#and then I remember having a dream of running away from it or so I thought it was dream

[hedwig221b]

You are amazing ✨✨✨

Do you have any feral Derek fic recs?? Especially if he’s stuck as a wolf?? Bonus points if Stiles thinks he’s just a big friendly dog 🥹

Hi, love! Thank uuu! I absolutely love feral wolf Derek, it always delivers. Here's a very long rec list, enjoy!

Waiting by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

Not wanting to think on it too much, Stiles took a step forward and passed his hand between the bars, moving the bleeding side closer to Derek’s mouth. “Not too close, he bites.” Stiles snatched his hand away just as Derek had been about to lick at it. The snarl he got in response was not comforting. “He what?” Stiles asked nervously, turning to Deaton. The man looked a little amused. “Don’t worry, only if he doesn’t like you.” “Well, he probably hates me, now!” Stiles insisted, turning back to Derek.

He looked extremely displeased.

You're My Sanctuary by lilmissdaydreamer

The Argent Wolf Sanctuary. It’s been Stiles’ dream since he was five years old to work with the wolves, ever since his mother took him up there to see the magnificent creatures on one of their ‘full moon runs’ that the Sanctuary does once a month. The wolves are beautiful and much larger than Stiles would’ve thought, or at least, the newest wolf is. The owner had said he’s a special breed. Stiles just didn’t realize quite how special he is.

Stuck in This in Between by calrissian18

“You’re not getting better, Derek.” And it was the first time he’d called him that since he’d realized he wasn’t really.

The Feral Alpha by halcyon1993

Derek has lived in a half-feral state in the wilderness ever since hunters killed his family. When the hunters return years later, he gets his revenge and finds his true mate in one of the boys they were holding captive. He claims him immediately.

Safe Mind by LadyDrace

Derek goes missing for a while and comes back full wolf. Only problem is that his mind has gone wolf too, and for some reason the only one he'll allow near him… is Stiles.

Of Blood and Feral Wolves by Flicker_Ash

After Stiles is hurt in a surprise attack, Derek's wolf takes over and won't let anyone near him. Doesn't matter if it's Scott or a paramedic, when there's blood and no sarcasm, no-one's touching Stiles.

Light at the end of the tunnel by Lesatha

“Careful, Stilinski. Don’t think you can go around telling me what to do, or coddling the werewolf.” “What does it matter to you?” “If the feral alpha kills you, it will be my fault, as your supervisor.” Stiles’ head whipped towards the werewolf. He couldn’t see much of him apart from his red eyes, always following Stiles. Crazy as it might sound, it comforted him. The werewolf wasn’t the rabid animal Elis seemed to picture. He was just… hurt.

Feral by melofttroll

Scott’s yelling now as the Jeep comes to a halt, and Stiles ignores him as he clambers from the seat. The skid turned the Jeep completely around, and his headlights are pointed at something that is decidedly not dog-ish, or bear-ish, but very, very human. And by the shuddering breaths coming from the man’s chest, very much alive. Feral!Derek, Sterek AU

Lessons in Humanity by exclamation

Fleeing from werewolves, Stiles comes face to face with Derek, a werewolf human in shape but animal in his mind. Stiles is terrified of being killed, but it seems Derek has decided Stiles would make a suitable mate. Unfortunately, his idea of a romantic gift is a dead animal on the doorstep. Stiles must help Derek remember what it is to be human… and figure out how to explain his new werewolf stalker to his dad.

Throw Away the Key by mommymuffin

Stiles knew it was stupid to go to the hunters’ headquarters all by himself, so when he finds himself caught, he can really only blame himself. It shouldn't surprise Stiles when the situation quickly goes from bad to worse as the hunters throw him to a feral werewolf waiting to tear him apart. Sucks that it's Derek, though.

Thanks for Thumper, But I Prefer Cheeseburgers by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

The wolf’s head whipped around so fast, Stiles felt like he was watching The Exorcist. Stiles wondered if he could just stand still enough to make the wolf think he was a tree. A very bright red and jean-clad tree. He doubted it, but one could hope. He knew it was a lost cause when the wolf turned fully, lips pulled back from its sharp teeth—so very sharp, good fucking Lord!—and began walking towards Stiles. “I didn’t see anything!” Stiles shouted, both hands out in front of himself and sweat instantly breaking out across his skin. “I swear to you! I didn’t see anything! I didn’t see anything! I won’t tell anyone! I won’t! I’ll keep this to myself, until the day I die! I promise! I promise!”

What I Did On My Summer Vacation by grimm

There's something weird about Beacon Hills that Stiles can't quite put his finger on. The way everyone in town knows his name the day he arrives. The way they insist the melancholic howling that echoes through the forest every night is just a dog. The way his dad denies getting a dog, even though Stiles comes home to find one sprawled across his bed, some big black thing whose eyes gleam red in the right light. The way that massive oak tree out in the woods vibrates under his touch, pulsing with sickly life. There's something weird going on in this town, and Stiles is determined to get to the bottom of it.

Hallowed Grounds by damnfancyscotch

Everything in Beacon Hills is the same when Stiles comes home from college. Well, except for the fact that he's a published author now, Scott is halfway across the world with a travelling circus, Erica's epilepsy has been cured, her boss offers him a job too, and there's this weird black dog that seems to be following him around just to judge him. Oh, and the murders, of course. But other than that stuff… totally the same old BH.

There Are No Wolves in California (Werewolves on the Other Hand…) by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella), KioFox

“I’m not calming down until you call animal control! I fucking saw it! There were fucking wolves!” “There are no wolves in California, Mr. Daehler,” the principal said, sounding exasperated, like this was the third time she’d said it to him. “Well clearly there are!” he shouted back, showing such a lack of respect for the woman, Stiles had to applaud her for her fortitude not to smack him in the face. “Perhaps you were mistaken,” she said calmly. “No I wasn’t fucking mistaken,” Matt insisted, sounding incensed. “No way these were dogs, they were massive!” For a second, Stiles felt like the world had slowed considerably as those words wormed their way into his brain. Because—he knew a dog that was massive. Honestly, he’d also brushed away the idea of the dog being a wolf because there were no wolves in California. But… what if there were? Holy shit, had Stiles literally spent his lunch break with a fucking wolf cuddled into his side while he pet it?! Good God, he was lucky to still have all his limbs!

Where the Real Beasts Are by kaistrex (weishen)

Crown Prince Stiles is gifted a direwolf on his eighteenth birthday by King Gerard I of Venatia. The only instruction? Never remove the collar. Stiles never has been one to do as he’s told.

The Soul Knows What the Heart Wants by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

“Holy—shit,” Stiles breathed, Bacon stopping in what he was doing, still staring at him intently, as if begging him to understand, for someone to finally understand. Stiles felt like he’d been electrocuted and he leapt out of his chair, kneeling in front of Bacon and grabbing at his furry face. “Holy shit! Oh my God, are you—wait, holy—you’re not fucking with me, right?!” Bacon let out two quick barks, which Stiles chose to interpret as ‘no.’ "Oh my God, are you a real person in there?!” Stiles shouted in the wolf’s face, staring him right in the eye. He was still holding the wolf’s head with both hands, but Bacon dipped his muzzle in confirmation and Stiles officially lost his mind. “Oh my God!” he shouted again, releasing Bacon to clutch at his own hair. “Oh my God! Dude, for real?! You’re—holy shit! Holy shit!” He didn’t know how to react to this news. He had no fucking idea how to react. This was a person?! But how?! How was this a person?! People didn’t just turn into wolves!

Rabbit Hearted by secondstar, Tsuminoaru

Storytellers were known for their talented tongues, their ability to weave tales and enthrall the listener. Their stories held weight, taken as truth as they were passed down from generation to generation. A tale of a cursed pack of wolves was one such story that Stiles had known since he was a child. Never did he think that he would become part of that tale, or that its weight would be up upon his shoulders. A tale of curses, sacrifices, and acceptance of one's inner self.

Being Close to You by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

Realization dawned and Derek cursed himself viciously. How could he be stupid enough to forget Scott was a Werewolf? He could fucking smell him! Scott knew it was him! “Stiles?” Scott asked uncertainly while Stiles started opening and closing various cabinets, looking for who knew what. “That’s not a d—” Derek snarled and let out a loud bark, eyes glowing blue in Scott’s direction since Stiles couldn’t see him from where he was standing. Scott scowled at him, moving closer to him and inhaling pointedly. “What are you doing here, Derek?” Scott asked, voice low enough that Stiles wouldn’t hear. He wasn’t listening anyway, still panicking and randomly opening things.

(You) Bring Out the Beast (In Me) by Ember

“Should I make out the wedding invitations?” Stiles swallowed his mouthful of soda.”What?” Lydia smirked. “Well, you and Derek have seemed awfully cozy lately. Just wanted to be supportive.” “Oh, yeah, because that’s exactly why I went into wildlife preservation.” He rolled his eyes. “Beastiality jokes.” +++ Aka the one where Derek is a wolf and Stiles is his trainer, and then magic and transformations and feelings happen.

A Boy’s Best Friend by KnottheWolf

Stiles was just having some ‘me time’ when things escalated with his dog, Wolf. Or at least, he thinks it’s a dog.

"good boy" by quackquackcey

Stiles doesn’t think his senior year can get any worse with his best friend turning rabid every full moon, until he finds himself stuck with a massive black wolf overnight that doesn’t even like jerky. But on the bright side, the hot guy with the half-dying sister he met at the gas station seems to be in town for a bit, so there’s still a chance that his senior year, his supposed best year of high school, isn’t a complete lost cause…right? That is, if he can manage to juggle the sassy wolf that he takes care of at night and the hot guy that asked him out on a date for some reason.~ 🐺🍕

Other fic recs: angsty fics | possessive Derek | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | smut | mafia | hurt/comfort | magical!Stiles | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack | BAMF!Stiles | omegaverse | witch!Stiles | creature!Stiles | bad friend Scott | pack mom!Stiles | unrequited love | werewolf!Stiles | dark sterek | single parent!Stiles

[deliciousangelfestival]

Change of Heart - 3 | Bucky

Character: Bucky x Female! Reader

Theme: Angst, tragedy, romance.

Summary: The interviewer asked her a provocative question:

“If you were offered a million dollars, would you leave your partner?”

Without hesitation, she replied with a smirk, “Give me one dollar, and I’ll leave him this second.”

True to her word, she walked away, leaving the man stunned and searching for answers. Now, he’s desperately trying to find her, grappling with the haunting question—why would she leave him so easily?

And is there more to her departure than a single dollar could ever explain?

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , -

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

"Where is she?" he asked.

"Australia, sir."

Bucky froze in place when he heard that. Australia? It was so unlike you. In all the time you spent together, you always talked about visiting Europe. That was your dream—to save enough money to open a café there, buy a boat, and travel around the continent.

He shook his head, dismissing the thought. It didn’t matter now. At least he finally knew where you were.

"Prepare the jet," he commanded.

After his security team gave him the location, Bucky immediately called his pilot to prepare the plane. Within minutes, he was on his private jet, accompanied by his assistant, who sat nervously across from him.

The assistant hesitated before asking, “Sir, when do you want to reschedule the meeting?”

Bucky didn’t look up from his phone. “If I’m not in the company, there’s a vice president. Let him attend the meeting instead. The company pays him a high salary for a reason. If he makes the wrong agreement at the meeting, I’ll fire him.”

The assistant swallowed hard, his hands fidgeting with the pen in his lap. “Y-Yes, sir.”

Bucky leaned back in his seat, resting his head against the cushion as silence settled between them. The hum of the jet’s engines filled the cabin. His gaze drifted to the window, the clouds blurring past.

The matter of this marriage was far more complicated than any company matter.

He broke the silence. “Do you ever have marriage trouble?”

The assistant’s eyes widened slightly at the unexpected question. “Uh… yes, sir.”

Bucky turned his head slightly toward him. “Have you ever argued to the point where your wife left the house?”

The assistant hesitated, his hands stilling. “That’s… no, sir. We argue sometimes, but not to that extent.”

Bucky exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I see.”

His situation wasn’t like those couples who separated after endless fights. This marriage was different—it was based on a contract. There was no need for messy legal proceedings or divorce lawyers. No drawn-out drama. It was supposed to be simple, painless.

But it wasn’t.

He rested his elbow on the armrest, his fingers pressing against his temple as memories of his parents’ divorce flashed through his mind. He’d witnessed it all—the yelling, the accusations, the blame. He could still remember the cold, suffocating atmosphere in the negotiation room as both sides tore each other apart. And they’d forced him, a child, to sit there and watch.

They called it love once, but what he saw was anything but. His parents acted like children while he was expected to be the adult.

Marriage was supposed to be a union between two mature individuals who respected its meaning. His parents may have loved each other once, but they destroyed that love with betrayal and adultery.

It was full of lies and deception. For young Bucky, hearing the arguments was painful. Even now, he still feels a lingering resentment toward his parents.

Bucky shook his head, clearing the bitter thoughts. He’d never wanted a traditional marriage because of them. When his grandfather, Paul, had told him he needed to marry to inherit the company, Bucky had been clueless about what to do.

That’s when he remembered a friend mentioning a matchmaking agency. “It’s expensive, but it’s worth it,” his friend had said.

And it was expensive—but it was worth it. With you, he’d fulfilled his grandfather’s condition and taken over the company. You were his perfect partner.

At least, that’s what he thought.

He rubbed his chin as he rewound every moment he’d spent with you, searching for something he might have missed. He couldn’t think of a single instance where he had disrespected you. Both of you respected each other’s personal space and schedules. He knew you had a close relationship with Grace, your best friend.

Friends.

Friends?

His brows furrowed. Now that he thought about it, Grace was the only friend of yours he really knew. While you had met most of his circle, he knew almost nothing about yours.

Bucky leaned forward, clasping his hands together tightly. After giving it more thought, he realized the imbalance in your marriage. He was the dominant one, the one whose needs and routines shaped the relationship.

And he had barely noticed.

His jaw tightened, the weight of his ignorance sinking in. For the first time, he wondered if that was why you left.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

After a long flight, Bucky’s plane finally touched down at the destination. He had managed to close his eyes during the journey, but rest was impossible—his thoughts were consumed by you. Memories, questions, and unspoken words replayed endlessly in his mind.

As he stepped off the plane, the crisp air hit his face, bringing a brief sense of clarity. The head of his security team approached him immediately.

"Sir, we’ve found her location," the man reported.

"Where is she?" Bucky asked, his voice sharp with urgency.

The security detail led Bucky toward the docks, their hurried footsteps crunching against the gravel. His heart was pounding, each step feeling heavier as the weight of anticipation bore down on him. He scanned the area, his sharp eyes searching frantically for any sign of you.

And then, he saw you.

There you were, standing near the edge of the dock, the soft breeze tugging at your hair as you stared out at the endless horizon. The setting sun cast a golden glow around you, making you look almost ethereal, like a mirage he’d conjured in his desperation.

His breath hitched. Relief washed over him first, flooding his chest so quickly that it nearly brought him to his knees. After days of relentless searching, and agonizing over where you could be, there you were—within reach.

But then came the ache. A sharp, searing pain in his chest that he hadn’t expected. Seeing you standing so calmly as if the world hadn’t turned upside down for him, struck a chord deep within. You looked so at peace, so distant, and he couldn’t understand it.

His legs moved before his mind could catch up. He closed the distance between you in long, determined strides, his emotions spiraling into a chaotic storm. Relief, anger, confusion, longing—it all melded together as his voice broke through the silence.

He called your name, loud and raw, the sound carrying across the water.

You turned, startled, your wide eyes locking with his. For a moment, time seemed to freeze. He saw the flicker of surprise on your face, the way your lips parted slightly as if you were about to say something. But what shook him most was what he didn’t see.

There was no regret in your eyes.

Bucky’s chest tightened, his fists clenching instinctively at his sides. How could you look at him like that—so calm, so unaffected—when he’d been unraveling without you? He reached you in a few quick strides, his hand shooting out to grab yours before you could move another step.

Bucky’s heart pounded as he called out your name, his voice cutting through the sound of the waves. You turned, visibly startled but composed, no trace of regret on your face.

He didn’t stop running until he reached you, grabbing your hand before you could step onto the yacht. "Why did you leave?" he demanded, his tone raw with frustration. "Didn’t I say we’d talk this through?"

You look at him, your eyes steady but filled with quiet resolve. “I don’t want to continue the marriage contract."

“I know.” He fell silent, his gaze locking onto yours. “It’s because of me, isn’t it?”

"No," you replied, shaking your head with a soft smile. "Didn’t you get the letter I left for you?"

Bucky frowned, the words unsettling him. The letter? What could it possibly say that justified this?

"It’s not you," you said, your tone steady. "It’s me."

"Lies," he shot back, his voice clipped with disbelief.

"It’s not," you insisted firmly.

"Explain it to me like I’m five years old," he demanded, his frustration and confusion bubbling to the surface.

You sighed, gathering your thoughts. "In the contract, we promised no lies, no deception. We even agreed that if one of us developed feelings, the marriage would end before things got messy."

Your gaze softened as you added, "Bucky, I love you."

The confession hit him like a tidal wave, leaving him stunned and speechless. He had braced himself for accusations, for anger, but not this.

You took advantage of his silence, gently pulling your hand free from his grasp. You turned to the captain of the yacht and gave a subtle nod, signaling him to start the engine.

As the boat began to drift away from the dock, Bucky’s senses returned. "Where are you going?" he called out, his voice tinged with desperation.

"Anywhere," you replied, your words floating back to him.

Standing at the edge of the dock, he could only watch as the boat carried you farther away.

From your place on the yacht, you glanced back at him. “What a fool,” you murmured, shaking your head. “I told everyone not to let you find me.”

The captain, standing at the helm, turned to you and asked, “How far do you want to go?”

"Keep sailing until I say stop," you said, your tone resolute.

"Alright," the captain replied, steering the yacht into the open sea.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The yacht moved steadily through the endless expanse of blue, its wake cutting a gentle path through the water. You stood at the edge of the deck, the wind brushing against your face, carrying with it the salty tang of the sea. The horizon stretched infinitely, meeting the sky in a blur of hazy gold and blue. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the breeze tangle your hair and the sun warm your skin.

“It’s beautiful,” you thought. The kind of beauty that felt untouched, unclaimed—exactly what you were searching for.

“This is it,” you murmured, barely audible to yourself.

With steady steps, you approached the captain’s cabin. He glanced at you briefly, his expression questioning.

“Stop here,” you said.

“Are you sure?” His voice carried the weight of uncertainty.

“Yes.” Your answer was firm, final.

He nodded and went to work, releasing the anchor with a heavy clunk as it descended into the ocean’s depths. The yacht slowed to a gentle halt, rocking slightly with the rhythm of the waves.

Without hesitation, you peeled off your clothes, revealing the simple swimsuit underneath. The air felt cool against your skin, but it didn’t matter. You stepped to the edge of the deck, your toes curling over the rim. For a brief second, you inhaled deeply, and then you leaped.

The water embraced you like an old friend. It was cold but refreshing, its weight washing over you, pulling you into its quiet, endless depths. You swam, letting your body move freely, unbound by the constraints of gravity or obligation.

You dove deeper, the light above you diffusing into shimmering rays that danced like silver ribbons. Down here, there were no walls to confine you, no contracts to dictate your actions. It was just you and the ocean—an infinite space where you could finally breathe.

For the first time in years, you felt free.

You floated on your back, staring up at the vast sky. The sun cast a golden glow across the water’s surface, making it sparkle like liquid diamonds. You let out a long breath, your body rising and falling with the gentle waves. This was what you had been looking for—a release from the weight of expectations and the burden of feeling tethered to things you didn’t truly want.

You didn’t understand why, but in this moment of letting go—of money, of love, of the life you’d meticulously built—you felt alive.

All your life, it had been about money. Growing up with a father whose high income only highlighted what was still lacking, you learned early that nothing was ever enough. There was always another competition to win, another prize to chase. Independence wasn’t just encouraged; it was demanded.

Money became your anchor, the thing that kept you afloat. You thrived on it, obsessed over it. You checked your bank accounts daily, reveling in the sight of green numbers climbing higher and higher. It was intoxicating, the sense of control and success that came with it.

Each time you earned more money, it was a step closer to impressing your parents. Impressing them became a lifelong goal—one that would finally make them say, “We’re proud of you.” But no matter how much you earned, it was never enough.

And then there was love—a concept you understood in theory but never cared to possess. Money filled the void better than any romantic notion ever could. Love was messy, complicated, and it demanded sacrifices you weren’t willing to make. Money didn’t ask for your vulnerability; it only required your focus, your ambition, your endless thirst for more.

The two were the same, you realized. Money and love—they both left you parched, chasing something that always seemed just out of reach.

Then what were the other things that made you confront money and love at the same time?

When you joined the matchmaking agency to find a wealthy partner, you hadn’t really thought it through. There wasn’t a grand plan, just the vague hope of finding someone who could meet your terms. Honestly, you expected the candidates to be older men—someone seeking a companion to attend events with, nothing more. You had even specified one unique condition in your profile: no intimacy.

So, it came as a shock when the person who agreed to your circumstances turned out to be Bucky Barnes—a man only two years older than you. Not only that, but he was willing to pay an impressive amount to seal the deal.

When it was Bucky’s turn to lay out his requirements, everything seemed to align perfectly. He needed a partner who could convincingly play the role of a devoted spouse, just long enough for him to inherit his family’s company. You knew you could handle that. Pretending to be his loving wife? It felt like an easy role to play.

His parents were simple to fool, far less intimidating than your own strict, demanding family. The real challenge, however, was his grandfather, Paul. With his sharp eyes and no-nonsense demeanor, Paul had a knack for spotting liars. Yet, even he couldn’t see through you. You gave him exactly what he longed for—a granddaughter-in-law who treated him with genuine care. That part was easy because you understood what it felt like to crave love and approval.

The first year flew by without a hitch. You and Bucky played your roles to perfection. The arrangement opened doors for both of you—financially and socially. When the time came to discuss extending the contract for another year, you agreed without hesitation. The benefits far outweighed any drawbacks.

But then, somewhere in the second year, things began to shift. You started to feel something for Bucky—something dangerous. It wasn’t part of the deal, and you hated yourself for it. From the start, Bucky had been upfront about his feelings—or lack thereof. For him, love was a waste of time. He had no use for romance, and you had respected that. Until now.

You couldn’t stop it, though. No matter how hard you tried to suppress your emotions, they crept in, uninvited. It was written clearly in your agreement: no feelings, no complications. If either party broke that rule, the contract would be terminated immediately.

So, you buried your feelings as best you could. Love was messy, unpredictable, and it made you want things you couldn’t have. It filled your mind with fantasies, leaving you restless and craving more. And you despised it.

You just needed to hold on a little longer.

But then, everything changed.

Two days before the marriage contract was set to end, something happened—something you hadn’t anticipated.

And in that moment, you realized nothing would ever be the same again.

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[goldenhazelnut]

Chasing The Calm || Max Verstappen

summary: When a young, determined intern crosses paths with Formula 1 champion Max Verstappen, their connection defies expectations.

Your heart raced as you walked through the paddock. As an intern in the Red Bull communications team, being part of the Formula 1 world was a dream come true. At just 21 years old, you were the youngest on the team, always trying to prove you deserved to be there.

Max Verstappen, on the other hand, was your opposite. At 27, he was already a four-time world champion who seemed to have lived a thousand lives at Formula 1’s relentless pace. Your paths often crossed, but only in fleeting smiles or quick “thank yous” in passing. Until that night.

After another long workday, you were sitting in one of the common areas, reviewing some notes. The paddock was nearly deserted, save for the sound of approaching footsteps. When you looked up, Max stood there, watching you curiously.

“Do you always work this late?” he asked, his voice calm, marked by his distinct Dutch accent.

“Not always,” you replied, trying to maintain a professional demeanor. “Just making sure everything’s ready for tomorrow.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “Always so dedicated. Shouldn’t you be out enjoying the night? You’re young; you’ve got the energy for it.”

You laughed softly, trying to hide your nervousness. “Maybe. But it looks like you’re still here too, so I could say the same about you.”

Max smiled, a genuine one. He pulled out the chair beside you and sat down—a move you didn’t expect. “Fair enough. I guess I’ve spent so much time here I’ve forgotten what a normal night feels like.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, a rarity amidst the chaos of paddock life. You could feel his gaze on you—not invasive, but thoughtful, like he was trying to piece you together.

“So,” he began, breaking the silence, “what brought you to Formula 1?”

“It’s been my dream for as long as I can remember,” you admitted, resting your chin on your hand. “I love the sport, the competition… and I wanted to prove to myself I could get here, even being younger than most.”

Max nodded, as though he understood more than he let on. “I get it. When I joined, I was 17. Everyone said I was too young, that I wasn’t ready. But I think that just made me want to work harder.”

Your eyes met his, and you realized that despite the differences in your age and experience, there was something you shared—a determination to prove yourselves.

“You’re different,” he said suddenly.

“How so?”

“You’re… calm. Most people who are confident talk a lot, try to prove they know everything. But you’re quiet. It’s… refreshing.”

Your throat went dry. You hadn’t expected him to say that, but something about his sincerity made you feel at ease.

“Well, maybe it’s because I’m still learning,” you said with a small smile. “And maybe because I think there’s more to gain from listening than talking.”

He let out a soft chuckle, low and genuine. “You know, I think you’re right.”

A Few Days Later

Your encounters with Max became more frequent. He always found a reason to talk to you—a quick “good luck” before a press conference or a casual “How’s it going?” during a break.

One evening, as the sun dipped low, painting the paddock in warm tones, Max called you over for a conversation. You stood together by the track, away from the buzz of activity.

“You know,” he began, leaning against a safety barrier, “I should probably tell you to stay away from me.”

You frowned, confused. “Why?”

“Because this world is messy. My life is messy. I’m not exactly the kind of guy who can offer you stability.”

You crossed your arms, trying to mask the sting of his words. “And what makes you think I want stability?”

He blinked, caught off guard by your response. “Most people do.”

“I’m not most people,” you said firmly, meeting his gaze.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “That’s what I’m afraid of. You’re different. You’re... honest, and grounded. And being around you makes me forget the chaos. But that’s dangerous—for you and for me.”

You stepped closer, your voice softer but unwavering. “Maybe I don’t mind a little danger. Maybe you shouldn’t decide what’s best for me.”

His eyes searched yours, conflicted but vulnerable in a way you hadn’t seen before. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“Then let me find out,” you said, offering a small, reassuring smile.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. Max hesitated, then reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch was gentle, his expression tender yet uncertain.

“You’re stubborn,” he murmured, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Maybe,” you replied. “But so are you.”

He laughed softly, the tension easing slightly. “You’re going to make my life even more complicated, aren’t you?”

“Probably,” you teased. “But isn’t that what makes it worth it?”

Max shook his head, a mix of exasperation and admiration. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” you pointed out with a smirk.

He didn’t reply right away, but the look in his eyes said everything. Slowly, he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours.

“Just promise me one thing,” he whispered.

“What’s that?”

“Don’t regret it.”

You smiled, your heart pounding but your voice steady. “I won’t. Will you?”

For the first time, Max didn’t have an answer. Instead, he kissed you, the world around you fading away as you both took the first step into something neither of you could predict but both of you craved.

[dufferpuffer]

Jacob the Muggle liked Newt's beasts. He went around feeding them, cared about them, was gentle with the egg and all that... he was delighted by magic and this strange lil' British guy.

Beasts, to Newt, are THE most important thing. He ADORES his beasts and would die for their well being. But nobody really gets that. They think he is weird for it. Especially in America, where it seems the value of Magical Beasts is whatever money you can make from them. Yet Jacob's out there feeding the mooncalves. He asks questions, gets to know them - and thinks they're amazing. He is helping catch every runaway beast, even putting himself in danger. Tina? She puts his Beasts in danger. Almost gets them killed.

Jacob asks Newt why he bothers to keep a Muggle like him around all this time - and Newt is like 'Coz... I like you :^) You're my friend.' And Jacob says ':^) I like you too!!!' And Newt is like 'People don't usually like me... thankyou :^)'

When Jacob has his memories taken away - Newt is the one who provides the silver so he can open his dream Bakery. What does Jacob remember most...? Newts beasts. He themes his pastries on his Magical beasts.

THEY'RE SO CUTE. It is unbelievable Tina is supposedly Newt's love interest - what chemistry did they have?!?

No. Sorry. Newt runs a ranch and Jacob helps hatch eggs, feed the little ones - and bakes cute cakes based on Newts special interest. Husbands. They are husbands.

[lilgarbitch]

Running In Circles - One

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader

CW: Slight angst, slight fluff, anxiety...I think that's all so far

Word count: 6k

Author's note: I’M BACK BITCHES!!! So I changed/ am changing a few things and I hope it doesn’t upset anyone. As much as I loved Tommy, Tony, and Cam, I feel like I could’ve put more effort into their names. So Tommy is now Finn, Tony is now Calum/Cal, and Cam is now Damien. Some dialogue and things have changed as well and I can’t say I’m extremely happy with the way I wrote this chapter, but I didn’t want to change too much. Still, I hope you’re as excited as I am ;)

Y/N

I sit hunched over, elbows resting on my knees as my leg rapidly bounced up and down. My chin rested on my fist, with a stressed scowl covering my face as I sat in the lounge of our tour bus. I realize I’m shaking my whole body by bouncing but I truly don’t care. It eased the racing thoughts of the show we’re about to play. The first show of our new tour.

Finn walks into the lounge and gives me a slightly pained pitying look. I try to sit up and let his presence distract me from the stress, waiting for him to say something, but it just takes over my body once again and I fall back against my seat with a loud huff and shut my eyes. 

“I know you always get nervous shows, but…Hun..” he sends a small pout my way, “you look like you haven’t slept. You’ve been dreaming of us touring with someone big for so long…But it almost looks like you’re regretting it.” Finn looks at me with pity filled eyes. 

I let out a long exhale, rubbing my hands against my fishnet-covered thighs, trying to soothe myself. 

“I am excited, trust me. I-” I pause to squeeze my eyes shut and try to push the stress away again. I try to give him a smile, hoping to look nervous rather than unbelievably stressed. “I just… can’t wrap my head around it…especially who we’re touring with.” 

He gives me a look telling me that he doesn’t believe me and is slightly confused. I had never fully explained myself to Finn. He knows nothing about what’s truly been on my mind for the past few years. He doesn’t know who I write about in my lyrics. And there’s a reason for it. It’s utterly embarrassing and confusing for me to say any of it out loud. 

I wave him off with a small ‘it’s nothing’ before getting up and pacing around the tour bus. We were about a half hour away from the venue for the first show. I look at myself in the mirror and run back to my bag, deciding to change my outfit once more. I just want to feel good enough for first impressions with the band, so I can’t have myself thinking too much about my appearance. I look through my bag, look down at myself, then back at my bag. I grab my phone and check the weather before picking out a few pieces of clothing and walking back to the seating area, Cal now sitting with Finn. 

“Is Damien still sleeping?” I ask, my mind getting sidetracked, seeing all my bandmates but my drummer. 

“No, he’s in the back on his phone. Said something about needing quiet, as if he isn’t the one causing the noise most of the time” Cal replies with a snort, staring out the window at the passing scenery. I give him a nod before remembering what I was holding. 

“Okay, so. It’s going to be a little chilly out today, but I’m sticking to my skort and fishnets. Do I wear my sweater-” I say holding up my oversized knitted sweater, “Or my lace top with a cardigan?” I proceed to hold that pairing up. Cal turns to me and eyes both choices and you can almost see the gears turning in his head as he visualizes what both outfits would look like, causing a small humorous smirk to form on my face. 

I glance towards Finn and he’s tapping a finger against his chin, before replying, “The sweater would be warmer, yeah?” and I give him a small shrug. “That one, then.” 

“Dude, I’m asking which would look cuter, not which I would survive better in,” I laugh. I love my band. I can fully say that I view everyone in the group as my family. My brothers. But it has reached a point where I am purely treated as a little sister and not their lead singer. 

I turn back to Cal as he’s still deep in thought, but he finally spoke. 

“I agree. But only because the lace top with the fishnets may clash, and the sweater still lets your neck tattoos show,” he answers as if I gave him a pop quiz. I roll my eyes with a smile before turning around and heading to change. I look at my outfit after, and agree with Cal. The short skort shows off my leg tattoos which I hate covering up, and the sweater covers enough to keep me warm, but shows off the cybersigilism tattoo on the front of my throat, the barbed wire on my left collar bone as it hangs down on that shoulder. The sleeves are a little too long, so I rolled them up enough so they aren’t going to get in the way, and so they show off the detailed skull on my left hand and the more cybersigilism print flowing onto my right. 

I give myself a final look over in the mirror, take account of if I’m comfortable enough, and if there’s anything I’m going to think too much about out of insecurity. Giving a small smile to myself in my reflection, I leave the bathroom and walk towards the front. 

“ETA 5 MINUTES” Damien shouted from behind me, both scaring me and bringing the dreaded stress and fear back into my body. I let out a small shriek and he laughs out an apology, patting my back as he passes me and goes to sit with the rest of the boys. With a long exhale, I sit down with them all as we pull down a dirt road and head towards the bus park. We have 3 hours until doors even open, so I let out a sigh of relief when I see no other buses around as our bus halts to a stop. Maybe I can eye this place out and find a good place to relax (aka finding good hiding spots to get away from everyone when things get too much.) 

I feel a small pat on my shoulder, waking me from my daze as the boys get up and start heading out of the bus. I stand and follow, trying my hardest to calm my nerves. If this was a situation where I was just a fangirl about to perform with her favorite band, this would be so much easier. But it’s so much more. 

We all step about and stretch our legs, finally feeling solid ground after hours and hours on a tour bus. Feeling better, I head off towards the venue, stopping as I notice something in the distance, towards the front of the venue. A group of people forming, causing a wave of confidence to rush over me. Even though I know most are here for Bad Omens, they’re here early. Meaning they still want to see our band, whether they know anything about us or are just open to new music. I let out a deep exhale. Maybe I can do this. I walk further until I’m heading in through the back doors. I eye up the green rooms and backstage. I search out all available bathrooms because it’s always good to know. And then I walk towards the actual stage, seeing where I will be performing today. I mentally start mapping out where everything will go and watching our show perform perfectly in my mind as a way of bringing some sense of comfort and stability to this stressful day.

Suddenly, I heard doors opening and footsteps behind me, making me jump, but when I turned around, I was thankful it was just the boys and our crew carrying our things in. I grab my custom mic stand, that I just had to splurge on for this tour because I for some reason thought it would help with my whole imposter syndrome feeling of this whole thing, and walk with everyone onto the stage and help set up what I can. We thankfully have a large enough crew now that we had gotten bigger, so the boys and I are eventually able to walk away and scope out the area more. 

Once we finally felt settled in enough, knowing where everything we need is, we stepped outside for some fresh air and to let off some pent-up stress and emotions that we didn’t need on stage. 

A few feet from me, Finn and Cal are chatting about whatever the hell guitarists talk about, occasionally letting out their practice vocals, as they’re my backup vocalists for a few parts of songs, while Damien and I are doing an odd preshow ritual that we started way back when. I’m doing my vocal exercise, making sure my screams and growls are up to par for today, while also making sure I can hit my clean vocals well, with Damien letting me know if anything sounds too harsh. And while I do all of this, I have my hands extended out, palms up, with Damien beating on them lightly with a pair of drumsticks. It looks and sounds insane, but it’s a good exercise for both of us, as we need to be able to do our own thing while listening to the other to make sure we work together, but also so we don’t get distracted by external noise. 

We get so stuck in our own zone that we, or I guess mostly I, don’t even notice the other tour bus pull up close to ours. Damien stops beating on my hands, bringing me back to reality as I look up at him. I follow his eyes and land on the new bus in the lot. I instantly feel my heart and stomach drop down to my ass. My breathing stops as I see a few heads starting to file out of the bus. They don’t immediately see us, but when they do, they send a wave and a smile. 

At first, I only see long, slightly messy hair, instantly recognizing it as Jolly, Mr. Joakim Karlsson himself. Finn and I have talked about him a lot, just pure adoration of how he plays. Finn has even become good friends with him over the last few year, even helping us get this spot on the tour. Then I see one of the Nicks. Nick Folio, the drummer, causing Damien to instantly leave my side and immediately use his gift of being an extrovert to walk up and start chatting with him. Next to him was the other Nick, Nick Ruffilo, their bassist, who had the sweetest smile on his face as he waved to all of us, and I just couldn’t help but mirror his actions. 

But now, the stress was fully hitting me. It hit me that the only way I could get through today and even the rest of the tour was to do what I do best. Put on a complete front when stressed. It was what I’ve always done when I was in uncomfortable situations. Even in childhood, I could pretend to be someone who was completely not myself, just so no one would see what I was truly feeling. I know it’s going to throw my bandmates off guard, but they’ll catch on.  Unless I want to look like a maniac to the new group, I can’t let my true feelings show. 

As I was planning out in my head my plan, thinking of ways to make it foolproof, the man of the day stepped off the bus. With hair like Levi Ackerman, looking beautifully styled even though you could tell the only thing he’s done was run his hands through it. With his arm and throat tattoos on full display as if I were walking around a goddamn art piece. He looked ethereal. To me, at least. I now realized that I had once again fully stopped breathing and my heart was beating out of my chest. Before Noah could even glance my way, I slowly backed up toward Finn, letting him know that I was going to be right back, trying my hardest to sound okay and not cause any concern. With that, I sneakily slipped past him, praying that no one saw how suspicious it looked, and sped walked back towards the venue, to a bathroom as far out of reach as possible.

I walked in and locked the door behind me. My breath started picking up and I immediately did everything I could to stop a panic attack from fronting. I ran my hands under cold water, trying to shock my body back to reality. I did my breathing exercises. I did everything I could. But the second I glanced at myself in the mirror, it was as if I allowed my brain to go back in time. 

I couldn’t be happier right now. Finn and I were walking around a metal festival. I had just forced him to watch Erra’s set with me and now he was taking me to see a band he thought I’d like. He was excited to show them to me and I was just happy to be here, seeing bands I love and seeing new artists that I would absolutely be adding to playlists tonight. We stopped and stood in a spot where we thought would be perfect. There were a few people in front of us, but we were close enough to the barricade and stage that we could see the whole show perfectly. 

While we waited for their set to start, Finn and I chatted about the bands we had seen that day. We both mentioned a few we enjoyed that we never heard before, then talked about how some bands put on performances that we either loved or thought could have been a lot better. We even threw some ideas back and forth of what we saw and heard that could be implemented into our own shows. We were just joking, giggling, and having the best time. It was a little sad that we had to wait until the next day of the festival for Cal and Damien to join us, but I truly enjoyed spending today with just Finn, as I definitely felt closest to him out of all of them, knowing him a lot longer than the others.

We were talking about the lineup for tomorrow and what bands we wanted to see and who we wanted to show to Cal and Damien. I was mid-sentence when I heard people beginning to cheer around us, which brought a giant smile to my face, out of complete and utter love for the environment at concerts, and then to glance up at the stage, trying to see who had stepped out. It was the drummer. He was cute. He flashed the crowd a sweet smile, waving at everyone, before sitting behind his drum set. Then came the guitarist and bassist. I eyed all three up and down, a little shocked at how attractive everyone was, but knowing Finn, it made a lot of sense as to why he wanted to be so close to the stage. 

The three of them got everything ready, and I was about to turn to Finn to mention how hot they all looked when the voice in my throat died and my body stiffened as the lead singer walked on stage. No words could explain the feeling that overwhelmed my body as I saw that confident, long-haired man stand right before me. 

He started addressing the crowd, hyping everyone up, including Finn, but I didn't hear a single word he said. No matter what I tried, I couldn’t regain control over my body. I did my best to shake out the stiffness, trying my hardest to look like a normal person in the crowd, but there was nothing I could do to get my brain to start working again. 

I watched as he moved around the stage. I could see the love that he had for performing. But absolutely nothing could knock me out of the daze I was in. It was like nothing I had ever felt before. The emotions were so foreign. I completely forgot where I was after a while. The only thing my brain allowed me to focus on was him. Everything about him. I felt like an owl, using all my senses to focus on every single thing he did. I knew I probably looked like a madman, or at least I felt like one, but there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop myself. 

After some time, probably a few songs, he was closer to the crowd, looking through it as he sang, and we locked eyes for a moment. But it almost seemed like he did a double take, before forcing himself to go back to serenading the whole crowd after a few moments. It was most definitely because I looked utterly insane, but in that moment, I didn’t care. The feeling that shot through my body when we did make eye contact was like nothing I had ever felt before. 

Time moved by at such a weird pace in my daze, so before I knew it, the set was over and he was thanking the crowd and the festival for having them. As he bowed and was about to leave the stage, our eyes locked again, and a shiver was sent through my body. I saw him blink a few times before sending a final wave to the crowd and walking off stage. 

The second he was no longer in my line of sight, reality finally came back to me. I blinked a few times and let out a deep breath as if I had been holding it the entire time. Finn started talking and caught my attention, so I turned to him as if nothing happened. 

“So… what’d you think?’ he asked, nudging my arm with a smirk. I gave him the best fake smile I could before replying, “Oh, that was amazing. Why didn’t you warn me about how hot everyone was?” which caused him to let out a chuckle.

“I figured it would be a good surprise.” he shrugged out as we walked away from the stage and towards the next set. My mind was racing a mile a minute but I tried my best to keep my composure as we continued to talk.

“So, who was your favorite?” Finn randomly asked as we stood at a different stage, waiting for Of Mice and Men to start. 

“Uhh..” I trailed off, not wanting him to know I already had an answer. 

“It was Noah, wasn’t it.” he cut me off with a smirk. 

“Was that the-” 

“The singer? Yeah. I could totally see the heart eyes you got when I saw him look at you.” he laughed out, causing my face to redden. All I could do in response was nod. I mean, it’s a simple crush, wasn’t it? We all fall for random artists, so there’s no reason for me to feel weird about it. As long as I completely ignore the fact that what I just felt was nothing close to what I felt when I used to fangirl over boybands in middle school. 

A year later

‘This isn’t a normal crush.’ I kept repeating in my head. I was currently writing lyrics for new songs, trying to find emotions in me to write about, but all I could do was dwell on that feeling I got that day, and the feelings that came after it. 

I look at my paper filled with messy writing, which was surrounded by other papers of the same misfortune, all with the same thought behind it. One talking about losing control to a man who never knew me, another begging to “be his sweet dreams.” My eyes land on another, catching the words, ‘I want to feel your heartbeat on mine,’ causing me to let out a loud groan and fall back into my chair. I rub my hands down my face and let out a dry sob. I was so tired of this. I’ve become a fucking cliche.

I heard footsteps behind me and turned to see Cal with a small sheepish smile on his face. He crouched down next to my chair and looked up at me. 

“Do you need some help?” I know he thinks my frustration is coming from the struggle of writing, and not who I’m writing about, and I’m going to keep it that way. 

“Please. I can’t keep looking at these. And if anyone could help me, it’s going to be the other hopeless romantic in this band.” I answer with a sad chuckle. He nods and motions me to stand up so he can sit at my desk. I do so, sitting in a chair a few feet away and just staring up at the ceiling as I hear him rustle the papers around. 

“Oh for fucks sake, dude, who the hell are you writing about,” he asks, thankfully rhetorically. He knows I never answer, the embarrassment being too much, so I just reply with a tired giggle and let him do what he can to fix this part of my mess. 

I blink a few times, finally back in the bathroom. Reality crashing into me, finally grounding me once again. My hands are cramping as I look down and see that I’ve been gripping the sink so harshly, I don’t know how I didn’t break it. I loosen my grip and stand up straight, shaking off my nerves. I take an actual look at myself in the mirror, fix my makeup with my finger a little, before taking a deep breath and unlocking the door, ready to at least confront today. I can deal with the future later. I run my plan in my head a little, deciding that I can at least pretend to be an extrovert for a little while, just to ease the awkward tension that I know will build if I keep acting this way. 

I walk back through the hallway of the venue, then outside, towards the group of guys who were all chatting, and let out one last exhale of stress before putting on my confident front and joining the rest of them. 

Thankfully, it seems I was gone for barely 10 minutes, as their crew bus wasn’t even here yet and they’re still chatting about interests and how they were happy to finally meet after talking for a few months. I walk close enough that I have now caught the attention of a few of them, and I give them the best confident smile that I can. I walk towards the other band of boys and give them a small wave. 

“You must be Joakim!” I say, him giving me a proud smile for using his real name, and I internally thank myself for pronouncing it correctly. He tells me to just call him ‘Jolly” as I give him a small side hug, feeling comfortable with him since I know that he and Finn have become good friends lately, and I would love to be one as well. I then face to his right. 

“And you must be the Nicks!” I say without trying to under or overdo my enthusiasm. “I am really happy to meet you all. Sorry I haven’t been as chatty over the phone as the others, but preparing for a tour kinda makes me a recluse.” I give them both a sheepish smile as I give my hands a squeeze, trying not to feel too embarrassed about completely ignoring them when the boys would chat with them. They both chuckle and tell me that it was all good since we’d be hanging out now, and that thankfully made me feel better, knowing they were falling for this fake extroverted version of me. 

Now here comes the hard part. I take the deepest breath I could through my nose so they can’t tell how hard this is for me. I take a few steps to their right and meet face-to-face with Noah. I hold my arms behind my back, knowing that my hands are definitely shaking right now, and give him a warm smile. 

“And you must be the famous Noah Sebastian.” I try giving him my warmest smile and a small nod of acknowledgment. His eyes show an emotion I can’t quite understand and his mouth parts slightly before closing and giving me a fake warm smile back. Almost completely mirroring mine. My stomach sours at the sight, fearing that he may already hate me, but maybe he is just nervous and trying to hide it as well. 

“And you must be Y/N.” my breath softly hitches as I hear his deep smooth voice, and it being directed towards me was causing small shivers down my spine. I play it as cool as I can and nod before he continues, now facing my whole band.

“We’re really excited to play with you guys. We’ve actually listened to Praising Deities for a while, even before Thomas and Jolly met. So I was super excited to hear that our teams were able to come together and make this happen. And I truly hope that we all enjoy spending the next few months together and become good friends.” He finishes, giving us all a warm smile, his eyes trailing over all of us, but lingering on me the longest, making my heart race.  

Finn, Calum, and Damien all thank him and continue on with compliments and getting to know the other band, Jolly and the Nicks responding back the same way. But that just left Noah and I alone in our own little worlds. We listened to the others chat about things, occasionally answering if someone asked us something, but we didn’t contribute much. I couldn’t get my mind away from the thought that I was barely a foot away from the man that has been infiltrating my thoughts daily for the past few years. 

At some point, I guess I had dazed off, overthinking everything and just staring down at the ground while everyone chatted. Who knows how long I did this before I felt someone to my left nudge me. I blinked a few times before turning to them, only for my eyes to widen slightly, seeing that it was Noah and that he was closer than ever before. He leans down until his face is near my ear.

“You alright?” He mumbles into my ear with a slight nervous strain, sending shivers down my spine, once again, at how deep his voice got when he was trying to keep quiet. I take a deep breath before giving a half-assed nod. He clears his throat, standing up straight, and then places a hand on my lower back, pushing me out of the crowd of our bandmates. I really didn’t know how to react other than letting my heart start racing again, so I just let him, until we were far enough from them that we could have our own conversation. When he stopped, I looked up at him, slightly confused. 

“I- uh I just figured you needed to get out of there. I was starting to get overwhelmed and saw you staring off in the distance, so I figured you needed a way out of there as well.” He answered my silent question, rubbing his tattooed hand on the back of his neck, almost looking shy. 

“Oh!” I let out a fake airy laugh. “ Yeah, I uh just have a lot on my mind… I was honestly waiting for our manager to come out and tell us to do our soundcheck, just something to get away from the questions. I..uh..it’s been a stressful day, so as much as I’d love to have a good chat with all of you, it’s probably going to have to wait until I’m more settled in with..all of this,” I finish, motioning to the tour busses and venue. He seems to be listening intently when I talk and gives me a small nod when I finished. 

“No, I get it. To be completely honest, I still get anxious on the first show of a tour..” he pauses for a moment, before looking like he had an idea. “Here. You go head inside, I’ll be right back.” He quickly moves towards his tour bus. I shoot him a confused look at his sudden excitement but realized he was already so far away, so I just do what he says and start walking back inside. On my walk in, I continue my deep thinking. How I’m actually really happy that I’m playing off my anxiety toward him super well, and was surprisingly able to have a conversation with him without freaking out. And I was especially thankful that he had more confidence than me, actually starting the conversation. Maybe I can survive this. Maybe I can get over all these weird feelings over the next few months. I mean, having a natural human conversation with him seems to be okay for me, so hopefully my brain will start seeing him as a normal everyday person…right?

Still deep in thought, I make it inside and head towards the backstage area. As I walk, my reflection catches my eye, and I turn and take a good look at myself in the full-length mirror they have in there. “I look sane enough” I quietly tell myself with a nod as I fix my outfit a little before letting out a deep breath, forcing the rest of the stress out of me. I’m glad I put extra thought into my outfit today. I know I’m gonna have days where I’ll just want to put something comfy on to perform, but with first impressions and it being the first day of the tour, I’m pretty proud of my appearance.

Since it was the first day, and I liked my look, I pulled out my phone and took a quick picture (or a few, trying to find the right pose) and then headed towards the couch. I open Instagram and click on the picture I like the most. One where my tattoos show and the lighting was good enough. Then I type, “Day 1 jitters slowly easing away. Can’t wait to see you all out there <3” in the caption, making a face at how that was somehow the best idea for a caption I could come up with, but not really caring and hitting post anyway, after tagging the band’s account. 

Almost instantly, I started getting likes and comments and was about to put my phone away until a few caught my eye. They all mentioned Noah. Some asking weird personal questions, some wanting to see how we were all getting along, and some even asking when a collab was happening, which made me chuckle. Then I saw a few with account names that had either ‘Bad Omens’ or ‘Noah’s’ in them and each had some snarky comment to make. One mentioning how I was probably sleeping around since I was going to be touring with 7 other boys, which I just rolled my eyes at. If it hasn’t happened yet, I doubt I was ever going to do anything like that. I don’t like mixing work and play, and I absolutely would never see any of my boys like that. The thought alone made me grimace. 

But then I thought about it more. I’m going to be spending the next four months with Bad Omens. I’m going to be spending the next four months with Noah. Singing my songs. The songs I wrote..about Noah. Fuck.  And Noah is currently on his way here by himself. We’re going to hang out by ourselves…Why did I let him tell me to wait in here? What happened when speaking to him that I just forgot about the debilitating obsession I got all those years back. Hell, what am I even doing here?

Almost as if on cue, the doors open and I hear a single pair of footsteps walk towards me. My knee began to bounce and I tried my best to hide my attention in my phone as he got closer.

“Hey,” he said softly, not needing to be any louder since it was just me in here. I looked up from my phone and saw that he brought a Nintendo Switch with him. I giggled as the sight brought me out of my mental battle. Such a large, tatted man, looking down at me with excitement as he held a colorful, handheld gaming device. He walked closer to me until he sat down about a foot from me and gave me a smile, which I mirrored back as authentically as I could. 

“Whenever my nerves are getting bad, I always force one of the boys to play with me until soundcheck. So I figured..” he trailed off as he motioned the switch towards me. I let out a small laugh before responding. 

“You know, that might actually help. Are you sure you don’t have anything you have to be doing? I don’t want to be using up your time-” 

“No! I mean… I have a lot of time. You guys still have, what? An hour? before soundcheck, and I can do everything I need during that time’ he rushed out, catching me a little off guard a little, causing me to giggle. 

“Okay. Okay. If you say so.” I laugh out as I reach my hand out. He gives me a smile and places the controller in my hand before setting the body of the switch on the table in front of us. We go back and forth deciding on what game to play and eventually just settle on Mario Kart. 

Finn

The boys and I chatted for a good 20 minutes or so, or what I thought was only 20 minutes, before we realized that Y/N and Noah never came back. I noticed first, then slowly the rest of them did, a few of us sending each other confused glances before Cal mentioned needing to look for them, as we probably had to get ready soon. I agreed and we all started walking back.

We all headed towards the door to the back of the venue, Damien being the one to open it. As soon as we stepped inside, we all heard arguing, causing a few of us to share concerned looks before speed walking towards the voices, leading us to the room backstage. The second we got close enough, we saw Y/N leaning over Noah, trying to knock a tiny switch controller out of his hands, as he was yelling about how she was cheating. 

“WHY’D YOU PICK RAINBOW ROAD FOR YOUR TURN, JACKASS! YOU OBVIOUSLY KNOW THE TRACK WELL! SO YOU’RE THE CHEATER!” Y/N yells, still occasionally elbowing Noah’s arm, but his tight grip on the controller and focus on the screen not faltering once. Noah’s laughing more and more every time she tries messing with him. 

“YOU’RE LITERALLY TOUCHING MY CONTROLLER! THAT’S AGAINST THE RULES!” Noah yells back as he starts shouldering her back into her spot. The boys and I just watch in awe as these two argue over a racing game, which I do fully understand, especially since I have played against Y/N before and boy, does she get competitive. I see Y/N catch us in the corner of her eye and she smirks. 

“Noah, the boys are here for you,” she tells him, and the second he glances up at us, she instantly smacks the controller out of his hands, it landing on the thankfully carpeted floor, and she lets out an almost evil cackle. Noah shouts as he loses the controller and immediately reaches for it as fast as he can. He sits back up, fumbling with the controller to get a good hold of it, and goes back to playing, only to let out a ‘WHAT THE FUCK’ which causes her to laugh even harder. 

“I WAS IN SECOND PLACE AND NOW I’M IN TENTH,” Noah shouts towards her before turning towards us. “She is vicious!” he warns us, causing all of us, but mainly Cal, Damien and I to just laugh because if anyone already knew that, it was us. Damien and Ruffilo walk closer to them, standing on each side of them, watching as they finish the race. I can tell by the teasing scowl on Ruffilo’s face and the excitement in Damien’s that Y/N was winning. After a few moments, with Noah and Y/N looking like they were both about to fall out of their seat, Y/N jumps up and Noah falls back as Damien and Y/N cheer and high-five each other. The boys and I all clap for her and she gives an over-the-top bowing performance, before turning to Noah, who’s throwing a fake pity party. This causes her to sit back down and try to ease her laughter. 

“Awe, I’m sorry, Noah,” she says with a fake pout. He lets out a huff in response, causing her to have to stifle a giggle. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the stage manager walking towards us, and I look over to Y/N. The movement catches her eye as well as she glances at us, getting the hint that we need to head for soundcheck. She stands and walks around Noah so he’s looking at her and leans down. 

“I’ll make this up to you next time,” she tells him with a smile as she turns and walks away, Damien following her. As I was about to turn to follow, I managed to catch Noah’s eyes trailing down Y/N’s body, eyeing up her tattoos, and then just her, as she walked away. I had to hold back a snicker as Cal and I walked away from the group and headed on stage.

Part Two

[bbearthyy]

B!TCH IM A MOTHER

Yah i’m back with another TWD blurb. this has plot at least. sorta. anyways no TW cause i don’t think it’s necessary but if anyone finds something i might need to put a warning for lemme know. this is first person POV tho. it was kinda hard to write in an x reader format.

{•_•}

am i a mother? absolutely i am. have i given birth to any children? well…no.

i’m not even completely sure when it started.

maybe it was at the farm. when i was fussing at daryl about taking care of himself and accepting help.

“dammit daryl when are you going to accept the fact that we care about you?! i get it, okay? seriously i do. better than anyone. it’s hard to accept love when you’ve never felt it before. but i, along with the rest of the group, don’t want you on your own anymore. please, just let us help you.” daryl just stared at me silently for a while, trying desperately to ignore the tears in his eyes. i couldn’t tell if the tears were from my words or because i yelled at him, in front of the entire group no less. but he didn’t take too long to respond. a mumbled “yes, mama,” fell from his lips, before he was walking to his separate camp to bring his belongings inside with the rest of us.

or maybe it was after the fact, when we were on the road after the barn fell.

when we had found a small river and the women were cleaning ourselves and i insisted the men let me fix their hair. glenn laughed with a mumbled, “sorry, mom,” when he splashed me with the water. i gave him a harsh flick on the back of his ear, “don’t do it again, glenn.”

or maybe it was before all of that, when we had first formed our group.

“merle dixon if you scare these children like that again i swear i’ll beat you black and blue!” the redneck knew better than to bother the children, yet he’d snuck up on them today, jumping out from behind a tree and roaring at them. he just chuckled at my comment, as if he couldn’t take me seriously. “what are you, my mother?” but his laughter quickly faded when he saw the look on my face, ducking his head and walking away silently.

anyways, whenever it began, i didn’t really mind it. the word didn’t hold any serious meaning behind it, simply used in a joking manner. until it was serious. until we were in the prison and carl came running into my cell crying every time he had a nightmare, when he would sob so hard he couldn’t breathe and i’d just shush him and hold him, rocking gently side to side. when he started mumbling “goodnight mama” or “love you mama” or “sweet dreams mama” before falling unconscious. when he’d say, “thanks mom,” when i brushed his hair every morning or when i helped him with words he didn’t know while reading or consoled him after an argument with his dad.

when i’d clean daryl’s injuries every time he got hurt on a run. and in the quiet solitude of my cell he’d let a couple silent tears fall from how gently i took care of him. and when i’d kiss his forehead and send him on his way after, he’d wipe his tears and whisper a barely audible, “thanks ma,” on his way out.

and when the people of woodbury joined the prison and carl was given the job of introducing everyone to our group. and not a single soul could remember my name, but they knew that i was mom or mama or whatever mother figure they needed me to be.

and when nights got too quiet and rick couldn’t handle the weight of the world on his shoulders, and i’d walk into his cell and he’d fall to his knees in front of me. he’d press his face into my stomach while he cried, and i’d run my fingers through his hair and whisper soft reassurances. and through his tears he’d cry, “i just can’t do it mama, it’s too much.” and i’d rock him too, and praise him gently, the same soft way i cared for his son.

and when the prison fell and the group met back together at terminus. and i was in a train cart with people i knew and people i didn’t. and when the introductions came to an end and all heads turned to me. and i was quiet for a moment until carl pointed and said “that’s mama. everyone calls her that. don’t ask her name ‘cause she’ll tell you a fake one since um b’cause she doesn’t know you.” and those that did know me nodded in agreement.

and maybe i did care, maybe the weight of the word pressed heavy on my chest because i knew i couldn’t have children of my own. but i had plenty of people to care for anyways. i had my own family. and i was a mama. whether they were mine or not.

[bethberry]

be cautious

carl grimesxfem!reader

theme - slight angst to fluff

warnings - mentions of blood, cursing

word count - 853

you only had intentions of providing at least a little for the group. after all it had been around 3 months since they took you under their arms and kept you safe. one experimental and solo run was all it took for you to come back limping through the gates of alexandria.

your hands held on tightly to your thigh while you dragged yourself to the entrance of your home. whoever was guarding, you couldnt tell at this point, let you inside and immediately called for help.

a little squeak left your throat when a couple people came beside you to help you towards denise's house. the overwhelming sense of so many hands holding you up only made it harder to focus on anything else but the pain in your leg.

runs were usually easy when there were more people with you for protection. you didnt even go that far out from alexandria, only a couple miles. but three walkers cornering you in an already small gas station caused you to get a pretty bad stab in your leg.

you finally gained your vision back from blood loss once you were placed on a bed. eyes now focused, you saw sasha, aaron, and denise before you. your head darted around the room a little now that you could process simple shapes.

"what h-happened?" your voice came out soft, almost out of breath when a feeling of pressure came to the bleeding wound in your leg. denise had applied a bit of force to stop the bleeding with some gauze.

"dont know. you just came through the gates all bloody." sasha said. her hand on your shoulder while her eyes peered down to see how denise was doing. aaron had left to let maggie know you were hurt but alive.

also to let carl know.

around 15 minutes passed and your leg was wrapped up now. you were fast asleep and didn't even remember what had happened until you were oh so kindly reminded in your dream. Your body sprung up a little causing you to wince gently as you laid back down. once you realized you actually were awake, you noticed a familiar hand resting on your arm.

"carl..." you said lowly under your breath as if you only spoke to yourself. he was resting a little before his head lifted up a bit. he rubbed his eye and fixed his hat gently. he was silent for a good moment before you broke the silence.

"carl...why do you have that look on your face?' you questioned carefully. you knew carl would never actually get bad at you to the point where it causes horrible conflict but you felt nervous for some reason.

"you didn't even let me know that you were going east." he said quietly, avoiding eye contact so that he would stay at least a little upset. he was always taunted by your already damp eyes.

"i'm sorry. i didn't think it would be such a small building..." your hand found its way to his and he pulled away gently with a little sigh.

"its not about that...what if someone needed to go looking for you?" his voice was a little louder now, his words leaving in short-breathed huffs.

"i thought id be safer and back quick carl i-"

"just let someone know before-hand!" he almost shouted but in a whispered tone. "be more cautious. god..." now he spoke under his breath, refusing to look at you after realizing that he had snapped a little. the silence and little squeaks coming from your throat filled the awkward silence. although he couldn't see your face, he knew he had made you cry and he still couldnt bring his eye back up to yours.

you took a shaky breath, wiping some of the tears from your eyes and fiddled with your bracelet. the one you and carl made together back at the prison.

"im sorry-" he could practically hear your tears choking you back from speaking properly. his head shook vigorsly for a second before he sat up a bit, finally looking at you and bringing his hand up to your face.

'shit, i-im sorry. damnit i'm sorry...i yelled." he wiped a few of the tears himself. his hand now rests with yours again, his thumb rubbing back and forth quickly in an attempt to comfort you.

"i didn't mean to yell you know I didn't..." he said in a soft tone while holding your face a little closer to the nape of his neck. you only cried a little bit afterward then lifted your head up, looking at him while he wiped two more tears from your face. you sniffled once and held his finger between yours.

"i'll tell you next time. where i'm going," you spoke gently. he nodded in response. his internal panic slowly faded away when he heard your voice becoming less shaky.

he wished he never got upset at you like that. deep down he always tried to remind himself that you make mistakes.

"i love you okay?" his forehead pressed against yours hesitantly.

"i love you too."

guys this is just a little one-shot to get me back into writing.... i think I'm gonna work on some arcane content too, along with peace chapter two!!!!

tags: @carlsangel @zomb-core

pls lmk if you want to be on my tag list!!

[pursued-by-the-squid]

i. exorcizing demons

pairing: eventual gi-hun x gn!reader x in-ho

word count: 3.7k

ao3 | masterlist

December 26, 2021

Would you help that man? A shitfaced man abandoned to the sidewalk, the trash of the world in the eyes of people like Oh Il-nam. Do you still trust in humanity? In the people stepping over the bodies in the street, in the kind souls who go running for help. Do you still have hope? After everything he’s seen, everything he’s done.

Gi-hun squeezes his eyes shut.

Do you still have hope?

His jaw clenches against the cold and the memories and the bitter taste of the truth. Hope is… hard to come by these days.

But do you still have it?

He pushes the hair out of his eyes as the wind comes down over his head. A bit of snow goes sprinkling over his face and hand, some of it even catches in his eyelashes. He remembers the first time Ga-yeong saw snow and her chubby little face split wide open with a grin, how her eyes sparkled with the reflection of the city lights, how he’d looked at her in that moment and knew straight away that he would do anything for her. Anything in the world.

Then he remembers Sae-byok’s body, Sang-woo’s face. Ali’s voice.

Look at that. The quiet woop of the police siren. The panicked gestures of a good Samaritan. There’s someone who cares.

Hope.

Hope is…

Mrrow!

Gi-hun’s feet come to a stop, crunching softly on freshly fallen snow. He remembers the sting of ddakji and the elation of 100 thousand won in his pocket. He remembers the little striped thing hunting for scraps in the dumpster outside his house. In fact, when he turns toward the sound, curious, chasing a memory that feels too foreign to be his anymore, he almost swears he’s watching himself.

The shape of a person on their knees cuts through the snow, hand outstretched to scratch at the underside of a calico kitten’s chin, their head tilted in just the right way so their face is shadowed. The kitten meows again, playfully butting its head into the open palm of the hand still trying to feed it.

He smiles. For the first time in a year, Gi-hun finds it in himself to smile.

Do you still have hope?

“Hey there, little one.” The voice coming out of the shadows is accented and soft, trembling. A foreigner, he thinks, though he has no way of knowing from exactly where. It intrigues him, though. Maybe it reminds him of Ali. “You have to stay warm tonight, okay? It’s cold out here.”

The head tips back, out of the shadows and into a sliver of light from the nearby streetlamp, and suddenly the unknown they becomes a vaguely familiar you. No longer a stranger, but a person just like him. A bit of hair that peeks out from beneath a beanie, glassy eyes that look a bit like stars when the light hits them just right. A mouth that trembles as much as your voice does. He realizes with a start that you’re crying.

Do you still have hope?

He remembers the man on the street, perhaps only moments away from freezing to death but saved, ultimately, because someone had the courage to do what was right. He remembers Ga-yeong and all the ways he’s let her down since the moment she was born. He remembers Ali and Sang-woo and Sae-byok, and the little striped cat outside his mother’s house.

He lifts his chin in your direction. “Are you alright?”

October 2022

He had asked for one very simple thing – think of it as a dream. Let the past settle into your bones, let the horrors fade away with the morning sun, and carry on living. You were the winning horse, Seong Gi-hun. You could have galloped far away from here. Instead, he’s chosen to stay and fight. In-ho wants to understand why.

He knows why. He knows that 456 is a broken man, a selfish cheapskate who got pushed too far. He knows that 456 is as stubborn as he is troublesome. He knows everything he needs to know about him, but what In-ho doesn’t have is understanding. Gi-hun had been so desperate to leave the Games, and yet they’ve now become the only thing he lives for.

If they have anything in common – and that’s a remarkably strong assumption to make – he thinks it might be this.

The flash of light on his cufflinks catches in his reflection as In-ho takes a long sip of whiskey. He takes an equally long breath, his chest tight with irritation and exhaustion, and for the first time in a long time, he finds himself desperate for a cigarette. The inclination feels foreign to him now, even though he can still remember the itch in his lungs, the addictive sting of nicotine that now pulls at him for some inexplicable reason. He hasn’t smoked in years, not since…

Casting his drink aside, In-ho storms out of the bathroom and into his office. He pulls up every file he has available – the covert photos of Gi-hun’s hired loan sharks, the businesses he frequents, the people seen coming and going from that shithole he’s boarded himself inside. 45.6 billion won and this is what he chooses to do with it? It would be laughable if it weren’t also impacting the Games. He’s had to reroute several recruiters just to escape all those prying eyes and his player count is down because of it.

Bastard.

He doesn’t feel particularly inclined to killing Seong Gi-hun, not this close to the next Games. The VIPs are restless and demanding, the player count is worryingly low, and there are still loose threads left hanging after Oh Il-nam’s death. Piling on a perfect execution in addition to the rest of his obligations simply isn’t feasible, and he suspects that contacting 456 and threatening him will only double his efforts. It’s not worth the risk.

In-ho scans through every file, note, and photograph until his head throbs and his eyes are tired. He needs a different approach, something 456 won’t be expecting. His daughter is in America, too far away and too young to trifle with. His parents are dead. He doesn’t keep in contact with any of his friends from before the Games. There is, disappointingly, no exposed nerve-ending for him to tug at.

At least, there isn’t until there’s you.

The pictures had been written off as unimportant, an acquaintance made in passing but unconnected to any of Gi-hun’s schemes. After a year of constantly keeping 456 in his periphery, however, In-ho has developed something of a sixth sense when it comes to his weaknesses. The softening of the eyes, the lingering gaze, and it seems to have started the night that Oh Il-nam died.

The shots from the CCTV are timestamped to shortly after midnight. You’re petting a street cat, crying. 456 stops. He talks to you. He leaves. The exchange ends there, but you don’t. You crop up again on December 27th. 456 meets you on a college campus, his hair obnoxiously red and his beard gone. He offers you a small shoulder bag. And again, several weeks later. The red hair is gone by that point, and In-ho recognizes the timestamp with a jolt. Just days after refusing to board the plane to America. Another meeting, this one much more discreet, several months after that.

Now that he knows what to look for, In-ho finds traces of you everywhere he looks. What had once been presumed carelessness or laziness on the part of the hired loan sharks is revealed to be an obligation to keep watch over your apartment. The rare diversions from 456’s usual schedule that he had thought to be signs of a clandestine meeting are suddenly understood to be arrangements with you, located as far away from Gi-hun’s central hub and In-ho’s prying eyes as is possible and perfectly timed with the large withdrawals from Gi-hun’s bank account.

He’s been so incredibly careful, but not even 45.6 billion won can hide the truth – you are the very weakness he’s been searching for. How intriguing.

“You smell like cigarettes.”

It’s a little mean of you, perhaps, to poke at him like this after everything he’s done, but you hate feeling like a greedy stranger taking advantage of his kindness. Just once, you want to pretend that this arrangement is somewhat normal, that you have friends, that you sit down and have dinner with people. That you’re not absolutely insane for agreeing to all of this in the first place. So you poke, hoping that one day he’ll crack and give you something you can craft a friendship out of.

Gi-hun glances up at you from beneath his lashes. He has that look, the one that begs you not to push him farther than he can stand, but it’s more resigned than usual. He says nothing.

“It wouldn’t kill you to have a conversation with me, you know.”

“No,” he agrees after a moment, his head inclined to one side, “but it might kill you.”

Not for the first time, you wonder if you’ve gotten yourself tangled up in some kind of drug or human trafficking ring. Who else would have the ability to pay off your debts while also acting the way he does? But Gi-hun’s never really struck you as the type, despite all the mystery. It isn’t anger or hatred or anything evil that you see in his eyes. It’s sorrow.

The money is pushed across the table in its usual manner – a dark and unassuming little shoulder bag. “Classes are finishing soon, aren’t they.” It isn’t a question, exactly, but at least it’s something.

“Soon enough, yeah. Finals are coming up.”

He hums thoughtfully. “Will you be going back when you’ve finished? Back home?”

Even just thinking about it has your gut twisting in on itself. You have so many conflicting feelings about staying and even more about leaving. Staying wouldn’t even be an option if it weren’t for Gi-hun, yet now that the opportunity has presented itself… is it selfish of you to want to stay?

“Honestly, I… I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet.”

“I could…” The shadows that so often linger on his face lift for a few seconds, revealing something softer and lighter than you’ve ever seen from him. You might almost call it hope. “Whatever you decide, [___], I can still help you. I would like to help you.”

His words ring in your ear all the way home. He’s already helped you so much. He’s given you millions of won by now and he still wants to give you more? Gi-hun doesn’t even know you, doesn’t even want to know you, and yet he seems content enough to throw his money at you. You don’t even know where he gets it from. You don’t even know why he picked you out of the entire population of Seoul. What makes you any better, any different from the rest of the students struggling to make ends meet? What makes you worthy of his aid?

You lie in bed the entire night, staring at the ceiling and wondering to the point of hysteria. I would like to help you, he’d said and a part of you had desperately wanted to leap at the opportunity. You could move to a nicer neighborhood. You could buy some new shoes, ones better suited for the coming winter weather. And then your mind starts to wander even further. Charming knick-knacks you’ve seen in passing, that new album from your favorite K-group, a new potted plant to replace the one you accidentally killed – things you don’t truly need, but want all the same. Non-necessities.

You’re selfish, you ultimately decide. Greedy. How in the world do you manage the audacity to even consider spending Gi-hun’s money on anything other than school fees? Saving a few hundred won to splurge on decent meals and new highlighters is one thing, but choosing to remain in Korea because staying means receiving money without labor is another.

The following day passes in a blur. Lectures go right over your head. Your food tastes bland and unappealing. The bundle of cash tucked into your backpack burns a hole through your spine. Ought to be ashamed of yourself. You watch the numbers in your savings account steadily tick up, but instead of lifting a bit of weight off your shoulders, all it does is settle in your stomach like a rock.

A shadow passes over you at the bus stop, another rider settling onto the bench. Their briefcase is placed in the space between you, followed by a gentle click. You turn your head so you’re gazing out at the street and sigh. You have several assignments to work on tonight, a mostly bare cupboard, and no motivation to take care of either problem. Defeat begins to creep into your bones. Maybe you should take the rest of the day off. Order takeout and watch something mindless to distract yourself. There’s a decent ramyeon place just down the–

“Excuse me.”

You start, blinking back into the present with a frown. The shadow sitting beside you is smiling. She looks like a businesswoman, very pristine in her charcoal gray blazer, pencil skirt, and pitch-black heels.

“Would you like to play a game?”

If that’s a pick-up line, it’s the weirdest one you’ve ever heard.

“I’m… sorry?”

The woman gestures to her briefcase, now propped open and twisted around so it’s facing you. There are two folded squares on one side, one red and one blue, and an obscene stack of bundled won on the other. Your mouth drops open. That’s… that’s…

“Ddakji. Do you play?”

“I…” You can’t look away from the money, all that money. What is she doing carrying that much money around, and especially as a woman? That’s hardly safe, let alone smart. “I-I’m sorry,” you stammer, “I don’t understand.”

The woman picks up the two squares before snapping the briefcase shut. The sound is enough to jolt you out of your trance. She holds the squares before you, one in each hand, and she explains the game, slow and steady like a teacher guiding a particularly slow student. You make a considerable effort not to be offended.

“Flip my square over and I’ll give you 100 thousand won. If I flip your square over, you give me 100 thousand won.”

“… Why?”

The woman shrugs lightly, unbothered by the query and, apparently, equally unbothered to properly reply. “If you’re not interested in playing–”

The speed with which you reach out to stop her genuinely surprises you. “No. No, I didn’t say that.”

100 thousand won isn’t exactly petty cash. If you win even a single round, you could buy yourself dinner without dipping into Gi-hun’s money, and after spending the past 24 hours agonizing over your own selfishness and greed, the thought of leaving his money untouched is a balm on your wounded soul.

“Excellent,” she says, her smile cracking even farther across her face. You pretend not to notice the unnerving emptiness in her eyes. “Which color would you like?”

If you’re ever in trouble, call me. I will help you.

You’ve never taken him up on the offer, never needed to before. It’s not so much that you’re in trouble as it is that you’re deeply unsettled. Your encounter with the strange businesswoman had left you with 300 thousand won, a sore cheek, the promise of more money, and a very curious business card. It’s almost too good to be true. It’s almost too similar to the proposition you were given nearly a year ago by a much kinder man, with dark, sad eyes and an affinity for street cats.

“Yes?”

It had taken him nearly six rings to answer. Maybe he’s busy. Maybe he doesn’t want to talk to you. Maybe you’re annoying him.

Your throat closes up and you’re suddenly choking around your words. “N-Nothing. No, sorry. I’m sorry. Never mind–”

“[___],” he implores, his voice more stern than it was a second ago. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, exactly. I just…” You’re shaking your head, peering down at the business card in your hands, pressing the pointed corners into the whorls of your fingerprints and wishing that life was so much simpler than it’s turned out to be. “Something happened today and I don’t…”

You don’t what? You don’t know what to do? You don’t know if you should tell him about the 300 thousand won, or you don’t know if you want to try for more? Or maybe you don’t know if you can trust him anymore.

“Where are you?” he mutters, and his voice is like gravel. “Are you hurt?”

“No! No, I’m fine, it’s not that. It’s… I met this woman and she gave me a card, and I don’t… I’m…” It doesn’t hit you until you feel the tears leaking from the corner of your eyes that you’re crying. “I’m scared.”

Somewhere on the other end of the line, you hear the clattering of objects and the huff of Gi-hun’s breath. “Stay where you are, I’ll come get you.”

Panic sparks at the base of your neck, hot and electric, and you’re shaking your head again, eyes wide and terrified. “No, don’t. It’s okay, I’m okay.”

But he doesn’t listen. You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised. “Stay on the phone until I get there. Tell me what happened.”

“It’s nothing,” you protest.

“Tell me.”

Your eyes dart around your surroundings. The bus has already deposited you at your home stop. It’s late, the sun is starting to set and your stomach is gurgling angrily, and you want nothing more than to barricade yourself inside your apartment and block out the rest of the world, to pretend that everything is normal and fine.

But everything is not normal. It hasn’t been normal since Gi-hun met you on the street and promised to pay every single one of your expenses. It hasn’t been normal all the times he met you in the quiet, unassuming corners of a public park, or at the bus stop, or just outside class. It hasn’t been normal at all and you’re a fool for wanting to believe otherwise.

“Who are you?”

Gi-hun grunts in confusion. “What?”

“Are you… Is this some kind of gang thing? Or like, a pyramid scheme?”

The phone is quiet for a long time, long enough that you almost think he hasn’t heard you. Or doesn’t care enough to answer. You pull the phone away from your ear just to ensure that he hasn’t dropped the call, but no. He’s still there.

“Gi-hun-ssi?”

A massive gust of wind comes screaming down the street, funneled in by the skyscrapers, and you tell yourself it’s for that reason that a chill runs down your spine. Not the embers burning in his throat when he utters, “Was it him? The man in the suit?”

Your tongue is heavy in your mouth when you reply. “No, it was a woman. She approached me at the bus stop and asked me to play this game with her.”

“The game. Was it ddakji?”

“Yeah, I…” Is the man psychic? “How did you know?”

Gi-hun’s end falls silent again, punctuated only by low, incoherent mutterings, his labored breaths, and the distant revving of an engine. Is he driving? You weren’t even aware he knew how, he only ever meets you on foot. You call his name once, twice, again and again, but he refuses to dignify you with an answer. All the while, your anxiety is mounting.

He knows about the ddakji. How could he know about the ddakji unless he were somehow connected to it? And both he and the strange woman were loaded with cash, inexplicably so. They both cornered you in the street, friendly enough in Gi-hun’s case, but it’s suspicious all the same.

You breathe heavily into the receiver. You’re trying to find the right words to all the right questions, trying to find sense in a nonsensical world, and you’re failing miserably.

“I have to go.”

Gi-hun’s breath audibly catches, then you hear him fumbling for the phone. “No, [___], don’t hang up. I’m almost there.”

You’re afraid to ask. You don’t want to know, you don’t want to hear an answer that you know you won’t like, but you have to ask. You have to. “Almost where?”

“Stay. Put,” he tells you, and you can picture the look on his face – the gritted teeth and furrowed brows. It’s enough to finally knock some sense into your thick skull.

You drop the call and go to shove your phone in your pocket when you hear the distant sound of a car horn blaring. It’s a few blocks away, but moving quickly, as if it were hurtling down the street abnormally fast. It’s probably nothing. You’re paranoid. You’re hungry and you’re not thinking straight, and it’s been a long day, and you just need a few minutes to relax and compose yourself, and everything is so, so much. You wish it would stop.

Instinct has you darting inside your apartment building, rushing as fast as you can for the elevator. Your fist slams into the button for your level and after a second, you push some of the buttons above your floor as well. Just in case. And then once you’re inside your room, you’ll bolt the door. Just in case. And you’ll draw the shades. Throw away that damn card. You’ll forget all about Gi-hun and the money and the ddakji woman (his cohort? accomplice?), and you’ll go back to your home country when your classes are done, and Korea will be little more than a distant memory. Just in case.

The elevator dings as it pulls up to your floor.

Just in case.

It’s for the best regardless. Normal people, smart people don’t go around accepting money from strangers.

The door slams shut behind you. You triple check the lock. You ignore the incoming texts from Gi-hun asking why you won’t pick up the phone, why you’re running, if you’re okay, and focus instead on darkening the apartment so it looks like no one is home. Just in case.

[patsvicr]

do you have any of the post drurgery fics people wrote, theres like 1 or 2 that i think were deleted, its okay if not they were dnf but its fine if you dont have them :)

hi anon! i remember 5 fics but they're all still up so im not sure if i can help you :,)

let me take that for you by gatzbright (G | 3.7k | post surgery; hurt/comfort)

“Are you sure he’s fine?” George asks. He doesn’t turn around, unable to tear his eyes away, but he knows Dream’s mom is still standing in the doorway.

“Honey,” she says softly, “he’s comfortable, I promise. And completely knocked out.”

George’s eyes sting and his throat aches. He tugs at the sleeves of his hoodie, pulling them down over his hands and resisting the urge to reach out and touch Dream. “But, um—” George bites his lip, feeling guiltier each time he doubts the knowledge of Dream’s mother—an experienced nurse. He exhales shakily and turns to look at her. “But he’s—he’s frowning. What if he’s in pain? What if the medication isn’t working and—?”

[Or, Dream is recovering from surgery and George won't leave his side.

even when you're far away by unluckysin (T | 6.6k | post surgery; friends to lovers)

“I did talk to him, about it, you know.”

“What? When?” Sapnap snapped his head over to look at him, his eyes scanning George for almost too long before he returned his eyes to the road.

“Years ago, maybe… maybe right before Covid? I don’t know…. I just know I brought it up, and before he really said anything, confessed anything, he told me we should wait for my move to America, and the second I got the VISA, we would talk it out, and figure out a way to make us work.” George sighed, running a hand over his hair and face.

“And he never mentioned it again?”

George rolled his eyes at Sapnap’s eagerness. “Nope, not ever.”

or

George thought he would be okay while Dream recovered from surgery at his parent's house, but somehow, he's been gone for four days and George needs to see him-- like, now.

you kissed stars (around my scars) by uhhh_Zoned (T | 3.7k | post surgery; scars; body worship)

The scar was going to be massive. That was the first thing Dream thought of when he woke up from surgery.

or

dream is extremely self conscious of his scar, so george worships him.

moss and porcelain by pondsofkoi (G | 1.8k | post surgery; scars; body worship)

“Dream?”

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

When Dream nods, George looks down at his torso. He looks back up, peering into his eyes.

“Can I look at your scar?”

Care(Take) by Bagelrites (SleepyAmie) (T | 2.8k | relationship discussions; insecurity; post surgery -> it's not the main theme of the fic. it's not even tagged but it's the last scene iirc)

George and Dream talk about love and effort and care, in different ways, at different stages of their relationship.

[musingmemories]

“Fair.” Jun-hee scoffed in echo to the word when it left Myung-gi’s lips. “You don’t get to call out what is and isn’t fair.” Her words followed and layered over his — ignored because Myung-gi liked to hear himself talk a reminder she had to tell herself before heart skipped hearing he still cared about her, and reluctantly fell silent when asked if they could be civil for one night. He had a point — only because Jun-here didn’t want to drawn any unnecessary attention, and for people to get the wrong idea. She had no affiliation with Myung-gi or MG Coin… and if she kept telling herself and others that… maybe it would finally come true after these last six months.

But that familiar touch was now on her stomach, rendering Jun-hee shocked and lying there in the stillness it came with, wondering if this was a dream because before Myung-gi had wanted nothing to do with it. Completely against her will, Jun-hee relaxed, Myung-gi’s soothing circles actually comforting against the cramping whether he’d meant them to or not. The comfort was selfishly craved, and made Jun-hee’s heart ache thinking how unfair it was that they could’ve been like this the entire time if Myung-gi hadn’t run away.

Did she blame him? For bolting when it’d felt like their entire world was falling apart and she’d announced she was carrying the most expensive thing known to existence? Yes. But she also blamed herself for feeling like she’d needed to rely on Myung-gi in the first place, for trusting him so fiercely she’d bet all her money on him, on them, hoping that by having it meant they’d be ready for anything together and Myung-hi would change his mind about not wanting a family. And when it’d all fallen apart… Jun-hee wished love could’ve conquered all.

But this was reality. The world ran on money, not dreams and wishes on stars, woe is me went unheard and were drowned in wept tears absorbed by pillows. Hers back at her old now sold apartment the same fill and flatness as the one tucked under her head. Cheap. It helped her remember where they were, not back at Myung-gi’s like in the past, his familiar scent washing over and lulled her defenses. Is it a boy or a girl? Or.. do you not know the gender yet? Subconsciously, Jun-hee’s hand moved to her stomach, any mention of her baby stirring something maternal and letting it know they’re talking about you through a mother’s touch. But in doing so their hands brushed, and in the sudden tingles from it Jun-hee moved her hand quickly to a different part keeping it there. “I don’t know it yet. I was waiting until they were born to learn.” Information Jun-hee couldn’t help but wonder if Myung-gi would’ve wanted to know.

“Knowing you, you would’ve had your fans betting on their feeling of what it could be before the due date, and live-streamed the birth while still taking bets until the last second. All while preaching your own predictions and calculations.” Despite the disgust that crept into her voice able to picture it perfectly… surprisingly, there was a soft murmur of amusement in her thoughtful hum. Jun-hee had helped Myung-gi with his channel after all, gave her opinions and praised him, celebrated his accomplishments. She also did the instrumentals to fill the silence or when needed for the cuts, intros and outros. They’d even had their own show. Very involved with MG Coin as much as Jun-hee didn’t care to admit. “…I think it’s a boy.” Before Myung-gi could spring onto that vulnerable admittance, Jun-hee added “As my penance for meeting you.”

« @fablesuntold »

@musingmemories

How long were they going to go around in circles and wager the same war with this tiresome blame game? It was becoming tedious to play the part of a scapegoat for everyone else’s misguided actions. Just like he wasn’t to blame for people greedily lapping up the first sniff of something good when investing in Coin they barely knew anything about, he wasn’t to blame that their recent vote to stay or leave had swayed in the O’s favour to stay. And to hear her hint otherwise was a low blow even for her. How much blame could a man be expected to shoulder in this cesspool world full of imbeciles? They were all here to play the games. All here to win money and clear whatever debt loomed over their heads like a guillotine ready to drop. So why stop playing now when they were already in the midst of things? That was his thought process, as selfish as it may have seemed to some. It made perfect sense in his head.

“You can’t keep blaming me for everything wrong in your life. It’s not fair. I wasn’t the only one who pressed O and you know it. You’re just..” Angry. Hurt. And she had every right to be. They could both argue until they were blue in the face just like they had in the past, but now wasn’t the time for it. Not while in such close quarters to other players who could easily use their jaded relationship to their advantage if the opportunity presented itself.

Instead of finishing his sentence, and choosing to ignore her goading question of why he suddenly cared now when in the past he’d acted like the baby didn’t exist, Myung-gi gently shushed her while hesitantly perching himself on the edge of her bed despite the air of animosity still hanging thickly between them. “Regardless of what you might think of me now, I still do care about you. I don’t like watching you suffer, Jun-hee. So can we please be civil for one night?” Whispered once his hand settled against the round of her stomach, he practically felt his breath catch in the back of his throat. Maybe if their circumstances had turned out differently and he they hadn’t lost all of their money, they’d be one big happy family. But then again, maybe not. Myung-gi would never be able to change his ways even if he tried; money and popularity were the only things that mattered to him. Being a parent? It changed a person’s identity completely, didn’t it?

Still.. the what if of it all played in his mind.

Without realising, his gaze had dropped to where his palm had absentmindedly began to rub slow circles on the petite bump in hopes to soothe away her pain. Was he actually helping in any way? It was hard to tell, and he highly doubted Jun-hee would indicate that he was, or thank him for his efforts at least— not that he expected her to. He didn’t deserve anything from her, especially not her gratitude.

Swallowing thickly, the next words that escaped his lips surprised even himself. “Is it a boy or a girl? Or.. do you not know the gender yet?” A thought meant to remain unspoken, blurted out in the spur of the moment. “I know sometimes people have a feeling of what it could be.” While he knew he had no right to ask, it was more curiousity to than anything.. or at least that’s what he had to keep telling himself as his mind began to wonder. What would their baby look like? Would it have Jun-hee’s innocent doe-eyes and naturally pouty lips, or would it have his cute button nose and dimples? Whatever their appearance.. he hoped they turned out to be kind and caring like their mother.

Not too self-absorbed to the point of showing nonchalance to the people around him like he was so often described.

It wasn’t like he was going to be there to watch them grow up anyhow, by choice or not if the games spared him. Him and Jun-hee? There was simply no way back for them. Scorned lovers who would never find any real common ground again with everything that happened between them. And maybe that was for the best. They were toxic together. A recipe for disaster. No baby deserved to grow up in a household like that.

[fadeintoyou1993]

woke up again. had another nightmare AGAIN

[zevrans-remade]

💀

[the-acid-pear]

Why did my cooking dream get hijacked by my brain making a William Afton oc and au what was that about.

[areus-in-a-little-cave]

This was the first time that I've ever had a long form dream about the dsmp and it was literally about bedrockverse

[gdlavzo]

may the horrors (nightmares) stay away from me and everyone reading this, god bless

[nekofantasia]

The sound of her pounding heart is what woke her up this morning, and then a very heavy feeling was made aware as soon as she aware of herself.

Feeling tired after sleeping is not all surprising for her. She’s always had trouble sleeping and then were even nights where she couldn’t get to rest her eyes at all. For a youkai like her, having most of her nights like that might not kill her…but even she had to admit that this is something she would love to get rid of it as soon as possible. It really made a difference when she was able to sleep soundly, even if she would wake up all groggy for no reason.

But today was…different? Let’s go with different.

She couldn’t recall the moment she got back on her feet. In fact, her whole body ached, as if she repeated her master’s training sessions so many times. And why was she so drenched in sweat too? Sure it’s still warm out there, but even the morning air felt chilly around her. Her heart was still pounding after a while…There’s not much she could recall prior to all this–Except for an intense sense of dread.

Was it a nightmare again? No, she could’ve recalled it easily. Besides, nothing would’ve gone as far as making her jump out of her mattress so violently like that. Her mind was too foggy to recall anything, but she was sure that such experience could only be compared to those where she had run or fight for her own survival. Whenever she encountered with something that really really terrified her. And just like in those situations, her body would cool down and her aches would start to become more unbearable by the minute. She looked at her own hands, her knuckles were pale and the palms of her own hands were slightly injured as what it seemed to be from her own nails digging into her skin. Her own clothes looked rough too, as if she braced for a very bad fall at the mountain. Did something attacked her while she was sleeping in her…

Wait.

Was she…was she even in her room at all?

Thankfully she was still inside the household, she was only a few steps away from the sliding door that separated her room from the hallways. Confusion transitioned into dread again, a few pieces surfaced in her once unreliable memory.

Something appeared in her room, she was sure of it and it must’ve been very dangerous with the way she acted. With a second surge of adrenaline coursing her body, she could feel a heavy presence still looming within her bedroom. As much as she wanted to run for help, she couldn’t get her eyes off the sliding screen. No, she can’t risk it–If the intruder is still there then it’s her only chance to make sure it leaves her masters’ home. She was trained for this kind of situations, she MUST be able to do it.

Yet, her hands were shaking to a degree she’s never done before. She couldn’t even breathe properly, afraid that any movement could give it all away to the threatening entity that invaded her room and mind. She gave herself just three seconds, and in one swift movement she pulled the screen to one side.

Only to find nothing.

Except for a chaotic mess in her room, which might’ve done it herself considering there were no obvious signs of intrusion.

But it still felt difficult to make the first step inside. Her body still felt tense from all the stress she just put her body through. She would check one side to the other and found nothing to be afraid of, everything looked normal. Despite that, she hesitated when she tried to close her room. She couldn’t bring herself to relax yet.

She sat on her futon, still wondering about all this. Is this something she must report to Ran and Yukari? Well, there’s no evidence of a trespasser…No, that would look bad. Truth to be told, it would be hard to share such thing. She can’t bring herself to make them worry. Maybe it’s best to just sleep it off.

Yes…sleep sounds good, she thought.

Her master might scold her for sleeping in, but at this point, she was feeling too tired to care. She couldn’t even tuck herself properly either, the nekomata just couldn’t wait to forget all this as if it was nothing than a bad dream. Her once erratic breathing would become steady and quiet as her eyes never dared to open for a while.

The world can continue without her today.