#once again probably nobody cares about this film as much as me and a few oomfs but

[tomwambsgays]

i'm tired of you, still tied to me

[aziraphales-library]

Thank you so much for all the work you do💗

I was wondering if you have any long human au fics with lots of angst and a happy ending? Again thank you!!

You're welcome! We have #long fic, #human au, and #angst tags where there will be plenty of overlap, so do dip into those. Here are more for you...

Lessons in the Humanities by Greenathena (M)

Aziraphale Fell teaches English at Eden Midtown Academy. His new co-worker, Anthony Crowley, is a bit of a wild card, who doesn't mind ruffling a few feathers. Over the course of the school year, their friendship seems to be growing into something more. That is until Aziraphale is offered a high-stakes job, overseeing state testing for the whole of the Massachusetts Department of Education. They're in love, your honor. Possibly. Probably. It's ineffable complicated.

What is forgiveness but the silence after a scream? by Moonstone_Lingo (M)

After being forced to return to the town he once ran away from decades ago when he hears of his mother's death, Aziraphale is confronted with a past he wants to forget, but one that is hauntingly insistent on being relived. When a chance encounter with a stranger reveals that Crowley is not far away at all, Aziraphale must consider which he cares about more: his belief in God or his love for Crowley, and not wanting to choose, he quickly discovers he cannot have both. Unsure whether it is already too late, Aziraphale learns that he has to fight for what he wants before it slips out of his grasp. or "God loves you, Crowley." "not enough to stop hurting me." "I love you, Crowley." "not enough to save me."

As Yet Untitled by badwolfgirlicouldkissyou (E)

Aziraphale Fell is a number one best-selling author, despite his lack of self confidence and desire to hide from the public eye. Whilst fighting off his anxiety disorder at the premiere of his first novel's feature film adaptation, he meets an enigmatic, mysterious photographer who seems to only have eyes for him. Can they navigate their newfound bond? Or will past trauma and current obstacles get in their way?

Adaptive Innovations for a Changing World by amelia_airheart (E)

When Anthony Crowley meets Aziraphale Fell at Aziraphale's library, little do they know that they will turn each other's worlds upside down. After a magical week spent falling in love, they face a hard reality. Will they be able to make the choices they need to make to build a real life together?

And the fire will consume us by Merlarme (M)

Crowley works as a firefighter. One day he rescues Aziraphale, a paramedic, who is trapped in a burning building. Grateful Aziraphale decides to find his rescuer and, after getting to know him a little better, realises that they have a lot in common and are both so lonely that the accident that brought them together turned out to be a true grace.

Sinking Ships by AppleSeeds (E)

The world is practically on fire and it feels like nobody's doing anything about it, but Crowley's outlook brightens considerably when a new member arrives at his local climate action committee. Crowley is immediately smitten, and is thrilled when he and Aziraphale become fast friends, although he can't help but hope they might one day become something more. When all of his wishes come true, Crowley starts to feel like life couldn't possibly get any better. He can picture exactly what his future is going to look like, until something happens that feels like a powerful bolt of lightning has struck and split Crowley's life right down the middle, with everything before that moment on one side, and everything that is to come - scorched, lifeless and devastated - on the other. With the help of a counsellor, Crowley begins the difficult journey of picking up the pieces and working through what's happened. When Aziraphale unexpectedly comes back into his life, Crowley finally has the chance to get some answers, revealing that the truth is very different from what he was led to believe. Now he just needs to figure out whether that changes anything.

- Mod D

[9leaguesofmirrors]

On With The Show! (a Jed Hunter x reader fanfic)

What's this? Something a little different?

I don't usually write x reader fics, but I had a super cute idea for one featuring Jed Hunter and I had to get it out of my system. Since it's not explicitly romantic, it feels more like a "Jed Hunter AND reader fic". I really hope you guys enjoy it!

NOTE: This story features a non-cis reader, I've done my best to make it as unspecific as possible (so it can be enjoyed by people that use any pronouns), so hopefully it turned out OK

As soon as the cast list gets sent to you, your heart goes heavy. It's not the fact that you've lost motivation to be part of the production, working with renowned director Jed Hunter is a pretty big deal, it's the character he'd given you

Nobody's to blame. You're extremely selective about who you talk about your transition to; Royston Vasey isn't exactly known for being the most tolerant of places. Not that Jed seems like that sort of person, but you can never be too sure. However, you trust your gut and send an email asking if you could speak to him in person

A few hours later, you receive a response:

Hello!

Hope you're taking care of yourself on this chilly day. I have a meeting tomorrow, are you free on Friday at 12pm? If not, we can figure something else out

Wrap up warm!

J.H. 😊

You roll your eyes fondly at the Mum energy that radiates from his email, it might be a little corny but it's nice that he cares. You send an email confirming the meeting and go about the rest of your day

*********************************************

Jed is waiting in the same room you held your audition, sat backwards on his chair as usual. He gets up instantly and goes over to greet you, taking your hand and shaking it with a smile

"Hello hello, good to see you!" He gestured to a chair beside his own and sits down "Glad you made your way here safely."

"Other than witnessing about 5 different people bleeding from their noses, yeah I got here alright." You say as you sit down

"There seems to be a bloody-nose-epidemic, must be nice for vampires!"

It was a silly joke, but you can't help but feel a smile tug at the corners of your mouth. However, the jokes would have to wait, at least for now

"I guess I should tell you why I emailed."

"I assume it's not because you missed me!" Jed laughed a little "Take your time!"

"Well," you explain "it's about the film. I'm sorry, but I can't do it."

The way Jed's face fell a little didn't feel good, he seemed genuinely downhearted to lose you. Nonetheless, he remained professional

"That's a shame, but I understand. Thanks for letting me know ahead of time." He opened his mouth to speak, then put his finger to his lips thoughtfully "If you don't mind, is there any specific reason? If not, that's kewl, but if it's something that happened during the audition process-"

"Oh god no!" You say quickly "The process was fine, it's not that. It's the character."

Right, now I sound like an entitled twat

"Not that it's bad!" You explain "It's..." Come on, get it out "the gender."

You could see Jed trying to work out what you meant. At first, it's a little odd that it's taking him so long to get it, but that's probably what happens when you grow up in Royston Vasey. He didn't seem digusted, just very confused

"Does it not fit the character? I didn't give it much thought, but-"

"Jed, I'm transitioning. Y'know, gender reassignment?"

Finally, the penny seemed to drop and he instantly put his hand to his mouth in surprise

"Oh my god!" He jumps up and starts pacing around the room, looking for something "I'm so sorry, yes! I get it now, let me just..." after a bit of rummaging in a drawer, he found his trusty clipboard

Once he sits down again, you manage to catch a glimpse of the paper clipped to the board - it's your information from the audition. You watch as he pulls a pen out of his pocket and scribbles out parts of it before handing the paper and pen to you

"If you could fill that in for me, that'd be kewl."

"I told you, I can't play the character-"

"And, as director, I have the power to pull a few strings!" He speaks with pride, the charismatic glee on his face feels oddly comforting "We may need switch the script around a little, but Jeremy and I can talk about that."

The last thing you want is to make things difficult, but this was also a huge opportunity. Being in a Hunter film is a big thing, especially in a small town like this. Plus, Jed's known for being very good to work with, and it's hard to find respectful directors these days

And, technically, he was the one that suggested rewriting the character for you. Part of you doubts how easy it'll be, but the chance has to be there

You take the clipboard and pen, seeing the scribbled out sections where your name and pronouns could go

"You've scribbled out my surname."

"Well yeah, so you can write your name in. The one you want me to use."

"I haven't changed my surname," you say, amused by the gesture "I'm not getting married!"

"Perhaps another day then." Jed laughs "If that's what you're planning, of course."

You smile and fill in the form, but your eyes are drawn to the comments he wrote during your audition. Despite the scrawled handwriting, you manage to make out a few of the sentences:

WOW!

So much natural talent

Easy to work with, lights up the room

"Someone has a wandering eye," Jed teases, taking the clipboard back "that's confidential!"

"Don't act like you wouldn't do the same!"

"OK, you got me there." He holds up his hands "But all my feedback for you was positive."

"I just don't want to cause problems on my first project with you. I guess I'm trying not to make a bad impression."

Jed gets up and goes over to stand beside you, placing his hand on the back of your chair. There's an earnesty in his face, relaxed and soft

"Being a director isn't just about creating a piece," he explains "it's my job to make sure everyone's happy. Cast, crew, if something's not right, people should feel comfortable coming to me for support." He moves to crouch in front of you "Don't feel like you can't talk to me or that you're too much, you're allowed to ask for help."

It's reassuring to hear that, and you can tell Jed means every word. And, as you both stand and shake each other's hands something tells you this is the beginning of a fantastic partnership

A/N: So... there it is. This was entirely out of my comfort zone, but I don't think it turned out too bad - let me know what you think!

[dvlaunchpad-mcquack]

Out of all the friends you made over the years, including the ones in Duckburg, why is Drake your best friend?

Aww gee… I’m blushing!

Erm. Well. I do have a lot of friends, and they’re all pretty special! Without Gyro, I’d never have completed the hydraulic thingamabobs I needed for the Thunderquack to have a moveable bill that can launch a net, a spear, or a motorcycle! Without my little sis, Loopy, and Mr. McDee making me fix so many planes in so many locations in record time, I never would have figured out how to make a plane I could fly (and land!) even with my eyes closed! Hehe. And without Mr. McDee’s grandnephews and Webby believing in me and encouraging me to keep pushing to earn my last Junior Woodchuck Badges, I might never had learned to swim, or realized I could do more than lead a Junior Woodchuck Troop and fly stunt planes!

I’ve seen firsthand how hard it is to be a hero, especially after going in disguise as a spy once, and after trading places with my Buddy Gizmoduck for a day. If I had not gotten a big slice of humble pie from the Beagle Boys and Dr. Nogood, I might have kept…believing I could be a hero on my own…

Ahem. But enough blathering. What was your question again?

Oh oh! Right! Drake!

Hey wait a second… How do you know my best friend is named Drake? 🤨

Oh. I, uh… guess I just admitted it out loud, huh?

Well. To be honest, he’s probably the first person who saw me as more than a screwup when we first met. I, uh, may have kind of beat him up first. Heh. Anyway. He believed in me! He gave me a real fighting chance! I still screwed up but I wasn’t about to let him down again! He needed backup and that’s one thing I can do right!

When I found out he wanted to adopt a kid, I offered to split the rent with him so he could get a permanent address in a nice neighborhood. I didn’t make much with Mr. McDee, but I still had a pension from my spy gag and for landing a space shuttle safely, and a few other heroic gigs I did, so I could sort of help out. We both work for the same organization, so that helps, too.

He’s great with kids, too! I’ve always loved kids and now I can watch all the romcoms, sitcoms, cartoons, and (ulp) horror films I want, with my best friends, and play games, and make snacks, and help with keeping the car running, and the laundry, and what not.

It’s not all fun and games, or about needing each other. We argue with each other sometimes, just like any family does. But we care about each other enough to swallow our pride some days and figure out a compromise. We get each other. Somehow, I can read him without Drake even saying a word… I never could do that with Donnie, Mr. McDee, Duckworth, Gyro, Mrs. Beakley, or the kids. It’s pretty neat! I mean, he does talk a lot. But sometimes he just needs someone there to fill the emptiness beside him, and cheer him up.

Sometimes he seems to know what I’m going to say before I say it, too. It means he listens to me. Nobody else ever really let me finish any of my stories, or heard me sing show tunes before, or supported me through all my fears and worries. Like worrying that Santa won’t get through a blizzard! Or that a harpy will track me down some day. Yikes!

What was I talking about again? I got a little sidetracked.

[chameleonsallinvermillion]

So, after all these years, I've finally watched Star Wars for the first time. Just the first one, mind. And I have Many Thoughts that I shall inflict upon the world. I thought I knew everything about Star Wars just by existing in this world for several years but apparently not.

Darth Vader is just some guy??? I thought he'd be Space Sauron. I thought he'd be this towering intimidating spectre looming like a shadow over everything. Instead he talks and moves like just a regular guy. He's not even that tall. He's not even in charge. He's just a guy in a cape.

There's something absolutely charming about the dated effects that's a bit like watching old-school Doctor Who. The budget is higher than that but some of the earnest attempts with noticeably shoddy outcomes are very pleasing to me.

I honestly thought blowing up the big space orb of death was how the whole trilogy ended. That seems like a culmination. That's a big deal. But they've already done it?? So what are they doing in the other two films???? I was so sure this was the climax of the trilogy!

It is genuinely not clear to me how old Luke is supposed to be, and therefore not clear to me whether I should be reading Han's instant affection for this earnest dorky revolutionary kid as brotherly, romantic, or paternal. Someone tell me if that's meant to be a child or not.

There are very few aliens in this space movie. Like, they had them around. There were some people draped in cloth on the desert planet that were probably aliens. There were all those aliens in the bars. But the empire and the rebels seem to be human all the way. Why? Are they racist? Is space racism going to come up in the next two movies?

The rebels completely bewilder me because they seem both very small and scrappy and hopeless - and very well-funded, trained, and organised with excellent discipline and matching uniforms. I cannot tell whether they're a fly buzzing around the empire's picnic or this is more like a legit civil war.

I thought the gold robot and the tin can robot were the Rosencrantz and Guildenstern of this piece but it turns out they're the main characters? Like, sure, once the plot really gets going, the others take up more screentime, but the main character arc seems to belong to the gold robot man and the plot is completely driven by those two. I did not predict that.

Obsessed with how nobody in this universe experiences grief. Farm burns down and only family you've ever known is dead? It's whatever, you're over it already. Entire planet blows up, destroying your home and killing millions of people, probably including most of those you love and care about? Literally never addressed again.

So, like, what were they farming? I think I must have blinked and missed that. What were they farming in the desert?

Han Solo and Chewbacca were less important and less interesting than I expected. I kind of assume they get more to do in the next two movies because I didn't feel like I had time to get to know much about them.

Actually, the only characters I felt I got time to know anything about were the gold robot and the tin can robot. Everyone else was too busy rushing about.

So, am I right in thinking that Luke and Leia turn out to be siblings? I thought I knew that was a plot point but now it feels like they're teasing a potential romantic dynamic between them. If they are siblings, was that always in the plan? Did they intend to have that very YA romance oops-almost-incest moment or was that a last minute choice?

The lack of diversity in this entire galaxy is staggering, even for the '80s, and I wouldn't have even noticed it if there had been enough aliens to distract me. I'm currently pretending to believe wholeheartedly that all the stormtroopers are black women because committing to that is driving my dad nuts and he hates that he can't remember anything (not having seen the films since they were first made) that would 100% prove me wrong. I'm enjoying this bit, but also genuinely why is there so little diversity, both in humans and in other species? Star Trek wasn't like this.

I feel like I was given a lot of exposition and yet I understand absolutely nothing about this world and the mentor-guide is already dead. Presumably - he kind of disappeared in a puff of smoke not leaving a corpse behind but I figure probably dead. I'm not mad about this but I am a bit overwhelmed by how many words have been thrown at me and never explained.

Occasionally the acting is so endearingly stagey and fake, in that slightly old-fashioned low-budget way that makes it seem like a school play, that I kept laughing any time someone had to pretend to die.

At times it genuinely felt like they were making the story up as they went and I love that! It was so messy and it felt like they were improvising around unexpected technical limitations or just time constraints or bad planning. The whole thing had this chaotic playing-pretend-with-your-friends energy that I honestly adored.

The animals! Nobody told me about the animals! Honestly, the animals on the desert planet were the best part of this entire movie. The little jumping rat things?! The big buffalo things with the horns?! The giant desert lizard that a guy was riding on!!!! The desert lizard was only in a few shots but it was my favourite thing about the whole movie and I would be happy to watch this entire franchise if I just got a handful of cool new animals in every one.

Do you get to meet the animals in that theme park they have now? Is there content related to the giant desert lizard that you can ride on? Do we ever see more of them? Do they have a name? I'm very invested in the giant desert lizard

Anyway, those are the things on my mind now that I've finally seen this movie! It was somehow simultaneously everything I thought it was going to be and absolutely nothing like what I had in my head. My predictions for the future are that Han becomes more interesting, Luke gets a cooler outfit, the mafia boss slug man comes back (and hopefully those jazzy little aliens in the band, do they have a spinoff series? they were great), and....hopefully space lizard???

[lindsaystravelblogs3]

Days 26-28 – Tuesday-Thursday, 20-22 June

Tuesday

This was an amazing food day.  How could anyone possibly eat that much?  Not sure how, but we did!  We had really enjoyed our few days in the Aeolian Islands, but it was now back to mainstream Italy.

We started the day with a taxi ride to Marina Lunga where we boarded the hydrofoil for the trip back to mainland Sicily at Milazzo.  We were then back on our coach for the drive down Sicily’s eastern coast to Ortigia.  Our destination for lunch was the setting for some of The Godfather movies – a wonderful restaurant perched high on the mountain in the village of Forza d’Agro – an interesting name reminiscent of some parts of the films.

A feature of the drive from Milazzo was the iconic ever-active Mt Etna, smoking away to our starboard side for maybe fifty kilometres.  We were probably at least fifteen or twenty kilometres away at all times, but the volcano stands our starkly from the surrounding flat land, and even at that distance, looked impressive.  It was pretty smoggy, so we never had great view of it, but it gave me a buzz anyway.

The ascent to the restaurant was pretty spectacular too.  It was very steep and we zigged and zagged around a dozen or more hairpin bends to make our way to the top.  One corner is so sharp that, in all the times Gilberto has been up there, only one driver had previously managed to get around it without backing and filling to negotiate the bend - but our driver (Aurizio) managed it first go in both directions - it was tight but he made it. The views were incredible along the coast, both north and south. 

Looking north and looking south, on the way to The Godfather's restaurant.

There was a huge fortification on the seaward side as we went up.  It was perched over the sea on a very narrow isthmus that was almost impossible to photograph from the bus, but that was awe-inspiring as we wound our way around it, with a massive precipice dropping straight into the ocean immediately below my elbow.  It gave me quite some quivers.

Once we reached the parking area, it was a short walk to the restaurant, but Gilberto took us on a longer detour to visit a couple of churches even higher than the restaurant.  (I have been saying ‘our leader’ for days because I had trouble remembering his name – but it is Gilberto and he is a great and caring leader – so much better than Gian-Franco in Sardinia and Corsica!)  They were great architectural and ecclesiastical edifices and they provided even more vantage points for great photos, but it was very hot and we were glad to sit down in the restaurant.

Lunch was described as a 'typical Italian Style lunch'.  It definitely wasn’t, because nobody could eat that much food more than a few times in a lifetime.  Lavish doesn’t even start to describe it.  I think there were seven different Starters – served serially with two large platters of each per table of eight.  By now, we were all stuffed and hardly ready for the next six or eight Entrees, let alone the five Main courses and numerous Desserts.  The food was exceptional, but in such mammoth quantities.  Most of us thought the starters were the meal and ate accordingly, leaving little capacity for the other three-quarters or more still to come.  I have never seen anything like it, but it was there (and mountains more just kept coming) and it would have been rude not to at least taste it – or gorge oneself stupid on it.  Then out came the coffees and liquours – a choice, or choices, from about eight exotic bottles – on top of the bottomless wine glasses we had already enjoyed.  We never met the Godfather, but if he was supplying the vittles for our group, he certainly excelled himself in his extravagance.  None of us felt like eating again for about three days.  It was a meal that I will never forget!

Rolling back down the hill, we reboarded the bus for the rest of the trip down to sea level and on to Syracuse and Ortigia Island where we stayed for the next two nights.  By now, my cough was really bad and sleep was almost impossible.  Heather also had the same virus, but hers was not as bad as mine.  Her other symptoms may have been worse, but not the cough which I was unable to control at all. I had a fever and the shivers and ached all over all night.

Wednesday

We were driven to the UNESCO Heritage-listed site of some 2500-year-old Greek and Roman ruins.  I don’t recall a lot about this, probably because I was trying unsuccessfully to stop my cough spoiling it for everyone else.  One particularly monumental site was a quarry where thousands of huge standardised limestone blocks (I think our guide said they were each about three tonnes) had been hewn by hand to use in building the original city.  The quarry was mammoth and because the best sandstone was below the surface, excavation had created a huge underground cavity held up by dozens of columns of residual rock.  It must have been awesome, but the whole structure collapsed when a massive earthquake hit early one morning – fortunately before anyone was on site, so there were no casualties, but the devastation must have been mind-boggling.  We visited a huge Greek amphitheatre and a slightly smaller Roman one on the site.  We couldn’t enter the Greek one because it was being prepared for a performance of one of the traditional Greek tragedies that evening – but some of our group attended the performance and said it was quite an engrossing experience.

We had an extended walking tour of the town and its markets, but I simply can’t recall anything that my photos don’t show – not sure why my mind is so blank about it, but maybe just the cough and feelig so rotten in the heat.  We had quite a bit of free time that day but I think we just went back to the room where I could cough without disturbing anyone other than Heather.  I think we ate in a local trattoria that evening where we settled down for a drink and some tapas and ended up with a more substantial meal than we needed – especially given that we were still recovering from yesterday’s extraordinary traditional Italian Style lunch.

Thursday

Our coach took us to Noto this morning – a city that was almost totally destroyed on a massive earthquake in 1693.  It seems that most places in this area have been devastated at one time or another (sometimes multiple times) following the huge earthquakes that occur periodically.  I hope we are not due for another one now!

The city was rebuilt in a Baroque style, and it is certainly a wonder to behold.  I will try to put some thoughts together about the differences between Australian and European cities, but this one appears to be notably more ornamented than most of those we have visited.  I was feeling pretty awful and Heather wasn’t much better so we let most of our group continue the tour while we settled into a shady area near the war memorial and tried to cool off and consume ever more cough lozenges.  We then strolled back to the bus pick-up point where I tried to photograph some small birds.  I got a few pics but they were all effectively silhouettes so useless for identification purposes (or anything else). 

I was really out of it by now.  I had had an awful night with fever, the shivers, headaches, aching all over – even earache and toothache in almost all of my teeth.  Weird! I hadn’t slept due to my almost continuous coughing and I really felt rotten.  The bus took us to a farmhouse where we were to have lunch, but I was not up to it.  I didn’t tell anyone other than Heather, but it must have been pretty obvious and as we were sitting down to eat, Gilberto said I should lay down inanother room.  He had asked me a couple of time before if I wanted to lay down but I said no, because there was really nowhere to do so.  But once everyone else went to lunch, a couch in the room where they had all been having a drink became available so I lay down there.

I must have been of concern to Gilberto (and the staff at the farmhouse) because they kept fussing and eventually called an ambulance for me.  I though this was a bit of overkill, but I really did feel dreadful and was gasping for breath between coughs.  Interestingly, I wasn’t quite as bad if I stood up, or even sat up straight, but as soon as I lay down, the cough became irrepressible.  (A week ad a half later, it is still very hard to control the cough when I want to lay down to sleep, and I am in and out of bed many times before I can finally drop off, even after sleeping pills.)

The ambulance arrived and I was examined at length by two paramedics who eventually decided that I was fit to travel back to the hotel in the bus, but that I needed to see a doctor.  Our next hotel was in Modica and I was very glad to be there.  The hotel staff organised us as the first people to be allocated a room so we didn’t have to stand around waiting - certainly a blessing to me.

Once in the room, I collapsed onto the bed and lay there until Gilberto managed to call a doctor who came to examine me.  I couldn’t understand much of the conversation in Italian between the doctor and Gilberto but I did understand that I had a bad case of bronchitis and needed an antibiotic.  When the doctor left, he said he would call again on Saturday, before we moved on, to make sure I was OK to continue – total cost of his services for both home visits was seventy euros – amazingly cheap compared with the cost of so many other things here.  And the cost of the ambulance visit was zero because Australia has a medical reciprocity agreement with Italy.

As soon as the doctor left, Heather and Gilberto walked the kilometre or so to the pharmacy (arriving just in time before it closed) and got my antibiotic and some vitamins and cough drops to aid my recovery.  I really appreciated that because it was very hot and walking that distance uphill in the sun would have been awful.

I was not up to eating, but Heather kept me supplied with small offerings from the kitchen over the next couple of days.

[surinnsenpai]

when do I know if I’m pushing myself too much?

I’m constantly looking for jobs, despite having one. Despite being promised future projects to work on. Constantly checking up on the job outposts of studios that ghost me and have never actually looked at my portfolio. I have 37 websites up on my computer, all of them are job postings, and every other week, I open them all and look for a fitting job. And when I don’t find anything, I look to my portfolio and think of what I can do better.

Can I do better. Yes, probably. What do I do? Well for starters I can redo my portfolio. Entirely. I just signed up for a course to improve my craft. I got stuck the moment I had to learn a new program. That sucks. I can’t move forward, can’t just sit down and watch a youtube video and learn something that is most likely going to come up at some point in my career once I get a big gig. I SHOULD learn this program, cause it can make everything faster and easier and I can focus om what I need to do. but then again, its hard to sit down and learn something new when i signed up for a course thinking i wasnt going to learn a new program. never mentioned. so now i cant finish the course, and i cant move forward. so what do i do instead?

i turn around and look at the projects i want to work on. a new direction. i deepdive into the works of the studios i want to work at, and i look at the style and format and how different my experience is with how the industry actually is. i dont know how to make a board for games, gameplay and cinematic cutscenes. i dont know how episodic boarding works, how they put the cameras and how basic is too basic in camerawork. all i know is cinematic cuts with a few pages worth of boards. i haven’t boarded 100 pages for one show, not counting my own comic which is not a film board, its a comicbook. my experience and how i board is based on scenes and directors wishes and thats all. i know little about format, despite knowing a whole lot about it. i cant really see the differnce between a scene in an episode of a show versus a scene from a movie. or i can see it, but i cant replicate it. 

so now i lament over the fact that i cant even board correctly. and i cant get work because im a periferal boarder and theres no work here, and theres even less now that the summer is here and everyone is enjoying their vacation. 

so i look at videos to improve, but none of the videos tell you the difference in the format other than which way to hold the paper when you board. the shots and formats and camera angle, i know, but what about the buildup, the invisible shots that are basic but not so basic you wouldnt hire a boarder to make? and i look again to the studios i want to work at, the people i wish to look at my work and see and nod and like what they see. so i google them and check it out, and i look at the job listings in hopes that i can apply to be seen and evaluated, but hence i am ghosted again. you need contacts.

and i have no contacts. i have emtpy promises and wishes to work with, and no contacts to actually give me work. i am exhausted (mentally) by looking, by studying, by trying to be good and better and be seen by those who matter. the industry is scattered, too much so that i cant even figure out who could be a good contact, let alone a friend. so i try to build a stupid contact list, try to make friends and make it genuine, because i absolutely hate to be a platonic friend just to be used later for work. but that is what happens, and its not very fullfilling to know that you only introduce yourself to work through them. 

they say the best contacts are the people who actually becomes your friends. when your chat looks like a regular friendship with sprinkles of job listings. to talk about something more than work.

thats too idealistic for the scattered industry around me. 

so now im slowly burning out while maintaining relations i wish i cared for, constantly jobsearch, and always strive to learn what nobody will teach me.

..

i’m tired

[townofcadence]

They had made it to the workshop; Jace combs the entire room with a fine-tooth camera, making sure to film a little of everything. Opal ambles to the middle of the room, twirling her bat by the grip like a baton, before resting the head on the ground and her arms on the knob. She watches Jace move around with a bemused expression. He continues to flit to each rack of forlorn and forgotten tools, to each bench and desk, eyes bright and near sparkling in the dim lighting.

"Just imagine," He breathes, panning over a rusted saw, "what amazing things probably came from this workplace. Dalton Carver not only built this whole building he and his wife live in, he also built a lot of furnishings for the people who lived near the Pigeon Residence. With how well his work here has survived despite the elements and time, I bet there's still a few of his pieces out there. There's no records that survived though, which is a right shame. But the tools're definitely the ones he hadt've used to make all the pieces he did. Maybe even some of the designs you see throughout the building, if he started work on it once this space was built."

"Aw bless your heart, you're such a nerd." Opal's grin was cheshire. "Next you're gonna be pointing out wood grains at this rate, darlin'."

Jace spat his tongue at her off camera. "Nobody's forced t'watch th' videos. And it's really interesting, Opal. Y'can't tell me y' don't admire the craftsmanship here."

"Oh I do find it admirable!" Her teeth continue to flash. "But nowhere near as much as you. I'm just here for the muscle, baby-boy, mostly. But I will say it's endearin' an' cute, how much you love all this stuff."

Flipping the camcorder around, he looked into it with faux sad eyes. "Do you see how she bullies me?"

"Oh, is it a crime now to call you cute?"

"Yes," Jace nods solemnly, "It's a capital offense in twenty-six states."

Opal's lips curl up a little further. "Then it's lucky I'm a rulebreaker, ain't it, sugar?"

He has more he wants to say, more banter on the tip of his tongue, but it falls short-- there's a thump above their heads, followed by another. Footsteps in heavy boots, with a soft, metallic rattle that echoes all too much in such a small house. A loud squeal, like angry hinges, sounds from somewhere above. The two glance at each other as the sounds continue, before vanishing as sudden as they came.

"....What do you think that was?" Jace whispers, soft as the camera droops against his fingertips. He shakes his head and raises it to the ceiling. "That sounded a lot like... a person moving around."

Opal is standing now too, bat in a tighter grip, and back against her shoulder. "Way I see it, there's two things it coulda been. Either you just found your first ghost, or there might be someone about. But that's what I'm here for, I reckon."

He nods. "Then.... I guess we should investigate." Maybe he means it as a question, but the tone sounds strained. With the way his body seems to tingle and the way he fights a smile, it's clear how he feels. He bounces on his feet, looking up with big eyes, barely-tempered eagerness emanating from him as he bounces back to the doorway.

Opal doesn't answer, instead following suit with a chuckle. Poor guy always got his hopes up.

It doesn't take long to find the steps, though climbing them is a slow process. Jace knows his luck and takes care with each step, Though Dalton's sturdy work speaks for itself by taking their weight with barely a groan from the wooden steps. Near the top of the landing, Jace glances Opal's way. "Do you think it's the husband? It sounded heavy, so I doubt it's their kid..."

Opal shrugs. "If it's a ghost, you did say that the guy appears on the second floor in the stories, right?"

"True...." He breathes, but it's a small exhale, and with the expression dancing on his face, she can tell it's something akin to wonder or awe. It makes her chuckle again.

"Where do y' think---." He whispers to Opal, but cuts away at the sound of wrenching wood, a creaking snap, behind a shut door. It sounded like something heavy. The silence that follows it leaves them sharing another look.

Without a word, Opal takes point. She moves beside the door, pressing her shoulder against the jamb on the side without hinges, before nodding to Jace.

The door opens with what feels like a deafening creak. ".....Carver? Dalton...?" He calls into the dim-lit room, only taking in desks and chairs, and a pair of bookshelves dusted with cobwebs. They shine like silver threads from some overhead lighting through the damage in the roof, which adds splashes of light to the floor near the center of the room.

It seems empty, so he nudges his way a little further into the room, but not out of range of Opal's bat. His voice is soft, and in the silence it feels like it echoes in the open space. "Hello? Is anyone in here....?"

((@townofcadence continuing from here !!))

" Snrkgg..."

One blue-grey eye opened with a start, the remnants of a hazy dream drifting off into the murkiness of his subconscious. Cautiously, he lifted his hat off of his face and raised his head.

" Th' hell? " he murmured, sitting up and immediately on the alert. Were those voices he heard? He rubbed his face with some irritation before he dropped his hat back on his sandy-blonde head. Slowly he got to his feet and crept to the doorway of the room he'd settled in for the night. Or well. As quietly as one could wearing spurs.

He pushed the ruined door open, wincing when it gave a loud creak and stepped out from behind it peering out across the landing and the stairwell beyond. A little moonlight from an open hole in the roof above didn't exactly help his vision and he squinted and pulled his hat down lower over his eyes.

Something pale flashed in the utmost corner of his vision, farther down towards the bottom of the stairwell and he jerked his head around and stared. A cold sweat began to build up against his forehead. He heard faint footsteps but the moonlight didn't exactly help him see much of anything.

If there was even anything to see....This place wasn't...haunted was it? Shit. It was weirdly plausible now that he thought about it. Surely he would have seen a flashlight or heard a car driving up if it was just some kids fooling around. Right?

And there was this weird...aura? He didn't know how else to explain it but whatever it was, it was steadily growing and filled him with an inexplicable dread. Something hazy tugged at the far reaches of his memories, such as they were.

As silently as possible he backed further down the hallway, retreating hastily in the shadows, feeling his way along the wall until his hand closed around another doorknob and he swiftly ducked inside this new room. Cobwebs hung everywhere. It appeared to be a library or study of some sort...

...why are you looking for me...

...candles glittering with a wicked blue flame...

The sheer strength of that sudden vivid imagery in his mind made a cold sick chill wash through his body. He stumbled to the window, pressing a hand to his face, trying to get himself together for a minute.

What the hell had that been?

He heard the creak of footsteps going across the landing outside the door and panicked thoughts whirled through his head. Goddammit. If it was a ghost of some kind how was he going to escape?

His eyes darted towards the rotten wood paneling crisscrossing the window.

Cross. A cross? Did that work against ghosts? He desperately wrenched it off, turned it around and brandished it at the door, squeezing his eyes shut as he waited.

[seijorhi]

Bully ~ Part II

Oikawa Tooru x female reader (+ Iwaizumi Hajime)

TW dub/non-con, bullying, slight degradation, voyeurism, filming, implied abuse, one mention of slapping, nsfw

Part I

‘Honey, it’s your choice. Whatever you decide to do, we’ll respect.’

The final whistle sounds, the team gathering up in a huddle and with a sigh you dutifully close your books and begin to pack them away into your bag. They still have to pull down all the nets and tidy up, but that never takes too long and the sooner you’re all out of here the better.

The sooner you can get away from them, the better.

It’s become routine at this point for you to slowly make your way down to the edge of the court while they duck into the locker room; the other third years acknowledging you with friendly enough smiles, the underclassmen no longer staring at you in vague confusion. 

But at this point you’re truly beyond caring what any of them think of your relationship with their Captain. 

Except instead of filing out like the rest of his teammates, Oikawa’s still on the far side of the court, trapped in a conversation with Coach Irihata and Mizoguchi. For a split second, his attention shifts towards you, lingering awkwardly by the big double doors, and you think you catch a flicker of irritation in his eyes – which is unusual, considering that he’s made this game his life and he has nothing but the greatest respect for both of the men before him. 

But it doesn’t really matter, you suppose. You’ll wait for him, whether it’s five minutes or fifty and he’ll either tell you what’s pissing him off, or he won’t and he’ll end up using you to work out his frustrations anyway.

With your parents away for the rest of the week and your house otherwise empty, you can only pray to any god that’ll listen that he won’t try and spend the night. Not that there’s much you can do to stop him, but a girl can dream, right?

The others are heading off, Makki laughing off some biting comment from Kyoutani, but you pay them no mind. Despite being the people you now spend the majority of your time with, they’re not your friends. 

You resign yourself to trudging back up into the stands to wait for Oikawa to finish up when a hand gently wraps around your arm, spinning you around. You start, every muscle in your body tensing on instinct, but as you come face to face with familiar olive eyes you relax – it’s only Iwa.

He regards you silently for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face before he glances over your shoulder to where Oikawa’s still talking with the coaches. 

“C’mon, they’ll be a while, I think. Let me walk you home.”

His place is almost a fifteen minute walk from yours, but you don’t bother trying to bring that up. Instead, you just shrug, shifting the strap of the bag slung over your shoulder, “It’s fine. I don’t need an escort, you know, it’s not that late.”

Maybe it’d be nice for once, walking home without Oikawa’s looming presence over your shoulder. You’re almost positive that he’ll still come by afterwards, especially because he knows as well as you do that there’s nobody to interrupt tonight, but you’ll take the tiny wins when you can.

Besides, you only have to stick it out a little while longer. 

Still holding onto your arm, Iwa’s eyebrows draw together into a slight frown and he bites back a sigh, “Shittykawa’ll throw a hissy-fit if I let you walk home alone tonight. C’mon.”

He’s not asking, you realise belatedly as he firmly but gently starts to lead you out of the gym, not sparing his best friend another glance. And you could probably dig your heels in and kick up a fuss and he’d probably let you go – at least, you think he would. He would, right? He’d listen if you asked him to stop – but what’s the point?

Nobody here actually cares what you want anymore.

Iwa’s different, you suppose. You don’t really know why. He’s just as complicit as the others, maybe even more so – he at least knows what’s going on, even if he refuses to acknowledge it or do anything about it… but that’s not entirely true, is it?

He’s the one to step in when Oikawa starts to take things too far in public. He’s the one to scare off your would be bullies, snarling and glaring at them from his place at your side. Iwa’s the reason you haven’t lost it completely, the one keeping your head above water. He’s a friend you suppose, or at least the closest thing Oikawa’ll let you have anymore.

He’s certainly the only one Tooru trusts with you whenever he’s not around, hence you haven’t heard any indignant shouts from the gym following in your wake despite the grip he has on you.

And Iwa is nice, in his own way. He cares about you, you think – or he cares enough to pretend for Oikawa’s sake. Either way, at least you know he won’t try to pull you down an alleyway and force you to suck his cock, so compared to your other options, he’s definitely the lesser of two evils. 

It’s quiet as the two of you walk, and you find yourself thankful for it. Oikawa’s always talking, he never shuts up, his incessant chatter shattering every moment of quiet, peaceful solitude you try to steal for yourself. 

And tonight, tonight your head’s already too full to pretend to play along with some semblance of chipper friendliness. 

Maybe that’s why you like Iwaizumi; you don’t have to pretend with him. He knows exactly what Oikawa is, and he’s too intelligent to believe that you’re content spending every waking moment by the setter’s side, much less that you genuinely love him. 

It’s a nice night, at least – there’s barely any clouds in the sky. You can see the stars glittering in the inky, midnight blue, and it’s peaceful, you think, with Iwa strolling quietly along beside you. 

Even when the breeze starts to pick up, the late summer night air nipping at your exposed skin. Your jacket’s folded up and shoved somewhere towards the bottom of your bag, but you honestly can’t be bothered to stop and ferret for it. 

“You’re cold,” Iwa states after a beat. Again, not a question.

Nevertheless, you shake your head. “I’m fine,” you reply, perhaps a little tersely, but he’s already shrugging off his own jacket and draping it over your shoulders. Oikawa would do the same thing, more out of a perverse sense of enjoyment from seeing you wearing his clothes than a genuine sense of concern over your comfort.

Still, you don’t fight Iwa on it, pulling his jacket tighter over your body. It’s warm, his lingering body heat making your own cheeks burn a little, and it smells like him, too. Musky, yes, but there’s something almost comforting about the fresh, woodsy scent.

Silence resumes between the two of you, but you feel the weight of his stare as the two of you wander along the path. Iwaizumi’s always been perceptive, more so than most give him credit for, and it’s only another few minutes before he speaks again.

“You’re quiet tonight.”

You hum noncommittally, staring resolutely at the concrete sidewalk rather than meet his pointed gaze. 

He huffs. “You gonna tell me what’s bothering you or not?” he tries again, the sheer bluntness almost enough to make you flinch.

“And what makes you think there’s anything bothering me?” you reply dully, kicking at the small little pebble on the pathway in front of you.

Iwa stiffens just a fraction, but you feel it – the shift in the air between the two of you. It’s the truth you won’t speak, the one he won’t acknowledge. Of course there’s something bothering you; this whole fucked up situation between the three of you. It’s not normal, it’s not healthy, surely he sees that, how the hell can he–

“Cut the bullshit,” he snaps. “You think I haven’t noticed how you’ve been acting lately? Something’s up, and if you think I’m the only one who’s paying attention…” he trails off, and suddenly his hand’s catching at yours, pulling you to a stop.

And when finally you drag your eyes up to meet his, your heartbeat quickens at the scowl written across his face, plain as day. 

“I’m not talking about… that. Did he–” he hesitates, biting down on his lip and you honestly don’t know whether you want to laugh or cry. “Something’s up.”

You could probably tell him to mind his own business, and part of you almost wants to. He might even listen, though he wouldn’t be happy about it, but the thing is, you’re just so tired. Tired of playing girlfriend for Oikawa, tired of being dragged along against your will, manhandled and fucked at every opportunity, tired of pretending that this is in any way okay, and you just want to finally give in and admit it out loud.

You want this to be over, and it’s so close you can almost fucking taste it. 

So you breathe deep, forcing yourself to relax. “My mom got a job in Tokyo. My parents… they’re leaving at the end of next week. Moving. It’s why they haven't been around much lately.”

Iwaizumi’s eyebrows furrow into a frown as he takes a second to absorb the information. “And… you? We only have a few months left until we graduate.”

You allow him a wry smile. “I know. They gave me a choice, I’m eighteen, I can stay here in the house by myself, finish up the year and graduate at Aoba Johsai before moving down with them…”

“Or?” he prods.

“Or,” you continue, “or I can go now. There’s some really good schools down there, I could have my pick. It’ll be a struggle, I know, transferring so late in the term, but–”

Iwaizumi scoffs, cutting you off, “But you’re not actually gonna go, right? You can’t just pack up and leave so close to graduation. You’re staying here in Miyagi.” 

He almost sounds angry– the muscle in his jaw’s twitching and as you stare at him you realise that he doesn’t sound angry; he is angry. His whole body’s tensed like he’s preparing for a fight, and it takes you by surprise. 

Sure, he’s pretty much the only person outside of Oikawa that you’d consider yourself to have any kind of relationship with anymore, but you’d never really thought he’d actually–

“Iwa,” you say gently, “I was gonna go to Tokyo after graduation anyway. Sure, it’s not exactly an ideal situation, but…” 

But it’s your chance to get away from all of this, from Oikawa, and you’re gonna take it and run. Whether or not Tokyo University accepts you, whether it means you have to work three times as hard to adjust to a new school’s curriculum just so you won’t completely flunk your final exams. 

It can’t be any worse than this.

He has to understand that. 

And really, what did he think was going to happen after graduation? You know Oikawa’s plans, and you’ll be damned if you let him ruin your life anymore than he already has, dragging you halfway across the world. You belong here, in Japan. Oikawa can go chase his pipe dreams on his own. 

He swallows tightly, and while the pinched scowl on his face doesn’t falter, his grip on your wrist eases just a fraction. “You were really just gonna leave without telling anybody?” he asks, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

“Who would I tell?”

—

Sure enough, it’s a little after midnight when your bedroom door sweeps open and Oikawa strides in like he owns the place. You watch through half lidded eyes as he starts to shed his clothes, stripping off and tossing them haphazardly onto the floor until he’s just in his boxers. 

He doesn’t say much as he lifts the covers and climbs into bed beside you, merely presses a surprisingly gentle kiss to your cheek, murmuring a quiet, ‘Just sleep, cutie,’ when you try to shift away from him.

He sounds tired, exhausted really, but you don’t care enough to comment, relieved more than anything that tonight he doesn’t seem to have the energy for more. There’d been some part of you that was worried that Iwa might have told him about the walk home – the secrets you’d unthinkingly entrusted to him – but he can’t have. There’s no possible way Oikawa would be so calm right now if he had. 

And Iwa wouldn’t do something like that in the first place. 

It might not have been the most traditional of friendships, and you know he’s still a little pissed off with your decision and the fact you had no intentions of telling him, but Iwa wouldn’t break your trust like that. 

And so with Oikawa’s arms wrapped around your middle, the warmth of his chest pressed up against your back, you allow sleep to claim you once more.

—

You hardly see him the following morning. 

There’s no sign of him when you wake up, though his side of the bed is still warm – you know he likes to run in the mornings; he probably ran home to shower before school. And if you’re grateful to Aoba Johsai for anything, it’s for putting the two of you in separate classes. You’re spared his presence and those of his mooney eyed fangirls, and you can actually focus on learning. Or try to, at least.

Iwa regards you with an unreadable expression when you take your usual seat at the desk next to his, but at least he doesn’t seem as pissed off as he was when he left you last night. You only have a week and a half left until you go, but considering he’s the closest thing you have to a friend anymore, you’re not sure how you would survive if he suddenly decided to give you the cold shoulder.

Still, he is quieter than usual as you both settle into class, and you can’t help your gaze from flickering over to him throughout the lesson, an uncomfortable pit settling into your stomach. Iwa doesn’t so much as look your way, busying himself in copying down the notes the teacher’s scrawling on the board.

You honestly didn’t expect him to be hurt, and as he brushes past you on his way out after the bell rings you begin to doubt whether you should have told him at all. It stings, more than you expect.

Yet the moment you try to follow him, calling out his name, a familiar figure steps in front of you, halting you in your tracks. 

“Hey, cutie,” Oikawa purrs, grinning down at you as he reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair back behind your ear. “I’ve missed you today. Come on, let’s go somewhere a little quieter.”

His fingers are laced with yours, tugging you along before you can even try to voice a protest. You both know you wouldn’t anyway, not anymore. 

Just like you don’t speak up when instead of dragging you outside to the courtyard, or even to the gym, he chooses an empty classroom, kicking the door shut behind him. 

There’s a question on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t have a chance to voice it as he grabs you by the collar of your shirt and smashes his lips to yours. 

Oikawa usually likes to take his time, to drag out your humiliation and reluctant pleasure as he toys with you, but today he wastes no time in shoving you back up against one of the desk, his fingers already yanking down your necktie and prying your lilac shirt open – buttons scattering as it rips.

“Tooru–” you gasp, panic flaring, but his lips curl into a smirk as he forces you back into another kiss.

“Quiet now, cutie, let me take care of my pretty girl, hm?” he growls between panting breaths. “You don’t want somebody stumbling in and interrupting us, do you?”

And your chest tightens, squeezing around your lungs like a vice, your gaze flickering back to the door – shut but not locked.

“Tooru,” you whisper again in a panic, clutching at the lapels of his blazer as he draws back enough to level a gaze at your chest, bare save for the virginal white lace bra you’d unthinkingly chosen that morning. 

His grin widens, but there’s something cold and utterly unflinching in his eyes as they flicker up to meet yours. “Lean back,” he tells you.

You shake your head, “I d-don’t–”

His hands are on your shoulders, abruptly shoving you backwards. “I said,” he coos as you sprawl back onto the wooden desktop with a startled squeak, “lean back for me.”

It’s been months since you’ve fought him, but as he flips up your skirt, fingers grazing possessively along the cotton of your panties and he sighs contentedly, sheer panic floods your system, overwhelming your better judgement. Before you can stop yourself your knees come up as you desperately scramble to right yourself, to put an end to this–

The slap to your cheek isn’t all that forceful, at least not compared to what you know him to be capable of, but it still takes you by surprise, the sharp, burning sting only registering as the shock of the blow fades.

Oikawa’s no longer grinning, his face twisted into a terrifying glare as wide, teary eyes stare back up at him. “Baby, you’re really testing me right now. You want to act like a disobedient little bitch, kick up a fuss, bring everybody running so they can see what a needy little whore you are, spread out on the table for me?” He snatches at your panties, harshly wrenching them down your now prone legs with one hand, the other reaching for his belt buckle, “You think you have a choice here? You think I give a fuck what you want?”

Your ears are ringing, the sound of your own heartbeat drowning out almost everything else.

It’s not the first time he’s hit you, or even the hardest, but with that one slap all the fight you have left just dissipates. You don’t even flinch when he spits directly onto your pussy, his thumb harshly spreading his saliva over your cunt – you just bite down on your lip to stifle the sob that threatens to burst.

And victory shines bright in his eyes at the sight of it. 

“Good girl, you know who this pretty pussy belongs to, don’t you?” he croons with saccharine sweetness, even leaning over to press a tender, affectionate kiss to your swollen lips. 

And you’d squeeze your eyes shut and try to imagine that you’re somewhere else, anywhere else if you didn’t know how much he hates it when you do. So instead, you lie there pliant and trembling, humiliation burning hot as he spreads your legs, pressing your thighs back towards your chest as he slots himself in between them.

“You look so good like this, you know?” he muses with a soft little chuckle as he leisurely strokes his cock, letting the flushed tip brush teasingly along your folds, nudging at your clit. “Prettiest little thing, and all mine, aren’t you, cutie.”

Tears well and spill soundlessly down your cheek, but your only answering is the hiccuping breath you draw in, your fingers finding purchase on the edges of the desk as he guides it back to your entrance.

It doesn’t matter that you’re not nearly ready for him, that his spit and the pre-cum that’s beading at his slit isn’t going to help ease his passage in the slightest. He’ll fuck you how he wants to – and you’re too broken to try and stop him.

Yet instead of savagely plunging in like you expect him to, Oikawa stills, regarding you with a tilted head and a cruel smirk. 

“Fuck,” he curses quietly, the sound almost reverent as he stares down at you. He shakes his head, another soft laugh bubbling out, “I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of seeing you like this, but if you’re going to be running off on me so soon, maybe I should take a little memento, what do you think cutie?”

Your stomach drops, dread creeping down your spine as Oikawa reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, opening up the camera and flicking it across to video. 

“I mean if this is going to be our last time together, don’t you think we should make it special?” You jerk, your breath coming out in short, harsh pants but you can’t move, can’t seem to lift a single finger as he leans in closer, bringing his lips to your ear, “That way we both have something to remember this by.”

And as his breath ghosts the tiny hairs on the shell of your ear he laughs again, pressing another quick kiss to your flushed, tear stained cheek. “Aw, don’t cry, cutie. You brought this on yourself.”

You don’t have a moment to prepare yourself, his hand slamming over your lips to muffle your shrieks as he thrusts his hips forward, sheathing himself in your tight little cunt with a choked moan.

“F-fuck, baby,” he grits out, biting down on his own lip as he relishes the vice like grip your pussy has on his throbbing cock, “Smile for the camera.”

Your back arcs up off the table, fingernails digging into the wood as he draws his hips back slowly, letting you feel every inch of his cock as it drags along your walls until it’s only the tip that remains inside of you.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts – a sharp and throbbing pain that only grows with each passing second. 

There’s something sadistic in his grin as he angles the phone down to where your bodies meet, your lewdly spread thighs, your glistening pussy in perfect view as another glob of saliva joins the first, pooling over your sex, sliding down his cock.

“You have no idea how perfect your pussy feels, baby,” he pants, slowly filling you up once more – your own wails stifled by his hand. “You’re mine, all fucking mine, aren’t you?”

There’s no hiding from the camera as he fucks you, slowly at first, but picking up his pace as the slick starts to build, your warm, velvety walls sucking him in deeper, squelching obscenely with every thrust. And between the sounds of his balls slapping against your ass – skin hitting skin as he fucks you roughly without care – and Tooru’s own satisfied moans, your muffled whimpers and cries go unheard. 

And just when you think your humiliation is complete, he takes his hand from your mouth, his thumb returning to your clit, teasing at the sensitive nub with slow, measured circles that have you keening, shaking beneath him as he stuffs you full. Slowly but surely that searing ache gives way to pleasure, a slight shift of his hips and his cock’s hitting that sweet spot he’s all too familiar with – and another strangled moan slips out.

“You gonna cum for me, pretty girl?”

You shake your head, fingernails digging into the wood, biting down harshly to keep yourself quiet as you feel that familiar heat pooling in your core, wanton pleasure flickering through you with every swipe of his fingers, every harsh thrust.

“No? You sure about that?” he laughs at the desperate whine that slips from your lips, “I wanna hear it, baby. Cum for me.”

But you can’t, you can’t make a sound, the door’s not locked, the door’s not locked and anybody could walk in any second, but you can feel it coming, your legs shaking and toes curling as your control slips–

“Cum,” Oikawa demands, his own voice a husky, shivering growl, and this time you’re helpless but to obey.

Your orgasm crashes into you like a wave, suddenly sweeping your legs out from under you. You arc up off the table once more, white hot pleasure exploding as you shiver and quake, your pussy clamping down on his cock and gushing as he fucks you relentlessly through it, chasing his end while drawing out your own.

And you’re so lost in the bliss, the pleasurable rippling aftershocks short circuiting your system that you don’t even realise that he’s pulled himself out of your cunt, stroking his slicked up cock with harsh pants–

Not until you feel the hot spurts of his cum hitting your stomach, a choked moan resembling your name shattering the fuzzy afterglow, dragging you harshly back down to reality.

There’s a twisted, self satisfied smirk on his face as he watches the cold realisation sink in, your eyes filling with fresh tears as your gaze flickers between him and the phone in his hand, still filming.

“You’re not leaving me,” he says, still a little breathless. “You’re mine. Isn’t that right, Iwa?”

No.

Please god, no.

Blood drains from your face, the pit in your stomach plummeting as his smirk widens and he turns his head to glance over his shoulder. You don’t want to look, can’t bear to, but it’s like trying to rip your eyes away from a car crash; your body moves with a will of its own. Heart pounding, nausea churning in your gut, you follow his gaze to find Iwaizumi by the door; jaw tight, arms folded across his chest, staring impassively back at you.

And that last little piece of you breaks.

[fics-n-stuff]

A Nice Christmas

Thanks to @gayhistorynerd for the prompt, see here (I kind of deviated from it a little maybe a lot but the story still stemmed from this prompt)

Pairing: Wilhelm × Simon

Summary: Wilhelm may have denied being in the sex tape, but that doesn't mean that the world has forgotten. The Christmas break proves to be difficult for both Simon and Wilhelm, one suffering from ongoing harassment and the other feeling completely isolated, and they find that they can't help but be drawn back to each other.

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: This took me so long to write because I got writer's block right after I started it. This doesn't have a super happy ending because I wanted to try and keep it pretty realistic, but it is pretty sweet and wholesome.

Taglist: @probablyprocrastinatingrightnow @rika90 @angelwilhelm

Wilhelm had never felt more alone than he did being home for Christmas break. He spent as much time as was physically possible holed up in his bedroom, not wanting to see or talk to anyone, especially not his mother. He hadn’t turned his phone on for three days, he had bitten his nails down to the nailbeds and he hardly had any appetite. The ache in his chest was constant and unyielding.

He lay in the dark most of the time, his curtains closed throughout the day and only sometimes opened at night to let the moonlight in. Besides that, he didn’t have much idea of how time was passing.

He did know that it was Christmas eve though. And it must be the morning because nobody had come to drag him out of his bedroom to join the celebrations. A cursory peek around the curtain confirmed that, as Wilhelm saw that the sun hadn’t even fully risen yet.

A deep breath settled the stone in his stomach, and he reached for his phone with a shaky hand.

When the device turned on it immediately started going crazy with notifications, and Wilhelm felt his heart rate increase with every buzz.

5 messages from August

Ignore.

10 messages from Mamma

Ignore.

2 missed calls from Felice

Wilhelm paused in swiping away the notifications. Felice had called him twice and sent him three messages. He clicked on the message notification, sitting back against the wall and holding in a breath without realising it.

Felice: Hey Wille, how are you feeling being home?

Felice: I just wanted to check in but I can’t get a hold of you, I hope you’re doing alright

Felice: You probably don’t want to talk but you can call or text me whenever you do

Wilhelm sighed. Of all the people that he thought that he could depend on, Felice was the only one that he still had. He swallowed the lump in his throat and called her back.

It rang for a while before she answered, and he’d almost decided to hang up the call when it stopped ringing.

“Wille, good morning.” Felice greeted, cheerful but clearly tired. “Merry Christmas.”

“Yeah, merry Christmas Felice.” Wilhelm replied feebly. His voice was hoarse from disuse.

“Are you alright? Do you want to talk about something?”

“Uhm, I- I don’t know, I just... I don’t know.” He stuttered, wrapping his free arm around himself.

“Okay, well, what are your plans for today?”

“I’m not sure, I haven’t really been talking to anyone. What, uh, what are your plans?”

“Oh, you know, just the usual. We’ll watch Kalle Anka's Jul and play some games before dinner, then we’ll open presents.” She explained. The tinny sound of her voice through the phone was actually quite calming.

“What about for the rest of the break?”

“Um, I’m going to New York to see Maddie for New Year, so that’ll be fun. And I’m going back to Bjärstad on Boxing Day to see Sara. I’m gonna stay there just for one night.”

“So you’ve been talking to Sara a lot then?” Wilhelm questioned, moving to bite at his almost non-existent nails.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Has she said anything about Simon? Do you know if he’s alright?” His words came out more rushed than he had intended. Clearly, he was more eager for some sort of information on Simon than he had thought.

“Um, she hasn’t said much but I think he’s pretty okay.” Felice replied, but it was followed by a small sigh that let Wilhelm know that there was more to the story. “Sara says that things have mostly gone back to normal, but Simon goes out a lot less and she’s had to make her Instagram private. I think they’ve had a few people show up at their house.”

Wilhelm swallowed hard, a feeling of guilt crawling under his skin. Simon’s Instagram account had been private ever since the video had been leaked, so it seemed that now people had found Sara’s too. They had attention on them that they had never signed up for, and Wilhelm knew that it was his fault and he felt terrible for that.

“Okay.” He replied shakily. There was a short silence before Felice spoke again.

“How are you, Wilhelm? Really?” She asked.

“Lonely.” He answered. “Listen, I have to go. I need to take a shower before someone comes demanding that I take part in the Christmas celebrations.”

“Alright well, call me back whenever, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Bye, Felice.”

“Bye, Wille. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

Wilhelm ran a hand over his face, letting out a groan of frustration and sadness. Why couldn’t he just be a normal kid?

He stared down at his phone in his lap, gnawing at the nail of his right thumb in contemplation. With a shaking breath and trembling fingers, he picked it back up, opened his conversation with Simon and typed a short message. He dropped his phone in mild panic as soon as he hit send, and rubbed his hand over his chest as he took a deep, steadying breath.

+ + +

“Simon, wake up. Rosh and Ayub will be here soon.” Sara’s voice stirred Simon from his sleep and he rolled over to look at her. She was already dressed.

“What time is it?” He asked with a yawn.

“Nine o’clock. Get up and come help with breakfast.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m getting up.”

Sara rolled her eyes and left the room, and Simon reached out to his bedside table blindly until his hand landed on his phone. He squinted at the screen as he sat up, faltering when he saw the notification on the screen.

Wilhelm: Merry Christmas Simon

He felt his heart race as he stared at the screen, only snapping out of it when he heard Sara shouting at him from downstairs. He blinked, dropped his phone and set about getting dressed.

Every Christmas eve since they were ten, Simon, Sara, Rosh and Ayub would have breakfast together and then go for a long walk. It was tradition for them at this point, but Simon found himself unable to feel excited for it this year. It was all well and good to pretend like life was going on as normal, but it was hard not to feel uncomfortable when people stared at him everywhere he went.

Rosh and Ayub arrived just as he and Sara were finishing up making breakfast, and they exchanged Christmas well-wishes as they sat down to eat.

“You’re being real quiet over there, Simme. You alright?” Ayub asked after a while, and Simon realised that he’d been completely zoned out.

“Sorry, just thinking.”

“About Wilhelm?” Sara questioned. Simon pushed a bite of food into his mouth and shrugged.

“You have to move on, Simon.” Rosh said. “I know you care about him but he’s not worth all the trouble that he comes with.”

“I know. That’s why I ended things.” He replied. “It still sucks though.”

“You’ll get over him eventually.” Sara told him, putting a comforting hand on his for a few seconds before going back to her food. Simon smiled slightly.

He didn’t tell them about the text.

Despite all of that, he was in high spirits when they set out for their walk, happily joking and laughing with his friends, and they made it half an hour before he heard the first comment.

“That’s the guy from the sex tape.” Muttered a girl to her friend as they passed, and Simon felt the smile fall from his face.

“Just ignore them.” Sara told him, wrapping an arm around one of his. He nodded, but it had gotten to him. For the rest of their walk from that point, Simon felt like every person that they passed was looking at him and judging him.

They walked both Rosh and Ayub back to their houses before heading back to theirs just a bit past noon. They had almost gotten home when they were approached by a group of teenagers probably slightly younger than them.

“Are you the guy from that viral sex tape?” One of the boys asked unabashedly, the group coming right up in front of Simon and Sara and blocking their path.

“Uh, I don’t want to talk about that.” Simon replied stiffly, still trying to be polite.

“Oh my god, it is him!” A girl exclaimed.

“Was it actually the crown prince in the video?” Another chimed. Simon felt lightheaded.

“He already said that it wasn’t.” He deflected, trying to sidestep the group.

“Yeah, but there’s a lot of people that don’t actually believe him.” The girl laughed; actually laughed, as if this hadn’t been an earth shattering event for Simon.

“If it wasn’t Prince Wilhelm then who was it in the video?” A boy asked, and that was when Simon spotted the phone filming him and his stomach dropped.

“I’m not discussing my sex life with a bunch of strangers.” He scoffed in disbelief, shouldering his way past the group with Sara close behind him. “Please leave me alone.”

“You could just tell us if it was actually the prince or not.” One of them pressed, the group now following after Simon. “If it wasn’t him then you don’t have anything to hide.”

“Oh my god, did the royal family pay you off? Did they make you sign an NDA!?”

“Were you, like, boyfriends? Or was it just a hookup?”

Simon kept walking, keeping his head down and not answering any of the questions being hurled at him. He could sense that Sara was just as tense beside him. The group followed them for a full block before Simon finally lost his cool and came to a dead stop, turning to face them.

“I’m not going to answer your questions. The fact that you’re following me is not going to make me answer your questions. I’ve had my privacy majorly invaded once already and now you’re invading it again. I’m trying to enjoy Christmas with my sister and you’re chasing me with a camera, I’m sick of people harassing me.” He fumed, making sure to meet the eye of every one of them at some point. “Whatever you choose to believe is not my problem. It doesn’t matter whether you think that the crown prince is telling the truth or you choose to make up some type of theory, I deserve my privacy.”

He didn’t wait for any type of response before he turned around and walked away, thankful to find that they weren’t going to follow him anymore.

“You handled that well.” Sara said quietly once they had turned the next corner. Simon didn’t reply.

When they got home, he went straight upstairs without a word. He slammed his bedroom door shut and buried his face in his pillow, unable to hold the tears back any longer.

By that same evening, the video was viral.

+ + +

I bet that girl was right and the royal family made him sign an NDA

If he didn’t want people to think it was the prince he would have just said that it wasn’t so either the prince was lying or this guy is seeking attention

He’s literally a kid why can’t people just leave him alone??

I don’t care if it was the prince in the tape or not, this guy is hot

The way he said that people are making up theories makes me think that it actually wasn’t the prince in the video

I feel bad for this guy, getting followed around like that must suck

Wilhelm scrolled through the captions and comments on the seemingly endless posts of the video of Simon, feeling like somebody had a vice grip on his heart.

The first time he saw the video had been right after Christmas Eve dinner. He’d had a full blown panic attack and locked himself in the bathroom for half an hour. When he came out, his mother had tried to talk to him about the politics of the situation and he had immediately retreated into his bedroom once again. He missed Erik desperately.

He hadn’t been able to sleep, he'd only gotten about three hours of broken, fitful sleep all night, and now he couldn’t pry himself away from his phone. He knew that it was bad for him, he knew that it was making him feel terrible, but he wanted to know what people were saying.

He had been hesitant to text Simon, especially since he hadn’t received a reply to the merry Christmas text that he had sent in the morning, but in the end he mustered the courage to reach out. He had asked how Simon was doing and apologised for getting him into this situation. He wasn’t surprised when no answer came.

Christmas day was proving to be probably the worst day of Christmas break for Wilhelm. His chest felt like it was bursting open and like it was an empty chasm at the same time. He didn’t eat breakfast or lunch, he didn’t respond to the knocks that came at his door. He felt like he was trapped in a glass box and someone was shaking it.

Wilhelm didn’t know how long he had been scrolling through multiple different social media platforms when his phone buzzed in his hand and an incoming call appeared on the screen. He faltered, sitting up and almost dropping his phone, when he saw that it was Simon. He ran a nervous hand through his hair as he raised the phone to his ear.

“Simon?” He croaked.

“Hi, Wilhelm.” The reply came through the phone, and Wilhelm felt his shoulders relax at the sound of Simon’s voice.

“Hi. H-how are you.” He fumbled, and Simon sighed on the other end.

“I’m okay, I guess. As okay as I can be after... well, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry for putting you in this situation.”

“This wasn’t your fault, Wille.” Simon muttered. “I just wish things were different.”

“Why, um... why did you call?” Wilhelm asked. There was a short stretch of silence that rung in his ears before Simon answered.

“I just wanted to hear your voice, I guess.” He confessed, and Wilhelm couldn’t help the soft smile that pulled at his lips. “Honestly, I was kind of surprised that you didn’t delete my number or something.”

“Why would I have done that?”

“I don’t know, I guess I just thought that you weren’t supposed to have any ties with me since you said that it wasn’t you in the video.” Wilhelm winced at that.

“It's not like my contacts list is available to the public.” He replied, trying to keep his tone light. “I’m not gonna let that kind of thing get in my head again.”

“Is your mum mad?” Simon asked, and now it was Wilhelm’s turn to sigh.

“I’m not sure, I kind of shut myself in my room so that I wouldn’t have to deal with her.” He answered tiredly. “How is your family?”

“Uh, shaken. Sara’s off in her own world with her sketchbooks and mamá can’t go for more than an hour without checking on us both, but we’re handling it.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise.”

There was a silence again. Wilhelm ran his hand across his leg, back and forth in a soothing motion, not sure what he should say but not wanting the conversation to finish. In the end, Simon spoke first.

“Did you mean it, what you said before you left for the break?” He asked softly.

“Yeah, I did.” Wilhelm answered without hesitation. “I know it wasn’t a good time to say it, and you probably didn’t want to hear it, but I just had to say it out loud. At least once.”

Silence again. Wilhelm heard Simon sigh, and pursed his lips nervously.

“I miss you.” Simon said.

“I miss you too.” Wilhelm replied with a nervous yet relieved chuckle. “I miss you a lot.”

Another pause.

“Where do we go from here, Wille?” Simon whispered.

“I don’t know.” Wilhelm mumbled. “But I... I want to fix this. Or at least just try to fix it. You don’t deserve to be harassed like this, and it’s my fault and I feel terrible.”

“It’s not your fault.” Simon reassured with a sigh. “It was everything else. We still didn’t do anything wrong, and that includes you.”

“No, I did. I promised we would be in this together and I broke that promise.”

“I understand why you did it. And I’m not mad at you. Honestly, having thought about it, you probably made the best decision for my sake too. I mean, I’m getting harassed enough as it is already. I can’t imagine what it would be like if you had told the truth.”

“I’m still sorry anyway.” Wilhelm said softly, and Simon chuckled. “So, um, Felice told me she was visiting Bjärstad tomorrow.”

“Yeah, her and Sara have gotten close. It’s nice, you know, that Sara’s made friends. And Felice is cool.”

“Yeah, she’s great.”

There was silence again, and Wilhelm bit at his nails thinking that Simon was done with the conversation.

“Are you alright, Wille?” Simon asked after a while. “I know this is your first Christmas without Erik, and I guess things with your mum might be a little... well, I just hope you’re okay.”

Wilhelm swallowed. He could lie, pretend he was fine and wave away Simon’s concerns, but he knew the lie probably wouldn’t hold up. Or he could tell the truth and admit how painfully lonely he was, how much he hated being home because the palace felt empty without Erik and how much he longed to be with Simon with every fibre of his being.

“I’m coping.” He sighed, settling for a middle ground of vagueness. “It’s lonely here. The ceilings feel too high.”

“Have you had stuff to do?”

“No, not really. I haven’t really been in the mood for Christmas, but I guess none of us are particularly festive this year anyway.”

“Would you - I mean, if you would even be allowed to, but maybe if you could – would you want to come down here for a day?” Simon asked, and Wilhelm could just picture him fidgeting nervously as he stumbled over his words. The image brought a smile to his face.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” He answered softly. “I’ll try and convince my parents.”

+ + +

Going to Simon’s house had been an absolute no go with his parents. “Just too risky” his mother had said. However, with enough persistence, he managed to wear them down to a compromise.

That was how he ended up in a car on his way back to Hillerska the day after Boxing Day. While Simon’s house had been absolutely off the table, it would be easy enough to get back to Hillerska without being seen. The only people who were there during the break were security and the people who came to take care of the horses.

He had been worried at first that the inconvenience of it would make Simon not want to bother, but when he texted to ask if it was okay he had been met with a quick agreement.

A security guard unlocked the door for him when they arrived, sworn to secrecy of course, and he headed up to his room to wait. He didn’t realise he was biting his nails until there was a knock at the door and he was knocked out of his anxious thoughts.

The door opened slowly, and Wilhelm felt like all of the air was knocked out of his body when he saw Simon step inside, dressed in his beloved purple hoodie under the coat that he took off and draped over the back of a chair that was within reach. The door clicked shut behind him, and silence hung in the air.

“Hey.” Simon greeted finally, and Wilhelm took a deep breath as if he was just remembering how to breathe at all.

“Hey.” He echoed. “How are you?”

“Better.” Simon nodded. “Did you get into a fight with your parents?”

“Yeah, kinda.” Wilhelm muttered. “It’s fine though.”

Simon crossed the room and took a seat beside Wilhelm on the edge of the bed, a good few inches of space between them. It felt like miles.

“You look tired.” Simon commented.

“I’ve been having a hard time sleeping.” Wilhelm replied weakly, eyes downcast, fidgeting with his hands. “I get that way sometimes. It’s fine.”

“Is it?”

He looked over to find Simon watching him, and he practically crumbled under his gaze. He took a very unsteady breath and shook his head.

“No, it sucks.” He mumbled. His hand drifted back up to his mouth and he gnawed on the nail of his thumb nervously.

“Wille, you’re bleeding.” Simon said, gently grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand away from his mouth. Wilhelm looked down at his thumb and saw a bit of blood pooling in the side of the nailbed, becoming aware of the taste of it on his tongue.

“Oh, I didn’t notice.”

“How much have you been biting your nails?” Simon questioned, pulling Wilhelm’s hand towards him to get a look at them. Every nail was jagged and uneven, bitten down to stubs. The skin around them had been bitten at too.

“I don’t know, I do it without realising.” Wilhelm shrugged. “Probably a lot.” He resisted the urge to curl his fingers around Simon’s hand and blinked back the tears that threatened to fall.

“You shouldn’t have to bottle everything in, you’re destroying yourself.” Simon murmured.

“I don’t have anyone to talk to.” Wilhelm’s voice broke halfway through his sentence, a single tear managing to fight its way from his eye. “I used to be able to talk to Erik about at least some of it but now he’s gone and I don’t have anyone, and sometimes it feels like the ground is falling out from under me and I just don’t know what to do.”

He didn’t notice that he was hyperventilating until Simon pulled him into his arms. Wilhelm’s chest was tight, rising and falling rapidly against Simon’s body. Simon's arms were wrapped around him tightly, and Wilhelm was suddenly overwhelmed with how much he had been craving a hug as his hands grasped at the back of Simon’s hoodie and he hid his face in the crook of Simon’s neck.

Wilhelm had always been told not to cry. Ever since he was a child, whenever he began to cry he was told to stop. The seed had planted itself in him when he was very young, but the fear of letting himself cry didn’t truly grow until he once saw an article in a tabloid. He was barely eleven and he had fallen and hurt himself at an event. He had hardly cried, just a few tears and red cheeks, but the tabloid had had plenty to say about it. He hadn’t let himself properly cry since, except for when Erik died. Even then, he had waited until he was completely alone before he let his weakness show. But now, with Simon, he felt an overwhelming need to let his tears fall.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispered into Simon’s shoulder. He could feel the tears coming out of his eyes but they weren’t falling down his face, instead absorbing into the fabric of Simon’s hoodie.

“It’s okay.” Simon soothed, a hand moving up to stroke over the Wilhelm’s hair.

“I never wanted any of this. I never wanted to be a prince.”

“I know.”

“I just wanted to feel normal. Just for once.” Wilhelm said through his tears. “You made me feel normal.”

Simon furrowed his eyebrows, sympathetic. He loosened his hold on Wilhelm and leaned back, sliding the hand that was on the back of Wilhelm’s head forward to rest against his cheek.

“You made me feel normal too.” He replied softly. “At school I was a social outcast because I’m not rich, and at home I have to take care of my mom and Sara. When I was with you, I didn’t feel like I had to take care of anyone or watch where I was stepping. Well, except that one night.” Wilhelm huffed a slight laugh at the comment, lifting a hand to wipe the tears off of his cheeks. “I’ve never seen you cry before.” Simon commented.

“I’m not supposed to.” Wilhelm replied with an awkward chuckle, his head tipping forward in embarrassment. Simon sighed through his nose and lightly touched his forehead to Wilhelm’s.

“You have to cry sometimes, Wille. Everyone cries.”

“I’m not supposed to be everyone.”

“Okay, but sometimes you need to stop worrying about what you’re supposed to be.” Simon told him. “I know you know that.”

Wilhelm took a deep breath. This close to Simon’s face, he could feel his breathing too. He wanted to kiss him, but he didn’t know if that would be okay. He nodded slightly, covering Simon’s hand on his cheek with his own.

“Yeah.” He breathed.

When Simon leaned forward and connected their lips Wilhelm responded automatically, though it took his brain a few seconds to catch up. Once his brain did catch up, his hand took hold of the back of Simon’s neck and pulled him impossibly closer, holding onto this moment like it was his last. Maybe it would be the last time he got to kiss Simon; he couldn’t know. He hoped it wouldn’t be.

“Thanks for coming to see me.” Simon said when they broke apart.

“Thanks for wanting to see me at all.” Wilhelm replied. “I really missed you.”

Simon hummed, a faint smile playing at his lips. He watched Wilhelm for a few moments before kicking off his shoes.

“Come here.” He said, shuffling over the bed towards the wall. Wilhelm followed suit and allowed himself to be guided down to a lying position, Simon’s chest against his back and arm around his waist. “You need to sleep.”

“It’s the middle of the day.” Wilhelm protested, weak as the protest may have been.

“People have naps all the time, and you know that you need it.” Simon said firmly, adjusting the pillow under his head with his free arm and finding Wilhelm's hand to hold in the other. “It doesn’t have to be for long, okay?”

“Okay.” Wilhelm nodded, feeling suddenly very relaxed. He took a deep breath settling into the comfort and warmth of Simon’s body around his as his eyes fell shut. “This is nice.” He mumbled after a while.

“Yeah.” Simon agreed softly. “Go to sleep, Wille.”

It wasn’t long until he felt Wilhelm’s breathing change, signifying that he had fallen asleep. He smiled, fondly but with an edge of sadness to it, and pressed a light kiss to Wilhelm’s shoulder before closing his own eyes. They would deal with the rest of the world when they woke up.

[heyyyharry]

Deja Vu (part 2 of 'Drivers License')

(inspired by deja vu by Olivia Rodrigo)

Word count: 2.5k

Read part 1 here

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“What the fuck is this?”

Harry flinched as his girlfriend shoved the phone at him. He’d just got out of the shower, hair still dripping wet, but it wasn’t so out of the ordinary that she would start a fight first thing in the morning.

He sighed and gently pushed her phone away from his face. “Baby, if it’s another rumour about me cheating on you...I was with you this whole week!”

“No.” She lifted the phone up to his face again. “That girl just released another song about you.”

Even though Harry didn’t let it show, whenever he heard about Y/N, his heart would always skip a beat. He couldn’t remember exactly when the last time they’d spoken was, but he knew in his last message to her, he’d congratulated her on that new song about him. She’d never replied, and he’d taken it as the answer — they could never go back to the way it was.

It had broken his heart to listen to ‘drivers license’. Y/N had never been the kind of person to be vocal about her feelings. Or maybe she’d expressed it through actions instead of words, and he had been too nonchalant to see? He hadn’t meant to break her heart and leave her in the dust. After all, she used to be his best friend.

“Y/N’s a songwriter. She writes about her own experience the same way I do. Maybe that song is not even about me, babe,” he calmly told his girlfriend, who was standing in front of him with fresh tears in her eyes. He hated to see her cry, and he hated that this wasn’t the first time she’d done it because of him. He tried to reach for her but she stepped back, shaking her head.

“Listen to the song.”

“Baby.”

“Listen to the song,” his girlfriend repeated without looking at him. “Why are you so afraid?”

“I’m not.”

“Then listen to it and tell me it’s not about you, and that she’s not throwing shades at me. I’m so tired of this girl telling the world about how horrible we are as if you had even dated her in the first place—”

“Fine,” Harry exhaled sharply, his eyes pinched shut. He hated that when his girlfriend got mad, she would get so mean for no reason, and the last thing he wanted to hear right now was her insulting Y/N. He knew Y/N. She had always been respectful to his new relationship. However, he wasn’t in the position to tell his girlfriend how to feel about this situation. He knew it was all his fault, so he stayed quiet, took the phone from his girlfriend and sat down on the edge of the bed. His girlfriend stood with her back against the wall facing him, waiting for him to play the song so she could see his reaction to it.

“Go on,” she told him, her voice emotionless.

Harry looked at the song on Spotify. It was titled deja vu. He took a deep breath and one last look at his girlfriend before finding enough courage to press play.

Y/N’s previous song about him had been blasted in every shop he’d visited, all the time when he was filming, every time he was in the car, and now, the moment he heard her voice again, it really did feel like deja vu.

Car rides down Malibu

Strawberry ice cream

One spoon for two…

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“Are we there yet?”

“No, stop being so impatient! Just keep on driving!” Y/N said and looked out of the window on the passenger side. The sun was going down, and the horizon was gradually turning the colour of an egg yolk. It was their last day in Miami. They had been filming for every day that week, and this was the only day they could spend just for themselves.

Harry stole a glance at Y/N and saw that she’d finished half the strawberry ice cream while bobbing her head to the song Uptown Girl on the radio. He frowned, making her laugh when she noticed.

“Open your mouth,” she said and fed him a spoon of ice cream.

“Ahh, brain freeze!”

“But it’s good, isn’t it?”

“So good.” Harry licked his lips. The face he made got Y/N laughing harder.

Fifteen minutes later they arrived at a secluded beach. Y/N had found this place when she traveled to this city alone two summers ago and almost got lost.

Together, she and Harry carried their picnic things through a palm forest, and by the time they saw the ocean, the moon had made a fading presence on the pink Miami sky.

Y/N picked up her shoes and ran towards the waves, letting it chase her back into Harry’s arms and nearly knocking him over. Their laughter echoed in the wind as their shadows stretched out long and lanky on the empty beach. In that very moment, it felt to Harry as if they were the only people in this world, and he had a sense of peace that he might never be able to experience again.

“You don’t get to see this in the city,” Y/N said dreamily as she pulled Harry’s jacket tighter around herself. It was dark now, and the sky above them was full of stars. They sat shoulder to shoulder on a picnic blanket, listening to the whispers of the ocean and the wind. Harry used Y/N’s jacket as a blanket because it was too small for him to put on. They’d laughed for five minutes straight when she told him he looked like that monkey from Aladdin and took plenty of photos just to prove the point.

“I don’t want to leave tomorrow,” he said, still looking at the sky.

“Me neither,” Y/N sighed, her shoulder brushing his. There was a pause, and he could feel her eyes on him, so he turned and saw her looking. “When I get home,” she said with a small smile that made her eyes sparkle, “I’ll learn to drive, and when we come to Miami next time, I can drive you to this beach.”

“I’d love that,” Harry said, then made her pink-promise him.

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.

.

“They went to Miami last week.”

Y/N blinked. The beach and starry sky disappeared in a second, and she found herself once again standing in the fitting room with her stylist and best friend.

“What?” her best friend marched over to where she stood in front of the full-length mirror.

Her stylist was holding the phone up to show her the article. “Here. Harry took that actress to Miami last week.”

“Don’t show her these!” Y/N’s best friend grabbed the phone and put it on the vanity desk as she gestured to the stylist. “You do your work. Enough chit-chatting.”

“I took him there,” Y/N said. She didn’t even recognise her own voice at first because she was too in shock. She didn’t think Harry would do something like that. But let’s be honest -- how much did she really know about him?

It had been a few months since his last text to her, which she had ignored, and now her song had been overplayed, and nobody cared about the drama anymore. The whole world had moved on, and she had, too. Or so she’d thought. Now, seeing these pictures of him and his girlfriend on that Miami beach made Y/N feel betrayed.

“Asshole,” her best friend said and grabbed her shoulders. “Don’t worry baby. You’re prettier.”

Y/N worked up a smile and opened her mouth to say that she was fine, but then she heard someone call her name and turn around. They weren’t calling for her. Just a name similar to hers that had become an inside joke between her and her friends.

The moment she locked eyes with Harry’s girlfriend, her heart seemed to stop as she held her breath, her lips thinned as if to hold back a scream. She didn’t know the girl personally and had never run into her before today. How unfortunate that they had to be in the same room after Y/N had seen those Miami pics.

“What is she doing here?” Y/N’s best friend asked the stylist the question Y/N was too afraid to ask.

“Fitting for an event, I guess,” the stylist said.

Y/N told them to just ignore the others and mind their own business. The sooner they got the measurements, the faster she could leave. Or she could leave right now and come back another day, but that would make it look like the other girl’s presence was bothering her. They were both actresses, and so they would have to run into each other at some point. She must be professional about it. This was normal. Just act normal.

“He’s so unique,” Harry’s girlfriend said while laughing with her team. Y/N didn’t mean to overhear the conversation, but apparently, the girl was making sure that Y/N heard her loud and clear. “We were watching reruns of Glee last night, and he even sang to me and told me he loved me inbetween the chorus and the verse. Don’t touch the jacket! It’s Harry’s and it’s Gucci. We exchange jackets sometimes. Isn’t that adorable?”

“Show off,” Y/N’s best friend scoffed while shaking her head.

Y/N didn’t say anything. In her mind, she agreed with her best friend for a second and immediately felt that she was being petty so she forced herself to just be nonchalant about it.

She could not. She could not ignore the fact that she’d been replaced as if she didn’t matter. Harry was doing all the things he used to do with her with his new girl. Even taken her to that Miami beach. Their place.

Y/N bit her lip and tried to hold back the half-formed tears in her eyes as the stylist went on talking about the fabric. She chose a random one just to get this over with.

“I hope that fucker gets deja vu.”

“What?” Y/N blinked at her best friend, who gave a mean shrug as she glared at the girl.

“He’s probably thinking of you while doing all that shit with her.”

Y/N pondered over it. Over and over. Even after the girlfriend’s laughter had faded down the hallway, and Y/N was also packing up to leave the studio. Her best friend’s words stayed with her as she got into the car and watched the street of London pass by her window.

That night, when she was alone in her living room with her piano. She sat down and started playing a few experimental chords. Then, she cried. Her tears blurred the handwritten lyrics on her notebook as she tried again.

“I have this idea,” she told her manager on the phone before sending the recording. It was three in the morning.

“Oh my god,” her manager exclaimed, sounding much more enthusiastic than he had when picking up her call. “This song...is so gonna win a Grammy!”

.

.

.

Y/N’s song had won a Grammy.

They had talked about it for so long. Harry had encouraged her to pursue a singing career, because she’d started out as an actress but was blessed with the most beautiful voice he had ever heard.

Ironic, wasn’t it? Now he was sitting at the front row and looking up at her as she received the award from an artist she looked up to, for the song written about him. She smiled at the crowd as the light shone on her and everyone was cheering because she deserved this. She said her thanks and expressed her gratitude to her family, her teams and her fans. She didn’t say his name. He hadn’t hoped that she would, because he knew there was no way his name would come with a positive message. So he was kind of glad she hadn’t mentioned him.

His girlfriend squeezed his arm as if she knew what he was thinking of. He smiled at his girlfriend. A smile of reassurance. They had put it behind them and promised to try again after all the fights about the song they were playing right now. Nothing would change after tonight. Because there was nothing Harry could change.

He caught Y/N’s eyes for one brief moment as she ascended the stage. Although he was sure he loved his girlfriend, there was something about that look that made him sad. Would he be happier to come here with Y/N tonight instead of his girlfriend? He wouldn’t know, because that would never happen. He didn’t even know if she still resented him, or if she was still the same person he remembered. A lot could change in a day let alone many months. And it was scary to think someone you used to know so much had become a complete stranger. The opposite of love wasn’t hate. It was indifference. And Harry felt it deeply as Y/N never paid him a second glance.

At the after-party, he worked up the courage to approach her when he found her standing alone texting on her phone.

“Hi. How are you?” he said.

Y/N looked at him as if she couldn’t understand English. If she ignored him and walked away, this would be the most humiliating moment of his life.

But no. She pressed her lips into a gentle smile and said, “I’m good. How are you?”

“Good.” He nodded, wanting to shake her hand, but his fingers stayed glued together behind his back. “Congratulations on your win.”

“Thank you.” She picked up the glass of wine on the table beside them, and Harry knew he’d lost his chance of shaking her hand tonight. “Did you like the song?”

“Yeah. It was good,” he said, finding it difficult to hold eye contact with her. There was something new about her that unsettled him, and he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For speaking out about it.”

“Oh.” Y/N showed no emotion as she shrugged. “It’s alright. I only said the truth. The song was fictional, and I don’t want anyone to get hate for it.”

They both knew it wasn’t true, and he couldn’t tell her that his girlfriend had almost broken up with him for it. Even if he had told her that, he didn’t think Y/N would care. She didn’t look like the Y/N he knew anymore. Suddenly, he recalled that night on the beach, when she was still looking at him with feelings.

“Look, Y/N, I—”

Before he got a chance to form a proper thought for what he was going to say, his girlfriend, who was obviously drunk, shouted from somewhere behind him. “Babe, Jeff’s wearing a tiny jacket! He looks more like the monkey than you!”

Harry looked at Y/N. She held his gaze. The corners of her red lips quirked as she raised her glass. “Deja vu?”

Just like that, she left him standing there all by himself.

[yourmidnightlover]

rock

Summary - spencer wants to figure out what's wrong with you, only to be reminded what day it is and he remembers why you've been so distant.

TW: talk abt: rape, recovery, therapy, case stuff; mention of: drug addiction, rape, miscarriage, being shot, death lol

WC - 4,283

!DISCLAIMER! - i am in no way trying to romanticize recovery from a traumatic event or being upset/depressed/anxious. this is kinda my way of getting through my own issues, so please don't think that's what i'm trying to do in any way. i also don’t know how i feel abt this ending since i wrote it so long ago but oh well!

i just realized there are a few spoilers so i'll put *asterisks* around them. those parts are just explaining how the reader's always there for the team.

----------------------------------

you had always been the rock in spencer's life.

mentally, at least.

when he had nobody there for him when he was going through his addiction with dilaudid, there you were. you helped him through it when everybody else on the team acted as if they never noticed.

you were the one that encouraged him to get help, and pushed him to follow through. you made sure he ate and talked to someone when he had his urges again, even if it wasn't you.

you let him come over and cry about what had happened, and how unfair his life was. you consoled him and would tell him how nothing was his fault. how he didn't deserve anything bad in his life.

*and when emily 'died', he went to your house every day. you held him as he felt himself falling apart from losing her. you didn't even worry about yourself needing to be consoled, because spencer needed you to be there for him.

*when she came back you were the one to convince him to forgive her. you talked sense into him. you reminded him how much he pleaded to have her back, and then he did. so he managed to forgive her... because of you and your logic.

*and you weren't just there for spencer. while, yes, you made a special effort to be there for him, you were there for everyone on the team.

*when derek was arrested back in chicago and the team found out about his past, you were the one he leaned on for comfort. you and penelope. you let him cry on your shoulder and yell at you about how twisted a man would have to be to do something so cruel to a child.

*when jj was kidnapped and beaten to a miscarriage, you were the first she told. you didn't say anything. you knew there was nothing you could say that would relinquish the pain of losing a child. so you let her cry. you let her hug you for what felt like hours. you let her grief her unborn baby for as long as she needed.

*when penelope was shot, nobody cared to check up on her after the fact except you. you went to her apartment for weeks just to make sure she was okay. eventually, she was able to let loose all of her frustrations on you, and you took it like a champ. she ranted about how she just wanted to be loved by someone attractive and how unfair and cruel the world is, in spite of how much good she tries to bring into it.

*when hotch lost hailey, you took care of his files. you offered to watch henry and let hotch cry to you about losing her a few times once you broke past his tough exterior. you even cried with him and jack. you made them dinner whenever you could, and helped him look for good nannies to help care for jack.

*when rossi lost carolyn, you went to her grave with him on many occasions. you brought him his favorite scotch, which was very pricey, and his favorite cigars, also very pricey, and tried your best to recreate 'the rossi special' upon his directions. it helped him feel in control of something when he needed it.

*and when emily came back from the dead, you helped walk her through her own grief. she lost herself, and buried her emotions. you helped her dig up her old self, and grow into an even better woman. you even took care of her cat when penelope couldn't manage. you helped emily grieve her own death when she wanted to deny it ever happened, and she was forever grateful for you.*

you had become like the team's built-in therapist when something bad happened, and you loved it that way. you loved being the one the team went to when they needed it. it made you feel as though you had a purpose, which was something you desperately needed.

but when you went through your own trauma almost a year ago, you refused help from anyone. you knew you should've asked someone for help, or at least someone to cry or talk to when you needed to.

the team had been working on a case for longer than expected, 8 days now, and everyone was really frustrated. you had released the profile 7 days ago, and there was still no new information. it was as if the unsub had gone dormant, and you all couldn't bear that thought.

when the team released earlier than normal from the precinct and you all went to the hotel you had been staying at, you decided to get a drink from the bar quickly. you went alone, wanting to review a few of the case files during the process and not needing a distraction.

you ordered a jack and coke, and opened the case files to begin rereading them, seeing if you had missed anything.

victims were kept for 24 hours, filmed, raped, restrained, cut in pieces, and thrown in the trash like garbage. it was absolutely disgusting, and the worst you had seen in a while. the victims were low-risk and most of them had a place of authority.

the unsub had been profiled to be someone who was bossed around by a woman, narcissistic and egotistical, wanted to feel more power and authority.

the problem is, that profile was most people living in the area. even penelope couldn't dwindle down the suspects.

and alas, you had missed nothing. nothing new appeared or caught your eye. you gulped down the rest of your drink and paid for it before packing up your things to head upstairs. you tossed the file back into your bag and began the trek to the elevator.

you were interrupted by something hitting the top of your head, rendering you unconscious.

the team had woken up, and after waiting around for half an hour, spencer realized something was wrong. he had morgan bust into your room, only to find the bed unslept in. you were missing. and the worst part... you fit the unsubs type.

spencer felt his heart drop at the realization he had taken you. and it seemed as though there was no trail as to where you had gone. penelope checked the cameras, only to find that they were hacked right after you left the bar, and then they resumed after you were taken.

at least they had a time frame.

later that day, after everyone hasting to figure something, anything out, spencer had gotten an email. he opened it and expected it to be relentless spam, only to realize it was a live feed video. a video of you. he instantly called penelope in hopes that she could trace it.

she said she could, but it would take some time because the amount of routers it had been going through.

while they were waiting, you noticed you were alone. you knew who the unsub was too, thanks to his baffling stupidity and narcissism that lead him to believe he wouldn't get caught.

"officer johnson! it's officer johnson!" you looked around the camera for a second, noticing something moving. "he-he here," you cried out. "i love you," you said to the camera to nobody in particular, but someone in mind.

you were terrified. spencer could see it in your eyes. he could see the tears you tried not to shed. you didn't want to please him, but you couldn't help but feel the absolute horror and fear coursing through your body at a relentless pace.

"hi there, missus fbi," he teased, finally walking into the frame with a ski mask over his face, clearly not aware that we knew his identity.

spencer told garcia who he was, and she began her digging. officer johnson's great grandparents had owned a farm that was since then refurbished. it was an hour away.

officer johnson had known that you two had chemistry. that's why he sent the email to spencer. he saw the longing glares, the 'innocent' touches, the smiles you would give each other, the longing looks you shared. he wanted to torment him.

so when he began undressing you and you turned your face away from the camera in hopes of sparing some of your own dignity, spencer felt his heart breaking for you. it broke even more when he heard the yelps, and screams, and please, and "no!'s" you elicited during the act.

they caught him before he cut you, but not before he finished the first part of his plan. your skirt was ripped, and your shirt was practically in two pieces. spencer had given you his jacket to cover yourself as much as you could.

you stayed silent the ride back. you didn't even let spencer hold you like you normally would after a tough case. you were ashamed. embarrassed. you felt worthless. you felt pathetic. you felt stupid. you felt helpless. you felt like you were drowning. you felt like you were without a life raft.

you knew you could talk to the team about it, but you felt so disgusted by the thought of what happened to you that you only talked about it in your therapy sessions.

hotch had given you two months off. he wanted you to grieve, and go to therapy, and try to cope with everything that had happened.

and you did try to do that. you tried your hardest to get over it and move past it, but nothing helped. not the journaling. not the talking. not the crying. nothing was working.

spencer gave you a little space at first, but he then decided to try to help you as you had helped him. he went over to your house almost every day, and sat outside your door after you wouldn't let him in.

you knew he was there... you sat on the other side.

"i-i know that you probably don't want to see anyone right now. and i'm uh, i'm sure you feel alone right now, or like you can't talk to anyone," spencer sniffled. "but pl-please just uhm, just know that i'm here when you want to talk about it. i'm here to listen to you when you need me to. i-i don't want you to be alone during this time, y/n. please, just let me in," he begged.

that was normally what he would say almost every night he went to your house. he would sit outside for hours after he would ask you to let him in without fail. until one day you let him in.

spencer felt so much relief when you opened the door, only for it to be smashed when he noticed your eyes looked red and puffy, your cheeks were stained with the tears you had been crying for so long. your cheeks were sunken in, and there were dark circles underneath your eyes that were once full of life and happiness. your eyes no longer had that gorgeous sparkle in them.

spencer vowed he would get them back.

as much as spencer wanted to wrap his arms around you in that moment, to comfort you and tell you that he was there, he wanted you to make the first move. he wanted to tell you how strong you were and how proud of you he was for getting through that. he wanted to tell you how much he loved you.

he wanted you to make the first touch, because he didn't want to further upset you. he didn't want to trigger a repressed memory, or bring back the feelings of what had happened.

but spencer's touch was nothing like the officer's. spencer's touch was soft and gentle. spencer's touch was feather-light and endearing. spencer's touch was love and home. the officer's was brittle, and rough, and repulsive.

"hug me?" you sniffled as your eyes welled with tears again as they had been for the past three weeks.

"of course," spencer slowly wrapped his arms around your shoulders as yours found his torso.

he walked inside with you still in his arms and slowly shut the door. without breaking from the hug, you both walked to the couch and sat down.

you didn't say anything. you just needed spencer to keep hugging you, so he did. he did whatever you wanted, needed, from him. eventually, you fell asleep in his embrace on the couch.

when spencer looked down at you, now sleeping against his chest, he couldn't bring his heart to remove himself from you. so like any whipped man would do, he carefully picked you up bridal styled and carried you to your room. he took his shoes off as well as his sweater vest before cuddling back up next to you.

as if it was a reflex, you cuddled up into his chest when he neared you again and got underneath the covers. spencer slept the best he did in months with you. and you slept without officer johnson in your dreams for the first time since that day.

ever since then, spencer had been making sure you were eating and drinking. he took you to your therapy sessions and stayed over most nights you had asked and he was able to.

they had a few cases during the two months, so every moment he could, spencer was with you. he coaxed you back to your normal-ish self. he watched as that glimmer in your eye began to slowly grow brighter everyday. he watched as your smile came back, and your tears didn't come so frequently.

the first time he had heard you laugh again, spencer had thought he was dreaming. he wished he had recorded that moment. he was more grateful than he's ever been in his life that he had an eidetic memory, because that sound would forever be engraved in his brain.

when you returned to work, you clung to spencer. he had become your tether to reality, and hope. he had become your rock during the recovery.

over the months, everyone slowly began to forget what had even happened. things went on as usual, and the team forgot the traumatic experience you had gone through. even spencer might've let the experience get lost in his brain.

so when it became 11 months and 3 weeks since the abduction, you began to distance yourself once again.

you politely declined going out with the team a couple days before the anniversary, something you never did. you insisted that you were just especially worn out from the case you had just been on.

spencer had to finish files given to him by derek anyway, so he didn't get to witness the encounter.

once the day of the anniversary came upon you, you found yourself feeling sick to your stomach. you couldn't help the tears that would fall from your face every so often. you knew why you felt this way, but you wanted to push past it.

you had gone into the office wearing a pantsuit and blazer, wanting to avoid the normal office skirt you happened to be wearing the day it happened. you stayed at your desk and quietly did your case files. you didn't even greet spencer as you would every day. you gave him a kind smile, but you would normally give him a hug, or at the very least an eager wave upon his arrival.

spencer just assumed it was one of those days where you just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. it wasn't spencer's fault he thought this. he didn't even look at his calendar to check what day it was. he just knew they had paperwork.

but he did have this day marked in his calendar. he had it marked so he would remember to be extra kind to you, and do your files for you, and come to your place with your favorite wine and takeout. he wanted to help you through the one year anniversary, but he forgot to check his stupid calendar.

you thought he didn't care. you thought the man who you loved, and the man who helped you through everything that had happened had had enough of your complaining and grievances. so, you didn't tell him about it. you didn't bother him with the terrible thoughts clouding your mind because you thought it'd burden him.

so when you finished all of your case files early, you asked hotch if you could leave early, at 2:00, because you had things to tend to. he allowed you to do so, but this rose a flag for spencer.

he saw you exit without saying goodbye to him, something you hadn't done the entirety of knowing him. you had always told everyone to have a nice night and to be safe before leaving, but not today.

finally, he looked at his phone for the first time all day, only to feel like the worst person in the world to realize what day it was. spencer felt absolutely horrible at this revelation and ran into hotch's office as quick as he could after packing his things.

"hotch!" he exclaimed upon opening his office door.

"go. she was practically in tears," hotch informed him. "and reid," spencer stopped in his tracks to turn and look at the stern man, "please make sure she's okay." spencer gave him a soft grin and a nod before turning around and bolting out of the office.

you had gotten home and immediately burst into tears. you shut the door with your back, and slid down it. you had never understood why people had done that in movies until now. you just couldn't wait to break any longer, so you settled for your front door.

you held back no wail, or scream as you cried in front of your door, your knees pulled up to your chest as you held them tightly.

you wondered why you had to go through that. you wanted to know what kind of karma there was for someone who had always tried to do the right thing to be hurt... and for nobody to even care. nobody wanted to console you, or to make sure you were alright.

you had checked up on everyone on every anniversary of their struggles. whether it be a death, abduction, anything, you had been there for every single anniversary or reminder. and nobody was there for you.

nobody was there for you to hug, or to lean on, or to cry to, or to scream at, or to rant to. nobody was there. nobody loved you enough to care about that.

but then you had to remind yourself that they all had lives.

but the person who is your life didn't even care.

spencer didn't care.

and that's why you truly lost it.

he acted like it was just another day. he acted like it wasn't the anniversary of the day you thought you were going to die. the day you wanted to die. the day you felt your most low, and humiliated. the day you lost all hope. and he didn't remember.

if the man with an eidetic memory didn't remember, it must be extremely insignificant. so therefore, you must be extremely insignificant.

spencer raced to your house. he wanted to be there for you today, and he failed. he felt like a failure as a friend. he hated himself for not being there for you when he knew you would need him. he knew how you clung to him in your time of need. you thought he was worthy enough to hold onto when you needed someone, and spencer felt elated at that.

but now he wasn't there for you. and you needed him.

he had quickly stopped by the store and your favorite takeout place to get the things you'd want. he got your wine, chocolate, food, flowers, and a teddy bear that had a sweater vest on him - you've always loved his sweater vests.

when he got to the steps of your house, he felt his heart drop. as he walked closer he heard the wails of your crying right by the door. he could sense the heartache from the edge of your porch, and felt himself feel even worse, which he didn't think was possible.

he instantly ran to the door and knocked profusely. you sniffled one last time, feeling embarrassed that someone had heard you crying your heart out. you had figured one of your neighbors heard you and wanted to tell you to keep it down, so you wiped your tears and the stray mascara from underneath your eyes and opened the door, keeping your eyes lowered in embarrassment.

"y/n," spencer announced sadly, a tear falling down his face. you looked up in confusion from hearing his voice. you noticed his tear and reached up to wipe it away on instinct.

"why're you crying? are you okay?" you asked, forgetting all of your own problems at the sight of spencer crying. spencer let out a small chuckle at your concern.

"i'm alright, aside from the fact that i'm a terrible friend," he admitted as his smile quickly faded upon seeing your stained cheeks. "i brought your favorites," he offered, holding the bag of goodies in one hand and the takeout in another.

"y-you... why?" you asked, wanting to make sure you weren't misreading the situation for him trying to comfort you.

"why?" he asked in disbelief. "because it's the anniversary. i can't tell you how sorry i am, y/n. i swear i marked it on my calendar and planned for us to take off so i could take care of you. i-i just woke up late and never bothered to even check my phone. i kn-know it's no excuse... but i am so, so, so sorry," he rambled out, already tearing up.

you grabbed his arm gently and pulled him inside before you started crying in front of your neighbors. you took the bags from his hands and placed them on your coffee table.

"i thought you just didn't care," you shrugged as you took a seat on the couch, prompting him to sit beside you.

"y/n..." he sighed as he realized how terrible he screwed up. "i will always care about this. i will always care about you. don't ever think differently. i'm just incredibly... dumb sometimes. i can't believe i made you think that," he trailed on. "i will never not care about you, y/n. i swear it. i will always, always care about you. i will always love you," he froze as he realized what he just revealed. your eyes widened, and squinted, and roamed his face, trying to figure out if he meant the words he had just sped out. "i truly do, y/n. i i’m in love with you and i'm so sorry i made it seem otherwise."

it took you a second to absorb everything that he had said.

"you too," you solemnly admitted. "i’m in love with you too. and i could forgive you... for almost forgetting," you gave him a small smile.

"i'm glad you could forgive me. i don't know what i'd do if you didn't," he relished. "you actually love me?" you nodded with a small smile.

"i have for a while," you turned your head to the bags on the table.

"oh! right!" he said, reaching for the gifts. "i got your favorite takeout, your favorite wine, your favorite chocolates, flowers, and..." he trailed on as he revealed each item. "i saw this teddy, and i couldn't resist," he smiled.

you took the bear, taking in its appearance. it had a light blue, navy, and white diamond pattern sweater vest and brown shoes on. it looked like spencer, just teddy bear form. you smiled widely at the sentiment.

"it's you," you grinned as you took it in your arms, hugging it tightly as you saw spencer nodded with a smile mirroring that of your own. "i love it," you chuckled.

"i would understand, the fur is really soft," he relished in the thought.

"i don't think he'd be as good of a cuddler as the real thing, though," you grimaced. "but he'll do for when i don't have you here i guess," you shrugged with a smile.

"i plan on being here as long as you'll let me," he said softly.

"always," you grinned, setting down the teddy bear and trading him for the real spencer reid.

"always," he repeated, taking you in his arms and squeezing you tightly as if you'd float away at any moment. "now let's dig into this food while you talk about your feelings, if you want that is," he said after releasing you from the hug.

"i think i want to," you nodded. "and spence?" he turned from getting the food out of the bag to look at you for a second. "thank you for being my rock through all of this."

"i'll always be your rock, y/n."

@averyhotchner  @greenprisca  @muffin-cup

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s S2 R&S - Fireworks into the Heart

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers from an R&S (烟花入心) which has not been released in EN! 🍒

Features S2 Gavin. References are made to S2 Ch 16

[ Chapter One ]

“Wang Xiao Cui, you’ve been employed by the STF’s Logistics Department. Report to the cafeteria at 8am tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

I’ve been hired to work in the STF cafeteria. 

As a nutritionist with over thirty years of experience, joining the STF isn’t a problem for me.

My old companion isn’t able to understand why I’m not using my years of retirement to enjoy life. Without giving him a response, I simply smoothen the small creases on my STF uniform carefully.

As an ordinary person, the STF always had a mysterious and prestigious impression in my eyes. Agents who are able to work here are all heroes with indomitable spirits.

Being able to take care of their meals and enable them to get more nutrition every day to strengthen their bodies and better protect Loveland City gives me a sense of honour in protecting this city too.

Based on my experience, taking care of a group of young people is a piece of cake. However, I didn’t expect to make the mistake of underestimating this place.

-

Standing in front of the cafeteria’s bleak signboard at 7.30am, I witness several agents carrying Tianjin-style deep-friend dough sticks through the doors. Someone even carries several bags of fried beef buns. While walking, he speaks in a loud voice:

"I braved the risk of running laps to bring you guys fried buns again!”

“During training later, no one’s allowed to snatch that new gun from me.”

The other agents let out a “tsk”, taking the fried buns and chilli paste from him before dividing them amongst themselves.

Fresh out of the oven, hot steam rises from the buns in the cafeteria, and nobody bats an eye. The master who steamed the buns has already grown accustomed to this. They stand in groups of twos and threes, engaging in idle chatter.

Why doesn’t anyone in the STF like eating food from the cafeteria?

Unable to figure out an answer after much thought, I happen to spot a handsome lad dressed in a white uniform. His steps are steady, and he brings along a breeze when he walks. I immediately call out to him.

“Hey! Young lad, wait.”

The handsome lad stops in his footsteps, giving me a sweeping glance out of the corner of his eye.

“Do you need help with anything?”

“No no, I'm the new nutritionist in the cafeteria. I just wanted to ask you something. Why don’t the STF agents love to eat cafeteria food? From what I can see, the Nourishing Meal has meat and vegetables, and it’s pretty rich in nutrition.”

The handsome lad is silent for a moment before responding to my question.

“The healthy meals place too much focus on health, and they don’t taste any better than the small stalls outside.”

“Captain Gavin, the materials from yesterday’s case have been tidied up.”

“Mm, I’ll have a look at them.”

The handsome lad who was addressed as “Captain Gavin” sees that I have no further questions. Giving me a nod, he takes large strides towards the office.

With a frown, I take a bite out of a celery meat bun. Aside from the taste being slightly bland, I don’t find anything wrong with it. Furthermore, adding too much salt would reduce its nutritional value, so it’s a given that less salt would be added to it.

However, since this point was brought up, it means there’s room for improvement.

In order to prepare food that better suits the palate of STF, I spend a whole week lying low and observing the favourite eateries that the STF agents enjoy eating most, and try out all of their famous dishes.

Based on their palate, I meticulously prepare a modified version of trial dishes.

On the first day of introducing the trial dishes, I brim with enthusiasm while bringing out a “New Dishes to Try” signboard, thinking that this would raise the reputation of the STF’s cafeteria. However, even after half a day, the only things that enter are mosquitoes which I swat to death.

There’s a cold breeze at the entrance. I look at the clock hanging on the wall of the cafeteria - lunchtime is almost over.

Deciding not to wait any longer, I head outside, planning to grab a few people in to try the dishes.

The moment I step outside, my eyes brighten when I see that lad from before.

His footsteps are hurried, and he has a packet of instant noodles in his hand. He probably has to deal with some urgent matters, which is why he has to make do with that for lunch.

How is that good? An STF agent eating instant noodles? Where would I, a nutritionist, hide my pride? I hurriedly stop him.

“Young lad, there are new dishes in the cafeteria. Since you’re about to eat, why don’t you try the cafeteria? It’d be a quick meal.”

He pauses in his footsteps for a slight moment, his refusal ready. However, when he sees the menu behind me, he suddenly blinks, then looks up to give me a nod.

“I’ll have to trouble you then.”

With this, he walks into the cafeteria. I look at the menu. There’s only a simple line written on it - “Today’s Special: Chicken with Chilli”.

Does he like eating chicken with chilli?

[Note] To be precise, this dish is called 辣子鸡 (là zǐ jī). It’s a a stir-fried dish consisting of marinated then deep-fried pieces of chicken, dried Sichuan chilli peppers, spicy bean paste, Sichuan peppers, garlic, and ginger.

[ Chapter Two ]

The young man eats quickly and seriously. Ignoring the fact that that he’s eating at an unhealthy pace, I feel very relieved. When he walks over to return the tray, I ask him a question.

“You’re done, young lad? How’s the taste? Do you think there’s anything to improve on?”

The young man sets the tray down. After a moment of serious contemplation, he give his response.

“The taste isn’t bad. If you’re asking for suggestions, since it’s chicken with chilli, you could add a little more chilli.”

I record his suggestions in my notebook earnestly. At the same time, I’m secretly amazed at how members of the STF are truly talented individuals. I created this chicken with chilli dish based on the spice levels in Sichuan cuisine, but he still didn’t find it spicy enough.

Look like there’s much room for improvement in future dishes.

-

The next day, I continue with my plan to introduce trial dishes. However, most of the STF agents are already used to eating out. The ones who try the dishes are few and far between. Just as lunchtime is about to end, a familiar figure once again appears at the door of the cafeteria.

He’s the young man who ate the chicken with chilli yesterday.

He walks straight in, taking a tray and getting food. Although he doesn’t say anything, I feel very moved, and wonder if this kid dropped by specially to support the canteen’s business.

I inform him that red braised pork is being served today, accompanied with bitter gourd and scrambled eggs. He seems a little hesitant when he sees the bitter gourd. But in the end, he doesn’t say anything, finding a place to sit down and eat.

-

Over the next two weeks, it seems that as long as he isn’t out on missions or doing anything else, that young man would come to the cafeteria.

It appears that he’s a Captain or something. With his impetus, more and more people gradually eat in the cafeteria, and I have a better understanding of his reticent young man.

His name is Gavin, and he’s the Captain of the Special Ops Team. I heard that the Special Ops team is the hardest squad to get into within the STF. They are one of the very best in terms of resolved cases. Everyone in the team are the cream of the crop, much less the Captain.

I heard about how this Captain usually rushes to the most forefront when faced with any danger, which is why he receives much adoration from the team. Of course, the number of injuries and stack of silk banners in the storeroom are proportional to each other.

On the days when he isn’t around, there’s a high chance that he’s out on a mission, or having his injuries treated in the infirmary.

-

“Aunt Wang, give me the same chicken with chilli as Captain Gavin!”

A red-haired agent’s voice pulls me back to reality. He carries a tray, pointing at the chicken with chilli from across the glass. I give him a huge scoop of it. He carries the tray and sits at a row of tables close to the window. There are quite a number of people donning the same uniform, and Gavin is one of them.

“Captain Gavin, why have you fled from our braised beef noodles alliance? You’ve also stopped eating cup noodles with us when we work overtime.”

“Mm, this is something you’re unaware of. Our Captain Gavin has someone who cares for him.”

"Last time, that Miss Producer was filming something and gave us handmade biscuits. You were on leave so you didn’t know about this. Captain Gavin’s biscuits were several times more exquisite than ours. They were even heart-shaped.”

The agents wink at each other and chatter on incessantly. Gavin, the main topic of the conversation, continues eating calmly. When he finally feels slightly annoyed by the clamour, he puts down his chopsticks, glancing at the red-haired agent.

“Tang Chao, it seems that your stamina is getting better with your daily laps.”

“You’ll be my partner for the next mission.”

The red-haired agent immediately pulls a long face.

“Captain Gavin, it's not that I don’t want to be your partner. But based on my fighting skills, I’ll only be a burden to you.”

“I’ll continue shining as a support personnel, and be an emotionless lie detector for the Special Ops Team!”

Gavin ignores the red-haired officer whose name is Tang Chao. But when he lowers his head to drink the soup, I can see his slightly arched brows.

Over the past two weeks, I’ve always been seeing his composed and chilly side, and even thought that was his personality. It turns that he’s still a young man. It’s just that he hides that unrestrained aura that young people have, and doesn’t display it easily.

Perhaps that’s the fetter of being a Captain.

Looking at these young people, I suddenly feel as though I’ve found the reason why my trial dishes have not been successful.

It’s probably because I’ve never tried to truly understand this group of young people.

[ Chapter Three ]

I’m no longer stubborn when it comes to the dishes. Instead, I pay more attention to observing the dietary habits of this group of young people. Gradually, many more pages on the notebook which I use to record modified recipes are written on.

Everything goes smoothly. However, I notice that Gavin hasn’t visited the cafeteria for meals in a long while.

When the red-haired officer comes to collect his food, I scoop pork ribs and winter melon soup for him, and find myself asking him a question.

“Why hasn’t your Captain been coming down to eat in the cafeteria these days?”

He scratches his head, his tone less carefree as before.

“Captain Gavin’s injuries from this mission were a little more serious, so he’s still getting treated in the hospital.”

Before coming to the STF, the word “injuries” was associated with a sliced finger from cutting vegetables, or being scratched while playing with a cat. But after coming to the STF, I realised that there are many other ways people can get hurt.

The STF has doctors who understand Evolvers most in the whole of Loveland City. Logically speaking, even if it’s a fracture or external bleeding, patients can typically be discharged in a week.

That young man called Gavin hasn’t appeared in such a long time. Is he severely injured?

Even though we haven’t exchanged many words, I can’t help but worry about that young man.

He’s still so young. If anything were to happen to him, how worried would his family members be?

Perhaps due to the fact that he was the first agent willing to try food from the cafeteria, I find myself being more concerned about him, and wanting to know more about him. However, STF agents are disciplined and strict. When they’re eating in the cafeteria, they rarely mention Gavin. When he’s occasionally brought up, they say things that I’m unable to understand.

“She went to the hospital again today.”

“That’s fine. Her presence at the hospital is much more useful than a few of us going. At least Captain Gavin would smile a little when he sees her. When we’re there, we’re like stalks of grain, and can do nothing but watch helplessly.”

“The next time the ‘Snake’ bites, we can’t let Captain Gavin hold the fort again.”

In the fog of their conversation, I’m unable to understand anything. I’m getting old, and my ears aren’t as useful. I shake my head, turning around and heading back into the kitchen.

-

Just when I think Gavin’s injuries have rendered him unable to return to the team, he appears.

While I’m writing the lunch menu on the whiteboard, I spot Gavin and his squad mates walking in together. He has become much thinner, and looks very pale. Even so, his entire frame remains as solemn as always, a sense of sharpness emanating from him.

When I hand him braised beef noodles, he gives me a nod.

“Thanks.”

He picks up the chopsticks and eats the noodles. When he sees the slices of beef in the bowl, he’s slightly stunned. However, he returns to normal in an instant, continuing to eat as usual.

When they’re halfway through eating, the communication device at Gavin’s waist suddenly beeps. He presses the communication device, his expression changing when he hears the message.

“The ‘Snake’ has left the hole. Take action.”

With his command, everyone abandon their meal and hurriedly leave the cafeteria.

When Gavin passes by me, I can see traces of blood on the side of his sleeve.

It appears that he’s leaving for a mission before his wounds have completely healed.

The cafeteria lapses into silence. I tidy the table, looking at the beef noodles which only had a few bites taken out of it, and let out a heavy sigh.

I know how difficult it is to join the STF. People who join the STF are so incredible. But I still wish to know what kind of reasons would make such a young person charge forward and risk his life to the point where he can’t even have a proper meal.

[ Chapter Four ]

It’s very late at night, but the STF remains brightly lit.

Similar to the busy agents, I haven’t left either.

After this period of research and testing dishes, I discovered that the people here aren’t picky. They simply lack the time to sit down and eat slowly.

With this in mind, I restart the dish modifications.

The television in the cafeteria is currently showing the Loveland News. The host is reporting on something about “Evol Assassination Incidents”, and is criticising how the STF hasn’t been doing anything about them.

“Things here are turning upside down from how busy they are, and the infirmary is filled with people. And you claim that they aren’t doing anything? Reporters are so irresponsible these days.”

I shake my head, switching the television off. After calling a few colleagues over, we carry supper to the infirmary.

Due to the incident the news was reporting about, the STF has been in a mess recently. I heard that there aren’t enough beds in the infirmary for use.

My heart aches from how these kids are getting criticised even after getting injured. I’ve prepared sweet soup suitable for evening consumption, bringing them to the infirmary while they get treated.

While passing by the Captain’s office, I notice that the door isn’t closed, and I see someone standing inside.

It’s Gavin.

His side is facing the door, his hair is messy, and he’s leaning against the wall. One of his legs is lifted up, and he’s currently pursing his lips as he removes his combat gloves.

He appears to have lacked sleep for several days, and quiet fatigue emanates from his entire frame.

However, he doesn’t seem to have shown this side of him to anyone outside, demanding himself to only leave this version of himself to an empty office in the depths of night.

I knock on the door. The moment he hears this, he quickly straightens up, his sharp gaze sweeping over. When he sees that it’s me, his amber eyes are stunned, and he nods.

“Please come in.”

Walking in, I place a bowl of snow fungus soup on his table.

“Everyone has been working hard in the bureau lately. We decided to make some sweet soup for all of you to relieve the fatigue. Drink this soup while it’s hot. There’s Chinese wolf berry and longan in it, so it’s pretty nourishing.”

Gavin nods. Stray hairs stick messily against the sides of his eyes and brows. I’m guessing that since he’s a kid who usually puts up a strong front, he probably doesn’t like others seeing his sorry state. I hurriedly wave my hands to signal that I’m leaving.

Before I walk out of the door, Gavin suddenly asks me a question.

“Aunt Wang, is your cafeteria recipe modification going smoothly?”

I can hardly believe that he actually remembered such a trivial matter.

Just how many things does he concern himself with?

“Very smoothly. I’ve been looking into a new fast-food style beef noodles, and plan to introduce it to the bureau.”

“Fast-food beef noodles?”

“Mm. There used to be very few people in the cafeteria because I only paid attention to maintaining the nutritional value of dishes. But if people don’t even have the time to eat, how can I talk about nutrition?”

“Right now, I’m looking into preparing beef noodles that are both nutritious and can be eaten really quickly. Such noodles are more diverse in flavour, and the nutritional value is easy to maintain.”

After saying all of this, I follow up with a question.

“But I'm still considering whether to use bean sprouts or eggs as a substitute. Which do you prefer?”

Perhaps few people have asked him something as trivial as his dietary preferences. He gives this very serious thought before providing a careful answer.

“I’d prefer eggs.”

I nod, then find myself giving him my sincere and earnest wishes.

“No matter how busy work is, you need to have proper meals. Even though rice and vegetables seem simple, they are part of life.”

“Whenever you head forward so urgently, have you ever thought of whether you might be forcing yourself too much?”

When Gavin hears this, he’s taken back. I don’t continue. With a sigh, I turn around and leave.

[ Chapter Five ]

The new fast-food beef noodles introduced in the canteen received a huge welcome amongst the agents. It became the favourite supper of agents who worked overtime on cases. Given the positive responses, I also released different flavoured fast-food products. 

With this signature dish, the STF canteen finally became lively every day.

But the strange things is, I didn’t see Gavin for a very long time. I heard that he... temporarily relieved himself of his duties.

I have no idea what happened, but I trust that he had his reasons, and I silently hope that the kid can be safe.

Afterwards, a strange fog enveloped Loveland City. I was protected by STF agents, and later heard that Gavin was the one who retrieved the fog.

-

I’m just about to prepare dinner in the cafeteria when I hear the news that Gavin’s in the hospital. News related to the STF’s retrieval of the fog is being broadcasted, and Gavin’s powerful and resounding voice can be heard.

“This round of the Hunter Game is over.”

I lift my head to see that familiar figure on the television, determined and composed.

“Thank you all for protecting the dignity of this city.”

When he had meals in the cafeteria before, I often wondered how this taciturn young man could persevere on his own, shouldering high pressure that ordinary people find difficult, and also protect tens of thousands of ordinary people.

Right now, I understand.

It’s because he has a heart of justice that’s gentler and more unwavering than anyone else - 

And this heart has guided him onto a path destined to be rugged, where he will pursue justice with no second thoughts.

But I’m still a little puzzled. Doesn’t he find it lonely when walking down this path?

With the assistance of the red-haired agent, I carry chicken wonton soup to Gavin’s hospital ward.

The door is closed, and I can hear an indistinct voice of a girl drifting from the inside.

From across the glass, I see a girl sitting at the bedside, a pink bento box on the table.

The girl is resting a hand against her cheek while supervising Gavin as he eats the bento. Meanwhile, the young man sitting on the bed is eating it one mouthful at a time, earnestly and tenderly.

For some reason, I find myself grinning.

On this path filled with ups and downs, someone is willing to accompany him, wait for him, sit down together with him, and have a serious, proper meal with him.

I leave the hospital with the thermos box.

Being here for so many days, I’ve grown used to this place, grown used to the whistle at 6.30am in the morning, grown used to the agents finishing their meals within ten minutes and rushing off, and grown used to the lights in STF illuminating my path like starlight when I’m heading home at night.

My old companion often asks why an oldie like me continues going to the STF. 

It’s because I can see a broader world here. I can see souls with determined spirits. I’ve never felt more alive and fulfilled in my entire lifetime.

This is the meaning that STF gives me.

I hope that the young man called Gavin, as well as the countless young people who are like Gavin, will always lead a fulfilling life.

...and that they may always be safe.

May he, along with the girl he watches silently, return to life through every meal while embracing justice.

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[soliverse]

don’t call me - k.dy

(sequel to call me a fool. you can read this by itself, but some references would make more sense if you read the first part.)

reader x bestfriend!doyoung

genre: so much angst, slight fluff

warnings: none

word count: 3.85k

synopsis: Doyoung missed an important milestone in your life. Now, it’s your turn to miss his calls.

prompt:

Ghost Of You by 5 Seconds of Summer, part of the Heartbreak Hotel collab by @nct-writers

dedication to:

@hunjins for leaving witty comments during beta reading

@johnyusangel for being my guardian angel during beta and when I was dying over a migraine + Qian Kun

@hxneyy-latte for nursing me back to health lol

taglist: @kunrengui (sorry this took a while 😔), @leolo404 @byeolhyesisi @thesongofdragons

networks: @nctcreations @kdiarynet @kpopscape @kwritersworld @culture-cafe @neowritingsnet @neoswitchnet @czennienet @nct-writers

Every day, your routine starts with staring at your phone for a few hours before getting out of bed. You'd check in all of your messaging apps to see if any of them came from Doyoung. Sadly, there's none of it this morning.

You would drag your mopey ass out of bed and start the day with dread, questioning why he hasn’t replied to your last text. Then, as you brush your teeth, you would check once again to see if you missed anything while you are preoccupied with oral hygiene.

The inbox notifications would still say zero. And then you'd wait… and wait… and wait some more hours, even days before he replies back.

Every time Doyoung refuses to reply to your messages soon, you get this sudden urge to bang your head into a wall, cursing yourself for texting him in the first place. You will then start to question your life choices, why you even texted him in the first place when you knew this is bound to happen. And that you probably sounded too clingy, too cheesy for his liking. Your thoughts filled as to why he refused to reply as soon as he could.

You sighed and placed your phone back into your pocket and proceeded to go on with your day. The academy is about to open and you have practice for your upcoming recital the following day.

You kept your phone around your vicinity even as you practiced. It's a good thing that your vocal mentor isn't here to point out your mistakes, but you're trying to hit every note as clean as you can. A feat that is impossible to do when you're completely distracted by something.

Doyoung: Hey.

That one word is enough to wash all of the worries that you had earlier. You once again attempted to bang your head into the wall, now cursing yourself for changing your emotions so quickly.

You kept your phone back at your table, practicing for a few more minutes before answering the text. This time, you sang with a smile on your lips, the burden of your worries suddenly lifted with a single word.

But that's just how it always is with you and your best friend.

Now, if you can only tell him how you feel.

///

You bowed at everyone for doing a great job at practice. You happily fished out your phone from your pocket to reply to Doyoung's earlier text.

You: Are you free this Saturday?

You placed your phone down for a moment to fix your stuff, but a ding! interrupted you midway and you just couldn’t help but look at his reply.

Doyoung: Not at all. Need help with something?

Your smile grew wider and you texted the details of your recital for Saturday. You've worked on the piece so hard that you wanted to share your success with him, just like he would share his with you.

The rest of the day went smoothly. It was full of wishful thinking and daydreams. And if it goes well, it might be the day that you tell him about how you really feel about him.

///

It was the day of the recital and your hands were shaking out of nervousness. Your grip on the mic was getting tighter, if not sweatier, as you heard the crowds forming outside to see you and your classmates perform.

The soundcheck commenced and they started calling all the participants by their name as they came on stage. You heard nothing besides your own heartbeat and your loud thoughts whenever you overthink. But you reassured yourself that you will do a good job.

You had to. Someone was watching and you wanted to make him proud.

Fiddling on your seat, you waited for a few numbers before it was your turn. You nervously walked out the stage, and you were blinded by the lights coming from the back of the theater. It was probably for the good. 

You couldn’t see anyone’s faces.

You couldn’t see his face. 

Because if you could, you would’ve choked on your words and hit the notes wrong once again. Thankfully, the performance went better than you expected. 

As soon as everyone came together for the curtain call, your eyes wandered to see Doyoung among the crowds. You scanned left and right, but there were no signs of him everywhere in the theater.

You consoled yourself with the fact that he probably went to the bathroom, or he was already backstage waiting for you. He couldn’t possibly miss this day, right?

The first thing that you did after coming down the stage was to have a closer look at the seats, just to make sure that he really was there in the crowd. Everyone else had their families with them, their friends, their lovers. 

But there were no signs of Doyoung in the crowd.

You tried hard to smile as everyone who passed by you congratulated you for doing a great job. But once again, you were distracted. Your mind was occupied with thoughts that you never expected to have that day.

Did he really forget about you?

Giving up completely, you made your way back backstage and hid your impending tears to everyone. On your way, you saw Johnny, waving a small bouquet of flowers to get your attention. This sparked a tiny bit of hope in you. If Johnny was around, then Doyoung must have been here somewhere, too.

You ran towards Johnny and gave him the tightest bear hug. You were worried that no one really watched you perform today. Your family lives abroad and they couldn’t make it to watch you, but you promised them that you will send them a video of you singing. You were really counting on Doyoung not only to watch you perform, but to film your performance as well. 

He must have been here somewhere.

“Thank God you came. I thought nobody saw me perform earlier,” you were once again on the verge of crying, but you didn’t have the heart to ask Johnny if Doyoung was indeed with him.

“Doyoung couldn’t make it today. He had to go out with the whole crew of his drama to celebrate their last day together. I came as soon as I heard about your performance.”

You fell quiet, breathing deep to hide your tears and your disappointment. But Johnny knew how you felt, so he pulled you tighter against him, completely encasing you completely on his embrace. “Don’t feel sad. You did so well today.”

///

Ever since then, you stopped taking calls from Doyoung. He would persistently call and text you every night to say sorry. Any other day, you would’ve been glad to see that finally, he’s the one that’s trying so hard to reach you. Sadly, you’re in no mood to talk to him. 

You thought it would’ve been cruel if you blocked his number from your phone, so you instead tried to text him excuses why you couldn’t talk.

You were tired. You went out with a friend. You just wanted to take some rest.

After hitting send, you tossed your phone in your bed, still feeling upset about him missing such an important day to you. You felt set aside like you’re the last person on his priority list.

That day made you realize that you’re spending way too much energy on someone that doesn’t return the favor. It was an unhealthy behavior that you need to get out of your system as soon as possible, even if that means cutting Doyoung from your life temporarily.

///

Doyoung was surprised to see you at the front door of the 127 dorm one day. You tried smiling at him as he opened the door to let you in, pretending that you were not upset with him in the previous days.

“Surprised you’re not busy today,” you remarked as you sat down, clearly aiming at Doyoung who was now feeling lost at your coldness towards him.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?”

“Not at all,” you tried your best to avoid his gaze because one look at your face would definitely give everything away. You didn’t want to lie to him, but it was better than saying that you were mad because you had feelings for him.

“Anyways, where’s Johnny? He invited me to watch a movie this afternoon.”

“Didn’t you tell me that you had practice today? That’s why you couldn’t meet me?”

You sneered internally.

“Yeah. Sometimes people say one thing and then they actually mean another thing. You of all people should know.”

You saw Johnny coming out of his room, fully dressed and ready for your movie night together. You waved one last goodbye at Doyoung, who just realized that you were roasting him the whole time.

///

The passive-aggressiveness went on for a few more occasions. You refused his attempts to talk to you, knowing full well that your cold facade would wear off instantly once you let him. You wanted to talk to him so bad, but your pride was preventing you from making any rash decisions. You couldn’t just go back to living your life as Doyoung’s doormat. But, as per Johnny’s advice, you got to explain to him why you were feeling that way. He at least deserved that much.

That explanation came sooner than you had expected.

You were spending a lot of time with Johnny lately, but only because he treats you like a little sister. He must’ve missed his own sister back at home, so he was making sure to take care of you as much as he could. 

But Doyoung didn’t have to know that.

You had noticed the tension between the two of them whenever you would visit their dormitory. Johnny was just a bit irked at Doyoung because you were hurting, but he understood it from his perspective. He never knew how you felt in the first place, he wouldn’t have known how much he hurt you in the process.

What goes on in Doyoung’s brain though, you have no idea. He usually just stays away from the both of you whenever you’ve come to visit them, maybe throw in a couple of pleasantries before asking you to hang out with him once again. You kept on telling him that you will once you’re not busy with the academy, and then proceeds to forget about it on that same day.

One day, he’s finally had enough and decided to block the door when you were about to leave the dorm room.

"There's nothing to talk about Doyoung."

You tried to step out once again, but he didn't even budge from his place.

"Can you just tell me what I did? I already said sorry about not attending your recital. What else do you want me to do?"

You lowered your head and tried to leave again, determined not to answer his questions. But he's just as stubborn as you are, this time pushing you slightly, just enough to make you step back.

Your fists formed into a ball and your lips pursed in annoyance. Why does he care about you so much now that you're staying away from him?

"Let me leave, Doyoung. Johnny is waiting for me," you said as calmly as you could.

"Is that it? You're replacing me with Johnny? Just because of that one mistake? What kind of friendship is that?" Doyoung's voice went up a few notches, now looking as visibly upset as you are.

"I can't be your friend anymore, Doyoung," silence filled the room as soon as you said that statement. You both stare at each other awkwardly, both of you are still in a state of shock.

"I don't think this is the perfect time to tell you this, but you have to know eventually," grasping the straps of your handbag, you braced yourself for what you were about to say.

"I have feelings for you Doyoung. That's why I was so hurt that you didn't attend the recital," you paused for a bit, biting your lower lip to hold yourself back from tearing up.

"It made me realize that my life, everything about me, revolves around you. I would literally drop everything when you say you need me. And yet, I'm so far away from your priority list that you can't even sit down for a few minutes to watch me perform," you felt a bit of moisture from your cheeks. Tears were already falling from your face without you even realizing it. 

You wiped your tears away with your sleeves and you held yourself back from sobbing to proceed to talk.

"But it's not your fault. I was the one at fault for lending you my time, and I was the one at fault for setting high expectations for someone who just treats me as a friend," you smiled weakly as you walked towards him one last time.

"So for now, I can't be your friend anymore. Not until I sort my feelings out and make things more awkward for us. Give me time for myself, Doyoung. I'll try to be a better friend soon."

You smiled as you lowered your head once again, your shoulders brushing over when you left the room. You didn't try to look back and walked as fast as possible, holding yourself together just before you reached the exit.

You ran out of their apartment building and as soon as you found a place where you can hide, you finally let yourself go. You sat there balling your eyes out and looked around for signs of your best friend. When you realized that he didn't even make an effort to comfort or follow you, your sobs got even louder as you sat down on the pavement to hug your knees.

"Go on... Let it out."

Someone sat down with you and started patting your back to comfort you. You raised your head and cleared the hair strands that stuck to your face to see who it is. It was Johnny.

"I saw everything that happened. I'm happy that you finally told him."

He rubbed your shoulders to calm you down once again, offering you his handkerchief so you could wipe your tears out. Once you finally managed to stop crying, he stood up from his seat and placed his hands on the pockets of his hoodie.

"If you need to cry all day, I'll be here."

///

Doyoung proved that your presence left a big mark that he never realized before. He thought he was just confused at first, or that he was just getting used to not being able to contact you whenever he could.

Just that evening, he was having a hard time memorizing the new choreography for their comeback. He kept on messing up one of the killing parts and everyone was frustrated that they couldn't move on to the other parts of the choreography. He felt sorry for everyone, so he left practice early to work on it himself without burdening the other members. His first instinct was the grab his phone and listen to your soothing voice, telling him to cheer up and that he will do better tomorrow.

But as soon as he was about to hit the dial button, it pained him to press the back button instead, stuffing the phone into his sweatpants and he wiped the sweat off of him.

He felt very heaviness, even more, when he was changing, basically ripping the door of his locker as he took its contents to rid himself of the uncomfortable feeling of sweat. He was both mad and upset at the same time, almost ripping a part of his shirt when he was about to put it on.

He hasn't felt like this in a very long time and he needed a way to get things off of his chest. But without you to do it, it was practically impossible.

He grabbed his matching hat and jacket, stuffing his dirty clothes on his backpack and he made his way out of the building.

He made sure that no one saw him in that state, especially Haechan, who gave him so much shit when everybody found out about your confession.

"Everyone knew, you dumbass."

He just wished somebody would've told him sooner, but he knew it wasn't their place to tell him about it. He felt stupid for not realizing it sooner.

His heavy footsteps dragged him to the ramen shop that you used to go to together. He stopped coming here when he lost contact with you, and instead of making him feel better, it made him even more upset upon the reminder of how he fucked up. But he needed a way to make himself feel better. Ramen worked back then. Maybe it would work right now.

He made the choice to not sit down at your usual spot, the one closest to the kitchen so you would get your meals as soon as you could. He instead opted for one of the corners. It felt awkward, but he was there to eat, not enjoy the ambiance. He ordered a bowl to himself, something that he wasn't used to seeing on the table. The bowl of ramen looked so empty on the table by itself, and so he ordered a lot of side dishes with a few bottles of soju to comfort himself.

To his surprise, he was served by the same auntie that used to tease you and him before when the two of you used to go to this place. He hoped that she wouldn't recognize and ask for your whereabouts, but he was very unlucky that day.

"Oh. It's been a while since I saw you! How are you?"

Doyoung just bowed to the auntie and told him that he was fine and that he missed eating there for the longest time.

"I'm glad that I finally get to see you! You missed your friend though, she just left earlier."

He was put to a halt. Something about you being mentioned sparked something in him. Although, he wasn't able to pinpoint what that feeling was at that time.

"I think she was showing the place to another friend of yours. The big guy ate a lot, so we're worried for a bit that we’re about to close early for today."

Doyoung felt his heart sink, but he still bowed and thanked the auntie for the meal. 

He stared at the contents of his table for a while, but you would always remind him that the soup tasted better when it's still hot. For some reason though, the bowl of ramen wasn't as tasty as it used to be. He used to finish bowls of that same ramen before, but he couldn't even manage to finish one. He knew better than to waste food though, so he forced himself to eat the rest of it and jumped out of there as soon as he could.

The ramen certainly didn't make him feel better.

///

It's been weeks and the first thing that Doyoung did after waking up was to open his phone for messages. There were a few of them, most of it coming from the other members, but he wasn't interested in reading in any of them.

Getting out of bed seemed harder than usual. He felt a few pounds heavier, which meant he either gained weight or he just lost the will to get up from his bed.

He tried not to stare at his phone as he brushed his teeth, so he kept them hidden in his pocket and used all of his wills to not check on it every hour.

He noticed that there was a bit of commotion coming from outside. He paid no attention and went back to his usual morning routine, getting ready for a separate schedule that he had that morning. He went to his room to get dressed and pack the things that he may need that day. Once everything was done, he went to the kitchen to tell everyone that he was going, but he was met with something else instead.

The rest of the boys were gathered up around the table, enjoying breakfast that he assumed that you made. You just stood there happily as you served everyone pieces of the omelet that you made. You turned around in his direction and he was met with that smile that he missed so much.

"Doie, would you like some?"

The nickname made him flinch. It was something that you never used on him before, but it was enough to make him look away and step out of the room immediately.

"I'm good. I just came to say goodbye to everyone."

"Oh good!" you said as you gathered your things and stuffed them neatly in your tote bag. "I just came here to drop some food because this guy said that he wasn’t feeling well. Let's go together," you said as you tiptoed your way out of the tight kitchen, messing Johnny's hair before you finally stepped out of the room.

"Let's go?" you asked giddily as you grabbed Doyoung's arm and waved to everybody goodbye. He finally realized what you must've felt when it was the other way around.

The walk towards the bus stop was a quiet one. None of you dared to talk. But he noticed that the spring of your step is back, if not better than before. Meanwhile, he was just walking there awkwardly, not knowing what to say to you because of how he left things the last time that you talked. He wanted to talk to you for the longest time, but he respected your wishes to be alone. Now he was regretting making that decision.

The both of you stood there at the nearest bus stop, the atmosphere is even quieter since it was just the two of you standing there.

"I missed you Doie," you spoke, breaking the silence between you too.

"I was hoping that we can talk right after this. You know, just to clear the air."

He remained quiet in his place, not really knowing how to respond to her.

"Meet me at the ramen place later?"

"Sure," Doyoung almost hit himself for answering so soon. To him, he sounded very eager to eat with you once again.

The bus finally arrived and you stepped inside, making your way into the seat. His stare lingered at you for a while, to see if you would look around like how you always did when he sent you home. You took those same steps, hesitating at the eighth one to see if he still stuck around to look at you.

You hesitantly sat back down in your seat, unsure as to whether he finally looked back at you when you were about to leave.

You never saw him though, because he asked you to sit down and within a split second, he was gone from your view.

Guess you're just gonna have to find out tonight.

xxx

[cuttoothed]

For day 1 of @aspecarchivesweek for the prompt “wish”. Someday I will write something that isn’t jmart, but that day is not today.

Ace Martin character exploration; Jon/Martin; some Martin/OMC

Warnings: internalized homophobia (brief); internalized aphobia (ongoing); reference to having sex while intoxicated; reference to having sex reluctantly (though not coerced); outing of ace character in their absence

*

Martin spends a long time wishing he was normal.

It starts when he’s fourteen. Well, no, it starts much earlier than that, but it’s when he’s fourteen that the nebulous muddle of feelings coalesces into something impossible to ignore. That’s when all the boys and girls in his class start making eyes at each other while pretending they aren’t; start talking about who they’d like to snog behind the bushes at the bottom of the sports field, and Martin feels something twist in his stomach when he realizes that the person he’d like to be behind the bushes with is Stephen Dowling, who has dark hair and blue eyes and snaps gum between his teeth all day long.

Martin never says anything about it, of course, tries not to even think about it, but he knows it’s not normal. As if he needed one more weird thing about him along with all his sick mum and his jacket that pulls tight across his shoulders, the seams fraying because he needs to get another year out of it before they spend money on a replacement. He keeps his head down and secretly believes that this part of his life will never be over.

*

Eventually, this part of his life is over.

He is nineteen and living in London in a cheap flatshare with three other people, he has a job at a real academic institution, and he has a boyfriend.

Ramesh is sweet and funny and has soft brown eyes with the longest eyelashes Martin’s ever seen. His heart flutters in his chest every time they’re together, his breath catching in his throat and spilling out as laughter. Martin feels normal, because this is London and nobody cares if he walks down the street with Ramesh’s hand in his, if he kisses his boyfriend in the queue for the chippie. It’s like a weight Martin never knew was there lifted off his chest and he can breathe properly for the first time in his life.

He and Ramesh go out for almost a month before they’re in Martin’s flat alone one night, all the others gone out, and Ramesh presses him down on the sofa and kisses him and crawls a hand inside Martin’s jeans. Martin feels hot and cold all at once, his stomach coiling sick and every muscle in his body tensing up for fight or flight. He pushes Ramesh away—too hard, too clumsy—and guilt courses through him at the hurt look in Ramesh’s soft eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Ramesh asks, and Martin can’t say, his heart pounding and his hand clenched painfully tight against the arm of the sofa.

“Sorry,” he’s able to say eventually. “I just, umm…”

“It’s all right,” says Ramesh, though he still looks hurt and confused and Martin has the feeling it’s not actually all right. “I probably surprised you. We can wait for next time, yeah?”

“Yeah,” says Martin, grateful at the reprieve. They sit on the sofa and watch a film instead, and Martin scarcely follows the plot as he tries to calm the adrenaline rushing through his veins, making him want to flinch every time Ramesh’s shoulder touches his.

Next time is the same. Martin apologizes again, and Ramesh says it’s all right again and then two days later breaks up with him.

“I just don’t think it’s working out,” he says, and Martin knows it really wasn’t all right after all.

*

Martin’s sick of wishing he was normal, and what is it they say: fake it ‘til you make it?

He gets drunk and takes home a man he doesn’t know and has sex. He scarcely remembers it the next day and he’s too hungover and miserable to try, but he’s proven to himself that he can have sex and that’s the important thing.

Having sex is normal. It’s what people in relationships do. Martin doesn’t know why he has the hang-ups he does, but he just needs to get over them and learn to relax a bit. Having a couple of drinks helps, he finds.

He has a few boyfriends here and there, and having sex really isn’t a problem. There are better things he could think of doing with his time, but it’s fine. There are even some nice things about it, like feeling close to someone. Intimate.

Eventually, he thinks, maybe he’ll stop feeling like he’s faking it.

*

It isn’t that he gives up on relationships. It’s just that there are so many expectations that Martin feels he always fails to live up to, so many rules that it seems like everyone but him instinctively knows. Trying feels like more hassle than it’s worth.

And then he gets transferred to the Archives and there is Jonathan Sims with his imperious glare and devastating voice and Martin is fourteen all over again watching Stephen Dowling snap his gum in Geography class.

“You really need to stop mooning,” Tim tells him. They’re at the Institute holiday party and they’re all a bit sloshed, and Martin can admit to himself that yes all right he was mooning a bit over Jon, who’s stood at the bar with his back to them, talking animatedly with Elias.

“I am not mooning,” he says, because there’s no reason he has to admit it to Tim as well. “I was just...contemplating.”

“Contemplating Jon’s arse,” Tim snorts, and then Sasha plonks down three shot glasses on the table in front of them and sits down in a rush.

“Who’s contemplating Jon’s arse?”

“Martin, of course.”

“I am not—” Martin begins to protest, but Sasha shushes him, pushing a shot into his hand. It smells of cinnamon and the liquid inside is bright red.

“Hopeless case,” sighs Tim, and drinks his shot. Sasha does the same and then gives Martin a sympathetic smile, her eyes a little bit unfocused.

“If it’s any consolation, Jon doesn’t shag anyone.”

“Sasha!” Tim scolds, and she suddenly seems to realize what she’s said, her eyes going wide.

“Shit,” she says. “Sorry, god, I shouldn’t have said anything. Martin, please pretend you never heard me say that.”

“Okay,” Martin promises but his brain is snagged on ‘Jon doesn’t shag anyone’, how she said it so easily, matter of fact, as if it wasn’t a big deal at all. He looks up at the bar where Jon is still standing with Elias, his slim hands gesturing as he talks.

“Drink your shot,” Tim tells him. “It’ll help you forget about Sasha’s big mouth.”

Martin drinks his shot, which is absolutely sickening, but he doesn’t forget.

*

There is one bed in Daisy’s safe house.

It’s evening when they arrive and Martin is exhausted, a bone deep weariness that might be from the travel or the fear or the fog that’s seeped under his skin. Jon looks tired too, dark circles under his eyes and now that Martin’s really looking at him for the first time in months, he’s amazed Jon hasn’t just shivered apart at the seams by now. He is filled with the desire to take Jon in his arms, as if he might hold the fragile pieces of him together, and he thinks that he could.

He saw Jon, in the Lonely, even if they haven’t talked about it since. Saw how Jon felt about him, so yes, Martin thinks he could put his arms around Jon and it would be welcome. He isn’t sure why he doesn’t, except that there’s a part of him that still feels like it’s trapped behind glass, abstracted and numb, and it keeps his arms by his sides while his heart yearns against his rib cage.

In the meantime, there is only one bed, and they both stand looking at it for a few moments, considering the implications and the fact that they have only just found each other again after months of absence.

“There’s enough room,” Jon says eventually, his voice soft and tired. Martin nods; there is enough room.

It’s cold, and they both climb under the covers in socks and tracksuit bottoms and long sleeved t-shirts, pile the thick feather duvet and two blankets over them. It feels like being cocooned, their combined body heat gradually warming the mattress, the slow even sound of Jon’s breathing warming something in Martin’s chest.

He’s here, he’s here with you. You’re here with him.

In the gentle dark they gravitate together, drawn close by the longing that’s suffused all their months apart. When Jon’s lips press gently against his, Martin thinks his heart might burst. He kisses back, and at last that trapped part of him breaks free and he lifts his arms to wrap around Jon, pulls him against his chest. Jon makes a soft, surprised sound and he breaks the kiss.

“Martin,” he says, careful the way he has been since he brought Martin back, as if a wrong word might shatter him. “I need to tell you, before this goes any further—”

“It’s okay,” Martin tells him. “I don’t want to have sex with you either.” It feels so good to be able to say it that Martin could cry or laugh or both.

“Oh,” says Jon, and then huffs a soft laugh. “Well that’s—that’s good, then.”

He kisses Martin again, and leans in against him, close and warm and filling every part of Martin’s awareness. Martin knows he left all hope of normal behind years ago, before worms and fog and evil circuses. But the fact that he gets to have this—just this, with the man he loves; no expectations and nothing to fake; and for the moment at least, no fear. This is far, far better than normal.

And Martin couldn’t wish for anything else.

[fruitcoops]

hey! idk if you've seen that cut video about how couples sleep together but i just cant stop thinking about the team doing it. It would be SO cute with your amazing writing :))

Thank you! I absolutely adore this video and I’ve watched it probably twenty times--each couple is just so cute! Quick disclaimer: while this may seem a little odd, since the Lions are basically celebrities, I think the channel wanted to do it to show the diversity of the team and emphasize love above everything else. Hope you enjoy!

“Hey, Lions!” Marlene says cheerfully, waving to the camera. She stands alone in the studio for once. “We have something a little different for you today. Four of the couples on the team agreed to let us record them sleeping for a night, which we’ve combined with short interviews from each of them. Hope you enjoy!”

The video cuts and a title card appears, reading Couple Number One: James and Lily Potter.

Their bedroom is moderately sized, with a crib at the foot of the bed and a fluffy red comforter that accents their walls. James is partially visible as he brushes his teeth, but Lily is fully in frame in her oversized t-shirt and flannel pajama pants while she climbs into bed with Harry in her arms.

“How long have you been together?” Marlene asks in a voiceover.

“We’ve been married for just over six months,” James’ voice says; on the screen, he walks out of the bathroom and tucks his legs up to kiss the tops of Lily and Harry’s heads. “But we dated for several years before that.”

“What time do you normally go to bed?”

“Maybe eight? Eight-thirty?” Lily says. Sure enough, the clock on their nightstand reads 8:07. “We stay up after the baby’s gone to sleep, though.”

“What story are we doing tonight, kiddo?” James asks, pressing a raspberry kiss to Harry’s belly until baby giggles fill the bedroom. “How about…Make Way For Ducklings?”

“Ducky!” Harry squeals, reaching for his glasses.

“Alright, baby love.” Lily smiles as she takes a book of the nightstand and opens it up.

“Would you say you sleep well?” Marlene asks.

“Oh, that’s a tough question,” James says—in the bedroom, he and Lily take turns reading pages to Harry as he sits between them and points to the ducks. “It’s better now that he can sleep through the night. I’d say we get a solid seven hours each night, maybe more.”

“I wake up pretty often because I worry,” Lily adds.

“Do either of you talk in your sleep?”

She laughs. “No, thankfully. Once we’re out, we’re out until morning.”

“What’s your body language like?”

“I’m cuddly,” James says with a light laugh. In the video, he wraps an arm around Lily’s shoulders and traces the picture book with one finger, kissing Harry’s chubby baby hand. “She likes to starfish.”

“We’re both big cuddlers,” Lily agrees. The video skips forward in time, showing Lily lowering Harry into his crib while James grabs his phone off the nightstand and squints at it.

They curl up together while the clock continues to tick, and an hour or so later they put their phones away and snuggle under the covers. The night goes on and, slowly, Lily begins to splay out on the mattress, her hair in every direction as James keeps one arm securely around her waist. During a brief pause, their snoring harmonizes.

Harry wakes up just past four with a sniffle and babbles for a moment until James stands up, taking him out of his crib and humming softly as he bounces him; Lily barely flinches. “Baba,” Harry mumbles while he holds on to the edge of James’ shirt. “Baba, baba, baba.”

“Shh, buddy.” James touches their forehead together before setting him back down in the crib. “Sweet dreams. I love you.”

Marlene’s voiceover comes on again as the sun rises outside their window. “What time do you usually wake up?”

“James gets up earlier than I do for practice,” Lily says. A soft alarm jingles on the nightstand and James clumsily turns it off, scrubbing at his eyes for a second before digging his glasses out of the nightstand and sitting up—he leans over to kiss Lily’s forehead before getting up for real.

“Around seven, seven-thirty usually,” James confirms. “I don’t actually know what time you get up most weekdays.”

“Oh, probably eight-thirty or nine? Once Harry’s up, I’m up.”

Marlene hums. “How important is your bedroom to you? What about your bed?”

“Both are so important.” James doesn’t hesitate. “Evenings and nights are the longest period of time we spend together because of my job.”

“It’s a very safe space,” Lily says. “Life is so hectic, but once we’re in bed we don’t have to go anywhere else.”

The bedroom disappears—Lily and James sit in chairs in the Lion Pride studio with Marlene across from them. “Thanks so much for joining us today, you guys!” she says with a smile. “I’m really looking forward to filming this video.”

 Couple Number Two: Kasey Winter and Natalie Darcy

Their bedroom is smaller than the Potters’ and painted light blue with large windows. Outside, night has fallen and the light of the city shines through their blinds as Kasey closes them; Natalie is already in bed, reading a paperback with her legs crossed on top of the blankets.

Kasey turns the light off and climbs in next to her, resting his head on her thigh as he dozes off and she continues to read by her bedside lamp. “Goodnight,” he murmurs. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.” Natalie smiles and runs her fingers through his hair.

“How long have you been together?” Marlene asks.

“We’ve been dating for four years now,” Kasey’s voice says. In their bedroom, the video speeds up until eleven thirty, when Natalie puts her book down and settles into Kasey’s arms.

“Do you go to bed early or late? It’s just the two of you, right?”

“Right. Kase likes going to bed before me because he has to get up earlier, but I’m a night owl.”

“Does that make it hard for you to sleep well?”

“Not at all,” Kasey says. “She sleeps like a log and I’m always careful not to wake her up on workdays. We like to sleep in on days off.”

Marlene hums in agreement. “Do either of you talk in your sleep?”

“Nope. I’m a light sleeper, so it’s nice that neither of us do it.”

The video continues through the night and sure enough, the only sound is their soft breathing; Natalie presses against Kasey’s chest with an arm over his shoulders. “What’s your body language like when you sleep? Are you cuddlers?”

“I love cuddles!” Kasey says with an almost-audible smile. Sure enough, he snuggles into Natalie with a soft sigh as the clock on their wall turns to 4 am.

“How many hours of sleep do you get every night?” Marlene asks.

They take a moment to think, and the sun begins to shine through their bedroom window. “Ten to six am is…about eight hours? I can get by on six, though.”

“I need a solid eight, eight and a half to function,” Natalie says. “Though sometimes I’ll get up and do something before going back to bed until nine.”

“How important is your bedroom to you?”

“That’s a good question.” Kasey hums in thought. “I value it a lot because it’s a place to be close to her, and that’s hard to get when we’re both so busy.”

“I agree.”

On screen, Kasey’s alarm begins to ring and he stretches, gently detaching Natalie’s hold and kissing her shoulder as he pulls the blankets up to her chin and slides out of bed. “Have a good day, baby,” she mumbles sleepily.

“Love you,” he whispers back as he brushes her hair out of her eyes.

The video cuts; Kasey and Natalie have taken James and Lily’s places. “Thanks for agreeing to do this, guys!” Marlene says.

“I’m looking forward to it.” Natalie says with a slight smile.

 Couple Number 3: Sirius Black and Remus Lupin

The third bedroom is cluttered and neat at the same time. Knickknacks line the dresser and various items are scattered on the nightstand, but the floor is clean and the dark blue bedspread is tidy as Remus reads against the headboard. On the other side of the room, Sirius stops midway through brushing his teeth to change into a sleep shirt and Remus laughs at his muffled grumbling.

“How long have you been together?” Marlene asks again in her voiceover.

“We’ve been dating for over a year now,” Remus says.

“What time do you go to bed?”

“Oh, maybe ten pm? Eleven?” Sirius guesses. “Whenever we’re tired.”

The clock reads ten forty-five as Sirius gets under the covers and wraps his arms around Remus’ torso, cuddling against his waist and leg while Remus strokes his hair. Ten minutes pass until he puts the book down and turns off the light before scooting back against Sirius’ chest to be the little spoon. “Love you,” he says quietly.

Sirius kisses behind his ear. “Je t’aime.”

“What’s your body language like when you sleep?” Marlene asks. “Cap, everyone knows about your famous cuddles.”

He snorts. “Usually we spoon, but sometimes it changes up.”

“We kind of have to spoon,” Remus laughs. “You’d wake up on the floor otherwise.”

“I would not!” Sirius protests. In the video, an hour has passed, and he unconsciously tries to roll over Remus, who reaches up and pushes his shoulder back without opening his eyes. He shifts a few more times before settling down.

“Do you talk in your sleep as well?” Marlene continues.

Remus sighs. “No, that would be me.”

“It’s cute and awful at the same time,” Sirius says. “On one hand, it wakes me up, but on the other, we have the best conversations.”

At 2:12 am, Remus scrunches his nose up in his sleep. “Hey. Hey.”

Sirius huffs and cracks an eye open. “Quoi?”

“Go away.”

There’s a pause and Sirius sits up, clearly still half-asleep. “Huh?”

“The cat’s in the garden, dumbass. That cat—the cat is in the garden.”

With a heavy sigh, Sirius gets under the covers again and wraps his arms around Remus. “Okay, mon coeur.”

“Blueberry milkshake.”

“That doesn’t exist.”

“Yes, it does.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Shut up, Pots, nobody asked you.” Remus says playfully, then hums and pulls Sirius closer. “Bonjour, honey. Je t’aime.”

In the voiceover, Marlene laughs. “What do you two talk about?”

“Oh, everything,” Sirius replies.

An hour and a half passes in fast motion on screen; they move around a little bit, but overall stay cuddled up and comfortable. “The tea. Honey, the tea. Tea’s burning.”

Sirius reaches over and puts his hand over Remus’ mouth gently. “Shhh.”

“Tea’s burning,” Remus repeats, though his voice is muffled until he bats Sirius’ hand away. “Hugs and kisses, hugs and kisses.”

“Hey, sweetheart, what’s the meaning of life?”

Remus is quiet for a beat. “Pun’kin pie.”

“Why do you talk in your sleep?”

“I love you.”

“How could we have done better in our last game?” Sirius is grinning now and rubbing slow circles over Remus’ back. “I was a little worried about our defense.”

“Hmm. Apples.” Remus turns over and nuzzles against Sirius. “See you later, alligator.”

Sirius shakes with suppressed laughter for a moment until the voiceover starts again. “What time do you wake up in the morning?” Marlene asks. “Practice starts pretty early.”

“Sirius wakes up earlier than I do, but we don’t get out of bed until seven-ish,” Remus says, sounding far more awake than he did in the video. “We try to aim for eight hours of sleep, but that doesn’t always happen.”

“How important is your bedroom?”

Sunlight streams through the cracks in the blinds at six am, lighting up Remus’ face on one side as Sirius starts to wake up. He pauses with a smile and runs his thumb along Remus’ cheek before kissing his forehead and settling onto his back.

“Our bedroom is really important,” Sirius answers. “It’s a safe space where there’s no pressure to do anything and we can just be ourselves.”

Remus smacks his alarm at six-thirty and starts sitting up, only for Sirius to wrap all four limbs around him and drag him back down for more cuddles; Remus laughs, but happily obliges. The camera cuts out just as they start getting out of bed half an hour later.

“Thanks for answering my questions,” Marlene says with a grin. “I gotta say, I’m looking forward to the sleep talking.”

“It’s so funny,” Sirius snickers.

Remus rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Yeah, yeah, alright. Exploit me in my most vulnerable state, why don’t you?”

 Couple Number 4: Pascal and Celeste Dumais

“We have been married for fifteen years,” Dumo says as the video begins.

Celeste is already out cold in the bed while he tiptoes around their bedroom, sliding in next to her as quietly as possible; she smiles in her sleep and scoots over to lay her head on his shoulder. It’s clearly a comfortable place for them—the walls are a warm beige and a colorful quilt lays heavy across the sheets.

“Do you sleep well?”

“Sometimes,” Celeste says. “We sleep better now that the kids are older, but I wake up a lot in the middle of the night because I still worry about them.”

“How many hours of sleep do you think you get?”

“Oh, probably seven? I go to bed early, though.”

“I get a steady six to eight,” Dumo says.

“Do you sleepwalk or talk?”

Celeste laughs as Dumo groans. “He used to sleepwalk, but after the kids were born there wasn’t enough consistent sleep to do it anymore.”

In the dark of their bedroom, Dumo moves around quite a lot—he rolls onto his back, then his side, then curls around Celeste, then lays a little bit sideways before she quietly shushes him just past 3 am and puts her hand on his chest. He sighs and leans his head against hers with a drowsy half-smile.

“Do you cuddle?” Marlene asks.

“Sometimes,” Dumo says. “Though we’ve been together for so long that we don’t really have to. I always know where she is.”

“That’s adorable,” Marlene says at the same time Celeste makes a soft sound of affection. “What time do you wake up?”

There is one window in their bedroom, high on the western wall, that shows the slowly-lightening sky. When the clock strikes six, both of them stretch and roll onto their backs, though they stay close enough to share body heat as Dumo combs his fingers through Celeste’s long hair.

“Around six. It’s easier to get up early now that we’re older,” Dumo says. “Besides, the kids don’t get up until later, so we finally get some time to ourselves.”

“Bonjour, mon amour,” Celeste murmurs in the video with a sleepy smile, pressing kisses to Dumo’s cheek. “Hmm, je t’aime.”

“Je t’aime, ma jolie chérie.”

The video returns to the studio after that; Dumo and Celeste hold hands while they talk, and Marlene puts away her notecards with a smile. “Thank you for agreeing to do this, it means a lot. We tried to get a variety of different couples for this and I’m sure the video will turn out great.”

“Ne rien. Good luck with filming!”

A final title card appears. Thanks for watching, Lions! Be sure to like and subscribe for more content.