.

They lay there in the quiet aftermath, their bodies still entangled. Jisung felt a profound sense of peace settle over him, his heart swelling with affection for the boy in his arms. Felix had become more than just a friend, more than just a comfort. He was Jisung’s anchor, his safe haven.

As their breathing slowly returned to normal, Felix pressed a soft kiss to Jisung’s forehead. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

Jisung nodded, a contented smile on his lips. "More than okay," he replied. "That was... perfect."

Felix smiled, his eyes filled with warmth. "Yeah, it was," he agreed, pulling Jisung closer. "I'm glad we have each other, Ji."

"Me too, Lix," Jisung said softly, his heart full. "Me too."

They lay there in the afterglow, their bodies entwined and their hearts full. In the quiet of their hotel room, they had found something precious: a connection that went beyond words, a bond that made them feel whole.

As they drifted off to sleep, Jisung felt a sense of peace settle over him. No matter what the future held, he knew they would face it together. And that was enough.

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @palindrome969 @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @kazuuuaaa @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves @dis-trict9 @queer-possum @james-is-here @slutforchanlix

And also those who loved the jilix thoughts: @antisocial-socialbutterfly @sleeplessstupidfinch @babybearcubbs @stayp1ece143

[dibidibidismynameisleeknow]

Friendsgiving

Pairing: Mingyu x (AFAB) Reader. Non-idol au

Synopsis: Just a little love story, reader and Mingyu are down bad for each other.

Characters: Mingyu, Wonwoo, Seungkwan, Jihoon, O/C Ava as Jihoon's girlfriend

Warnings: none, it's fluff, maybe a few innuendos and swears, nothing serious, Seungkwan is a menace. Despite there being no smut I still don't want minors interacting, it makes me comfortable, I'm an adult.

A/N: I was feeling inspired by S1 E9 of Friends. Fun fact, I don't decide who to write for, I let the fic tell me. The word count is almost 3,800. This is fiction.

~~~~~

🐶: Hey, any plans for Thanksgiving?

🌸: Hey Mingyu, no, I’m going to stay home this year

🐶: You’re going to be alone?

🌸: Yea, that’s okay, I’m sick of always traveling for the holidays

You figured that was the end of your conversation with Mingyu. You honestly didn’t mind not having plans for the holidays. The thought of extra time off work and not being around a bickering family for Thanksgiving was too enticing to pass up. Matter of fact, you were rather looking forward to it; maybe explore the city some more, see if any cute cafes or restaurants were open. The possibilities were endless. Your daydream of a peaceful Thanksgiving was interrupted by the ringing of your cell phone. Mingyu.

“You can’t be alone for Thanksgiving!” Mingyu refused to accept your reasoning. “As much as I would like to respect your boundaries. I am afraid that I cannot. I’m pretty sure that not being around people you care about during the holiday season is unconstitutional. I’d hate for you to have to pay a fine. Is that what you want? Do you really want to have to fight to pay the ticket like you did your parking ticket?”

You let out a snort, amused by Mingyu. “You put too much thought into that.” He really was too cute for his own good. At this point in your friendship, you’d do anything to protect him, to make sure no one hurt him. (Even though it was looking like you might be the one to break his heart).

“Mingyu, I’m tired. I just want to relax this year. Are you trying to get rid of me or something?”

“No. Stay here. Stay with me.” The line was filled with a moment of silence. You had never expected Mingyu to invite you over for a holiday. Was he cute? Yes. Do you enjoy every second you’re around him? Also yes. “This is our first Thanksgiving together. Please.”

“Why is this so important to you?” There was a slight possibility that you’d give into his plea. 

“You’re important to me. I’m thankful for our friendship. I want you here.”

Mingyu was honestly the sweetest person to grace this planet. The more you got to know him the more you could feel yourself falling for him more and more. At this point it was getting bad. The thought of Mingyu caring so much was enough to bring tears to your eyes, but you didn’t want to worry him, so you tried your best to hold them in. 

“I do a Friendsgiving every year. I’d really like you to be a part of it. There’s no travelling involved except maybe to my place, but that doesn’t count because you and I live pretty close to each other.”

“That does sound kind of nice actually. Thank you, Mingyu.”

“You’re welcome. I can’t wait to see you.”

“Text me the details.”

🐶: Saturday, come over whenever, it’s an all day thing

🌸: Do you need me to bring anything? Who am I going to meet?

🐶: Bring yourself and a positive attitude about spending the day with me! As for the guest list, I guess you’ll have to come and find out

🌸: Mingyu -.-

🐶: Fiiiiiiinneeeeee… Jihoon and his girlfriend are bringing dessert, Seungkwan is bringing drinks, and Wonwoo in typical Wonwoo fashion is bringing games. I’ve got the meat ;)

🌸: LOL I can’t wait to taste your meat Mingyu

🐶: I’m sure you’ll love it, you might even want seconds ;D

~~~~~

Mingyu ended up texting you Friday morning asking if you minded arriving extra early Saturday morning to help him prepare everything. Every year he underestimates how much work actually goes into hosting a holiday party and his social circle only seems to be growing. As important as Mingyu is to you, and as important as Friendsgiving is to him, you couldn’t imagine turning him down. You wanted this holiday to be perfect for him. If anyone deserved it, it was Mingyu.

🐶: Actually, do you mind spending the night instead?

🌸: Mingyu! That’s quite a jump in this friendship. Very risque, not demure

🐶: I’m worried about you going out in the holiday rush and I wouldn’t mind your help decorating, if you don’t mind.

🌸: Anything for you

“Oh, Kim Mingyu. How I don’t deserve you.”

~~~~~

Thankfully Friday night rolled around quickly and you were oh so grateful that Mingyu wanted you to spend the night… for convenience sake. Traffic was already wild and you could only imagine that it would get worse. After quickly packing an overnight bag you ordered dinner to have delivered to Mingyu’s place, you knew you two would be in for a long night, and day tomorrow. A token of your gratitude as well.

The evening with Mingyu went well, much better than you anticipated. The evening was spent decorating, prepping whatever food you could and overall just enjoying each other’s company. 

“This feels oddly domestic,” you noted, while placing a few decorations.

“It’s nice though, isn’t it?”

You hummed in agreement with Mingyu. “Anytime spent with you is wonderful.”

Even with you both busy preparing for tomorrow’s dinner, Mingyu still made sure to pull you in for a hug.  “Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

You soaked in his warm embrace but you couldn’t help but long for more and to be held by Mingyu more often.

“We should hurry up and get this done. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.” As much as you didn’t want that moment to ever end, your heart needed it to. 

~~~~~

“Hey, now that we’re done, did you want to hang out and watch a movie or something, or would you rather head to bed?”

“I kind of want to get to bed. Do you mind if I shower?”

Mingyu scrunched up his nose and looked you up and down. “Please do.”

The gentleman he is (aside from his earlier comment) led you to his bathroom and carried your overnight bag for you. “If you get tempted to use my soaps, help yourself. I know I smell irresistible.” 

“Get out of here,” you laughed. He does smell good, maybe I’ll have to take him up on that offer. 

You were just about to finish up your shower when you heard a faint knock on the bathroom door. 

“Come in! Sorry, did I take too long?”

“You’re fine. I just wanted to bring you a warm towel. I threw it in the dryer for you.”

“You’re amazing. Thank you.” 

The person who falls in love with Mingyu will have no idea how lucky they are. Hopefully they’ll treat him half as amazing as he treats you, and you’re just friends. Just a friendly self reminder. 

Stepping out of the bathroom and about to trail to the living room to get some sleep, you felt Mingyu’s arms wrap around your torso and pull you into his much taller, stronger and bigger frame.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Mingyu questions, almost as if you had done something wrong.

“The living room to sleep. Duh.”

He lowered his head closer to you, as if you couldn’t hear him clearly from his normal standing position, making your knees weak in the process. Still holding you, he spun the two of you around. “My bedroom is that way.”

“That was hot.”

“Yeah? You think so?” You could almost hear the smirk on his face, which means…

“Shit. Did I say that out loud?”

“You sure did sweetheart. Make yourself comfortable. It’s my turn to shower, I’ll be there with you in a bit… if you want.”

“Yes, please. I mean sure, if that’s cool with you. It is your bed. I don’t mind, if you don’t mind.”

Mingyu’s room was really nice, and his bed was huge and looked ridiculously comfy.  You just couldn’t wait to get in it, you knew the second your head hit the pillow you would be out for the night. It would be rude to fall asleep without saying goodnight, right? You thought to yourself. Climbing into Mingyu’s bed you realized you were right, it was comfy like you anticipated, and it smelled oddly like lavender, just like your own bed. You did happen to mention in passing to Mingyu that you purchased a lavender bed spray that was supposed to help you relax and fall asleep. It was possible that he decided to give it a try when he found out how much you liked it. You also noticed that off to the side of his bed, atop the nightstand was a white noise machine, similar to the one you have at home. Either you had more in common with Mingyu than you thought or he just paid really good attention to you. If the second option was the case, you didn’t realize how much you meant to Mingyu, which only made your heart race even more. 

“I didn’t know you liked white noise while you slept,” you noted as Mingyu climbed between the sheets.

“I don’t,” he replied before rolling over to turn it on. “I bought it because you were spending the night. The least I could do to thank you for your help was to make sure you were as comfortable as possible.”

“And the lavender spray?”

“For you.”

“Seriously, Mingyu. How are you still single?”

Mingyu rolled back over to face you and his arms found their way around you again and pulled you closer to him. Figuring it was okay, you rested your head on his chest. Just laying there listening to his heart beat. 

“I’m just waiting for someone very special and specific.”

You hummed in acknowledgement before starting to doze off in Mingyu’s arms.

~~~~~

The next morning you noticed the bed was significantly cooler than it was last night. Mingyu’s presence was significantly therapeutic and you found yourself missing it. Oh, this is bad.

“Good morning, beautiful. How did you sleep?”

“I think that was the best I’ve ever slept. Thank you for doing all of that for me.”

“I’m glad to hear that. You deserve the best.”

“I think I just might have to spend the night more often.”

“My door is always open for you, princess.” What’s with the pet names? You decided just to shrug it off, even though it made your head spin and your heart flutter. Oh, Kim Mingyu, you’re going to be the death of me.

~~~~~

In the kitchen you were greeted with the sight of a very domestic Mingyu, again. You watched and admired while he paced around the kitchen trying to throw everything together. There was still quite a bit to do for the evening but Mingyu couldn’t look happier. He was just glad that a few of his favourite people would be there to celebrate the holiday with him. Plus, he also looked adorable in his apron, so you wouldn’t complain one bit. You’d be lying to yourself if you hadn’t thought of husband material Mingyu once or twice in the past. 

“Alright, how can I help?”

Thankful for your help, Mingyu pulled you in for yet another hug. Is this going to be a constant thing? My heart can’t take much more of this. At this point it was a miracle that Mingyu couldn’t feel your heart race with the proximity of your bodies, you were sure that your heart would beat out of your chest any moment now. What you failed to realize though was that Mingyu also didn’t want to let go, but the knocking on his apartment door demanded his attention. 

Slowly, one by one his friends started to trickle in, making sure to say hi and introduce themselves to you. They all seemed very friendly, and you really wanted to make a good impression.

“It’s so nice to have another girl in this friend group,” Jihoon’s girlfriend Ava gushed, coming in to hug you. She seemed very sweet, you could see yourself turning into good friends. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. We’ve heard so much about you!”

You glanced from Ava to Mingyu, back to her, before glancing back to ask Mingyu, “you talk about me?”

“Talk about you? He doesn’t shut up about you.” Ava answered for him.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Jihoon panicked, pulling Ava off of you. “Let’s go help Wonwoo and Seungkwan set things up.”

Thinking they were out of earshot Ava tried to whisper to Jihoon. “Wow, Mingyu wasn’t lying when he said she’s really pretty.” It didn’t turn out that way though, she might as well have yelled it. 

“You think I’m pretty?” you teased.

“You have a mirror, don’t you?” For the first time since you met Mingyu, you finally caught the blush creeping up on his cheeks and his red ears. You couldn’t help but chuckle at how cute Mingyu looked when he was acting shy. 

“Let’s go play some games. I’ve got asses to kick.”

“Oh, you’re on.”

~~~~~

While Sackboy was a game that called for teamwork, Seungkwan and Mingyu seemed to have formed an alliance to try and sabotage you. Ava caught on pretty quickly and managed to talk Jihoon on backing you up against them. It involved a lot of throwing each other’s character off the edge and losing lives and slapping each other…in the game. Multiple levels had to be restarted. Thankfully Wonwoo got the boys to start playing properly so the night could go on, and you often got to the finish line first. Never against Wonwoo though, you knew he’d probably get to the finish line first, but your ego was well fed after coming first against Seungkwan. 

Seungkwan huffed out in annoyance, “Mingyu, your girlfriend cheats!”

“She’s not my -”

“Maybe you just suck,” you fired back. 

You caught Wonwoo leaning in to tell Mingyu, “she’s cool. I like her.” At least one of his friends tried to be subtle. But you missed Mingyu saying back, “yea, I like her too.”

Things started to die down a little bit more as dinner rolled around, but with Seungkwan’s competitive streak you all knew the peacefulness would be short-lived. Almost as if he could read everyone’s mind, Monopoly was dropped onto the coffee table.

“Alright, I want a rematch.”

Trying to remain calm, Jihoon rubbed his temples, almost as if Seungkwan pained him. “Dude, you’re embarrassing yourself. Just take the loss.”

“Yeah,” Ava whined. “We like her, don’t scare her off.” 

Mingyu was getting ready to step in and have Seungkwan back off and leave you alone but he found your hand on his knee enough to stop him.

“If he wants to lose, let him. Just know Seungkwan, this game takes a while so be prepared to suffer.”

Mingyu couldn’t help but enjoy that you and his friends seemed to be getting along so well. He also really enjoyed watching you absolutely destroy Seungkwan every chance you got. 

“My money is on Seungkwan,” Wonwoo chimed in as you and Seungkwan started to set up the game. 

“Thank you. I’m glad that someone believes in me.”

“My money is on you losing,” Wonwoo clarified. Maybe everyone else also enjoyed how things were going between you and Seungkwan. Mingyu didn’t realize that he stuck two of the most competitive people in a room together. 

Jihoon was the first to pull out his wallet. “Alright, I’m in.”

Seungkwan let out a groan of defeat as he fell backwards onto the floor. Jihoon used this sulking episode as an opportunity to divide the winnings amongst everyone that bet on you instead of Seungkwan. Which was everyone. 

~~~~~

The night had turned out amazing, as you expected. You found yourself really enjoying yourself and your new found friends. It was much nicer than spending the holiday at your own apartment and it was a nice change from your regular holiday plans. Which you made sure to tell Mingyu, you really couldn’t be more grateful that you had been so important to be included in this little tradition.

“Ava, did you make this pie?” you asked. “This is absolutely amazing.”

She blushed at the praise. It really amused you how someone could go from being so bold one minute to so shy and quiet the next.

Mingyu figured it was probably time to get involved with the conversations. He had been rather quiet the past little while just taking in his favourite people, and watching to make sure you were having a good time. “We’re convinced that’s the reason Jihoon is dating her.”

Jihoon just shrugged at his friend’s accusation. “Who doesn’t love free dessert?”

“You really like it?” Baked goods were Ava’s love language and it meant a lot to her when people could bond over good food. 

“I love it! Seriously, I want to climb inside and live in this pie. I think I want to marry the pie.”

This time Wonwoo was not so subtle with his next comment, “damn Mingyu, you’ve got some competition.”

At this point Mingyu gave up. There was no possible way that you didn’t know about his feelings for you. He wanted his friends' help on how to bring it up and what to say, but he didn’t expect it to turn out like this. 

“Yeah, I’m actually kind of jealous of the attention that pie is getting.”

Seungkwan jumped on the opportunity of embarrassing Mingyu. “It’s getting more attention than you.” 

“Seungkwan, be nice or I’ll kick your ass at another stupid game again,” you threatened. Mingyu couldn’t be more thankful that you were deflecting the situation away from him and not making him feel even more embarrassed and awkward than he already was.

The day started to fade bringing Friendsgiving to an end. It seemed like a good time to start cleaning up and gathering your belongings, you wanted to get home and rest a little bit before it got too late. 

“Are you leaving?” Mingyu asked, his voice laced with a hint of disappointment.

“Shortly, yeah. I just wanted to help get things cleaned up.”

“Oh, I don’t want you to leave,” he pouted. 

“What about me?”

“No, Seungkwan, I definitely want you to leave.”

“I feel like you’re picking favourites and it’s not me.”

Mingyu tried his hardest to get his friends to leave, but his friends seemed to sense his wish of wanting to be alone and spend more time with you that they took their time leaving. Except Jihoon, he was glad to finally be heading home and had to pull Ava off of you. 

“Mingyu give me her number, and don’t fuck this up.” On the bright side, at least his friends approved of you. But the big picture: did YOU approve of Mingyu? Could he be what you deserved? What you wanted?

Seungkwan said his goodbyes before gently (but purposely) knocking you into Mingyu, forcing him to catch you. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to push you under the mistletoe.”

“The what?” you glanced up and there it was, a very out of place decoration. “That’s the wrong holiday,” you noted, almost as if you were unsure. But you did know for a fact that neither you nor Mingyu put that decoration up. 

“I thought you two could use the push.”

Wonwoo could see Seungkwan’s life flash before his eyes, if Mingyu’s facial expression was anything to go off of.  “Dude, you better start running.” Seungkwan almost didn’t want to believe Wonwoo, but Jihoon did, and pulled their friend away, leaving Wonwoo behind with you and Mingyu. “I’m so sorry about him. I hope you stick around. It was lovely meeting you.”

You exchanged your goodbye with Wonwoo before turning back to Mingyu. Poor Mingyu, cheeks tinted red, so embarrassed and worried that his friends scared you and that he might lose you after his feelings were aired out so blatantly. This evening was supposed to be fun and relaxing, his feelings weren’t meant to be a part of it. He didn’t want to put you on the spot like that, it wasn’t his reason for inviting you over, he honestly just wanted you around. When he asked his friends on how he should go about telling you his feelings he didn’t mean that exact day, or even a day when they were around. Actually, they most definitely were not supposed to be there when he confessed his feelings. But here he is, forced to come out and say something. Mingyu’s trance was disrupted when he felt your hands work their way to the nape of his neck, forcing him to maintain eye contact with you.

“I lost you there for a second.”

“I’m so sorry about all of this, this is not what I expected. I don’t know what’s wrong with them. Are you mad? Let me grab your bag and I can walk you to your car.” Mingyu stopped in his tracks when he heard you quietly say,

“I would have kissed you without the mistletoe.”

“You what?!”

“Kiss her! Kiss her!” Seungkwan and Ava chanted from down the hall. Right. Mingyu was too wrapped up in his own existential crisis and didn’t make it back into his apartment. He muttered a quick “assholes” before pulling you back into the apartment, and making sure the door was locked and inaccessible from his nosey friends. 

“So, rumour has it, you have a crush on me?”

“Fuck it,” Mingyu sighed. “Yeah, I do. I have for a while actually. You were not supposed to find out this way.” You tried to reassure Mingyu that it was really okay, and figured he must have forgotten what you said previously about the mistletoe.

“Mingyu, I like you too, so much. You’re the most amazing person I know… as for the mistletoe.” you brought his attention back to the decoration. “We can’t break tradition, can we now?”

Mingyu watched as you stood up on your tiptoes closing the distance between the two of you. He wasn’t sure how to go about it, he hadn’t ever expected it to happen, but was relieved when you seemed to have everything under control. Despite trying to remain calm, cool and collected, nothing could have prepared him for what your lips on his would feel like. He couldn’t help the smile that came across his face and finally gained the confidence to return your affection back. When he realized you weren’t going anywhere he pulled you closer, silently hoping this moment wouldn’t end. Things only intensified when you ran your hands up his side and across his chest before stopping your hands on either side of his face and pulling away as Mingyu’s phone went off with a text notification.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Mingyu.”

Seungkwan > did you kiss her yet?

Ava > how was it?!

    > also, we heard you, there’s nothing wrong with us

Wonwoo > except EVERYTHING

Jihoon > freaks

> I was talking about Ava and Seungkwan by the way

Ava > rude, enjoy sleeping on the couch

    > add her to the group chat

Mingyu chuckled and showed you the conversation, a silent ask if you wanted to be a part of that mess. You handed Mingyu your phone, you couldn’t be happier to be welcomed into the group.

“Oh no, what did I get myself into?” you joked.

[the-fiction-witch]

Do not ever forget to love her

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Oscar Tully Couple - Oscar X Reader Reader - Y/n Rivers (Riverrun Maid) Rating - 15 (Sad AF) Word Count - 1824

Oscar was lost in thought, his mind swirling with worry and sadness, so much had been happening. The country was on the brink of civil war, and his Grandsire was in bed unable to even move. Soon he would find himself Lord Paramount of the riverlands a title he knew would come to him… someday, but he never thought it would be so soon.

He was freshly returned from Harrenhal and his very short meeting with Daemon Targaryen where he was all but ignored and told to end the suffering of his Grandsire.

So he sat on the wooden jetty watching the water, but he suddenly heard the sound of a soft, careful approach. He looked up to see her, Y/n Rivers. A maid in Riverrun, whose mother worked in the kitchens. Oscar and Y/n were the same age and had very much grown up alongside one another, she wore her rough mud-red dress with her grey apron over it carefully making her way towards him, clearly trying not to startle him.

A small, weary smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, "Hey," he said softly, his voice a mix of bittersweetness and relief.

"Hey," she softly smiled kneeling beside him, she didn’t speak any more even if she had a hundred questions to ask him about his trip but she didn’t say anything knowing he needed the quiet and the space,

Oscar looked at her with tired, weary eyes. The weight of his concern for his Grandsire evident in every line and contour of his face. He reached out and gently took her hand, the feel of her skin reassuring in its normality. "I'm glad you’re here," he said quietly almost a whisper, "I needed someone to lean on, even if just for a moment." His fingers tightened around hers before reluctantly letting go as if it were a silent plea.

"You may lean as long as you wish," she cooed taking his hand in hers again, "I share your concerns, not to the extent I do admit... He is your Grandsire I can't imagine the pain" For a moment they only watched the river together but she broke the silence once more, "... In some ways, you must admit, this has been a long time coming. You knew this day would be sooner than later. I know... That doesn't make it any easier. But you should go to him. I know it would mean so much to him both if you were there, by his side…for his last days"

Oscar nodded slowly, sighing deeply. "You're right," he admitted, "I know I need to be by his side. But... the thought of losing him..." He trailed off, He looked at her, his eyes reflecting a mix of determination and sorrow. "Will you come with me?"

"me? I- I have no place at the bedside of the lord paramount," she gasped,

Oscar's grip on her hand tightened, his eyes pleading. "Please," he implored, his voice tinged with desperation. "I need you there. I need your strength, your comfort. I can't face this alone." He gazed at her intently, the vulnerability in his eyes clear as day. "I know it may seem improper, but I... I can't do this without you. I can't say goodbye to him without you there."

she softly nodded and squeezed his hand,

Oscar let out a deep breath, the tension in his shoulders easing at her agreement. "Thank you," he whispered, the relief evident in his voice. Gently, he rose to his feet, still holding her hand in his. "Come on," he said softly,

Y/n followed Oscar her hand in his as they walked through Riverrun castle, the whole castle quiet and slow as if sitting on a knife edge ready any day for word. When they arrived at the Chambers of the Lord Paramount, she broke her hand from his and allowed him to enter first to keep a respectable distance,

Oscar stepped into the chamber where his Grandsire lay, his legs almost giving way at the sight. Lord Grover, once a powerful and commanding figure, now lay frail and weak, his face sunken and his breaths shallow. Seeing the man who had always been a pillar of strength in his life diminished so greatly tore at Oscar's heart. He stood for a long moment, frozen in the doorway,

Lord Grover lay in the bed, you'd never have thought he could have been a strong man. His body was frail and broken as if he was a corpse barely holding on. Lord Grover hadn't spoken anything coherent for months now and the Maester's where giving him milk of the poppy daily now

Oscar approached the bedside, his steps soft and measured. He reached out a trembling hand and softly touched his Grandsire's own, the skin papery and cold to the touch "Grandsire," he murmured, his voice choked with emotion. "It's me, Oscar..."

Lord Grover gave no reply, he didn't even seem to realise that Oscar was there.

In comfort, Y/n softly reached out and rested a hand on Oscar's shoulder,

Oscar continued to stare at his Grandsire, willing him to respond, to even acknowledge his presence.

But Grover's eyes remained closed, his breaths slow and rasping as if he was already on the edge of the abyss.

Oscar squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, fighting to keep his emotions in check. He laid his hand on top of hers, silently grateful for her silent but steady support.

"He might not answer, but I think he'd like to hear you." she suggested

Oscar took a deep, shuddering breath, gathering his thoughts. He gently squeezed her hand in response, drawing strength from her presence.

He leaned forward, his voice barely above a whisper as he spoke. "Grandsire, it's me, Oscar," he repeated. "I don't know if you can hear me. But I wanted you to know..." He paused, his throat catching as emotions and words struggled to find their way out. Oscar tried again, his words thick with a mixture of grief and affection. "you've always been there for me. you've been a guiding light, a source of strength... Even now, as I stand here, even though you can't respond..." He trailed off, his eyes misting, "I love you," he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions.

The silence in the room was almost unbearable as if the air itself was holding its breath, waiting for a response that never came. Oscar could feel the wet tracks of tears on his cheeks as he continued to hold his Grandsire's hand, willing him to open his eyes, to say something, anything.

"I... I think it would be best to... tell him all that you must" Y/n said,

Oscar swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion. He knew she were right. There were things he needed to say, things that needed to be said before it was too late. His eyes never leaving his Grandsire's face, he took a deep breath and began to speak. "Grandsire," he whispered, his voice thick with tears. "There's so much I want to tell you. So much... I don't even know where to start." He paused, gathering his thoughts, before continuing. "I know I've made mistakes. I've been reckless, maybe even foolish at times. But you've always been there, guiding me, teaching me. you've shown me what it means to be a Tully, what it means to be a leader." he softly said, "I remember... I remember when I was a little boy, I used to watch her lead our men into battle. I thought her were invincible. I remember thinking, 'I want to be just like him when I grow up.'" A tear rolled down his cheek, and he didn't bother to brush it away. "I hope... I hope I've made you proud, Grandsire."

"I'm sure you did Oscar, and I'm sure when you are lord he will be even prouder of you," Y/n smiled softly

Oscar's eyes flickered towards her, grateful for her words of reassurance. He knew she couldn't promise things she didn't know for certain, but still, her confidence in him gave him some comfort. “Thank you,” He nodded, Turning back to his Grandsire, he continued speaking, his voice firmer now. "I won't let our legacy crumble. I'll honour our name, and everything you've taught me. I'll make you proud, Grandsire, I swear it."

"you should let him rest Oscar,"

He squeezed his Grandsire's hand one last time, gently setting it back down on the bed. He leaned in, his voice a solemn whisper. "Rest now, Grandsire. I'll be here. I promise."

Y/n offered a tender smile as Oscar turned to her, she offered her hands for him to hold in comfort but,

As Oscar turned towards her, he seemed to buckle under the weight of his emotions. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her chest as he fought to keep himself together. His grip was tight, almost desperate, as he held onto her like a lifeline in a storm. He didn't speak, didn't move, just clung to her in silence, his body shaking with stifled sobs.

Y/n held him in her arms without judgement or aim of him to move, she just held him for as long as he needed her too

Oscar clutched at her, his fingers grasping the fabric of her gown as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded in the world. His body trembled against hers, tears dampening her dress as he allowed himself this moment of weakness. He didn't know how long he stood there, held in her embrace, but eventually, the storm of his emotions began to subside. He inhaled deeply, his grip on her loosening slightly, yet he still didn't let go. Oscar lifted his head slightly, his eyes puffy and red, but his voice steady when he finally spoke again. "Thank you," he whispered hoarsely, his arms still encircling her waist. "I... I don't know what I would do without you."

"you have no need to thank me, and I will be here as long as you need me, be that a moment, a day, a week, or the rest of time,"

Oscar's grip on her tightened briefly at her words. The strength and assurance in her voice was a balm to his weary soul. He drew a deep breath, pulling away just far enough to meet her gaze, his own eyes searching hers. "Please tell me that's a promise," he said quietly, a trace of vulnerability still clinging to his voice.

"I promise," She cooed stroking his cheek and wiping his tear

Oscar leaned into her touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. The simple gesture, the gentle brush of her hand against his skin, helped to soothe the storm of his emotions. He let out a shaky breath, some of the tension leaving his body. "I don't deserve you," he murmured quietly, a small, bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"...Elsa." Lord Grover began to speak barely able to form the word, 

[corruptedcaps]

A Worthy Successor

Beth’s eyes widened in terror as the ominous voice echoed through her mind. "No! I won't let you! I won't let you take over my body! No! Noooooooohhhhhh!" Her desperate plea filled the dimly lit room.

Suddenly, the air grew heavy, and an unnatural calm settled upon Beth. A sinister chuckle resonated, followed by a soothing voice that whispered, "Mmmm, that's much better. I don’t know why you fought against this Beth, your innocent little body will be the perfect vessel for me. You should be honoured that you’ll become the new Black Queen! But if we’re going to strike fear into this world then we’re going have to look a little more... wicked."

The room quivered with an otherworldly energy as shadows danced around Beth, twisting and contorting. An eerie silence fell before a surge of dark power consumed her. The transformation began, and the air crackled with malevolence, signaling the birth of a formidable force within the unsuspecting church mouse.

"No! This can't be happening! Stop!" Beth’s desperate cries filled were voiceless inside her head as the dark power intensified around her. Her own voice chuckled with a sinister delight. "Embrace it, my dear. You'll thank me for the gift I’m about to bestow upon you."

Despite having no control over her body anymore, Beth felt a strange warmth spreading from within her. "What... What are you doing to me?" she stammered, her voice quivering.

The Black Queen's laughter echoed, drowning out Beth’s protests. "You'll soon find out, my pet. Watch as your dull world transforms."

Beth’s chest began to swell, and she gasped, feeling the fabric of her clothing stretch against the burgeoning curves. "No, stop! I don't want this!"

But the dark queen's whispers continued, weaving through her thoughts like a venomous thread. "Oh, but you do. I can see inside your mind that you’ve always wanted respect, power, control. I am giving that to you. Embrace the beauty and power I grant you. Become the vessel I seek."

Resisting the changes, Beth’s once-flat chest now defied her will and gravity, blossoming into a voluptuous display. “What have you done to me?”

A seductive laughter filled the room. “I’ve only just begun, my dear. I’ll give you a new form that will turn heads and command the attention you so desperately crave.”

Beth’s ordinary brown hair transformed into a cascade of silky black, each strand shimmering with an otherworldly glow. The glow seemed to extended to her skin which changed from her usual pale to a deep brown tan. Long sharp nails painted a deceptively soft pink shot out of her fingers. The Black Queen observed her reflection in the mirror allowing Beth her first glimpse at her transformed body.

The Black Queen’s voice resonated with triumph. “Behold, you are now a vision of beauty and power. You are no longer a mouse; you are a lioness of wicked beauty.”

Beth couldn’t believe how she looked. Her plain body had been warped into a wicked altar of beauty and cruelty. And yet, with each passing moment, Beth’s resistance waned. A conflicted expression crossed her face, torn between fear and a growing fascination with the newfound allure.

As the Black Queen’s power continued its course, Beth, her voice now a hesitant whisper, uttered, “Please… more. Change me further.” The once defiant good girl found herself succumbing to the Black Queen’s irresistible influence.

“A Queen does not plead; they demand, they take. Go ahead, Beth, change yourself further.” The black queen’s command echoed through Samantha’s mind, and a surge of dark magic coursed through her veins. Control over her own body returned, and Beth found herself standing at the precipice of an important decision.

The newfound power within her granted the ability to exorcise the black queen, to reclaim herself from the clutches of this malevolent force. However, the allure of the dark transformation lingered, a tempting proposition that whispered of untold power and wicked beauty. The power felt too good, she looked too good. All she wanted now was to be bad.

With an evil smirk crossing her lips, Beth embraced the dark power that coursed through her veins. Raising her hands, she conjured a malevolent energy that enveloped her.

"Well, well, my dear aren’t you a natural," the dark voice whispered within Beth's mind. "Show the world the irresistible allure of shadows."

Beth's eyes gleamed with dark intensity as she surveyed her reflection. "Watch and learn," she replied, her voice now a sultry whisper, a stark contrast to her former self.

The once-subdued garments gave way to a tight-fitting, glossy black strapless oufit that clung to every curve. Intricate red patterns adorned the fabric, forming arcane symbols that seemed to writhe and pulse with an unholy energy. The outfit accentuated Beth's voluptuous figure, leaving little to the imagination.

"Is this what you desire?" the dark voice purred. Beth, with a wicked smile, replied, "Oh, it's only the beginning."

Her legs, now encased in knee-high boots crafted from shimmering obsidian leather, exuded a seductive allure. The boots, adorned with silver spikes along the heels, added a touch of danger to each step. Beth's reflection in the mirror revealed the transformation—a vixen of shadows, ready to command the forces of darkness.

Sleeves of sheer obsidian fabric billowed around her arms, as if woven from shadows themselves. A high, embellished collar framed her delicate features, imparting an air of dark authority.

"A queen should command attention," the dark voice echoed. Beth, with a flourish of her hand, summoned a flowing, sheer cape around her waist. It billowed with an otherworldly breeze that seemed to originate from the abyss itself. The inside of the cape was lined with red velvet, adding an air of regal malevolence.

As she completed the ensemble, Beth's eyes glowed with black intensity, mirroring the dark magic that surged within her. Her hands, adorned with talon-like nails, hovered over her transformed self with a newfound sense of mastery.

"Behold the queen of darkness," Beth declared, her smirk deepening. The room, now tinged with an aura of dark enchantment, bore witness to Beth's transformation into a queen of wicked beauty, fully embracing the dark path laid before her.

"Ah, my worthy successor," the dark voice resonated with a sinister satisfaction. "You have passed the test, Beth. You shall bring this world under your heel."

Beth's eyes gleamed with triumph as the dark magic continued to pulse within her. "Of course, I am worthy," she declared with an evil cackle. "I am the black queen, and this world shall bow before me."

The room seemed to shudder with the weight of Beth's newfound power. Her laughter echoed, a chilling symphony of malevolence that heralded the rise of a dark monarch. The glossy black bodysuit clung to her like a second skin, and the obsidian boots echoed with each step she took.

"I shall revel in chaos, and my reign will be one of wicked splendor," Beth declared, her voice dripping with arrogance. The cape billowed behind her as she reveled in the proclamation of her dark destiny.

Beth, with an air of regal arrogance, extended her hands, reveling in the malevolent power coursing through her veins. The once-timid girl had fully embraced her role as the black queen, ready to unleash her reign of wickedness upon the unsuspecting world.

[cacoetheswriting]

you’re losing me

pairing: eddie munson x gn!reader word count: 1.1k

summary: an exchange of forgotten items after the end of long-term a relationship.

content warnings: angsty angst, no happy ending (sorry), heartbreak, hurt / no comfort, mentions of marriage, eddie has commitment issues, minor use of pet names, adult language — also, this is very much unedited as i wrote it in one sitting, so excuse any & all mistakes, thank you! <3

“Here you go,” you say, arms stretching outward to hand Eddie a cardboard box. “This is everything you left behind at our— ehm,” you clear your throat, “at my place.”

Eddie hesitates for a moment, glancing between his packed belongings in your grasp and the sad expression on your face. You look tired, that much is clear. Sleep-less and puffy-eyed from all the tears you’ve undoubtedly shed as a result of his actions — or lack thereof.

The tremble of your lip alone causes his insides to twist. He’s never meant to bring you any pain, all though he knew that to be inevitable.

After all, a five year relationship coming to an end in one night is bound to bring pain.

“I don’t understand,” Eddie said, to which you replied, “I know you don’t.”

“I thought we were good,” it sounded like a plea.

You wiped the tears with the sleeve of your jumper. “How can we be good when you prioritise everything over me?” You questioned, voice breaking. “How can we be good, Eddie, when I give you all my best me’s, my endless empathy, and all you do is hurt my feelings?”

The brunette reached for you, but you instantly pulled back.

“You don’t want to get married.”

Eventually, Eddie drops the arm that was pressing against the doorframe above his head, and reaches for the box. His ring-clad fingers brush against yours gently as he holds onto the cardboard, an action that makes the air in your throat hitch momentarily.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” you mumble, hiding your hands in the pockets of your jacket. The imprints of his brief touch lingering on your skin.

A small, nervous smile circles your lips.

Eddie returns the expression.

“It’s okay,” he reassures quietly. “Thank you for even bringing this over, you didn’t have to do that. You could've called and I would’ve swung by our— uhm, by your place after my shift.”

“I just thought this would be easier,” you lie, the real reason being a lot more complicated. You really wanted to see him. To say you missed him, missed the life you two had, would be an understatement of the century.

Eddie nods, placing the cardboard box on the floor then kicking it slightly to the side — out of sight, out of mind. He glances around the trailer, hands now on his hips, before settling his attention back on you, not really sure what to say next.

He used to be able to talk to you for hours on end, about everything and nothing all at once. Town gossip, respective hobbies, work days, memories shared, his life before you, your life before him, the life you were planning to have together. No topic left unscathed. And now, whenever you bumped into one another, as rare as these meetings have been, he bites his tongue, afraid to say the wrong thing.

You do the same and it’s heartbreaking, really.

Especially because you still loved him.

— Deeply.

“I better get going,” you say meekly, breaking the silence that has surrounded the two of you. “Have a good day at work.”

“Yeah. Thanks, sweetheart.”

Jesus, fuck. Eddie bites his tongue, albeit a little too late, and instantly hates himself for letting the moniker slip. But you don’t react.

Instead, with one last longing look, you turn on your heel and begin your short journey down the concrete steps and dusty driveway. You can feel your ex-boyfriends eyes burn into the back of your frame, silently observing as you unlock the car and slide in behind the wheel, but you do your best to ignore his gaze.

Just like you ignored the pet name.

“Sweetheart—”

“And honestly, I wouldn’t marry me either,” it was a low blow, but the words escaped your lips before you got a chance to think about the repercussions.

Eddie said your name then with an over-exaggerated eye roll. However, that’s all he did. There was no rebuttal to your sentence. He didn’t argue or tell you how wrong you were. He didn’t offer any willingness to fight for you, fight for what was left of your relationship.

There was an ache in your chest. Slow, excruciating. The invisible walls were closing in around you, cutting off the oxygen, and as a result, your limbs seemed too heavy for your body. Like they no longer belonged to you. Almost alien.

It was hard to breathe. And all you wanted to do was scream for him to wake the fuck up because he was losing you. You wanted to scream and plead with him to do something, anything at all. Risk something, even though he’s already risked it all by not reacting the way you selfishly hoped he would.

Yet, Eddie simply stared at you.

And just like that, you knew it was over. Completely and utterly, over.

One hand on the wheel, you exhale. Eddie used to say he’d choose you no matter what, and now, not only did you know that wasn’t entirely true — because he let you walk away too easily, without a fight — your lives were also going to change and you were going to be heading in completely different directions, metaphorically as well as physically.

Key in the ignition, you’re about to start the engine when the sound of your name shifts your attention back to the person you’re trying to leave behind. For good, this time.

His tone, and the way your name falls off his tongue so effortlessly, as it’s done so many times before, is enough to make your heart skip a beat, and against your better judgement, you turn to face him again, rolling down your car window so he can lean his forearm against the glass.

Dipping his head to your eye level, Eddie clears his throat.

“I was wondering,” he begins, “The guys and I are playing in Indianapolis on Friday night, maybe you’d like to come?” He asks, then quickly adds, “If you’re free, that is.”

Your heart soars at his invite. You think to immediately say yes, because you’d go to the ends of the Earth if he’d only ask. But reality quickly clocks you in the head when you remember where you are, and why you’re here in the first place.

“You don’t want to get married, and I don’t want to settle any longer.”

Despite how much you still loved him, agreeing to go see him play would only bring more sorrow. It would tangle the two of you in an endless loop of sacrifices and that wasn’t fair.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Eddie.”

He tries to hide the disappointment by plastering a kind smile on his face, but you notice it regardless. Which of course you do. You’ve loved this man for five years before it all went to shit.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.”

There’s the moniker again. However, this time, he means to use it.

And when he taps his fingers on the roof of your car, retreating backwards, you smile at him one last time and say your goodbye, “I’ll see you around, Eddie.”.

as always, thank you so so much for reading <3

main masterlist

[traintrainingmontage]

Friends and Family

Summary: When Skarloey falls ill, Rheneas becomes uncharacteristically worried. The crimson engine's attitude rubs the SR's newest engine, Duke, the wrong way, until his brother makes a heartfelt request.

Rating: T

Word Count: ~2.3k (Chapter 1)

Chapters: 1/2

Characters: Skarloey, Rheneas, Duke, Peter Sam, OCs (human crews), mentions of other SR engines, mentions of the Thin Controller and Mr. Hugh

Ao3, if you prefer

Many of my headcanons here were inspired by/in alignment with those of Ted from the YouTube channel TTTE Community Radio. He has a great video about the Skarloey Railway and "the lean years" that's very much worth a watch!

The term "granchuffs" is not my original creation, but I've seen it circulated around the fandom, and it's my favorite thing.

A full year had passed since Duke had been found and added to the Skarloey Railway's roster, and summer had wound its way back to Skarloey Valley. The birds were singing, the sky was blue, and the sun peeked through golden-edged clouds. Flowers swayed gently in the calm breeze, and tourists walked about in comfortable clothes, smiles coming easily to their faces. Overall, it promised to be a delightful day at work for all of the engines... at least, for all but one.

Skarloey woke up feeling absolutely dreadful, and the discomfort only compounded the moment the old engine's driver, Graham, a fresh-faced young man of about 28 years old, started trying to light him up. His tubes felt tight and his frames ached, causing small, pained grunts to escape his lips as he shifted in place. As the other engines were steamed up, they spared him sympathetic glances, but could do nothing to ease his pain and were soon sent out by their respective crews. By the time the shed's clock read 10:00, only Duke, Rheneas, and the sick Skarloey were left in the shed.

The silence was broken by the sound of Graham sighing as he finished inspecting his poor engine. "Alright, Skarloey," he murmured, resting his hand on his tank, "I'll get Mr. Hugh to look you over properly. You won't be pulling any trains today."

The driver's gaze flicked over toward the other engines. "Do you think that one of you could take Skarloey's trains? I apologize, but..."

"Oh, it's no trouble," Duke reassured him. "I can--"

"I'll take his trains," Rheneas blurted out. The sudden outburst quieted the shed, Rheneas's concerned expression contrasting with the various looks of surprise aimed his way from Graham and Duke.

Skarloey's face, however, was set in a pained solemnity that had nothing to do with his illness. "Rheneas, don't." the No. 1 began, his voice tight, an edge of pleading whetting his words.

"He's right, Rheneas," Duke added kindly. "You just got out of the Works yesterday. I have only one train on my schedule today; I promise you that I am more than capable of taking Skarloey's as well."

"Exactly," Skarloey agreed, shooting Duke a grateful look before his sharp gaze returned to Rheneas. "It's your rest day, and you should...urgh!"

Skarloey's admonition was sharply cut off as another grunt of pain escaped him, and his brother's worried expression hardened into one of determination. "I will take your trains, Skarloey. Don't worry about me."

"I will always worry about you," the old engine retorted, and the seriousness in his tone caused any outgoing comments to wither and die on Rheneas's tongue. Still, despite Skarloey's pensive expression, he didn't object to Rheneas's plea any further, and Duke found himself at a loss for words in the face of the force of Rheneas's demand. Soon enough, the No. 2 was getting steamed up, and his driver Rodger was steering him gingerly out of the shed, looking for Skarloey's train.

Graham turned his gaze back to Skarloey, his pensive expression a reflection of just how unusually serious this entire situation felt. "Right... well, let me go report in to the Thin Controller and the Foreman, alright? They'll be here soon to take a look at you."

"Alright, thank you."

With another light pat to his boiler, Graham headed off to the main office. It was only Skarloey and Duke in the shed now, and although the space between them was slight, the gap felt insurmountable. Finally, Skarloey began to speak.

"I'm sorry, Duke. It's not that anyone here doubts your abilities, I promise. It's...well..."

"You don't have to explain anything to me, Skarloey," the other steam engine hastened to reply. He tried to keep his tone magnanimous, making every effort to not direct his frustration and confusion at Skarloey, but by the way the other engine's frown deepened, he could see that he hadn't particularly succeeded.

"But I do," the older engine murmured. "You deserve an explanation. All of you do. I just...gah."

Duke sighed quietly as Skarloey flinched, words failing the crimson engine as shivers wracked his frames. "I would be more than willing to hear you out later, Skarloey. For now, however, you must rest. Any explanation that you wish to give on the subject of Rheneas's behavior can wait until you feel less miserable."

~~~

Later in the day, Skarloey was fast asleep, having been given a cursory examination by Mr. Hugh. The foreman had wanted to move Skarloey into the Works immediately, but he had been called away from the station in order to handle an urgent family matter. As such, Skarloey had urged him to take care of whatever else needed handling, and that he would be perfectly fine with waiting. As the older engine slept, Duke was finally steamed up, readying himself for his scheduled train--set to run soon after lunch--as a comfortable heat settled in his smokebox.

A familiar whistle caught his attention, and he looked around to see the smiling face of Peter Sam.

"Hullo, granpuff!" the little green engine called as he pulled into the yard. With a quick pat, Rufus, his driver, alighted from the cab, likely off to take lunch alongside Richard, Duke's own driver. "How are things?"

"Well enough, Peter Sam," Duke replied with a smile, unable to keep a dour mood around his more chipper granchuff. "I'll be leaving to take my train soon."

"Oh, wonderful!" Peter Sam chirped. "It's a lovely day for it, although with the way poor Rheneas has been bustling around, he'd put a big-yard shunter to shame. He seems overworked, if you ask me, especially since it was supposed to be his rest day."

Duke paused for a moment as his smile drooped, trying to order his next train of words carefully. "About that... this morning, I offered to take Skarloey's trains, seeing as he is clearly unwell. But Rheneas was... rather insistent that he take on the job himself. I wish I knew why."

"Oh..." Duke didn't miss the sudden downward shift in Peter Sam's expression. "Right, I should have guessed. This sort of thing has happened before. But it's nothing to do with you, granpuff!" he hastened to add, trying to dispel any doubt. "It's nothing to do with any of us, actually. From the bits and pieces that Skarloey's told me..."

Here, Peter Sam hesitated a moment, his expression turning a morose shade of thoughtful. "It's something to do with the war, I think. Or maybe the aftermath."

The green engine's voice dropped to a whisper and his eyes darted around furtively, even though nobody else was around. "You see, granpuff, when Sir Handel and I were first brought on, Skarloey could barely move. They sent Rheneas away to be mended the week we arrived, and he looked so worried about Skarloey, even though the Thin Controller and Mr. Hugh promised him it would be fine."

Once again, the No. 4 hesitated, and with all the contrition of a confidant admitting a secret not theirs to tell, soldiered on. "When I asked Skarloey, he said that he'd been heavily damaged during the war, and that Rheneas had been doing all the work himself for years. We think---"

"I think that it's time for us to get going, Peter Sam," Rufus interrupted, although not unkindly. Peter Sam looked rather abashed, the two of them having been so absorbed in conversation that he hadn't noticed his approaching driver.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Rufus! Alright, I'm ready. We can talk later, granpuff."

"Of course, of course!" the old engine smiled, whistling in farewell as Peter Sam hurried along to collect his next train. He still had a good while before his own was set to depart, so--

"Did you two enjoy catching up?"

The wry, raspy voice caught Duke off guard, and his gaze whipped over to see Skarloey staring at him, his expression unreadable. Duke quietly gulped, finding the weight of the other engine's gaze to be rather unsettling. It wasn't mean, like that of the Mid-Sodor's horrendous management. Rather, it was judging, but not judgemental. Whatever Duke said next, he would have to take great care.

"We did, yes. How long were you...?"

He trailed off, but the crimson-colored engine seemed unbothered. "I was awake for most of it. It's very difficult to sleep when Peter Sam is in a good mood."

Duke couldn't think of a reply, so he simply hummed in agreement. After a long moment, Skarloey took it upon himself to fill the silence.

"Duke, may I... make a personal request of you?"

The gravitas in his tone, so unusual for what he'd seen of Skarloey thus far, caught Duke off guard despite the fact that this had been a rather strange day already. "Y-yes, of course. What can I help you with, Skarloey?"

"I would like you to speak with Rheneas. About his behavior, about his worries--mmhm!--about everything that he can't bear to speak of directly to me."

Shock flooded Duke's frames, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out "Me? Are you quite certain?"

Some of that shock must have shown on his face, because Skarloey graced him with a wry grin, even as a harsh cough shook through him moments later. "I am. It must be you, Duke. Nobody else here could understand what we went through besides you. Nobody else here... has seen two of the most terrible wars in this planet's history with their own eyes and lived to tell the tale."

The comment caused all of the air in Duke's tubes to woosh through him a half-step quicker, and he almost choked on his own breath. "I... I suppose that's one way to put it..."

Heedless of Duke's distress, or perhaps in spite of it, Skarloey elaborated. "During the second world war, Rheneas and I were the only two engines on this railway actually owned by the Skarloey. However, many Ministry of Defense engines were sent here to help mine and carry slate for various rebuilding efforts. The visitors were... mmmm... rather disinclined to worry about keeping our railway in decent shape, and more focused on the unending river of slate traveling from here to Kirk Ronan. We were constantly pushed around, nuisances in our own home."

Skarloey closed his eyes and took a deep breath, images flashing across his memory as though he were watching a movie. After a long pause, his eyelids fluttered open again as he continued his story.

"Rheneas often tried to stand up for us, but I didn't bother. It wouldn't have gotten us anywhere to argue. Instead, I focused on keeping our spirits up and doing as much work as I possibly could. After all, the more we did, the less damage others could cause to the railway. Also, because I was the only one of the two of us who could use the haulage wagon, I ended up taking trains of slate to Kirk Ronan when nobody else could. Unluckily for me, that tended to happen more often than I or the Thin Controller would have liked."

"Thankfully, the war ended, and the visitors began to depart. All of that work, however, left me severely damaged. Were this any other railway, they may have seriously considered scrapping me. However, this railway takes care of its own, and they actually built me this little side-shed in which I could rest and watch the rest of the world go by."

A weary note had entered Skarloey's voice, one that Duke, while not having had such an experience himself, could sympathize with.

"Rheneas... Rheneas has always felt guilty, I think. Guilty that I tended to get more work even before the war, guilty that he hadn't been able to help with some of the shipments to Kirk Ronan, guilty that I had ended up in such a state while he'd been spared. He nearly worked himself to a similar state of disrepair in those years before Sir Handel and Peter Sam came to our railway, and although I couldn't alleviate any of his physical burdens, I did my best to encourage him. Perhaps that only made him feel worse, though..."

The older engine's expression had morphed into a grimace, and Duke was suddenly hit by how worn Skarloey looked in this moment, his pain much greater than a physical malady could ever cause.

"And now, I've been mended and I feel better than ever--most days, anyway. But whenever I'm ill, Rheneas feels the need to pick up the slack, no matter the consequences to himself. When he looks at me, he sees the ghost of that terrible time. It's like he can't see the present for the past."

Skarloey licked his lips, clearly agitated, and Duke worried that he'd soon have another coughing fit. However, the crimson-clad engine simply pressed on.

"He doesn't want to worry me, so he won't talk to me. Not about this sort of thing, anyway. He's always been strong, and his work ethic saved our railway, but..."

Skarloey trailed off with a sigh, his frustration seeping out of him, but Duke understood. No more needed to be said.

"He needs a peer, is what you're saying. You're too close to the issue; he needs someone neutral that he can bare his heart to that isn't you. And it can't be any of the young'uns; they wouldn't understand."

"Yes! Exactly," Skarloey exclaimed, looking at Duke with wide eyes. "I know that I'm asking a lot of you, but like I said... I think you're the only one who can get him to open up at this point. I've tried, but--"

"Skarloey, Duke!"

An urgent shout drew both engines' attention, and their gazes quickly settled on the haggard-looking Richard, who was approaching Duke with urgent steps.

"Duke, Sir Handel will take your next train. Right now, we need to go rescue someone."

Skarloey and Duke looked at each other in alarm before their anxious eyes turned back to Duke's driver.

"Who is it?" Duke murmered, having a foreboding feeling that he already knew the answer.

"Rheneas," Richard replied solemnly. "He's completely come off the rails."

[rose-pearls]

Watching you go - Part 6

Previous Part - Next Part

“And that ladies and gentlemen is how you fool an entire nation!”, Gale yells through the apartment, a sarcastic smirk on his face as he falls on the couch.

“You should have seen their faces.”, Haymitch says as he sits down next to Gale, but you turn to look outside the windows, the Capitol had been hectic ever since learning about the fact you were Haymitch’s daughter.

“They are all trying to get information wherever they can, but they are furious that they didn’t knew about it.”, Peeta says as he gets in, and you can’t help but scoff.

“They aren’t the only ones.”, you mutter under your breath. 

A long silence follows your words, but you can’t think of something to say, to get back to the celebration of your plan working out. The only thing you can think about are your parents back in district 12 watching the interviews. 

“Right, well you both better get a good night of sleep. Tomorrow is the day.”, Haymitch says, and you feel scared at the thought of getting into the arena the next day, fear gripping you.

“I’m going to take a walk, I need to walk off the excitement of the interview.”, you mumble under your breath before leaving the apartment, ignoring Peeta’s pleas to stay and talk.

You would apologize to him when you came back, but at the moment you just needed air. The only place where you could find some peace and quiet was the balcony, but just as you opened the door to it you saw that someone was there already. 

“Finnick.”, you say, and the man turns around and chuckles as he looks at you.

“Well would you look at that, little Abernathy. You dropped a massive bomb out there.”, he says, still while chuckling and you can’t help but grimace at his words.

“Don’t feel hurt that you didn’t knew, just learned about it three days ago.”, you tell him, and the man turns to look at you with a frown on his face.

“Sorry to hear that. Although somethings do make sense now.”, you can’t help but feel confused at his words but before you can ask him what he means you see the bottle of wine in his hand and sadness in his eyes.

“What happened to you?”, you ask him before sitting down on the small bench. Finnick is still standing, looking at the lights in the distance before snorting.

“Too much.”, he says bitterly, and you look at him worried, he seems to be trying to hold back his emotions but it doesn’t seem to work.

“Want to talk about it?”, you ask him, and after a moment he sits down next to you, letting out a long sigh.

“Jo happened.”, he whispers but you still hear it, making you turn to look at him.

“I told her I couldn’t give her what she wanted, at least not immediately. Not even sure I would ever be able to, Annie still haunts me now.”, he says, and you let out a sigh at his words, fearing what the answer was.

“What did she tell you?”, he chuckles softly but it comes as a small sob.

“That she understood and that she hoped I would get better. But that she couldn’t put herself in a position where she could get hurt. So, she told me that we would always be friends but that for the moment she needed to be alone.”, a sob leaves his lips, and you rub his back, careful of not triggering him.

“And I understand her, I mean she deserves better than what I am giving her but still it hurts.”, he whispers, his voice shaking, and you continue to try and reassure him.

“I can’t tell you that everything will be alright but at least you told her how you felt, and she respected that. Now you need to respect her decision Finnick.”, Finnick nods at your words and after a few seconds he rubs his cheeks and lets out a long sigh.

“Thanks, for the pep talk.”, he says, and you snort at his words.

“Wasn’t much of a pep talk but you are welcome.”, you tell him and Finnick smiles at you.

“Good luck tomorrow.”, he says after a moment, and you feel the dread settling at his words.

“Thank you, not sure what to expect.”, you tell him, and he nods slowly.

“Well, it was an honor to be your trainer. I’m sure you will be one of the best fighters in there.”, he says, and you nod slowly, a small smile appearing.

“Thank you for your advice and help, couldn’t have done it without you.”, Finnick shrugs his shoulder, but you smile at him.

“You are welcome.”, the two of you stay there for a moment before you let out a sigh, making him look at you.

“I should go, Peeta is surely waiting for me.”, Finnick smiles kindly, and you smile back at him before squeezing his shoulder and leaving the balcony.

--

“How was your walk?”, Peeta asks as soon as you come into the room, and you turn to look at him.

“Good, needed to think of something else.”, you say and Peeta nods slowly, looking in deep thoughts.

“You know you can talk to me, right?”, he asks after a moment of silence, and you look at each other for a moment before you sit down next to him on the bed.

“Of course, I do Peeta. I just, I don’t even know what I’m feeling right now.”, you say and Peeta looks at you for a moment before taking your hand in his.

“That’s okay, just know that I’m here.”, you nod at his words and squeeze his hand.

“Just like I’m here for you.”, you tell him and Peeta smiles at you.

The two of you stay there for a few minutes, just looking at each other in silence before you break the comfortable silence.

“I’m scared Peeta.”, you whisper, unsure if Peeta managed to hear you but as he gets closer to you, you know that he did.

“I know, I’m scared too.”, he tells you and you let out a sigh of relief at his words.

“I don’t want to die.”, you whisper, feeling tears welling up as you tell him how you feel.

“I don’t want that either and if I could I would take your place in a heartbeat. But I promise you I’ll do anything I can to help you, you just need to stay alive.”, he tells you, practically begging you to stay alive and not do something dumb.

“I’ll try.”, you whisper and Peeta nods, before bringing you closer to him.

“Please do, I don’t think I would be able to live without you.”, he whispers, and you smile at him sadly, before bringing a hand to his cheek. Time passes by as you stay in his embrace and after a moment you start to feel tired, but you don’t want to sleep if it means less time with Peeta.

“We should go to sleep.”, he says, and you nod slowly at his words before letting him take you into his arms, immediately falling asleep as you feel his heartbeat against your ear.

--

“Be careful and stay alive.”, Haymitch tells the two of you, looking a second longer at you, Gale says his goodbye to Haymitch before going to Katniss leaving the two of you.

“Thank you for the mentoring.”, you tell him and Haymitch scoffs, before looking at you for a moment.

“Was the least I could do.”, he tells you and you nod slowly, at loss of words.

“I know I reacted poorly when you told me the news and I’m sorry for that.”, Haymitch seems surprised at your words, but you don’t let him speak.

“If there is a chance that I die in that arena, I wanted to thank you for telling me the truth. You didn’t have to, but you did.”, you say, and your father seems to be at loss for words.

“This better not be a goodbye kid.”, he says, his voice slightly emotional but you smile at him.

“Never, just a see you later.”, Haymitch nods at your words and for some reason you can’t help but hug him, his arms wrap around you after the surprises wears off and you stay there for a few seconds.

“See you later.”, you tell him and Haymitch mumbles a respond before letting you go.

Peeta is waiting for you, a loving smile appearing as he sees you arrive.

“We told each other everything last night but still, be careful. I love you.”, he whispers the last part, but you nod slowly.

“Love you too Peeta, don’t do anything stupid.”, you tell him and Peeta laughs at your words, his eyes slightly glassy.

“No promises.”, he says sounding a bit mysterious, but you let it slide. He hugs you but ends it far too quick, as a voice announces that all tributes need to leave.

“See you later?”, you ask him.

“See you later!”, he answers, and you nod one last time before leaving towards the hovercraft, Gale next to you. Your necklace under your shirt holding a picture of Peeta close to your heart as you step onto that hovercraft.

You don’t know what to expect as you step onto the platform but as the hours and days follow in the arena, you expect to die at any moment. Gale saves you far too many times you can count and for a moment you truly believe that it is the end until a hovercraft destroys the entire arena. 

“It’s okay your safe.”, a voice whispers to you as you get on the hovercraft, feeling a needle in your arm.

Taglist: @wannapizzamymindposts, @experiencebeinanamericanwh0re, @capswife, @star-of-velaris, @simpinformunson, @nobody7102, @r1dd1kulus, @primscat, @fishfetus

[rosyrosethings]

Y/n returns after missing

Part 2

Part two

Overwhelmed by a maelstrom of emotions, Y/n barely recognized the sense of belonging that once pulsed in the walls of her home. The sanctuary she returned to seemed distorted through her tears, each droplet blurring the line between her expectations and reality. The first few hours of her return were a blur, spent in the throes of uncontrollable sobs, while her mother's soothing words fell like autumn leaves upon deaf ears. Her heart, heavy with an unnamed dread, had braced for impact, but not for the storm that was to come.

In the midst of her turmoil, her mother reappeared, bearing what should have been a gift but felt like a burden. "Y/n, honey. I’m back, and here’s your new phone. It has the same number as before, and all your messages and pictures are in there,” her mother's voice was a soft hum, a slight vibrato betraying her worry.

Y/n accepted the phone with a murmur of thanks, the cold device a stark contrast to her warm, stinging cheeks. As her mother retreated, closing the door gently behind her, respecting the privacy that she needed. Y/n was left alone with nothing but the glow of the screen. Notifications flooded in, a deluge of missed connections: over 500 texts, calls, and voicemails. Each ping was a reminder of the life that had continued in her absence, each message a plea pulling her back.

She scrolled through the messages, heart aching more with every word. Concern, confusion, and disbelief filled the screen until she stumbled upon Harry’s texts. She couldn’t — wouldn’t — let herself spiral further down that hole, not now. Her gaze caught Zayn’s name, and she clung to the change of focus like a lifeline.

Zayn's initial message was a beacon of normalcy, a reminder of plans made before her world turned upside down: 'Hey, when you come back from your trip, we have to go out and celebrate.' But the messages that followed were steeped in anxiety, ending in a raw, vulnerable confession: 'Y/n, I can’t believe you’re gone...I miss you. You were a really good friend to me after I left the band, and I feel I need you now more than ever before.'

With a trembling hand, she replied, a small smile ghosting her lips for the first time in hours. 'Idk if you have the same number lol. But Hii.'

At that moment, Zayn was entrenched in his skepticism, dismissing rumors of Y/n’s return as mere fan fiction. But then, her message arrived, coinciding with his discovery of a blog post that confirmed his worst fears and best hopes: “Y/n has lunch with Harry Styles and his new fiancée Kendall.”

The conversation that ensued was a dance between old friends, familiar and comforting despite the circumstances.

'Wow, looks who’s back like they never left,' Zayn texted, relief mingling with residual tension.

'Lol, I am back, and better... though I kinda wish I was back on the island right now. Instead of here, crying,' Y/n’s reply was a mix of jest and heartbreaking honesty.

'Ohh, I’m assuming you found out about Harry and Kendall,' Zayn ventured cautiously, the words hanging heavy even in digital space.

'Yea... I did, but it’s okay. The world moves on, Just everything is different,' Y/n texted back with a sadness that Zayn could almost feel through the screen.

Determined to lift her spirits, Zayn quickly changed the subject. 'Okay, how about you come here tomorrow? it’s a place with no parents or ex-boyfriends.'

'Sounds awesome,' Y/n responded, the simplicity of her message belying the gratitude she felt for this unwavering friendship.

'See, I haven’t changed. I’m still your good friend,' Zayn affirmed, his words wrapping Y/n in a comforting embrace, reminding her that even in the darkest times, she wasn’t alone.

***

The afternoon had waned into evening by the time Harry returned home from lunch, the atmosphere heavy with an unspoken tension that seemed to vibrate in the air. The house, once a haven, now echoed with an awkward silence that settled between him and Kendall, thick and almost tangible. Harry's mind was a chaotic whirlwind, the image of Y/n incessantly flashing before his eyes, refusing to fade even as hours trickled by. It wasn't a question of love — his feelings for Kendall were genuine, deep-seated — but since Y/n's unexpected reappearance, the dynamics of his emotions had shifted inexplicably, unsettlingly.

The nightly routine unfolded with mechanical detachment; Kendall slipped into her pajamas, the fabric whispering softly against her skin in the quiet of their shared bedroom. The bed, usually a place of comfort, seemed to loom larger and more imposing than usual, a battlefield on which unvoiced concerns lay in wait.

“The fans are going crazy since Y/n’s back,” Kendall broke the silence, her words careful, probing. Harry offered a noncommittal hum, his mind miles away, lost in memories he thought he'd archived in the recesses of his heart.

She exhaled slowly, a mixture of frustration and resignation, before climbing into bed. The sheets felt colder than usual. “Harry...you called her ‘kitten’,” she voiced out softly, the word hanging heavily between them.

“So? It’s just a nickname,” Harry retorted defensively, a hint of irritation lacing his tone. But Kendall wasn’t convinced. To her, 'just a nickname' didn’t scratch the surface of the significance behind it.

She turned on her side to face him, shadows playing across her features in the dim light. “You remember why you called her kitten, don’t you? I asked you years back,” Kendall mumbled, her voice a mix of curiosity and a painful sort of anticipation.

The memory surfaced effortlessly. “Yeah, I told you it was because she followed me home from school like a lost cat when she was 6 and I was 8...and since I love cats, she became my favorite kitten ever,” Harry’s voice was soft, the nostalgia evident in his words, his mind reliving a simpler time.

Kendall’s heart ached with an indescribable emotion. “And when I tried to get you a cat, you wouldn’t let me...” she recalled, the memory bitter on her tongue.

“Because it would make me think of her, and she was gone,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, laden with a sorrow that had been tucked away until now.

The silence that followed was deafening, the confession hanging in the air, a ghost of a past that neither of them could fully grasp. Finally, Kendall’s voice, small and vulnerable, broke the stillness. “Do you even still love me?”

Harry’s heart clenched. “Of course, I do, Kendall,” he reassured, reaching out to gently stroke her arm, an attempt to bridge the chasm that had formed between them. “Let’s just go to sleep.”

But as they settled into the quiet of the night, sleep seemed like a distant dream, the unspoken thoughts and feelings a cacophony louder than any spoken word. The presence of the past, embodied by Y/n, lay between them, an invisible but palpable barrier as they drifted into a restless slumber.

**

The golden hues of mid-morning streamed through the large windows of Zayn's contemporary house as Y/n pushed the door open. It was a place she had been many times before, yet the familiar surroundings felt almost alien in her changed reality.

Greeting her with a mischievous grin, Zayn's voice echoed from the sleek, modern kitchen. "You know we absolutely must throw you a grand welcome-back party, right?" He leaned against the cool marble countertop, watching her deftly maneuver through the kitchen, prepping to bake cupcakes.

Her eyes never left the mixing bowl as she responded, her voice laced with a touch of sarcasm, "Oh, absolutely not ." The rhythmic sound of the mixer blended seamlessly with her focused movements, the aroma of vanilla wafting in the air.

Zayn pushed off from the counter, approaching her with a playful determination. "Look, Y/n, you've returned from what the media is terming 'the great beyond'. They're portraying you like a lost, heartbroken soul. You deserve an evening to unwind, especially given the emotional roller coaster you've been on since your return."

Y/n sighed, sliding the tray of cupcakes into the preheated oven, her eyes reflective. "Alright, alright. I guess you're right."

His eyes lit up, an idea sparking. "And... we're inviting Harry. He needs to see just how radiant you'll be tonight."

She arched an eyebrow, feigning shock, "So, I'm not radiant right now?"

Zayn let out a chuckle, eyes raking over the oversized shirt she wore, now splattered with traces of flour and chocolate. "You look incredibly alluring in my shirt, not gonna lie. But the baking aftermath gives you a... more homely charm." His grin widened at her faux glare.

With a playful glint in her eyes, Y/n dipped her finger into a pot of frosting, deliberately hiking up the shirt slightly for effect. She slowly licked the sweet substance off, eyes locked with Zayn's.

Seizing the moment, Zayn whipped out his phone, capturing the candid moment in a boomerang for his Instagram followers. His fingers danced over the screen as he captioned it, 'Guess who's back like they never left.'

Curious, Y/n darted around the counter to peek at the post. Giggling at the image, she quipped, "I look like slut in your kitchen."

Zayn chuckled, "Let's hope Gigi spots this. She posted with some guy literally a day after our split."

Y/n’s laughter softened, her gratitude evident. "Thanks for lending me your shirt, by the way. Most of my belongings were given away, and my mom's wardrobe... let's just say, not quite my style."

He winked, offering her a comforting squeeze on the shoulder, "Anytime, love. But we should start thinking about what you're going to wear tonight. It's going to be legendary."

**

The evening was draped in anticipation as Harry meticulously dressed in his finest suit, the fabric clinging perfectly to his well-sculpted frame. He was mentally preparing himself for the night ahead, a party thrown by Zayn, someone he hadn't communicated with in months. However, the image from Zayn's recent snap, showcasing Y/n in all her effortless beauty, lingered in his mind. She appeared as enchanting as he remembered, if not more so, and the thought of seeing her tonight set his heart racing.

Kendall's voice sliced through his reverie, "Where are you off to?"

"A party," Harry replied, his tone nonchalant but his mind far from calm.

Kendall, sensing an opportunity to bridge the distance that had grown between them, began to ready herself. "Well, you should've asked me to join. I can get ready in no time."

"No," Harry interjected, more sharply than he intended, "I need to do this alone. We could use some time apart, honestly."

Kendall's attempts to negotiate fell on deaf ears, her words dying in her throat as Harry’s tone escalated, "Enough, Kendall! I'm going alone." The absence of her usual endearments — no 'babe,' 'love,' or 'Kenny' — didn't escape her. His formality stung more than she expected.

"Fine. I'll stay back... make dinner maybe, for when you return," she offered, a final attempt to maintain some normalcy.

"No need," he responded curtly, his hand already on the door handle, "I'll be late."

"Okay... bye, love you," she murmured into the void he left behind, her words hanging heavy in the room. The door's slam echoed her solitude.

Driving to the party, Harry's thoughts were monopolized by Y/n. Upon arrival, he noticed the gathering was intimate, 10-15 people at most, creating an atmosphere of exclusivity. His name was cheered as he entered, and a beaming Niall emerged from the crowd, enveloping him in a warm embrace.

"Hey lad, what brings you here?" Harry inquired, genuinely surprised.

"It's for Y/n, plus, I couldn't possibly miss her famous cupcakes," Niall chuckled, the memories of those perfectly sweet treats vivid in their minds. Harry remembered being equally enamored by her baking skills, the cupcakes akin to professional patisserie standards. Niall was known to badger Y/n into baking at every opportunity.

Eager, Harry's gaze swept over the attendees, "Where is she?"

Niall shrugged, "Haven't seen her yet. Zayn would know." His words were barely out when Zayn appeared, a platter of the much-hyped cupcakes in hand.

Harry snagged one, engaging in a catch-up conversation with Zayn, just when Y/n descended the stairs. The room's energy shifted palpably, cheers erupting around her. Harry's breath hitched; she was a vision, her dress hugging her in all the right places, her beauty ethereal. Their eyes locked, a myriad of unspoken words flowing between them. She seemed to pause, a moment of hesitation, before being swept into conversation with another guest. However, their eye contact remained unbroken, both ensnared in silent dialogue while others chattered around them.

A dollop of frosting adorned Harry's cheek as he took a bite, eyes still fixated on Y/n. Excusing herself, she made a beeline for him, determination in her stride.

"May I borrow him for a sec?" Her words were directed at whoever Harry was speaking to, but her eyes never left his. Without waiting for an affirmative, she seized Harry's arm, leading him to a more secluded hallway.

"Hi," he greeted, the corners of his mouth tilting upwards in a familiar smile that she had missed so profoundly.

Her giggle was like music to his ears. Gracefully, she wiped the rogue chocolate from his face, holding her frosting-coated finger up as evidence. As she was about to lick it clean, Harry caught her hand in a swift motion, drawing her finger into his mouth. The deliberate, slow movement as he savored the frosting off her sent a surge of desire through them both.

"You know I can’t resist chocolate," he mumbled against her skin, his voice a low rumble that she felt deep in her core.

Their moment, however intense, was short-lived as Zayn’s voice boomed across the room, "Y/n, c'mon, time for drinks!"

Reluctantly breaking their bubble, she bestowed on Harry a smile that held promises, whispering with a playful edge, "You better be here when I come back." Her words hung in the air as she melded back into the party, leaving Harry entranced, counting down moments till her return.

[salemoleander]

every fugitive hour leaves its mark

This is the fic I wrote for the Extreme Timed Challenge Exchange as a gift with prompts around Villain!Cleo, Vigilant!Etho, and a superhero AU. Thank you so much to @extremetimedchallengeexchange for putting this together!

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Chin propped on her hand, Cleo idly moved papers around her desk and tried to convince her eyes to stay open. It was late, sky already in the shade of off-blue that heralded pre-dawn, but she just- She could feel that she was on the edge of something with this research. The seed of a plan of entry for the branch of banks that kept bragging about its “on-staff heroes” and “unrobbability”. Claims which were, respectively, foolishly overconfident and not actually a word - and both equally grating.

She should really just be done with this, come back to it in the morning. The sleeve over the nub of her left arm was irritating some nerve or muscle or something - Cleo would’ve taken the damn thing off hours ago, if she’d known it was just going to be a night in of paperwork. But Lizzie had said the team might go out, and she didn’t want to go through the rigmarole of putting her arm on if that happened.

Slumped in their chair, something shifted in the background hum of late-night noise. They felt their exhaustion drift into watchful attention. This was an old building; its creaks and rattles had a rhythm to them, and something was off . The subtle wrongness of the silence made them sit up, just a moment before-

Someone knocked on their door.

No one should ever knock on their door. Very few people even knew where they lived, and of those almost all had a key. Or didn’t need to bother with one. She’d come home from missions several times to find Scott had teleported inside, eaten half the contents of her fridge, and passed out on the couch. Regardless, no one should be knocking.

Standing slowly, avoiding the creaky spots in the planks as much as was possible in a third-floor flat built half a century ago, Cleo made her way to the door. She peered through the peephole. 

Whoever was out there either wasn’t trying to surprise her or didn’t know much about her power, because they were still in plain view of the door. Idiot. Then she caught a flash of a black face-mask as the person raised their hand to knock again, and with a jolt of recognition Cleo wrenched the door open.

Blue Fire- Blue, she decided, because Blue Fire was long and stupid- stood on her doorstep, in his stupid ramshackle hero get-up. One hand was still half-raised as if to knock. His normally-white hair was pinkish in some places and grey in others, blood and dust discoloring it.

She glared at him, both in the traditional way and in the way only she could - bringing her power to bear and freezing him in place.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Cleo hissed. 

He stared at her, mask moving in and out with his breath, but otherwise no response... Right.

Graciously, she released her power enough for him to move his jaw and respond.

"You're my only hope, Cleo!" He said, with the bright tone and panicked energy of a car salesman who knows he's already lost the sale. "I'm desperate for help, a harmless man hoping to throw himself on your, your tender mercy- c'mon, stop laughing, I spent the entire walk here thinking of this."

"My tender mercy?" Cleo asked, eyes watering slightly from laughter. "Sorry, I'm fresh out of that. I think that's what hospitals are for."

“I don't want to get arrested."

"Fair enough. That's what friends are for - which we aren't."

"I know we’re enemies. I swear I’m not here to hurt you. No one else even knows I’m-” he cut off, wincing at the admission.

Cleo snorted dubiously. He'd dropped the woe-is-me tone, which was good because it was annoying, but bad because it was harder to ignore 'exhausted blunt plea for help' than 'child pleading for a cookie'. Harder, but not impossible. This guy was either the worst hero she’d ever met (a high bar, really, considering Poultry Man existed), or he was lying to set her up for some team of heroes to bust through her windows. And probably, she thought as she made to shut the door and prepare for a fight, the latter.

“I’m serious, Cleo.” He said her name like- like he was begging. She paused.

Blue raised his eye to meet her gaze, and that was when she noticed he was shaking. Tiny trembles, running up and down his legs and core, making the shadows on his face from the fluorescent overhead shift constantly. Her power stopped voluntary movement, not- which meant-

Cleo grit their teeth, made split-second peace with the fact that the next few hours were going to be so annoying , and released their power’s hold on Blue. He staggered, half stepping and half falling forward, and they lurched to catch him. They of course couldn’t feel anything through their left prosthetic, but the hand gripping his waist immediately felt wet. 

Cursing, she pulled him inside, then slammed and locked the door while he leaned heavily on her.

Blue was silent as she helped him limp forward and sit down on what she’d long-ago designated the Blood Chair. (It was easy to clean! In her opinion everyone who went around hitting people for a living should have a blood chair. Saved a lot on cleaning fees from increasingly-suspicious specialists.) 

The arm he had wrapped tightly around his abdomen drew her eye.

“Where?”

Making a barely-audible grunt of pain as he moved, Blue shifted his arm to reveal four jagged gashes over his ribs, shirt in tatters over the area. His dark outfit disguised a lot of it, but between the blood on her hands and how wet his shirt looked, she knew it was bad.

Voice shaky and rough, he said, “They had me down, already. But they still pulled off my vest. Did this and walked away.”

“Bloody hell.” The cuts made her anxious, which was stupid because she’d been around plenty of blood and treated worse. Whatever, it’s fine; she could figure out why this injury freaked her out so much later.

Cleo whirled to run and grab her medkit from the bathroom. She only took a few steps before she turned back to point an accusatory finger at him. “Don’t fucking move, or you will be leaving this apartment via window. I will be right back.”

Blue didn’t look like he was capable of eating a sandwich, nevermind setting a bomb or performing espionage. Still, she figured an extra threat never hurt. He gave a tiny nod.

She made her way to the tiny pink-tiled bathroom in the hall, yanking her first aid bag from its place on the wall. Throwing open a door of her medicine cabinet, she grabbed a few extra rounds of gauze. For a moment Cleo caught their face in the mirror. Tired, puffy eyes; frazzled red hair; a split lip left over from their last fight. Their mind was jumbled from exhaustion, but one question rose to the top:

Why am I helping this guy?

There were lots of noble reasons to help - chivalry, honor, similar nonsense. There were even more ignoble reasons - Blue could be a hostage, provide intelligence. Ultimately though, she was subject to neither thread of motivation. She was indulging a much stupider and less useful reason - curiosity. Why did he come here? 

Why her?

She walked, arms full, back to the living room’s yellow-cast glow. Blue remained in the chair she’d left him in. Arm clamped to his side, head tilted back in exhaustion, eyes closed. Adorable.

“Wake up, sweetheart,” she sang out, voice booming in the quiet room. Was it necessary? No. Was she going to torment this guy as much as possible while he was here? Absolutely.

His eye popped open, and he stared for a moment in anxious, blank incomprehension before awareness cleared his gaze. Then he closed his eye again and whined, plaintively and dramatically.

“Aw c’mon Cleo- I’m already grievously injured. Can’t you just leave me to sleep?”

Dumping the armful of medical supplies on the table, they pulled an ottoman over and sat in front of him. 

“One, no, because I don’t like you. I only let people I like fall asleep bleeding all over my furniture. Two, no, because I don’t know what happened to you. You might have a concussion.”

“I didn’t hit my head.”

Cleo grinned, channeling every bit of her manic exhaustion into it. “Don’t care.”

She grabbed safety shears from the bag, and turned back to reach for his shirt. The moment he registered that she was reaching for him, his right foot settled flat on the floor ready to move. His breath hitched for just a beat, morphing into a coughing fit that broke the tension of the moment but left one of his palms red-flecked. 

She paused while he composed himself, hands lowered to her knees. Thought for a moment, of the way Lizzie couldn’t be near candles anymore. Of how Ren had to cut his own hair. 

Once Blue was breathing normally again, Cleo cleared their throat and drew his sharp gaze. “So- I need to cut your shirt off- just around the wound. Safety shears like this are blunt at the ends, so I’d have to work inordinately hard to stab you, and I’d really rather be asleep than get in a knife-fight. No offense, you’re clearly great at knife fights.”

He huffed a laugh, then grimaced. “Don’t be funny. I think I have some busted ribs.”

“I’ll try not to,” she deadpanned. The corner of his mouth twitched, only noticeable under his mask because she was watching for a reaction.

“Okay, I’m gonna grab your shirt,” she said, reaching out again. He kept a watchful eye on the movement, but otherwise didn’t seem like he was about to cut and run, so she counted that as a win.

She pinched the hem of his shirt and began the process of gently tugging it away from where it was stuck to his injuries. He grunted a few times, knuckles white on the arm of the chair. Once it was free, she held up the shears silently, and then moved them to the hem. Her hand brushed his leg, and she was surprised at how warm it felt even through the fabric of his pants. Usually in her experience blood loss made people colder, but he felt almost fevered. She tucked that bit of observation away for now.

Cutting his shirt off and finally seeing the extent of the damage, she whistled. “They really did a number on you.”

Blue’s face tensed, gaze skittering away to focus on the far wall. “Yeah.”

“Just out of a sort of, let’s call it professional curiosity- can I ask who did this?” Not that she cared- okay, that was a lie. She cared a little bit, now. Cleo could be violent but she wasn’t cruel, and the jagged path of these marks spoke of pain for pain’s sake. And she had rescued too many cats to have a heart entirely hardened to desperate, injured creatures showing up on her doorstep.

“You can’t guess?” His voice was measured and cold. It made something in their chest twist. They were frightened. Not fear of him, but a kind of fear nonetheless.

Still, she rolled her eyes in response. “I wouldn’t ask if I knew the answer already, would I? You don’t have to tell me, I just-”

“Your allies,” he spat. 

“They wouldn’t- they wouldn’t do this.” Cleo said it quietly, like a fact. Because it was, to her. They would fight if they needed, but that was when it was necessary, not- not this wanton violence. Not a blow delivered after someone was down. That wasn’t how they did things.

“Well, they did,” he muttered.

Hot defensive anger hit her in waves, and she glared until he froze. 

Then her brain finally finished the terrible math equation it had been trying to solve since she’d first seen the wounds. She realized she’d seen slashes that width apart, before. They’d been on her last sofa. Ren had slept over, and woken up disoriented, with his claws out. Seeing the same shape of injury on a person was- 

It’s fine! It’s fine, she thought, a little hysterically. Deal with that later. For now, she dropped her power and sat back to give Blue some room.

“This was a bad idea,” he said. “Just give me ten minutes to patch myself up, and I can go, and we can pretend this didn’t happen.”

“No.”

“No?” Blue asked, cautiously. He was clearly assessing how close she was, how far the window, how far the door. She sighed.

“I mean, you’re welcome to do that if you want, I won’t stop you,” they said, channeling a calm they were not currently feeling. “But I- fucking hell, I wish I didn’t, but I believe you. And the least I can do now is patch you up.”

He stared at them like they’d just announced the moon was made of cheese. “You believe me.”

“Yes. I don’t want to,” she admitted. “I want to say you’re lying and throw you out a window. But I believe you.”

“Alrighty,” he said, voice speeding up as he talked. “That makes things a lot easier. My name is Etho. Please don’t remove my mask, or take me to a hospital, or kill me. Please especially don’t kill me.” His speech was rapid, now.

Cleo stared in confusion. “Oooo… kay?”

He smiled beatifically, white hair haloed by the amber light of the ceiling lamp. “Thanks Cleo! Owe you one.” Etho’s eye fluttered shut and he slumped back in the chair, head lolling onto his shoulder.

“Delightful! Wonderful! Perfect! Fuck!” she said, already, reaching for her supplies. It was going to be a long night.

[ovwechoes]

Could you do some headcanons for if Soldier and Ana unwittingly picked up a sidekick during their respective vigilante phases? Like, picture if Alejandra from the Hero short was older and after being saved, insisted on following after Jack. How they'd try to shake the kid off their trail, until they somewhat prove themself. Little bonding moments on the field. But then the younger gets too bold and winds up hurt. Could they work past that, or would that be the last straw?

Sorry if this is maybe a little elaborate!! I hope it's in a fun way

Soldier & Ana With an Adoptive Companion: Headcanons (General) I'm happy to write these for you it's a really sweet idea & I love elaborate ideas it gives me a better idea of the direction to take with these things - thank you for the ask and they're under the cut, enjoy! (there's no questions with this post)

I can imagine Ana being the reluctant one, not wanting to bring someone under their wing incase they got hurt, with Jack being the one who's eager to teach them things that he had to learn the hard way.

Ana would've been the one to tell them no countless times, telling them to stop following her every time she saw them in the corner of their eye. Eventually, after some time, she would've set a trap for their follower. Nothing malicious, just made them follow her to somewhere quiet with privacy, waiting for them at a table with an empty chair for them. It would've been her chance to talk to them, understand why they want to be around her, and what will it take for them to leave. In the end, though, she would've ended up speaking to them about what she expects of them if they're coming with her, what to do if they get hurt, and where they're going for the day. Ana never expected it herself, not wanting to put someone else in danger, but her instincts couldn't stop her. They reminded her too much of Fareeha, and deep down she wanted this to be her chance to do what she couldn't before. But, it would take a lot more than just words for Ana to truly trust them and trust that they know how to handle themselves. So, she'd be the type to test them however she could.

Jack, on the other hand, wouldn't need much convincing. He would've said no, expecting them to walk away and leave it at that. He never expected them to follow him still, and wait to speak to him about their eagerness, their admiration for Jack's work in Overwatch, and how they want to learn from the best. Jack would've stayed quiet, listening in silence to their pleas to learn from him. It wouldn't have taken much for him to agree, though deep down he didn't want to at all. Jack saw himself in them, saw his own passion and eagerness in the Army before his enhancements. It made him want to be a father figure to them, almost, wanting to teach them everything that Jack had to learn the hard way through pain and injuries and loss. It was his way of passing his work along too, if anything happened to him that he couldn't see right now. He believes in Christianity too, in my opinion, though not as much as he used to when he was younger. So, Jack would've seen this moment as a way for his God to put him on a path he might not understand at the moment. As though it was supposed to happen, and Jack was happy to oblige to whatever this was.

Ana's main test would be to take them with her to Junkertown, and see how they handle themselves in the face of conflict. If they can't handle the brutality in Junkertown, they definitely couldn't on the battlefield. Plus, she wanted to test their resilience to things going south, their response times, and how well they can cope with failure - she wants to work with someone who's able to reflect on their situation, rather than linger on the guilt and sadness the end result brought about. Their companion wouldn't understand why they were there, in Junkertown's most violent bar, and what could've brought them there, but they were eager to follow and learn from Ana so they agreed to the mission. Ana told their companion that a random man, who Ana didn't know, owed her something, asking her companion to question them in a bar. When they did, it resulted in nothing short of aggression, a violent fight, and with Ana holding them on her shoulder, carrying them out as they groaned from their injuries. They tried to deescalate it once realising it was a test, truly they did, but Junkertown's inhabitants don't like to be accused of things they haven't done especially by someone not even from there. So, afterwards, Ana would've waited for their response, waited for how they reacted. She never expected them to say “next time, I'll make sure we've got the right person before going head in. I'll make sure I've got everything planned out before blindly following what you say". It was the perfect response to her, and it was all she needed to be able to trust their judgement, and she quickly tended to their wounds, explaining the situation with some guilt in her tone. It was a cruel test, but necessary to Ana and a learning experience for her newfound companion.

Jack's test would've been through seeing how their shooting was, how well they could hold a gun, and what their responses would be to landing shots. He didn't want someone by his side who relished in killing things, wanted only to shoot and enjoyed it a little too much. That would be asking for the gun to be turned on him, he believed, but he wanted to use it as a way to test their receptiveness to criticism. If Jack was going to mentor someone like himself, he needed to be able to see how well they responded to advice and critique. It would've been just in a forest close by to where they met, somewhere remote and known for it's hunting. He didn't want to attract anymore attention with gunshots, and it was hunting season, so it made perfect sense. When Jack finally found it, he used empty bottles and cans he found from teens camping out seasons before, lined them up a good few feet away from them, and gave his companion a sidearm after confirming they knew how they worked. It didn't matter if they didn't, he would've been happy to teach them. Jack explained the rules, explained what they needed to do, and watched as they missed their first few shots on the first bottle. It was a learning curve, Jack knew it was, and so he was already preparing his critiques before his companion beat him to the punch. It caught Jack off guard to hear their questions about what they were doing wrong, opening themselves to advice before needing to be prompted for it. This alone would've been enough for Jack to feel they could handle it, but there was still more to come from the test. As requested, Jack offered them advice, taught them the best way to hold the gun in a more stable position and how to line their target up properly. And with that, Jack's companion managed to land their first bottle, with Jack watching to see their response to the victory, to the feeling of landing a target and shooting something perfectly. Their companion just watched, and thanked him for the advice, asking if he could move onto the next target, which was somewhat further away. There was no fanfare, no need to push themselves too far, and they were following Jack's orders as he intended. It was all he needed to let him continue, watching and knowing that this companion would be the perfect candidate to hand over his legacy and his mission if anything happened to him.

Ana and her companion would've bonded over moments in their lives that defined them, like Ana's duel with Amelie, and things that affected their trajectory in life. It's important for Ana to feel as though she can trust someone enough to share things with them, and wanted to understand what lead them here, to this point and at her side. It was important for her, and it would've been the best way for them to bond away from their missions, inbetween tasks and agendas that would've went smoothly with her assistance. Jack, on the other hand, would've bonded with his companion through facts about the world, history especially. He has an affinity for history, loving to learn more about other countries' own history and facts from them. So, it's something he'd find common with his companion and he would spend lengths of time talking about American history whilst they shared their own facts and stats. It's fun for him, but another way he would bond with them (away from the battlefield) is tending to their smaller wounds, making sure that cuts or scrapes or bumps were kept safe from infection. It was his way of making sure they were okay, and the moments were used as learning lessons on how to avoid it, how to tend to their own wounds in the future, and what they could do next time if this happened again. It was the perfect way for him to teach and care for this companion, ensuring that they would be prepared over time in better ways than he was for the brutality of combat.

When something happened to their companion that was more serious than ever, Ana would've responded with guilt and a feeling that she had done something gravely wrong, that this was karma for her own actions in the past. Instead of leaving her loved ones, someone she thought she could count on was about to be stripped away from her, leaving her feeling as though she was Fareeha. It was painful for her, and it was something she couldn't handle in the moment as the guilt and shame overwhelmed her. There was nothing either of them could've done to prevent the situation, and she had to sit with her thoughts as she waited for their companion's surgery to end. Ana expected the surgeon to come back, bloody and draped in sorrow, explaining that they couldn't do more and they were sorry for her loss. When the opposite happened, and she managed to sit by their side as the anaesthetics were wearing off, she considered her options as they slept. Ana wanted to run, leave them behind with nothing more than a note attached to a bouquet of flowers, believing it was her fault. She almost did before they woke up, asked if she was okay, and kept smiling through the pain. It made her feel something she couldn't explain, and the need to run left her, only to be filled with a need to apologise to them. Throughout all the apologies, she was reminded over and over that it's not her fault, it's no one's fault, and that there was nothing that could've been done to prevent it. It's the beauty of combat, they'd reply, making Ana feel more comfortable with keeping them around, and making her realise that she needs to take more control in situations, make sure that at least someone can tell the story if something happened to her. Ana saw her life flash before her when the knife was thrown her direction, before being planted in the companion that stood in front of her, and she realised how little she had done for her companion, and how much was left to do for them.

Jack would've been heartbroken if something happened to their companion, even if the circumstances were similar to Ana's situation. He'd attempt to remedy the situation himself before turning to professionals, ultimately realising that this was out of his depth, out of his level of expertise. He'd try and take them to Angela, explaining that he had no other options whilst dodging the questions of who they were to him and what happened. He didn't want to talk about it, and all he wanted to do was keep them alive, keep them well enough to learn more and figure out what to do next. As they'd recover, Jack would be seen praying at their side, rarely leaving their room out of fear of something happening. It was incredibly hard for Jack, having to leave this in the hands of his God, and doing something he hadn't done in years. When they finally recovered, he'd be sat there, looking as though he hasn't slept in years. This companion was like a son to him now, and he didn't want to put them through more pain than was already felt. He'd offer them a way to out, a way to leave him and would reassure him that he wouldn't take offense to it, wouldn't want to put them through worse than this. His companion surprised him with a statement about this being all part of a learning curve, something he can use to better himself and become just as skilled as Jack. It made him feel more comfortable, happy even if you could say that without Jack denying it. To mask his feelings, Jack would joke that he couldn't shake them off even if he tried, right? To which his companion would agree, saying he's stuck with them now and he'll just have to live with him around now. It was a sweet moment, and it helped them bond even more and show how much trust they have for one another. For Jack, this was the moment that made him realise that his life's not just as fleeting, but his companion's was too, and he intended to give him experiences that couldn't be rivalled by a normal life. It's the least he could do, after his companion saved his life by taking the bullet intended for him.

[wen-kexing-apologist]

✨2023: A Summary✨

Post your most popular and/or favourite edit/gifset/analysis for each month (it’s okay to skip months!)

tagged by @dribs-and-drabbles, thank you! this was a fun review and I was interested to see how many times my favorite post and the most popular post coincided (or didn't)

January

I wasn’t writing meta

February

Most popular: Heart’s Confrontation- the scene breakdown that started it all!

Favorite(s): Heart’s Confrontation, Moonlight Chicken Sign Language Index- I really had a lot of fun figuring out the similarities and differences in American Sign Language and Modern Thai Sign Language!

March

Most popular: Best Criers in Moonlight Chicken- it's funny, short, and sweet

Favorite(s): Moonlight Chicken is for the Queers, Isn’t it Difficult to be Born Poor?- I loved writing these so much!

April

Most popular: A plea for Akk to have unrestrained summer fun

Favorite(s): Bed Friend and Reflections Part 3; Songkran, Water, and KingUea- Not to sound egotistical or anything, but I was really proud of myself for the conclusions I came up with in both of these pieces

May

Most popular: Silence- I think this was one of the only things I wrote in May

Favorite(s): Silence- THE ACTING IS JUST SO GOOD OKAY?

June

Most popular: By/For/About Queers Part 1 and Part 2- these only have the most notes because this was originally a post from @absolutebl that I added thoughts to, so most of those notes are from them

Favorite(s): Phupa and internalized homophobia Part 1 and Part 2- it was really fun getting to unpack my past assumptions about Phupa and work through those until I came out the other side with a new blorbo.

July

Most popular:  Lack of Touch in BMF

Favorite(s): Rain, BL Boys, and Reciprocity; Trans Allegory in Cupid’s Last Wish; Body Language in La Pluie, Episode 12- I especially liked Rain and Reciprocity because I think it has really shaped how I watch shows since then because I want to see if my theory holds.

August

Most popular: Only Friends, Boston, and Queer Culture

Favorite(s): Only Friends, Boston, and Queer Culture, Pause for Reflection, Part 1: Respectable Promiscuity and Only Friends- listen, I was going to write boring, academic, cited work about sex/porn as a joke, okay? I didn't expect people to actually engage with them as excitedly as they did!

September

Most popular: A Must Read- I give all credit for the success of this post to the Teen Vogue author who wrote the article and to @waitmyturtles who sent this link to me

Favorite(s): Pause for Reflection, Part 2: Only Friends, Racism, and the Commodification of Queer Asians; Poor Boy; Who is Mew Anyway?- Honestly, I had a wonderful time writing all the essays for Only Friends

October

Most popular: Best Scene in Only Friends and Why it was Sand and Nick Kissing

Favorite(s): Let’s Talk About Sex!, Why I Like BL, Physicality of Characters- the sex essay for my 69th essay was fun, and hilariously appropriate because I had recently answered the physicality question and could use it as an example

November

Most popular: Physical Touch and Hands in Last Twilight- It made me feel so warm and fuzzy that people would notice I wasn't posting about this show and want to hear from me <3

Favorite(s): IS BROTHER ANURAK THE ONE ARMED MAN?- I will never reach a higher high than when my obsession with hands finally paid off and I figured this shit out a month in advance of Part 2, I'm a motherfucking genius

December 

Most popular: Hands Touching Hands- I love throwing in complete key smash type of analysis from time to time as a treat cause I keep forcing people to read literal long-form essays all the fucking time (sorry, not sorry)

Favorite(s): Top 5 Favorite Food Moments, Best of QL 2023: Favorite Lines, Best of QL pre-2023: Favorite Lines- I love when I can cause people emotional pain, and all of these not only stabbed me in the heart but took a couple of people down with me as far as I can tell from the tags.

__

It's wild to have done this, because I haven't really been keeping an eye on my stats until now. I've made almost 400 original posts this year, and increased my notes by 25,000 annually looking at 2023 compared to 2022. I have been a lonely little tumblr goblin since 2012. I came on here to read other people's smart thoughts about things I was watching and to reblog gifs, and I never really thought building community here was possible, but here I am 11 months after making my first BL analysis post with a bunch of friends I didn't know a year ago, and about 20 more lenses through which I watch my silly little gay shows.

tagging: @bengiyo, @ranchthoughts, and @rocketturtle4

[hazelira]

𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞 | ENGENE

genres: angst and comfort

word count: 472

summary: Y/N, an ENGENE, fears her K-Pop passion will push her lover away. She confesses, "I hope this doesn't lead to heartbreak just because I'm a K-Pop stan." He reassures her of his love and support, strengthening their bond. (Lover isn’t ENHYPEN)

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

Y/N stood by the window, her gaze fixed on the distant horizon as the evening sky painted hues of pink and orange. The room's silence was suffocating, mirroring the heaviness in her heart. She turned to face her lover, the words tumbling out of her in a whispered plea.

"I don't wanna end up being nothing to you," Y/N began, her voice trembling with vulnerability. "I wish it could be us in a perfect world for the two of us."

Her lover looked at her, concern etched in his features. "Y/N, what's wrong?"

"I'm confident what we've got is something you hold onto because I love you," she continued, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "And it scares me to say, but I hope that this doesn't lead to heartbreak just because I'm a K-Pop stan, more like ENGENE too."

Her lover's brow furrowed in confusion, his silence stretching between them like an unspoken barrier. Y/N took a deep breath, steeling herself to articulate the thoughts weighing on her for so long.

"I know you respect what I do, and all for K-Pop," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I can't shake this feeling that you're not sure if you can keep up with my delusions because it's not real."

Her lover reached out, gently cupping her face in his hands. "Y/N, I love you. And I respect your passion for K-Pop, even if I don't fully understand it. But it's not about whether it's real or not—it's about you and what makes you happy."

Y/N felt tears spill over as his words washed over her, a balm to her wounded heart. She leaned into his touch, feeling the weight of her insecurities begin to lift.

"I'm sorry for doubting us," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "I just... I'm afraid of losing you because of who I am."

Her lover pulled her into a warm embrace, holding her close as if to shield her from her fears.

"You don't have to be anyone else but yourself," he murmured, kissing her forehead. "And I'll always be here, by your side, no matter what."

In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of her lover's embrace, Y/N felt a sense of peace over her. She knew that their love was real, transcending the boundaries of reality and fantasy. As they stood together, facing future uncertainties, Y/N realized that as long as they had each other, they could weather any storm that came their way.

In the quiet of the evening, their love echoed through the walls, a testament to the strength of their bond and the power of acceptance and understanding. As the night fell, enveloping them in its embrace, Y/N knew that she was exactly where she was meant to be—wrapped in the arms of the person who loved her for exactly who she was.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

If you liked my story, reblogging, liking and adding comments are greatly appreciated! thank u!

©hazelira, all work is written by me, do not copy or repost.

[cosmo-rider]

At my college, we have an event each each year which we call Interregnum, where student houses put on plays and submit works of art and writing under the year’s theme. The 2023-24 theme is “People of the Pillars,” and this is the prose entry I submitted for my school house. It is a retelling of the biblical story of Samson and Delilah. This ended up winning first place.

✨⭐️✨

The Haunting of the Valley of Sorrek

I never loved you. When I watched you that final day, dragged out of the dungeons— beaten and blind —I felt nothing but contempt for you. You were a means to an end. All I had to do was seduce and coerce you into spilling your deepest, darkest secrets. Then I could just walk away with silver to sustain me for a time. It was a simple plan… or so I had thought.

I never loved you. The nights we stayed up, fighting with words as sharp as swords, were not out of concern for you or our relationship. It was always about the money. The more I dwell on it, you weren’t much different. You were so stubborn and arrogant. You liked the game of wit, I could always tell. You were as cunning as you were strong— a true equal, if I’m honest. After each attempt to subdue you, you always broke free with swiftness and a booming laugh. Oh, how I loathed that laugh. You did nothing but taunt and mock me. You teased me, filled with gloating arrogance. As a result, I felt no shame in dangling “our love” over your head.

“You have done nothing but mock me and tell me lies,” I shouted at you, tears of anger pouring down my face. “If you truly loved me, you’d tell me the truth! There should be no secrets between us!”

The lies still feel sour in my mouth, although the irony is almost laughable. Alas, my darling, our relationship was full to the brim with secrets and lies. It was a constant dance of deception between you and me—a battle of wits and cunning.

I never loved you, so I felt nothing but delight upon you finally caving into my demands. All my chipping at your spirit and tugging of your heartstrings was finally coming to fruition. You spilled your heart out to me with such soft genuineness. At last, I had coaxed you from your shell. I still remember the kiss I granted you for your truthfulness. I whispered in your ear, “Thank you for your honesty, love. I won’t tell a soul.”

I never loved you, but I didn’t tell a soul— I instead told several. I sent a message out to your pursers with giddiness, and once the night had come, I persuaded you to draw close. I combed my fingers through your long, tangled locks, coaxing you to fall asleep. Despite what happened, I did like your hair. You were so quick to trust my intentions, and I used that to my advantage.

Once the noblemen came, I watched in silence as one began to cut off your seven long locks of hair. Once you were bound and secure, I called you out of your sleep to warn of your enemies. Yet with your hair gone, you could do nothing to pull free despite your insistence. It was at that moment that I realized I had finally won our little game.

I never loved you, so I was swift to leave you to your fate. Despite my satisfaction, why do I still hear you calling my name? The sounds of the beatings you sustained are faint in my memory, so why am I still followed by your desperate pleas? Why do I still wake up to the last sound of my name crying from your lips? I have yet to figure out what was worse. Was it the cries of your once confident voice turned into screams of agony? Or was it the silence as the authorities dragged you from the house, blood dripping from your face?

I never loved you, so why was I foolish enough to attend the gathering of the sacrifice? They continued to remind me of my role in your capture as I wandered the great halls of Dagon. Men would bow to me and smile. I gained their respect at the expense of your own.

The atmosphere of the room seemed to change, and as I looked toward the great entrance, my breath was stolen. I saw you dragged into the room in shackles, and I couldn’t fathom you were the same man I once knew. The powerful judge I knew before was dead and gone, as you were instead frail and hunched over in pain.

But I never loved you. I stayed quiet while everyone else laughed and jeered at the sight of your oppressed frame. You stumbled as you were forced between two pillars. Even from a distance, I could see your hands shaking in the shackles as the servant boy guided you. My eyes met yours, but you never knew. I had heard that you had lost your sight the night I last saw you.

I never loved you, so why did I leave at the sight of you? My stomach became twisted and writhed with agony since your entrance. I couldn’t bear to be in the room with you— but why? You had no idea I was even there. I was safe, distanced from your presence… and yet I wasn’t. Even if you couldn’t see me, it’s as if I knew your God still could. Thus, I packed up my memories and excused myself from the party.

It turns out that small, selfish action saved my life. Less than a day passed when messengers swarmed the city, proclaiming the desolation of the house of Dagon. You destroyed everything. From what I heard, you cried to your God in your darkest time, and he granted your wish. He restored your undeserved strength at the cost of your life. In response to the news, your people fled to the streets, dancing and praising your God who delivered you all. Tales of your great deeds spread like wildfire across cities and countryside. You died a hero and a legend. You are now yet another pillar in a great line of judges. It turns out you were not frail like the pillars you destroyed to level a nation.

I never loved you, yet why do I always think of you? It was foolish of me to believe I could wash my hands clean of this betrayal. I still feel your suffocating presence, even after the whispers of your deeds have died. Years have gone by, and I still wake up in a cold sweat. At the slightest crack, I’m struck with fear that the ceiling will come tumbling down upon me. In the stillness of the night, I’ll still hear your desperate cries or your grand laugh— I don’t know which sound I fear more. Most frightening of all, sometimes I see instances of you as I walk the countryside. I see you dashing through the fields, in the face of wild lions, in the eyes of sly foxes, and even in the spirited sheep that strut with boldness into my path.

I never loved you. I never loved you. I tell myself that every day. Every time I see you flick back into my memory, I remind myself. I used you to gain wealth and respect, yet every day I’m haunted by my memories of you. I have to confront myself that despite our loveless courtship, you have imprinted on my life. I don’t expect forgiveness for what I did to you. I hope you’re satisfied to know you will forever haunt me. Your blood will never wash away from my hands, and I must live with this burden.

As the years have passed by, the people have already begun to forget your name and your God. They have already begun to fall back into dirtying the legacy you died to preserve. I may have never loved you, but I promise, you will never escape my memory. Even if all your people abandon you and your God, rest assured that the truth will live on. It is little comfort that I— of all people —am the one to carry your legacy. It’s not very comforting for me either. I’d be happier forgetting, but your impact on my life is a surprise even to me. This will not be the end of your story. As flawed a hero as you were, your name will not disappear into history. If I’ve learned anything, your God takes pity on those who turn to him— no matter how undeserving.

I bear my own shackles that must be overthrown. If your God freed you from yours, I pray that means there is still hope that forgiveness will find me in my own prison.

[yeslieutenant]

A Nurse Visit

A/N: Alright, sorry that it is a day late. I found out a friend passed away a few nights ago, so this is extremely rushed, and frankly, it is definitely not the best thing I have written. I hope you guys still like it. ❤️ sorry that there is no actual smut!

Warnings: Implied smut, swearing, ROLEPLAY!!

Word Count: 645

“Lieutenant Kolchek, I told you I didn’t want your ass back in this medbay for at least a month.” At my scolding tone, the Lieutenant’s ears turn a deep shade of red. He sits on the cheap cot, his fingers gripping the edges, almost with embarrassment.

“With all due respect, ma’am, it wasn’t exactly something I could control. Blame Me- Corporal Merwin,” he stutters, scratching the back of his neck. After all of the times I’ve had to patch this fucker up, I can thankfully see his little nervous ticks.

“Well, what did Corporal Merwin do this time?” I ask dryly, picking up the clipboard on the counter. The chill of the air nips at the exposed skin of my arms, and I rub my empty hand across my arm, feeling the goosebumps under my fingers as my eyes scan the clipboard.

“He, um- he was just talking about- You know what, it’s not a big deal. I’ll get out of your hair,” Lieutenant Kolchek stands, ready to flee from the room when I see his problem. His knuckles are an angry red, and one of them is split, red blood trickling down onto the dirty ground of the Camp Slayer medbay.

“Okay you don’t need to tell me, but at least let me stitch that up please?” I ask, a plea evident in my voice. He glances down to his knuckles, nodding his head before sitting once again. My mind switches onto autopilot as I grab the necessary supplies before taking a seat next to the clearly bashful Lieutenant.

“Thanks.”

“No thanks needed Lieutenant. This is kinda my job. Although I don’t know how punching someone is something you couldn’t control.” His chocolate eyes widen in confusion, mouth opening and closing like a fish for a moment before he finds his voice again.

“How did you-?”

“I’m a nurse, Kolchek. Not an idiot. Though I would love to know what warranted this? And why is he not here?” Jason stops for a moment, almost looking like he’s trying to find the right words as I gently press the skin of the knuckle back together before slathering it with medical grade glue. The wound looks fresh enough that this is preferable to stitches.

“Alright, doll, I didn’t think that far ahead.” Jason’s drawl is punctuated with a chuckle, and I respond with my own laugh.

“You came in here, with the intention of pretending we haven’t been fucking for weeks now, but you didn’t prepare a story?” My laughs are full now, a bright smile across my lips. Lieutenant Kolchek doesn’t grace me with a verbal response, opting instead to press his lips to mine in a heated kiss. It’s clear he’s been out in the sun all day, his shirt smelling of deodorant and faintly sweaty. My fingers slip under his cap, craving the smooth texture of his dark brown locks, the offending hat dropping to the floor as I crawl into his lap.

“I was a bit preoccupied,” he says between kisses, hands dropping to the hem of my shirt, tugging the offending garment over my head. His hands fly to the clasp of my bra, beginning to tug before I suddenly pull back from his lips, eyes wide with concern.

“Tell me you didn’t actually punch Merwin so you could get laid.”

His cheeks turn bright red, embarrassed again.

“No. I… I punched a wall… Harder than I intended, too. I just meant to bruise it a bit…” The room fills with my giggles again, but as Jason huffs out a breath of frustration through his nose, his kiss swollen lips press against mine, silencing my teasing chuckles. He definitely got the last laugh, the only sounds in the medbay being our combination of moans and grunts. Maybe next time I’ll be his sparring trainee. At least I’ll have a story prepped.

*****

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