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ihavemanyhusbands · 1 month ago

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Aqua Thermae

Also on AO3

Mini-Series Masterlist

Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 2.3k words

Summary: After a particularly great victory in the arena, Lucius is rewarded with both a visit to a bathhouse and you -- a high-ranking courtesan -- to keep him company.

Warnings: SMUT (minors DNI this fic is 18+), reader is a courtesan (so SW), mentions of violence, shenanigans in and out of water, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, maybe some historical inaccuracies? forgive my sins please, and I thinkkk that's it but lmk if anything else!

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It had been a very long time since he’d been somewhere so luxurious. One of Rome’s finest bathhouses brought echoes of a comfortable life long past in the emperor’s palace. The marble pillars and fine mosaic floors, the detailed frescoes on the walls, and a large thermal pool all for himself.

Then other flashes of memory came to him – his mother’s kindness, his father’s armor, his uncle Comodus’ booming voice, and the cross of their swords…

He shucked his heavy breastplate and immediately felt the steam on his already sweat-slick skin. He let out a long sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. If only memories were so easy to get rid of, he might not always feel so tormented.

Lavishness was not something he had ever actively sought out, even if he was entitled to it as the direct descendant to the throne, but it was strange to think he was once accustomed to it. So much had happened since his forced departure, like a hundred lives melding into one.

Now, after a long, grueling fight with a mighty rhinoceros and its fierce rider, he wanted nothing more than to luxuriate in the warm water until his head swam and his muscles no longer ached so badly.

But then he noticed you standing on one side of the pool, a carafe of wine and a platter of dates, cheese, and nuts waiting on a low table next to you. You smiled as your eyes locked and Lucius’ back immediately straightened. Not much took him by surprise anymore, but this certainly had.

“Who are you?” He asked, curious rather than irritated at your presence.

You inclined your head genially. “You may call me whatever you like.”

He huffed in amusement, giving you a once-over. “Very well, then. And who sent you here?”

“Macrinus wanted nothing but the best company for you, his champion,” you said, serving him some wine. “I am to be your prize, along with this bath.”

His eyebrows lifted infinitesimally and he looked away in an almost bashful manner. His profile was proud and handsome, kissed by the sun and the strikes of his opponents. He had the face of a hero history would always remember – Or at least you would, certainly.

He was hesitant at first, unsure if he could trust anything that came from Macrinus. But as he took another look at you, your allure was too great for him not to be stirred. He could tread carefully, but he didn’t really want to deny himself pleasure, however fleeting it may be.

“I take it your company is quite coveted around here?” He asked, approaching to accept the wine you offered.

You nodded in response, fingertips barely brushing his as he took the glass. He held your gaze as he took a sip and you almost lost yourself in the infinite blue of his eyes.

“By the likes of who?” He asked.

“Fierce gladiators such as yourself,” you said pointedly, unable to help your wandering eyes from finding the rippling muscles of his chest. “Merchants. Senators. Even emperor Geta has had his fill of me, but Caracalla was content with just watching.”

“Let us not speak of them now,” he said, shaking his head and grimacing at the names of the bloodthirsty twin emperors. “Within these walls, it is just the two of us. Nothing more.”

You nodded in understanding as he set down his glass on the table. “Would you like me to help you finish undressing?”

“I can manage,” he said, but now his eyes roamed appreciatively over your form, barely covered by a nearly see-through shift. “But I should like to help you, so you may join me.”

“How very kind of you,” you grinned, a salacious edge to your tone.

He stepped even closer, reaching to unclasp the bronze brooch at your shoulder. The shift fell in a puddle of fabric at your feet, your body completely bare underneath. He let out a small, shuddering breath, fingers lightly tracing one of your clavicles.

For a moment, his expression was clouded as something crossed his mind. He stared off into the middle distance, but before he could really lose himself, you decided to intervene. You pulled him in, one hand cupping the back of his head as you went on your tiptoes and brought your lips close to his ear.

“Whatever you’d like to forget, I should really like to help you,” you whispered.

“Everything,” he rasped, one callused hand grasping your hip, while the other gently tilted your head to one side so your lips would meet his.

You tasted the sweet wine on his tongue and breathed him in. He smelled of the arena — blood and sand and sweat. It was not unfamiliar to you, but it was heady coming off of him, fueling your growing desire.

Deftly, he managed to reach between your bodies to undo his pteruges and the loincloth underneath, both joining your shift on the floor. You felt the hardness of his own want against your lower abdomen, but he made no move to hasten things along.

“Come now, let us wash the day off of you,” you said softly, pulling away to guide him into the water.

You waited by the edge for him to submerge himself first, watching the way his muscles worked as he walked. He had the grace of a warrior, as if poised for attack at any moment. You almost shudder at his deep groan of contentment, leaning back against the edge. Sliding closer, you massaged his broad shoulders to try and relieve some of his tension. His hand found your calf, caressing it.

He closed his eyes and let himself be pampered, your touch transporting him far away, beyond even the shores of Ostia. He thought of your luminous eyes, the honeyed taste of your lips, and the smell of rose oil on your skin… What lovely comfort you offered. He wanted more of you and he suspected he would still not have enough.

If winning meant earning moments like this, with you, then he would never let himself be defeated in the arena. Or elsewhere, for that matter.

“My very own Venus Pompeiana,” he said softly, turning around so he could slot his body between your legs and face you. “The Gods seem to be favoring me greatly today.”

You cupped his face tenderly. “Something tells me they will continue to do so, too.”

He grinned, eyes heavy-lidded as they dropped to your lips. “Tell me, did you emerge from the seafoam, too?”

You laughed, delighted at his words. “Yes, I am salt, and brine, and pearls made flesh.”

His strong arms enveloped you, pulling you into the water with him. His lips found yours again and your legs wrapped around his hips, anchoring yourself to him. He submerged both of you for a moment and you chuckled against his lips when you resurfaced.

He kissed you like he might never be able to do so again — like a desperate lover forced to say goodbye before sailing off to war. Your fingers threaded through his damp curls, his beard tickling the lower half of your face. Your head swam and you wished you could spend an eternity there, in that moment.

You let his hands wander a little, getting bolder by the minute, but then you pulled away and playfully swam away from him. A safe distance away, you splashed some water at him, inciting him to give chase.

He swam after you unhurriedly, his head low in the water so that you mostly saw his eyes. You could tell he was smiling from the way they creased at the corners, and you felt a thrill low in your spine as he drew closer. It reminded you of a crocodile pursuing its prey, biding its time before the right moment came along.

A nervous giggle escaped you as you backed away, even daring to splash more water in his direction. He slipped under the water and for a delirious moment of uncertainty, you thought your heart might leap out of your chest. You searched for any sign of him, but the water was cloudy and concealed him well.

Suddenly, you felt the graze of teeth on your hip and you cried out, startled. Lucius re-emerged, shaking water from his hair and cornering you against the edge of the pool.

“Got you now,” he rasped, pressing you against him and bending to kiss your throat.

“Mercy,” you gasped, smiling wide as you amiably submitted to his attention. “Oh, please have mercy.”

He lifted your hips further so that his cock rested against your folds. You tried to move against him as best as the angle would allow and he helped guide you with one hand on your hip.

“Mercy?” he said against your jaw, the deep timbre of his voice like music to your ears. “You see how you’ve got me? I’ve not had any mercy from you.”

You grinned slyly. “You thought I’d yield so easily?”

He hummed, pretending to think about it. “Never crossed my mind.”

“Actually, you make it very hard not to, as much as I like to play,” you conceded, biting your lip.

He chuckled, sucking in a breath through his teeth as he fought the urge to slip inside you and claim you for himself. But not yet, of course, as he wanted to play with you a little while longer too.

“Shall we put you to the test?”

He lifted you out of the water and sat you back on the edge. With one broad palm on your sternum, he gently pushed you backward. Instinctively, your legs hiked up, but you let him be the one to spread them.

He let out a low groan at the sight, his gaze incandescent as it met yours. He kissed your calf, then the inside of your knee, and steadily progressed up your inner thigh as he propped himself half out of the water.

Your hips shifted as he got close to his target, but then he moved to your other leg, repeating the same torturously slow process. You propped up on your elbows to give him a slightly annoyed look and he grinned cheekily.

“How’s that for mercy?” He asked, but before you could respond, his head dipped and his tongue finally found where you were aching.

A breathy Oh escaped you as your back arched, fingers digging into his curls once more. He was just as skilled with his mouth as with a blade, easily finding the tenderest, most sensitive spots. He had you squirming on the tiled floors, the tip of his tongue tracing circular patterns on your clit.

“Gods,” he moaned, the taste of you only making him hungrier and greedier for more.

You tried to grind against his face, chasing the waves of pleasure that already crested over you. His beard added just enough friction to create another layer of stimulation, and soon enough, your eyes were searching for constellations at the back of your skull.

“Lucius, oh, Lucius,” you panted. “You’re gonna make me– Ah!”

He felt triumphant at your trembling under him, more honey flowing from you and onto his tongue. You made soft, almost pleading sounds, holding onto his head as if to anchor yourself. He groaned, prolonging your pleasure for as long as you both could stand it. His blood felt near boiling and yet the only cure for it was you.

Ravenous and near feral, he pulled himself out of the water and crawled over you. Finally – mercifully – he slid into you with ease, going slow and deep at first so you could adjust to him. He watched your reactions closely, feeling himself twitch inside of you — so warm and soft and perfect for him.

But that wasn't the only way he wanted to have you, and every time either of you grew closer to the edge, he changed positions. His stamina was astounding, especially considering he had been fighting for his life only a few hours earlier.

It wasn’t until you were on top of him, his hands aiding the gyrations of your hips, that you could get revenge for all his teasing. You set the pace, finding an angle where you could grind your clit against his pelvis with each move. His eyes roamed over you reverently, like you were the true goddess of love, and he was your subject worshipping at your temple. Sweat slick skin, the bounce of your breasts, your bared throat as you tilted your head backward in ecstasy… He found divinity in all of this.

His self-composure began to dissolve as his grip on you tightened. His brows furrowed and his mouth was slack, his moans spilling out wantonly. He was beautiful, so truly beautiful.

“Don’t stop,” he groaned, his hips positioning upwards to meet your movements.

As you happily complied, leaning forward to kiss him, he lifted his torso to meet you halfway. He cupped the back of your head as his body tensed, spilling his seed inside you hotly. You came harder than before, your cunt squeezing him tightly in time with the twitching of his cock.

Spent, you collapsed on his chest, the two of you sharing a laugh, high on endorphins. He wiped a stray strand of hair from your forehead with even more tenderness than you thought you’d ever experienced. He felt like the most fortunate man in the world, having found something so good in a place as hostile as Rome. He wouldn’t let you go so easily.

“Come to the next games,” he said softly before he could really think about it.

You hesitated. As much as you’d love to see him in action, you didn’t think you could bear to see him get hurt… Or worse.

“You want me to watch you fight?” You asked, trying to keep the fear away from your expression.

“I want you to see me win,” he said without a shred of doubt. “That way, you can be sure that no man can stop me from claiming my reward right after.”

You shuddered, biting down a giddy grin. “I’ll be there for you to find me, my champion.”

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#lucius verus x reader #gladiator fanfiction #lucius verus x fem!reader #lucius verus x you #lucius verus smut #minors dni #lucius verus #x reader

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homunculus-argument · 2 years ago

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The absolute height of the unintentional comedy of life that I have seen was in the finnish glass museum. Interior design is one of those things that's kind of a big deal here, one of those things that people who grew up somewhere are surprised to hear that their country is not all that known for. My friends share it in the group chat every time an american movie or show they're watching has a vase, water glass or candleholder in the background that they immediately spotted was by a finnish designer. I took up a whole paragraph to make it clear that this is A Whole Thing here.

Anyway, in the glass museum, one of the displays was a feast table set with the absolute classics, hits and highlights of finnish glassware designs - the absolutely fanciest plates and serving dishes, wine glasses and water glasses, carafes and pitchers. I could pretty confidently say that the entire presentation, if sold item-for-item, cost more than my first car. Perhaps twice as much, easy. An unfathomably expensive, fancy, finest table set of finnish design that you and I are too poor to ever get our hands on.

And on one of the plates was a dead fly.

And I had never seen anything funnier in my life. All these fine dishes and plates all empty, and on just one plate at the end of the table was a dead fly chilling on its back like that was the whole feast. The main course. One single dead fly. A human could not have thought of anything more absurdly funny than the specific location that one random fly had died out of pure happenstance. I fought myself so hard to keep my volume to museum-acceptable levels that instead of laughing out loud I went straight into hysterical gasping with tears in my eyes. I could not perfectly recreate the image from memory, but I can't let you go before I try to sketch it nonetheless:

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leuxonline · 2 years ago

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Carafe Wine: Enhancing the Wine Drinking Experience

Wine is a luxurious beverage enjoyed by many. The way you serve your wine can enhance your wine drinking experience. A carafe is a stylish and elegant way to serve wine, and it is becoming increasingly popular among wine enthusiasts.

Carafe Wine

Carafe wine is wine that is served in a carafe instead of a bottle. It is a stylish way to serve wine and can elevate the wine drinking experience. It can be served in various styles, including red, white, and rosé. Using a carafe to serve wine allows the wine to breathe, enhancing the wine's flavor and aroma.

Carafe and Glass Set

A carafe and glass set is an excellent addition to any wine enthusiast's collection. It is a stylish and elegant way to serve wine and is perfect for entertaining guests. This comes in various designs and styles, allowing you to choose the one that best fits your taste.

Benefits of Using a Wine Carafe

Using a wine carafe offers several benefits. Firstly, a carafe allows the wine to breathe, which enhances the wine's flavor and aroma. Secondly, using a carafe to serve wine allows you to control the amount of wine you pour, preventing over-pouring and wastage. Thirdly, using a carafe and glass set adds a touch of elegance and sophistication to your wine drinking experience.

Conclusion

Carafe wine and glass sets are a stylish and elegant way to serve wine. They enhance the wine drinking experience by allowing the wine to breathe, improving the flavor and aroma of the wine. Using a wine carafe also allows you to control the amount of wine you pour, preventing over-pouring and wastage. If you're a wine enthusiast looking to elevate your wine drinking experience, consider using a carafe and glass set to serve your wine.

#Carafe wine #Carafe and glass set

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stilltoolazy · 2 years ago

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Hmmmm.

That post I just reblogged about autistic people living together… hmm.

I don’t have a diagnosis or anything, because I haven’t sought one out, but I have A Suspicion. And my one friend who’s known me forever and have recently been through the whole Getting A Diagnosis thing (though for something else) also has A Suspicion about me. But I just realised… my grandma probably does too. She hasn’t outright said so but there’s little things she’s said and done that I think probably… yeah. But it would make sense, since her son (my uncle) is capital-A, diagnosed as a kid, living in a home for autistic people, Autistic. So, yeah, it makes sense if she’d notice before (almost) anyone else. And also, if she has�� maybe I should see someone about this… hmmmm.

#what set this off was the part in that post I reblogged about unplugging the TV because of the noise #and remembering how most people just figure I have really good hearing (which might be true)#while grandma was specifically like ‘you’re really sensitive to sounds aren’t you?’#I don’t remember what I did but probably I made the coffee-carafe or whatever stop hissing #or get up to stop the dripping faucet that no one else heard/noticed #or hell. maybe she noticed me looking up at the dishwasher when it beeped done even though the new one isn’t very loud and it would’ve #been mostly drowned out by people talking

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punkshort · 9 months ago

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i know who you are | 6. the fight

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Word of Joel's indiscretion spreads quickly through town, leading to a vicious fight. When Joel begins to worry you may never forgive him, he sets into motion a plan to win you back.

Chapter Warnings: language, angst, pining, sad!Joel, amnesia, slow burn, previous infidelity mentioned, violence (fist fight), blood, bruises, jealousy/possessiveness

WC: 8K

Series Masterlist

The thought of leaving your bed was excruciating.

For nearly three days, you could hardly do much more than use the bathroom and drink some water. When you heard Joel leave for patrol, his footsteps always pausing hesitantly on the other side of your door before begrudgingly going down the steps, you would eventually drag yourself downstairs and force yourself to eat something. Anything. It didn't really matter. You didn't crave anything. Didn't look forward to a single thing except the sweet embrace of sleep. But by the fourth day, you knew you would have to go back to work or else Nick would make a house call to check on you.

You had lied and said you hurt your back so you could get out of working for a few days, but enough time had passed, enough tears were shed, enough pity was wasted when you finally forced yourself to get up one morning and take a shower.

It helped more than you thought it would. The steam billowing around you in the confined space, the warm water pummeling your shoulders, working out the kinks in your muscles from too many hours hunched over in agony. If you had any self-awareness, you might have asked yourself why you had such a powerful reaction to Joel kissing someone else. If you had a clear enough mind, you might have remembered you didn't even react this badly when you woke from your accident only to discover your whole family was dead and the world went to hell.

No, you only seemed to fall into a deep depression over Joel finding comfort from another woman.

And not just any woman. Angie.

It still made your blood boil as you slipped on clean clothes for work. You should have known she was a shark, smelling blood in the water that very first night when she cornered you in the bathroom.

And to make matters worse, he had the audacity to accuse you of not caring. Not giving a shit about him, to be exact.

That fucking asshole.

When you came down the stairs and spotted the coffee maker still on with your favorite mug next to the carafe, you scoffed and kept walking to grab your coat. As much as you wanted some coffee, you were too stubborn to accept Joel's shitty gesture.

The winter sun was blinding against the snow. Or maybe your eyes were just too swollen and dry, too accustomed to staying in the darkness of your bedroom for days on end, but whatever it was caused you to wince and rub your face.

"Hey! You're alive!" you heard Ellie's voice call out from the driveway. She was walking up the path at the exact same time as you with her backpack slung over one shoulder and her winter jacket unzipped.

"Yeah, barely," you replied, wishing you had some of the coffee Joel had left behind. You took the porch steps carefully and met her out on the sidewalk, your pupils finally adjusting to the brightness. "How's it going, kid?"

She opened her mouth to reply but paused, giving you a funny look.

"What's wrong?" you asked, unable to read her expression.

"Nothing, just that nickname... took me by surprise," she laughed with a shake of her head, "you used to call me that before. Haven't heard it in a long time, I guess." You shielded your eyes and shrugged.

"Common nickname, I suppose," you reasoned, and she nodded in agreement.

"How's the back?" she asked with a point, and you almost had to ask her what she was talking about before you remembered your lie.

"Oh! Much better, thanks. Must've pulled a muscle or something, who knows."

"Well, that's good. Listen, I gotta get to school, but do you wanna get dinner later with me and Dina? Seth's making mac and cheese, and it's like, the fucking best, dude," she said excitedly, and you didn't have the heart to say no.

"Yeah, sounds great," you smiled, then gave her a quick wave before heading in the opposite direction towards the infirmary.

It was only a short ten minute walk to work, but the fresh air combined with stretching your muscles for the first time in days really did something to improve your mood. By the time you pushed open the door to the infirmary, you were actually looking forward to working again.

And so was Nick, apparently, because his eyes lit up and his body sagged with relief when he saw you.

"I was a few hours away from sneaking you the good pills and begging you to come back," he joked, then his face turned serious. "Everything alright? What happened?"

"Oh, I'm fine," you said, waving off his concern, "I slipped on some ice and pulled a muscle, it's all good now."

"Well, be careful out there, alright? You're the best aide I have."

"I'm the only aide you have," you corrected him before hanging up your jacket. "What do you need me to do?"

The morning went by fast. Nick had told you in the few days you were out, the clinic wasn't terribly busy, but he unfortunately did fall behind on housekeeping. So you busied yourself running loads of sheets and blankets to the laundry, then sanitizing equipment until Mr. Phillips came in after lunch with a laceration on his arm from working in the stables. It wasn't a bad injury, but it required some cleaning and a few stitches, which you were secretly eager to observe. You wanted to get more exposure to stitching in the hopes of being able to take care of non-emergency injuries by yourself one day.

It felt good to feel useful again. Staying busy forced your mind off Joel and the whole mess waiting for you at home, and you were grateful for the distraction. So much so that you decided to stay a little longer than usual and fold the linens that came back from the laundry. You were killing two birds with one stone: staying busy and avoiding going home in between work and dinner. By now, you knew he'd be back and likely waiting for you, and you still had no idea what you would say.

As the sun began to set and the world outside the infirmary grew darker, you slid your coat back on and locked the door behind you before heading for the dining hall.

Shoving your hands deep into your pockets, you tucked your chin against your chest, feet carrying you swiftly through the streets, eyes cast down and avoiding others as best you could. When you arrived at the dining hall, it was packed, per usual, but you did manage to spot Ellie and Dina holding a small table in the back of the room. As you weaved your way through the crowd, you noticed they were sharing some bread and butter and you felt your stomach rumble. For the first time in days, you felt excited to eat.

"Hey," you said in greeting as you dropped your coat over the back of an empty chair before giving them each a half hug. "Freezing out there."

"Give it a second. It's hotter than hell in here," Dina joked before pushing the basket of bread in your direction. You plopped down into your chair and moaned when you felt the bread was still warm, then tore off little pieces and popped them into your mouth.

"Hungry?" Ellie asked, only partially joking as you nodded vigorously.

"Did you order the mac and cheese yet?"

"Yeah, didn't want him to run out," she replied as she eased back into her chair and turned her head toward Dina. "Do you see Chris and Holly over there? What are they thinking? They know that shit'll get back to Claire. What a bunch of assholes."

"Who?" you asked, your voice muffled around the bread.

"Couple of kids in our class," Dina explained, nodding towards the other side of the hall. You twisted around, your eyes scanning the crowd until you saw a younger couple sitting together, the girl sitting on the guy's lap and toying with his hair. "That's Chris, and he's been dating this girl, Claire, for like, what? Six months or so? And look at him. Letting that hussy crawl all over him. Men are pigs."

You choked on your laughter and took a swig of water. If only they knew.

Ellie's eyes lit up as she looked at something behind you, and you turned around to follow her gaze, spotting Seth as he made his way through the crowd with three plates of mac and cheese. However, just over his left shoulder you happened to notice Joel for the first time since you arrived, but by the looks of it, it was not the first time he noticed you.

He was sitting at his usual table with Tommy and another guy from patrol you vaguely recognized, the other two men engrossed in conversation while Joel pinned you with his stare. You quickly turned away, your cheeks feeling flush, and tried to focus on your dinner.

"Shit, this looks amazing," you said, distracted by the cheesy, piping hot dish set in front of you.

"I'm telling you, man, it's the fucking best," Ellie told you before digging in. You had to stifle a moan when the food hit your tongue for the first time, eternally grateful for the impeccable timing because all you could think about in that moment was how good it tasted, Joel temporarily forgotten for the first time in days.

"Didn't you eat today?" Dina asked, her lips twitching into a grin, and you shook your head.

"Not really. Haven't had much of an appetite this week," you told her, and Ellie tilted her head to the side.

"Your pain was that bad?"

"Huh?" you asked, then it dawned on you once again. The Lie. "Oh, yeah. I mean, I ate a little, I just wanted to sleep, I guess."

"Joel didn't make sure you ate?" she pressed, her eyes flicking over your shoulder. You dropped your fork, scrambling to come up with yet another lie when her brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed, making you twist around to see what made her demeanor change so suddenly.

As you expected, she was looking in Joel's direction, but he was no longer looking at your table. It was impossible considering Angie was standing directly in front of him, blocking his view with her body, her hand resting on the back of his chair.

"What is she up to now?" Dina murmured to Ellie, but you could hardly register her words. The way your anger ignited deep within your chest and licked up your throat, it was a miracle you even remembered to breathe. Joel's legs shifted, knees turned away from her, but that was all you could see. You couldn't see the look on his face or hear what was said. You couldn't see where his hands were. But you could see Angie flick her long, straight hair over her shoulder with a flirty laugh that was clearly meant to pull attention onto her.

If you didn't have tunnel vision, you would have noticed she was successful. A few heads turned, men's eyes lingering on her backside while women's eyes darted in your direction, but you were incapable of processing any of it. Ellie was saying your name, but you couldn't hear her over the ringing in your ears.

It was less than a minute. Thirty seconds, tops, and she walked away from him with a sickly grin plastered across her face, her two friends returning her mischievous smile before flanking her side, making their way towards the exit like a swarm of bees.

Without even thinking, you stood up.

"What are you doing?" Ellie asked, but you ignored her. Instead, you pushed your way through the crowd in a trance, shouldering people out of your way without so much as an apology, too laser focused on your target to care.

"Joel!" Ellie called out to him. He was rubbing his face angrily, trying to avoid his brother's eyes glaring at him in disbelief over what he just overheard Angie say when he heard Ellie. Great, she knows, too, he initially thought, but when he looked up and saw Ellie and Dina, panic-stricken, making their way towards the exit, he realized something was happening. He didn't see you until you emerged from the crowd and reached for the door, swinging it open and allowing a cool blast of air into the room before disappearing outside.

"Oh, shit," Joel mumbled, snatching his coat and forcing his way through all the people as quickly as he could. Tommy followed, confused at first, until he realized you were no longer at your table and then it clicked.

By the time you made it outside, you nearly missed where they went, but luck was on your side because her high-pitched giggle danced through the bitter cold air and you twisted your head to the left, just in time to see the three women in the shadow of night round a corner and head down a residential street.

You were nearly running to catch up with them, but you couldn't feel your feet hit the ground or hear the gravel crunching under your boots. And neither did they, because when you found yourself less than ten feet away, they were still giggling and talking animatedly amongst themselves, completely oblivious to your presence.

Skidding to a stop, you shouted, "Hey!"

All three women swirled around in surprise, their eyes wide and their smiles slipping from their faces when they sensed the rage radiating from your body. But even still, Angie tried to play dumb.

"Can we help you?" she asked sarcastically with a dry laugh, but when you took a step forward, she went quiet.

"Yeah," you sneered, fists clenching at your sides, "I had a question for you, actually."

Angie looked perplexed, not expecting that, so she held her hands out to her side, urging you to continue while Ellie and Dina caught up, standing a few paces back.

"Did you run out of dick to suck in this town or are you just that fucking bored you thought you'd give home wrecking a try?"

Dina snickered behind you and Ellie gasped.

"Home wrecking?" she replied, raising her eyebrow and crossing her arms. "Is that what you'd call your man following me into the ladies room at the bar so he could shove his tongue down my throat?"

Your nostrils flared and your ears began to make that buzzing noise again, so you dug your nails into your palms, desperately trying to ground yourself.

"Can I even call him your man?" she taunted, feeling like she got the upper hand. "Are you even together anymore? You clearly don't fuck him if he was looking for it from-"

You couldn't even remember moving. Your feet had a mind of their own as you closed the distance between you with two long strides and swung your arm back with as much force as you could muster, backhanding Angie right across the mouth.

Her hands flew up to her face and her two friends stumbled backwards in surprise, but all you saw was red. Before she could recover, you grabbed her by the coat and threw her down onto the muddy street, knocking the wind out of her with a sharp gasp. Quickly, before she could get up, you straddled her midsection. With your left hand pressing down on her chest and your right balled into a fist near your head, you landed a punch right on her perfect little nose with a sickening crunch, causing a trail of blood to trickle out of her nostrils seconds later. But that didn't stop you. You kept going, your knuckles, now bloody, marring her flesh over and over again, but when you made contact with her jawbone, you flinched, a jolt of pain shooting down your middle finger making you pause.

That was when Angie saw her opportunity.

She vaulted you off her with her hips and she rolled to her side, pinning you to the ground with blood dripping down her face. She scratched desperately at your eyes and mouth, your hands coming up to protect yourself with a yelp, before she began landing weak punches against your cheek and mouth. And even though they weren't as forceful as your hits, her weight pinning you down kept you from reclaiming the upper hand.

Ellie and Dina were shouting your name, but you tuned them out. All you could focus on was Angie, blocking her punches as best you could while you waited for your opportunity to take her down.

Then, Angie's hand wrapped around your throat, her fingers pressing into your windpipe. Your hands grabbed her wrist as you fought for air and violently thrashed underneath her.

"Face it," she hissed, leaning down and putting more pressure against your throat, "If it was that easy, I was doing you a favor. He never really loved you, you were just an easy fuck before your brain got all scrambled."

Her words were exactly what you needed to get your second wind.

With an angry roar, you punched her right in the throat, and although you couldn't get much force behind it, it was enough to make her loosen her grip in surprise. And just as Tommy and Joel were running up the street, you tossed Angie to the side and scrambled back on top of her. But this time, you didn't stop.

You were merciless, your hands were a blur. Fists rained down blows upon her face while she desperately tried to shield herself, but it was no use.

"Stop!" she sobbed, begging, but the fear in her voice just egged you on.

Blood began to stain her yellow hair, her perfect skin began to turn red and purple while your fists never stopped, each blow creating a new mark or cut. You couldn't stop if you tried. Something snapped and you unlocked a part of yourself you didn't know, or didn't remember, existed. Some part of you that was a warrior. A fighter. A survivor. And it wasn't until Joel hooked his arms underneath yours and hauled you back that you finally stopped, your chest heaving and your eyes wild.

"Y-you crazy b-bitch!" Angie sputtered, blood trickling from her nose and mouth as Tommy knelt in front of her.

"You haven't seen crazy!" you screamed as you kicked and struggled to get out of Joel's grip. Tommy reached down to help Angie up and he motioned for her friends to come forward. "Stay the fuck away from us or I'll fucking kill you!" you shouted, "You hear me, you fucking whore? I will fucking kill you!"

"Calm down!" Joel yelled from behind, but your blood boiled as you focused your rage on him.

"Get your fucking hands off me," you snarled, wrenching your arms out of his grasp. "This is your fault!" you continued, pointing your finger in his face and backing away, ignoring the tortured look he gave you. A sick part of you was pleased to see the sting of your words land.

"I think she needs to see Nick," Tommy said as both of Angie's friends struggled to help her up.

"She's lucky she's alive," you snapped as you wiped the back of your hand over your bloody face.

"Holy shit, dude," Ellie murmured as you turned around, her eyes all wide with shock.

"I'm going home," you grumbled, wiping more blood from your cheek as you began the journey back to your house on shaky legs, wondering how on earth you were expected to share a space with Joel after tonight. Dina and Ellie exchanged some quick words as you left before Ellie quickly caught up with you.

"I'll clean you up."

"You don't-"

"I know. But I want to," she said, wrapping her arm around your shoulder, and it took everything in you not to lean into her and let her drag you home.

You were exhausted. Mentally and physically. And you just wanted to go to bed. But you were grateful for Ellie. Someone who cared, someone who saw you were hurting and needed help without having to ask for it. So you let her clean you up in your bathroom when you arrived back home, her nimble fingers delicately pressing against your wounds, cleansing them as best she could before pressing band aids and butterfly bandages against your cuts and then making you an ice pack to help with the swelling.

She tucked you into bed and made you drink some water before sitting down on the edge of your mattress with a sigh.

"I had no idea," she began, and you quickly waved her off.

"I know. It's... I know," you said, at a loss for words.

"You didn't really hurt your back, did you?" she asked, and you slowly shook your head. "That motherfucker," she seethed, "I can't believe him, I'm going to kill him, I swear-"

"Just leave him alone," you told her, "Let me handle it."

The two of you sat quietly for a moment, each of you lost in your own thoughts before she spoke again.

"It wasn't like that before," she began, and at first you weren't following, but then you realized: she was talking about before your accident. "You were crazy about each other. Angie was never an issue. Neither of you paid her any attention. She just saw an opportunity and took advantage," Ellie said as her fingers tangled in her lap. "I shouldn't even be saying this, it feels like I'm defending him, but I swear. I was with you guys all the time. You were in love, man."

"Things changed, I guess," you said sadly, but she shook her head.

"You guys are what inspired me and Dina to go for it," she said softly, avoiding your gaze. "We were scared, but I saw how you two were together and how you made it work and, I don't know," she said, picking at her fingernail, "I guess what I'm trying to say is, I look up to you guys. And it's kind of fucking with my head right now that all this is happening."

"Ellie, no," you said, shifting a bit in bed and reaching out to her. "Don't say that. Don't question what you and Dina have because of me and Joel."

She swallowed and looked at you, her eyes soft and worried.

"Why did he do it?" she asked quietly, and you could hear the pain in her voice. Pressing your lips together, you shrugged.

"It's complicated."

She nodded and looked away. "Will you do me a favor?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Would you give him a chance? Just hear him out and let him explain?" she begged, and you immediately bristled. "You don't have to forgive him. Just... don't give up yet. Please. He loves you, I know it, and... and I think you love him, too."

You scoffed then cleared your throat, your fingers coming up to press gently on your tender neck. "I don't love him," you croaked, but she shook her head.

"If you don't love him then why do you care so much?" she countered, and you fell silent, unable to give her an answer, eyes drifting aimlessly around the room. "Why did you almost kill Angie for sleeping with him if you didn't love him?"

"Sleeping with - no, Ellie. They didn't have sex. He kissed her," you quickly explained, and her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"You rearranged her face because he kissed her?" she asked in disbelief, then laughed softly and stood up. "I'm not saying he didn't fuck up, but dude. Come on. You gotta see it, now, right?"

You took a deep breath and rubbed your eyes.

"Alright. For you, I'll... talk to him, or whatever," you grumbled half-heartedly.

"Thank you," she said, her voice sounding more like herself once again before turning to leave and allowing you to rest. If you had any inkling she was trying to manipulate you into forgiving Joel, it was quickly expunged because you awoke an hour later to her arguing with him in the living room when he arrived home, the conversation ending with her storming out of the house and then his weary footsteps slowly climbing up the stairs.

Once again, you watched as he paused outside your room, two narrow shadows cast by his legs breaking up the thin beam of light under your door until he thought better of it and kept walking, his own bedroom door closing softly with a click.

The pain was worse the next morning, but you refused to admit it. The cuts burned and the bruises throbbed, but you were too stubborn to let any weakness show, although one look at your bruised neck would tell anyone the truth. You forced yourself out of bed, feeling too guilty to bail on Nick after already taking so many days off to wallow in your own misery, and washed up before heading downstairs. Much to your surprise, Joel was sitting at the kitchen table, his big hand cupping a mug of coffee while he stared blankly at the wall, lost in his own thoughts. When you first saw his face, the bags under his eyes evident, even from across the room, it was clear he hardly got any sleep.

Good, you thought. Then you remembered your promise to Ellie and bit back whatever nasty remark you were getting ready to toss his way. Instead, you dragged yourself to the coffee maker, ignoring the mug Joel left out for you and choosing your own, unable to resist the urge to be just a little bit spiteful.

He cleared his throat as you poured your coffee, a warning he was about to speak, and your shoulders tensed.

"How're you feelin'?"

"About as good as I look," you muttered, bringing the coffee to your lips and taking a tiny sip before turning around. He looked up at you, for the first time seeing the extent of your injuries and he jolted forward in his chair, fighting back the instinct to stand up and inspect your wounds. He blinked rapidly, gaze skirting over your face and neck, worry etching his features until you sighed.

"It's not really that bad," you admitted, looking down at your feet.

"Tell Nick t'give you somethin' when you get to work," he said, voice strained. You nodded and took another sip of your coffee. He swallowed nervously before inching forward in his chair and clasping his hands between his knees. "I'm sorry," he said, the words laced with guilt and shame. "I'm so sorry, I fucked up. But you gotta believe me, I didn't go out that night lookin' for her or anyone else. I just wanted to drink and be alone for a little while." He rubbed his palms over his face while you still stared down at the floor, listening.

"I believe you," you finally said after a tense stretch of silence. He dropped his hands and looked up.

"You do?"

"Doesn't mean I forgive you, but I believe you didn't run out of here looking to shove your tongue down someone else's throat."

He grimaced and dropped his chin to his chest.

"D'you think-" he cut himself off and took a deep breath before forcing himself to look at you again. "D'you think you could ever forgive me?"

You closed your eyes and pressed your lips into a thin line.

"I don't know," you said quietly. Your head was pounding, so you rubbed your forehead, his eyes trained on you anxiously from across the room, knee bouncing slightly as he waited to hear you say anything that would give him a glimmer of hope. "You really fucking hurt me, Joel," you said, trying to hide your lower lip as it trembled, but he heard the pain in your voice and it broke his heart.

"I know, I'm an asshole and I don't deserve you. I never did. Not after what happened at the hospital and definitely not now," he said, standing up and taking a few hesitant steps in your direction, stopping when he reached the kitchen island. "But I'll do whatever it takes. I'll wait as long as I need to, I'll spend the rest of my life makin' it up to you, prove to you that-"

"I don't want to lead you on, Joel," you said solemnly, eyes watering. "I can't promise I'll ever move past it. I'm not sure we're strong enough to get through this."

"Yes, we are," he told you adamantly, "I don't want anyone else. I only want you. You ain't leadin' me on because I don't wanna go anywhere else. I don't care what that looks like in the future, I'll take whatever you give me, that's all I want."

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the wobble in his voice, and looked into the living room, the framed photo of your house that Ellie drew for you several Christmases ago, the same one you read about in your journal, catching your eye, and you felt yourself tear up.

I just want to go home, you thought, but home no longer existed. This was your home, like it or not.

You turned away, looking out the window over the sink blinking back tears, but Joel had already followed your gaze to the photo.

"I should get going," you said, voice thick. You chugged whatever coffee you could and dumped the rest in the sink.

"I'm gonna make it up to you," he said, following you to the door, "I'm gonna make this right." You scoffed.

"Yeah, okay," you mumbled sarcastically, shoving on your boots and coat before swinging open the door and heading out into the frigid winter morning, big flakes of snow slowly swirling and falling from the sky as Joel watched you trudge down the street, hunched over and curled in on yourself. A shell of the person he knew you to be.

He did that. He caused you pain. And it made him sick.

But at least he finally thought of a way he could prove how much you meant to him.

Sweat covered your forehead by the time you made it to the infirmary, your wool knit cap to blame for the excessive heat pouring from your head while your face was ice cold. You yanked it off your head and shed your coat before making your way to the back, your hair sticking to your forehead. Nick was nowhere to be found, but one of the exam room doors was closed and you heard voices murmuring on the other side. Assuming he had an early patient, you pulled your hair back and got to work. It was supposed to be a quiet day. Nick wanted you to work on an updated inventory list after getting a big batch of supplies two weeks prior from an unexplored hole-in-the-wall pharmacy.

The exam room door swung open, the voices clearer now, and your shoulders stiffened when you recognized the patient. You should have assumed Angie would be there that day, but for some reason it hadn't occurred to you.

Your anger had diffused a bit since the night before, that raw, exposed nerve quelled by time, but that didn't stop you from glaring at her as she passed by the inventory closet. Her swollen eyes widened with fear when she saw you and for the first time, you got a good look at the damage you inflicted. Her nose was clearly broken, she was missing a tooth and both eyes were black and blue, but the cuts on her cheeks and lips were superficial, at best.

She kept walking, not daring to say a word in your direction as your eyes followed her out the door. When she left, Nick turned around with a sigh and crossed his arms.

"How're you feeling?"

You shrugged and turned back to your clipboard. "I'm alright."

"You look like shit," he said, sidling up next to you and plucking the ibuprofen from the shelf. He tapped out two pills and dropped them into your palm before closing the bottle, putting it back where it belonged. "Did you eat?"

With just a shake of your head you popped the pills, swallowing them dry before turning back to your task.

"You gotta eat something with those, it'll tear up your stomach," he said, disappearing down the hallway and coming back a few minutes later with an apple. You grimaced but took it anyway, unable to stop your mind from replaying the memory of peeling apples with Joel just a week prior. Before everything went to hell.

Nick watched you quietly for a moment as you chewed your apple slowly and read down the list of medications on your clipboard.

"Do you, uh," he began, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, "do you need someone to talk to?" You glanced up at him in surprise and he dropped his hand back to his side. "We don't have to talk about it. But I know you still feel like you're a stranger in this town, and that's gotta be tough." He scratched his greying chin as he glanced around the room and you had to fight back the laugh that bubbled up your throat. You couldn't help it.

He noticed the amused look on your face at his discomfort and pretended to be annoyed when he muttered, "just come find me if you wanna talk or whatever," but you knew it was just an act. Nick was typically a quiet man, kept to himself and hardly ever spoke to his patients, let alone you, his employee, about personal matters. The fact he was trying now must mean he really thought you needed it.

The older man disappeared down the hall to his office and you smiled to yourself, then focused back on work, grateful for something that took your mind off your misery, even if it was just for a moment.

"What the hell do you want?" Tommy scowled when he flung open his door to find his older brother waiting on the other side, hands shoved deep in his pockets, weight shifting foot to foot in an effort to keep warm.

"C'mon, Tommy, I'm gettin' it from all angles, here."

"I don't give a shit," he spat, turning on his heel to retreat back into the house, but left the front door open. Joel took a step inside and quietly shut the door behind him, glancing around the entryway and peering into the living room as he took off his outerwear.

"Maria home?"

"No, she's down at the stables with Violet. Showin' her the horses, gettin' her outta the house," he grumbled, angrily putting away dishes as he spoke. Joel sighed and flattened his palms against the counter.

"I gotta ask for a favor."

Tommy scoffed and shook his head. "You're a piece of work, y'know that?"

"Yeah, I fuckin' know. Jesus Christ, Tommy, I made one goddamn mistake!" Joel yelled, slapping his hand against the cool countertop. Tommy twisted around, brow furrowed, and crossed his arms.

"Don't take an attitude with me," Tommy said through clenched teeth, "I don't give a shit if everyone's gangin' up on you. You deserve it! I thought she was the one you wanted to spend your life with? The one you'd do anythin' for?"

"She is!" Joel exclaimed, raking his fingers through his hair. Tommy's eyes softened while he watched his brother struggle, the enormity of what he did clearly taking its toll.

"Then what the fuck were you thinkin'?" he asked after a few moments, tone pleading. "Everythin' was goin' so well. You guys were havin' a nice time at the party, laughin' and smilin', we all saw it. Then you take 'er home and step out like that?"

"It's not- I was drunk and misread some things," Joel replied, rubbing his eyes with the pads of his fingers. "I tried to kiss her, she shot me down and I didn't take it all that well, alright?" Joel dropped his hand, exasperated, and looked at Tommy once again, taking a deep breath. "Went to the bar to drink and Angie sunk her claws into me. I got the hell outta there and confessed the second I got home but... didn't matter," he said, hanging his head between his shoulders.

"Angie said you followed her into the bathroom, Joel. Don't bullshit me, I was sittin' right there."

"I know, Jesus, it's my fault. I was drinkin' and upset and she was just... there. Pesterin' me and pushin' my buttons. It was only a second, Tommy. Nothin' else happened, y'hear me?" Joel's eyes were wide and desperate as he stared at his little brother across the kitchen.

"It's no excuse, Joel," Tommy said sadly. Joel pushed off the counter with a huff and yanked angrily at his disheveled hair again.

"I know that. I'm just tellin' you how it went down. But I gotta make it up to her. I gotta make it right."

"How the hell do you plan on doin' that? 'Cause from where I'm sittin', only way she could move past it is if I take her back out into the woods so she can hit her head again and forget," Tommy said.

Joel rolled his eyes and slumped into a chair at the kitchen table.

"I got an idea. Don't know if it'll work, but it's all I can think of to prove what she means to me," he said softly, staring down at his fingers twisting together in his lap.

Tommy sized his brother up and down before taking a few steps closer, his hands coming to grip the back of a chair as he leaned forward.

"Let's hear it."

Joel sighed and tilted his chin up. "I need a week off from patrol. I gotta leave Jackson. And I need a horse."

"What?" Tommy asked incredulously. "In the middle of winter? Absolutely not. You'll die out there."

"I survived out there before I came to Jackson, I'll be fine."

"Been a long fuckin' time and you weren't alone when you did it," Tommy argued.

"You offerin' to help?" Joel asked, and Tommy laughed dryly. But Joel continued to stare at him.

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"'Course I am," Joel replied, "she ain't ever gonna forgive me but I gotta do somethin', Tommy. I can't lose her, and right now, it really feels like I'm gonna lose her." Joel's voice cracked and he turned away, looking out the window so Tommy couldn't see the emotion behind his eyes.

Tommy groaned and yanked a chair out to sit down.

"What'dya need me to do?"

It was a long day on your feet and your face hurt more than you cared to admit, so by the time you arrived home, you decided to make yourself a sandwich and go to bed early, skipping an appearance at the dining hall where you knew half the town would be gawking at you and your wounds, anyway.

Fortunately, Joel was up in his room with the door closed when you quietly snuck upstairs with your sandwich. You were still emotionally exhausted from your brief conversation that morning and you were grateful he wasn't looking to have another one.

Nick had sent you home with one of the good pills, as he called it, so you took it with your meal and within the hour, you were out cold. Maybe if you hadn't taken the pill, you would have been awake to hear Joel's bedroom door squeak open, the rustling of fabric and the tinkling of metal cutting through the quiet hallway as he gripped his sleeping bag in one hand and his backpack stuffed with supplies in the other.

Like he usually did, he paused outside your room, his eyes lingering on the doorknob, ears straining for any sign that you were awake, that maybe you had a change of heart and he could call the whole trip off, but he was only met with silence.

He swallowed and turned towards the stairs, quietly tiptoeing down and packed another bag with food from the pantry before setting all three items by the door. At the last minute, he decided to leave a note, not even certain you would notice or care he was gone, but he knew Tommy would be furious when he found out he lied to him earlier and he really didn't want his brother to waste manpower trying to hunt him down in the wilderness. So he grabbed a pen from a drawer and an old envelope. The tip of his pen hovered over the paper as he struggled with what to say, then finally decided to keep it brief before scribbling his note, leaving it by the coffee maker where he knew you would see it.

Lastly, he strode into the living room and grabbed one more thing, shoving it into his backpack before piling on his layers and heading out the front door, giving the house one last forlorn glance before slipping quietly into the night.

It was your day off, so naturally you allowed yourself to sleep in a little, hoping that the extra rest would help your bruises to heal. At the very least, you were pleased to discover the pain around your throat was significantly better than the day before.

You didn't hear Joel when you got up, but that was typical. He usually had early morning patrol shifts and was back by the afternoon, but when you came downstairs and saw the coffee wasn't made like it normally was, you froze. Your eyes drifted around, noticing his coat and boots were missing.

Maybe he was running behind and just didn't have time to make coffee.

As unusual as that might be, it was the only logical conclusion until you walked over to the coffee maker and saw an aged envelope sticking out of your favorite mug. You frowned and picked it up, eyes quickly scanning the words once, then three more times before the panic set in, your stomach churning worse and worse each time.

Tell Tommy I'll be back in a week.

He knows why.

No matter what, just know I love you with my whole heart, in this world or the next.

Joel

Boots unlaced and coat unzipped, you raced down the street towards Tommy's house, the envelope gripped tightly in your fist.

What the hell did that mean? Where did he go? What is he doing? And why did he sneak out without telling Tommy?

You banged on the door, the wood rattling violently under your clenched fist, only afterwards realizing you could have been waking their daughter but fortunately when the door opened, you saw Violet and Maria playing in the living room over Tommy's shoulder.

"What's goin' on, sugar? You okay?" he asked, voice filled with concern when he saw the look on your face.

"Joel's gone," you said hurriedly before pushing past him and entering the house, yanking off your hat and exchanging glances with Maria from across the room.

"Gone? What'dya mean, gone?"

"I mean I woke up today and he was gone, Tommy!" you exclaimed, handing him the note. "Where did he go?!"

You were aware your voice was panicky, that your eyes were wide with fear and your breath was fast and shallow, but you didn't care how it looked to them in that moment.

Tommy scanned the note and sighed, rubbing his forehead before urging you to join him in the living room, where he collapsed onto the sofa.

"That idiot," he murmured under his breath, handing you back the envelope.

"Where is he, Tommy?" you tried again, hoping to sound less frantic this time.

He glanced at Maria before meeting your gaze.

"He was here yesterday afternoon. Told me he needed a favor. Said he needed a week off from patrol and a horse."

"To do what?" you pressed, sinking down into an armchair next to the couch.

"He said-" he cut himself off and looked down at the note in your hand, ticking his jaw to the side as if he was contemplating how much to tell you.

"Spit it out," you demanded, and his eyes snapped back up to you.

"Said he had a plan to make things up to you. For, y'know," he waved his hand in the air, not wanting to say it. You shook your head.

"What was his plan?"

"He wouldn't tell me everything but I offered to help," Tommy admitted, glancing guiltily at Maria who shot him a surprised glare. "Said he needed to go to California, that he wanted to bring a piece of you back. I'm guessin' you're from out that way?" Tommy asked, and you nodded slowly. "He said he would wait 'til I talked to Maria and worked out the schedule but I guess he decided to fuck off-"

"Tommy!" Maria scolded sharply, covering Violet's ears, and Tommy cringed.

"Sorry," he said softly before turning back to you. "Guess he decided to lone-wolf it."

Your eyes drifted back to the note in your hand, swallowing the lump in your throat while your mind raced to catch up.

"What if he doesn't make it?" you asked, eyes still glued to the envelope, "what if he dies out there and it's all my fault?"

They heard your voice waver and exchanged sympathetic looks.

"He made a choice, he knew the risks," Maria said, "but he's a capable guy. If there were anybody who could make it out there alone, it's Joel."

"Listen, I'd send a couple guys out there lookin' for him but there's a storm brewin'," Tommy said, rubbing his chin and glancing out the window. "Been watchin' those clouds build up over the mountains all week. Told Joel as much and he agreed to wait but reckon he changed his mind and wanted to get in front of it."

"Or it was his plan all along to leave alone and he just made sure no one would come after him," Maria said, making the three of you fall quiet.

"God, what do I do?" you murmured, burying your face in your hands.

Tommy glanced at Maria and she subtly nodded towards the kitchen. He stood and cleared his throat before reaching his arms out towards his daughter.

"C'mere, let's get you somethin' to eat before naptime," he said, lifting Violet and taking her into the kitchen to give you both some privacy.

"What's going on?" Maria asked softly as she sat down in Tommy's place on the couch. You sighed and dropped your hands to your lap.

"I don't know," you said truthfully, "I'm so fucking angry at him, but..."

Maria pursed her lips knowingly. "But you still care."

You groaned and leaned back into the chair. "Yes."

"It's not like you're telling me or anyone else something we didn't already know," she said, "not after what happened with you and Angie in the middle of the street. I mean, look at you," she pointed to your bruised neck. "No one fights like that for someone they don't love."

"I don't love him," you said sternly, eyes flashing angrily in her direction. "You sound like Ellie."

"Okay, so if two people are telling you-"

"I don't want to talk about it right now," you abruptly stood up, brushing your palms on your jeans. "Sorry to barge in like this. I'm sure he'll be fine. I'm actually looking forward to a week of quiet," you tried to say confidently despite how tight your throat felt as you headed towards the door.

Maria called your name as she trailed after you, urging you to stay and talk, but you just pressed your lips together and shook your head.

"Seriously, I'm fine," you said, forcing a smile across your face. "I have some stuff to do so I'll see you guys at dinner or something."

Before she or Tommy could say anything else, you slipped out the door and rushed down the street, back towards home.

It wasn't until later that afternoon, after you had scrubbed clean the kitchen and bathrooms, doing anything and everything you could to stay busy, that you noticed the missing picture from the wall in the living room.

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razrbladekiss · 3 months ago

Text

MAPLE HAZEL | Joel Miller

SUMMARY: he’s grumpy, and you’ve got enough happiness for the pair of you. you visit joel’s little coffee shop every morning, and he can’t deny that he enjoys the monotony of life with you the other side of his counter.

PAIRING: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

WORD COUNT: 1.8k

WARNINGS: inspired by lorelai gilmore and luke danes, so with that info do what you will. this is full on golden retriever x black cat realness. fluffy. banter-y. dialogue-y. joel is grumpy but he’s sexy so we don’t mind. enjoy, my besties. not sure if i’ll do a part two, but i’ll let you know in due time, of course.🍁🫶🏻

SERIES MASTERLIST

It’s like he’s moving from muscle memory. Putting down a cinnamon roll and maple hazel latte—with two extra shots of espresso—in front of the third purple stool at his counter, is almost ingrained into his brain. He wonders if one day you’ll ever take him by surprise and order pancakes, or a chai tea.

And you will. Just not today.

“Cinnamon roll, please!” You call from the door as you bumble over the threshold, fighting with the belt loop on your coat that’s gotten stuck on a brassy handle for the third time this morning.

“Already one step ahead of ‘ya.” Joel gestures to the breakfast spread at the wooden bar, and you smile.

Despite being a closed-off, stupid-person-hating, placid-at-times, grumpy old man, you can’t help admitting that you enjoy Joel’s company and general presence in your life.

His shop appeared on Birch Grove one sunny Saturday morning about three years ago, and you haven’t skipped a day since. Aside from Christmas Day, you have religiously sat at Joel’s counter and shared the trials and tribulations of life in Dallas as an overzealous twenty-something every single day.

He’s a great listener. Or, at least, you think that he is. He never interrupts you, or speaks over you. Joel always lends an ear to listen, even if he doesn’t always say all that much in response to whatever it is that you’re elucidating or complaining about.

“Thank you.” Breathlessly, you say. You take a seat and dump your purse onto the counter. “Got a busy day today. I’ve got a meeting, and I’m meeting Maria for lunch, and I’ve got a date—“

Joel’s face heats up. He turns to face you, striving to stay indifferent.

“A date?” Nonchalant, he asks. He slings a dish-cloth over his shoulder, and lifts a brow. “Does this man know that he’s going on a date with you?”

You make a face while stuffing a fork-full of pastry into your mouth. He’s so smug. With his stupid flannel and stupid little hat, you just want to rip the complacency from his lips. But he’s a good man. Just likes to try and take you down a few pegs.

But he can’t. Because you’re stubborn. And a little annoying.

“No, I just thought that I’d show up at his house in the middle of the night—because I’ve followed him home from work a few times and know where he lives—and rip him right out of his bed just like the troll that Danny Devito plays in Its Always Sunny.”

Joel let’s out a little laugh, not bothering to argue that what you had just told him didn’t actually happen in that episode, but finding it funny nonetheless.

He nods his head to you. “What’s his name?”

“Marcus.” Exaggerating your heart-eyed gaze, you tell him. “I met him at Costco—“

“Ah, Costco. Where every great love story starts. First you’re bulk-buying toilet paper, the next you’re sharing a dollar fifty hot dog—“

“Ha ha, Joel, you’re soooo funny.”

“I try.” He says, flippant, pouring coffee into another customer’s cup when they appear at the counter for a refill. He lifts the carafe and gestures to your almost-empty mug. “Want another?”

Your gaze is set on your wristwatch. It’s seven twenty-nine, and you need to be at work for nine thirty. Mentally you strive to figure out how much more time you can spend at the cafe, before you’re having to leave to get there on time.

“Is it maple hazel flavored?”

Joel tilts his head, glaring at you.

You swig the dregs of latte in your mug, and then push the polka-dot ceramic across to him. “Please.” You say, shyly.

Joel busies himself with customers, and general business-owner things for a few minutes while you finish your cinnamon roll and coffee. You can’t help watching him.

Because he’s great. He’s very caring—though extremely stern at times—and you know that if you’re having a bad day, Joel is only a two minute and thirteen second walk away.

He feels the same, too. Kind of. He knows that you’ll be sauntering into his shop at some point every day, and finds himself looking forward to seeing your wide-eyed gaze and larger-than-life smile.

And though he won’t admit it in so many words, Joel has a soft spot for you. It hasn’t always been apparent—he thought that you were utterly insufferable and obsessive when he first met you—but he can’t deny the fact that his life would be very dull without you.

Even if you do have a tendency to try to get underneath his skin.

“Are you dating, Joel?”

He rolls his eyes.

“What? It’s a very normal question to ask somebody that hasn’t been in a serious relationship for an entire twelve months.”

He pulls the cloth from his shoulder and wipes at his hands. “You and I both know that I ain’t got no interest in settlin’ down with anyone. Not yet, anyway.”

“You were willing to with Tess.” Pushing things a little, you say. You lift the coffee mug to your lips when Joel opens his mouth to chastise you, but he can’t.

He can’t because you’re right. He can’t because he wanted to, once upon a time. Before Tess walked out of his life—not long after you started frequenting his shop—he wanted it all. A wife, kids, the white picket fence that his parents had back in Austin when he was a kid.

But it doesn’t always work out that way, and Joel has learned to live with the idea that if it’s too good to be true, then it most likely is.

“I can set you up with someone—“

“Not happening.” He says. “Last time you sent me on a blind date, the girl asked me if I was into pegging.”

You giggle. “Well? Are you—“

Joel says your name, glaring pointedly.

“Sorry.” Instinctively, your lips are set into a straight line. “But I can totally do better, this time. I know this girl—she works at this law firm—and—“

“Not interested.”

“Okay.” You smile, tight-lipped. You lift your mug, striving for your third cup of coffee this morning.

Joel pours the liquid gold into the cup, before he’s telling you that he’s not going to be giving you another for fear of you ricocheting off of each wall in his place.

“You’ll turn into a cup ‘a coffee one day.”

Nodding—with a completely content smile—you say; “least I’ll be happy.”

“You’re always happy.” Joel mithers to himself, turning away. It’s one thing that he admires about you, though loathes at the same time.

Endless optimism and positivity is only something that he can long for, because he’s simply not capable of it. It baffles him how you are, especially when he’s—on occasion—so rude to you. So miserable, and cold, and completely undeserving of your friendship.

He likes that you’re so forgiving. That—even after he accidentally offended you last summer when making a comment about your then boyfriend—you can never hold a grudge, especially when it comes to him.

Because you both hold one another on a pedestal so high, neither can seem to do anything to tear themselves down. And Joel really enjoys your daily routine. That’s why he’s never not in the shop.

“You got any weekend plans?”

“Never do.”

You stretch out your arms—intertwining your fingers as you do to make them click—and offer a small smile when he cringes.

“You wanna catch a movie?” Shirking the idea that you have a date tonight—with a man who you really aren’t all that interested in, you’re just being nice—you propose.

Joel’s heart starts to beat at a tempo that’s noticeably quicker than usual. Not a lot, but it’s certainly faster.

“I think that the theatre downtown is showing the original Beetlejuice, on Saturday.”

He nods, approving. “I—uh—I’ll have to get someone to cover—“

“I’m sure you can ask your brother. Or maybe Maria?”

“I ‘spose.” Reluctant, he says. “But what about Michael? What if he wants a second date?��

“Well, his name is Marcus. And if he wants a second date—which I doubt he will—then he’ll just have to live with the fact that I have plans with a friend on Saturday night.”

He hopes that you can’t see him blush.

“Won’t it be weird?”

“Why?”

“We hardly speak outside of the shop.”

“God, Joel.” You throw your head back, laughing. “We’re the same people wherever we are. And we’re going to the movies—not a lot of talking takes place there, hon.”

His nostrils flare at your sarcasm, but mainly at the little pet name. Joel knows that you’re sweet—that you often use those terms of endearment when speaking with those that you care about—but it does something to him.

Something that he does not like.

“You can either come, or stay here and be miserable because you have no social life, or no girlfriend, or no other friends aside from me, your brother, and your brother’s wife—“

“Alright, fine.” Joel stops your miniature hate-train, and puts his hands against the counter. Your eyes zone in on the veins embellished within tan skin—how prominent they are when he’s fronting irritation—and let out a small sigh.

He’d be a lot more handsome if he smiled more, you think.

“So.” You paw at your purse, pulling it off the wood. “I’ll let you know what time the showing is, and we can make plans around that.”

Joel rounds the island and follows you as you pad toward the door, veritably sweating. “Plans?” He asks. “You never said nothin’ ‘bout plans. I thought we were just gonna catch a movie?”

“We are.” You tell him. “But we need to buy snacks, and grab dinner before we go—“

“Now you’re just describing a date.”

You shake your head. “No, I’m describing hanging out with a friend, Joel.”

“A friend?”

“An acquaintance…?” Testing the waters, you ask. Your eyes squint a bit, awaiting his retort.

But he just smiles.

“A friend.”

You smile back. Bigger.

“Perfect.” Your purse is slinging over your shoulder, and you pull your jacket to close so that the darned loops don’t get stuck on the door handle. Again. “I can’t wait.”

“It’ll be…nice.”

“Jeez, Joel. At least try to sound enthused.”

His hands shoot up in defense. “I am. Just have a hard time showin’ it.”

Your head nods. “I know. I’m only kidding. It’s nobody’s fault that you’re the human equivalent of Oscar The Grouch—“

“Alright, get out.” He holds open the door for you, smiling tight-lipped as he watches you leave. “Enjoy your meeting. And your lunch. And your date.”

You chuckle, thanking him with another bright smile.

“See you in the morning, Joel.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You step onto the sidewalk—that’s festooned with red and orange leaves as the tree above starts to shed its skin—turning to wave at him. “See ‘ya, kiddo.”

#maple hazel 🍁#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader fic #joel miller x reader fluff #tlou #tlou x reader #tlou x f!reader #tlou x female reader

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saltnsugarbear · 25 days ago

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and I can go anywhere I want (just not home)

summary: winter in DC is cold! but you have a loving girlfriend to warm you up

title from: "my tears ricochet" by Taylor Swift

word count: 0.7k

content warnings: none! soft, warm day today!

side note: starting a small collection of gifts with Emily Prentiss and my beloved Ruby! I'm so delighted to call you my friend, you're soso sweet <3 this one is for you, my beloved

divider from @/tsunami-of-tears! who did the original one that I use but I'm using her winter themed ones for today!

Living so close to the water in winter is a nightmare. Winter in D.C. can be a blessing or a curse, depending on the weather.

That's why you're so glad Emily's apartment has heating.

How she manages such a nice place on a government salary in downtown D.C. is a mystery to you. But she manages. A place to the both of you.

And Sergio...

Sergio is a blessing of his own, a miniature heater that can be carried from room to room. Despite Emily's willingness, you're incredibly conscious of heating in the house. Favoring blankets, bundling and Sergio over turning on the heater.

Georgetown prices were not something you favored.

However, Emily knew this habit of yours, setting the heating to go on when she needed. She was more willing to make the apartment comfortable instead of nesting in one spot all night. You supposed it was easier for her to rationalize as the person who paid the bills for the apartment.

But Emily also had a habit of keeping her windows open at night. Except for the obvious safety hazard it caused, the cold from the waterfront sneaking in.

Maybe she did it on purpose. So that you had no option but to cuddle up next to her. Face buried in her sleep shirt, arms wrapped tightly around your stomach under your sweater. Sergio is tucked in the notch of her legs, cozying up to both his parents.

A blessing from the cold air is it makes Emily sleep like a log. She's hard to wake after a cold night.

That makes it easier for you to sneak out of bed. Replacing your body with a pillow under her arm before slipping away.

Your rustling, however, wakes Sergio. He's a silent cat, following you out of the bedroom like a second shadow. You're both silent as you pad into the kitchen, starting up the coffee pot and grabbing the sugar from the pantry.

Emily's started this bad habit of feeding Sergio on the counter top, causing you to conform to this habit. Grabbing his food bowl from the dish rack and the container of wet food from the fridge. He's graceful in his jump onto the counter, sitting politely in his designated spot on the counter. You put his breakfast in his dish before serving it to him.

The machine is done by the time Serge is fed, coffee carafe ready for you to pour. You collect your and Emily's mugs from the cabinet, setting them down and pouring them. You know how Emily likes her coffee so you're quick to prepare both cups and stirring them thoroughly.

Sergio chirps at you when he's done and you know it's time to set out his water for him. Once he's set up again on the counter you collect your cups, walk steady back to the bedroom.

Emily is still asleep when you enter the room, setting your cups down on the nightstand on your side of the bed. The bed is cold when you climb under the covers, wriggling you way over to Emily. She stirs when you slip cold fingers against her skin.

"Y're cold.." She mutters, face half squished against her pillow. You can't help but grin as you kiss her cheek, then her shoulder, then her nose, teasing her until she glares at you for avoiding her lips.

"Good morning.." You say softly before appeasing her, kissing her gently. She's pliable in the mornings, melting into your touch, a much different version of her than the one you see after work.

"Good morning," she sighs before pushing herself up. You're quick to follow, reaching for her mug and giving it to her with a kiss on the cheek.

"It snowed last night.." You tell her, nodding your head towards her windows. You can't see it from the bed, with how high up her apartment is, but the reflection is obvious.

"And I have the day off.." Emily reminds you quietly, watching as your face lights up. "So we can stay in bed all day.."

She's teasing you, leaning in close enough that it would be easy to close the gap.

"I like the sound of that..." You whisper and she smiles.

"Me too.."

#saltnsugarbear #not enough sugar #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine

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chibinasuu · 1 month ago

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Sanji x Reader ― sick day; hot drinks

part of the cozy holidays event

🎁 ― @kyllium tags: sfw, pure fluff, GN!reader, no use of y/n

Chopper declared this morning that you had come down with a case of the common cold.

The little doctor had prescribed you some of his homemade remedy and a full day of bed rest, quarantined in the infirmary so you wouldn’t spread the virus to the crew.

Well, it was unfortunate that the Sunny’s infirmary had a connecting door to the kitchen, and that a certain cook couldn’t care less about the concept of quarantine, much to Chopper’s dismay.

“I’ve never been sick before in all my life,” he had claimed as he served you some warm ginger tea earlier, “A cold’s not gonna affect me.”

Since then, the cook had returned twice more, each time bringing a steaming mug with him – first a relaxing freshly-whisked matcha, then a soothing hot lemon with honey.

As if on cue, you heard a soft knock, accompanied by a muffled voice from behind the door, “Sweetheart, are you asleep? Can I come in?”

You were used to Sanji pampering you, but he somewhat became around ten times fussier whenever you were sick. You sighed but smiled fondly anyway, “Come in, Sanji.”

He poked his head in, carrying a tray with yet another steaming mug, along with a carafe of room-temperature water.

“Sanji, seriously?” You chuckled, “More drink?”

His face flushed red, “Chopper said you need lots of fluid.”

“At this rate, I’m gonna have to use the restroom every five minutes.” You joked, your voice a bit nasal due to your stuffy nose.

“Oh, do you need to go?” He sounded genuinely concerned, “I can carry you upstairs to the bathroom.”

“No.” You laughed, “I’m not bedridden, you know. It’s just a little cold, I’ll be good as new tomorrow.”

He looked unconvinced as he carefully set down his tray on Chopper’s desk. He refilled the glass of water on your bedside table as he asked, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m alright,” You answered, but was interrupted by a series of poor-timed sneezes, “Okay, less alright than usual, but it’s not that terrible. More annoying than anything, really.”

“So, what do you have for me this time, then?” You asked as he finally handed you the mug. Orange slices and cranberries were swimming in the lovely amber liquid inside. You caught a whiff of spices emanating from it, even through your blocked nose.

“Mulled cider!” His eyes sparkled, as they do whenever he was talking about his delectable creations in the kitchen. He rolled Chopper’s swivel chair next to your bed and sat down while he told you about the drink, “I toasted the spices – just some nutmeg, allspice, cloves, star anise, cinnamon – then I poured in some apple cider and let it simmer. Oh, and of course throw in the oranges and cranberries at the very end, et voilà!”

He grinned, “Really simple to make, but amazingly delicious. It’s my favorite winter drink.”

You doubted it was that simple to make – the names of all the spices he listed already left your brain – but you didn’t doubt that it was a walk in the park for the best cook you knew.

You took a sip and sighed in contentment as the warm liquid slid down your scratchy throat, “This is divine, Sanji. Thanks.”

Sanji’s smile widened at your compliment. There was nothing he loved more than seeing people enjoy the foods and drinks that he made.

You were glad for Sanji’s company as you slowly drained the mug. You were starting to get antsy from being confined to the infirmary all day.

You asked him about the new pasta recipe he had been testing. He asked what you wanted for dinner. You teased him and asked about what kind of drink he was going to bring you next.

Sanji was telling you about how he caught Luffy trying to break into the fridge’s lock (again) this afternoon, when he stopped mid-sentence, “Sorry, I should let you rest.”

You shook your head. You enjoyed talking with him. In fact, you could listen to him talk forever. But a yawn betrayed you, and you realized how sleepy you actually were – maybe it was a side effect of the medicine.

“Well, you should sleep if you want to get better quickly.” He patted your head, “Do you have enough water?”

“Yes, you literally just topped off my glass.”

“Have you taken the medicine Chopper gave you?”

“Yeah, I think around half an hour ago.”

“Are you cold? Do you need more blankets?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Do you–”

“Sanji.”

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll leave now.”

He started to get up from the chair, but you caught the sleeve of his suit. You didn’t know why you did it – you just suddenly didn’t want him to leave yet.

You felt heat rising to your cheeks, “Actually, can you stay until I fall asleep?”

He smiled softly as he sat back down, “Sure, angel.”

You laid down fully on the bed and Sanji tucked you in, pulling the blanket up to your chin.

You fell asleep to Sanji’s fingers in your hair and his soft humming of a lullaby.

a/n: i'll be taking a couple more requests for this event before i close it, so last chance if you want to submit any! <3

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ main event page || event masterlist ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

↳ main masterlist ↳ taglist

#sanji x reader #sanji x you #sanji x y/n #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x you #sanji #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece fluff #one piece fanfic #op fanfic #sanji fluff #chibinasuu fics

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ubellestore · 5 days ago

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Create a Luxurious Home Bar with Exquisite Glassware and Decanter Sets

Introduction:

When it comes to curating a sophisticated and functional home bar, quality glassware and decanter sets are key elements that enhance the experience. These pieces not only add an elegant touch to your space but also enhance the flavor and aroma of your favorite beverages. A Whiskey Decanter Set is perfect for showcasing your finest spirits, allowing them to breathe and reach their full flavor potential.

Whether you're serving whiskey, wine, or cocktails, a Carafe With Glass adds an element of luxury to every pour, creating an inviting atmosphere for guests.

For wine enthusiasts, Crystalline Wine Glasses offer unparalleled clarity and precision, allowing the wine to unfold its true aromas and flavors. Whether you're hosting a formal gathering or enjoying a quiet evening, pairing premium glassware with stylish decanters like these makes every drink feel special and adds a touch of elegance to your home bar.

Why a Decanter Set is Essential for Every Home Bar

A well-crafted decanter set is an investment in both style and substance.

Elegant Design: Decanter sets are often crafted with intricate designs that enhance the aesthetic appeal of your bar area.

Perfect for Display: A beautiful decanter set can become a focal point in your home, displayed proudly on a bar cart or counter.

Ideal for Entertaining: Impress your guests by serving spirits in style. A decanter brings an air of luxury to any gathering.

Durable & Functional: Quality decanters are made from lead-free crystal or glass, ensuring longevity while maintaining their stunning appearance.

A Whiskey Decanter Set offers both form and function, making it a must-have for connoisseurs and home entertainers alike.

The Role of Elegant Glassware in Serving Spirits

Glassware isn't just for drinking; it transforms ordinary moments into extraordinary ones. A stylish carafe and accompanying glasses transform your drinking experience, whether you're savoring a fine whiskey or wine.

Elegant Design: The sleek, modern design of a Carafe With Glass Radiates sophistication, perfect for dinner parties or intimate gatherings.

Versatility: While traditionally used for wine, a carafe can also be used for whiskey, cocktails, and even water, making it a versatile addition to your bar.

Improved Serving: The shape of a carafe allows for easy pouring and Flow of your spirits, making it ideal for those who appreciate the finer details in drink preparation.

Perfect for Entertaining: Your guests will appreciate the added elegance when drinks are served from a Carafe With Glass rather than a bottle.

A Carafe With Glass brings undeniable sophistication, making serving drinks feel like an art form.

The Importance of Choosing the Right Glassware for Wine

When it comes to enjoying wine, the glassware you choose can significantly impact the taste and experience. Crystalline Wine Glasses are the ideal choice for those who understand the nuances of fine wine.

Enhanced Clarity: Made from lead-free crystal, these glasses offer unparalleled clarity, allowing you to appreciate the rich color and texture of your wine.

Precision Shape: The elegant shape of these glasses is designed to enhance the aromas and flavors of your wine, making each sip a sensory experience.

Durable Construction: Unlike standard glassware, crystalline wine glasses are crafted to last and maintain their brilliance over time.

Perfect for Any Occasion: Whether it's a casual dinner or a special celebration, these glasses are versatile enough for any occasion.

Luxury Feel: The delicate yet sturdy feel of these glasses adds an extra layer of luxury to your drinking experience.

Crystalline Wine Glasses are designed not only for wine but for an enhanced drinking experience, enhancing any beverage with their refined look and superior quality.

How to Style Your Home Bar with Luxurious Glassware

Incorporating elegant glassware and decanter sets into your home bar is a simple way to upgrade your space and create an inviting atmosphere for both entertaining and relaxation.

Create a Focal Point: Place a Whiskey Decanter Set at the center of your bar or counter to draw attention. Surround it with complementary Crystalline Wine Glasses for a polished look.

Mix and Match: Pair your Carafe With Glass with other elegant accessories, such as coasters or a cocktail shaker, to create a cohesive look.

Showcase Your Style: Whether your decor is modern, vintage, or traditional, these pieces can be styled to match the overall vibe of your space. Choose glassware that complements your bar’s aesthetic and elevates the entire setting.

Display with Pride: These luxurious items are more than functional; they are pieces of art. Make them visible as part of your home’s decor for added elegance.

With the right styling, your home bar can become a luxurious and inviting space that impresses guests and enhances your own drinking experience.

Conclusion:

Adding a carefully selected decanter set or exquisite glassware to your home bar not only enhances your beverage experience but also improves the style and sophistication of your space. A Whiskey Decanter Set creates a statement, allowing your favorite spirits to breathe and reveal their full flavor while serving them in style. For those who enjoy both elegance and practicality, a Carafe With Glass is perfect for serving wine, whiskey, or cocktails, bringing an element of luxury to every pour. Meanwhile, Crystalline Wine Glasses elevate your wine-drinking experience with their clarity and shape, allowing the aroma and taste to fully unfold.

Beyond glassware, we offer a wide range of products designed to improve your home. Our collection includes beautiful home decor pieces that add sophistication and functionality to any space. Whether you're upgrading your living room, bedroom, or any other area, our products bring elegance and a touch of luxury to your home.

Explore the stunning collection at the Ubelle Store and enhance your home bar today!

#Whiskey Decanter Set #Carafe With Glass #Crystalline Wine Glasses

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copperproduct · 2 years ago

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Benefits Of Using Copper Utensils Or Copper Water Glasses

The most important ingredient on this planet for maintaining life is water. Water makes up nearly 70% of our body weight. Therefore, the safety of our water becomes crucial. For several advantageous reasons, most of us must have heard our ancestors advise us to preserve drinking water in copper containers. Water storage in metal containers may seem outmoded and unnecessary, but scientists are now lending scientific support to this age-old technique that is mentioned in ancient Ayurvedic writings.

A Copper Vessel’s Water Has The Following 10 Benefits

Here is a list of 10 reasons why drinking water from copper containers is advantageous.

The improvement of our digestive system is facilitated by copper vessels- These days, typical health problems include indigestion, acid reflux, and gas. This is where copper comes to the rescue, hence it is strongly advised to drink water from a copper utensil. Because of its characteristics, dangerous microorganisms can be killed. It also lessens stomach inflammatory disease. It is therefore a fantastic treatment for infections, indigestion, and ulcers. In addition, copper aids in the detoxification of your stomach, control the function of your liver and kidneys, provides effective waste removal and promotes the absorption of nutrients from meals.

Copper promotes quicker healing of wounds. Since copper has powerful antibacterial, antiviral, and anti-inflammatory qualities, it is regarded as a great tool for speeding up the healing of wounds. Water kept in a copper vessel has therapeutic properties that extend both internally and outwardly to the body. Additionally, copper is thought to support the growth of new cells and boost our immune system.

Water in copper tubes promotes brain activity. It is said that copper has convulsive properties that are anti-aging and brain-stimulating. Through synapses, our brain sends electrical impulses from one neuron to another. Myelin sheaths, a kind of sheath, surround these neurons. Copper is necessary for the creation of phospholipids, which are crucial for creating those myelin sheaths and improving brain function.

Copper vessels shield us from diseases. When it comes to killing germs, copper has a highly potent oligodynamic impact (the sterilizing power of metals). It is particularly extremely efficient against E. coli and S. aureus, two bacteria that are frequently present in our environment and are thought to be the cause of serious infections in humans. The cheapest and simplest remedy for a nation lacking adequate sanitary facilities is copper water since it also prevents a number of water-borne illnesses like diarrhea, dysentery, and jaundice.

Copper water aids in shedding pounds. Nowadays, virtually everyone is worried about their weight, and practically everyone is having issues with weight gain and larger bellies. Not all of them are happy with the results despite their diet. copper Drinking glasses of water from copper containers is recommended for them. By promoting the breakdown and evacuation of fat cells, copper enables your body to retain just the fat that is necessary and eliminate the rest.

Copper reduces the probability of cancerous cells. These days, cancer is progressively getting more prevalent. Both the patients and the patient’s relatives suffer as a result. Here too, copper can be quite beneficial. According to some reports, copper has highly potent antioxidant qualities that aid in warding off free radicals and their harmful effects, which are one of the primary factors contributing to the onset of cancer. Numerous research have shown that copper has a sufficient anti-cancer impact, even if this has not yet been conclusively proven.

Copper reduces the effects of aging. People start to worry about fine wrinkles developing on their faces as they become older. Aside from other cosmetic and medical treatments, copper vessel water is a natural cure that may help you get rid of fine wrinkles on your face by naturally producing new, healthy skin cells and removing the old ones. Copper has highly promising anti-oxidant and cell-forming qualities that aid in the defense against free radicals. Start drinking water preserved in copper kitchenware as a result if you wish to slow down the aging process.

Copper combats anemia, inflamed joints, and rheumatoid arthritis – Copper contains potent anti-inflammatory properties that offer significant relief from the aches and pains associated with inflamed joints, such as those caused by rheumatoid arthritis and osteoarthritis. It can improve bones and the immune system, making it the ideal treatment for such people. So it is strongly advised to consume water that has copper in it. Nevertheless, copper helps the body absorb iron, which is essential for preventing anemia.

Copper modulates the thyroid gland’s functionality. For the thyroid gland to work correctly, copper is one of the most crucial elements. Its operation may go out of whack if copper is lacking. According to experts, a typical symptom among those suffering from thyroid disorders is a deficiency in copper in their bodies. Therefore, if you drink water that has been infused with copper, you will eliminate this deficiency and thereby regulate the activity of your glands.

Copper Vessels boots promote healthy skin and melanin production. Melanin, a pigment that lightens the colors of your eyes, hair, and other body parts, is mostly made of copper. Melanin helps shield our skin from UV rays and camouflage scars, whereas copper is involved in the growth of new skin cells that renew the top layer of your skin. Start drinking water from containers made of copper if you desire flawless skin.

Conclusion

Water that is kept in copper containers for at least four hours, but ideally overnight, spontaneously purifies itself. It may eliminate unwanted bacteria, fungus, and invisible microbes from the water that can affect human health and give rise to a number of water-borne disorders. An important trace mineral for human health is copper. It possesses antioxidant and antibacterial effects. As a result, it guarantees that human organs and metabolic systems are operating properly.

#Copper Bottles #Copper Glasses #Copper carafe #Copper Gift Sets #Pure Copper Products #Copper Bottle set #Copper Bottle Gift Set #Copper Glass Set #buy copper glass

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ylangelegy · 2 months ago

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haven't we met? ♾️ minghao x reader.

“wherever you are in the world, i swear i'll find you again.” # day one of (the)8 days of minghao.

☆ includes: mentions of death/calamities. soulmates, body swapping, time travel, delayed ripple effect, references to chinese mythology, light angst. this is inspired by & heavily references makoto shinkai's film kimi no nawa/your name, but it's not required to have seen the film to understand the plot. word count: 9,000+

It’s a Wednesday when Minghao wakes up in a room that isn’t his.

He doesn’t immediately register it. His senses come to him slowly; the sun is warm on his face, supposedly streaking through the windows.

But then an alarm blares, and it’s an alarm that’s decisively not his. It’s loud and oppressive. The complete opposite of the gentle tinkling of bells that he sets for his mornings. Minghao peels his eyes open before blinking blearily up at a ceiling that’s in a shade of dark green.

Odd. His ceiling is supposed to be beige.

Minghao finally manages to sit up, to glance around. The room he’s in is not his. It’s much more disorganized and the furniture’s a bit more old-fashioned. He lets out a slight exhale.

A dream, he thinks wearily. I’m dreaming.

Minghao can’t help but think that it’s a particularly realistic dream as he unsteadily gets to feet. As he pulls aside the sheets that had covered him, he notices snatches of a body that isn’t his, either. Lithe legs, painted toenails.

I’m dreaming I’m someone else, he thinks. It happened, didn’t it? One might sometimes dream from the perspective of a stranger, a friend.

Minghao’s attention is drawn to a half-full water carafe on the bedside table. Without much thought, he reaches for it— before smashing it onto the floor. Free will, baby.

Except—

He feels it. The wetness lapping up at his feet. The shards of broken glass flying in all directions. Something closes up in his throat. Did he usually feel things in his dreams? Had he eaten something weird, drank something the night before, to have him dreaming like this?

The door to the room swings open.

A silver-haired woman stands in front of him, now, her face pinched with worry. She says a name— a name that isn’t Minghao’s— and asks, panicked, “What happened?”

Minghao doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t trust himself to speak. He just stares and stares as this wrinkled woman chides him in a motherly way until he realizes, ah. This must be his mother. Not his mother, but his dream self’s mother.

He can work with that. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out. His voice is different. Not his, not his. He tries again— softer, this time— like it might change things. Like he might be able to coax his old voice to break through whatever sleepy haze he’s in. “I’m sorry. I knocked it over by accident.”

“You’re so clumsy,” his ‘mother’ chides, but she’s already getting to her knees to wipe at the puddle of water with her apron. That snaps Minghao into action; he stumbles across the room in search of a towel.

What a crazy dream, he thinks as he delicately gathers up the shards, as he wipes up the spilled water. I’ve never had a dream like this.

As his ‘mother’ heads back downstairs, Minghao figures he might as well play the part.

He follows her down for breakfast. He’s struck by how visceral, how tactile everything feels. The creeks of the old staircase. The smell of seaweed egg drop soup. The crick in Minghao’s neck.

Am I going insane? Minghao briefly wonders as he settles into the dining table, where there’s already a spread of food waiting for him. He notes that it’s a rather small table, made for only two people. It’s a stark contrast to the long tables he usually shares with twelve other boys, to the family tables he reserves with his own family.

“Why are you being so quiet?” his ‘mother’ asks as she sits across from him. “We’ll just get you a new carafe, kiddo.”

Right. That’s definitely why he was being quiet. Minghao picks up the chopsticks in front of him and goes to try some of the braised potatoes.

He can even taste it. This was probably the most detailed dream he’s ever had.

“Aren’t I always quiet, though?” Minghao manages to ask in the voice-that-is-not-his. It’s a higher pitched voice, one that has a distinct Seoul accent.

His ‘mother’ lets out a snort of laughter. “Yah, in what universe are you quiet?” she says with a snicker, reaching over to flick Minghao’s forehead.

He lets out a small sound of protest.

“That’s more like it,” his ‘mother’ notes. “Now, eat up. You’ll be late for work.”

Work. Something like unease begins to pool at the pit of his stomach at the thought of it. Not because he hates his job, no. Minghao loved being a dancer, an idol, an artist. But— he had a feeling that wasn’t the job he should be expecting this time around.

“I— I’m not really feeling well,” he mumbles, pushing around some seaweed at the bottom of his soup. When his ‘mother’ shoots him a scrutinizing glare, he forces out a cough to sell the act. “I’m not sure if I can go in today.”

His ‘mother’ goes from looking skeptical to concerned. She sets her own utensils down. “Do you need me to take care of you? I can take off, too—”

“It’s okay,” Minghao says hastily. “I think I just need to stay in bed.”

The woman across from him doesn’t look convinced, and so he presses on, “How is work, anyway?”

It’s a polite question, one meant to wheedle out more information. His ‘mother’ takes the bait, though, and goes on to rant about bad co-workers, about impatient patrons. She’s a grocery store bagger, Minghao gleams. And when she complains about other small things— the weather making it difficult to hang laundry, the lack of delivery shifts— Minghao realizes that his ‘mother’ has an array of other side hustles.

He listens intently. He nods in all the right places. He thinks he’s doing the right thing, but his ‘mother’ falters mid-sentence to fix him a worried look.

“You really are so quiet today,” she repeats, reaching over to put the back of her hand against Minghao’s forehead. He feels the touch, feels the warmth of concern wash over his skin, and it makes him shiver. “You really must not be feeling well, huh?”

Minghao thinks he’s only about to feel so much worse.

He heads back to ‘his’ bedroom, and it’s only then that he catches a glimpse of himself in a full-length mirror. It’s… the face of someone he’s never met before.

Minghao once heard that the people you see in your dreams are never strangers. They’re all faces you’ve seen at least once or twice, and in Minghao’s line of work— well, he’s seen a lot of faces. He raises a hand to pinch at his cheek, to pat at his hair.

It all feels so real. He doesn’t dwell on that.

Instead, he starts to explore. Walking around the cramped bedroom feels both like a museum visit and an intrusion. There’s posters peeling off the wall, shelves groaning under the weight of books, clothes that look a little worse for wear. It’s honestly such a mess that Minghao ends up killing a couple of hours just cleaning.

He lets out a snort of laughter as he does. Even in his dreams, he’s picking up over someone.

He doesn’t know how long he spends gathering hangers and sweeping the floor, but, at one point, the silence is broken by a high-pitched ringtone. He fumbles for the shabby cellphone on the bedside table.

It had been password-protected, which is why he couldn’t open it. Now, though, there’s an option to answer the incoming call.

BOSS MAN 👿, it says, and Minghao nearly cracks a smile. Yeah, he can relate to that, at least.

When he answers the call, though, any and all humor dissipates at the yelling that assaults Minghao’s ear. “WHERE ARE YOU?” ‘Boss Man’ screams on the other end. “I’VE BEEN TRYING TO CALL YOU ALL DAY! YOU’VE GOT SOME NERVE, PUNK—”

Minghao definitely sees now why the devil emoji was warranted. He has the urge to cut into the other man’s tirade, partly because it’s a dream where there’ll surely be little to no consequences. Something holds him back, though, as he puts some distance between his ear and the phone.

Once the other man pauses to breathe, Minghao manages to get a word in. “I… wasn’t feeling well,” he says lamely. “Could I maybe work from home or something?”

“WORK FROM HOME? ARE YOU CRAZY?! WHAT KIND OF BULLSHIT—”

At that point, Minghao just hangs up. When ‘Boss Man’ tries to call again, Minghao turns off the cellphone’s ringer and goes back to cleaning.

He cleans until there’s not a speck of dust in the bedroom. And when that’s done, he goes to work on the grout in the bathroom, the oil stains in the kitchen. He’s not really sure what he’s doing. Occasionally, he’ll stop in the middle of a chore, wondering if it’s finally time for him to be shaken out of this mundane, long-winded dream.

Night falls. His ‘mother’ texts about taking on an extra shift. She says something about food in the refrigerator, but Minghao can’t be bothered; he’s so exhausted that he blacks out the moment his head hits his pillow.

He doesn’t even have the energy to contemplate the mechanics of falling asleep in what’s supposed to be a dream.

On Thursday, Minghao wakes up back in his dorm.

When he hears the familiar chime of his morning alarm, when he opens his eyes and sees beige, he feels a wave of relief. It really had all been a dream. A very realistic one, sure. But a dream all the same. He was awake now, and he was ready to go about his Wednesday schedule—

Except, when he checks his phone, it says that it’s already Thursday.

Minghao blinks. How long was he out? Surely one of the boys would’ve dragged him out of bed if he’d been out of commission for twenty-four hours.

He unlocks his phone to a dozen unread messages. Eyebrows furrowed, he decides to first go with Seungcheol’s texts.

🍒: myungho 🍒: are you feeling better? 🐸: Hyung, hi. I think I just overslept a bit but I’m feeling ok.

Despite the early morning, the three dots indicating that Seungcheol is typing pop up.

🍒: are you sure??? 🍒: you had us worried 🐸: Did I really sleep that long? 🍒: i mean, i don’t know how long you slept 🍒: was that the problem? were you hysterical yesterday because of lack of sleep? ㅋㅋㅋ

Suddenly, Minghao’s room feels a lot colder than earlier. Hysterical. That was the word Seungcheol had used. And yesterday— Tuesday? Nothing out of the ordinary had happened to Minghao. It was all the usual; he had practiced, eaten dinner out with Soonyoung, then went home.

The dream had been the only unusual thing about the day prior. Minghao is jolted when Seungcheol sends another slew of texts.

🍒: seriously 🍒: i was worried i might have to bring you to the hospital or something 🍒: but you say you’re ok now?

Minghao can’t help it anymore. He dials Seungcheol’s number and puts the phone to his ear, his heart pounding in his chest all the while.

Seungcheol answers on the first ring. In lieu of a greeting, Minghao jumps straight into “Was I really— hysterical, yesterday?”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. When Seungcheol speaks, he still sounds a touch gruff, like he’s only half-awake. “I mean, kind of. What, are you worried about it? Do you need help apologizing to Mingyu?”

Apologizing to Mingyu? “What— is Mingyu mad at me?”

“Uh.” There’s some sounds of shuffling on the other end, as if Seungcheol is sitting up. It’s a pretty clear giveaway of his growing concern. “You might have to ask him that. But, Hao— you sure you’re better?”

Minghao swallows around the lump in his throat. He doesn’t know where to start without sounding insane.

“I think I’m still feeling a bit off,” Minghao says weakly. “Must be the flu or something.”

“I can come over.”

“No, no. I think I just need some rest.”

Seungcheol lets out a contemplative hum. “Alright,” he says, though he doesn’t sound all too convinced. “I’ll keep the boys off your back for the day. Text me if you need anything, and maybe text Mingyu when you can.”

“Text Mingyu,” Minghao repeats absentmindedly. “Yeah, got it.”

The call ends without anything more. Minghao stays seated in his bed for a long moment, just staring at the call log.

Seungcheol had called him hysterical. Mingyu was upset with him.

Something was definitely not right.

Minghao’s suspicion is only confirmed when he goes to check the texts he’d gotten from other members.

🐯: need to call u about choreo but preferably u dont yell at me this time 😒 let me know when’s a good time 🐱: Are u ok? Or did u actually ditch me for our dinner (bec if then, wtf) 🦖: i’ve been in the practice room for an hour now!!!!!! Where are you!!!

If Minghao wasn’t already sitting down, he might’ve collapsed.

He yelled at Soonyoung. He ditched Jun and Chan.

He had no memory of any of that.

But he remembers the shattered carafe, the seaweed soup, the shrill shrieks of ‘Boss Man’ in his ear.

For a moment, he’s convinced he’s just in another version of the same dream— except, this time, it looks a lot more like a nightmare. As Minghao finally musters up the energy to get to his feet, he notices something at the foot of his bed.

He unfurls the folded piece of paper. The handwriting isn’t anything he’s seen before. His eyes inadvertently skip to the very bottom, and his heart nearly stops in his damn chest. Minghao drops the paper like it had physically burnt him.

“What the fuck,” he mumbles to himself as he scrambles to his feet, as he puts distance between himself and the now-discarded paper. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.”

At the very end of the handwritten letter had been a name.

The name that had been uttered by his dreamself’s mother. The name that ‘Boss Man’ had shrieked. A name he hadn’t heard before yesterday, before his dream—

Minghao is finding it increasingly hard to believe that it had been a dream in the first place. Hell, he doesn’t even know what ‘yesterday’ is anymore.

He paces his room. He does breathing exercises. He brews half a pot of tea.

None of it helps. Hours later— with all his texts still unanswered and his tea depleted— Minghao stumbles back to the letter.

I don’t know who you are, it starts. But I can tell you who I am.

I’m from Umyeon-deong in Seocho. I live with my mother; my father hasn’t been in the picture for a long time. I work as an editorial assistant for a local newspaper. (It’s not exactly what I want to be doing, although that’s a story for another day.)

For a big part of today, I thought I was dreaming. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up back in my bedroom, but the hours have ticked by and I’m still here. Your friends keep contacting you. It’s driving me insane. I accidentally yelled at two of them because they wouldn’t stop calling. The Mingyu one got really upset about it, I think. Sorry.

I’m writing this because I don’t know what else to do. If this is nothing but a dream, then this shouldn’t matter. But in the 0.000000001% chance that something truly insane has happened to me and you? Well, at least now you know.

I’m going to try and go to sleep now, although I must admit: You have some pretty nice stuff. I ate some of your tea and snacks (sorry, again). This is crazy. None of this makes sense.

The letter unceremoniously ends there. Minghao’s eyes flick again to the signoff, to the name at the very bottom.

Your name.

His head is reeling. He feels like he’s going to be sick.

This is no coincidence, no practical joke. It’s— as you’ve said— truly something insane happening.

Minghao is struck with the realization that it just might happen again, and this time, he actually does get sick. He ends up hurling into a trash can.

After brushing his teeth, chugging some water, and running through one too many of the chips in his pantry, Minghao gets back to the letter.

It’s still there, in his hands. The stationary that was locked away in his drawer, bearing handwriting that is not his.

None of the boys would pull off a prank as elaborate as this. Minghao is fairly certain he would’ve noticed if any of them snuck in, too. So, now, the only logical explanation was the one that was left.

And Minghao really didn’t like that explanation.

For what feels like forever, he contemplates what to do. He considers calling up Seungcheol again. He debates the merits of apologizing to Mingyu and Soonyoung; he decides against it when he realizes he wouldn’t even know what he’s apologizing for. He knows what to say to Jun and Chan at least, but that doesn’t make it any easier. How would Minghao even begin to justify himself? Hey, sorry for ditching you; I think I body swapped with a complete stranger. Let’s grab dinner tonight instead?

There’s a headache blossoming behind Minghao’s eyes at the mere thought of putting the words out into existence.

In the end, he does what he deems to be the easiest thing to do. He picks up a pen and writes on the other side of your letter.

Hello, he begins. I’m The8 Myungho Minghao.

I’m an idol who’s part of a group called SEVENTEEN. They’re the friends who keep contacting me. Mingyu is a fellow member and good friend of mine. I’ll talk to him.

My family is in a different country.

As Minghao goes on to write the next parts, he feels a bit foolish. He doesn’t really know what to say, though he feels like he should say something. You had given him something to work with, after all. Slivers of context. He should be able to do the same for you.

I met your mother. She’s nice.

I talked to your boss. He wasn’t happy. He yelled at you (me?), and I may or may not have put down the phone. I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure what your work was so I ended up not going at all.

I hope you liked the tea. Feel free to have all the snacks you want.

And you’re right. This is crazy.

If I’m lucky, you’ll never need this letter.

Minghao wakes up on Friday to the realization that he is decidedly unlucky.

The loud alarm is back, and the ceiling is dark green again, and Minghao once again leans over to throw up. Luckily, there’s a bedside garbage bin that comes to the rescue.

There’s no sun this time. It’s fairly gloomy outside, the overcast skies peeking through the windows.

Minghao immediately notices that there’s a folded piece of paper on the pillow next to him. He unfurls it so fast that he almost tears it in half.

This is a precaution, you start. Maybe, come tomorrow, I can just chuck this out and chalk it all up to a one-off freak incident.

The thought of this phenomenon not being a one-off nearly has bile rising up in Minghao’s throat all over again, but he forces himself to read the rest of your words.

First off, I guess I should thank you. My room has never been this clean in my life! And you should have seen the look on my mother’s face when she saw that ‘I’ cleaned the entire apartment. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I was possessed, for the lack of better term, by someone who is a much better person than me.

That almost makes Minghao smile. Almost, because the next part sends a pang of guilt through him.

Secondly, though, you almost cost me my job. I can’t believe you hung up on my boss, Donghyuk. I had to do some serious damage control. I managed to get today off, just in case.

Minghao is struck by your foresight and, adversely, his absolute lack of it. The most he had to do was appease a sulky Mingyu and message back the rest of the boys. His brain races to figure out if he has any schedules for— Friday, was it? A practice, maybe. Or a recording.

Either way, he’s screwed. You’re screwed.

Minghao his face in one hand and quietly prays that you know how to dance.

He skims over the rest of your letter.

I don’t know why this is a thing. I don’t know if it is meant to be a thing. I’m going to try and look for some answers, whether or not I wake up as you/myself.

Wish me luck.

A small part of Minghao feels a tug at the thought of both of you ending your letters with the concept of luck. That feeling is quickly replaced by something akin to dread, because he’s fairly convinced that this is no longer a dream.

Minghao has woken up in a body that isn’t his. Minghao has woken up in your body— the body of a person he’s sure he’s never met.

He has to live a day in your life with nothing to go by but the notes you’ve left and a handful of context clues.

For a moment, Minghao contemplates just going back to sleep. Maybe if the both of you just slept right now, the switch would trigger. Maybe he could just spend the whole day in bed until you have to swap again.

The latter seems like the best idea until knuckles rap against the bedroom door.

Your mother pops her head through the crack in the door. “I’m going to leave early today. The rain isn’t looking so good,” she says with a slight grimace.

Minghao glances out the window. It’s all he can do, really, to keep himself from not going insane then and there.

“Take care,” he says.

He’s suddenly acutely aware of your voice— the cadence and timbre of it. He knows what you sound like, how you write, and he wonders how the two might combine. What might be the right thing to say in this situation.

Because your mother has that look again, that openly dubious expression.

“Are you alright?” she asks cautiously, not quite stepping into the bedroom just yet.

A flash of panic rises up in Minghao. What would you say? What would you do?

“Why wouldn’t I be?” His tone’s just a little haughty now. It’s so uncharacteristic of him that Minghao nearly winces, but he persists. “Go on, don’t get caught in the rain.”

Your mother lets out a huff of a laugh, mumbling something like ‘ungrateful kid’ as she retreats. Despite that, it seems to work; she takes her leave without another protest. Minghao lets out a shaky breath.

His— your stomach, really— lets out a low grumble. A part of him wonders if you’ve been just on edge as he’s been. Unable to eat properly, losing sleep over this whole thing.

Regardless, the least he can do is take care of you. He pads over to the kitchen and rummages through the refrigerator for some leftovers. All the while, he’s thinking of what he has in his own kitchen.

Will you be hungry? You did say you liked his snacks. Would that be enough?

The questions rattling in his head turn into considerably more stressful ones.

Is this going to happen forever? Will he have to spend the rest of his life swapping bodies with you on a day-to-day basis?

He thinks of the group, thinks of your mother. Thinks of his demanding job and your terrible boss.

Minghao nearly panics again. He manages to keep it together enough to make a sandwich and sip some coffee.

He tries to meditate, even, but it’s like your body knows that it’s not a practice that you frequent. Your hands twitch in the stillness; your heart only slams harder instead of calming. You need to catch a goddamn break, Minghao thinks as he grits his teeth and tries to relax.

Something good comes out of his attempt, at least. It comes as an epiphany of some sorts— how he suddenly remembers a portion of your letter.

I’m going to try and look for some answers, you had written.

He might as well do the same.

Once he’s changed into outerwear that’s slightly more acceptable for the rainy weather, he spends a good amount of time searching for your wallet. When he goes to check it, he inadvertently lets out a grumbled “damn.”

Your wallet has nothing but a couple of loose bills.

Minghao can’t blame you, not really, but you’re certainly giving him very little to work with. A part of him even feels kind of bad for you. Not only did you have a demon for a boss; you were also severely underpaid. He makes a mental note to bring that up in his next letter to you.

He can’t go far with the lack of funds, though that’s not the only thing hindering his quest for answers. It’s pouring outside, the rain coming in heavy droplets.

Minghao braves it with a raincoat and an umbrella, hoping against hope to find something. Anything.

As luck would have it, your neighborhood has a local library.

When he steps in, the librarian doesn’t pay him much heed. Minghao is momentarily amused by the thought. Did you not come here often?

It’s a quaint place with a scarce collection. A lot of the novels are on the older end— published nearly a decade ago— but they remain in pristine condition. Minghao skips over the best-sellers and the manga serieses, instead opting to sift through the psychology textbooks.

He’s not surprised when he doesn’t find anything of use there, when he spends nearly four hours reading and reading to no avail. The lack of non-fiction about a body swapping phenomenon is to be expected. This wasn’t something that just happened, after all.

And yet it’s happening to me, Minghao thinks with frustration as he grabs at his sixth book of the afternoon. The unexpected force knocks some of the surrounding books onto the floor.

The librarian gives him a vicious side eye.

“Sorry, sorry,” Minghao mumbles as he immediately gets to his knees.

His hands close around one of the books he knocked over. It’s a heavy hardbound with a gorgeous deep red cover and metallic gold lettering. There’s a dragon featured on the front and the familiar iconography of it nearly bowls Minghao over.

While still crouched down on the floor, Minghao flips through the pages. The images that go flashing by are not strangers to him, but there’s one in particular that he’s looking for.

He finds it on the thirtieth page. Almost out of instinct, his fingers trace over the characters.

月老. Yue Lao.

Suddenly, Minghao is a child again, listening to his mother’s stories. He had been young and wide-eyed, sprawled on her lap as she talked soothingly about the god who presented himself as an old man under the moon.

The god of marriage and love. He’s the reason why your bàba and I met, his mother would say amusedly. Yue Lao made it possible.

How? His younger self had demanded. How did he make sure?

His mother had laughed, then. Had stroked Minghao’s hair out of his face as she told him about the myth. The magical cord may stretch or tangle, but it will never break.

And, oh, how Minghao had prayed back then. He prayed to Yue Lao the hardest— his eyes squeezed shut, his hands clasped to his chest.

I hope I find love.

It doesn’t matter when, or where, or how.

Qǐng, Yue Lao. Please, please, please.

“Are you going to check that out or what?”

Minghao is dragged out of his memories at the sound of the librarian’s sharp tone. “I—”

The words stick in his throat. Eventually, he manages a meek, “I’ll put it back.”

It’s still pouring as he leaves the library and makes the short walk back to your apartment. The rainwater pooling in the gutters has muck and grime sticking to the bottom of his— technically your— rain boots. Another thing to apologize for, Minghao thinks wryly.

He seeks temporary shelter underneath the corner store near your apartment block. The vendor looks up expectantly.

“The usual?” the woman croaks, and it takes a moment for Minghao to register that he’s being addressed.

“Not today,” he responds with a tight smile.

The vendor lets out a bark of laughter. “When have you ever said ‘no’ to me?” she says with a tut of disapproval. Before Minghao can protest, the stranger is already shuffling over to her cooking station.

Minghao watches in silence when he realizes what’s being made. Some fruit is speared onto a bamboo skewer, then dipped into a simmering syrup. It emerges coated like a clear gemstone before it’s shoved into a bowl of ice.

Tanghulu, Minghao thinks dazedly as he accepts the snack. “Thank you,” he says softly.

The vendor smiles. She’s already missing a couple of teeth.

Minghao takes a tentative bite. Tanghulu was a familiar enough delicacy, but the fruit he'd been given— your ‘usual’— is something he hasn't seen in quite some time.

The date-plum persimmon is soft and glutinous, wrapped in a thin layer of crisp sweetness. Minghao can't remember the last time he had black jujube this way.

“You’re still the only one who likes that stuff.” There’s an edge of fondness to the vendor’s tone. A clear indicator that you have some sort of camaraderie with her, something that Minghao isn’t entirely privy to. “Do you know how hard it is to find stock of that darn fruit?”

It seems like a rhetorical question, like something that you’d probably take in stride. But Minghao can’t bring himself to joke. His free hand is already fishing for your wallet, where he’s prepared to blow the last of your money on this dessert.

The vendor shakes her head. “Not today,” she chirps, echoing Minghao’s words from earlier. Her gaze is fixed over his shoulder, where the downpour is relentless.

Minghao is not quite sure what the norm is supposed to be. Do the two of you talk? Do you leave right after you’ve made your purchase?

He doesn’t want to be rude, so he mumbles his gratitude and decides to stick around for a moment. The vendor thankfully chooses not to make conversation.

Minghao spends a long time just standing there, making slow work of the sticky date-plum. He watches the rain that never lets up. He watches the lights of your apartment building flicker on as night falls. He watches, and he tries to commit it to memory as he finishes off his tanghulu.

For what it’s worth, he’s glad to ‘share’ this with you— something sweet to get the both of you by.

Come Saturday, Minghao wakes up with more questions than answers.

Your letter is within reach, resting atop his bedside table. He goes to read it despite the fact that he’s barely lucid.

It’s shorter this time. If he strained, he could almost hear the words in your voice. A distant echo.

I can’t believe you’re actually an idol. Have you met BIGBANG?

That draws a surprised laugh out of him. It’s been years since he last heard of his industry seniors. The thought of you being a second gen fan is a little endearing to him.

Anyway, I told everyone who contacted you that you were really sick. Like, throwing up levels of sick. ‘Coups-hyung’ said he would send a manager, but I assured him that you already had one on the way. You might want to corroborate that lie.

I know I said I would look for answers, but I couldn’t really go far. I was scared of getting lost. And, man, your neighborhood is overwhelming. I’ve lived in Seoul my whole life and I don’t think I’ve ever been in this part of the city.

I ended up spending most of my day just reading your books. Good taste.

The compliment puts the smallest grin on his face.

I promise to do better research when I’m back in my own body. ‘Till then.

As curt as your letter is, it gives him an idea he probably wouldn’t have had otherwise. Better research. Back in his own body.

He fishes for your first letter, which he had kept tucked in his drawer. It’s still there, which means the past couple of days have not been a bout of psychosis. He doesn’t know if he’s relieved or horrified.

Minghao focuses instead on scanning your introduction, where you had mentioned your neighborhood. Umyeon-deong.

While he’s in the back of the cab, Minghao texts back his members. He’s vague, still, but it’s not anything particularly new. Feeling a little better. Getting a check-up, just in case. Stop worrying. I’ll let you know how it goes.

The heat is oppressive for July, almost beating down on Minghao’s back as he finally makes it to the district. It’s a full 180 from yesterday’s rain. He regrets the baseball cap and the hoodie, but both are necessary evils.

He’s not entirely sure where to drop off, so he settles for one of the corners at the mouth of the neighborhood. Once he’s there, he just— begins to walk in a general direction.

Later, he realizes he probably could have pulled up Google Maps. He would have benefited from asking around, would have cut his time in half if he deigned to admit that he was lost. But, at the moment, he’s just taking it all in.

The apartment complexes. The children’s park. The liquor store.

Briefly, he wonders if he’ll run into you. Would you recognize him?

Would he even want you to?

Minghao is so busy mulling it over that he almost misses it. The streetside food stand advertising fresh tanghulu. It feels like yesterday— well, it was yesterday. His mouth is already watering at the thought of the candied date-plums as he wanders over to the stand.

A rasping voice addresses him. He looks up from scanning the selection, realizing with a jolt that it’s the same vendor.

But it’s also— not.

Something is off.

Something he can’t quite place.

It almost steals the breath out of Minghao. He probably looks dumbstruck, looks stupid with his mouth hanging slightly agape, but the vendor asks again, “What do you want?”

Minghao forces an answer out of his chest. “Do you have— black jujube?”

A myriad of micro expressions flash across the seller’s face. It starts with recognition, but ends with something closer to tightness. She gives a labored grunt in response before going to make the snack.

When she hands it over to Minghao, there’s a slight quiver in her fingers. She nearly drops it, even, but Minghao catches it just in time.

“Sorry,” she grouses. “It’s an order that a regular of mine used to have.”

There’s a low ringing in Minghao’s ears as he says “ah,” as he hands over his payment. The vendor busies herself with cleaning her workstation, and Minghao tries to enjoy the date-plums, but it’s not as good as he remembers it.

Was it perhaps a difference in taste buds?

No, he thinks. It’s the lump in his throat. It’s the seller’s words nagging at the back of his mind.

An order that a regular of mine used to have. Used to.

He saw her yesterday. You were supposed to have seen her yesterday.

As he munches on the fruit, he asks almost too casually, “Is it your first time selling in this area?”

The vendor shoots him a suspicious glare. Minghao knows he’s being a little odd with the line of his small talk so he fields his question, tries to make it come out more naturally. “I remember you used to have a spot somewhere else,” he offers. “In front of an apartment building.”

This time, it’s the seller’s turn to mumble “ah.”

“That’s why you had that order,” she says with a humorless laugh. “You knew them, huh?”

“Them?”

The vendor says your name. The ringing in Minghao’s ear gets louder; his fingers, tightening around the skewer of his tanghulu. It’s the first time he’s hearing your name in his own body and it sends a shiver down his spine.

The question is even harder to answer. Does he know you? Was he allowed to say that?—

No. No, wait. The vendor had said knew.

The ringing reaches an almost feverish pitch. It’s a miracle that Minghao hears anything else, that he picks up the murmured words that the seller says next.

“It’s a real shame,” she says with a voice so soft, so solemn, so small. “It’s been nine years, hasn’t it?”

Nine years.

Since what? Since you?

A lot of things haven’t made sense to Minghao in the past couple of days, but this— this is the one that baffles him the most. He saw you— he was you— yesterday.

When Minghao finally finds his voice, it’s to ask for a favor.

The vendor complies, albeit skeptically. She hangs a ‘be right back’ sign over her stall. It’s a short walk, not more than seven minutes.

If Minghao’s ears had been ringing earlier, now, it’s just dead silence. A dreadful sort of quiet as he stares at the ruins of the apartment building he was staring at just the day before.

The seller is watching his face carefully. “You didn’t know?” she prompts gently.

Minghao realizes he has to come up with something. “We were friends. Me and—” He chokes around your name. When he finally says it out loud for the first time, he feels guilty. It feels so wrong to be saying it in this context. To have it be part of a lie. “But then—”

He trails off. The vendor supplies, “You lost touch?”

Sure. Minghao gives a jerky nod in response. That’s one way to put it.

He’s not even looking for an explanation, but the seller gives him one. “The typhoon was so bad that it triggered landslides,” she says gruffly. She nods towards the direction of the mountain towering over the neighborhood. “I think the death toll was around eighteen people.”

Minghao resists the urge to scream. If he were a lesser man, he might have fainted. Instead, he quietly says, “Nine years ago.”

“Nine years ago,” the vendor confirms. She pauses before adding, her voice just a little sadder, “A tragedy.”

“Tragedy,” Minghao repeats. That doesn’t even begin to cover it, he thinks.

Neither of them say anything for a long time. He can feel the pity rolling off the seller in waves; still, he can’t bring himself to turn away. He stares, and he stares, and he stares at the rubble, at the derelict building. At the mere echo of what had been so loud and alive to him just yesterday.

After what feels like forever, he asks another question. “Is— is the library still around?”

The vendor leads the way. At the door of the library, she attempts to give Minghao a reassuring smile. It’s all just gums, now. No teeth. There’s an endless refrain of nine years, nine years, nine years screeching through Minghao’s head as the seller bids him goodbye with “I’m sorry you lost your friend.”

“I’m sorry, too,” he responds with a solemnity that doesn’t need to be feigned.

The librarian isn’t the same one.

This one has a calmer demeanor, a more restrained smile. Somehow, that only makes Minghao feel much worse. He knows what he’s looking for this time; he goes straight to the neighborhood records and scrolls all the way back to nine years ago. 2015.

It’s a lot of information to digest all at once. There’s the newspaper clippings about the heavy rainfall. The flash floods, the landslides. Class action lawsuits. Landmine threats. Government incompetence.

Minghao feels like he’s drowning in news, but it’s still not what he’s looking for.

He finds it in a directory. There’s two people with the same last name and Minghao nearly loses it then and there, at the thought of your mother, too—

He focuses on you for now. His quivering finger traces the cell that contains your name, your date of birth. 1997. The same year as him. A couple of months younger, though.

Nine years ago, Minghao had been 18. Just about to debut.

Nine years ago, you had been an editorial assistant. Not exactly what I want to be doing, you had written in your first letter to him. There was no way for you to know that you would never have the chance to be anything more.

Minghao’s eyes fall on the date of death.

Except—

It’s not nine years ago yesterday, not nine years ago today. It’s tomorrow.

In that very moment, he understands what he’s meant to do.

When Minghao wakes up in your body on Sunday, he knows he has only one chance.

He had read up all about it the ‘day’ prior but the details were vague. None of the news reports mentioned when exactly the landslide would happen. The most he gleamed was that it would be due to an unstable slope from the nearby Mount Umyeon.

A wall of mud three storeys high hit the building, one article had said. It’s the only information that Minghao has to go by as he drags himself out of bed, ignoring the blare of your obnoxious alarm.

He goes straight for your mother’s room. She’s already awake, standing by the window.

Outside, the storm rages on. Your mother turns to face Minghao. “It’s not looking good out there,” she says disapprovingly. “The news said it’s the heaviest rainfall in nearly a century.”

Back in his body, Minghao had contemplated how he would go about this. He thought he might try to coax your mother, might be logical and rational in urging her to evacuate.

In that very moment, though, he instead finds himself blurting out, “We’re going to die.”

A beat. Your mother looks unfazed.

“You’re always so dramatic.”

The panic simmers in the pit of Minghao’s stomach. “We’re going to die,” he repeats, his tone on the shriller end now.

It wasn’t like him to give in to hysteria; he was you, though, and your mother seemed nonchalant enough about it. He’s not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse. “It’s just a little bit of rain,” your mother says dismissively as she squeezes past Minghao and heads towards the kitchen.

Minghao is on her heels, his hands wringing together. “We can’t stay here,” he pleads. “We have to leave.”

Your mother shoots Minghao— you— an exasperated look. “Where are we going to go in this weather?”

“No. No, no. We have to go somewhere safe.”

“We’re safe here—”

“We’re not—”

It’s almost like a crack of thunder, the way your mother says your name. The sound shuts Minghao up immediately. It’s a familiar warning, an intonation that all mothers seem to wield over their children.

“What’s going on with you, really?” your mother questions, her hands at her hips. She’s eyeing Minghao with mild annoyance but he sees it for what it is. Concern. “You’ve been so odd these past few days. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

And how is Minghao supposed to answer that?

I’m not actually your child. I’ve swapped bodies with a man who lives nine years in the future. Our survival hinges on whether or not you’ll hear me out.

When Minghao stays silent for a little too long, your mother shakes her head. “Get it together,” she says sternly.

Maybe it’s that. Maybe that’s what finally gets Minghao to say—

“Please.”

Your mother pauses in the middle of rifling through the refrigerator. For a long, terrible moment, the only sound is the rain.

Minghao’s hands are shaking at his side. “Please,” he repeats. He knows he sounds more like himself than you. He knows he’s being out of character, being obvious.

But he needs your mother to understand. She’s looking at him now like he’s a stranger.

Like you’re a stranger. And you are— at least in that moment.

The words tumble out of Minghao before he can contain them. “I want to live.”

He doesn’t know where it’s all coming from, this rush of emotion. Your voice wavers; he pushes on. “I want to live,” he gasps out. “I want to move us to an apartment that’s not next to a damn mountain. I want to not work in this damn job. I want to live until I’m your age, until I’m even older than that, dammit—”

Your mother crosses the room, the refrigerator long forgotten. When she raises a hand to Minghao’s face, he doesn’t even realize that some tears had escaped.

These are all things he wants for you, he realizes.

He wants you to have a good job. He wants you and your mother to be out of harm’s way. He wants you to live a long, full life.

“Please,” Minghao says a third time, his voice cracking around the word.

There’s a softness to your mother’s gaze; this time, her worry is undeniable. She holds Minghao’s face— no, he thinks. She’s holding your face. Her child’s face. Her child, who’s crying, who’s begging.

That’s likely the reason why she acquiesces. “Alright,” she exhales, using her thumb to wipe away some of Minghao’s tears. “We’ll leave. We’ll go.”

That’s only half the battle, though.

Minghao mutters something below his breath. Your mother raises her eyebrows in a silent question, and so he clears his throat before speaking louder.

“We have to evacuate the entire building,” he mumbles.

It takes time to convince your mother, which stresses Minghao out beyond belief. Time isn’t a luxury that he has. Not when he has no idea when the landslide will hit. Not when the rain is only worsening, making it less likely to persuade people to leave the comfort of their homes.

By some grace, he manages to get your mother on board. Sure, he had to spew odd specifics and statistics about the dangers of landslides, but it works. The two go door to door.

They’re met with initial resistance. Minghao doesn’t care.

He badgers the elderly. He negotiates with the children. He almost gets to his knees when a family with a baby refuses to budge.

The entire apartment complex is bewildered.

But when somebody is batting so hard for safety, when somebody is so desperate in what seems to be just a little more than paranoia— you listen.

The landslide hits just as Minghao is helping the last resident out of the building.

He’s never felt anything quite like it. He’s experienced earthquakes and their aftershocks. He’s been in stadiums that have shook with the sheer amount of people, the pulse of their music.

This one starts with a rumble. Low and deep, like it’s coming from the very ground. He hears the trees crack, the boulders knock together. And then—

Your mother is grabbing him by the arm. She’s screaming, screaming, screaming, the sound drowned out by the storm, by the shrieks of all the other evacuated residents, by the mud that suddenly crashes down on the complex in one fell swoop. It’s everything, everywhere, all at once.

Minghao is soaked from head to toe. Some of the mud flies and sticks to his hair, his clothes. He can almost taste it, too. The earth. The rain. He feels the chill to his very bones.

Despite that, he laughs. Your mother is dragging him, you, away from the calamity, the tragedy, and all that Minghao can do is laugh.

Because he made sure that no one was left in the building.

Because he’s alive.

You’re alive.

Later, when everyone is gathered in an evacuation center— shivering underneath blankets, talking about how it was all such a close call— Minghao falls asleep at your mother’s side. He feels like a kid again, with his hair being stroked, with soft words being uttered to him.

He drifts off and dreams.

Minghao is sure that this is a dream because his surroundings take on the hazy quality of one.

It’s just a little too bright to be real, the setting bathed in a light that feels almost like a bulb had exploded. Minghao has to put one hand over his eyes—

It’s his hand, he realizes. He’s dreaming as himself.

His sight adjusts. He’s at a dining table. It’s a two-person dining table. Much smaller than he’s used to.

“It’s you.”

He drops his hand and braces it against the edge of the table, because your voice— he should be used to it, shouldn’t he? He had used it for a bit, formed words like sorry and thank you with a lilting tone.

When he responds, his own words are imperceptibly soft.

“It’s me,” he confirms.

You’re seated across from him. He had caught glimpses of your features in reflections, in photographs, but it’s something entirely new. To be taking you in from an outsider’s perspective. He sees how you would control your body, how you were inclined to react. It makes him dizzy, just how much he had gotten wrong about your mannerisms.

The first proper words you speak are, “You have some good friends, you know?”

A corner of Minghao’s lip twitches upward. The thought of the boys constantly checking in on him seems about right.

“And you have a good mother.” Minghao pauses. He did say he would mention the next part. “Terrible job, though. You should quit.”

“Easy for you to say, Mr. Idol,” you shoot right back.

He winces; you laugh. The sound has the edges of his vision growing fuzzy. A sepia of the past, the present, and whatever this moment is, all blurring into one. Minghao doesn’t want to wake up.

“What happens now?” you ask, your own fingers tap, tap, tapping on the table between you two.

“I’m not sure.”

“Why—?”

“— Did this happen in the first place?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve wondered the same thing.”

The edges are closing in a little more now. Minghao can feel it— the familiar warmth of his bed at home, the tug of his own time. He’s already asked so much from his mother’s old gods but he lets his eyes flutter close so he can make a final plea.

Just one more minute. Give me one more minute, please.

“I think…” he starts slowly. His voice already sounds so distant. “It’s my fault.”

“Your fault.” Skepticism undercuts your tone, enough to prompt Minghao to open his eyes again.

He looks down at his hands, the ones that had folded atop the table. “I prayed for you,” he admits quietly. “Every day, back when I was a kid.”

Confusion drips from your every word. “For me specifically?”

He laughs. “Okay, maybe not you specifically,” he amends. “But—”

It’s getting unbearably bright now, so much that he can only really make out the silhouette of your form. He itches to reach, to touch, just to see if you’re real. He doesn’t want to push it, though.

Minghao settles with holding up his hand. If you squinted, if you really, really tried, you might see it, too.

The faint glimmer of a red cord— looped around his thumb, tied to your pinky.

Every day, back when I was a kid.

“I prayed for this,” he repeats.

And so, in some way, he supposes you’re right.

He had prayed for you.

The chime of bells.

The beige ceiling.

Minghao is fairly sure he had dreamt, but it’s the kind of dream you forget the moment you wake up.

He blinks once, then twice. Odd. It felt like a good dream, too.

There’s a warm, fuzzy feeling blossoming in his chest, though it fades just as quickly as it blooms.

Minghao never wakes up as you again.

The universe takes, and takes, and takes. It takes away Minghao’s memory. He’s not entirely sure what happened to him those couple of days. Seungcheol says he went to the hospital. Mingyu laments that they fought.

Minghao borrows one of Soonyoung’s favorite words. Funk. He had been in a funk, probably. An off couple of days.

He’s back to regular programming so seamlessly that the others are forced to believe him.

Still—

Minghao goes about the next couple of weeks feeling like something is missing.

It annoys him to no end. It’s not any of his valuables, he’s sure. He double, triple checked everything. He turns his entire apartment upside down and puts it back together again. He goes for meals with all of his members, hoping to find the answers there.

Nothing.

He falls into dreamless sleep every night, and wakes up every morning with that empty feeling in his chest.

It’s an unassuming Wednesday evening— one that he spends driving around with Vernon and Wonwoo— when it hits him.

“Hey,” he says, throwing them a glance through the rearview mirror. “I could go for some dessert.”

Vernon perks up at that. “Should we head to Myeongdeong?”

“Sounds good.”

Vernon throws out directions. Wonwoo queues the music.

Minghao keeps his eyes on the road ahead.

The night market is an assault on the senses but it’s also a good cover for the three idols. They set out with their matching hoodies and half-face masks, in search of something to fulfill their cravings.

Vernon goes to get some dragon’s beard candy.

Wonwoo wanders off to purchase some hotteok.

Minghao… He isn’t sure, really, which is a bit ironic. He had been the one to make the call, after all. He weaves through the crowds, his hands in his jacket pockets, as he scrutinizes the stalls.

Kkwabaegi. Bungeoppang. Tanghulu. Dalgona. Bing—

He backs up a bit.

“Hi,” he greets the seller. “This is a bit weird, but do you have black jujube?”

The tanghulu vendor lets out a grunt of approval. “I think I’ve got one more stick,” she notes as he ducks to check her stock.

What a weird craving, Minghao thinks to himself. But it’s the first thing that came to mind.

A voice at his side addresses the seller by name.

“Got my date-plum persimmon, ajumma?”

It’s not a voice that Minghao has heard before, and yet—

Frantically, he tries to sort through the hundreds of fansigns and fan meetings he’s had in the past decade. Could it be that? Could that be the reason why the lilt was so damn familiar?

As he turns to look at the source, he knows in his heart of hearts that it’s not the case.

You’re already turning away, though, grumbling about the lack of the tanghulu that you want. Minghao hadn’t even heard the vendor respond.

There’s a ringing in his ears.

“Excuse me,” he manages.

You falter in your steps. When you look up at him, he sees the same flash of confusion. One that’s borne out of recognition.

The ringing has gotten louder. Despite that, he pushes out three words.

He thinks he’s yelling them; in reality, they’re barely audible over the din of the night market.

“Haven’t we met?” he breathes.

For one dreadful, dragging moment, he’s convinced he’ll die if you say no, even though his mind is being terribly uncooperative. He can’t place when, or where, or how he met you. He can’t say if you’re familiar because he knows you or someone like you.

All he knows is that he can’t, won’t let you walk away.

Your response makes everything in Minghao’s head go quiet.

“I thought so, too,” you say, and something in his chest thrums.

It feels a lot like an answered prayer.

#minghao x reader #xu minghao x reader #the8 x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #minghao fic #the8 fic #minghao imagines #the8 imagines #ylangelegy the8 days of minghao #minghao fanfiction #the8 fanfiction #minghao x you #the8 x you #( publishing this at 4am on my end of the world. good lord please just take this off my hands )#( i have Some gripes for what it's worth <3 haaapppy start of the series )#୨ৎ muse .ᐟ svt #୨ৎ penned by ylangelegy

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crushpunky · 2 months ago

Text

rafe surprises girlfriend!reader

masterlist

Streams of sunlight filtered in through the curtains, slowing waking y/n from her rest. She stirred for a moment, inhaling deeply as she took in the soft floral scent of Rafe’s sheets. These days, y/n found herself spending more time with Rafe at Tanneyhill than she did in her own home. It wasn’t that she didn’t like her family, it was more the fact that she couldn’t imagine waking up without Rafe next to her, the two of them tangled in the early morning and basking in each other's presence in Rafe’s bed. It, and him, had become so deeply ingrained within her bones, it felt like she needed it to live.

So, when she turned to face his likely still sleeping body, she was surprisingly greeted with an empty bed. No soft curve of his freckled shoulders, planes of his muscled chest, or his gentle, sleepy expression. With a groan, she sat up and swung her legs off the bed, tugging on one of Rafe’s t-shirts before padding down the hallway.

“Shit!” Y/n heard someone shout from the kitchen as she made her way down the steps. The kitchen was a mess, ingredients littered around the countertops and numerous pans sitting out.

“Rafe?” Y/n asked, rubbing some of the remnants of sleep out of her eye. Rafe turned around, his apron covered in a bright red sauce and a fine dusting of flour littering his nose. Y/n felt herself stifle a laugh at the site. A site that so many people across the OBX would find so strange, the notoriously rich asshole Rafe Cameron spending the early hours in the kitchen cooking up a feast of… something? Based solely on the wide range of sauces, seasoning, ingredients, and dishes across the kitchen, y/n wasn’t quite able to put her finger on what was going on.

“Oh,” Rafe checked his watch quickly before turning back to the stovetop, “you’re up early.”

“You’re up early,” Y/n furrowed her brow. “It’s 9 am. On a weekend.”

“Well, I was, um,” Rafe stammered, “going to surprise you but the pancakes took a lot longer than I was anticipating.”

“Surprise me? What for?” Y/n leaned against the counter next to Rafe, popping one of the strawberries sitting out as her eyes scanned over him. His gaze was focused on the pancakes that bubbled gently in front of him, a light pink flush littering his cheeks and a slight shake in his hand that clutched the turner.

“Am I not allowed to surprise my beautiful girlfriend?” Rafe said. Y/n laughed lightly, reaching up onto her tiptoes to press a kiss to Rafe’s cheek. His eyes flickered over her face quickly before a small grin spread across his face, pressing a kiss to y/n’s lips in return.

“I think these are done. Sit down.” Rafe said, turning off the stove and taking the pancakes off the heat. Y/n abided, making her way to the kitchen table. She was surprised to see a crisp white table cloth adorning the table along with crystal champagne flutes, glittering silverware, and a carafe of orange juice. Suspiciously, she sat down, her eyes watching intently as Rafe bit his lip in concentration, transferring the only slightly burnt pancakes onto two plates before topping them with a strawberry sauce and a dollop of whip cream. He grabbed the two plates, carrying them carefully over to the dining table, placing one in front of y/n and one at his setting opposite her. With a huff, he quickly pulled off the apron, wiping away some of the powder that had managed to get onto his polo before taking his seat.

“What is going on, Cameron?” Y/n said. None of this made any sense. Sure, Rafe was a great boyfriend and loved to shower her with gifts and praise, but this? Waking up at god knows when on the weekend, spending hours making fresh pancakes, and wearing a polo shirt before noon, all with an oddly anxious flush littering his cheeks… it was so strange.

“What do you mean?” Rafe asked, his fingers fidgeting with his gold Cameron ring absentmindedly.

“I… I don’t know what to say. This is a lot.” Y/n glanced down at the exquisite table setting and pile of pancakes in front of her, shaking her head to herself.

“Is that bad?” Rafe’s brow furrowed in concern.

“No, no, of course not.” Y/n reached across the table, grabbing Rafe’s hand gently. “I just wasn’t expecting all of this.”

Rafe took a deep breath, blinking quickly before he reached for the champagne between the two of them, his hands still shaking slightly. Despite his problems with addiction in the past, Rafe had gotten to a point where he was in control of his relationship with alcohol. It was a long and sometimes harrowing journey, but y/n had stuck with him throughout it all.

Rafe fiddled with the top before finally uncorking it, the champagne bubbling out of the bottle and spraying onto the table and his shirt. He swore, holding it over the floor as the bubbling eventually subsided. Y/n bit back a laugh, trying her best not to further the pressure Rafe was seemingly feeling for some reason.

“Shit, sorry.” Rafe mumbled with a sigh, raking his hand through his hair quickly.

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” Y/n smiled at him before grabbing her champagne flute, passing it to Rafe to fill. He shook his head, filling both their glasses carefully before setting the bottle down and picking up the orange juice. He topped both of their glasses, only splashing a bit of their drinks onto the already dampened table cloth. Y/n grabbed her flute, raising it in a toast.

“To my perfect, wonderful, and very hot boyfriend.” Y/n said, Rafe raising his glass in return, his cheeks flushing an even deeper red if that were possible.

“Did you not see me just spill the champagne everywhere?” Rafe scoffed, the two of them taking sips out of their mimosas. Y/n rolled her eyes, picking up her silverware and cutting into the pile of steaming pancakes.

“It’s part of your irresistible charm, Cameron.” Y/n said, taking a bite of pancakes covered in whipped cream and berries. She chewed it, a bitter taste filling her mouth as she did her best to choke down the breakfast without Rafe noticing. Apparently, though, she hadn’t done a good enough job because a concerned expression wiped over Rafe’s face as he himself took a bite of his breakfast. Immediately he cringed, grabbing the cloth napkin in front of him and spitting out the mouthful of pancakes.

“Goddamnit!” Rafe swore with a groan, tossing the napkin back down onto the table.

“No, no, they’re good!” Y/n said, putting another forkful of pancakes into her mouth. However, her words betrayed her as she involuntarily gagged before spitting the pancakes out into her napkin.

“Shit, I can’t believe I ruined this whole fucking thing…” Rafe exhaled, resting his head in his hands, his fingers curling into his grown out buzz cut.

“Hey, hey, don’t,” Y/n got up from her chair, rounding the table before wrapping her arms around Rafe’s shoulders. “This was a really nice breakfast. Really.”

“You don’t have to lie,” Rafe sighed, his head lifting to look at her. “I fucked it up. This whole thing.”

“What whole ‘thing’?” Y/n asked, her hand tracing slowly along the curve of Rafe’s back. Was this ‘thing’ what was causing him to do all this? Causing him to act so strangely anxious around her of all people?

“I…” Rafe trailed off, his gaze falling into his lap. Y/n knelt next to him, peering up at him as he struggled for the words. With a deep breath, Rafe reached into his pocket, pulling out a singular, glittering gold key. Y/n watched as he stood from his chair, offering her his hand to help her to her feet. She took it, her gaze watching him closely as his fingers brushed the small keychain attached to the key with a soft pink ribbon.

“Y/n.” Rafe said quietly, y/n’s eyes flicking up to meet him as Rafe reached for her hand. He took it, his grip on her wrist light as he turned her palm to face up. Y/n felt her pulse pick up as he placed the key in her hand.

“Y/n,” Rafe said again, “I never thought that I would meet someone that makes me feel the way you do. That makes me so happy and… makes me feel like maybe I am somebody that someone could love.”

Y/n felt a lump form in her throat, her eyes beginning to well with tears at Rafe’s vulnerability.

“This last year has been… difficult to say the least, but you stuck by my side throughout it all,” Rafe continued. “I’m so thankful for you and… I want to give you the life you want. The one you deserve.”

“What are you saying, Rafe?” Y/n whispered, trying her best to blink back the tears.

“Y/n, if you’ll have me, I’d love to have you move in with me.” Rafe said, swallowing harshly as his eyes scanning over y/n’s face as a smile spread across her lips. With a nod, y/n wrapped her arms around Rafe’s broad shoulders. She felt his shoulders relax under her touch, his face tucking into the crook of her neck. After a moment, they finally pulled apart. Y/n wiped her eyes on the sleeve of the t-shirt of Rafe’s she had on, her face still shining with a smile. Y/n met Rafe’s gaze again, his eyes glistening lightly with tears.

“Oh, baby.” Y/n cooed, reaching to swipe her thumb underneath Rafe’s eye gently. He chuckled, allowing his face to relax into her touch. Slowly, she lowered her hand, turning the key in her palm once more, looking closer this time. A small, twinkling heart attached to the key with a pink ribbon. The gold key looked different from the previous one he had given her, something about the handle feeling just sort of… off.

“But, baby, I’m confused.” Y/n said, still looking at the key in her palm. “I already have a key to Tanneyhill.”

Rafe took her hand, running his thumb gently across her knuckles, the coolness of his rings pressing into her skin. She looked up at him, a smirk dancing across his lips.

“It’s not for Tanneyhill.” Rafe said quietly. Y/n’s eyes furrowed for a moment before it finally clicked. These keys weren’t for Tanneyhill, they were for their house. Their home.

“Rafe Cameron you didn’t!” Y/n chuckled, causing Rafe to smile widely.

“I did, baby.” Rafe grinned. Y/n grabbed the sides of his face, pulling him down to her as their lips met. Rafe’s hands snaked around y/n’s waist, pulling her flush against him as they melted into the kiss. After a moment, they finally pulled away, the two of them panting and smiling like idiots.

“But where? I mean, it’s still on the island, right?” Y/n asked, her fingers tracing along the nape of Rafe’s neck slowly.

“Well,” Rafe said. “You know that house I was selling? The one with the green kitchen and big ass fireplace?”

Y/n’s jaw dropped. She remembered it, of course she did. It was a beautiful home only a couple miles from Tanneyhill he had purchased as an “investment”. Rafe had spent months renovating it, asking her every night for her opinion on every little detail down to the towel bars and the sconces. Now it all started to make sense. This perfect house she had found herself falling in love with more and more each time Rafe showed her pictures or took her to the set wasn’t just any house. It was theirs.

“I love you, Rafe Cameron.” Y/n said exasperatedly, shaking her head in bewilderment as Rafe continued to smile back at her.

“I love you, y/n y/ln.” Rafe grinned, pressing another kiss to her lips.

#obx #obx au #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x girlfriend!reader #girlfriend!reader

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