#But hey here's to another December passing by

[httpknjoon]

anyone but you | myg

plot | that time on tour where the popstar would talk with everyone in the tour except her bassist, Yoongi. The one she cannot stop thinking about.

w.c | 6.2k+

pairing | bass guitarist!yoongi x popstar!reader

genre | mostly angst, fluff, enemies to lovers, slow burn

note | i love your mind thank you for sending this idea @enfppuff <3 I loved writing this one, I hope y'all will enjoy reading it :)

main masterlist | series masterlist

DAY 93: TOKYO, JAPAN

It took you one song in the rehearsals to notice someone sitting in one of the empty seats of Tokyo Dome. You were specifically singing the bridge for Taste when you spotted a brunette, wearing a baseball cap, on the very back seats in the floor area. It was easy for you to recognize she is not part of your tour staff since everyone has a uniform lanyard for their IDs. She has a neon green lanyard, indicating that she’s somebody’s visitor.

But the brunette woman is not some other woman, you know her. You recognized her. The one from The Late Late Show. The writer who kept bringing up great ideas and witty lines for you during the show. The one who was with your bass guitarist the whole night during the afterparty in December.

“Bea!”

It was during the rehearsal’s end that you fully processed who she is. You were on stage, in the middle of a three-person conversation with Art and your tour director, when you saw Yoongi walk up to Bea with two cups of coffee in his hands.

Why is she here?

The question formed in your head. Watching from a distance, you felt like a hawk, observing how they easily chat and laugh with Bea, unconsciously patting your bassist’s lap every time she giggles. Yoongi seemed comfortable with her, with his arm resting behind her chair. Then, another question made you wanna throw up.

Are they together?

“Hey. YN.” Donny, your tour director, snapped his fingers in front of you, snatching your attention from the couple. “Do you understand?”

“Ye… Yeah,” you nodded, stuttering since anything he said barely registered in your brain.

“Good. So you agree with the neon green lights and balloons?” he asked.

Lines formed between your brows, “Huh?”

The two men chuckled at your confused reaction. Donny simply tapped Art’s shoulder, “I’m just kidding. I’m sure Art understood everything; he can explain if you have questions. Okay? Take a rest for now, YN.”

You just smiled as he walked away, leaving you alone with your tour manager, who can easily tell what’s distracting you. He crossed his arms as he watched you look at Yoongi and his friend.

“In case you’re wondering, Yoongi asked for an extra ticket for her to watch your show tomorrow.” Art shared.

You looked at him, “Are they…”

You cannot even finish the question. Because halfway, you realized how stupid it is to ask about your infamous not-friend’s relationship status with a girl he surely has great chemistry with. 

When did she even get here in Tokyo? 

You and the whole concert team flew here just yesterday, so that you can fully prepare yourself for the tour’s first show in Asia. Especially since the current weather in Japan is very different from LA. Amidst the awkwardness you have with Yoongi, you thought you could just convert all your frustrations into attention and focus to rehearse for the rest of the tour. But how? How am I suppose to fucking focus—

“Dating? I don’t know. But his asking for a ticket and visitor pass kinda says a lot.” Art shrugged, knowing well that he was stirring something hot. Both he and Cal have already chatted about this weird tension between you and Yoongi. But since neither of you two will say anything might as well just let the whole thing steam. He asked, “Why?”

“Nothing.” You turned your head away and walked away, avoiding Art’s look, to go get yourself something strong to drink. Maybe a shot of espresso.

“My god, this is so bitter.” 

After sipping from the coffee he got her, Bea mumbled under her breath. She didn’t say it in a way that meant to offend him, Yoongi knows. So he offered the warm cup in his hand, still unopened.

“You can take mine. Americano, it’s less bitter.” 

“Thank you.” Bea smiled, swapping their drinks. “But my god, isn’t it a red flag if a person drinks espresso as their choice of coffee? Like, no water? Creamer?”

Yoongi simply chuckled at that, but because he remembered someone else who did like espresso. He learned that fact about you in his first week being your bassist. You were grumpy for the first rehearsals, and Cal asked him to hand you your coffee after he passed by you in the catering area. She was obviously busy with other stuff, so Yoongi didn’t mind a simple help of giving you your espresso. He remembered seeing how your face brightened the moment that caffeine hit your system. You squirmed and smiled for the first time that day.

“Anyway, enough with the coffee talk here,” Bea tapped his lap, “Are you sure it’s okay for me to be here?”

“Yeah, of course. Why?” Yoongi raised a brow.

“Nothing, it’s just that it feels weird. Everyone around me is working, and I’m just sitting here by myself, watching you guys. I’m so used to being a part of the group that’s busy preparing for the upcoming show,” she laughed, referring to her late-night job.

“It’s fine, you’re a visitor of mine. Plus, you’re not really causing any trouble here.” Yoongi assured her. “And don’t stress out on not stressing out right now. That’s why you’re here, right? You needed a break from being busy.”

She agreed, leaning on her chair, “I really do. Fortunately, you guys came here at the same time I am staying here! I can’t wait to watch YN again! I heard that she got new outfits, is that true?”

“Still doing your advanced research?” he teased her.

“It’s in my DNA,” she replied, smiling, before her phone buzzed. “Wait, I’ll just take this one.”

Bea stood up and left to answer the call. Meanwhile, Yoongi looked back on the stage, where he last saw you minutes ago. He sees you talking with Art before walking away, seemingly so out of it since you almost tripped on the stairs. His eyes followed you as you left for the exit way. He wished you would just do the same thing in his head. 

Exit. 

Because ever since that night after the afterparty, Yoongi wasn’t really able to function well. When you asked him to leave your room that night, he was embarrassed and confused, and it led him to book the earliest flight from New York to LA just so he could avoid you in the planned meeting tomorrow. During that six-hour flight, Yoongi barely slept a wink. 

"I-I think we crossed a line that we probably should not have."

You said that night. That kiss was a mistake. That giggling and banter in the middle of your makeout was a mistake. He was a mistake. To you. He apologized before leaving your room that night, since maybe he had crossed the line. Maybe he misunderstood that you two are way past those immature banters you shared for months. But it hit him during that same flight that maybe you two would never really get along well. Yoongi tried to excuse the whole thing as a result of too much drinking, even though he barely tasted the alcohol on your tongue. Hell, he can even taste the sweet strawberry from your lip gloss.

Spending Christmas with his family, Yoongi tried to let go of whatever happened that night. But he was so consumed by the thought of you that he almost forgot that it was his first holiday as a single man after his failed engagement with Sara. If it wasn’t with his aunt accidentally bringing up his ex, Yoongi would have forgotten that he and Sarah were supposed to tie the knot in January of the upcoming year. 

Between Christmas and New Year’s Eve, Yoongi tried to distract himself. Then, he got a call from her. Sara wanted to meet up before the year ends. He only agreed when she promised that she would be alone and wouldn’t be accompanied by her fiancé. Then, all the frustration from that afterparty was temporarily taken over by the resentment he felt towards Sara, since seeing her pregnant for the first time didn’t really make him feel better.

But once Yoongi sat in that cafe with her, Sara was nothing but humble and apologetic. She mentioned she didn’t want to end the year without confessing her true remorse for what she had done to him. Yoongi thought that the conversation would end with him still being a bitter man. But it didn’t. Like real mature people, he and Sara talked about everything. She openly answered his questions and heavily pressed on the fact that he was faultless for what happened with their relationship. She took accountability for everything, apologizing for how she had wronged him. 

She did cry. A lot. Maybe partly because of hormones. But Yoongi knew that Sara was genuinely guilty. He knew that apologizing had always been hard for her after years of them being together. So he accepted her apologies. Then, to calm her down, they began talking again like friends. Yoongi was mature enough to ask her about her pregnancy, wanting to know how she’s doing after the breakup and with this new phase of her life. She did the same thing, congratulating him for going on tour with a pop star. Something she held him back to during their relationship.

“You seemed really happy on stage with her,” Sara mentioned, something that somehow stayed in his mind until now.

As someone who knows him best, Sara will be the most verified person to say that. But Yoongi tried to shake it off during the chat. When he got home that day, he turned off his phone for the next two days so that he could avoid searching you up ever again. Then the new year came. He celebrated alone at his apartment, not really in the mood to go to a friend’s big party where he had been invited to. Instead, Yoongi got himself an expensive bottle of wine and played with his guitar until the fireworks outside set off. He finally opened his phone to greet his parents and friends. He just finished a call with his mom when he got a call. This time, it’s you. You were drunk and crying. He doesn’t even know if you remember the conversation you two had in that call.

“I hate receiving calls like that!” 

Yoongi snapped his head when Bea came back, sitting next to him. He blinked, scolding himself in his head for drifting away.

“What happened?” he asked, trying to stay present.

“Work stuff. Apparently, there are some documents they need from me, and I have them in my apartment back in LA, so…” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll book the earliest flight after tomorrow’s show.”

“Well,” Yoongi stood up, “I guess we have to make the most of your time here?”

Bea smiled, “Yeah, that sounds great.”

The two began walking to the same exit way you had walked on earlier. Since the dome’s main gates, where fans come in and out, are still closed, they have to take the way where crew members go in and out of, which means they came across everyone.

“Hey, lovebugs!” Noah called them as they passed by the band, who were chatting in the catering area. Yoongi and Bea just shake their heads at the nickname, shrugging it off. “Where are you off to?”

“We’ll just go around the city. Maybe eat and visit some nearby spots.” Bea replied.

Yoongi added, “Yeah, but this one has to leave after the show tomorrow. So, we’ll just do it now. You can come with us if you want to.”

“Oh, we will,” Fred said before they all stood up, cleaning up their table.

While waiting for them, Yoongi listened to Bea’s impromptu itinerary. She mentioned something about a nearby garden and various fancy cafes, but all of it became a noise when Yoongi noticed you walked in with Cal and a slight frown on your lips. He felt like a ghost, watching you like he were invisible.  Before, you complained about his eyes throwing daggers, but those daggers seemed to fly over your head since you act like you won’t even see him. Then, he sees Noah walk up to you.

“It’s cold, isn’t it?” Bea yanked him back to reality, waving her now-empty coffee cup in his sight.

“Hmm?” Yoongi hummed, not really catching up.

Bea, who has been observant ever since she came here today, simply smiled, “I said, it’s cold outside. We should get thicker coats in Kagurazaka.”

Yoongi nodded quietly, slightly embarrassed that he had been spacing out a lot lately. Noah then walked to them while hooking his arm with yours. You were looking at everyone except Yoongi, who is now in front of you.

“She’s coming with us. YN’s a little bummed out that there’s no espresso left here. We’re getting her that outside.” Your best friend cheered you up like a little kid.

Yoongi noticed you smile, but it did not reach your eyes. He looked down at the still-full coffee cup in his hand. Should he just give it to you? Maybe not. It’s already cold. So cold.

You really have no energy to stroll around the city for some reason. But Noah insists that you join them: “Stop moping around and come with us.”

“I am not moping around. Why would I mop around? It’s my first show after a few weeks for God’s sake,” you replied, denying whatever he was throwing at you. “And I already agreed that I’m joining you guys.”

“Then don’t drag your feet to walk.” Noah teased. “And please. Stop glaring at Yoongi.”

You rolled your eyes at him, “I am not glaring at anyone. I just need my espresso, and I’m gonna be okay.”

Excuses, excuses. You whispered in your head. Walking behind the group, Noah made sure to keep you company since everyone walked in pairs. Fred and Akio. You and Noah. Bea and Yoongi. 

You can’t help but watch them. Those two act like they have known each other for the longest time. They seemed pretty comfortable with each other. Why does it look like it’s easy for them to be with each other? You can see Yoongi, who usually gives you blank stares, and his gummy smile from where you stand behind them, while Bea points out something and laughs. They are like sunshine, while you and Yoongi are ice-cold like the weather today in Japan.

Sighing, you looked down at your white boots walking on the pavement.

“You know, if you keep sighing like that, can you at least tell me what’s going on?” Noah mumbled beside you.

You looked up, forcing a smile, “Nothing. Just a little nervous for tomorrow.”

“YN…” your friend paused and tucked a part of your hair behind your ear, “Your nose is saying something else.”

He chuckled as your eyes widened before holding your nose. Everyone who has known you for a while knows that when you say something untrue, your nose flares. 

“Whatever. But you know that I am always here for you, right?” he asked, and you nodded, leaning your head on his arm.

It took more minutes of walking until you found the cafe that Bea talked about. She turned around, pointing at it from a distance.

“That is the one! I have seen so many TikTok videos about their matcha latte!”

“Oh, yeah! I’ve been there once too, when I flew here last holiday. I think you guys will love their croffles.” Akio added enthusiastically.

Akio and Bea went in first, excited to see the menu. Yoongi held the door for everyone. You were the last one to walk in, and you tried not to look back as you could feel his eyes on you. Even though you won’t say anything, you can always feel when he’s looking at you.

The moment you got in, you noticed how warm the cafe is. It’s cozy and well-lit, following the beige and white aesthetic for everything. Soft jazz music plays in the background as the soothing aroma of coffee fills the place. Before looking for a spot, everyone came in front of the display case to see what pastries were available.  You were quiet while everyone chose.

“Croffles or that tiramisu?” 

You heard a voice behind you. But instead of turning around or answering, you stepped away and stood next to Fred, who was already lining up to order for everyone. He was looking at the menu board when he noticed you next to him, unaware of your avoidance of someone.

“How ‘bout you? Still espresso?”

You smiled, wordlessly, nodding your head. As everyone found the perfect spot to sit on, you decided to stay with your drummer. There are still two people ahead of you, so you two get to chat a little.

“My wife would have loved that heart-shaped strawberry mousse. She loves cute pastries like those,” he told you, making you smile with that wholesome thought.

“Lara’s a pastry chef, right?” 

He nods, “Yep, she runs her own shop back in LA. Baking has always been her passion ever since we were kids.”

“You two were childhood sweethearts?! That’s really sweet,” you swooned.

He chuckled, “Not really, we knew each other since we were kids. But we only got together in our late 20s. My mom always told me it took us too long to finally be together.” 

You smiled at that, looking at the heart-shaped cake in the display case, “Maybe not. Maybe, you two are just like one of those slow burners…”

“Yeah, maybe,” he smiled as he remembered his wife. “It took us almost twenty years and five failed relationships to realize that maybe we’re meant for each other. Great things take time.”

As if on cue, it was your turn to order. Fred did all the talking, and you just stood there. But you can feel that the cashier recognized you, which is fair since you were not really wearing anything that could cover your face. She shyly said hi to you, and you greeted her back with a smile. After ordering, the staff told you that your orders would be served. Walking to the table your friends chose, you quickly noticed the available seats left. One is next to Bea and Akio, and the other is between Noah… and Yoongi. Noah finally noticed you in the middle of their chat, immediately seeing your hesitation on the seating arrangement. He raised his brow as if he were telling you to just come sit next to him. You exhaled before finally walking over to sit between the two.

Who knew that a gentle brush on the knee could make him shiver?

Yoongi shifted from his seat the moment your knee accidentally touched his when you just sat down beside him. He tried to focus on the front of him, where Bea sat, but she was already deep into the chat with the others. Their conversation was bouncing from one topic to another. Noah spoke about the nearby garden they’ll visit later, making Yoongi look at his way. But instead of his eyes landing on his bandmate, he found you scrolling on your phone. 

But you barely reacted to whatever your screen showed you. It was like you were mindlessly scrolling just to not look awkward with people around you. But he can tell. He hates that he can tell. Yoongi turned his gaze back to Bea, who was now speaking.

“Oh my god, they are playing your song.” Bea gasped, referring to you. “That’s my favorite from your recent EP.”

“Thank you,” you finally spoke, smiling in a way that Yoongi could tell was forced.

Just as their orders were being served, a familiar song was playing all over the place. It was one of the songs he worked with you during those late nights of last year’s December. He remembered you knocking on his hotel room door just moments after you got back from your shows, showing up in your most casual clothes. Maybe handing him coffee or chips the moment he opened the door for you. You two would exchange opinions on making your song, but never argue about it.

Yoongi was too filled with thoughts of you that he unconsciously reached for the freshly brewed espresso and placed it in front of you. You looked at him, slightly surprised. But he didn’t meet your eyes. Instead, he was already looking at Bea. You wanted to thank him, but opted to just take a sip of your most-awaited espresso.

“Oh, isn’t this pretty?” she swooned over the croffles that were topped with whipped cream and various types of berries. 

Akio showed off the different slices of different cakes, ordered by others, too, “Look at these, too!”

“Oh, let me take a picture. I’ll send it to my wife.” Fred stood up and hovered over the table to capture a good picture of the pastries.

After that, Bea unexpectedly placed a slice of strawberry shortcake in front of you, “You should try this one. I don’t know why, but I ordered them for you because it reminded me of your cute outfit today.”

That made you giggle. Genuinely, for the first time today. “Thank you, you’re so sweet, Bea.”

Slight relief washes over Yoongi when he hears that light and soft laugh from you. You picked up your fork and sliced a corner of the shortcake gently before taking a bite. He can tell you liked it as you chewed, nodding your head.

“I love it,” you said mid-chew before offering, “You guys should try it!”

Yoongi quietly watched as you pushed the plate in the center of the table so that everyone could get a taste. He watched you look at everyone’s reactions with delight. Noah’s random moan like he just fell in love with cake made everyone laugh. You laughed so hard, your smile finally reached your eyes, which made Yoongi smile too.

The day went on with you being much more active than you were earlier. You were laughing a lot over Noah’s jokes and telling everyone how beautiful the garden is. You felt much lighter as you walked into the tranquil Korakuen Garden. 

“The espresso really helps, huh?” Noah whispered next to you.

You chuckled, “Definitely.”

Looking around, you walked ahead when you saw a koi pond. You took out your phone to take pictures, something you will post on your stories soon. You cannot help but smile at how pretty everything is. But then, when you turned around, your shoulders slowly deflated like popped balloons when you spotted Yoongi taking pictures of Bea candidly under the cherry blossoms. You pursed your lips, trying not to frown. You just looked back at the pond, exhaling whatever you’ve been feeling.

“Hey, YN! Come here.”

Turning around once again, you see Akio motioning her hand for you to come stand next to her and for Noah to take group pictures. And that's what happened for the next few hours, you joined the band to avoid being quiet and alone with your messy feelings. You linked arms with Akio and Noah, talking about anything. Fred joined in, too. You also had quick, short chats with Bea about the weather and your recent experiences while staying here in the foreign country.

You learned that she came to Japan after asking for a two-week break. But it has only been a week, and she told you she has to go back to New York after your show tomorrow.

“That’s unfair, you asked for two weeks!” you protested to her as you two walked side by side while Yoongi stayed behind with Fred. You are now on your way to the nearest shopping district, which is Kagurazuka.

“I know!” Bea exclaimed, matching your energy. “But I think it’s better to just go home early. I miss working in that hectic show anyway.”

“Oh my god, Bea. You’re having Stockholm Syndrome,” you quipped, making her laugh.

“Maybe I am, but I’m making money off it anyway.”

While you two laughed once again, someone watched behind you quietly. Although Yoongi is relieved to see you get more comfortable, he cannot help but notice how you talked with everyone except him. You even got closer to Bea. The moment you two got into your own little chat, Yoongi began thinking that you were avoiding him. He tried reaching out, asking you about pastries, even unconsciously handing you your coffee, and tried to stand next to you when Bea made you and the band take a group photo, but you exchanged spots with Akio.

He tried not to think much of it, making up reasons in his head just to avoid making the distance between you two bigger. Maybe you did not hear him when he asked about croffles and tiramisu, maybe you said thanks for the coffee, he just didn’t hear it, or you just like standing at the end of a group photo instead of the center. But Yoongi got the confirmation on his hunch when he found himself standing a few feet next to you in front of a quirky souvenir shop in the not-so-busy shopping district of Kagurazaka. Your friends were inside buying gifts for their family and friends back home, while you decided to wait outside, and so did Yoongi.

It has been ten minutes since you two have been alone. The sun sets between the small buildings of the district while Yoongi watches you watch everything that walks in front of you. A couple holding hands as they giggle. Another tourist with a couple of shopping bags in each hand. A little boy holding a fish-shaped bread next to his mother. He saw the corner of your lips pull up as you eyed the cute kid.

“He looked like he won the lottery,” he said, trying to break the silence and start a conversation.

But you just smiled wearily, still not looking at him, “He does.”

That type of response is kind of hard to follow for someone who is often quiet like Yoongi. But he’s trying, he’s really trying to make a sensible conversation with you. Something that can assure him that the silent treatment won’t be permanent for the rest of the tour. So he tried once again, keeping his hands in his coat’s pockets.

“This is a really peaceful place for a shopping district, don’t you think?”

You nodded, “Yeah, it is.”

Then, silence joined in again, standing between you two. And Yoongi felt that he could not really do much anymore since you were not really interested in talking with him. He waited for you to say something. Five seconds. Thirty seconds. A minute. Then a few more minutes passed before he pressed his lips together and stared at the cobblestone pavement.

“Am I…” he paused, feeling his chest tighten, “Is me, being here, bothering you?”

Yoongi saw you in his peripheral turning your head in his direction before looking away again. You murmured, “No.”

“I’m starting to feel like I’m not supposed to be here. With you,” he whispered, letting his honest thoughts roll off his tongue.

“You are, Yoongi. You are supposed to be here. You’re my bassist,” you told him, saying the first thing in your head.

You meant good with that, Yoongi knows. But somehow that last line stings. Something snapped in his head, reminding him that maybe he’s just overthinking everything.

So he lets out a dry chuckle, “Ah, yes. That’s right, just you’re bassist.”

After noticing the time, everyone decided to finally go back to the hotel and rest. You were grateful that you and everyone could just take a walk from everything you went to today, then back to your hotel. Except for Bea, who has her booked Airbnb in the other city because she came here earlier.

“Guys, I need to go. My ride’s here,” she smiled sadly as everyone arrived in the hotel lobby. She then began hugging everyone goodbye, including you, “I had so much fun. Thank you so much for letting me tag along with you. I’ll watch you tomorrow.”

You smiled, waving at her, as she walked away with Yoongi, who you assumed walked her to her ride. You watched their backs quietly. He was carrying her shopping bags and opened the door for her. They were still talking as they went out.

“I was thinking of visiting their bar here tonight,” Noah brought up, making you look back at your left group.

You smiled, “Noah, we have a show tomorrow.”

“I know! But Akio and I just want to visit it. I heard they have a jazz band every night, just want to see and listen,” he insisted. “Don’t you want to come?”

“I can’t,” you shook your head. “I think I’m already tired from all the walking we did. And I can’t drink before any show. I do stupid things.”

A lot of stupid shit.

“I’ll go with you!” Fred joined in, moving next to his two younger bandmates. “Don’t worry, YN, I’ll make sure that they won’t get drunk tonight.”

Akio joked, “Okay, Dad.”

Everyone laughed at that. Eventually, you parted with them. They went to the hotel bar while you walked to the elevator. You have to wait for a new one for a few minutes until the doors open. You got in, so ready to get into your room to change into your pajamas and rest. The doors were about to close in a few seconds when a hand slid in, triggering the sensors to open the doors again.

Of course, it’s Yoongi.

You looked away, your hands forming into fists inside your coat’s pockets. Yoongi walked in and stood on the opposite corner of the elevator. You and Yoongi in the elevator seemed to be a dangerous formula based on your last interaction in the same place. Completely opposite from your past closeness in the elevator back when you two got back from the afterparty, the air has completely shifted now. You stared at the mirrored walls in front of you, not wanting to look at him.

“So, is this how it’s gonna be until this tour ends?” he calmly whispered, leaning on the rail.

Yoongi took the initiative to break the silence once again because it’s getting hard. His chest is being filled with an overwhelming amount of words that he cannot let out. His brain is gonna explode with the thoughts filling it. All while his heart beats like crazy underneath his chest.

“What?” you mumbled.

He sighed, “You won’t talk to me or worse, even look at me? Like I’m just a ghost to you.”

Instead of answering, your eyes find comfort in the numbers counting down the floors your elevator passed by. You know you cannot do this forever, but you also know that you cannot do this right now with how messy your head is. So when you hear the familiar ding, you immediately step outside the doors.

Yoongi followed behind you, “Yeah, leave. That’s right.”

“I was not the first one who left,” you bit back without turning around, just walking to your door.

That sentence quickly made his blood boil, yet Yoongi tried to remain calm: “You were the one who asked me to leave that night, YN. You said there was a line we probably shouldn’t have crossed, and I understood. It’s fine. But you called me during New Year’s, and I don’t know what’s happening anymore, YN.”

It’s pointless to fight over that because you know that in the end, you were the one in the wrong. You were the one who made him leave, pointing out how everything is a mistake before it can even happen. You were also the one who called him, drunk, probably crying over him. But still, your head feels like a ransacked office. There are papers everywhere, drawers were all open and disheveled, and you’re just standing in the middle, helplessly not knowing what to do. 

You gathered up all of the courage in your system and finally turned around to look at him, “I don’t know what you want from me, Yoongi.”

“Talk, I want to talk with you, YN,” he whispered. He sounds tired yet calm and patient.

“I am talking with you right now.” 

He sighed, “You know what the hell I mean. I want us to talk about what happened. About us.”

“There’s no us to begin with,” you replied, and you can see something shift through his eyes. His brows scrunched together. But you went on, “and what’s the point anyway? You’re with someone else alre—”

“Bea’s a friend,” he cuts you off, quickly cleaning up any of your assumptions about his relationships. “Just a friend I invited to come watch. That’s all.”

“Yeah, right.” you chuckled dryly before attempting to open the door, but Yoongi held the knob before you can.

You still don’t believe him a hundred percent, Yoongi can tell. He continued, “She was not here to make you jealous. She saw my story that I’m in Tokyo, asked about the show, and I invited her to watch. I’m sorry that I—”

“Why are you apologizing?!” you snapped, like his apologizing is making everything harder for you. You can feel tears stinging in the corners of your eyes just because of how patient he is with you. “You don’t have to say sorry for that, Yoongi. You don’t owe me that.”

Your voice cracked at the end as you said his name. You looked down, feeling cornered. Yoongi’s shoulders tensed down. He wanted to reach out, hold you in his arms. But before he could step forward, you spoke again.

“Why do you want to talk with me?”

“I,” he sighed. “I just want us to go back the way we were before.’

“Before?” you repeated with your tone showing slight sarcasm. “Yoongi, before that night, we barely talked properly. We’re just co-workers who often disagree on things, flirt on stage, and ignore each other backstage.”

You clenched your fists as you let those lies come out of your mouth. It was untrue because when you look at him, you see someone who wrote and produced songs with him until 2 AM. The one who’s quiet and patient with every gimmick you pull during performance, going along easily. Someone who apologized even though he did not make you cry intentionally and bought you that thick souvenir notebook from Milwaukee, the one she brings with her everywhere to write songs on. And mostly, he is the only one who can easily read your thoughts just by staring at you quietly.

And maybe that's what led you to say those words to him. Yoongi is not just some person or colleague that you will see at work every day. But he’s your bassist. The moment everyone finds out about your messy situation with him, you will be much more than the provocative popstar who flirts. That title will change into the provocative popstar who flirts a lot with her bassists, considering that your last partner was also your past bassist.

The headlines. The gossip. The whispers. You can already imagine the names they will call you if ever you let Yoongi into your world.

“Is that so? That’s all it was to you?” Yoongi asked that calmly, sending a shiver down your spine. But he looked at you like you just slapped him across his face.

Suddenly, he felt like he could not read you anymore. Because he thought he understood everything right. He sensed that you were scared about crossing the professional boundaries you two have in the middle. Hence why you told him that night that you crossed the line you two probably should not have.

He even went so far, to assume that you feel the same thing every time you two end up staring into each other’s eyes. 

But maybe he was wrong.

Maybe you are really just a good performer. Someone who can really make people feel the words you were singing through your eyes. Maybe he is just stupid to believe that the jokes, stares, and kisses meant something more than just humor and gimmicks. 

So he took a step back, nodding, “Fine, maybe we don’t have anything to talk about anymore.”

There was a finality in his tone when you heard that. Surrender. You didn’t dare to say anything. Instead, you bit your lower lip to avoid it from shaking too much. Yoongi looked at you like he was still waiting for you to say something, but you avoided his gaze and looked down.

Receiving nothing from you, Yoongi took it as a sign and walked away, taking all the strength in him not to look back.

“You won’t talk to me or worse, even look at me? Like I’m just a ghost to you.”

His words repeated in your head as you lay on your bed hours after that conversation. Another tear slipped from your eyes, rolling down to your cheeks. You groaned, reaching for a pen and your favorite notebook. Writing the first words in your head,

You should take it as a compliment that I'm talkin' to everyone here but you

additional note | i was editing this then ot7 live happened!! I'm still over the moon seeing them together again after two years!! anyway, I know this one is *so angsty*. i'll try to post something lighter later haha tysm for reading <3

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[meazalykov]

mystery

barcelona femeni x lena oberdorf x reader

the team finds out about your potential relationship at the same time as everyone else

the chill of december bites at your skin as you step off the plane, a light fog of condensation forming with each exhale. 

cairo airport is filled with activity, a stark contrast to the quiet ache in your chest from leaving barcelona behind for the break. everyone else scattered to their families..alexia to her parents, mapi to her sisters.. ingrid tagging along with mapi.

however, you made a different choice. you texted lena as soon as the winter schedule was released, your fingers shaking with equal parts nerves and excitement as you hit send. her response had been almost immediate: 

yes, come to me.

the cab ride to the german resort in egypt feels longer than it is, the traffic weaving around you in a rhythm you can’t quite predict. your mind drifts to her…how her voice sounded over the phone just the night before, soft and inviting despite her latest recovery session. 

you remember the way she laughed when you told her you’d packed her favorite chocolate from spain, calling you “extra” with a playful tease. 

when you finally step into the lobby, obi is already waiting with lea. she stands near the entrance, her dark shirt hanging loosely on her body, her hair tied back in a simple ponytail. 

obi’s eyes light up the second they meet yours, a warmth there that makes the entire journey feel worth it. she doesn’t move right away..her lips curl into that familiar smile, the one that always tugs at something deep inside your chest, and then she steps forward. 

“you’re here,” she says, as if she needs to convince herself this isn’t just another late-night call or grainy video chat. 

“i’m here,” you echo, your voice quieter, carrying all the weight of missing her and finally seeing her again. 

she pulls you into her arms before you can say anything else, her grip firm but tender, as though she’s afraid you might disappear if she holds too tightly. the scent of her shampoo..something citrusy and sharp..mixes with the faint chill on her skin, and you close your eyes, melting into the familiarity of her embrace. 

obi’s hands trace soothing lines along your lower back, and for a moment, the rest of the world fades. it’s just you and her, breathing each other in.

“you must be exhausted,” she says when she pulls back slightly, her hands still resting on your shoulders. obi’s eyes scan your face like she’s memorizing every detail all over again. 

“i’ve had worse travel days,” you joke, but lena shakes her head, her lips quirking in mild disapproval. 

“you never let me take care of you,” she mutters, almost to herself, before lacing her fingers with yours and tugging you toward the elevator. 

“no hey for me?” lea jokes. 

“how could i forget about my favorite person here!” you laugh, pulling lea into a tight hug.

“hey!” lena says which gets a good laugh out of lea and you.

the ride up to obi’s room is quiet, save for the faint hum of holiday music filtering through the speakers. lena leans against the wall, her thumb absently brushing over your knuckles. 

you don’t say much..it’s a comfortable silence, the kind that comes with knowing someone so intimately that words aren’t always necessary. 

once inside the room, lena drops her small bag near the small table and immediately turns to you. she’s always been like this…direct, unguarded when it’s just the two of you. she steps closer, her hands finding your cheeks, her thumbs brushing lightly over your skin. 

“you’re really here,” she whispers, and this time it sounds more like a confession, a quiet marvel at the reality of it. 

“of course i am,” you reply, your voice steady even though your heart is racing under her gaze. 

“you think i’d spend with anyone else?” 

obi’s smile softens, and she presses a kiss to your forehead before resting her own against it. 

“you have no idea how much i’ve missed you.”

you think you do. you’ve felt it in every passing day since the last time she came to barcelona to see you, when you had to say goodbye in the quiet of your apartment, neither of you wanting to let go. you feel it now, in the way her hands linger on you like she’s trying to make up for lost time. 

“probably as much as i’ve missed you,” you say, and it earns you that laugh…the low, melodic one that makes your chest feel impossibly full. 

“impossible,” she teases, before finally pulling away just enough to guide you to the bed. 

you lay down cuddling with her for a brief moment before you have to go outside for more activities. the both of you talk lightly, just discussing things that maybe you guys didn’t on the phone. 

she mentions lea and kathi’s terrible jokes during her recovery sessions. there’s a tenderness in her voice whenever she talks about her friends, and you’re grateful her friends has been there for her during the times you couldn’t be since you played in barcelona. 

after a night out, where lena djs with her friends while you just sit with lea by the bars in support.. you feel the exhaustion from the trip begin to creep in, but lena seems to notice before you can say anything. 

she nudges you gently, her arm wrapping around your shoulders as she takes you back to your shared hotel room. 

“sleep,” she murmurs, her voice low and soothing. 

“i will still be here, i am just going to the bathroom to get unready.” 

maybe five minutes later.. you feel yourself getting pulled into her arms, in this secret little world you’ve built together in egypt while the time lasts. 

throughout the next week in egypt felt like a dream. the kind of dream you never wanted to wake up from or escape. you and lena spent days exploring, stealing moments for yourselves, surrounded by her closest friends. 

the most thrilling part of it all? riding dune buggies across the sprawling sands. the powerful machines roared as you navigated the uneven terrain, the wind whipping against your face as lena rode beside you, grinning like a kid who just found her favorite candy.

somewhere in the golden expanse of the desert, lea insisted on capturing photos of everyone. lena was her usual reluctant self, but you? you were feeling the sun on your skin, the freedom in the air. 

when lea aimed the camera your way, she didn’t even have to ask you to stand still when you started walking so you had your own individual pictures. 

the timing of the pictures couldn’t have been more perfect..your hair moved gently in the breeze, and the sunlight painted your skin with a radiant glow, setting you apart from the vast golden orange backdrop of sand. 

“oh wow this one’s stunning,” lea grinned, showing the screen to lena first. obi’s eyes lingered on the image a moment longer than necessary, a small, almost imperceptible smile pulling at her lips before she nodded.

“you’re posting that, right?” lena asked, her tone teasing but edged with sincerity. 

you did. how could you not? it was the kind of picture that didn’t come around often. within minutes, your feed was getting notifications. 

what you didn’t expect was for some eagle eyed fans to piece together that lena and lea had posted stories from the exact same desert in the same hour. while neither of them appeared in your photo, the connection was made…three high-profile football players in the same place, at the same time?

the internet was quick to notice. 

still, everything was manageable. until lena, in true lena fashion, decided to break the silence. obi’s comment on your post was simple, direct: 

hot

that one word sent shockwaves through your notifications. 

suddenly, the noise grew louder. fans were scrambling for answers, dissecting every post and interaction…or lack thereof. you and lena had never made a habit of commenting on each other’s photos, not publicly, at least. 

sure, you liked her posts, and she liked yours, but it was subtle. this? this was anything but subtle. you were not mad at lena, in fact, you kind of enjoyed that people were starting to know about this.

the first text came late that night. your phone buzzed on the nightstand as you lay beside lena, who was lazily scrolling through her own notifications. 

ingrid. 

ingrid: what are you doing in egypt with obi? 

ingrid: nothing wrong! i didn’t think that you guys even knew of each other

you stared at the screen for a moment, debating your response. lena noticed, leaning over to catch a glimpse of her old wolfsburg teammate texting you. 

“are you going to answer her?” she asked, her voice calm but curious. 

“not yet,” you murmured, locking the phone and setting it back down. lena chuckled, pressing a kiss to your lips before tossing your phone to the side.

the texts didn’t stop there. by morning, your phone was flooded…alexia, salma, frido, ewa. all of them had the same question: 

alexia: what's going on? 

ewa: i see you guys 😏😏 

salma: so what are you doing in egypttt!??? 😏😏🤨

fridolina: since when did you and obi start dating? 

later, lena posted her slideshow on instagram. a collection of moments from the trip since its your last day here: the sunset over the desert, the group at dinner, her in the pool. 

however, it was the last photo that threw everything into chaos. the picture was taken by the dj booth, all of you in one frame. lea stood between phil and fridolin, and lena stood on fridolin’s other side. 

there you were, at the end, lena’s arm draped comfortably around your shoulders, your head leaning against hers. 

the comments exploded. 

HELLO???

wait… are they together?! 

obi and y/n?? since when?? 

HOW DID WE NOT SEE THIS COMING?!

THE HARD LAUNCH OKAYYY

lena smirked at the influx of attention, but you could feel the tension brewing in your phone as it buzzed relentlessly on the table. by now, the barcelona group chat was probably in flames. 

you could picture alexia starting her own mini investigation, salma and frido laughing at the absurdity, and ewa typing out a flurry of messages just to be nosey about her old teammate and new teammate being together. 

“they’re not going to let this go, you know,” lena said, her tone light as she scrolled through her own growing list of missed calls and texts from her bayern teammates like kathi, tuva, and georgia. 

“i know,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair. 

“but we’ll figure it out when we get back. you to munich, me to barcelona.”

lena smiled, pulling you closer. 

“as long as i have my beautiful sexy girlfriend, then i am okay.” 

you giggled. 

back in barcelona, a week after you and obi left egypt.. the locker room is quiet as you push the door open, though the quiet feels almost… staged. 

your footsteps echo slightly as you step in, and the moment you glance up, you realize why. every single one of your teammates is staring at you, arms crossed, smirks plastered across their faces like they’ve been waiting for this exact moment.

“so,” vicky starts, leaning against her locker with the kind of casual confidence that spells trouble. 

“how was egypt with your new girlfriend?”

you roll your eyes, already regretting every decision that led to this. 

“good morning to you too,” you mutter, heading straight for your locker, hoping and praying that they’ll let it slide. 

they won’t.

salma snickers as she moves to sit beside your locker, her grin way too wide. 

“you’re not even going to deny it, are you?”

“what’s there to deny?” you sigh, pulling off your hoodie and grabbing your training shirt. your hands move a little quicker than usual, like if you’re dressed fast enough, they might lose interest. 

they don’t.

“what’s there to deny?” ewa repeats, feigning shock. 

“you’ve been secretly dating obi, and you think we’re just going to let that slide without asking questions?”

you groan internally but keep your face calm, pulling your shirt over your head and starting on your socks. 

“it’s not a secret anymore, is it?” you reply, your tone steady, but the small smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

“how long?” ewa presses, leaning forward. 

“and don’t even think about lying.”

you glance up at her, then at the rest of the team, who are all waiting, some sitting on the benches, others leaning against lockers, every single one of them focused on you.

 alexia, standing near the door, raises an eyebrow as if to say, you might as well tell them.

“four months,” you say finally, your voice even. 

the reaction is instant. gasps, laughter, and a mix of disbelief ripple through the room.

“four months?” frido exclaims. 

“and you didn’t tell anyone? not even us?”

“i told esmee,” you admit, earning a collective groan from the group.

esmee turns her head away from the team, hoping to not become the center of the teasing since she didn’t spill your secret. 

salma throws her hands up dramatically. 

“esmee doesn’t count. she’s your best friend here.”

you shake your head, tying your laces as you prepare for the next wave of teasing. 

“obi and i wanted to keep it private for a while,” you explain, keeping your voice calm despite the heat rising to your cheeks. 

“it’s long-distance. clearly since she plays at bayern. we wanted to make sure it worked before people started asking questions or… making assumptions.”

that quiets them for a moment, and alexia nods slightly, her expression softening. 

“that makes sense,” she says, her tone understanding. 

“it’s a lot of pressure, especially with both of you playing in different places.”

you give her a small, grateful smile before aitana pipes up. 

“but you’re terrible at keeping secrets, you know that, right?” 

the whole room erupts in laughter, and even you can’t help but join in. 

“apparently,” you admit, grabbing your water bottle and heading toward the door. 

“hey, for what it’s worth,” vicky calls out as you reach the exit, 

“you make a cute couple. but don’t think this means we’re done teasing you.” 

you roll your eyes but grin despite yourself. 

“i wouldn’t expect anything less.” 

masterlist

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Imperfections and All

|| Jinx x fem!reader

|| Warnings; Jinx having a breakdown, crying, hearing voices, seeing people that aren't there, brief season two/end of season one spoilers, reader comforting Jinx

|| Summary; when reader finds Jinx, Jinx isn't fully there.

Requests closed!

Started; December 1st

Finished; December 1st

HurtCember2024; Day 2, Breakdown

~~~

A familiar cold laughter filled the air. You'd walked into your girlfriend's workshop, taking light steps over the metal surface. Walking through here always made you nervous; there were no railings. So you made sure to tread carefully.

"Jinx?" You called. The laughter didn't seem to stop. It continued until you found her. Curled up in a ball under her workbench. Eyes wide, head in her hands. Gripping at her hair while muttering nonsense to herself. You hated seeing her like this. It pained you knowing the girl you loved went through everything that she did. Jinx didn't deserve it. Nobody deserved this.

Her eyes snapped to you. You weren't sure if she was even seeing you. That happened, sometimes. Jinx would look at you and say another name. Sometimes Vi, Claggor, Mylo, even Vander and Caitlyn. Lately Silco. It was always another name when she was like this. But never yours. That had to be a good sign, right? Your voice wasn't tormenting her. "What're you looking at, Mylo? You happy? Turned into the Jinx you always thought I was." Jinx's words came out as a spit. Making you frown.

Slowly, carefully. You moved yourself under the workbench. Settling down beside her. Your skin brushing against each other. "It's me, Jinx." You assured her. Hesitant at first, but slowly your hand moved to her knee. Cupping it in an attempt to ground her. It didn't. Jinx flinched away from you, eyes wide. She hid her face in her hands again. Continued mutters, a lot of 'shut ups'. Never directed at you. Never you.

"Hey..." You reached out again. Gently taking her hands from her face and bringing her into your arms. Jinx tried to fight it. But caved and sobbed into you. Maybe she realized through her breakdown that it was you holding her. Or she was just desperate for comfort. You weren't sure. It could be either or something else entirely with her. You held her regardless. Whispering soft phrases of comfort. Trying to ease her back to you.

You weren't sure how much time had passed before you faintly heard what sounded like Jinx muttering your name. You looked to her and she lifted her head up. Eyes red from the tears that had fallen. They were softer, though. Nothing like the look Jinx had when you first found her. "How long have you..."

"Not sure," you admitted. Knowing she was asking how long you'd been there; wondering how much you had seen of her breakdown. Jinx sighed and slumped against you. Tired out from it all. Eyes half lidded. Your hands found hers, keeping them in your lap. Gently tracing her knuckles to soothe her.

"Why do you stay..?" Jinx asked after a long moment of silence. You didn't have to think about it. You knew exactly why. You loved her. Regardless of her faults. Jinx was yours; you would help her through hell if you had to. It didn't matter to you. As long as you got her.

"Because I love you. Imperfections and all."

Jinx's eyes searched yours. Looking for any sign of a lie. The slightest bit of hesitation. Anything to convince herself you weren't being truthful. But when she found none, her shoulders eased. Reminding herself you weren't like the others. You weren't her sister. You weren't Mylo, Clagger, Vander, Caitlyn. Or even Silco. You were you. Always there. Reminding her how much you loved her, no matter how insane she got. How out of place she felt. It never mattered to you. All that you wanted was her. Your loyalty was one of the things Jinx clung to. If she lost you...

The atmosphere was calmer now as Jinx's eyes met yours. The faint smile on your lips bringing her back to reality with you. "There you are," you murmured. Hand cupping Jinx's cheek. Feeling when she leaned into your touch. Jinx's arms wrapped themselves around you. Her legs clinging around your waist. Looking a lot like you had a koala attached to your front. Her face buried into your neck. You let the girl get comfortable. Knowing it was what she needed now more than ever," I've got you. I always will," your head came down and your cheek pressed to the top of Jinx's head. Your own arms latching around her. Trying to get impossibly closer.

"I love you, too," you could faintly hear Jinx's voice. Quite a bit quieter than how she normally spoke with you. The bubbly, energetic version of herself buried deep within. But her words were genuine nonetheless. You smiled and kissed the side of her head. Understanding that she just needed sometime to find herself again. A search you would gladly be the guide for.

[darknight3904]

𝘐𝘴 𝘐𝘵 𝘕𝘦𝘸 𝘠𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘠𝘦𝘵?

𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘏𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘶𝘮𝘱 𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘓𝘢𝘶𝘳𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘰𝘺.

𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘱𝘰𝘰𝘭 & 𝘞𝘰𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘦 (2024).

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘖𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘓𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵.

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘝𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦.

𝘉𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘺 𝘚𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘢 𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳.

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 2.4 𝘬

𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 / 𝘔𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

Logan dislikes December. He always has. From the over priced gifts to the over played music, who could forget the biting cold. He hated it all. One of the things he hated most had to be some of the desserts people tried to pass off as edible.

"Get that out of my face." He growls as you try to feed him a forkful of something Al made

"One taste, Logan." You groan

"Don't like fruitcake. Makes me sick." He grumbles, "You eat it."

"But what if she screwed it up. Like those cookies she made that she used salt instead of sugar in?" You pout

"So I'm your guinea pig?" He asks with a sigh

"No! You're my loving boyfriend who will try Al's cooking for me."

"Nice try, bub." Logan takes the fork from your hands and set it back down on the plate, "I'm not dying of food poisoning."

You scoff, like food poisoning would be the thing to take him out.

"Hey, do we have any more lights? I think this strand is broken." Laura asks as she digs through boxes of decorations

"Uhh...I think we had a few more strands somewhere." You say, leaving Logan's side to help the girl with her decoration.

For whatever reason, you and Laura had insisted on not only buying an enormous tree but also that the entire apartment needed to look like an elf threw up in it. Odd little decorations had accumulated in every spare surface of the house. Even Logan's favorite coffee mug had been replaced by a Santa-shaped one that Wade had found at some store. He was pretty sure he was living in a nightmare.

"Do you think he's still scowling over the fruitcake?" You ask

"Probably. I bet his face is doing that dumb thing where it-"

"You two know I can hear you, right?" Logan asked, entering the living room and plopping down on the couch

"If you're not going to eat, can't you help?" You ask

"Help with what?" He sighs

You toss a big ball of tangled-up lights for the tree into his lap. Yes, this really was a nightmare he was stuck in.

Another issue Logan had was gift-giving. Not because he didn't think people deserved gifts, but he never knew what to buy. He'd been alive for nearly 200 Christmases and he still struggled with gift-giving. How's that for bad luck?

He already had something for nearly everyone in his life. Al was getting a container of that hair stuff she liked, Wade and Vanessa were getting matching Hello Kitty sweatshirts, hell he even found a toy for Mary sitting in a discount bin at the grocery store. Now, the two biggest struggles in his life, You and Laura.

Laura had asked for new games for her Switch but Logan had a suspicion you bought them already. So, here he was standing in a Macy's in the Young Women's section, hoping something would catch his eye for the teen in his life. Most of the clothes were either ugly or not her style.

Holy shit, there was no way that qualified as a top. Logan wouldn't let Laura two steps out the door in something like that. That had to be an undershirt or something...right?

An ugly sweater catches his eye. Perhaps he could get her a gag gift. There was a sweater with an overweight cow drinking beer. That seemed decent.

"Excuse me, son. I need to get by."

Logan glances down to see a little old lady pushing a shopping cart. He steps to the side and easily lets her slide past.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" He blurts out to her

"Of course!" She smiled

"I got this teen girl at home. I need gift ideas." He sighs, "She's not the girliest and I can't figure it out."

The woman stands there for a second and thinks it over. A small snap of her wrinkled fingers cut through the air.

"How about shoes? Girly girl or not, every young girl likes a new pair of shoes every once in a while."

Logan thought about it, what shoes did Laura even wear? Usually, she was in that black pair of boots. Surely this huge store had something like that.

"Sounds perfect." He nods, "Do you have any ideas for my girl?"

"Oh well, what does she like?" The woman asks

What do you like? He swears he knows yet his brain is empty right now. You like him, that's for sure, "She likes me. I think"

"You're a bit empty-headed, aren't you?" The woman chuckles

Logan slowly nodded in agreement, normally an insult like that would have him simmering but he couldn't fight this old woman. She looked like she was 90.

"Well, when I was young, I always liked receiving a nice pair of pajamas. Or, a candle that smells like cookies. Honestly, I still like getting those things. One of my favorite things though to get was a day of peace and quiet. I used to tell my husband Howard to clean the house and take the kids out in the snow so I could take a long bath and read a book."

Logan thanks the woman, who he learns her name is Darlene, and goes off to find a pair of boots for Laura. He guesses on the size and shoves the gift receipt in the box just in case. He feels a bit unsuccessful as he walks back to the apartment he shares with Laura and you. He had one day left. Christmas Eve was tomorrow and you had wanted to bake cookies and watch movies all day.

He stashed the gifts under the bed, making a mental note to wrap them tonight after you passed out in bed. He tossed the idea around his brain of just giving himself as a gift to you, he'd like that if you did that for him. Honestly, it was the perfect gift for him. Of course, it seemed lamer coming from him now since he had done that for your birthday. Sure, the sex had been great but he wanted to give you something better.

Darlene had suggested pajamas but all you ever wore were his t-shirts to bed, that or nothing. You already had a huge collection of candles, and Laura really wasn't that chaotic so he didn't see any need to keep her away from you.

Fuck, what was he going to do?

The loud slam of the front door has him groaning. You were back from work, and he was still empty-handed in the gift department.

"How was work?" Laura asks

"Good. I gave Matt his gift early since he is driving to his parent's house for the next few days. Oh! I also saw the cutest kitten in that Petshop's window. An itty bitty orange one, looked like he was a few weeks old." You sigh dreamily

Logan officially had an idea. Perhaps it was a bad one, cats never did like him. Oh, fuck it, it beats not having a gift.

The next day, he sets out early. Laura is still snoring in her bed and you've gone off to help Vanessa with something. It's the perfect time to sneak a cat into the apartment.

The pet store is just opening as he arrives. The single employee looks like he'd rather be anywhere else as he welcomes Logan to the store with a monotone voice. So much for the Christmas spirit.

"Hey, there was an orange kitten here. Where is it?" Logan asked looking around an empty cage that was labeled Cats

"What?" The guy asked, not listening

"The orange kitten." Logan huffs, "I want to buy him."

"Oh, he was sold last night. Some lady came in, said her kids wanted a cat for Christmas." The guy says

"What?" Logan asks

"He's gone, man." The guy snorts

"Well, when do you get more?" Logan asks he can feel his blood pressure rising but he took a deep breath.

"More what?" The guy asks dumbly

"Cats! When do you get more fucking cats?!" Logan angrily slams his hand on the counter, "I need one for my girl. Any color I don't give a shit!"

"Oh, not for a while. Probably after the new year. The holiday season, those kittens go fast." The guy shrugs, "The shelters don't really give us too many at a time anyway."

Logan wipes a hand over his face with a groan, "You're really unfuckinghelpful."

Back outside, Logan's legs carry him to the bar he always went to when he was stressed. Two glasses of whiskey deep he's still giftless. It was starting to look like he was going to be the gift. Maybe he could borrow that giant bow Wade had, wrap it around his waist, and surprise you. He was so fucking lame.

Logan stumbles back out onto the sidewalk. Thoroughly drunk, he thinks about hiding in Wade and Al's apartment until this Christmas is over. Seriously, is it New Year's yet? He was losing his damn mind over this entire month.

Down a back alleyway, he pukes into a dumpster. He might've overdone it this time. How long was he even at the bar? You were so going to chew into him about this. A loud crash behind him had him jumping. He spins around, ready for some fight. Instead, little pawprints in the snow catch his eye. They lead to the smallest drain pipe Logan's ever seen. He kneels down, feeling the snow soak into his pants as he peers into the pipe. A little black and white kitten with yellow eyes stares back at him.

Maybe he wasn't entirely fucked this Christmas after all.

"Hey, bub." He greets the kitten, "Wanna c'mon out?"

He sticks a finger into the drain pipe and recoils when the kitten slices it open with a claw.

"Motherfucker!" He curses at the sudden, unexpected pain. The cat hisses from inside the pipe and Logan groans.

He sticks his face closer to the pipe and the kitten backs up a few small steps.

"Listen here, you little shit stain. You're going to save my ass tomorrow morning, so get out here. Or so help me I'll- "

The animal mockingly meows in his face.

A can of tuna from the corner store, and multiple scratches later, Logan is victorious. The black and white kitten has been secured. Logan has it tightly bundled up in his jacket, in an effort to not only keep it warm but also keep it from scratching his eyes out.

When he reaches the apartment, he pushes the door open and calls your name. Lucky for him, you're still out with Vanessa. He enters the bathroom and shuts it behind him.

"Bath time you little monster. I can't have you stinking tomorrow up."

The kitten, despite it's size is elusively strong. It wiggles out of Logan's grasp multiple times and somehow manages to have his entire shirt soaked from the water that he's filled the sink with.

"It's warm water. Just gotta rinse the soap off." He reasons with the animal as it scratches at the door.

"Is someone in here?" Laura's voice calls

"Yeah, It's me. Bathroom!" He yells back

The bathroom door swings open just as he snatches the kitten back up and Laura stares at him in bewilderment.

"What are you doing? Is that a cat?"

"No, he's the devil. Help me rinse it." Logan huffs

To his dismay, Laura is able to get the cat to stay relatively still under the running water as she rinses the soap off.

"Where did you find a kitten? That local pet store is sold out." She says

"You know that bar a few blocks away?" He asks

"The one you go to when you stress drink?" Laura asks, her eyes narrowing in suspicion

Logan shoots her a look but nods, " I found him in a drain pipe nearby."

Laura coos down at the little animal as she wraps a big towel around it.

"What's its name?" She asks as she dries it off

"I dunno. Frank?" He shrugs sitting down on the edge of the tub

"Not everything can be named Frank," Laura judges him

"Alright, fine." He huffs, and a wreath that you hung on the bathroom door catches his eye. Jingle bells that gleam in the light are decorated with holly and berries adorn the wreath.

"Jingle. Or maybe Bell." He says staring at the wet kitten who seems hypnotized by Laura.

"Sounds good to me." She smiles at the kitten who meows back, "Hello, Jingle."

Logan sighs in relief and stands up, "Hide Jingle in your room."

"Where are you going?" Laura asks as he exits the bathroom

"Jingle needs a place to shit. We need cat stuff."

The next day, Logan is woken up by you gently kissing his neck.

"Morning." He mumbles

"Good morning." You smile, "It's Christmas."

He nods with a small grin.

"C'mon time to get up." You huff and stand up to pull at his arm

"What are you five?" He groans as you fail to move him

"Yes. Now get up."

Presents opened and a million pictures taken, Logan feels even more tired than when he went to bed last night.

To his glee, Laura loves the boots, and he's even managed to get the right size. Darlene as it turns out is full of good ideas.

"Last one." He says to you, "Put your hands out and close your eyes."

You give him a look like he's about to prank you.

"Wade put a cicada in your hands one time and now you distrust everyone?" He asks

"Yes. That was the scariest moment of my life." You affirm

"Just shut your eyes." Logan huffs

He has somehow gotten Jingle to stay in a little basket he found in the closet and he gingerly places it into your hands. The kitten shifts and nearly tips the basket over as you open your eyes.

"Logan!" You gasp, looking between him and the black-and-white fuzz ball.

"Like it? That orange one was gone when I got to the store. But I-"

You're jumping off the couch and tossing your arms around his broad shoulders. Jingle still sitting in his basket.

"I love him." You smile, leaning in for a kiss

"Good. You have no idea what I went through to get him for you." He presses a chaste kiss to your lips, aware that Laura is watching and just a sentence away from teasing him.

"What's his name?" You ask as he lets you go, "Or are you a girl?"

Logan hadn't bothered to check as he shrugs and you pick the kitten up, lifting it's little tail up.

"A boy...I think" You say

"We were going with Jingle." He says looking at Laura who nods, "But you can change it."

"I think that's perfect." You smile, petting the animal's head.

Luckily this cat likes you a lot more than it liked him yesterday. Logan's eyes narrow at the way the cat stares at him, what was this animal's deal?

"So how'd you get him?" You ask curiously

"Would you believe me if I said I nicely talked to him and then let him follow me home?"

"No, not in a thousand years."

Logan chuckles as you smile back at him. Alright, maybe the holidays aren't so bad. He still thinks New Years could come quicker though.

Next Extra

I was feeling like I needed Christmas when I wrote this. Fun fact, originally I was going to have Logan tell the reader he loved them with a kitten at Christmas. Scrapped that for the scene in the yard at the school. :)

Also, I've gotten a couple of anons sliding into my inbox asking if I'm doing kinktober or anything like that. I am not unfortunately as I have a busy college schedule that is somehow getting even busier... that being said I do still plan to write just not on a daily basis.

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[insidekatmind]

That Girl Is Mine ~ Kylian Mbappé × Reader × Vinícius Jr. (Feat. Jude Bellingham)

Madrid was the city of lights, football, and dreams. The Spanish capital buzzed with fans, paparazzi, and tourists wandering through its charming streets. You were there, an ordinary girl thrust into an extraordinary world. You worked as a sports journalist, but what no one knew—and what you carefully kept hidden—was your secret relationship with Jude Bellingham, the young talent of Real Madrid.

But your life was far from simple. Aside from the secrecy, there was a rather... awkward issue: two of your most famous colleagues, Kylian Mbappé and Vinícius Júnior, seemed to be in a constant battle for your attention.

It was a crisp December evening, and the Santiago Bernabéu was still glowing under the post-match lights. Real Madrid had just won an important match, and as usual, you were busy navigating the post-game interviews. Jude had thrown you a quick, meaningful glance as he passed by. That subtle smile of his was all you needed to feel reassured, even though you had to pretend it was just a casual gesture.

You were packing up your things when Kylian approached you. Still wearing his Real Madrid jersey, his forehead glistening with sweat, his confident and charming smile remained intact.

"Are you sure you don’t want to stick around for a drink with us? I’ve noticed you work too much," he said, his tone low but loaded with a suggestion you couldn’t ignore.

You smiled, keeping your tone professional. "Thanks, Kylian, but I have a lot of work to do."

"Ah, work, work..." he replied, shaking his head. "Sometimes, you need to live a little. You know, there’s so much of Madrid you haven’t seen yet. I could show you the city."

Before you could respond, a familiar voice interrupted the conversation. "Show her the city? Kylian, I don’t think she needs a guide. I’ve lived here longer than you, remember?"

Vinícius had appeared beside you both, a provocative smile on his lips. It was clear he had been eavesdropping on every word. His eyes gleamed with challenge as he looked at his teammate. You, caught in the middle, felt like a pawn in a game you hadn’t chosen to play.

"Vinícius, same old," Kylian replied with a smile, though his eyes betrayed a certain tension. "I wasn’t talking to you, anyway."

Vinícius turned to you. "So, what do you say? The city of Madrid is much more interesting than Kylian can make it seem. We could explore the real neighborhoods, away from the tourists."

It was as if the world had stopped around you. You needed an excuse, fast. "Thanks to both of you, but honestly, I’m tired tonight. Maybe another time."

They didn’t look convinced, but there wasn’t much else they could do but let you go.

Later that evening, you were finally home. Your phone buzzed, and you smiled at Jude’s message.

Jude: "Everything okay? I saw Kylian and Vini hanging around you… I’m jealous. See you tomorrow after training, okay?"

You quickly replied. "Everything’s fine, I promise. See you tomorrow."

Your conversations were simple, sweet, and reassuring. Jude was your anchor amidst the chaos. But the next day, things became even more complicated.

During training at Valdebebas, you were there for a series of interviews. It was impossible to ignore the looks Kylian and Vinícius kept throwing your way as they ran on the field. Even Jude seemed to notice, though he remained focused on his drills.

After the session, Kylian was the first to approach. "You know, yesterday I couldn’t help but notice you always seem distant. Is something wrong? Can I help?"

You were trying to form a reply when Vinícius interrupted, wiping his face with a shirt. "Hey, Kylian, are you interrogating her? Maybe she just wants a bit of peace."

"Maybe you should mind your own business, Vini," Kylian shot back, his tone irritated.

"Guys, please," you intervened, trying to stay calm. "I’m just doing my job."

But inside, your heart was pounding. Their interest was flattering, but also a problem. You couldn’t afford for anyone to find out about your relationship with Jude. And yet, every glance and every word exchanged only heightened the tension.

That evening, as you sat with Jude at your secret spot—a small café hidden in the heart of Madrid—you told him everything. He listened attentively, his face serious.

"I don’t like the way they’re acting," he said, squeezing your hand under the table. "But I understand we can’t do anything for now. I promise we’ll find a way to live all of this out in the open one day."

You smiled at him, feeling safe in his presence. Jude wasn’t just your boyfriend; he was your refuge amidst the chaos of a life that felt like a novel. But you knew the story between you, Kylian, and Vinícius was far from over. And Madrid, with its lights and secrets, was the perfect stage for the next act.

The tension was palpable, like a taut rope about to snap. Over the following days, Kylian and Vinícius’s gestures and attitudes became more explicit. Seemingly innocent comments turned into subtly suggestive remarks, lunch invitations, and lingering glances. Jude, despite his calm and rational nature, had begun to show signs of irritation.

One evening, after a crucial match at the Bernabéu, things came to a head.

After the game, while you were gathering material for an article, Vinícius approached you in the tunnel leading to the locker rooms. He was still sweaty, but his mischievous smile was flawless.

"So, have you thought about my invitation? I’ll take you somewhere no one knows, guaranteed. Just you and me, no distractions," he said, his tone a bit too familiar for your liking.

Before you could respond, Kylian appeared behind you both, interrupting the conversation. "Ah, Vini, aren’t you tired of playing the romantic? Sorry for you, but I think her time is already booked for the evening."

You sighed, trying to stay calm. "Guys, enough with these games. I’ve already told you I’m not interested."

Vinícius laughed, leaning slightly forward as if he found it all incredibly amusing. "Really? You don’t seem that uninterested."

It was then that Jude appeared, striding out of the locker room with a determined walk. He wasn’t smiling. In fact, his face was tense, his gaze a mix of anger and resolve.

"Vini, Kylian, stop," he said, his voice calm but authoritative. Both turned to him, surprised.

Kylian crossed his arms, frowning. "And what does this have to do with you, Jude?"

"It has everything to do with me," Jude replied, stepping closer. He glanced at you briefly before addressing them directly. "She’s my girlfriend. And she has been for a long time. So, with all due respect, you need to stop."

The silence that followed was deafening. Vinícius and Kylian stood frozen, unable to hide their shock. Your heart was racing, but you also felt a sense of relief. Finally, the truth was out.

"Are you serious?" Kylian asked, incredulous. "She’s...?"

"Yes," Jude said firmly, locking eyes with them. "And now that you know, I’m asking you to respect us."

Vinícius looked almost offended. "And you thought to tell us like this, after all this time? Maybe you should have made it clear earlier."

"It wasn’t your business," Jude shot back, his tone hard. "But now you know. Enough with the games."

Kylian ran a hand through his hair, trying to process it all. Then he looked at you, a hint of disappointment in his gaze. "And you? Why didn’t you ever tell us?"

"I couldn’t," you said, your voice firm but calm. "We wanted to keep it private. That doesn’t mean I was playing with you."

Kylian nodded slowly, as if trying to come to terms with the situation. Vinícius, on the other hand, looked less convinced but said nothing. After a few moments of tension, they both walked away, leaving you alone with Jude.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Jude turned to you, his face softening. "I’m sorry, but I couldn’t stand seeing them act like that anymore. They needed to know."

You stepped closer to him, placing a hand on his arm. "You did the right thing. I couldn’t take it anymore either."

Jude sighed, pulling you into a hug. "From now on, no more secrets. I don’t care what people say. What matters is that it’s us."

You melted into his embrace, finally feeling free. Even though you knew the gossip would start soon, you didn’t care anymore. Madrid was full of secrets, but yours was no longer one of them.

[floodflameschosen]

BURNING OUT.

Summary: During the first week of December, a postcard arrives—no name, no return address, just a drunken confession from a stranger who appears to be as lost and lonely as you are this holiday season. Pairing: Noah Sebastian x F!Reader CW: grief, mental health issues (mainly depression), alcohol consumption, open ending Word Count: 11.4k

The postcard arrives on a Tuesday.

You almost miss it at first, tucked between bills you don't want to open and catalogs addressed to someone who no longer lives there—because no matter how many times you informed the magazine that their client’s address has changed, they keep sending the goddamn catalogs every month.

It's only when you're ready to place the pile upon the kitchen counter, intending to just leave the papers there to cluster the space until you eventually muster the energy to toss it all out—as you've been doing with pretty much everything else lately—does the cheap cardstock fall loose and land face up on the floor.

The words are scrawled in messy, uneven handwriting:

“Hey,

I used to live in your house. I’m drunk in Virginia, and it’s the only address I know.

Happy Holidays.”

You read it once.

Twice.

Then again.

There’s no name. No return address. Just a half-hearted message from a drunk stranger who probably won’t even remember sending it.

You should just throw it away.

You should roll your eyes, crumple it up, and move on. But you don't.

Instead, you stand there at the counter, holding it between your fingers, staring at the ink until the letters blur.

Outside, the streets are alive with Christmas lights and half-melted snow, with couples walking around wrapped in scarves and mittens, and with families cramming into local restaurants for holiday dinners.

The world is vivid and bright, covered in a soft winter glow. But not for you.

For you, the season is nothing but cold. Empty. A reminder of all the things you've lost this year.

You used to love this time of year—both of you did. The decorations, the ugly sweaters, the way laughter filled the air like a song you could hum along to.

But now? Now it’s just another month to survive. Another string of days where you pretend the silence in the house doesn’t feel heavier with each passing hour.

The postcard lingers in your hands much longer than it should.

Because someone out there—some stranger with messy handwriting and a bad habit of sending drunk mail, of all things—felt lonely enough, lost enough, to reach out to a place they don’t belong to anymore, like it was all they had.

And you understand.

God, you understand.

So, instead of tossing it straight in the trash and forgetting all about it, you set it down on the counter, smoothing your thumb over the words one last time before turning around to walk straight back to bed.

You haven't got a clue who the person behind the postcard is. But right now, for some unknown reason, you really wish you did.

You don't leave the house for the rest of the week.

Haven't, really, in days. Not unless you absolutely need to.

You're used to the routine by now: waking up too late, then staring at the ceiling for too long, and forcing yourself out of bed only when you can't stand the thoughts any longer.

Once up, you go down to the kitchen and make coffee that goes cold before you remember to sip it, and you eat standing over the sink, not tasting the food.

It’s been like this for a while.

Today, somewhere, someone is laughing—one of those deep, belly-aching laughs that used to live here too, filling this same house, rattling the walls.

Not anymore. Now, the space is quiet. Still. 

Grief is a terrible monster. It doesn’t come the way people say it will. It’s not a sudden, crashing wave that devastates you all at once.

No, grief something quieter. Slower.

Grief is a parasite that settles into your bones, feeding on your memories until they're tarnished and rotten, growing stronger by the day, pressing its weight against your chest until it gets hard to breathe and your limbs feel too heavy to move.

It clings. It whispers. It does not leave.

And the worst part? It makes you still. Frozen. Like you’re the one who’s died, while the rest of the world keeps moving.

You think about that sometimes—how the world doesn’t stop for mourning. How people still go to work, still go to school, still go on dates, still adorn their houses with Halloween and Christmas decorations as if nothing had ever happened.

You think about how someone could have walked past him that day, just another stranger on the sidewalk, not knowing it was the last time he’d ever be anywhere.

It doesn’t seem right.

Neither does the silence left behind.

You used to hate how loud he was sometimes—how he filled rooms like he owned them, always going on about something, drumming on countertops, humming, tapping his fingers against door frames.

Sometimes you thought that he laughed too loudly. Talked too much.

Now, all you have left is the silence he's left behind, and it's unbearable. You'd do anything to hear that obnoxiously loud laugh again.

Most days, you still expect to hear his keys jingling in the lock, his voice calling out something stupid as he kicks the door shut behind him.

You still catch yourself turning toward the couch when you pass it, waiting for him to be there, sprawled out with a controller in his hands, feet on the coffee table, because he never listened when you told him not to.

But he’s not. And he won’t ever be again.

That should be enough incentive to make you leave this place, to get out of this house, to push yourself back into a life that isn’t just waiting for him to walk through the door.

But it isn't, and you don't.

Instead, you stay right where he left you and you exist through your days, which by now are all the same.

You consistently wake up late and spend too long staring at the ceiling. Your coffee still runs cold before you remember to sip it, and everything you eat still tastes bland.

Nothing ever changes.

Except for the one new ritual added to that routine: you, sitting at the kitchen table, staring at that anonymous postcard, every day since you got it.

And you wonder why it won’t let you go.

It’s been days, and you still can’t stop thinking about the damn thing.

Maybe it’s because it came at the right—no, the wrong—time.

When the house felt particularly quiet, when the weight of December and the first holiday season without him was pressing in on you, when you felt more like a ghost haunting your own life than a person still meant to be here.

Or maybe it’s because you just want something to care about again. To keep your mind off of things you wish you could just forget.

Whatever it is, it's enough for you to want to know more, and it starts with looking up the brewery it was sent from.

That’s easy enough to find.

A quick Google search, an address in Charlottesville that isn’t too far from you, a website with pictures of the place, and a list of upcoming events—live music, comedy nights, trivia.

No way to connect it back to whoever sent the postcard whatsoever.

Maybe looking up the place should be enough to satisfy your curiosity, but it isn't. So you decide to check the place out for yourself, in person, and maybe look for some additional clues on who this mysterious sender might be.

You shower for the first time in four days.

The hot water stings against your skin, like it’s scalding away something you haven't had the strength to scrub off before now. You stand under the spray longer than you need to, watching steam curl around you, letting it fog up the mirror before stepping out just so you don't have to see yourself in the bathroom mirror.

Once you're out of the shower, you dress without thinking at first—putting on sweats, an old hoodie, your everyday uniform at this point.

Then you pause.

For the first time in months, you reach for something else. Something nicer. Nothing special, but still. A sweater that isn’t stretched out and worn thin. Jeans that fit. You even brush your hair.

It’s not much, but it’s something.

You take the bus to Charlottesville. Miss your stop. Walk the rest of the way.

The streets downtown are slick from last night’s rain, neon lights reflecting off the pavement. Christmas decorations are everywhere—red bows tied to lampposts, wreaths hanging from shop doors, and fairy lights woven through windowsills.

You keep your head down, ignoring all of it, hands shoved deep into your heavy winter coat pockets.

The brewery is bigger than you expected, warm and crowded, smelling of hops and wood and something fried. People laugh, clink glasses, lean in close to be heard over the music playing from the speakers.

You can't help but think that this is stupid—a dumb idea.

Still, you force yourself forward, inside, toward the bar where a bartender with tired eyes and a half-smile leans in to hear you.

“Hey,” You swallow, glancing at the shelves of liquor behind him like they might guide you on what to do next. “Do you guys, uh—get a lot of people passing through here?”

You wince as you ask the question, knowing how stupid you sound.

The guy behind the bar raises a brow, not expecting that.

“Yeah, I guess.” He says, a little unsure, wiping out a glass. “Why?”

You're not sure how to explain this, so you pull the postcard from your pocket, smoothing out the crease you've made from folding it too many times.

“I got this in the mail, from someone who used to live in my house. I don’t know who they are, but—” You lift it slightly. “I figured maybe they come here?”

The bartender takes it, giving it a quick once-over. His mouth twists like he’s trying to place something, but after a second, he just exhales through his nose and hands it back.

“Doesn’t sound like a regular.” He says as he shakes his head.

You frown.

“No?”

“Nah. This is the kind of thing someone writes when they’re passing through, not when they're planning on sticking around.” He wipes condensation off the bar, nodding toward the postcard. “That whole ‘lonely, final goodbye’ thing? Sounds like they were already gone before they even mailed it.”

Sounds like they were already gone.

You swallow.

“The best I can tell you,” he continues, “is to check the event calendar. Look at the performers who passed through in the last month, maybe? See if anything sticks out.”

You should leave—that’s what any normal person would do. Just thank the bartender for humoring them and walk away.

But instead, you glance past him, toward the framed calendar hanging by the register, packed with names and dates in neat little rows.

You hesitate, then sigh.

You've already come all this way, so might as well.

“Can I see that?” You ask, gesturing for the calendar.

The bartender steps aside, letting you lean over the counter to take a better look.

You squint at the tiny print, scanning through a month worth of events—live music, open mics, stand-up comedy. Some names sound like bands. Some are just initials or one-word stage names.

None of them rings a bell, because of course they don’t.

This is stupid.

Still, you take out your phone and snap a picture of the entire thing. For later—not that later will change anything. After that, you tuck your phone away and thank the bartender, finally leaving before you can embarrass yourself further.

Outside, the cold night air bites at your skin. You exhale, watching your breath cloud in front of your face.

Suddenly, you think that he would probably call you crazy for doing this. You can almost hear him now, laughing, amused, and exasperated all at once.

“Jesus, you’re really doing detective work over some random postcard? You need a hobby.”

You swallow hard, throat closing up, because it sounds so real. Like he’s right there beside you, shoving his hands into his pockets, giving you that look—the one that always meant, I love you, but you’re a little insane.

But he isn’t there, and he never will be again.

Your chest aches.

You need to get your shit together.

If this is how you spend your time now—zooming in on a blurry photo of an event calendar from a random brewery, thinking about googling up strangers just to ask them if they perhaps sent drunken mail to anyone lately—it’s clear you don't have much of a life to begin with.

Maybe you do need a hobby.

Walking back to the bus stop, you think about the bus ride here—how you stared out the window as Richmond faded behind you, the hour-long trip to Charlottesville passing in a blur of trees and highways.

How, for the first time in months, you had to exist outside your usual orbit, existing among people who didn’t know you, who weren’t looking at you with pity or concern or asking stupid questions such as “How are you holding up, dear?”

For a second, you almost feel like a normal, functioning person again. The feeling goes away soon enough, though.

The house is too quiet when you get back.

It’s always quiet now, but after the low hum of voices at the brewery, the music, the clatter of glasses and footsteps, this silence is almost unbearable—it presses down on your shoulders, heavy, suffocating.

You take off your shoes, drop your bag by the door, and exhale as you lean against the wall.

You should feel better after getting out, right? That’s what people always say—shit like fresh air, movement, distraction, they're all supposed to make you feel lighter, right?

But instead, it feels like you've aged a thousand years in just a few hours, like the simple act of leaving and returning has drained you of everything.

Or maybe you feel like this because you're here again. Maybe the house itself is sucking you dry.

You rub a hand over your face, pushing away the exhaustion pooling in your limbs, but it doesn’t help. Nothing ever does.

And then, suddenly, you feel it—something ugly, something sharp and cruel, festering under your ribs before you can stop it, because you're miserable.

You're exhausted. You're lonely. And it feels like this is all his fault.

You hate yourself the second the thought creeps in, because what kind of person even thinks that? What kind of person blames the dead for, well—dying?

You do.

Even if just for a split second, you do.

You blame him for leaving you here in this silence. For turning this house into a tomb. For dying and taking everything with him—every sound, every heartbeat, every warm moment that made this place feel like a home instead of just four walls and a roof.

As the thoughts creep in, you press the heel of your hands against your eyes, tears burning behind closed eyelids.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

To yourself. To him. To the empty, hollow space left between you.

But the silence doesn’t answer.

It never does.

You tell yourself you’ll stop at number five.

Five quick searches, then you’re done.

It’s not obsession—it’s just curiosity. And curiosity is harmless.

You sit on the edge of your bed, knees pulled up, laptop glowing against the dark of your room. The picture of the event calendar is open on your phone, the names blurry from where you zoomed in too much.

You pick one name at random and type it into Google.

The first act is a local band. Their website is an abandoned Tumblr page, and their two songs on Spotify sound like they were recorded in someone’s basement with a single, malfunctioning microphone. No mention of a solo traveler sending drunken postcards, of course.

Next.

The second is an indie-folk duo. Their Instagram is filled with aesthetic black and white photos—sunsets, coffee cups, grainy shots of them performing in tiny bars.

You scroll through, looking for anything—posts about being on the road, about traveling alone, about missing home.

Nothing.

Next.

The third is a singer-songwriter with a meticulously curated social media presence. He posts inspirational quotes under every video, smiling like he has never known a bad day in his life.

You click out of his page immediately.

Next.

The fourth is a stand-up comedian.

Big mistake—you watch exactly thirty seconds of a YouTube video before slamming the laptop shut.

He’s the kind of guy who thinks being loud is the same as being funny, the kind who makes jokes about “cancel culture” and “snowflakes” while wearing a t-shirt with a terrible pun on it.

It's so bad you give up before search number five.

Jesus Christ. This is pointless.

You exhale sharply, tossing your phone onto the bed.

The bartender was right.

This person—whoever they are—is probably long gone, leaving behind nothing but a wasted postcard and a stranger wasting their time on it.

So you shove the postcard into your bedside drawer, and that’s the end of it. You're done playing detective.

Days pass.

Or maybe it’s the same endless day, repeating over and over, like a tape stuck on loop.

You wake up. You shower when you manage to conjure up the energy. You eat when you remember to. You sleep when you can.

The cold settles deeper into the city, pressing against the windows, making the streets feel haunted. The nights stretch longer, swallowing the days whole.

Nothing changes.

You don’t check the drawer. You don’t think about the postcard. Not really.

But sometimes, when you’re lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, you wonder—did they ever make it home, wherever that may be? Do they even remember sending it?

Would they care if they knew a stranger was looking for them, holding onto their words like they meant something?

You don’t have answers, of course.

And you won’t find them, because you’re done looking.

Two days later, you wake up to the sound of something scraping against the semi-frozen ground outside.

It drags and scrapes, again and again, rhythmic but uneven—like someone is digging.

For a long moment, you lie in bed, mind heavy with sleep, not sure if you’re still dreaming or if your mind is simply playing tricks on you.

The house has been so quiet these past months, an unbearable kind of silence, like you're stuck in a soundless limbo.

You’ve spent so many nights staring at the ceiling, listening to the hum of the heater and the occasional creaks of the old house settling, that you're used to the weird noises.

But this—this is different.

You slowly sit up, ears straining, head foggy and pulse sluggish. Then, there it is again. A dull thud. A scrape. A pause. Then another thud—someone is definitely digging.

You push back the covers, shivering as the cold air bites at your skin even through your hoodie. The clock on the nightstand glares back at you—3:14 AM.

Who the hell could be outside your window, digging, at this hour?

Heart hammering, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and move toward the window, peeling back the curtain just enough to see outside, breath fogging up the glass as you scan the yard below. The dim light of the lamp post isn't much help, but you strain your eyes and focus, and then you see it—a tall, dark figure crouched near your dying garden, a shovel in hand.

Your breath catches, rage and fear flaring hot in your chest. There is a stranger outside your house, messing about in the yard.

No—the garden.

His garden.

He’d spent so many mornings out there, drinking his coffee and pulling weeds, talking to the plants like they were old friends. He loved that garden, and you haven’t touched it since he died.

The frost has taken over, creeping along the dead stems, claiming the once vibrant space. And now—now some stranger is out there, digging around in it?

You let the curtain fall back into place and spin around, adrenaline buzzing beneath your skin. You don’t even hesitate—just head straight for the bedroom door, movements sharp and purposeful.

You don’t bother turning on any lights as you make your way downstairs. Your fingers hover over the switch near the front door, but you stop yourself. If someone’s really out there, and if they happen to be dangerous, you don’t want to alert them of your whereabouts.

Instead, you leave the lights out and reach for the baseball bat that still rests behind the entrance door, untouched for months. It was his idea to keep it there—“Just in case,” he used to say, grinning as he twirled it in his hands.

He would laugh if he could see you now, clutching it in your freezing fingers, about to walk outside and confront some lunatic who apparently decided your yard was prime real estate for digging.

You crack the door open, bracing against the rush of icy wind. The porch light flickers on automatically, its dim glow illuminating the yard, causing the man to startle so hard he nearly falls over, dropping the shovel with a dull clank against the frozen ground.

He turns to face you, hands raised in surrender, eyes wide.

And, okay—what the hell?

He’s tall. Ridiculously tall. And covered in tattoos. Dark ink snakes up his hands, his arms, disappearing beneath the pulled-up sleeves of his black hoodie. You can also see ink all over his neck.

His long, messy hair falls over his face, and even in the dim porch light, you can see the wide-eyed panic in his dark eyes.

“Shit—okay, wait—listen,” he stammers, stepping back. His breath curls into the air in white plumes, and he sways slightly, unsteady on his feet.

Is he drunk?

“You have ten seconds to explain before I start swinging.” You say as you tighten your grip on the bat, jaw clenched.

He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.

“Okay, look, this—” He says, gesturing vaguely toward the considerably large hole in the ground. “This isn’t as bad as it looks.”

“Oh, really? Because it sure looks like you’re desecrating my yard in the middle of the goddamn night!”

“I—yeah, okay, that’s fair,” he says quickly, slurring his words a bit. Definitely at least a little tipsy, then. “But I can explain.”

“Then explain.”

He swallows hard, hands once again raised in surrender, palms out. His fingers are freakishly long.

“I used to live here, alright? A long time ago. And, uh…” He yet again gestures vaguely at the hole he was digging. “When I was a kid, I buried a time capsule here. Like, a treasure box? And I just—I don’t know, I wanted to see if it was still here. Get it back, hopefully.”

You stare at him, disbelief mixing with irritation.

“You’re telling me you broke into my yard at three in the morning, in the middle of December, to dig up some childhood treasure chest?”

He shifts on his feet, looking uncomfortably sheepish.

“Yeah, but—look, it’s not just some stupid thing. It’s important. You have no idea how much it means to me. I… I need to find it. It’s—” He glances at the hole again, like he’s trying to gather his thoughts. “It’s the last thing I have left. It’s all I have left.”

His voice cracks at the end, and it stops you in your tracks. For a moment, everything goes quiet, save for the wind whipping through the trees.

You feel it—a tug in your chest.

It’s the edge in his voice, the kind of desperate longing you’ve been trying to ignore in yourself. The kind that made you search for something, anything, to hold onto after everything you knew went to shit.

And maybe he’s drunk, sure. But the look in his eyes—the hollow look of someone trying to cling to some sort of lifeline—makes you hesitate. You’ve seen that look before in the mirror. You’ve felt that look before.

And then it clicks, because—he’s the one, isn't he? He’s the person who sent the postcard.

For a second, you freeze, your heartbeat quickening, a wave of emotion crashing over you. You stare at him, that realization creeping in, and suddenly, you’re not so sure how to handle this anymore.

You blink hard, trying to shake off the weird emotions, and raise the bat higher as you try to remind yourself that, no matter how desperate they might look, this is still a stranger who's trespassing and ruining your yard. You shouldn't be willing to let him get away with this.

“You really think I’m gonna let you just dig up my yard because you need to find a damn child's box? It’s not happening. Get off my property.”

His expression falters, but he stands his ground.

“I’m not leaving. Not until I find it. You don’t understand—it’s more than just some kid’s memory. It’s—” He runs a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated. “I’m not crazy. I swear. Please, just let me—”

You hate that you feel that tug in your chest again, harder this time, and something in you shifts. You know what that desperation feels like.

Hell, you’ve been drowning in it yourself.

So you lower the bat just a little, just enough to show him you’re considering it, your eyes narrowing.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? For the… You know. Grave robber vibes.” He tries again, and his eyes soften, just a little. “But just—please. I really need this. I swear I’ll go as soon as I find it. Please.”

God, this is fucking insane.

“Fine!” You snap. Even as the words leave your mouth, you can't believe you're agreeing to this. “You can look for the damn thing. But if you turn out to be a serial killer who’s in fact digging my own grave there, then you fucking suck, 'cause I’m being really nice here.”

He lets out a startled laugh, the sound coming out too easily for someone who was just moments ago pleading to keep digging in your yard like a madman.

“A serial killer?” He repeats, and for a second, it seems like he’s genuinely amused, the corners of his lips pulling up while his eyes glint with humor. “That’s a new one. But don’t worry, I’m not the homicidal type.”

He pauses, then looks at you with something else shining in his eyes now, his expression turning oddly sincere.

“Thank you. Really. You don’t know how much this means to me.” His voice carries a weight that makes your skin prickle. It’s enough to make you uncomfortable, the way he looks at you like you just saved his life.

Like this random act of kindness is everything to him.

You clear your throat and take a step back, trying to shake off the feeling.

“Yeah, yeah. Just keep looking, 'cause you’ve got thirty minutes. After that, you’re out. Don’t make me regret this.”

He nods quickly, the gratitude still heavy in his eyes.

“I won’t, I swear. Thank you.”

You watch him go back to digging, his hands moving with determination now, and you still don’t lower the bat completely. You just stand there, freezing under your hoodie and sweatpants, your mind racing, unsure of how you ended up in this bizarre situation.

He digs like his life depends on it.

His breath comes in short puffs of white against the night air, his fingers dirt-streaked and trembling from what you guess is more than just the cold. You watch, arms crossed, shifting from foot to foot to try and warm up, waiting for the inevitable moment when he realizes his stupid box isn't there anymore and he’s wasted his time.

But then—

“Oh, shit.”

His entire body stills.

For a moment, he just stares down at the hole, his chest rising and falling quickly from exertion, and then he’s dropping to his knees, pulling something from the dirt with both hands—a wooden box, old and weathered but miraculously intact.

You expect him to open it carefully, but no—he pries it open with frantic hands, as if he’s afraid it’ll disappear if he hesitates even a second longer.

His breath shudders out of him when he sees what’s inside.

“Holy shit,” he exhales, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s all still here.”

You don’t say anything. You just watch as he sits right down on the damp, semi-frozen grass, and lifts out a photograph, brushing dirt off the edges with the care of someone handling something sacred.

“This—” He says as he turns it toward you. It’s an old photo, slightly faded, showing a familiar house and a young-looking couple posing together in front of it.

Even in sepia tones, you recognize it instantly. The porch, the windows, the yard.

It’s your house.

“My grandparents,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, almost reverent. “They bought this place before I was even born. Spent their whole lives here.”

He pulls out another photo—this time, it shows a little boy grinning between that same couple, older now, a backpack almost too big for his small frame draped over his back.

“That’s me,” he says. “First day of school. My grandparents walked me to the bus stop down the street every morning until I was, like, twelve. Embarrassed the hell out of me, but…”

He trails off, running his thumb over the edge of the picture, voice growing softer. “I get it now. They just wanted to hold onto me for as long as they could.”

Something in your chest aches.

He looks different like this—like the weight he carries has been lifted, even if just for a moment. Like, for the first time tonight, there’s some light in his eyes. It tugs at something inside you, something buried so deep it feels like it shouldn’t still be there.

Because you wish—God, you wish—you could do the same. You wish you could dig somewhere and unearth something that could bring back the light in your eyes. Something that could pull you back to who you used to be before everything happened.

But there’s nothing left for you to dig up, is there?

For one crazy, fleeting second, the thought slams into you with enough force to make your breath catch: if digging something out of the dirt is all it takes to bring back a lost part of yourself, then why can’t you just go to the cemetery, dig up your best friend, and demand he comes back?

The thought is so absurd, so horrifying, that your stomach twists violently against it. But the feeling lingers, even as you shake your head, even as you try to push it down.

Because the truth is, if you could, you would. If you thought it would work, you would.

You clear your throat, trying to rid yourself of the weight pressing down on you, and shift your stance. He’s still staring at the photo in his hands, lost in something only he can see.

Then, as if suddenly remembering you’re there too, he glances up.

“Come here,” he says, patting the grass beside him without hesitation. “You gotta see this.”

And you should say no.

You should turn around, go back inside, lock the door, and leave him to his nostalgia.

Better yet, you should ask him to get the fuck out of your property now that he's found what he was seeking.

But you don’t, because that small light is still in his eyes. And you think—just for a moment—that if you sit next to him, maybe some of that warmth will reach you, too.

So you turn around, step inside for a moment, and drop the bat near the door before coming out again and making your way over to him.

He barely even acknowledges you moving, too caught up in what he’s unearthing from the past.

The ground is freezing as you lower yourself beside him, the cold seeping through your clothes immediately, but you choose to ignore it.

He pulls out a tiny Lego man next, dusting him off with an amused huff. “I was obsessed with this guy. Had this whole elaborate storyline for him. He was, like, a secret agent with a double life. Normal guy by day, total badass by night.”

You huff out something that almost resembles a laugh.

“What a nerd.”

“Absolutely,” he agrees, grinning, but then his expression softens as he pulls out another object—something small and round that you can’t quite make out right away. He turns it over in his palm.

“My grandpa used to carry this around,” he says. “A pocket watch. It broke, like, years before I found out about it, but he kept it on him anyway. He used to tell me it was a magic watch, that it could stop time if you knew the right trick.” He shakes his head. “I spent so long trying to figure it out.”

He laughs under his breath, but there’s something wistful behind it.

“I put it in here because I thought if I buried it, I’d come back and it’d be fixed. I dunno. Kid logic.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just let him keep talking. And he does—more than you expected.

He tells you about his grandparents, about how his grandma smelled like oranges because she swore by some old family superstition about rubbing citrus peels on your hands for good luck. How his grandpa used to sit on the porch every morning with his coffee and newspaper, humming the same tune under his breath that no one ever recognized.

He tells you about how the house used to be filled with music, with warmth, with a life that’s long since been swallowed by time.

And you listen.

You listen because, for once, it doesn’t feel like you’re just existing. For once, the world isn’t so heavy, so empty, so cold.

And you know it won’t last.

In a few minutes, he’ll run out of things to reminisce. He'll close the box, the light will fade from his eyes, and the weight will return to both your shoulders.

But for now—for now, you sit beside this stranger in the cold, watching the past come alive through the objects in his hands, through the words leaving his mouth, and you glimpse into a life that was never yours.

You don’t know how long you sit there, knees pulled to your chest against the cold, listening as he pulls each tiny relic from the past and brings it back to life with his stories.

There's a marble.

A single, tiny, blue marble, its surface cloudy with age.

“Used to think it held the whole sky inside it,” he murmurs, rolling it between his fingers. “Swore I could see clouds moving in there if I stared long enough.”

There's a folded-up note, edges crumbling with time.

He hesitates before unfolding it, smoothing it out carefully on his knee.

“A letter to my future self.” His lips twitch up when he speaks. “Bet it’s something stupid.”

It is.

The handwriting is messy, barely legible. He squints at it in the dim light, clears his throat, and reads it aloud:

“Dear Future Me,

Are you famous? I hope you got us into a cool band like I planned. And do we have a dog? Our own house? Did you manage to leave town, or are we still in Richmond?

I hope you didn’t turn out lame. If you did, just lie about it.

(P.S.: If you have a wife, don’t be a dumbass. Tell her you love her. That's what grandpa always says, and he's usually right about that stuff.)”

You don’t mean to laugh, but the way he groans and drags a hand down his face makes it impossible not to. He crumples the letter back up, tossing it inside the box.

“God, I was a little shit.” He mutters, but there's amusement in his voice.

He keeps going, explaining trinket after trinket. Sharing fragment after fragment as he pulls random things out from his little treasure box.

You don’t say much—instead, you just listen.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, it doesn’t feel like you’re drowning in silence.

But eventually, inevitably, he runs out of objects and stories, and starts putting things back. Your chest tightens as you watch him tuck each piece of his past carefully into the box, securing the lid, brushing away the dirt.

He’s leaving.

You shouldn’t care. You barely know him. You don't know him.

But the thought of this moment ending—of him leaving and taking the momentary warmth away, of being left alone in the silence again—makes your stomach twist.

So, before you can overthink it, you clear your throat and blurt out the words: “Where are you staying? While here in Virginia, I mean.”

He glances up, like he wasn’t expecting you to ask.

“Charlottesville.” He nods vaguely down the street. “Took the bus here earlier, figured I’d just go to the bus station and wait for the first bus back in the morning.”

At that, something in your chest twists even tighter, and you don’t know why.

Maybe it’s because you know how miserable the bus station is at night—cold, empty, barely more than a fluorescent-lit limbo. Maybe it’s because it doesn’t sit right with you that he’s just going to disappear into the dark, back to whatever life he’s been wandering through before this.

Or maybe—maybe you’re just simply not ready to be alone again.

So, against all logic, against every instinct that should be screaming at you to let him go, you say, “You can stay here.”

He blinks.

“What?”

“Just for the night,” you say quickly, before you can change your mind. “You can crash on the couch. It’s freezing, and you’re kinda drunk—no, don't deny it, I can smell the alcohol in your breath.”

The words make his cheeks darken enough that you notice it even in the dim light, but you don't comment on it.

“Waiting at the bus station for hours sounds like hell,” you shrug. “But it's up to you.”

He just looks at you, and for a second, you wonder if you’ve made a mistake—if you’ve misread the entire situation, if he’ll think you’re weird or crazy or too much. But then—

“Yeah,” he says, voice quieter now. “Yeah, okay.”

And just like that, you’re bringing a stranger into your home.

A stranger who sent you a drunken postcard.

A stranger who just unearthed his childhood from your backyard.

A stranger who, for some reason, doesn’t feel like a stranger at all.

Inside, the warmth of the house seeps into your freezing skin, making goosebumps rise all over your body, and you realize just how truly cold you were outside.

You shut the door behind you, locking it out of habit, then glance at the man as he steps further in, his eyes sweeping the space carefully, like he’s making an effort to commit every detail to memory.

There’s something oddly hesitant about the way he moves around the room, like he’s walking through a dream, a place he only half remembers.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just takes it all in—the cluttered bookshelves, the old coffee table, and the worn sofa that doesn’t quite match the armchairs sitting opposite it. As you watch him, you can’t help wondering what he thinks about it all.

“You changed the layout so much,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

His fingers skim the back of the couch absentmindedly, and when he speaks again, it's louder, like this time the words are actually directed at you.

“The walls used to be a different color. Furniture was all pushed against them, too. My grandma had this old ass china cabinet right over—”

He gestures vaguely toward the far wall, but his words trail off, his attention shifting elsewhere, thought forgotten. You follow his gaze, and that’s when you realize what he’s looking at.

The pictures.

They line the wall, sit over the fireplace—snapshots of moments frozen in time. In every single one, you’re there, smiling, laughing, caught in moments that will never exist again.

And beside you, always, is him.

You feel the question coming before he even says it.

“Oh, is that your boyfriend?”

It’s such an innocent question, and yet, it slams into you like a fist to the chest.

He doesn’t notice your reaction at first, still looking at the photos as if they’re the most interesting things he's ever seen.

“Is he sleeping?” He presses, voice lowering to a murmur, as if it would make a difference after all the noise he's made by digging about outside. “Shit, sorry if I—”

“No.”

Your voice comes out sharper than you intend—too cold. Too final.

“That’s my best friend,” you say, forcing the words out, as if it costs you greatly to explain this. And it does, you realize, as you try to keep your voice steady. “He doesn’t live here anymore.”

Silence.

You can feel him looking at you now, trying to put the pieces together and make sense of what you mean, but you don’t meet his gaze. You keep your expression blank, keep your shoulders squared, keep yourself from folding under the weight pressing against your ribs.

“Got it,” he says after a moment, voice quieter now. Gentler.

Just like that, the conversation ends. He doesn’t push, doesn’t pry, just nods and keeps moving as he looks around, but the air between you feels heavier now, thick with something left unsaid.

You exhale slowly, trying to shake it off. Then, before the silence can stretch any further, you blurt out, “What’s your name?”

He blinks, caught off guard.

“What?”

“Your name,” you repeat. “I just let you into my house, and I don’t even know what to call you.”

“Oh. Right.” He huffs a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh—Noah. My name’s Noah.”

Noah.

The name settles into your brain, into your chest, into the walls and the floorboards and the space between you.

You nod once.

“Okay, Noah.” You say the name out loud, trying it out, testing the weight of it on your tongue. “Are you hungry? I can fetch us something to eat.”

And then, without waiting for a response, you turn and head for the kitchen, pretending the sound of his name doesn’t linger in your head—on your tongue—a little longer than it should.

You hear his footsteps follow, and when you reach the kitchen, he steps in right beside you. When you look at him, you can see he’s scanning the place, taking in the details, like he’s once again trying to piece together what’s changed since the last time he was here.

You move toward the fridge, but before you can open it, he steps forward.

“Oh, please—let me.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“You want to make your own food?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I want to make our food. It’s the least I can do after waking you up, trespassing in your yard to dig around, and then keeping you up to talk about my—” He huffs out a self-deprecating laugh as he gestures vaguely with his hands. “—my stupid childhood stories.”

His words make something protective flare in your chest, though you’re not sure why. It doesn't make any sense.

“They weren’t stupid,” you protest immediately.

Noah just gives a noncommittal shrug.

You shake your head but don’t argue. Instead, you lean against the counter, crossing your arms over your chest and watching as he opens a cabinet at random.

“Not that one,” you say, and he pauses.

“Where’s the bread, then?”

“Cabinet to your left.”

He adjusts, grabbing the loaf and setting it down. Then, without looking up, he asks, “Plates?”

“Top shelf.”

“Silverware?”

“Drawer next to the sink.”

Noah follows your instructions without hesitation, pulling things together with an ease that surprises you. You don’t know what you expected—maybe for him to be more hesitant, more awkward in a space that isn’t his—but he moves through the kitchen with confidence, his hands steady as he unwraps the bread and starts making the sandwiches.

You find yourself watching his hands.

They’re big—really big—but oddly graceful. His fingers move with precision as he spreads mustard onto a slice of bread, and something about the motion is… calming. Strangely comforting.

The repetitive, familiar sounds of food being prepared fill the quiet, and for the first time in what feels like forever, there isn’t suffocating silence in your house.

“So,” he says after a moment, “what’s your verdict?”

You blink.

“On what?”

“Me being a serial killer.” He says as he quickly glances at you, the corners of his mouth twitching up. “Have I redeemed myself of that first impression?”

You snort, shaking your head.

“The jury’s still out.”

“Damn. Tough crowd.”

“You did dig up my yard in the middle of the night.”

“I did,” he agrees, nodding solemnly. “And yet, here I am, in your kitchen, holding a knife while making you a sandwich and definitely not stabbing you. If that’s not proof of good character, I don’t know what is.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips.

Noah doesn’t seem to notice—he’s too focused on what he’s doing, stacking slices of ham and cheese onto the bread like he’s making the most important sandwiches of his life.

Then, without looking up, he says, “I used to make these for my grandparents all the time.”

You blink. The shift in conversation is so sudden, so casual, that it catches you off guard.

“When I was a kid,” he continues, “they both worked a lot, so I’d try to help out however I could. I wasn’t much of a cook, but I was a master at peanut butter and jelly. And sandwiches. Lots and lots of sandwiches.”

There’s fondness in his tone as he sifts through old memories yet again.

“They never complained, even when I sucked at it, coming up with terrible new combinations,” he says, a small smile ghosting across his lips. “My grandma used to say that a sandwich made with love tastes better than a five-star meal. Which, looking back, was probably her way of trying to make me feel better about putting way too much mustard on everything.”

You let out a quiet laugh.

“So should I be worried?”

“About what?” He sounds genuinely confused, and it's adorable.

“The amount of mustard, of course.”

“Nah,” Noah says as he looks up, meeting your eyes again. He grins. “I’ve perfected my craft since then.”

You huff a small laugh but don’t look away. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you—something warm, something open—that unsettles you in a way you don’t quite understand.

Instead of dwelling on it, you shift in place and say, “And just so you know… I really meant it when I said your childhood stories weren’t stupid. I liked hearing about them, and about the house, too.”

For a moment, Noah says nothing, and just stares at you with those unnerving dark eyes of his—eyes that make it feel like he's looking right into your soul.

After what feels like forever, he clears his throat and looks away, sliding a plate toward you.

“Well,” he says, voice quieter now, “thanks for listening.”

You don't say anything as you take the plate, the coolness of the porcelain sinking into your fingers, and as you walk back to the living room, his footsteps following close behind, the house doesn’t feel quite so empty.

Neither do you.

You settle onto the couch while Noah takes the armchair across from you. The air between you feels lighter now, easier.

You finally take a bite, surprised at the taste.

“Okay,” you say, chewing, “not bad. Not bad at all.”

Noah scoffs. “Excuse me?”

“You were talking this up like you were some kind of sandwich prodigy, man. I was expecting a life-changing experience.”

He places a hand over his heart, mock-offended.

“I’ll have you know, that is a damn good sandwich.”

You smirk. “It’s edible.”

“Wow.” He shakes his head, taking a bite of his own sandwich, clearly trying to hide a smile. “Ungrateful.”

You let out a small chuckle, and for a few minutes, the two of you just eat in comfortable silence.

Then, between bites, Noah says, “I still can’t believe this house is so different now. Even just the living room. The couch used to be over there,” he gestures toward the opposite wall, “and my grandma had all these little porcelain birds over the fireplace that I wasn’t allowed to touch. But I did, obviously.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And?”

“And I broke one,” he admits. “A tiny blue jay. I was, like, eight, and I panicked. So I tried to glue it back together, but I sucked at it, and it ended up looking like some Frankenstein version of a bird. My grandma took one look at it and just sighed, all disappointed. My grandpa, though? He laughed so hard he nearly cried.”

You huff out a laugh.

“Sounds like your grandma had her hands full with you two.”

“Oh, definitely.” He grins, settling deeper into the chair. “I was a menace, just like grandpa. You have no idea how many times Mrs. Peterson threatened to call the cops on me.”

You nearly choke on your sandwich.

“Mrs. Peterson?”

“Yeah,” he says, giving you a look. “You know her?”

“Know her?” You groan the question out. “That woman was the neighborhood number one gossip. I swear she made it her personal mission to know everyone’s business.”

Noah laughs.

“That sounds about right. She used to sit on her porch and act like the neighborhood security system. If I so much as looked at my bike the wrong way, she’d be yelling at me about how kids these days don’t respect their belongings.”

“Oh my God,” you groan again, more dramatically this time, rubbing your temples. “She used to do that to me, too! Except instead of my bike, she was always getting on my case about my car.”

Noah raises an eyebrow. “Your car?”

“Yep,” you say, sighing. “I used to drive this old, beat-up Toyota, and I was never exactly… gentle with it.”

He smirks. “Define not gentle.”

“I mean, it got me from point A to point B.” You say, waving a hand dismissively. “Who cared if I left empty coffee cups in the back seat or if I never remembered to take it to the car wash?”

Noah just stares at you, blinking. And then—

“Oh my God,” he says with a laugh. “You were the menace!”

You gasp.

“I was not!”

“No, no, I see it now,” he says, pointing at you with his sandwich. “Poor Mrs. Peterson was just a concerned citizen, and you were out there treating your car like a dumpster on wheels.”

You shake your head.

“Whatever. The point is, Mrs. Peterson was obsessed with how I treated that car. Every time I passed by her house, she’d make some comment about how I was ��disgracing a perfectly good vehicle’ or how I ‘lacked discipline and self-respect.’”

Noah snorts.

“Sounds about right.” There's an amused, teasing glint to his eyes when he says it.

“Oh, shut up,” you mutter.

“Come on,” he says, grinning. “She was kind of funny.”

“Oh yeah, hilarious.” You retort sarcastically, rolling your eyes. “You know she once told people that my best friend and I were actually related?”

Noah blinks. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah,” you say, nodding. “She decided that we had to be related in some way because, apparently, a man and a woman being just friends but living together wasn’t believable enough for her.”

“So… What?” Noah looks both amused and confused. “She just declared you relatives?”

“Not just relatives,” you say, pointing at him. “According to her, we were close relatives. Practically siblings. And the only reason we pretended to be just best friends was because we were actually a couple living in sin.”

Noah stares at you for a second before bursting into laughter.

“No way!” He says between laughs.

“Yes, way!” You insist. “She spread that story around like gospel. And you know she believed it too, because every time she saw us, she’d give us these looks—like we were bringing some scandalous shame upon her sacred neighborhood.”

Noah is still laughing, actually doubling over a little, shaking his head.

“That’s insane.”

“You’re telling me.” You exhale, leaning back against the couch, a soft smile on your lips. Then, without thinking, you add, “He actually liked her, though.”

That makes him pause again, tilting his head.

“Your friend?”

“Yeah.” You nod, picking at the crust of your sandwich. “I complained about her a lot, and every time, he would just shrug and say she was probably lonely. That minding people’s business was her weird way of connecting with the world.”

Noah’s expression softens, and it makes your heart ache.

“He used to help her out, too,” you continue. “Cut her grass, help her plant new flowers, and all. He liked doing that stuff—gardening, I mean.” You pause, swallowing against the sudden tightness in your throat. “He had a way with plants, y’know? Could bring anything back to life.”

Noah is quiet for a moment, just watching you, then he says, “I get that. My grandma taught me everything I know about gardening. We spent every summer afternoon out in the yard together, tending to the plants. She made it feel… Peaceful, I guess.”

Something about that makes your heart ache harder.

It’s a simple thing, but it means something. The way Noah speaks about his grandmother with warmth, the way he understands why your best friend would’ve found comfort in the soil and the roots and the life that comes from them.

“Do you still garden?” You ask.

“When I can,” Noah says, giving you a shrug that's accompanied by a small smile. “It’s kinda hard when you don’t have a real home.”

You stare at him, suddenly aware of just how much he’s been carrying.

You don’t know why, but the thought of him—this person who once had a home full of warm memories—now floating from place to place, with no roots, no permanence… It bothers you.

It shouldn’t. You don’t even know him. And yet.

Something about him—about the way he’s sitting in your living room, eating a sandwich he made in your kitchen, sharing stories that make you feel something other than empty—makes it feel like maybe you do know him now. Even if just a little.

“Anyways,” you say, trying to stir the conversation back to safer grounds. “Mrs. Peterson? That woman lived to stir up drama.”

“I bet she still does,” he says with a soft chuckle.

“She, uh…” You hesitate, all the humor draining from your face. “She passed away. A few years ago.”

Noah pauses.

“Oh,” he says, expression sobering. “Damn.”

You nod, staring down at your sandwich. “Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes.

“Still,” Noah says, softer this time, “I bet she was spreading rumors ‘til the very end.”

Despite yourself, you smile.

“Yeah. She probably told the nurses at the hospital that the doctor was illegally selling organs on the black market or something.”

That makes Noah laugh again, and his laughter makes you laugh, too. It’s been a long time since you’ve laughed like this.

But as the laughter slowly fades, a familiar heaviness settles back in your chest. Because suddenly, he is in your mind again—your best friend, his smiling face flashing through your thoughts like a memory you weren’t prepared for, and it makes you realize: this is the first time you’ve talked about him out loud since he died.

The first time you’ve let yourself share with someone else even a fraction of who he was and what you had.

It should hurt more than it does, you think.

In some ways, it does hurt—like a dull, familiar ache in your ribs. But as you glance at Noah, who’s still a bit flushed from laughing too hard, you realize that talking about him, especially like this, isn’t as painful as you expected.

In fact, it almost feels nice. Like, for just a moment, the weight of grief isn’t crushing you completely.

You’re not sure what to do with that.

After you finish eating, Noah stands up and gathers the plates without a word, surprising you as he walks back to the kitchen to deal with them, leaving you a moment alone with your thoughts.

The open space allows you to watch as he moves around with efficiency, rinsing off the dishes and wiping down the counter, his movements relaxed, unhurried, as if he still belongs in the house.

Watching his back as he stands by the sink, you can almost convince yourself that it’s not Noah you’re seeing—it’s him. For a fleeting second, if you pretend the tattoos aren’t there, or that the strands of his hair are much shorter, you can make yourself believe your best friend is back.

For a blissful moment, you get to pretend the last few months of pain and loneliness and despair had never been real. That it was all a big, horrible nightmare.

God, you wish.

Shaking the thoughts away, along with the sharp sting of pain it brings, you get off the couch and climb the stairs, your steps slow and heavy. At the far end of the hallway stands the closed door of your best friend’s room, right next to yours—a room you haven’t dared enter since the funeral.

For a moment, you consider offering Noah to stay in the room. After all, a soft, warm bed would be much better than a cold, hard couch. But the thought immediately makes something twist in your stomach.

You still can’t bring yourself to step into what used to be his space, the room that holds so many memories of someone irreplaceable. No one else is allowed to disturb that place, much less a stranger, no matter how nice a stranger they might be.

So instead, you rummage through the hallway closet and pull out a couple of extra pillows and a thick, worn comforter—the only items that might turn the living room couch into something resembling a proper, comfortable sleeping space.

When you return to the living room, you find that Noah is still in the kitchen, putting away the condiments he used for the sandwiches back inside the fridge.

Just as he’s about to close the fridge door shut, something catches his eye.

“Huh.” He tilts his head. “You like Corona, too?”

The reaction is instant—you stop mid-step, frozen. Your grip tightens on the blankets. He doesn’t notice the way your face shuts off, the way your body goes rigid.

“Mind if I have one?” He asks, still looking into the fridge, reaching for one of the bottles as he speaks out.

You remember the six-pack you’d bought weeks ago—purchased out of habit, without thought.

They’re not yours.

They’ve been sitting in the fridge for weeks, untouched. You weren’t even thinking when you grabbed them at the store—just running on autopilot, your mind so foggy with grief that muscle memory took over.

He always asked you to grab him beer whenever you went shopping. Always made you double-check that you wouldn’t forget. And so you didn’t.

Even when he wasn’t there to ask or to drink them.

Even when he wasn’t there at all.

A lump forms in your throat as memories of late afternoons spent with your best friend over beer—his gentle smile, his ridiculous humor—flash before your eyes.

You had only realized your mistake when you got home that day, unpacked everything, and saw the six-pack sitting on the counter. Then you cried yourself to sleep at four in the afternoon, only waking up again the next day.

Noah turns to you, still holding the fridge door open, waiting for an answer.

You want to be pissed. You want to tell him to put the bottle back. Tell him to fuck off and just go to sleep.

You swallow hard.

“Yeah,” you manage to say, your voice quiet. Then, to your own surprise, you add, “Grab one for me, too.”

Noah pauses for a moment, watching you closely, as if he can sense something’s off. But instead of asking, he just nods and retrieves two bottles, pops the caps off with the opener on your fridge, and hands one to you when he’s back in the living room.

You take the bottle without another word, then take a careful sip, the cool liquid mixing with bittersweet memories.

This time, as you both settle into the living room, you take the armchair near the window, while Noah arranges the pillows and comforter on the couch. Making himself comfortable, he pulls the comforter over his lap.

He takes a sip of his beer, then glances at you.

“Corona is my go-to, you know,” he muses, tipping the bottle slightly to watch the liquid shift inside. “Reminds me of my grandpa. That was his beer of choice, too.”

You hum in response, taking a sip from your own. You don't have anything to add to that, so you don't.

The mention of his grandfather seems to unlock a few more memories, and he begins to speak again, eager to talk about someone he clearly misses, his tone soft and reflective.

You’re not sure how you get there, but as you drink, he ends up telling a story about how his grandpa always tried to fix things around the house himself instead of hiring someone to do it, and much to his grandmother's amusement and chagrin, somehow always managed to make it worse.

And you listen.

“Don’t get me wrong, he was full of wisdom—always had the best advice for anything you’d throw at him.” He says with a fond smile, but the glint of sadness in his eyes is impossible to miss. “But he was terrible with his hands.”

Noah chuckles, shaking his head. His voice is steady, easy—a comforting sound to accompany the low hum of the fridge coming from the kitchen, and the gentle rustling of the comforter whenever he moves.

“I remember the time he tried to fix a leaky sink. Ended up flooding half the kitchen until grandma had to come in and shut everything down herself. She practically dragged him away, threatening to file for divorce if he didn't call a plumber.”

You listen, each word wrapping around you like a warm blanket. You can picture his grandpa—the man from the picture, determined, wise yet hopeless with a wrench—and the way his grandmother’s stern love would have both scolded and comforted him.

Noah continues, “He was the kind of man who might make a mess of the repairs, but he could fix a broken heart with just a few words. Always knew what to say to make you feel better. I always admired that about him.”

The conversation meanders into lighter topics after that—memories of summer afternoons spent in the garden, laughter that echoed on warm evenings, and the comforting routine of a simple, happy childhood.

At some point, the warmth from the beer seeps into your skin, the exhaustion from the day creeping up on you.

You don’t remember when exactly your eyes close.

All you know is that, for the first time in months, you fall asleep with someone’s voice in the background instead of unbearable silence.

You wake up to the soft glow of late morning light spilling through the curtains, casting long shadows across the living room.

There's a crick in your neck and an ache in your lower back, your body stiff and uncomfortable from the awkward position you must’ve slept in.

Your eyelids flutter open, and as you slowly try to blink the haze of sleep away, the first thing you register is that you’re curled up in the armchair, tangled in a heavy comforter.

Confusion settles in. Why were you sleeping in the armchair?

You push yourself upright, wincing as your joints protest, your brain still sluggish with sleep. You blink some more and look around the living room, trying to piece together how you ended up here.

And then, slowly, things start to come together—the cold night air, the crunch of semi-frozen dirt. The quiet desperation in the eyes of a stranger digging in your yard.

Noah.

Memories flood back all at once—the treasure box, the stories, the sandwiches and the beers in the living room. His laughter ringing through the house. His voice lulling you into sleep before you even realized you were drifting.

Your stomach sinks as you glance at the couch, because it’s empty. The pillows are still there, slightly indented from where he must have laid his head, but Noah himself is gone.

Noah is gone.

A strange, hollow sort of disappointment settles in your chest.

You shouldn’t be surprised. You’re not surprised. He was always going to leave—this was never anything more than a passing moment in the middle of a winter night, a crazy chain of events wrapped in quiet conversation and borrowed warmth.

And yet, something in your chest twists at the thought of him leaving without a word. You don’t know why it stings. He never said he’d stay.

Maybe it’s because, for the first time in so long, the emptiness in this house wasn’t unbearable. It wasn’t suffocating. It was filled—by another voice, another presence, another person simply existing here beside you.

You hadn’t realized just how much his presence had filled the cracks, how much softer everything had seemed with another person breathing in the same space as you.

And now, in the aftermath of that, the silence feels even worse than before.

Sighing, you shift the comforter off—realizing Noah had draped it over you before leaving, and ignoring how that small detail makes you feel—and start folding it, smoothing the fabric between your fingers.

It’s only when you move to place it back on the couch that you notice it: something small, something slightly crumpled, resting on the pillow Noah had used.

A note.

You hesitate before picking it up.

The handwriting is slightly messy, like it was written in a hurry, but still legible:

“Thanks for letting me dig around in your yard and crash on your couch. I owe you one.

If you ever want to fix the mess I made—or if you need help with the garden, since you said your friend was the one who used to take care of it—shoot me a text. I’ll be more than happy to help.

I don't know if we’ll be seeing each other, or even talking to each other again, before Christmas.

If we don't—Merry Christmas. And thank you so much. Again.

— Noah”

He left you a phone number.

You stare at it for a long time, your fingers ghosting over the ink. Something tight presses against your ribs, something stupidly close to relief.

Waking up alone, the comforter around your shoulders like a silent apology, the space around you empty once again. His absence had felt too much like an ending.

But this—this note—felt like something else.

An afterthought, a lingering presence, proof that it wasn’t just some meaningless, passing moment to him either. And yes, sure, the offer is casual. Maybe he doesn’t even mean it, maybe he’s just being polite.

But it’s there.

You don’t realize how long you sit there, the note loose in your grip, until the stillness of the house starts pressing in again. Until the ticking of the clock on the wall reminds you that you’ve already wasted enough time sitting around like this.

You press your lips together, shoving the note into your pocket as you move toward the stairs, up to your room.

You try to tell yourself you won’t text him.

You last less than 24 hours before you do.

YOU: Hey, Noah. I might take you up on that offer to help me fix the garden. Let me know when it’s best for you.

A reply comes less than five minutes later.

NOAH: How does tomorrow sound? Say, 3 PM? YOU: Sure, that works. NOAH: Awesome! See you tomorrow, then. :)

this silly little thing was inspired by this post here. also, some of the grieving parts were inspired by @concretejunglefm's 'poltergeists'. i channeled bubs a few times there, so thank you for the trauma, lexi!! and thank you for beta reading this and being so supportive, if i'm writing again and sharing it, it's mostly thanks to you. i love you.

[ldydeath]

You’re the Only One | Kwon Ji-yong (G-Dragon)

Summary: Ever since you broke up with Jiyong you’ve been miserable. You fly out to his show to surprise him and get him back, but will he still want you? Warnings: Mild Language Author’s Note: This is a sequel to We Were Never Meant to be, which you can read here. I am obsessed with his look from yesterday and had to give them another shot. 

It had been three months since you’d moved out of Jiyongs place. Three months since you’d broken both your hearts because that’s what you thought was best. Turns out you were miserable without him and you’d heard through mutual friends he was too.  You weren’t usually the one to go back on your word, but how long were you supposed to wait to be happy? If this had been the right decision you wouldn’t be checking in on his life, waiting to see if he posted something cryptic about how he was doing everyday. You wouldn’t pick up the phone wanting to call him all the time.

Sure you’d had your problems there at the end but maybe that really was just because he’d been so stressed about the upcoming album, variety show, and world tour. Maybe you’d been a little too selfish to think he needed to fit you into that schedule. You should’ve been there for him more, like he’d always been there for you when you needed him.

Jiyong had always been big on romantic gestures so you hoped as you flew the few short hours to Thailand that he’d actually be happy to see you. He was playing a festival that night and Daesung, his always loyal friend, had promised to help pull this surprise off. You weren’t going to see him until after his set and you knew he had a flight straight back home so you had to move quickly. 

“Hey!” Daesung's cheerful voice greeted you as you made your way backstage. “You made it!” 

He embraced you in a warm hug and you smiled up at him. It was good to see him, even if it felt weird that he was the one greeting you. You could hear Jiyong’s laughter down the hall and your heart clenched. All you wanted to do was run to him, tell him you loved him, and never let him go again. Daesung smiled at you before leading you to his room. 

“He’s on right after me, if you want to watch from the stage.” You nodded, opting to watch Daesung’s set from the safety of his room. Once he was done, you grinned at him.

“That was amazing!” 

It had been so long since you’d seen him perform his own set, it really was like the old days again. Except that you weren’t here with Jiyong, not technically. You watched the start of his set with Daesung in his sitting room before you both agreed that it was probably safe to watch the rest up close.

You knew his routine in his old songs so well, he’d be too distracted to look your way. You watched proudly as he moved around the stage without missing a beat. You’d seen his performance in December and January through crappy live feeds, seeing him in person was so much better. It was as if no time had passed, as if he’d never forgotten who G Dragon was. It truly was a sight to see. 

He’d just gotten done run-rapping across the stage when his eyes met your and his breath caught in his throat. He’d officially gone crazy, right? He shook his head, his hands going to mess with his hair and he turned his gaze towards the fans. He only had a couple songs left. He’d get himself checked out with medical right after. Maybe the heat was finally getting to him. Maybe he just needed to take his jacket off. He shrugged out of it, turning to throw it backstage but there you were again. What the fuck? 

You hadn’t wanted to be caught, not while he was busy, but you offered him a small smile of reassurance and he raised a brow at you, clearly confused before turning back to finish his set. You noticed that he made it a habit to not turn towards you for the reminder of his songs. That was fine, you were enjoying the view either way. Maybe you shouldn’t have been though.

Your heart started racing the second his set finished and the lights went dark. You hadn’t exactly practiced what you were going to say when you came face to face with your ex, you figured you’d just let your heart speak for you. But now here he was and you had nothing to say.

“Hi.” Smooth. He blinked at you before moving to walk past you. “Jiyong, wait.” 

He turned slowly as if afraid that once he did you’d be gone. He blinked a few more times before ushering the dancer and his security away. You saw Daesung poke his head out of his sitting room before quickly ducking back inside.

“What are you doing here?” There was nothing malicious in his words but you still couldn’t help the panic rising in your body. Your heart really needed to slow down. 

“I missed you.” You bit down on your bottom lip, making eye contact with him. “I think maybe I made a mistake with this whole breakup thing. I’m miserable, I can’t get you out of my head. I honestly don’t think I want to. I love you so much, I’m going crazy.” 

His arms were around you before you could even register what was happening. You melted into him, wrapping your arms around him, burying your head in his chest. You didn’t even mind that he was drenched in sweat as you breathed him in. It just felt nice to be close to him like this.  

“I missed you too.” He mumbled into your hair. His heart thumping so loudly in his chest he thought you’d might be able to hear it.

It didn’t matter anymore that you’d broken his heart. The late nights he’d spent awake trying to find the words to make you come home, or how fucking lonely he’d felt releasing songs, going to shows, and launching his show without you by his side. It didn’t matter anymore because he was holding you and that broken piece inside of him had healed the second he’d met your eyes. 

Without any hesitation he bent down, his finger lifting your chin until your lips met his and he practically devoured you. Every ounce of pain he’d felt over the last few months poured into that kiss, but so did all the love he still felt for you. You held onto him tightly, pulling him closer never wanting this moment to end.

When he finally pulled away, you felt dizzy. Bringing a hand up to your chest, to calm your breathing, you dared a look at him and he was grinning at you. You couldn’t help but grin back, his smile had always been so contagious. 

“I love you. Can we please try again?” His eyes were wide as he asked the question and your heart just about leaped out of your chest. 

“Yes, if that’s what you want. I want it too.” He nodded at your words, his hands reaching to grip yours.

“All I have ever wanted is you. None of this has ever meant anything without you. Please come home.” 

You nodded your head at him and he leaned in to kiss you again. He turned, leading you down the hall and towards the awaiting car. This is where you belonged, it had just taken you some time to figure it out. Once you were both in the car you leaned over to peck his check. You were never going to make the mistake of leaving Jiyong again. You were his and you’d be his for as long as he’d have you. And he would have you forever if he had any say in that. 

tag list:@wcnderlnds @alosss-blog @sooyasya @dprvivi @infinetlyforgotten @mirahyun @loveesiren

[homiesexual-or-homosexual]

Mutt

Pairing: Jackson! Joel Miller x reader

Warnings/Genre: a horribly horribly long slow burn, excuse any typos, fluff, slight angst, offstandish reader, slightly overbearing new friend (not canon character), potentially cute dogs, jealous friend, said friend has a crush on Joel, Joel gets hurt on patrol, mentions of blood, reader gets a cut on her hand, slightly romantically tense situations, let me know if I missed anything!!

Work Count: 8k

A/n: I've been telling this story to myself as I fall asleep at night and have decided to write down what I've daydreamed up so far!! Wish me luck! I hope this is good. . . And it's so long. . I'm so sorry

--- --- ---

Maria and Tommy found you on a patrol near the river.

It was a cold December this year, and your ratty, thin clothes were making it hard to stay warm. The only way to stay warm was to keep moving. Maria wasn't going to take you in, deadset on letting you pass around the town once the K9 cleared you.

Tommy wasn't so set. He figured that Jackson had the room. You were only one more person. Jackson would always use more people for patrols and work around Jackson.

The couple bickered back and forth for a few moments and once decided, Tommy shucked his jacket around your shoulders and gave you a ride back to Jackson. Once there, they settled you in a house across from them, not directly across more diagonally. You showered and they brought you to the mess hall.

You sat with Tommy and Maria, as well as another man and his kid, and another lady who seemed to have implanted herself in the family. She talked a lot. But you could care less, scarfing down your very delicious food was more important. You could feel the eyes of the man and child on you the entire time you ate.

That night, you slept warmly with a full stomach.

You woke early the next morning, so early the sun was barely up. As you finished dressing in some clothes that Maria had found you, knocking was heard.

You followed the noise to your front door and opened it to see Maria. She mentioned that she had a job for you. You nodded and pulled on a warm, heavy jacket. She led you to the stables and past the horse stalls to a back corner.

There were a few kennels back here, ten at the most. There were dogs in every one.

Maria explained that these were dogs that had wandered into Jackson, or that had been picked up on patrols. They'd been dropped here as no one had the time to train feral dogs, and since you were new you'd been granted that job.

You thanked Maria, and she disappeared into the barn.

You took notes that the dogs had the bare minimum. Like just enough food to get by, a blanket per dog, and a bowl or two per kennel. You hmmpfed and noted that the dogs also had no real way to get outside if they needed, much less a designated area to go outside.

You got to work almost immediately. Introducing yourself to the dogs, filling food bowls from a bag stuffed into a corner and filling water bowls from a spicket on the wall at the end of the little hallway/room. You found a notebook and pencil, deciding to use it for information on the dogs, like scars and particular body characteristics. You found out, just by looking and feeling, that one of the dogs was pregnant. You weren't sure with how many.

You worked the rest of the day cleaning their kennels and fixing it up with your limited tools of whatever you found in the area.

Around the start of afternoon, there was a knock on the doorway of the room, and a cheery call of your name.

It was Debby, the lady who talks a lot from dinner yesterday night, "Hey! How you doing today? I didn't get to hear you talk a lot today? Oh.. You got put on mutt duty.." She trailed off at the end, giving disgruntled looks around the small room.

You nodded, standing up and wiping off your hands, "I'm settling in, slowly. Can I help you with something?"

"Oh well," She paused as she twirled a finger. "I was just on the way to lunch and heard you worked in here now. Just decided to stop by and see if you're hungry."

You thought for a few moments, noting your empty stomach as you'd accidentally skipped breakfast, "Sure. I'm at a good stopping point for right now."

"Great!" Debby grabbed your arm and skipped her way through the barn and into the open. "Have you met Joel yet?"

"Joel?" You asked, not picturing a face to the name.

"Joel Miller!" Debby was exasperated in her answer. "Tommy's brother! He sat with us at dinner last night with his kid."

His face was blurry in memory, but you kind of made the connection. You nodded at Debby's words.

"Joel is so great!" Debby started loudly. "He's so handsome and strong! And he's so kind and willing to do almost anything for anybody!! If only I could get him alone, even just for a few moments, but that kid of his is just glued to his side."

Her cheeriness died back as she mentioned Joel's kid, almost as if Debby has a resentment toward the 14-year-old. You couldn't make sense of her rambling. You'd spent so much time outside that you really didn't understand the way Debby felt towards Joel.

When you both entered the mess hall, you dished up. Debby's gasp pulled you from your focus and she gripped your jacket sleeve. You looked at her, brows scrunched in an irritated way.

"Joel's here!" She whispered at you, shaking you just a bit.

You turned fully to look in the direction your companion was looking in. You spotted Tommy and Maria first, and the presumed Joel and his kid sat across from them. They were engaging in something casual and eating slowly. And as if feeling eyes on them, Tommy turned first and the others followed in suit. Tommy waved you two over.

Debby practically skipped over, and you were much slower. Debby plopped right beside Maria, trying to get as close to Joel as he could. You sat beside Debby, careful to not evade any space.

"Hi Joel!" Debby greeted, too cheery for something casually quiet.

Joel only nodded in response, mouth full of food. His kid only glanced at Debby before back at her food.

"You settling in okay?" Maria asked, leaning forward around Debby.

You nodded, trying your best to not scarf down your food and match the pace of the others.

"You think this job is okay for you? Do you need anything?" Tommy asked, putting his spoon down to show full attentiveness.

"Umm," You swallowed your food. "Maybe a library and some blankets? And maybe a way to let the dogs go outside by themselves?" You were unsure if you were to grab anything extra for the dogs, or if you could modify that part of the barn.

Tommy nodded, "I can show you the library after this, and where we keep our extra clothes and blankets."

"Thank you," You almost started eating before Maria asked you a question.

"You fixing up that outside coral?" Maria asked.

You nodded, "Planning on it, so they don't make such a mess of inside."

"By yourself?" Maria asked again.

"Planning on it," You sense Maria's hesitation. "I was wondering where to get some wood and maybe some chicken wire, and maybe something to smooth the wood out so no one gets any splinters."

"Chicken wire?" Tommy asked, confused.

"So the dogs don't slip out under the fence," You pointed out.

Tommy nodded, "Well, uh my brother here is pretty well-versed in woodwork."

You looked at Joel, who sat across from Tommy. He looked back.

"Joel Miller," Joel reached a hand across the table to shake yours.

"Y/n," You told him, accepting his hand.

"Ellie," Joel's kid offered her hand once you pulled away from Joel. "You'll get the hang of eating slow eventually. I was like that too."

You nodded, settling back down into your chair.

Lunch went a lot slower than you were used to. But later than sooner, you were off to the library. Tommy led the way, informing you that you were welcome to take books home if needed, but to bring them back when you were done.

You nodded along to the information. And when Tommy left to go help Maria with something, you started wandering. You were looking for books on dog behavior and diet, hoping to find good ways to train the dogs under your care.

In just under two hours you found what you needed. You big goodbye to the library caretaker and was on your way back to the barn. You checked up on the dogs, cleaned up any mess they made, and got to reading. You took note of anything you deemed useful as you read.

A knock disrupted you. It was Tommy again. He brought an arm-full of old blankets. You met him at the doorway, thanking him. The man nodded and said if you needed anything that he'll be around. You thanked him again and decided that you'd wait to give the dogs their blankets until they were ready and trained to go outside.

After reading a few more pages, you fixed up some more things around the kennels and cleaned up the place a little more.

The sun went down and the town lights came on. Work slowed the darker it got in the barn. Soon enough, you bid the dogs goodnight and made your way home. You weren't too hungry so you skipped dinner and read until you couldn't anymore.

The next morning, you woke again before the sun. You peeked outside and saw that maybe only one or two people were awake. You got ready slowly, giving the town time to wake up before you officially started your day.

You shucked a big, thick jacket on and headed to the barn. The dogs greeted you with barks and wagging tails. For each kennel you cleaned, you gave the resident dog some love. You fed them and refreshed their water. Your stomach growled and you headed out to get your own breakfast.

The Miller Family was already there and settled, as was Debby. Debby seemed to be talking a very tired-looking Joel Miller's ears off about something. You see Ellie excuse herself from the table and make her way to join you in the line. She grabs a plate and comes up beside you.

“You smell like the barn,” Are the first words Ellie speaks to you. “Do you work with the horses?”

“No,” You answer as your grab some breakfast. “I work in the kennels.”

“Kennels?” Ellie presses.

“There’s some kennels in a room off to the side in the barn,” You tell her, grabbing a drink and utensils. “I can show you sometime if you like.”

“That’d be.. cool,” Ellie gives a chill smile, her eyes sparkling in excitement.

You lead the way to the table and you two take up your usual spots. You start eating instantly, extra hungry from the skipped dinner last night.

“You smell like the barn,” Debby notes with her nose wrinkled in distaste.

You swallow your bite of breakfast, “Woke up early.”

“And the barn was the first place you went?” She asks.

“Well yeah..,” You look at her finally, feeling a little subconscious. “Where else would I go?”

Debby opens her mouth to speak, but closes it again. She decided to not add any more comments about you and continue on with her breakfast.

A small conversation picks up between Tommy and Joel. Something about patrols and work that needs to be done around the town. It’s almost like they plan their day around each other, as if they want to see each other as often as possible. Maria joins in too, noting sightings from patrols on the west side. Joel nods, muttering about going out sometime today or tomorrow.

“What about the fences for the dogs?” Ellie interrupts.

“Still on my list,” Joel answers Ellie and then looks at you. “When would you want to start on that?”

“Whenever works best for you,” You tell him.

“We can start after this, if you’d like,” Joel suggests.

You nod, “That works.”

Joel nods and you go back to your breakfast.

You’re starting to get used to the slow breakfasts, but not really. You’re antsy to get back to the dogs. But breakfast does go by. Joel goes to get some tools and wood, and you go to meet him at the barn. The dogs were antsy for your return, barking and jumping on their chainlink cages as you walk by. You give them love and refill their waters if needed.

Joel shows up not long after, with Ellie in tow. You help carry wood and tools back to where you want to start. You two adults get to work, and you tell Ellie to make herself comfortable inside the barn and that the dogs are friendly. You and Joel tear up the old wooden fence and replace with new, better wood. You both hammer down and sand, making sure the fence is stable and has a lack of splinters. You slowly make your way around this corner of the barn, completing the process of setting up the fence by midday. Putting up the chicken wire only takes another hour or two.

When finished, you ask Joel for another favor, if he doesn’t mind. What? To help make the doggy doors a little better, and make it so the dogs goes in and out as they please.

Joel agrees, leaves to grab some more supplies, and when he comes back he shows you how to install his idea so you can do some doors as well.

Joel takes the previous doggy door off, cuts around the doorway to make the shape a little better, installs a new frame around the door, attaches this rubber to the sides and bottom, and attaches this swinging rubbery door to the doorway. Joel explains that the rubber will act as a seal to keep the cold air out of the kennel, and the new door should flap back and forth a few times before catching on the rubber and sealing the inside from the outside again.

You nod as you take in his instructions and explanation. It’s only slightly confusing but hopefully with some hands on the instructions will become more clear.

Joel moves to the next door down, and you settle in at the one beside that. Joel shows you how to install at a slow pace, making sure to go step by step with you. He does this at the next doggy door, and a few more before weaning you off instruction and trusting you to do it by yourself. It’s not long before you make it to the other side, installing the other five doggy doors. You do the last two yourself, Joel keeping a watchful eye over your shoulder.

Once you’re done, it’s evening. The sun is just barely starting to set. A few of the dogs have begun to venture outside to check out the new fence, their new doors, and Joel. After a few hi’s to the dogs, you take Joel inside through a door for people located in the premises of the new fences. You help him collect and put away his tools, but you seem to get a little too confident with these newfound tools and the small saw slips in your grasp and cuts into your first two fingers. You yelp and hiss, instantly grabbing your two injured fingers in the palm of your injured hand.

“What? What?,” Joel’s instantly concerned, gently grabbing your shoulder to turn you. “What happened?”

He zeros in on your fingers grasped in your hands and gently cups your hands in his.

“It-It’s fine, Joel. Really,” You tell him. “I guess I just wasn’t holding the saw tight enough and it slipped.”

“Let me see it,” Joel demands softly.

“Joel, really,” You pull your hands away slightly. “It’s okay. I can fix it up myself.”

“Just let me see it,” Joel demands again.

You look at his face full of concern and give in, resting your hands in his grasp. You release your fingers from your grasp and let them fall victim to Joel’s eyes. The man gently straightens your fingers with his and look at the cuts on your fingerpads, titling your hand from side to side.

Joel hums, “Come back to my place. I got the stuff to fix you up.”

“I can just do it at my house,” You try to reason with the taller man, who make your hands look like half the size they really are in his.

“Do you have rubbing alcohol?” He asks and you shake your head. “Bandages?” Another head shake from you. “Well, I’ve got those at my place, so just come back with Ellie and I and I’ll get you fixed up before dinner.”

“But-“ You start.

“It’s better than you running around with bleeding fingers trying to get the supplies yourself,” Joel tells you, giving you an intense gaze.

You give in, “Fine.”

Joel nods, shucking the tool bag onto his shoulders and calling Ellie in from outside, as she joined you and stayed out to play with the dogs. He finally let you have your hands back when he led the way out the barn and to his house.

“What’s he so tense about?” Ellie asks, walking beside you.

“I cut myself on the saw,” You show her.

“Oh, well it’s not that bad,” Ellie waved Joel’s tenseness off. “He shouldn’t be that worried. Joel’s had so much worse!”

You don’t have too much time to look around Joel and Ellie’s house before Joel is ushering you off to the kitchen and asking Ellie to put the tool bag away. She does, marching off down the halls.

Joel stands you both over the sink, running the water until it’s decently warm. He helps wash your fingers off until the cuts are visible. They’re not too bad, but too deep to be left alone. Joel reaches up into a cabinet beside the sink and grabs some rubbing alcohol and some bandaids. You hiss when he pours the rubbing alcohol over the cuts, the stinging causing you to pull away on instinct. Joel gives you a minute before putting your fingers back under the water to wash away any more debris and any remaining alcohol. He turns the sink off and dabs the areas dry with a thin rag. Joel puts the bandaids on himself, he doesn’t give you a choice to try and put them on yourself. Once satisfied with his work, Joel finally lets you have your hand to yourself.

“Keep the bandaids on for a few days,” He tells you. “Either you can let them fall off or take them off when you’re ready. But if the cuts are still not healed when the bandaids come off, feel free to stop by and come grab some more.”

“Okay,” You nod, rubbing your good fingers against your injured ones, feeling the bumping texture of the bandaid. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Joel nods.

Joel looks at you for a moment. You watch as his eyes dart from here to there. But he gets to look for only a moment before the front door is thrusted open. In comes Debby.

“Joel!” She calls into the house, looking ahead. “Sorry for stopping in like this, but I figured it’s dinner time and you’d want to know! And we can like totally walk there together if you’re. . . . ready. .”

Debby trails off at the end of her sentence as she makes eye contact with the pair of you. She assesses the situation before speaking.

“Y/n? What are you going her?” Her tone is a nice balance between friendly and surprised, but her eyes scream confusion and threat.

“I got hurt working today and Joel fixed me up,” You tell her.

“Oh! Are you okay?” Debby slams the front door shut, rattling some little figurines on a nearby table.

She grabs your fingers a bit roughly, making you wince, and looks them over.

“He fixed you right up, didn’t he?” Debby voiced is pitched. She looks at Joel, “Didn’t you, Joel?” She almost speaks to him like a puppy that’s done something cute.

Joel nods, “I offered.” His voice is monotone and he turns to put away the medical stuff, and throw away the bandaid wrappings.

“Well, girl!” Debby turns to you. “Don’t be such a klutz next time, yeah?”

“Umm,” You hesitate. “Yeah.”

Debby is tense. Almost as if she’s taking you being in Joel’s house as a threat to her crush on the man.

Ellie comes stomping down the hallway. She’s easy to hear when the kitchen has gone quiet. She calls out to Joel.

“I’m hungry, man!” She expressed. “When are we going to eat?”

She turns the corner and her raised eyebrows fall when she see the additional person in the kitchen. Ellie huffs, looking at Joel with an irritated expression. Joel gives the hint of one back.

“We can head out now,” Joel says.

“Good!” Ellie marches on to the front door and outside. She clobbers down the steps, “I’m so hungry!!”

You three adults trail after her. Joel turns on his porch light and shuts the front door. Joel takes big steps to catch up to his advancing daughter, urging her to slow down a bit.

Debby is uncharacteristically tense at dinner. Her chatter doesn't stop, but the edge to her tone gives her away. The table either doesn't notice or doesn't care. It's whatever to you, honestly. You're too focused on eating dinner, and figuring out how to hold a fork with three fingers.

"What happened there?" Tommy asks you during a break in Debby's dinner talk.

"Work accident," You tell Tommy after swallowing a bite of tonight's dinner. "One of the small saws slipped through my hand when I was helping Joel put tools away."

"It's hard to work in the cold," Tommy nods. "Your hands go numb and stuff. You got gloves for next time?"

You shake your head no.

"I can go by and get you some," Maria offers. "And some antibiotics, just in case."

"Oh thanks!" You thank Maria.

"I can drop them off at the barn if that works," Maria says.

"That works," You tell her. "Thank you."

"Anytime."

You find the gloves the next morning, sitting atop a stool that you use sometimes. You pull them on and get to work that day, training the dogs to go outside for potty instead of inside. You check up on your pregnant dog, which you've named "Mama." She doing good and growing steadily day by day. The only odd thing in the bunch is a dog at the end, that you've named "Mick" has got a case of the sniffles. You'll have to keep an eye on him.

After your little accident, the days go on. You have meals with the Miller family, which has lead to you and Ellie growing closer. She stops by the barn every once in a while, mostly to come play with the dogs and horses though. Debby and you grow closer as well, once you move past the tenseness she feels when she thinks you and Joel stand a little too close for her comfort. It's whatever to you, you're not entirely bothered by it. Maria and the Miller boys stop by too, to check in and stuff (Joel's excuse). Joel stops by a bit more than the couple though, just to see how the wood work is hanging, he says.

Mick, the skinny black mutt at the end of the row of kennels on the left, seems to get worse as the days go on. His sniffles and runny nose evolve into coughs, weakness, and a lack of eating. You get worried and run him to Jackson's local vet. The doctor says he's run into some type of winter cold. To her, it seems he's coming down from the worst of it. The vet gives you a small bag of this white powdery stuff and tells you to mix it in with his food and water. You follow orders, and give Mick another blanket.

There's one day, after dinner while you were checking on the dogs before you went home, that Mick doesn't get up. He hasn't really eaten since breakfast. You pet him, feeling his ears and they're burning hot. You worry and pace for a small bit, wondering what to do. You decide the best thing for Mick, and yourself, is to stay with him that night. You’re lucky that you wore some thicker clothes today, it’s supposed to be a cold one tonight. Despite Mick’s heat, he’s shivering. You pile up some blankets in the kennel and get settled for the night. All the lights in the barn are off, the only light now is coming from the heat lamps that hang low from the ceiling. You curl you and Mick into a corner. You sit up so Mick can lay on your lap. It’s uncomfortable but you fall asleep anyway.

You’re roused awake by someone calling your name. You think you’re dreaming until your name is called again. You blink open your eyes and see a figure crouched in front of you, resting a hand on your leg.

It’s Joel.

There concern written on his face, and perhaps a little bit of confusion.

“What are you doing here?” Joel asks in a hushed voice.

“Mick’s sick,” You voice is raspy with sleep and lack of water.

You palm Mick’s head, feeling around his fur. His heated ears have cooled considerably. Maybe he’s getting better.

Joel huffs, you’re not sure what for.

“What are you doing here?” You asks back, a little more awake now.

“Well your porch light wasn’t on and- and Ellie said you hadn’t come home yet,” Joel explains.

“What time is it?” You asks again. There’s not windows here to look out of to guesstimate the time.

“Awhile after midnight,” Joel answers. “The town’s already gone to sleep.”

“And why didn’t you,” You press.

Joel hesitates, “I. . . I couldn’t sleep.”

You hum in response.

“You mind if I stay with you?” Joel asks.

“Sure,” You nod.

Joel situations himself beside you, your shoulders are barely pressed against each other.

“It’s. . supposed to be cold tonight,” Joel notes.

“You want a blanket?” You ask, thinking that he’s implying that he’s cold.

“Sure,” Joel says.

He takes the one you hand him and situates it on top of himself.

Due to your tiredness, you fall back asleep rather quickly, enveloped in the warmth of the dog on your lap and the man on your side. Unbeknownst to you, when you do fall into a good sleep, your head falls to rest on Joel’s broad shoulder.

Joel’s a little tense at first, but when the heat from you and the heat lamp above soak into his clothes, he’s dozing right off to sleep.

The next morning, you wake by yourself. You're so so warm, but your body hurts so so bad. You rub the possibly bluriness from your eyes before opening them. The room is lit from the plastic doggy door. It's not too bright out, so either the sun isn't up all the way or it's super cloudy outside. As you wake up more, you realize the position your in.

Somehow, someway, you've made your way under Joel's arm and you're resting your head on his upper chest. Mick has moved as well, from your lap to Joel's. He looks comfy, passed out.

You reach over and pet Mick's head, massaging his ears. They've cooled back down to a regular temperature. Maybe all Mick needed was some company for a night. You sigh and settle back down. You close your eyes for a moment before you hear footsteps and someone clearing their throat. You open your eyes again and see Ellie standing in front of the kennel.

"So this is where Joel ran off to in the middle of the night?" Ellie whispered, an amused expression on her face.

"I thought you knew where Joel was," You asked, only a little confused.

"Oh no," Ellie shakes her head. "He ran off in the middle of the night. Something about going to the barn to check on something. I guess you were that something."

"I guess," You cast a glimpse at Joel. Since when did he become so worrisome, especially towards you. "What time is it?"

"Breakfast time," Ellie answered, "Which is why I stopped by here."

Ellie turned her attention towards Joel and raised her voice from a whisper, "Joel! Joel! It's like way past your morning alarm!"

Joel only groans in response. He stretches, raising his arms above his head. When he puts his arms back down, Joel traps you back against his oh so warm body. But he jumps when he feels you under him.

"Sorry. . 'bout that," Joel apolgizes, putting his arms down in front of him.

"It's alright," You tell him.

"So awkward," Ellie mumbles, kicking the dirt floor of the barn.

Joel moves to get up, but a furry body prevents him from doing so.

Mick shuffles and wakes from his slumber. Without picking up his head, he looks back at the two of you and wags his tail. He already looks so much better.

"You feeling better, boy?" You ask him, petting his head.

His sniffs your hand, and licks it.

"'cuse me, kid," Joel pats Mick on the head and shifts his legs little by little until Mick lifts his head. He gets up slowly, groaning as he uses his knees as leverage to get up from the dirt floor.

You follow suit, groaning as well. You'll be regretting sleeping in a dirt floor today. You do your best to stretch out your condensed muscles.

Joel limps and wobbles a little bit as he makes his way out of the kennel and to Ellie.

"That's what you get for sleeping on a dirt floor, man," Ellie shoves Joel lightly.

While the two bicker, you check up on Mick. He's sitting up now, wagging his tail while doing his best to give you a tired little smile. He looks so much better now! Especially with the lack of sniffling and coughing.

After a few minutes of petting Mick, you turn towards the bickering father and daughter, "You don't mind if I feed the dogs real quick before breakfast, do you?"

"Not at all," Joel says.

"Can I help?" Ellie asks excitedly.

"Sure!" You say.

You tell her to gather the bowls from the kennels on the right while you gather the bowls from the kennels on the left. You fill the bowls and split the ten bowls between you two again to deliver them to the dogs. After feeding, you also refill their water bowls. Soon enough, the dogs are chowing down on their food and you three head off to the mess hall.

It's cold out, colder than when you arrived at Jackson. It seems the worst of winter is making it's way up and into the mountains. You're glad to get into the warm mess hall as soon as possible.

Once you three get settled and start eating and conversating with the rest of your group, a shadow at the corner of your eye causes you to turn to your right.

A young woman stands to your right, looking a little nervous as she twiddles her fingers.

"You work at the kennels, right?" She asks.

"I do," You nod. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, I was just wondering if any dogs are available for adoption," The woman explains. "I just feel bad 'cause it's getting colder out now."

"I'd say the dogs are ready for adoption," You tell her. "You can come by the barn after breakfast to come check the dogs out."

"Oh thank you!" She smiles. "I'll see you after breakfast!!"

The young woman practically skips back to her table, excitedly telling her group of friends her plans for the afternoon.

Breakfast goes by unexcitedly. The only relatively interesting news that is that Joel will be going out on patrol today, but that's about it.

The Millers, Debby, and you go your separate ways after dinner. You trot in the direction of the barn, meeting the lady from the beginning of breakfast there. She shows up soon after you, introducing herself as Mary. Mary brings along a friend as well, a woman around her age named Saturn.

You introduce the duo to the resident dogs, telling them about their personalities and any mishaps they've had while at the kennel.

Mary takes a shibu and Saturn takes a chow. As a form of payment, they exchange some homemade stuff that they made in their free time, like soaps and a wood carved duck. You give the ladies their dogs' favorite blankets and bid them goodbye.

As soon as you're doing cleaning up the empty kennels, a few more people stop by that are interesting in adopting some dogs as well. Soon enough, you have a little gathering of people in the room. By the afternoon, all dogs except Mama, your resident pregnant german shepherd. Someone even adopted Mick, even though he was recently sick. You told Mick's owner what the vet told you about his bag of medicine. The owner reassured you that Mick was in good hands.

It was quiet in the room now. You cleaned up slowly, folding blankets and stacking food and water bowls. You sighed, resting on the counter that sat against the right wall and looked at Mama.

"Well, looks like it me and you now, girl," You told her.

She wagged her tail in response.

You paused for a few moments, thinking. You figured that bringing Mama to your house, instead of leaving her here, wouldn't be so bad.

"You wanna come home with me?" You asked Mama, opening her kennel door.

In response, she got up and hobbled her way over to you.

You figured that was a yes, and you gathered up her blankets and food bowls. You led the way through the barn, letting Mama either stop for a sniff or pause for a break. She was about as big as a hippo now, and no doubt was she about to pop any day now.

You two slowly made your way back to your house, and you get Mama settled in the downstairs bedroom with all her blankets. For now, you place her food and water bowl in the kitchen.

It's afternoon by the time you've settled you and Mama at home. You're not sure what to do now that you don't have ten dogs to take care of. Maybe you'd eat lunch or something. It's a bit late for lunch, but that means you missed the lunch rush. You pat Mama on the head and tell her you’re off for lunch. She's rested up on the couch and she makes no sign to move from her spot on the couch as you open the front door.

You walk by the barn on your way to the mess hall and see Ellie making her way from the barn. She looks a little dejected before she see you, and then she lights right back up. The girl trots right over to you, bumping into your shoulder when she’s close enough.

“Whatcha up to, kid?” You ask.

"Well, Joel's on patrol and the kids here and doing something totally lame so.. I was looking for you and saw all the dogs were gone," Ellie kicked some dirt at the end of her explanation, hiding her dejection.

"Oh sorry kid," you apologized. "Yeah, most the dogs got adopted out today. The only dog that didn't was Mama, the pregnant one."

"Where is she?" Ellie asked. "She's not in the barn or outside."

"I actually brought her home," You told Ellie. "I didn't think it was fair to leave her there herself, especially since she's already so close to having her puppies."

"Oh is she really?" Ellie looked up at you, surprised.

"I know!" You acknowledge her surprise. "It doesn't feel like that much time has passed but I guess it has."

Ellie nodded.

"Well.. I am going to the mess hall to get some lunch if you'd like to join," You offered.

"Sure!" Ellie took your offer and you two were off to the mess hall.

Since you two were taking a late lunch, there were very few people in the mess hall. Only a few of the kitchen staff and a few people eating late lunch were seen in the mess hall.

You and Ellie decided to sit at your regular table but across from each other. It was nice to have someone sit across from you for once, especially someone so pleasant to talk to. Ellie was so pleasant to talk to that you two accidentally had stayed until evening, when the early eaters started trickling in. In a decision to make room for the early dinner crowd, you and Ellie had decided to go and walk around town. There was a slight chill to the air, but nothing too bad. The lack of a breeze made the early evening air easier to handle.

Eventually, you two had made your way back to your house. Ellie had beelined for Mama, who hadn't moved from her spot on the couch. You gotten the three of you settled in your living room with blankets and warm drinks. You and Ellie got to know each other more and you learned she wasn't originally from Jackson like you thought, but from the east coast. In return, you told her where you came from. You two ended up bonding over the struggles of the world outside of Jackson.

Around mid-conversation, a frantic knocking was heard from your front door. You paused and turned, glancing over at Ellie who looked as confused as you did. You got up and opened your front door caustiously.

A sobbing and hyperventilating Debby. She practically burst through your partially opened front door and into your arms. You barely caught her as you stumbled back. She was mumbling incoherently through her sobs and hiccups.

"What?" You asked, trying to pry the sobbing woman from your arms.

"Joel's hurt!!" Debby yelled through her tears.

Panic and alarm hit you. You looked and Ellie to see the same emotions mirrored onto her face. She shucked on her jacket and was out the door before you could get Debby up onto her feet. You shoved Debby out and mumbled a "be back" to Mama before shutting your front door and attempting to catch up to a sprinting Ellie.

Ellie had burst through Jackson's infirmary before you got there, calling out for her dad. You and Debby caught up to her. You stood behind Ellie, looking for Joel while Debby clung to your jacket.

A sob tore from Debby's throat and she lunged forward, leaving you and Ellie behind.

Predicting the distraught woman's path, you spotted Joel settled in a back corner. There was blood on his face and his right eye was squinty. His clothes and hair were disheveled, splattered with blood. Currently, his hands were being cleaned up and bandaged. Whoever he got in a fight with, neither of the opponents came out pretty.

You nudged Ellie and led her quickly and quietly from the infirmary to her dad. Once there, Debby was all over him. Sobbing and pawing at the injured man. Joel winced at her ministration, looking tired and irritated.

"Ma'am. Ma'am," One of the nurses called attention to Debby. "You're getting in the way of his treatment. Please back away."

The nurse's words had no affect, and Debby ended up having to be pulled away from Joel and calmed down on another cot nearby.

You decided to let Debby have some time to herself and stay here with Ellie in case she needed any support.

Ellie stood there nervously, not wanting to get in the way of the nurses but also wanted to be next to Joel.

"He'll be okay," Ellie mumbled to herself. "He's been through so much worse."

You pat Ellie on her shoulder, comforting her the best you could in the situation.

At the mumbling, Joel looked up and made eye contact with Ellie. He adjusted on the cot and pat the spot beside him. Ellie sat down beside Joel, practically pressed up against him.

"What happened?" Ellie asked.

“Just some raiders that ambushed us over by the ridge,” Joel explained.

He winced when the nurse dabbed at the cut above Joel’s right eye, as she had finished tending to his hands.

You glanced down at his hands. They were relaxed at the moment. There were some cuts and splotches of bruises littered across the peak of Joel’s knuckles. Joel’s left hand was bandaged from the knuckles and down around his wrist. He must’ve gotten really hurt on that hand.

“Well, you fucked them up pretty good, right?” Ellie asked, her tone indicating that she was trying to lighten the mood a little.

“ ‘course,” Joel chuckled, patting Ellie on the knee.

Two bodies joined you on one side. You looked over to see Maria and Tommy. They both looked over at Debby before turning their attention to Joel.

“What’s up with her?” Tommy asked you, confusion on his face.

“No idea,” You shrugged.

You noticed a black eye forming under Tommy’s left, mirroring Joel’s squinty right eye.

“You on patrol too?” You asked.

“Yeah,” Tommy nodded, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Joel seemed to have gotten the worst of it compared to me.”

You nodded.

“He’s tough though,” Maria noted, switching her attention from Joel to you. “I heard you had a busy day at the kennels. How many dogs got adopted?”

“All but one,” You answered.

“Oh really?” Tommy looked surprised. “I figured they all would’ve gone.”

“The only one that didn’t go was the pregnant one,” You told him. “But I brought her home cause it didn’t feel fair to leave her up there all by herself.”

“She didn’t give birth yet?” Maria asked.

“Nope,” You said. “Any day now though.”

Maria nodded.

The nurse stood from her stool and worked on gathering her medical supplies, “All fixed up, Miller. Take it easy for a few days.”

“I’ll try,” Joel responded.

He groaned as he got up. The man massaged the back of his neck with a hand, squinting in discomfort. Joel eyed the three of you, no readable emotion in his eyes.

“I need a drink,” Joel groaned.

“I bet you do,” Tommy chuckled.

“You wanna join?” The older Miller brother switched his attention to you.

“Awe what?!” Ellie exclaimed. “Then who am I gonna hang out with?”

“Go hang out with that Dina girl,” Joel reasoned. “You seem to like her a lot.”

Ellie scoffed, her cheeks turning just the slightest of pinks, “I guess..”

“I’ll be okay, kid,” Joel told his kid.

“Plus, it’s about time we get this hermit out her shell,” Tommy joked, bumping your shoulder with his fist.

You rolled your eyes playfully, “Those dogs loved me.”

“ ‘course,” Tommy shrugged.

The younger Miller lead the way out of the infirmary and into the cold winter air.

The sun was just a few feet above the horizon line now, painting the sky in oranges and pinks. A few people were out and about, but due to the cold weather slowly making its way over the mountains there weren’t many.

Once you’d reached the bar, called Tipsy Bison, Joel told Ellie to scamper off (in his grumpy, loving way) before leading the five of you into the bar. Because of course once Debby had seen Joel up and walking, she had attached herself to his hip and snuggled up to him all the way to the bar. You’d decided to hang back with Tommy and Maria to avoid awkwardness.

Being quite early at the bar had its quirks apparently. You’d all gotten chairs at the bar-top right next to each other. In a way to for you not to feel left out, you sat between the Miller brothers. You talked primarily with Tommy and Maria, as Joel seemed only focused on drinking at the moment.

As the sun set and more people trickled in, the five of you moved to a table near the outer circle and away from the crowd. With the table being circular, there was a bit more of an even option to talk to everyone. Most talk was about the town’s going ons and how the patrol went. You chipped in a couple times, but not too much. You’d spent these past few months in the barn and the mess hall, so you had no interesting news to share with the group.

Slowly, music had started from a jukebox in the corner of the bar and as people started dancing, Tommy and Maria had excused themselves and disappeared into the crowd. This left you with Debby and Joel, which wouldn’t have been awkward if it weren’t for Debby’s one-sided flirting towards a very tired-looking Joel.

You excused yourself and headed off towards the bar to get another drink.

It was louder over by the bartop compared to your little corner near the back of the barn. Thankfully, you ordered your drink without much hassle. You waited patiently, standing with your forearms resting on the counter and tapping your fingers against the wood along with the music. You felt a body join you on your left, but thought nothing of it until they started talking.

“You looking for someone to dance with?”

A tall blond man stood on your left, leaning against the counter with one arm. He already held a drink in his hand. His blue eyes looked you up and down, only briefly making eye contact.

“No,” You observed him briefly, before looking ahead at the bar again.

“Awe.. Why not?” The man sighed, setting a hand on your upper arm. “You got something better to do?”

You only looked at the blond man. After a few heartbeats went by, you tried to pull your arm away from the unknown man but to no avail. This man kept a rather tight grip on your upper arm.

“Well?” The man asks.

“Can you let me go please?” You try to pull your arm away with a bit more force this time.

“Why?” The blond man only tightened his grip. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

Before you could respond, you could feel an overbearing presence over your shoulder. You didn’t have a chance to look at the person before they spoke.

“Is there a problem here?” Joel spoke from behind you.

When the blond man made eye contact with Joel, he let go of your arm so fast that you almost thought something burned him. His previously smirky expression developed into one of panic and fear. The man scooted back from you a bit.

“No-nothing for you to worry about, Joel,” The man seemed to have a bit of confidence still in him as he tried to tell Joel off.

“Go scamper off, kid,” Joel brushed the comment aside. “Go bother someone who wants to be bothered.”

The blond man huffed and left your side, shoulder-checking Joel before stalking off into the crowd. You watched the man walk off before Joel joined you at the bar top counter.

“You alright?” He asked, ordering his own drink when a bartender came by.

“Yeah,” You nodded. “I’m more weirded out than anything.”

Joel nodded. He set a soft hand on your upper arm, patting it once or twice while you waited for your drinks.

After getting your drinks, you and Joel went back to your table.

Debby had left and you couldn’t see her anywhere in the crowd. You assumed she went off into the crowd after Joel went to get another drink for himself. You weren’t worried too much. Your friend has lived in Jackson longer than you, so you trusted that she knew her way around town.

“So,” Joel took a sip of his drink. “Got anything going on for the rest of the night?”

“Umm.. Probably just gonna go home, check on Mama, and go to bed,” You told him. “Not the most excited.”

“You mind if I. . joined you? If that’s not a problem,” Joel took another sip from his drink, as if hiding behind the glass.

"Not at all," You smiled.

Joel's sudden shyness was unlike him, as was the pink tint to his cheeks. Why? Was it hot in here? You didn't think so. You shrugged his reaction off, not thinking anything about it.

After sipping down your drink, you and Joel left Tipsy Bison and headed off to your house. It was dark out now, and much colder than today. Not many people were on the streets either, not unusual for a cold winter night in Jackson. After your walk through town, you came up onto your porch. You noticed a medium-sized black lump on your porch. You didn't turn your porch on before you left in the late afternoon, so it was hard to tell what was on your porch.

As you came closer, the black lump lifted up it's head. It was a dog. The dog wagged it's tail as you came closer. Joel hung back a bit as you stepped up onto your porch. In the full moon light, you could see the black dog was Mick! He must've ran away from home and found your house!

"It's just Mick," You turned and told Joel. "He must've gotten out from his owner's house earlier."

"Ah," Joel joined you up on the porch and gave the black dog a few pats on the head. "Okay."

You opened your front door and welcomed Joel and Mick into your house. You told Joel to make himself comfortable.

As you hung up your jacket onto the hooks on the wall by your door, you noticed the lack of Mama's greeting as you came inside. You told Joel you'll be right back, you're just going to check up on your dog. You made your way into the downstairs bedroom and was greeted by small yaps and the thump of a wagging tail. You turned the light on and saw Mama laying in a nest of blankets with three very tiny bodies nestled against her belly.

"Oh!" You exclaimed.

You joined Mama on the floor, checking the new puppies. They weren't wet and all were breathing fine. You concluded that Mama must have given birth sometime early into your night out. You gave your dog a couple pats on the head and moved her water bowl closer to her so she could take a drink.

The click-clack of claws and the thumping of boots made you turn around.

Joel and Mick stood in the doorway. Upon the sight of Mama, Mick came in and gave Mama a couple licks on the head before settling down beside her. Joel still stood there, observing the situation.

"You alright in here?" He asked. "Thought I heard you say something?"

"I was just surprised that Mama gave birth already," You told Joel, settling down into a more comfortable sitting position on the floor. "Would you like to come see?"

"Sure," Joel was quick to come settle down beside you, letting Mama sniff his hand before giving her some well-deserved pets on the head.

You watched him interact with the dogs, surprised to see Joel relax so quickly in the presence of animals. It was almost like you weren't in the room with him anymore. Almost.

Joel sat up a bit, looking at you now, "So how are those fingers?"

You brought your hand up to look at your injured fingers, "They're not too bad. Still a little tender." You looked up at Joel. "How's your face?"

"Sore," Joel responded, smiling a bit.

"Too bad I couldn't be the one to fix you up," You sighed a little. "To repay the favor."

"Next time," Joel said.

"Next time?" You questioned, surprised. "I hope next time is just a little scratch and not a spilt eyebrow."

Joel only laughed at you.

You two spent the rest of the night sitting in the room with the dogs and getting to know each other a little more. Joel was a complicated, many-layered man who seemed to have very few soft spots. You were happy to be friends with Joel, but something deep down was tempting to see if you could be more.

[hearts4maddison]

❅ A Cozy Christmas!

| Lando Norris x Reader.

- pairing: Lando Norris x Fem!Reader. - warnings: fluff..fluff and more fluff,only some swearing kissing flirting,kinda sexual? let me know if i’ve missed any. - summary: After a chaotic f1 season comes to an end You and lando bask in bed at home all day long as a cold December day rolls around in Monaco.

- Note: Merry christmas! to everyone who celebrates and over all have a wonderful break! And yes can you believe i posted like i’m alive probably gonna disappear again? this isn’t the best kinda rushed it but enjoy!

————————————————————

The cold crisp December feeling lingered around the air in Monaco and sheet of snow covered the grounds. Sounds of Tourist,cars and people out shopping for the holidays ringed out in the air through the window of the penthouse.

Looking over to the night stand the clock time in bold numbers read out 10:30 half of the day already passed laying in bed in his arms Lando’s arms.

looking down seeing the side of lando sleeping face, his face buried into your chest the feeling of his arms tightly wrapped around your waist as he lets out a small huff shifting around under the warmth of the covers.

your hand slowly makes its way to his face moving his soft curls out of his face as he slowly shifts his eyes fluttering open adjusting to the light as he gives a dazed look

“couldn’t get enough of admiring me?” Lando says his voice groggy as he gives a goofy smile.

“sure mr big ego good morning to you to?” You reply rolling your eyes

“don’t worry i know im just so handsome and talented and-“ He says before you cut him off

“okay! okay! we get it” You laugh out

“just making sure ya know?” he replies his lips going to the soft skin of your neck leaving small kisses there

“lando..We need to get up” you mumble your hands going to his hair feeling the softness of his curls

“Nu uh ive got absolutely nothing to do..other than you?” He says with a shit eating grin on his face.

“Seriously!”

“i can’t help it but seriously i’ve got nothing to do other than be in bed with you.” he whispers against your neck his arms tightening around your waist

“so you don’t wanna do anything all day?” you ask

“Nope i’ve missed you my love..so much i just wanted to get home to you all season” he says locking eye contact with you before kissing your lips

“hm i couldn’t wait till you were home”

“im home now and i don’t want to do anything other than be here with you” Lando says giving you another soft peck on the lips

——————————————

And he meant every word. He refused to get up mostly get off you constantly kissing your face leaving softy pecks everywhere. The amount of times you had tried to get up for the bathrooms but he would protest keeping you in place.

Eventually you gave up trying to go and kinda accept that you weren’t leaving the bed any time soon and you didn’t really complain. You had him home,in your arms content.

However it got to point you had finally convinced him to let you get up and he was not happy but you made it up to him by moving to the kitchen making Hot chocolate with shit loads of marshmallows and whipped cream.

And the once calm and content atmosphere turned into hectic as you and Lando put up christmas decorations around the house aswell as decorating the tree.

“..Lando! That bauble doesn’t go there!” You say throwing a bit of tinsel at him

“Hey watch it! i have vision alright” He said giving a upset face

“well if the vision is putting a bunch of random tinsels and gonks on the tree then..?”

“..your just mad i’m a way better designer than you” he mocks

“.i think you should stick to f1” You scoff

“keep that attitude up y/n” Lando says shaking his head

“Or what?” You challenge rolling your eyes

You managed to get out before lando picked you you up throwing you over his shoulder.

“Knew we should’ve never gotten up!” he says

“Put me down! Now!” you respond kicking your legs around in the air as lando walks to the bedroom.

“Nope! ow! stop the kicking you muppet!”

“rude” you grumble

“Don’t worry i’ll make it up to you.” he says before closing the bedroom door

————————————————

In the end the tree was finally put after many interruptions but it all came together the greens and red standing out in the corner of the room. The whole penthouse giving a christmas festive look.

You lay your head on Lando shoulder as the movie plays in the back as you feel his lips kiss your head before shifting so your leaned into him breathing in his strong cologne in.

“Still think we should’ve listened to me-” he says with a laugh

“shut it” you say looking up at him

“Yes ma’am” he says while laughing as you push him slightly making him laugh more as he wraps his arms around you and kisses you.

“..that’s what i thought”

—————————————————

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO EVERYONE! i hope you enjoyed this it’s not that great idk if i’ve made any spelling mistakes but please tell me if i have!

[keikikait]

Hi!

I loved Home Movies so I was wondering if you could do another Steve smut. Something where he gets jealous and gets really rough with the reader?

Thanks!

ʟᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ᴍɪɴᴇ (ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇ ʜᴀʀʀɪɴɢᴛᴏɴ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

if you want to read my other steve smut, click here!

pairing: steve harrington x f!reader (au (but still the 80's), but both are early to mid 20's)

word count: 3.3k

summary: you wouldn't actually go out with jason...would you?

warnings: SMUT WARNING 18+!, friends/coworkers to lovers, jason is a shithead, VERY SLIGHT reader x jason, dom!steve, sub!reader, p in v, birth control is not mentioned but is implied (wrap it b4 u tap it gang), use of the word 'slut' once, cunnilingus for a second, nipple play, steve can get kinda rough, SLIGHT orgasm denial, creampie, cum eating mention (?), not proofread

a note: i don't think i slayed with this...

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

It was an abnormally quiet Friday night.

You sit at the counter of Family Video, making paper stars out of a McDonald's straw wrapper, waiting for either a customer or for the clock to strike 10pm so you could finally close. Whichever came first.

Steve walks around the store, sweeping up quite literally nothing, just trying to find a way to kill the last 15 minutes before close. He had already faced the VHS tapes, restocked the candy, and put away the returns. Part of him wishes he just didn’t do it all so quickly.

“Where is everyone?” Steve finally breaks the silence, leaning against the counter, setting the broom against it. “I thought it was Friday night.”

You shrug. “Maybe at the game.”

Steve scoffs, propping himself up on his hands. “Who would pick spending their Friday night watching a basketball game over watching a movie? I mean, A Nightmare on Elm Street 2: Freddy’s Revenge just came out last month!”

You sigh, folding over the strip of paper, continuing to craft your star. “Maybe they don’t want to watch a horror movie in December.”

Steve groans, dramatically leaning against the counter again. “Save me from this boredom, please, pretty girl. I just want to go home.”

The door opens and the bell dings.

“Hi, welcome to Family Video.” You both say simultaneously. 

You look over the counter, pushing on your elbows to see around the shelf. Jason Carver lazily walks in, hands shoved in his letterman’s jacket pockets as he glances around. You immediately lose interest, sitting back down on the stool. You start to work on your paper star again.

“Hey man, what's up?” Steve greets Jason casually, leaning back against the counter. All things considered, they were friendly with each other. They were old teammates in high school, after all. He glances at the clock - still ten minutes left until closing time. “What happened to the game?”

Jason shrugs nonchalantly as he approaches the counter. “The game ended early and now everyone's heading to the after party.” He pauses, glancing between you and Steve. “You guys coming?”

Steve frowns slightly, looking over at you, still engrossed in your origami project. “Uh, I'm not sure yet. Might head home, actually.”

Jason raises an eyebrow. “Really? Passing up free beer and babes for a night alone? That's not like you, Steve.”

“Yeah well…” Steve trails off, shrugging. Jason’s gaze shifts to you. He leans on the counter, tapping his hands on it. 

You sigh, sitting up straighter. You hated these stupid fucking barstools. “I’m not going either, Jason.”

Steve’s eyebrows raise as he leans closer. “Oh yeah? Got plans tonight, then?” His tone was curious, but there was something else there…jealousy perhaps?

No. Of course not.

You shake your head. “Nope, just not feeling up for it. I’m tired.” You look back down at the straw wrapper, continuing to fold it. You were almost done.

Jason scoffs, tapping the table. “Well, that’s shitty. The hottest girl in our entire college is sitting my party out. What’s the world coming to?” Your nose scrunches slightly. You already didn’t like Jason, but the way he was talking about you was leaving a sour, vinegary taste in your mouth.

You sigh, rolling your shoulders. “It’s not my scene, Jason. You know that.”

Jason stares at you for a moment, taking you in. He wasn’t admiring you, he was looking at you hungrily. “Come on, sweetheart. Not even for me?”

“Not even for you,” You say. “Parties just aren’t my thing.”

Steve frowns at Jason's comment, crossing his arms. "Dude, come on. Don't be a creep." He glanced over at you, trying to convey sympathy through his expression.

Jason laughs, waving a hand dismissively. “What? I'm just inviting her. No need to get all defensive.” He turns back to you, smirking. “You know, if you change your mind, you're always welcome at my place.”

“I appreciate the offer,” you reply dryly. “But I think I'm good.” You finish folding the straw wrapper into a tiny star and set it aside, trying to find something else to do. Anything to avoid looking at him.

Jason turns his attention back to Steve momentarily. “You know, Nancy’s gonna be there.”

That causes Steve to tense up slightly, his jaw clenching. “She is?”

“Yeah, man.” Jason says. “Heard she and Byers are taking a break. This is your shot, man.”

Steve clears his throat, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, I guess I might swing by for a bit then. Do you think I could convince her to get back with me?”

“Yeah, dude, totally.” Jason says, picking up the star you made. He rolls it between his fingers. “She’ll be all over you before midnight. You know, I heard she still wears underwear with the days of the week on them.”

Steve chuckles, standing up from the counter. “She wasn’t when she was dating me.”

Something in your stomach twists at the idea of Steve getting back with Nancy. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Nancy, you did, you just thought they were over. You thought that you and Steve were starting to feel something for each other, always sending each other flirty glances during your shifts. He even called you ‘pretty girl’. Apparently you were wrong.

You press your lips together. Might as well shoot your shot with Jason, right?

“You know what, Jason?” You suddenly interject, leaning across the counter. “Maybe I do wanna go.”

Steve looks surprised at your sudden change of heart, raising an eyebrow. “You do? I thought you weren't feeling it…”

Jason grins, tossing the star back onto the counter. “Told ya, Steve. My parties are where it's at.” He leans closer to you, your faces almost touching. His breath smells of menthol cigarettes and Pabst Blue Ribbon beer, and you dig your fingernails into your palms to stop from gagging. “You wanna come with me, baby?”

Gross. “Yeah, I’d love to.” The lie flows off of your tongue quickly. 

Steve watches the exchange between you two, a mix of confusion and disappointment on his face. He places his hands on the counter. “You want to go with Jason? Of all people? You don’t even like Jason.”

“I’m right here, man—”

“Maybe I like him now.” You cut Jason off. “You don’t know me better than I do.”

Steve scowls, clearly unhappy with the situation unfolding before him. “Whatever, suit yourself.” He straightens up, crossing his arms over his chest. “Just don't say I didn't warn you.”

Jason reaches out, lightly slapping your cheek. “I’ll let you close up, sweet thing. I’ll be outside.”

He leaves as quickly as he arrived, the bell dinging as the door shuts.

You both close the store in silence. You count the register before putting the money in the safe as Steve shuts the door, puts up the barricade, and turns on the alarm. 

You can feel him staring at you as he approaches the counter. You look over at him. “What?”

Steve huffs, running a hand through his hair. “You're really going to go with him? After everything we've...talked about?” He steps closer, his brown eyes intense. “I thought maybe there was something between us. But I guess I was wrong.”

His gaze drops to your lips briefly before meeting yours again. There's a flicker of hurt and confusion in his expression. “Fine. Go have fun with Jason then. See if I care.” He turns away, dismissing you.

“I’m only going with him because you’re going to get back together with Nancy.” You admit, walking around the counter to stand in front of him. You had no reason to lie. “As if I would actually be caught dead with Jason out of my own volition.”

Steve stops in his tracks, turning around to face you fully. His eyes narrow, a hint of anger flashing in their depths. “Excuse me? You think I'd choose Nancy over you?” He takes a step closer, his voice lowering. “Is that what this is about? Jealousy?”

The air between you crackles with tension as Steve looms over you, his presence overwhelming. You can smell the lingering scent of aftershave, mixed with a faint hint of cologne. His jaw clenches, and for a moment, you worry he might lunge at you.

But instead, he reaches out, gripping your chin firmly. His thumb brushes against your lower lip, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “Listen to me. If I wanted Nancy, I wouldn't be wasting my time with you.”

“You say that yet you never do anything, Stevie.” You say. “Jason is at least honest that he wants me.”

Steve's grip on your chin tightens slightly, his brow furrowing. “Honest? Is that what you call it?” He releases you abruptly, stepping back and raking a hand through his hair in frustration. “Jason doesn't give a damn about you beyond using you for his own entertainment.”

He sighs. “And as for me, maybe I am hesitant to make a move because I don't want to ruin what we have. We work well together, pretty girl. Let's not screw that up over some misplaced feelings.” Despite his words, you notice the way his gaze lingers on your lips, the slight flush creeping up his neck. Steve is struggling with his own desires, torn between caution and the undeniable attraction between you.

“My feelings aren’t misplaced.” You say. 

Steve's eyes search yours, a mix of longing and uncertainty in their depths. For a long moment, neither of you speaks, the silence heavy with unspoken emotions.

Finally, Steve exhales slowly, dropping his arms to his sides. “Okay, fine. Maybe they're not.” He takes another step closer, until he's mere inches from you. “But what happens after we admit these feelings? We both know our lives are complicated enough without adding romance to the mix.”

He reaches out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch sends shivers down your spine. “Tell me, pretty girl, what do you want from me?”

“All I want is you.” You say softly.

Steve's breath catches at your confession, his hand stilling against your cheek. His eyes darken with desire, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he struggles to maintain control. “You don't know what you're asking for,” he warns, his voice low and rough. But despite his words, he leans in closer, his face mere inches from yours. You can feel the heat radiating off his skin, the intoxicating scent of his cologne enveloping you. Your heart races, anticipation building in the pit of your stomach.

“Last chance to back out,” Steve murmurs, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours. “Because once I kiss you, there's no going back.”

You lean up and kiss him. 

As soon as your lips meet, the world seems to fade away, leaving only the electric connection between you and Steve. He groans softly into the kiss, his hands coming up to cradle your face as he deepens the embrace.

Tongues dance, tasting and exploring, the passion between you explosive. Steve pulls you flush against his body, his hardness pressing insistently against your belly. You can feel the heat of his arousal, stoking the flames of your own desire.

Breaking the kiss, Steve rests his forehead against yours, panting heavily. “Fuck,” he whispers hoarsely. “I want you so bad it hurts.” His hands slide down to your hips, squeezing possessively. “But we need to talk about boundaries and expectations. This isn't just a one-night thing for me.”

“Fine by me.” You say breathlessly. 

A slow, wicked grin spreads across Steve's face at your agreement. He captures your mouth in another searing kiss, his tongue delving deeper as he pushes you against the counter. 

“You’re so cute, you know that?” Steve whispers against your lips, nipping at them playfully. “I've wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you.” 

With that, he claims your mouth again, kissing you with a fierce intensity that leaves you breathless and aching for more. His hands slip under your shirt, palming your breasts as he teases your nipples into hard peaks through the fabric of your bra. You moan softly, pressing against him as your thighs clench. You reach out to grab his biceps.

Steve grinds his hips against yours, letting you feel how hard he is. “Feel what you do to me, baby?” he purrs, nibbling on your earlobe. “I'm gonna make you feel so good, you won't ever want anyone else.”

His hands slide down to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze as he lifts you effortlessly. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, the heat of his erection pressing against your core. He carries you into the manager’s office, shutting the door behind him. He clears a space with one hand before setting you on the edge.

"I want to taste every inch of you," Steve murmurs huskily, trailing kisses along your jawline and down your neck. He tugs at the hem of your shirt impatiently. "Can I take this off? Please?"

You nod eagerly, lifting your arms to allow him to remove your shirt. Your chest heaves with each ragged breath as his hungry gaze roams over you. You bite your lip, watching him with wide, eager eyes.

The sight of your perfect tits encased in lacy lingerie makes Steve's mouth water. “Goddamn, baby,” he breathes reverently, reaching out to trace the swell of your cleavage with a fingertip. “You're fucking gorgeous.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

Unable to resist, he dips his head, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the tops of your breasts. His tongue darts out, teasing the sensitive skin above the cups of your bra. “Let me see all of you,” he pleads, looking up at you with smoldering eyes.

His hands find the clasp of your bra behind your back, deftly unfastening it. The garment falls away, revealing your hardened nipples to his appreciative gaze. “Beautiful,” Steve whispers, cupping the weight of your breasts in his palms.

“All yours.” You say breathlessly. 

A low groan rumbles in Steve's chest at your words. Leaning in, he draws one taut nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud. His other hand kneads your neglected breast, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

He lavishes attention on first one breast, then the other, sucking and licking until you're writhing beneath him. Your fingers thread through his hair, holding him to your chest as jolts of pleasure shoot straight to your pussy.

“Stevie…” you whimper, arching into his touch. “Please…”

Releasing your nipple with a wet pop, Steve looks up at you with a devilish smirk. “What do you need, baby? Tell me what you want.” His hand drifts lower, teasing along the waistband of your jeans.

You lift your hips, biting your lip.

Steve chuckles lowly, the sound sending vibrations through your heated skin. He pinches your nipple roughly. “Words, pretty girl.”

“Please eat me out!” You blurt out.

“Mmm, someone's eager,” he purrs, popping the button of your jeans and slowly dragging down the zipper. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of both your jeans and panties, tugging them down your legs in one smooth motion. Tossing them aside, he settles between your parted thighs, his breath ghosting over your slick folds.

“You're so wet already,” Steve marvels, running a finger through your slit. He brings it to his lips, sucking your essence clean with a groan. “Fuck.”

Spreading your thighs wider, he lowers his head, flicking his tongue out to taste you directly from the source. “Oh fuck, yes,” he moans against your pussy.

You let out a sharp gasp, your back arching as his tongue delves into your pussy. Your hands fly to his hair, gripping tightly as you grind against his face.

Steve laps at your dripping pussy like a man starved, his tongue plunging deep to claim every inch of you. He suckles on your throbbing clit, the suction making your vision blur with pleasure.

Your desperate grinding against his face only spurs him on, his hands gripping your hips to hold you in place as he devours you. Moans vibrate against your sensitive flesh, adding to the intense sensations overwhelming your senses.

Suddenly, Steve withdraws, leaving you panting and bereft. He rises to his feet, his eyes blazing with lust as he quickly sheds his clothes. His thick cock springs free, already leaking precum. “Hold onto the desk,” he commands gruffly, positioning himself between your thighs. “I'm gonna fill you up so good, baby.”

He spits on his cock and grips your hips, lining up with your entrance.

You grasp the edge of the desk, bracing yourself as he pushes forward, sheathing himself inside you with a single, powerful thrust. A loud cry tears from your throat at the sudden fullness, your inner walls clenching around his cock.

“Fuck, you're tight!” Steve grits out, his hips jerking as he buries himself to the hilt within your slick heat. He pauses for a moment, savoring the exquisite sensation of being fully enclosed by your soft pussy. “I know, I know. You’re being so good, letting me stretch you out.”

After a few seconds, he begins to move. He starts out slow, nearly pulling out completely before pushing in all the way, but the feeling of your cunt is too addicting, and he picks up speed. "Take it, pretty girl," he gasps. "This is what you needed, isn't it? To be stretched wide open on my cock?"

As if in response, your pussy clenches even tighter around him, milking him. Your voice is breathless when you speak, “Yes, yes, fuck, I need it!” 

Steve's fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hips as he pounds into you mercilessly, the force of his thrusts pushing you further up the desk. 

Leaning over you, he changes the angle of penetration slightly, allowing him to drive even deeper. One hand snakes up to pinch your nipples while the other dips between your legs, finding your swollen clit.

“You like that, don't you slut?” he pants harshly in your ear. “Having your little cunt stuffed full of my cock while I play with these perfect tits?” He rolls your nipple between his fingers roughly as they continue their punishing rhythm.

“Oh god, oh fuck, yes!” You moan loudly, your body trembling. Your pussy clenches harder around his cock, your mind going blank except for the urgent need to cum.

Steve's thrusts become erratic as he chases his own release, his balls drawing up tight against his body. "Gonna fill this greedy cunt up," he rasps, his voice strained with impending climax.

With a final, brutal slam of his hips, Steve buries himself to the root inside you. His cock pulses violently as he unleashes a torrent of hot cum deep within your tight cunt. “Fuuck, baby!”

The intensity of his orgasm triggers your own, your pussy rippling around his cock as waves of ecstasy crash over you. You scream his name like a prayer, arching your back and pressing against him. 

As the afterglow sets in, Steve collapses against you, his softening cock still nestled inside you. He nuzzles into your neck, panting heavily. "That was... fucking amazing, baby." You wrap your arms around his neck and hug him, going nonverbal for a second. He rubs your back gently, pushing your hair out of your eyes before kissing your forehead. “You okay?”

You nod. “Just need a second.”

He holds you closer, his cock now completely soft inside of you. He kisses your forehead again. “I was serious, you know. When I said I didn’t want this to be a one time thing.”

“So was I.”

Steve hums, cupping the back of your head. “Good.”

You sigh, nuzzling him. “Are we still going to Jason’s party?”

“Oh, fuck no.” Steve says, chuckling. “Come over to mine instead.”

You nod. “Okay.” He pulls out of you and your pussy clenches as his cum starts to dribble out. “Ah, shit.”

“Don’t worry,” Steve says, kneeling again. “I’ll clean you up, baby.”

You throw your head back as you feel his tongue on your clit again.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

let me know what you think! <3

[zyxoxox]

Hehehe another victim of my request. Just saw your post and im in love with your writing. So i want to request Wise x fem!reader who secretly a Hollow Raider (no one knows except the phaetons.) who get hurt after returning from the Hollow. Wise tent to their injuries and give reader kisses and cuddles after :)

They're dating btw.

Expect to here more from me (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

~A🦚

note : hello anon!! i don’t think you’ll ever see this, considering you sent this last december, but tyy! i love this idea for wise so much. if you do see this, hope you enjoy! and sorry for the wait 😭

> wise x gn!reader.. tw descriptions of injury, mentions of blood

tending sores.

in which he finds you hurt in a hollow.

the fissure was right in front of you! you just needed to get a bit closer-BHAM! an ethereal integrated out of nowhere, landing a square blow to your face. your vision grew doubled until it blacked out completely; your body fell lifeless upon to cold ground.

“[name]. [NAME]!”

with a shock, wise fell back, abruptly disconnecting with the hdd.

“wise! what happened, why’d you disconnect?” concerned, belle rushed over.

he shook his head, frantic. “there’s no time! belle, take over eous. i’m heading over to the hollow myself. [name] passed out, there’s no time to lose!”

with that, he grabbed his jacket and ran over to the hollow.

..

“okay, wise, i’ve got eous to drag [name] near the entrance of the hollow. sent you the coordinates right now.”

before wise’s feet stood a plane of crumbling buildings. his human body had never been so close to a hollow before. “got it. i’m heading that way.”

“wise,” there was a pause. “[name]… is not in great shape. just… try not to freak out. the sooner we can get them back home, the sooner they get better, alright?”

wise sucked in a breath, steeling himself for what was to come. the little red dot that marked your location beeping on his screen grew closer and closer, and wise couldn’t help being overwhelmed with a sense of dread.

fairy: target within fifty feet.

and there you were. lifeless and still, the air filled with the rustic smell of your blood.

wise’s heart dropped. he ran towards you as fast as he could, kneeling by your side. “[name]? can you hear me? [name]!”

he tried to shake you, but that just made blood gush out of your wounds even faster. there was no use, you were out cold. helpless, wise put his arms around your body and lifted you up. then he ran out of that hollow as fast as he could.

.

the world seemed to come back to you with a gentle buzz, a whirring in your head you couldn’t tune out. your eyes were still closed, but you could sense an unmistakable fragrance of cinnamon and old parchment.

slowly, you willed your eyelids to part. it felt like they were melded together, but with a bit of effort, you could manage a half-hearted squint.

in front of you, with your blurry vision, you could make out an unmistakable grey blob.

“….awake? are…. awake? belle….. awake!”

the voice coming from the blob was muffled, but you could just barely hear it over the ringing in your ears.

“…wise?”

your voice was a little above a croak, and the simple word seemed to sap you of your energy. nevertheless, you tried to sit up- only to be met with a sharp pain all over your limbs.

“ah!” you winced, falling back.

“hey now! careful, belle’s still bandaging you up,” a firm hand caught your back, leaning you back against the bed frame. you could finally open your eyes all the way, and your newfound gaze was met with a very worried wise, face in close proximity to yours.

he stared at you intently, as if doing an inspection. “do you think they have a concussion?”

“hmm, they might- i can bandage up all the cuts, but if there’s anything internal we might have to go to the hospital. i hope not though- i don’t know how we’d explain all the ether damage to them.”

you tried to turn to the sound of the other voice, but the sudden moment brought back the surge of pain. “belle- ow!”

“[name]! don’t move okay? everything’s okay now, i’ve bandaged you up.” she took a glance at her brother, who was still looking at you like you might fall apart any second. “i think i’ll be downstairs. wise looks like he has something to say. call me if you need me!”

before either of you could say anything, she headed out the door with a wink.

there was a brief silence. just what had happened to you?

“wise, what’s going on?” you looked at him, worried. none of your limbs would move without a debilitating sting.

your boyfriend’s eyes widened. “[name], you remember me, right? what’s the last thing you saw? who is-”

“i remember all that, wise. i was in a hollow, and then got knocked out by an ethereal.” and if you remembered, it was way out in the open. so how were you here, and not dead?

wise took a towel to wipe away some of the sweat on your forehead. “belle took over eous, and dragged you all the way to the hollow entry. then i carried you here.” he paused. “don’t worry about everything else right now. we’re really lucky things went the way they did.”

you tried to nod. it truly was pure luck you survived all that.

wise opened his mouth to say something, but then decided against it. he sighed, moving behind you and propping you against his chest.

“are you mad, wise?” you asked meekly. he’d warned you several times against going into the hollow alone- but according to fairy’s data, the ethereals were pretty weak. you thought you could handle it! how were you supposed to know they’d merge into a giant mega boss?

wise shook his head, gently burying his head into the crook of your neck, careful not to move you too much. “not angry. just… guilty. i shouldn’t have let you go in all alone. i’m never letting you in a hollow again.”

ah. somehow, that felt worse.

his face was still deep in your shoulder blade, gripping onto your waist like his life depended on it- but you could still feel the pout on his lips.

“i’m sorry,” you said, leaning against him. innocently, you kissed the back of his ear, letting all of your muscles loose and your weight onto him. his ear turned pink and he looked up to meet your eyes.

suddenly, the back of your head in his palm, he gave you a peck on the lips.

“you-” kiss! “-got me-” kiss! “-so-” kiss! “-scared!”

you giggled. even though the pain from all your wounds stung, his kisses somehow seemed to electrify it.

“i think you need to kiss all the pain away, wise,” you teased. “it’s the only way i’ll get better, i think.”

you’d said it jokingly, but wise didn’t skip a beat. gently, he worked his away around all your wounds, kissing the skin right beside your bandages.

“better?” he asked, landing a final peck on your nose. he frowned at the taste. “you are sweating up a storm. wait, i’ll get some ice.”

wise took the towel and ice pack, alternating between wiping off your sweat and putting on some ice.

“this feels nice,” you mused, “i should go into hollows more often, if this is what follows.”

he shot you a glare. “don’t you dare. i’d much rather spend quality time with you taking you on a date with coffee, not with death.”

you laughed again, finding enough strength in your arm to pull his neck down to your level, face to face. “alright, enough of that. come here, sleep beside me a little.”

and so, at your wish, wise propped himself beside you on the bed, soothingly scratching your scalp with one hand, gaming on his phone with the other. ever so often he’d plant a kiss on whatever part of you was closest to him, humming a soft tune.

in the comfort of it all, you couldn’t help but drift off into a peaceful sleep.

[fanfictiongirlie]

Twilight: The Human and the Wolf Chapter Fifteen

Click here for masterlist

Parings: Paul Lahote x OC (First person, no use of Y/N)

Description: Bella Swan's twin moved to Forks with her sister. Whilst Bella falls for a vampire, her twin falls for a wolf. The story runs parallel to Bella's story in Twilight. But following her twin and her life with the wolves.

Rating: Explicit (Finally some smut!) - Smut is the last half of the chapter if it's something you wanna skip (let me know if you'd prefer I put markers in the chapters to let you know when smut starts and end if you really do wanna skip it okay?)

Warnings: Oral - Female on Male. Fingering. Swearing.

Chapter Fifteen - Best birthday present ever

And so it began...The Cullens were gone and Bella had entered a dark, depressive state. She barely spoke, barely ate...

The months of October, November and December went by, and all she did was; wake up, go to school, come home and do nothing. At first I stayed by her side, but a month and a half went by and it didn't seem like she even noticed my presence.

So I stopped spending time at home, I couldn't help my sister, I was useless. I was starting to mimic her behaviour spending all my time at home, so my dad pushed me to carry on with my life. 

So I spent my time mostly at Emily's, either hanging out with the pack, and Paul. Or when they were busy I'd spend my time with Jacob. 

I walked up to Emily's house after parking my car, the boys were all in the house, along with Emily. She greeted me warmly, the boys were sitting in the living room like usual. 

Paul looked up at my entry, a flicker of relief and happiness crossing his face as his eyes met mine. He immediately stood up, making his way over to me with a smile on his face. 

"Hey there, sweetheart. Missed you"

"Missed you too" I mumbled, Paul sat back in his seat after he hugged me, pulling me down onto his lap. "Happy birthday baby" I add. Paull wraps his arms around me tightly, pulling me close as I settled on his lap. He nuzzled his face against my cheek affectionately. 

"Thanks, sweetheart. Having you here makes it even better" He smirks. 

"I got you something" I whisper, the others weren't paying attention to us now. All too busy having their own conversations. Loudly too. 

"Oh yeah? What did you get me, sweetheart?" He asks, looking at me with curiosity and excitement in his eyes. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a little box, inside was a wooden bracelet, and on two of the beads I had etched in wolf on one and a swan on the other. I watched as Paul opened the box, his eyes widened as he looked at the bracelet. 

"Whoa...this is amazing. You made this for me?" He asks, his tone soft and quiet. 

"Yeah.. you don't have to wear it, y'know, if you don't want" I say sheepishly. 

"Are you kidding me? I love it. And the face that you made it yourself, it means even more, sweetheart" He says grinning as he places the bracelet on himself. 

"I do have another gift" I say in a low whisper "But that'll be for when we're alone"

Paul's eyes sparkled with curiosity and eagerness as I mentioned another gift, his mind obviously wandering to all sorts of things. He leaned in closer to me, his voice a low, playful whisper in my ear. 

"Another gift, huh? Now you've got me real curious"

"You'll have to wait" I whisper, kissing his cheek. Paul let out a low, rumbling chuckle, his arms tightened around me. 

"You're going to drive me crazy, you know that? But I'll wait...as long as I get to have you all to myself later"

"I'm staying here tonight, Emily's would probably let you stay too" I say smirking. I had been spending most days sleeping in the spare room at Emily's and Sam's home. They were more than happy to have me, and I think Sam liked that I kept Emily company. 

"You think I'd pass up a chance to spend the night with you? Count me in!" He smirks. 

"Good, cause my next present happens when we crawl into bed together" I whisper into his ear. I grinned when I felt Paul shiver at my words. 

"Oh, you're being a tease now, aren't you?"

"Anything for your birthday" I giggle softly. Paul moved his hands tighter onto my hips, holding me close to him, obviously forgetting the others in the room. 

"Break it up, lovebirds" Jared yells, Paul and I look away from one another to the group, blushing a little. 

"Oh, shut up, Jared. You're just jealous that I've got the most amazing girlfriend in the world" Paul says. 

"Jared! You should get a girlfriend!" I say excitedly "Emily and I need another girlie" I watched as Jared rolled his eyes, a scoff escaping his lips. 

"Girls are trouble" He answers back. Emily and I giggle softly. 

"You're just afraid a girl will tie you down, Jared. You love living that bachelor life too much" Paul says with a goofy grin. We spend the evening all laughing, joking, being our usual selves. We sung to Paul with a cake for his birthday, and once it got dark, like my birthday we built a fire and roasted things over it. 

I sat on a log close to Paul, I shuffled a little closer, his arm wrapped around my shoulder and traced small circles onto my skin. 

"Hey you" I whispered. 

"Hey there, sweetheart. What's on your mind? Wanna sneak away for a bit?" He asks, smirking.

"Oh I do...let's go to my room" I say, it was basically my room now, I was the only one that used it. I stand up first and turn to the group. "Think I'm gonna head to bed"

The others briefly acknowledged my words and said goodnights to me. 

"Yeah, I'm feeling a bit tired too. Gonna turn in for the night" Paul says casually. I grab Paul's hand and pull him towards the house, we rush to my room and when the door is shut I turn to face him. 

"Ready for your second birthday present darling?" I ask, Paul's eyes darken with a mix of desire and eagerness. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Hell yeah I'm ready"

"Go lie down" I say grinning. He did as told, scrambling onto the bed quickly, once he was comfortably seated, I slowly took off my trousers and my top, leaving me in a pair of grey lacy underwear and a matching bra. I felt a little self-conscious, but when I looked at his reacted I soon remembered I was safe with Paul, and ready for this. 

His eyes roamed every inch of my body, a strangled sound escaped his lips, a mix of awe and raw need. "Holy hell... you look absolutely beautiful"

"I'm gonna be honest with you Paulie" I say as I start taking steps closer to him. "I'm not ready to go all the way..but I'd like to do...other stuff" 

Paul's eyes followed me as I made my way to the bed, his expression gentle and understanding. He nodded in agreement, his voice soft but firm in his response. 

"I get it, sweetheart. There's no rush. We'll go at your pace, and we'll only do what you're comfortable with" 

"Do you like your present though?" I ask as I climb onto the bed from the base, I slowly crawl on all fours towards him. His eyes lock with mine, his breaths were now coming out as short pants. 

"Yes....I love it. Godamn, sweetheart...you are the most beautiful present I could ever ask for"

I started to climb his legs, rubbing my hands over his shorts, stopping as I reach the buttons. I slowly undid them, one by one. Paul's breathing grew ragged, his chest rose and fell rapidly. I pull his shorts down, leaving him in his tight boxers. My mouth watered at the sight, I had a feeling he would be big, the wolf genes made his muscles big, all of them. 

"You're driving me crazy right now, you know that? Everything you do...the way you move and touch me, it's like fire in my veins" 

"You like this baby? I wanna do this for you...my birthday treat" I smile as I lean down to kiss him through his boxers. A guttural groan escapes Paul's lips, his body stiffens. 

"Oh hell..I love it, but you don't have to do this for me" He says with another groan. 

"It's your birthday, let me do this" I whisper, slowly I pull his boxers down, allowing his cock to bounce out and slap against his stomach. I felt myself clench and warm up at the sight. 

"F-fuck...If you say it like that, I can't...can't deny you anything, you're gonna be the death of me, sweetheart" He whimpers. Once he was naked from the waist down, I slowly licked a long stripe along his length, from base to tip. He lets out a guttural moan, his hips buck involuntarily slightly as his head falls back against the pillow, his eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy. "O-Oh f-fuck"

"Yeah?" I whisper, a cocky grin on my lips, I move one hand to hold him firm at the base, my fingers not meeting as I hold him, I blush as he watches me, I hoped I did a good job with this, I had done a lot of research, so who knows. I moved and took his tip in my mouth, tasting him, he groaned loudly, I wanted to giggle, but I didn't as I experimented with my mouth, taking him as far into my mouth as I could, not very far to be honest. I started to move my hand along with moving my mouth up and down, I closed my eyes and lost myself in giving him pleasure, his moans and grunts fueling me. 

"F-fuck...sweetheart, you're so perfect" He moaned loudly, I moved my mouth off of him, keeping my hand moving up and down his hard cock. 

"Paulie, baby, we gotta be quiet" I say, with a soft breathless giggle. He lets out a shaky breath, his chest heaving as he tries to regain some measure of control to quiet himself. 

"Y-yeah...I know. I know. It's just...damn, sweetheart. You and your mouth...making it impossible to stay quiet" 

I smirk, and move down, using my mouth on him again, I sucked in my cheeks as I tried to take his length further into my mouth. As I got more comfortable with the movements I moved faster, sucked harder, I opened my eyes and looked up at him, he had his palm over his mouth as he let ourf muffled noises. 

"F-fuck... sweetheart...gonna come" 

"Come in my mouth Paulie" I whisper, pulling off him for a moment, I moved back to it, using my mouth a little clumsily as my jaw started to hurt, I moved my hand faster, putting more work onto my hand rather than my mouth. Paul's breath came in strangled gasps, he moaned a little loudly and finished, filling my mouth. I swallowed the awful tasting liquid down quickly before sitting up. 

"Happy birthday" I say with a giggle. He reached out for me, bringing me to lie on top of him, cuddling me close. 

"Holy, hell, that was...incredible. Best birthday present ever" 

I snuggled close to him, giving his jaw a kiss. "You're welcome"

"You're amazing... you know that?"

"I just...I love you Paul, and I wanted to show you that..." I whisper, my heart swelling as I admitted my feelings to him. He moves slightly, planting a kiss onto my forehead, his voice soft and sincere as he replied. 

"I love you too, more than anything in the world. And what you just did..god damn...I'm lucky to have you"

"Have you ever done stuff like that, with anyone else?" I ask quietly, feeling a little insecure. He paused for a moment, his expression becoming more serious and contemplative. 

"No sweetheart. I haven't"

"I've never, either" I whisper. "I only want to be touched by you"

Paul's eyes burned with an intense fiery intensity, his grip on my body tightening. A low, possessive growl escapes his lips, his voice filled with dominant need and protectiveness. 

"You're mine, and only mine. No one else gets to lay a single finger on you, not ever. You're mine, all mine"

"Paul, would you touch me now?" I ask quietly, feeling a little silly as I felt my cheeks flush. 

"You sure you're ready sweetheart?"

"Yes, I am"

"Then let me take care of you" He whispers moving, he moves me to lie on my back, and he hovers over me slightly. He presses his lips to mine for a moment, tasting me with his tongue as he glides it across my bottom lip. 

"You have no idea how badly I've been wanting to touch you like this, to be the first to make you feel pleasure" He whispers, I blushed at his words, which was silly considering what I had just done to him. His fingers danced across the skin on my sides, his touch gentle and exploratory. 

"You're so goddamn beautiful, I'm gonna make you feel so good. I promise" He whispers, as he leans down to kiss my shoulder. 

"I trust you"

A low, possessive growl escapes his lips, his fingers continue their slow, deliberate path down my body as he explored every curve and contour as if he was committing each part of me to memory. His fingers finally move to trace over the grey lacy panties I was wearing, his fingers moved to touch me through them. I moaned softly, the sound quiet as it passes my lips. 

"God, your little sounds" He groans. He moves on of his fingers up and down my slit through the underwear. 

"Paul, touch me under...please" I whispered, begging. 

"You want me to touch you, under your pretty, lacy panties?" He asks. 

"Don't tease me, Paulie...I didn't tease you" I whine, he chuckles softly. His fingers finally move under my underwear, sliding past my skin touching me finally. His fingers dipped into my slippery wet folds. 

"God, sweetheart. You're so damn wet for me already" He moves two of his fingers down to trace against my hole, before dragging his fingers back up to my clit, I whined loudly, gripping his arm tightly as I moaned, my legs shuddered the more he touched me. 

"Yess..uhh Paul" I whined, he let out a growl, he dipped two fingers into me, only the tips of his fingers, I felt myself redden when I could hear how wet I was. I felt my body shiver when he pressed his thumb to my clit, I moaned loudly feeling myself finish over his fingers. 

"Paulie!" I whine as I come down "Oh, I didn't know I could feel that good!"

After a few moments, I rode my high out on Paul's fingers, he slowly moved his fingers away lifting them to his lips, sucking them in, he moaned fifthly. He moved down pressing his lips to mine, I tasted myself on his lips. 

"You're amazing, I could listen to you coming for me over and over" He whispers as he lies down, cuddling close to me. 

"Happy birthday" I repeated. 

"Thank you sweetheart, I love you" He whispers as he presses a kiss to my cheek. 

"I love you" I say as I hold him close, ready to sleep. 

Taglist:

@jaybbygrl, @strayteez3staner, @8crazy-freak8, @idontliketoread2137, @bonni-98

[ilythena]

𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒 || 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐍 𝐇𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐒

★SUM falling in love with Quinn was bad, but realizing you loved him was worse.

friends to lovers! My fav trope, Arguing and Quinn thinks you’re too good for your boyfriend, distance, angst, mutual pining, there are slight mentions of a very toxic relationship and abuse so please be advised before reading any further below the line. NOT proofread so……

♪ FIREWORKS - DRAKE

“Quinnifer, pass me the pepper?” “Stop calling me that.”

Cooking spaghetti with a grumbling Quinn over your shoulder, you smile when he begrudgingly hands you what you need and goes back to watching you make the food.

It’s a normal routine for you two, being roommates in college and then eventually working in the same field when Quinn got accepted into umich and you became a part of the medical team for them as an intern and a student, it was pretty difficult to separate you two.

“You excited for the fourth? I can’t wait for the fireworks!” You squeal, and quinn lets out a small smile at your excitement. “Actually, there’s something I wanted to as you about that.” He says, and you turn your eyes off the food for a second to let him know to continue, and he sighs out before speaking. “I was wondering if you wanted to come hang with me and my family? My parents keep asking about how you are and they miss you” he shys out and you laugh.

You met Quinn’s family completely on accident. Last year, Your mutual friend was hanging out with him and when you had stopped by the house he was in, Quinn and his whole family was there as well. It wasn’t awkward for a second, his mother opening up her arms to you and it was like you were with your own family.

“Actually, my parents are going out the country so i’d love to! How are your parents? Your Brothers too.” You turn off the stove and move to grab two plates, making them for you two.

“They’re good. They miss you too, especially Luke.” Quinn grabs a fork and sits down, not hesitating to eat as soon as you put his plate down. “Aww, I miss lukey too! He’s my favorite.” You smirk and laugh when quinn huffs in disapproval.

Looking down at your phone, the date is December 26th, 2017. You can see a few text from your mother and some friends, but ultimately decide to put your phone down when Quinn turns on the TV and plays your favorite show. Nothing can compared to right now.

“Hey, Quinn?” You say, Quinn hums and you grab a blanket to cover your lap. “Is it cool if I bring my boyfriend along? Cause I already know you’re bringing a few friends along.” Quinn stops chewing for a second, but lets out a ‘sure’, despite him secretly not wanting to.

Quinn and your boyfriend don’t have the most ideal relationship. It was pretty good in the beginning, but when you and your boyfriend started arguing more and more Quinn started to hold grudges against him. Trying to convince you to break up with him multiple times and failing, him and your boyfriend have this secret animosity that they can’t seem to bring up with each other.

“I know you two don’t get along, I’ll tell him to be on his best behavior if he decides to come along. Cause with or without him I’ll be there regardless quinnifer, I promise.” You smile and he groans at the cheesy nickname you’ve given him.

The next time you see Quinn’s family again is on December 31st, New Year’s Eve.

Everyone’s here. Quinn’s friends, luke and jack’s friends, family friends, random people you’re not sure Quinn even knows, everyone.

You can smell hamburgers in the air and you’re taking a sip of the water you have in your hand when Luke gently grabs you by the shoulder to say hello.

“Lukey!” You shout, grabbing him in excitement after finally being able to see the youngest Hughes after a while. “Y/n! I’ve been looking for you all night!” He smiles, swaying the two of you back and forth as you two laugh together. “I’m not that hard to find, eh?” “Well, Quinn wasn’t any help at all.” You hear another voice groan and you can see Jack with a bag of chips in his hand when you let go of Luke to hug him as well

“He’s never any help.” you joke and steal a chip from the bag while Jack snatches it back although too late. “True.” Your boyfriend says and with a side eye, you’re suddenly reminded of his presence. “Oh! Jack, Luke, I don’t think I’ve ever introduced you to my boyfriend! This is Dallas.” You say, motioning your hands to him as he waves a hand hello.

“Nice to meet you.” He says and extends a hand out in greeting. The two boys look at each other in a way you can’t describe and hesitantly reach out to shake his hand. As you watch them talk to each other, you spot Ellen in the corner of your eye and walk up to her to say hello.

“Oh! Y/n! I haven’t seen you in a while!” She says with happiness evident in her voice as she hugs you. “Mrs.Hughes! I missed you!” “Hun, you can call me Ellen” slowly letting you go so that you can say hello to Jim as well, you tell Them about how college is going for you, letting them know all the details they please.

As they get wrapped up into another conversation with someone else, you take a seat on a chair that’s been left alone and take in the sight of everyone getting along infront of you.

You only get about 5 minutes to relax before Quinn pops up beside you, not saying anything because he didn’t want to interrupt your focus. You turn your head to look at a tree and magically see Quinn and he smiles at you.

“Hey.” “Hey!” You two say to each other and laugh. “You okay? Everything alright?” “Yeah, this is great. Thanks for inviting me, Quinnifer.” You softly grab his hand and he can feel heat rushing to his face. “You’re welcome” he mumbles and you let out a toothy grin.

You’re enjoying the comfortable silence with Quinn, letting the conversations near you two and the wind blowing do all the talking for you two. Quinn’s mom calls him over and he nods to you in a ‘I’ll see you later’ way while you wave him goodbye.

You’re left alone again sitting in silence, when suddenly a dark shadow is casting over you. You look towards the cause of it and there stands your boyfriend—unhappy and irritated.

“Can I help you?” Brushing the hair out of your face, you look him up and down and it’s as if he’s had enough. he grabs you by your arm, yanks you up, and pulls you farther outside where nobody can see you two unless they go looking.

“Actually, yes you fucking can, y/n.” He snaps and you mentally roll your eyes at what could have possibly happened in the 10 minutes you were gone.

“You think I didn’t see that? That little thing you and him did? I’m so tired of you sitting here and pretending like nothings going on with you two.”

“Pretending what’s going on with us, Dallas? There is nothing going on.” Leaning on the tree to your right, you can see the anger rising in his face.

“Oh yeah, act oblivious like you always do. You know, if you were gonna sit up here and be a whore in front of my face, why did you even invite me here?” He yells, the wind blowing harder and the leaves shaking under their wrath. “Dallas, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just wanted you to come here because I know all of our friends are here and I didn’t want you to feel left out simply because it’s at Quinn’s parents house.”

“Go to hell, y/n. That man is in love with you and you have the fucking audacity to invite me here? Fucking bitch.” Your throat closes in on you when he steps closer to you, eyes black and unreadable.

“If you hate him so much why did you come! Just because I invited you doesn’t mean you had to say yes! I’m so sick of these petty arguments!” Standing up straight to walk away, he slams you back into the tree. You wince in pain, your back taking most of the damage.

“Dallas, let me go” you whisper, and his grip on you only tightens. “Or what? What are you gonna do, y/n? Call Quinn over to help you? I’m so fucking sick of your mouth.” Roughly gripping your chin between his fingers to force you to look up at him, the only thing you can feel is fear.

“Hello? Anyone back here?” A voice calls out, and you can immediately tell right off the bat it’s Quinn. In the moment of your boyfriend’s distraction, you make a run for it. Bolting out of the tree he had you against and running straight into the house.

You got a few concerned stares speeding up the stares, and the anxiety in your stomach stirred harder when you heard your boyfriend and Quinn arguing outside.

You ran right into Quinn’s room and slammed the door, heavy breathing and tears streaming down your face. After what felt like a minute to you but in reality was about 15, you could hear steps outside of Quinn’s room and the door slowly opening.

It was Quinn. It’s always Quinn. You can’t control the sobbing when you see him and he doesn’t hesitate to softly close the door and comfort you with gentle words and a grounding hug.

Your sobs simmer down into soft sniffles and Quinn has his arms wrapped around you tightly. No words said between you two, but a knowing understand.

After wiping the remaining tears off your face, you can see the softest look on Quinn’s face when he looks down at you. “Why didn’t you tell me he was like that?” He whispered and despite the heaviness of the situation, you let out a dry chuckle

“It was different this time.” You croak out. “It was like a different version of him. I mean, we’ve been having issues a lot recently but he’s never reacted to it like this.” Snuggling you closer to him, Quinn tucks your face into his neck and rubs your back.

He freezes when you let out a small hiss, moving his hand off your upper back to see a few bruises forming from his treatment of you earlier.

“Did he fucking hit you?” He states quickly, to which you might’ve taken a second too long to answer because you can see the confused-angry-sadness rise onto his face.

“H-he didn’t like hit me! Like, he slammed me into the tree and grabbed me really rough, which I know isn’t-“ “y/n. I just want you to be okay.” Letting out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding, you melt into Quinn’s chest and he presses a small kiss into your hairline.

“I am okay.” You breathe out and he closes his eyes to properly collect himself. “Has he ever done that before?” “…..he’s never hit me before. He’s broken a lot of stuff before. That was all. I irritated him a lot, and maybe I should’ve-“

“Don’t you even dare to think that anything he did was your fault.” Cutting you off and looking you dead in your eyes, you give up on your words and just slump against him in silence.

You two stay there for a while, just sitting against each other and you’re taking in what truly happened.

The months are seeming to move quicker. Before you know it, Quinn’s being drafted.

He’s moved out, the apartment you two shared being eerily quiet as you sit down in the living room, watching the tv on a low volume.

Pictures of you and Quinn are still up on the walls, and everything Quinn left behind hasn’t been touched since he left you. It’s not like you two stopped talking, but it’s definitely been less since the distance between you two.

Playing with an abandoned string on the side of your cardigan, you realize it’s too quiet. And it’s making you sad.

As if he knew what was happening, your phone lit up with Quinn’s contact on your phone. You picked it up immediately and his voice came through the speaker.

“Hey, you okay?” “Yeah, ‘m fine.” “What’re you doing? Taking good care of the apartment?” You can hear rustling in the back of the call, which makes you smile a little

“Everything’s fine. Stuck right where you left it, Quinn.” You whisper, and he frowns on the other side of the line. “What’s wrong?” “Nothings wrong.” “Somethings wrong, y/n. You don’t call me Quinn unless you’re upset.”

Biting your bottom lip, you hesitate for a moment before whispering a very quiet “just miss you.” The phone barely picks it up but Quinn can hear it, and it tugs at his heart.

After the incident at the New Year’s party, you two grew impossibly closer. This was his first time being so far away from you in a long time and he knew how badly it was affecting you.

“Miss you too. If your schedules still the same, I might be able to come see you? I have a little off time.” He can hear you jump over the phone, immediately booking a ticket when you let the first letter of please come out of your mouth.

“I’ll come see you on Wednesday, how does that sound? I’ll stay until Sunday.” And you’re blocking out all plans on those days, a bright smile on your face.

Your nerves eat at you for those two days you had to wait until Quinn arrived, Nearly jumping on him as soon as he touched down in the airport. You were near him a lot, and when you were scared you were being clingy he shut those fears down immediately and told you how much he missed you too.

“You really did leave everything the same, huh? Guess my artistic skills are so good there’s nothing to change.” He jokes and you scoff “well… I did take down that hideous curtain design you chose.” Giggling when he gasps in fake offense.

“I miss this place a lot, you know? It’s always like I’m home here.” “Well before you get comfortable, take off the shoes. I don’t need dirt on my floor.”

You two sat on the couch and talked. You two talked for hours, as if it was a part of normal routine for you two.

“How’s Vancouver? Heard it’s nice” you mumbled, and he smiles softly. “Good. It’s good. Would be better if you were with me, though.” Grinning you nudge him and he looks at you with an undistinguishable look.

“I’m serious. You always told me how you were looking to be in the medical team for the nhl, and the canucks need a new team member. I think you should come with me when I go back so I can introduce you to the team-“ “what? Quinn, you can’t just surprise me with that!” Sitting upright, he laughs as if he wasn’t trying to literally convince you to move.

“Where would I even stay-“ “stay with me. I’ll always let you stay with me, y/n” “I’m not gonna burden you with that.” “How would it be a burden if I’m offering it to you?”

Eyes softening, you’re left speechless. Taking your silence as a nudge to continue, Quinn lets his truth out. “I know how hard it is for you staying here. Kidra told me you were crying a few days ago because it was too lonely for you. I know you miss me, and I really fucking miss you, y/n.”

You two stare at each other for a second, and before you knew it your lips were on his and all the breath you had in your lungs were knocked out. “Come with me, come with me and I swear to everything you won’t regret it. I want you so badly, and my family already thinks we’re basically dating.”

The soft brown locks of Quinn’s hair between your fingers becomes more apparent when you come back to reality. “I want you too. And I want to come with you. I’m scared, Quinn.” “Don’t be. I’ll be here with you. I’m willing to do anything with you.”

The warm summer air is flowing through your window, sending a shiver down your spine. This is your chance. This is what you’ve thought about since he’s left. Wondering when you could be with him again.

“Yes. Yes I’ll go. Fuck, should I pack a bag? I need to book a ticket. Are we going now? What’s happening-“ with another kiss to your lips, you two lay on the couch enjoy each others presence once more.

“We’ll figure it out in the morning. Right now, I just want you in my arms.”

© copyright of ilythena. Do not repost or translate onto any other websites.

Very abrupt ending but I genuinely wanted to post today. Going on break soon, so more fics coming very soon!

[mochinek0]

Daminette December: 27-Press Start

Part 1-Ghosted

"So, why are we in a video group chat?" whined Kim.

"Yeah, I have work in the morning." growled Alya.

"Adrien sent me a video and said we should all watch it." Nino answered.

Many groaned.

"Can't we do this another time?" asked Alix

"How long is the video?" questioned Max.

"Uh, ten minutes?" The DJ replied.

"Okay." Rose spoke, "That's not sooo bad."

"So, its not a video-video." declared Nathaniel.

"What's it about?" Mylene asked.

"I don’t know." Nino spoke, "He just said we all had to watch it."

"Well, press start." Kim declared.

"Yeah, I wanna go back to bed." Alya sighed.

Everyone watched as Adrien popped up on the screen, like he was filming off of his phone.

"Shit!" He murmured, "Wrong side."

The group laughed. Suddenly, a runway appeared.

"A fashion show?" questioned Juleka.

"Why would he-" began Ivan.

"This year's winner is Marinette Wayne." The announcer cried.

"Wait! What?" Alya shouted.

"Marinette? As in our Mari?" Rose gasped.

"No. Couldn't be. They said Wayne." Nathaniel corrected.

To their shock, the Marinette they knew walked out with long hair, in a tight dress and heels.

"Thank you, all, so much." Marinette smiled, "I'm honored to be chosen to stand before you today. Thank you to my husband for dealing with my ridiculous schedule and for forcing me to go to sleep. Thank you to our children, who kept my days bright when I felt at my lowest and felt like nothing was good enough. My parents for always supporting me and the Wayne family for sneaking me coffee, when Damian forbid it."

That got some laughs. The camera shifted to some guy who looked really pissed off.

"No, but in all seriousness." And the camera was back on Mari, "Thank you Bruce, Tim. Jason, and Richard for welcoming me into your family with open arms and for the spur of the moment design adventures. My collection isn't complete without all of you. My commissions will be back up in a month and some slots have already been filled."

They watched as the grumpy man took the stage.

"The world doesn't deserve the beauty you show it, Mon Ange." He spoke, "If I wasn't already married to you, I'd propose all over again."

They cooed in time with the audience. Mari smiled at her husband and handed the mic back, before he led her back stage.

"Holy shit! Mari got married and has kids!" Adrien shout-whispered, "Imma go see if I can catch her and say 'Hi'."

The group watched as Adrien tried to squeeze through the crowd and tripped.

"Fuck; I'm alright." He spoke to himself.

"Mr. Agreste, I wasn't aware you had backstage passes." Spoke a security guard.

"Right here!" He shouted, practically shoving his badge in the guard's face.

The guard backed up and verified the pass. They nodded and allowed him in.

"Hey, have you seen Marinette Wayne, the contest winner?" Adrien asked a model.

"Get that camera out of here, you jerk!" They shrieked.

"I'm not filming you!" Adrien replied. "I just wanna see Mari!"

"No, i haven't seen her." The model shot back.

"Shit." He mumbled.

"Hey, he's looking for the new girl!" The model shouted.

"Hubby took her through the back!" Someone called out, "They had plans!"

"So, she won't even be at the after party?" The former model whined.

"Probably not. I heard her panicking before the show started." The new model replied. "Something about her uncle or something. I don't know; I didn't really pay attention. Could have been a ploy."

"Lita had to call her husband over to calm her down. He promised to take her to the airport after the show." Another model spoke, as they walked by.

Adrien nodded and walked out, "Damn, I wish I had congratulated her."

The video cut suddenly.

"Holy shit!"

"Oh my god!"

"That was Marinette!"

"Did you see how long her hair was?"

"She got married!"

"He seems like a grump."

"Who cares; she has kids!"

"What about the death threats?"

"She looks so happy."

"He looks like he could protect her."

Alya stared at the screen in silence as everyone continued to be amazed at Marinette's life.

'After everything we did, none of it mattered. Mari never got with Adrien. Lila ended up getting bullied by someone else and rejected by Adrien, in the end. She never forgave him for that. Lika felt so humiliated that she left the school and they lost contact after a few months. The only reason she even talked to him now, was because of Nino. Now, Marinette just...vanishes and gets a perfect life? She's married with kids! That guy looks nothing like Adrien!'

Alya blinked and realized the screen had gone dark. She turned her head and saw Nino staring at her, before wiping years away.

"It....It doesn't make sense!" She cried out, "I thought she was in witness protection or something, after her parents told us about the death threats! She just stopped talking to us! She still has her same name, Nino! She's married! She has kids! She's a fashion designer! How did everything work out for her and not for us?" Alya shouted.

Nino sighed and unlocked Alya's wheelchair. Alya growled and made her way back to the bedroom. She dragged herself back onto her bed and pouted.

"You have therapy tomorrow, remember? Maybe you can bring this up there." Nino answered, softly.

"That wont change the fact that she got everything she never deserved!" Alya cried, "She was a bully and controlling! She stalked your best friend! She-"

"Was threatened and scared." Nino spoke, " She was fifteen when she left Paris. It's been ten years, Alya, but you keep blaming her for everything. You even blamed her for when you ran into traffic and lost your leg."

"I keep telling you; she did it all the time and was fine!" Alya screeched, " I should have-"

"Enough, Alya!" Nino shouted, then sighed, "If I had known what was on the video, I wouldn't have shown you. I'm sorry and I'm going to bed. Max and I have work in the morning."

"Nino." Alya whispered, as he reached the door, "Do you think that if she had watched my sisters that day, we would have worked out?"

"No." He answered, "You are in our guest room because it is close to your therapist's office. I know you're trying, but try harder. The girl I remember didn't give up and she got lost somewhere years ago. If I could meet that girl again, that would be nice."

Alya stared at the door as it shut.

'I don't know how to prove it, but she ruined everything. My life was amazing until she left. It was like she sucked all the good luck out of me. Maybe if I can finish therapy, Nino will see I'm right and he'll love me like he use to.'

@maribat-calendar-events

TAG LIST- DAMINETTE: @meme991001 @umbreon-worshipper @stainedglassm @jasmine-the-fox @psychicdelusionwerewolf @vixen-uchiha @mysteriouschar @missmadwoman @kanamexzeroyaoifangirl @dissarraymania @tundra1029 @abrx2002 @mrsjacuinde @ledalasombra @animegirlweeb

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[ai-art-thieves]

Hey, am I overreacting or do some of the videos on the youtube channel @/FactsByBriggs contain ai generated images?

Here's the link to the channel if you need it: https://youtube.com/@factsbybriggs?si=QC-lGMhM9239_g5C

I don't usually tackle cases that are on youtube, but for the sake of investigating whether or not something is ai generated I'll do it.

(FUTURE A2T HERE: THIS IS GONNA BE A LONG ONE.)

Aaaaand right out of the gate I see AI.

However, I can't call this ai trash just because they generate art from ai.

The real deciding factor would involve a few things:

Does this channel tell people that some of the pictures are ai generated?

Does this channel credit any images they use online?

Are they using ai to mislead and/or farm content solely for monetization purposes?

Only one way to find out.

Ok, so right out of the gate, we don't see any links to images.

This guy also has a lot of socials.

....And a LinkedIn for some reason.

Let's put a pin on that for now.

What do the videos have to offer?

Ok. So we got an ai voice, an avatar that reeks of content farm garbage, and an image that has not been credited.

We're off to a good start. (in case you couldn't tell, that was sarcastic.)

What they didn't do is crop the url that is above, so we know the art got taken from somewhere.

Luckily, we have Google Lens.

That image is from @yuumei-art.

They took that image and did not credit where the image was from.

But, it gets better. IT'S NOT THE ONLY ONE.

There's even some where they even left the artist's signature! Not once, but twice.

And to answer your question, fellow anon, yes. They do use ai generated imagery as well.

This channel is generating images or taking images from the internet for their videos.

No, this is not me hypothesizing. This is what they are actually doing.

I know this because in one video, they use a stock image with the watermark still intact.

But let's take a step back for a mo'. We need to investigate that LinkedIn account.

I have no idea why they have this account here. Like, at all.

LinkedIn is a job hunting website, not TikTok!

The link they have goes back to their Linktree.

Another thing to point out is that they have a Kofi page.

Well, BuyMeACoffee.

Same difference.

There doesn't seem to be anyone supporting that page.

Looking at this channel some more, this doesn't seem to be a content farm.

It has the stench of one, for sure. But it's also responding to comments.

Feeling like I've hit a dead end, I dropped "Facts by Briggs" on google.

That's when I learned that Facts By Briggs actually has a tumblr page.

....It's just not advertised on the Linktree.

And they have their own tumblr domain.

....wait, tumblr domains cost 22 bucks (18.02 pounds sterling in the UK). Isn't Briggs struggling with financial stuff?

...Something's not adding up.

They reblog posts from a London Hip-Hop DJ and Rapper by the name of CANMKING.

I was going to let this fact pass. But...

And yes, he is a real guy.

But let's get back on topic.

What's even stranger is that Can isn't the only one of the usual suspects that replies.

ctkvi, the people that made an album cover for Can.

They too have a linktree and a tumblr domain.

They also do ai video and music work.

And upon investigating those guys...

"Instagram Growth Service"?

Ok, the LinkedIn accounts are starting to make sense.

Let's tackle that monstocity another day, because it looks pretty daunting.

As for the avatar...

Google Lens saved me again, and that led me to Adobe Express.

And lookie here!

It's Briggs!

And considering that its a part of the Adobe Express ecosystem, I can probably infer that the whole video is made on Adobe Express.

Along with some of the other projects that CANMKING has done.

"Riley Frankcap"

Yes. This man made another one.

Better yet, Can has a total of 6 accounts.

And they reply to all of his stuff.

ongawdclub is the oldest of the alts, going as far back as December 2021, but Can has been on tumblr since 2011.

...

Huh. Looks like this case does involve this fellow hellsite after all.

Ok that's enough rabbit hole digging for today. Also I've hit the image limit on this post. Needless to say, there's a whole lot to unpack.

TL;DR:

Yes, Facts by Briggs is a content farm.

Yes, it uses ai art. BUT...

It also uses images off the internet and doesn't credit artists.

Briggs himself is not an original creation, but an avatar that you can easily use on Adobe Express. It's probably how most of the videos were created.

Facts by Briggs has a lot of social media accounts, as seen on their Linktree, including one on LinkedIn and one on a Kofi-like site.

What Facts by Briggs doesn't have on the Linktree is a tumblr. One that has a domain. This goes against what was said in the Kofi, which states that they are struggling with money.

Facts by Briggs reblogs posts by a London hip-hop dj/rapper named CANMKING.

CANMKING replies and reblogs numerous posts by Facts by Briggs, along with five other accounts (reallysmalls, ongawdclub, needgoodgraphics, ctkvi, and rileyfrankcap (A news based content farm). Facts by Briggs also replies to posts made those five accounts. CANMKING is the oldest account out of the total seven, so we assume that the six are sockpuppets that astroturf his tumblr posts.

ctkvi deals with ai video and audio, and needgoodgraphics has a service that, and I'm probably guessing here at the moment, artificially boosts your instagram account by astroturfing it.

TL;DR for the TL;DR:

CANMKING is a rapper/dj from London who uses sock puppets, astroturfing, bots, content farms, and straight up kofi scams to gain success.

...and he made those content farm videos all in Adobe Express.

To prove it, I reverse engineered a Facts by Briggs video.

Mostly.... I know Facts by Briggs uses ai voices... but I don't want to make another account just to access the ai voice add-on. So I used the legendary "Why You Lying?" instead.

I only found one post that talks about CANMKING's scamming efforts, but they've only scratched the surface.

If any of you have any more info about CANMKING that's not listed up here, do let me know.

[fellominaarcher]

About You - yearning!winter x fem!reader

7. December 25th

chapters || prev || next

December 25th

Minjeong had cried last night.

After returning home from seeing Y/N, she had sat on the floor beside her undecorated Christmas tree, her arms wrapped around her knees, her face buried in them as silent tears spilled down her cheeks. It wasn’t just sadness... it was the weight of everything unsaid, the closure she never received, the love that still clung to her heart despite the years apart.

Even if it had only been five minutes, seeing Y/N had filled the void in her heart named longing.

But she couldn’t live like this anymore.

Loving Y/N didn’t mean she had to keep hoping. Holding on didn’t mean she couldn’t let go. They had ended without words, without a true goodbye, without acknowledging the feelings they still harbored, but maybe that didn’t matter anymore. Maybe all she could do was keep moving forward.

Minjeong had lived years before Y/N came along, now that Y/N is absent in her life and she'd still keep living without Y/N like she did.

──────────────────────

The ER was chaos.

Despite the holiday, the hospital was flooded with accident victims, car crashes on icy roads, burns from careless kitchen mishaps, patients in need of emergency surgery. The rhythm of it all was exhausting, but Dr. Minjeong Kim thrived in it.

She worked through cases with precision, stitching wounds, calling out orders, guiding her team through the controlled storm of the emergency department. It was second nature, the way she handled the pressure, the way she absorbed the stress without letting it crack her resolve.

A little girl, no older than six, sat on the exam table with a wrapped wrist, her eyes glistening with tears as Minjeong knelt beside her. “You’re really brave,” she murmured, securing the final bandage with gentle hands.

The girl sniffled, then, to Minjeong’s surprise, threw her arms around her. "Thank you, doctor." A small, warm hug of gratitude.

Minjeong hesitated before letting herself return the embrace, a quiet smile touching her lips.

Maybe Christmas wasn’t so bad after all.

──────────────────────

The shift passed in a blur of movement, right up until a new storm of chaos broke out in the ER.

It happened so fast.

One second, Dr. Minjeong Kim was reviewing a patient’s chart. The next, the ER plunged into a thick, suffocating tension.

It started with raised voices. Then a crash. A male patient who appeared disheveled, pale, his face twisted with panic and rage. He was shouting, knocking over a tray of medical instruments. His breaths were ragged, his eyes darting wildly.

“We���ve been waiting for hours!” he roared, staggering back. “You-you’re ignoring me-”

“Sir,” one of the nurses attempted, “we’re doing everything we can-”

“Bullshit!” He grabbed a scalpel from a nearby cart, his grip trembling. Then, in one sharp movement, he lunged—seizing another patient by the arm and pressing the scalpel to their throat.

Gasps rang out. The ER fell into a stunned silence. Nurses and doctors froze.

Minjeong stepped forward. Slowly. Carefully. “Hey,” she called out, her voice calm. “You don’t want to do this.”

The man’s chest heaved. His knuckles were white around the scalpel. “Nobody’s helping me,” he muttered, his voice breaking. “Nobody’s fucking helping me-”

“I can help you,” Minjeong said evenly, holding his gaze. “But you need to let them go first.”

“Stay back!” he barked, his grip tightening on the other patient. “I-I just wanted help, but no one cares! You doctors, you pick and choose who gets seen first! I-I’ve been sitting here for hours-” His voice cracked, a mix of frustration and desperation bleeding into his words.

Minjeong took another step closer. “I care,” she said softly, her hazel eyes locked onto his. “I see you. You don’t have to hurt anyone to be heard.”

He was shaking. His fingers twitched. A second passed. Then another. Then two male nurses lunged.

The hostage fell back with a gasp as the man was tackled to the ground. But in the struggle, the scalpel was still in his grasp—his panic-fueled strength fighting against the men holding him down.

Minjeong moved instinctively, reaching out to grab the scalpel before he could swing it at anyone else.

Minjeong gasped. The world tilted as she staggered back, dropping to her knees. Her breath came in uneven pulls. Her hands trembled as they reached for her neck.

The scalpel was embedded there.

A horrified hush fell over the ER.

The panicked man paled, his hands shaking violently. He let go, backing away as if he couldn’t believe what he’d done.

Minjeong barely heard the shouting around her. Nurses and doctors rushed to her side, hands pressing against the wound. A code was called out.

"Dr. Kim!"

She felt light. Weak.

Her body swayed, and as she fell back, her eyes landed on the Christmas tree in the corner of the ER.

Her vision blurred, the edges dimming.

But then the pain seeped in, hot and sharp, radiating from the wound. Her breath hitched as her fingers hovered near her throat, her own blood warm beneath them.

Her vision swayed, dark spots creeping in at the edges. Her breathing was shallow now, uneven. Her gaze blurred. And all she could think of was Y/N.

Y/N’s brown eyes, her voice, the way she used to laugh when Minjeong kissed her neck. The scent of her perfume, the warmth of her hands, the quiet 'I love yous' whispered against bare skin.

Y/N’s smile flickered through her mind. The sound of her laughter. The warmth of her hands. The taste of her lips.

If this was it, if this was how it ended, at least she had seen Y/N last night.

At least, in the moments before her eyes closed, she could think of her. At least, as the blood pooled beneath her, she would meet Y/N again in her dreams.

And it was cold. Just like December.

──────────────────────

Elsewhere

The hospital lobby was a dull hum of movement and voices, a quiet murmur of nurses exchanging shifts, of doctors flipping through patient files.

Dr. Y/N Kang stood near the front desk, her attention caught by the television screen above.

“Breaking News: A female surgeon in her early 30s was stabbed in a Manhattan hospital ER last night during an altercation with a patient. The suspect has been taken into custody. The surgeon’s condition remains unknown.”

There was no name. No details.

Y/N’s fingers tightened slightly around the clipboard in her hands.

The image on the screen was nothing more than a blurred exterior of the hospital. But something about it, something about the description, sent a flicker of unease crawling down her spine. It was similar.

Early 30s. Female surgeon. Stabbed in the ER.

It meant nothing. It could be anyone.

And yet, for reasons she couldn’t explain, Y/N’s chest felt tight, her breath slow and measured.

The nurses nearby were murmuring about it.

“She’s lucky to be alive.”

“If she is alive,” another corrected. “They haven’t said anything yet.”

“No updates?”

“Nothing.”

Y/N Kang exhaled slowly, shaking her head. It wasn’t her concern. She had patients to tend to. Still, as she turned away, as she walked toward the pediatric ward, the clipboard in her hands suddenly felt heavier.

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