#i have been drawing this picture this last winter | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eowynstwin · 1 year ago

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a wake-up call / neighbors

On a cold winter's day in the early morning hours, you knock on your neighbor Captain John Price's door to make a noise complaint. - “Did you mean any of it?” he asks, voice low and deep in his chest. - ao3

Three knocks on your front door wake you up.

The sound feels at first like the thump of your own throbbing brain against the inside of your skull. Awareness comes back to you slowly, in gradiated shades of stiff joints and greasy skin. You shift, and find you’re still on your couch, still in your clothes from last night. Your eyes are filmy, sticky with dehydration—you blink several times to clear them, to little effect.

The knocking, a three-beat staccato, comes again.

“One second,” you croak irritably, cupping your forehead with your hand. Your skull might come apart, you think, if you move too much.

Your entire body feels like it is suspended from loose, tangled marionette strings as you struggle to sit up on the couch, and you wobble to that effect as you stand. Somehow, your flat has tilted at thirty degree angle, likely sometime in your sleep. You make it to the door at an oblique, having to lean on the jamb as you open it, and to add insult to injury John is standing on your doorstep like a clean, shining beacon of sobriety.

He’s in a dark shirt and jeans. His hair is casually neat, as if he’d styled it with his fingers. He looks fresh-faced, as if he’s been awake for hours already.

“That’s not fair,” you groan.

His brows draw together over cool blue eyes. “Jesus, love,” he says, looking you up and down.

You think you should say something back. But your head is too full of ache and interrupted sleep—and the bright shock of his presence—to produce anything intelligent.

“John,” is all you say, and you sound absolutely pathetic.

“Was gonna accuse you of standing me up,” he says ruefully, “but I see that’s not the case.”

“No,” you say dumbly. The fact that he’s come to seek you out gets tangled up in the strings. “Um.”

It is so far out of the ordinary as to be dreamlike. John’s knocking belongs on the other side of your wall, not your door. His boots belong on his own doorstep, making room for your house slippers at the time of your choosing, not his.

“Am I still drunk?” you wonder aloud.

John gives that little huff-laugh of his. “I doubt it.”

You rub your face. “Have I overslept?”

“Just a bit,” he replies. “I’ll admit, when I didn’t hear you move around this morning, I got worried.”

“I fell asleep on the couch,” you confess. You put a hand to your forehead as your brain throbs again. “Oh, I shouldn’t have drank that much.”

“Love,” says John, gentle and soft, “why don’t you let me in, and I’ll make you some breakfast?”

You blink, and you’re sure now that you’re still drunk.

John. In your flat. Cooking?

“I’m not fancy in the kitchen, but I manage alright,” he suggests further. His gaze is warm on yours, brows lifted encouragingly.

“…Sure,” you say, and shuffle to the side to let him in. If this morning is determined to be strange, you might as well not get in its way.

He gives you a small smile and crosses the threshold.

Your flat shifts again; as he enters your living room, it seems to shrink, or maybe it’s just that John fills your home in a way no one ever has. His body, his presence, casts new light on the interior that throws its existence into unfamiliar repose. Details—the softness of your furniture, the cozy clutter of books and knickknacks spread across every available flat surface—offer unmeasured insight into who you are, more than you might ever have intended to reveal to John.

It’s only when he’s halfway to your kitchen that you realize one detail—the bright fucking pink of your vibrator, still on your coffee table—is glowing like a neon sign.

And your previous night’s activities come flooding back.

Your body, draped over his. The scrape of his beard on your hand, your face.

The furious grind of your mons against that toy as you pictured him taking you, drenched in hot shower water and pressed bare to the tile wall.

You are fully, painfully awake now. You stare, frozen in shocked terror, waiting for him to catch sight of it, but his head does not turn in its direction. He passes by it with no indication that he even noticed.

You dart over and snatch it behind his back, shoving it deep into your dress pocket, and grab up the empty water glass for an excuse. Then you have to put a hand to your head as your vision swims from the sudden movement.

“Have eggs?” John asks over his shoulder. He enters your kitchen. “I can make ‘em any way you like. Fried, over easy, sunny side…”

“Um,” you say, squeezing your eyes shut, “scrambled.”

You follow after him, and lean against the wall to watch as he opens your fridge. His hand engulfs more of its handle than yours ever has; the musculature of his powerful body visibly shifts beneath his clothes as he has to bend down to root around the shelves.

He is broad in your kitchen. As broad as he’d been between your legs, in memory and in fantasy.

You don’t realize you’re staring until he straightens and puts the eggs, butter, and milk on the counter. Your breath hangs suspended in the shallows of your lungs when he catches your gaze.

His brows crease again. “You look like you’re about to fall over.”

“Um,” you say, again, because it’s the only sound your brain will reliably supply.

To your horror, he comes to you, and—oh, god—takes your face in both hands.

“You’re warm,” he says. “Do you feel sick, love?”

Your brain supplies nothing now. It is so unfair, how good he looks the morning after drinking nearly half a bottle of scotch. His features are velvet-soft, so easy and wonderful to look at that you stop feeling your headache entirely.

“I really think I might still be drunk,” you admit, sounding pathetic.

His thumbs rub into your temples as he smiles at you. “Hell of a hangover, then.”

The pressure of his fingers is an incredible relief, and you close your eyes as you give into it. You feel, if your knees suddenly gave out, that he would easily be able to hold you up like this, as if you weighed nothing. His hands are a little cool from rooting around in your fridge, and the rest of him is warm, standing close enough that his body heat reaches out to you with the freshness of a recent shower. You want to fall into that warmth, bury your face in his chest…

Your eyes fly open. You hear your own voice again—I wanted to touch you, and I wanted you to hold me. You feel, again, the echo of his body between your thighs. Your heart starts beating wildly in your chest as embarrassment, hot and acidic, pumps through you.

“I think I need to sit down,” you whisper.

He strokes your temples, and surveys your face with a gentle gaze. “Sure, love. Go ahead.”

And then he releases you, and you try to remember how to walk as you return to your living room. There is no relief to be found as you sit down on your couch, which is indented by the dissatisfied night.

“How’d you sleep?” John asks from the counter. You hear him crack a few eggs into a bowl. This is the first time cooking has happened in your kitchen with you outside of it, and the cognitive dissonance of it does not help to steady you.

“Like the dead,” you say, rubbing your sore neck. Then, you decide to lie to him. “I—I think I passed out before the door even closed last night.”

John looks over his shoulder at you, and he smiles. The vibrator sits cold in your pocket. Are you imagining that glimmer in his eyes? “Wouldn’t be surprised. You were pretty out of it.”

“I didn’t end up drinking the whole bottle, did I?”

A chuckle. “Not quite.”

“Didn’t you drink as much as me?” You try to recall, and think you can remember him matching you glass for glass. “Why aren’t you out of commission?”

“The army never cares if you’re hungover, I’ve found,” says John. “Guess I learned to stop caring too.”

You hear the sizzle of whisked eggs spreading over a hot pan, and for a while there’s only the sound of John moving a spatula around.

You watch him in your kitchen, his back to you as he stands at the stove. His long-sleeved shirt clings to the breadth of his shoulders, planes of shifting muscle underneath casting shadows through the soft cotton. The collar hangs a little low down his neck, leaving enough room for the dark hair at his nape to curl as it dries.

It makes something in your stomach twist, twinning your nervous hunger with unstable desire. It’s something that wants to walk back into the kitchen and wrap your arms around his trim waist, press your cheek between his shoulder blades.

“Want anything else?” John asks. “Could make some toast.”

“Eggs are fine!” you say too quickly.

The spatula scrapes softly against the pan again. As he turns to open your fridge, you swear you see him grinning.

Heat blooms across your face. SAS. Of course he could feel you looking at him.

It does not take him very long to finish cooking. Space bends once again as he leaves your kitchen, as he comes to you with a plate balanced on one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other. You feel smaller than you ever have as he approaches, and sets the meal in front of you on the coffee table.

“Hope it tastes alright,” he says, sitting down beside you. He sinks into your couch cushions, far more dense than you are, and looks quite comfortable doing so. “I made ‘em how I like ‘em, but no guarantee you’ll feel the same.”

You look from him to the eggs, which are golden yellow and steaming pleasantly. “You didn’t make yourself anything?”

There is a softness in his eyes when you look back to him. You’ve seen it before—it’s there every time you hand him a new book. “Don’t worry ‘bout me. Just eat.”

You can’t protest when he’s looking at you like that, so you obey, suddenly ravenous once a forkful is between your teeth. The eggs are whipped to a wonderfully soft fluff, salted perfectly, and you think you can taste the barest hint of butter. You can’t help shutting your eyes to savor the taste.

“Good?” John asks. “I’ll admit, I’m not much of a cook, but I think I’m all right at eggs.”

Usually you like to add things when you make the same dish—potato chips, broken up into little crumbs, or a dollop of sour cream and salsa. For once though, right now you’d be disappointed by all that.

They wouldn’t be the eggs John made for you.

The thought makes your stomach twist again. “Delicious,” you say. “Thank you.”

He watches you eat, and you try not to feel self-conscious. He seems almost—satisfied by this, by feeding you, more than you would expect him to be. But then, this has always been the case with John. You have never understood why the smallest of things you do have such an impact on him, but they do nonetheless.

“John,” you say. “About last night…I wanted to apologize.”

Dark brows crease as you set the empty plate down. “What for?”

“I got so drunk,” you say. You won’t look at him, face heating, strangling your own fingers in your lap. “You—you had to carry me home, and I’m so embarrassed by the things I said, I was so inconsiderate.”

“That’s not—”

“You must have felt so uncomfortable,” you continue, “you were so nice to take me out, and there I was acting like a lush with no self-control—”

“Darling, it’s fine—”

“And then after, the way I—I pawed at you—”

He says your name—fully and clearly, firmly—and it catches you so off guard that your words halt in your throat. You finally meet his gaze.

John’s eyes have always been windows. Portals into the truth of him, freely offered, without hesitance or fear. You think John knows himself in ways few men do—knows every corner, every crack and crevice, and refuses to hide any of it from himself or anyone else. As if he is not afraid of being seen for what and who he is; as if he has seen it all already, and cannot be daunted by it.

What you see now is undisguised. Untempered. John Price wants you. And he has no fear that you can see it.

“Did you mean any of it?” he asks, voice low and deep in his chest.

The question catches you off guard, throwing you with its directness. The only thing keeping you upright is his gaze, the steady certainty of its own intention. Strong even under the weight of suspense.

You swallow, and take a shaky breath. “John,” you say, “I was so drunk...”

His eyes flash. John moves, leans forward, and you are speared, held in place much the same way you had been at dinner, by his presence alone. “I know. But did you mean it?”

The breath trapped in your lungs calcifies, solidifies into hard, pressing nodules of catalyzed fear and desire that trap the seeds of any response in your chest. You tear your gaze away from him, finally, stare at the empty plate on your table. He does not touch you, but you feel the phantom weight of his hand on your knee. The warmth of his body against yours.

“We hardly know each other,” you whisper shakily. It is a flimsy scrap of an excuse, even to you. “We—we barely know each other at all.”

“Love,” John says, low and soft. You turn to look at him again. His lips part—

Your phone rings.

You exhale hard, strings suddenly cut. John closes his eyes, breathes out, and then leans back again.

You retrieve your phone from where you’d flung your purse last night, off the couch and to the opposite wall where it lays on the floor. When you see the caller ID, you want to throw the phone back across the room, but you take a deep breath and answer anyway.

“Ben,” you sigh, and to your furious embarrassment it comes out as a croak.

“Hey, sweets, Liv is—wait. You sound awful,” comes your coworker��and ex-boyfriend’s—voice through the earpiece.

“Rough night,” you say, closing your eyes against sweets. You then look at John. His gaze is fixed on you.

“Oh, sorry,” Ben says. “Anything I can do?”

He could have not called. “Tell me about Liv,” you prompt him.

“Right! She’s out. Flu.”

“Oh.” You blink, and watch John retrieve your plate and glass. He takes them to the kitchen and runs the faucet low, so the sound won’t interfere with your call.

You’re not sure how you know that that’s his intention, but you do.

“That’s awful.”

“And inconvenient. We need another instructor for the trip.”

Can John hear what Ben is saying? He looks up from the sink, lifts one brow when you meet his eyes. There’s humor there, a kind of rueful empathy for dealing with the nonsense of coworkers.

You want to hang up. You want to answer his question right then and there.

“When?” you ask.

“Two hours. I know! I know it’s short notice,” he says, animatedly contrite. “Sorry. But we’d love to have you, it’ll be fun! I can even pick you up, if you like.”

“No, that’s alright,” you sigh. “But okay, I’ll start packing. Just send me the details, yeah?”

“Sure, sweets,” Ben replies, “can’t wait to see you! I’ve missed hanging out, you know? Even after…everything.”

The gravitational force of John’s presence—the shift and bend of your flat around him—snaps in half. Reality asserts itself like a recurring headache.

Suddenly you’re in your flat, phone to your ear, unshowered from last night and coated in a layer of grease. The vibrator is a useless weight in your pocket. You are a useless girl hungover in day-old clothes.

“I’ll see you soon,” you say noncommittally, and hang up.

John gazes at you expectantly from over the sink.

“Work trip,” you say, and you wonder if you sound as dazed as you feel. “Last minute, I…I need to get ready.”

John blinks, and then grins, amused. Crow’s feet gather in the corners of his eyes. “You know, I’m usually the one in that situation.”

Suddenly he is too much to look at. You tear your gaze away, look at your phone in your hands. You feel very exposed, ashamed somehow. “I’m sorry,” you say.

You hear the easy drum of John’s boots out of your kitchen, across the room, and then he’s in front of you. His hands are in his pockets, arms slung loose at his sides. “What for?”

“For…”

He steps closer to you. Your heart leaps in your chest, and you have to look up at him, unable to resist the pull he has on you.

The line of his mouth is gentle, and you stare too long at the divot of his Cupid’s bow. Beneath the soft lines of his brows, his gaze is soft, fond. More so than you deserve.

“I don’t really know.”

The long muscle in his neck shifts as he tilts his head. You swallow, unconsciously mirroring the gesture.

“John…I…”

His gaze drops—rests on your lips, and returns to yours.

“Love,” he murmurs, low and humming. “Did you mean it?”

His voice slides across you like physical touch, and every hair feels like it’s standing on end.

Yes. Yes, of course you meant it, every word. It feels so obvious to you, so blatant, and the shame of it holds you by the throat. You are not important enough to inflict upon John Price. You are trembling, meek, afraid of stepping outside your own door sometimes. What is that in comparison to him? Him, who comes home shaking off the dust of places you’ve only ever heard of. Him, who you’ve learned can swear in six different languages. Him, who has stuffed more life than you thought possible into only a handful more years of living than yours.

Of course you want him. Moths are always drawn toward flame. How could you not?

“John,” you say in your smallest voice. You hate the way it sounds—like an admission of guilt. “What if I did?”

He doesn’t move, but you see the shift in him anyway. A coiling, almost, energy banking as he studies you, searches your face. His hands remain in his pockets. He watches you for a long moment, and you can’t possibly imagine what he might like in what he sees.

“Ball’s in your court, then,” he finally says, soft and low in his chest. “Whatever you want from me, love, you can have.”

You want too much. You can’t give enough back.

“I don’t want to ruin this,” you say on a shallow breath. “Our—us. What we already have.”

He steps closer to you. Close enough that his shirt brushes the front of your dress. Close enough that his clean, soft warmth near-envelops you, the exact same way you’d been wishing for earlier. He does not reach out, like he did when he thought you were sick. You cannot decide if this disappoints you or not. You feel shaky without his hands on you, feverish and embarrassed, and you fear desperately that he can see that as he holds your gaze, that you are completely open to him in a way that leaves no space for the truth to hide.

“You won’t,” he says, steady and solid.

You take a trembling breath, swallow to clear your throat. “I…”

He withdraws one hand from his pocket, slowly, and brings it upward. Feather-light, he curls his index finger under your chin, caressing his thumb so terribly gently beneath your bottom lip. You cannot help flinching, anticipatory want recoiling from the very thing it was aching for in surprise, and for a split second you are newly scared that he’ll take his touch away.

But he doesn’t. The windows of John’s eyes stay open, and there is nothing but intent behind them. You realize he knows. He knows that you’re reluctant, that you’re unsure, that you are pulled to him like a falling star to earth and also terrified of burning up in the process.

He understands.

“I’m a patient man, love,” he purrs, and you realize too that he is excited by this, by you. “I can wait. As long as you need.”

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kookslastbutton · 9 months ago

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Those Eyes Chico ༓ myg (m) | chapter one

✑ Summary: As the new marketing director for Min Yoongi’s upcoming D-Day album & tour, you’re expected to bring your expertise to the table. This shouldn’t be a problem—you’re the best in the business and you’re used to drawing a strict line between your professional and personal life. But what happens when the lines you’ve fought to keep as separate blur for the first time?

pairing: idol!yoongi x plus size!poc!reader

genre/AU: angst, fluff, smut, slowburn, coworkers2friends2lovers, winter setting, forbidden love,

word count: 6.5k+

warnings: oc is 28, Yoon is 30, oc is not originally from South Korea, oc has light brown eyes, swearing, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of anxiety, panic attacks, body insecurities, fear of being blacklisted, emotionally restrained yoon, unstable parental relationships, conservative parents, rude Hybe executive that should be fired, bestie!tae is wonderful support 🥹, and cute yoon and oc interactions bc yeah....its thier first time actually meeting so it must be cute!

now playing: Sweet Dreams by The Last Shadow Puppets

a/n: YAHHH chapter one!! Ok i apologize if the meeting is so long and drawn out...I really tried to make it fun but so much info is needed too haha. Anyway this series is dedicated to my wonderfully crazy friend and sorta beta, Gloom @theuselessdaydreamingidiot, and to all our fellow Yoon lovers bc we miss our sweet man SO MUCH 🥺 Enjoy! 🥰 Also huge thank you to @itaeewon for designing this beautiful series header! Love it!!

Series Masterlist | next chapter >>

Winter in Seoul feels like stepping onto the set of your most beloved holiday film.

As the brisk air wraps around you, delicate snowflakes gather atop your head, urging you to cocoon in your finest wool trench coat. Yet, despite the chill, the sight of frost-bitten trees basking in the morning's golden rays offers a source of warmth and delight. Perhaps the most radiant tree of them all is the towering Christmas tree that sits proudly in the heart of the city. Adorned with shimmering red and gold baubles, the giant evergreen catches the eye of every person that walks by–both tourists and locals alike.

Nearby shopping malls buzz with holiday fervor too as shoppers scour for treasures, couples engage in friendly competition to find the ultimate gift, and children line up to take their picture with Santa. But the best part is when night falls. The whole city comes alive with joy and laughter as loved ones meet one another on the ice-skating rinks, while karaoke bars echo tipsy renditions of timeless songs sung by overworked professionals, each with a bottle of soju in hand.

Yes, Seoul is a place for making memories and you’re in the thick of it.

Having been in the city for three years, one might assume you’ve become well accustomed to the energy of the season. You've really grown to love it here. But adjusting to the new environment is still proving to be a challenge, the most outstanding being the prevailing beauty standards.

Massive billboards featuring stunning models serve as constant reminders of the type of beauty one should aim to achieve as you commute to work. Impossible to miss are the shining examples themselves – iconic k-pop groups Seventeen, Red Velvet, EXO, BlackPink, Mamamoo, TXT, and of course BTS plastered on the side of every flat surface imaginable. You’re not exactly complaining about that aspect as you’ve helped design a good handful of them as a top marketing and advertising professional. But the strict image of what constitutes a beautiful and worthy individual weighs on you more than you’d like.

While a conventional body type isn’t what you’ve been given in this life, you don’t consider yourself to be completely unattractive either. Having high cheekbones, a strong jawline, striking light brown eyes, good enough ass, and a full chest shouldn’t classify as undesirable. Still, you wish you’d adopt this more body positive mindset rather than your current overthinking one. It’s easier said than done, being that you not only see idols everyday on the streets in digital form but at work as well.

You continue further into city until a set of tall, glass doors meet you mere steps away. You tilt your head back to catch the name of the skyscraper before nearing the building’s sturdy, silver handle.

BigHit Music.

Feeling its cool metal under your fingertips, the door swings open with an easier pull than imagined to welcome you into the bustling lobby. You feel a rush of confidence return to you upon entering– this is your domain, this is where you truly shine.

“Did you get the files I sent to you?”

The woman nods her head in affirmation while sweeping a few pieces of her long, silky hair behind an ear. To strangers, she appears to look about 24 which is only four years younger than yourself but nonetheless she’s the same age as you. Hei-Ran is her name, meaning “graceful orchid” according to Korean translation.

Hei-ran is one of Hybe’s newest hires and based on her experience, a near perfect fit to being South Korean boy group Tomorrow X Together’s new marketing manager. Until about three months ago, this had been your job.

You never imagined giving up the position after three years of working in the role. But with December right around the corner Hybe had other plans for you.

"Graduated summa cum laude with a bachelors degree in BTech in Electrical and Electronics Engineering and a MBA in Marketing from NYU Stern. You worked two years as a brand manager for U.S record label Atlantic Records immediately after graduating, and are now working at BigHit Music as a marketing manager for TXT including liaison with their global marketing team.”

You recall Bang PD's voice vibrate in the back of your mind from mid-August. You thought you were called into his office to discuss details of TXT’s latest promo, so having your resume read back to you was a sweeping curve ball. Your determination must have far exceeded the heaviness you felt in your chest because before you knew it you, you were shaking hands with your boss in acceptance of your role – the new marketing director for Min Yoongi’s upcoming D-Day album & tour.

The tedious knot that’s formed in the nape of your neck reminds you that as surreal as the situation might be, it’s undeniably real.

Months spent drafting a comprehensive marketing proposal for D-Day; often until the wee hours of the night, inevitably takes its toll on even the mightiest of warriors. An entire new team of fifty people, all of who you’ll be in charge of orchestrating for the next eight months, doesn’t provide much to relief either.

You’re excited nevertheless. Working with one of the most respected artists in the music industry is an opportunity you couldn’t let slip by, especially since the album’s rock-inspired genre aligns closely with your own music taste.

“Thank you so much for helping me get settled __,” Hei-ran’s gentle voice returns you to the present. “I appreciate the time you’ve taken these last few months to train me despite the tight deadlines you have.”

Smiling, you shake your head. “It’s no problem at all and if there’s anything you need in the future, feel free to give me a call or stop by my office.”

“On the 16th floor right?”

“1656A. Take a left off the elevator and walk to the end of the first hallway. The door on the right is mine.”

Referring to any room on the 16th floor as your own is something you don’t take lightly. For one the offices are double the size of any other office spaces in the building. Yours in particular has a giant skyscraper window draped with heavy white curtains. Secondly, the floor above is the 17th floor which is exclusive to Hybe artists only.

"How's the proposal coming along, by the way?" Her curiosity is palpable, genuine in its nature. You’ve always appreciated that in an individual.

“It’s done,” you respond. “Only thing left to do is to prepare for our meeting with C-suite executives next Monday. It’s nearly perfect as is, but the presentation could use a bit of refining in terms of organization.”

Hei-ran is silent for a moment longer than usual before her next inquiry, which is undoubtedly the question on both of your minds. “I can't help but wonder what it'll be like to meet him for the first time,” she muses.

You don’t bother asking for clarification on who the “him” is; you’re already well aware that it’s Min Yoongi. The same subject has managed to intrude your own thoughts more and more as the date of meeting him draws closer. It's peculiar honestly, considering you’ve encountered him before.

Granted, it was only a small handful of times the hallway, both heading in opposite directions. Min Yoongi typically greeted you with a hoarse 'Good Morning' those instances, along with a curt nod of his head. You would nod back with a brief 'Morning' yourself. Deep down you feel he'd make a quality friend, though it's only a premonition. It’s not like you actually know much about him beyond those small exchanges.

"I'm not sure what to expect, honestly," you admit. "I imagine it'll be similar to previous professional collaborations—composed, focused, and intense. D-Day is poised to become a global sensation for the next year, so it's going to need our full, undivided attention."

Hei-ran gives a knowing nod. “Good luck __,” she wishes you well as you head towards the elevator doors. Breaks over, back to work.

After another late-night prep session for Monday’s D-Day proposal, you trudge through your apartment door well past 8:30 pm with an empty stomach and a throbbing headache. Good news is that your graphic design team seems to be well on track with their album mockups ready to present.

The same can’t be said for your U.S. promo team however, who required additional guidance on their projects. The social media team was in a similar boat. Somehow several of their members lost track of time and were convinced the proposal was still two weeks away.

Despite the hiccups, you managed to tie up the loose ends, but it meant that none of you got to leave early.

When you finally get to curl up in your fluffy sofa, a loud, exasperated sigh leaves your lips. Your lids flutter shut too as you rest your head against the soft cushion. Silently, you make one last mental rundown of all the tasks you checked off today.

Did you miss anything?

D-Day is the most crucial project you’ve ever taken charge of—you need it to be flawless.

When nothing pressing comes to mind, you grab the tv remote from your dark oak coffee table and aimlessly flip through the channels. You’ll unwind for an hour and then call it a night.

Ten minutes into an episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine and the light chime of your phone's notification bell catches your ear.

Tae 💚: Haven’t heard from you all day. Everything alright?

Taehyung, your best friend. You smile fondly at his message as your thumbs hover over the reply button. He's always checking in on you. You and Taehyung have been friends ever since you first moved to Seoul and started working at Hybe. You didn't expect your friendship to become this strong, but both of you are sociable individuals, which led to discovering several unexpected commonalities. One of those is a shared love for jazz, which has been one of your all-time favorite genres for as long as you can remember.

You: yeah, I’m good. Just tired. Been working on D-Day's proposal for months and finally got it fully prepped for.

Tae 💚: Well, that's amazing news! You feel good about it?

You: I don't know. I’m definitely ready for this project but I’m also starting to feel a little burned out. The proposal is only the beginning you know, and it's already taking the wind out of me.

Tae 💚: Sorry to hear that 😞 I'm sure it must be draining, but I also know this is your territory. No one is more fit to head this project than you. Everyone thinks so. How about you take the weekend to rest?

You: Yeah...I'm watching B99 rn

Tae 💚: B99?! Without me?

You can't help but giggle. Somehow over the course of three years you've roped your best friend into becoming obsessed with your mindless sitcoms. You've done more than a handful of binge watching together, until all hours of the night.

You: Wanna come over for an hour?

The company might be nice.

Tae 💚: Be there in 20 🏃

Your door bells rings exactly twenty minutes after you and Taehyng finish exchanging texts. He's so prompt it scares you sometimes.

“Hey.” His deep, baritone voice greets you first, along with a friendly hug. Taehyung slips his snow covered boots off upon entering your apartment and hangs his wool jacket on your coat rack. His limited edition Gucci scarf is next. Taehyung loves the winter as it’s the time he can wear his most luxurious clothes.

“What’s this?” You peak inside a brown paper bag that Taehyung has conveniently set on your kitchen countertop. He flashes you a playful grin and gestures you to open it. Naturally, you're suspicious but it all washes away when a new, unopened bottle of whiskey presents itself. “Oh my god, you didn’t!" You swat his arm in a rush of excitement.

“I had to!" Taehyung opens a kitchen cupboard and grabs a glass from the top shelf. He's been in your apartment enough times that he’s grown comfortable with your place. That and he's also your best friend.

"With all the recent events you've had going on, I think it calls for a celebration." Taehyung expertly pours you a glass of the smooth, rich liquor and offers it to you.

“Thank you, Tae," you say, taking the glass from his hand. "Come sit down. Jake's about to sing I Want It That Way with the police lineup.” Taehyung pours himself a glass of Pinot Noir and follows your lead.

After about forty minutes of sitcoms and booze with your best friend you begin to feel yourself relaxing. Whatever challenges lies ahead, you know you'll be able to handle them one whiskey at a time.

All stream of thought is interrupted when your phone dings off again. It's now half past 9, who on earth is trying to reach you?

Fuck.

You tighten the grip on your phone as soon aa the message appears. Taehyung, previously occupied by the end credit scene, catches the sudden shift in your demeanor and calls your name but he's inaudible to you.

Mom: It’s been almost two weeks since we last heard from you. We know you're busy but your father and I want to know if you’ll be coming home. The holidays are coming up right? Why don't you use some of that time to come see us? There's someone we want you to meet.

"__, who is it?" Taehyung's voice manages to break your intense concentration.

“Just my mom.” You answer briefly, still averting eye contact.

“What’d she say?”

“She wants me to come home for the holidays.” You shut your phone off in an effort to calm yourself.

Unlike Taehyung your relationship with your parents has always been rocky. Expectations are set high from birth and you never see eye to eye. Likely, the only accomplishment that's earned genuine praise from them was when you accepted your initial job proposal with Hybe. A respectable career is only second to health to them after all. Your father was more torn with the news that you’d be moving hundreds of miles away than your mom however, not that you’re surprised.

Of course while having a healthy and respectable career is priority for your parents, there is no mistake that their greatest wish is to see their daughter married. A stable man with ample resources to provide her a secure home and healthy children is preferable.

You love your parents and you'll always be there for them, but you must admit that their traditional outlook is one you can never live up to. They tried setting you up dozens of times before, and tonight's request to have you come home "for the holidays to meet someone” is simply another attempt to marry you off.

Yes, you would like some sort of companionship in your life and you hope if you find it that they’ll approve. But giving your hand in marriage to the first notable suitor isn't your forte. You consider yourself to be an independent woman with a tender heart, and you'd rather be single for the entirety of your life than be forced into another obligation.

Preserving your independence is highly important to you. So no, you draw the line when it comes to relational affairs.

If only you could be firm and repeat all the above to them aloud, rather than within your own head— if only.

“So are you gonna go?"

You don't respond immediately, still weighing out your options. "Not sure," you murmur. "I don't really want to but maybe I should. I haven't gone home to see my parents since last year."

Taehyung recognizes the growing tension in your voice as well as the flushed expression playing on your face. He wishes he could take it all away but instead he moves closer to your side of the sofa and lets you rest your head on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry." He's silent for a moment before continuing. "Why don't you tell them you can't go because of work? There must be a number of things you'll need to get ahead of for Yoongi's album."

"True. But it's too easy, they won't buy that. I have to go."

"What if you say I invited you to celebrate with my family this year? We're going to a nice, cozy cabin a few hours north of here for Christmas."

The offer is temping and you know he means it but it's also not enough.

"No," you reject. "They'll think we're dating and ask to meet you."

"I'll do it!" Taehyung's voice lifts into a more playful tone, earning a soft chuckle from you.

"Very cute Taetae, but no. Neither of us are going to say 'that was a good idea' in the end, trust me. I'll have to make this decision on my own."

Taehyung grimaces slightly at your last choice of words. "I really think you should consider telling them you can't due to a full schedule. We don't get that much time off at the company any way. Don't your parents live at least 7-10 hours away? Come on, spend the holidays with me and the guys. Plus, it'll be my birthday soon. I want you there at my party."

When you look at your best friend to gently scold him for not so sneakily using the guilt tripping technique, he's pouting. Like a baby. Not even you can resist him with that face on.

"Fine. I'll think about it."

"Good," Taehyung chirps and snatches the tv remote to flip through episodes of Brooklyn Nine-Nine. "I want you to be around those closest to you, especially around the holidays. You're my badass best friend who deserves more than some stupid forced marriage to a guy with an unhealthy alpha male complex. Should we top the night off with one more episode by the way?"

You nod and Taehyung hits play on the remote. "Thank you," you coo, feeling a tad better.

The weekend is a blur at best and you’re back at the office before you realize. Of course this is no ordinary work day however, given that today signifies the day you officially start work as D-Day’s marketing director. You’ve been perfecting every detail of the proposal like a madman since the beginning, meticulously obessing over every element. Your new team members must have a pretty eye-opening understanding of what it’ll be like having you as a lead for the next year–you pity them to be honest.

Between your fingers clutches a small tube of lip balm, berry flavored with a faint tint to match. You love chapstick for some odd, inexplainable reason and you felt the need to apply a generous amount of it on your lips for good luck.

“No one’s here yet,” Yi-joon, one of the members of your graphic design team, speaks first upon stepping foot into your assigned conference room. Others hum, unsurprised. Being the ones leading the presentation, you’d be startled if anyone actually arrived beforehand.

A grand mahogany table, seating up to 14 individuals, boasts itself to you in the middle of the room with every chair lined in genuine black leather. Traditional seating arrangements have one chair at the head of the table, but today’s meeting has two, both positioned to face the wide presentation screen at the opposite end.

Undoubtably, they’re reserved for Bang PD and Min Yoongi.

A momentary shiver courses down your spine, yet fades quick when one of your team members asks if anyone's seen the remote to the projector. There’s no time for nerves to be acting up, you remind yourself calmly. Only 15 minutes remain until every C-suite executive in Hybe congregates into the room.

With a composed demeanor, you swiftly gather your thoughts and respond, "Try checking inside the podium. It's likely close by, but if not, we can always power it on manually." You then start delegating tasks to the rest of your team, mentally rehearsing key points of the proposal between each instruction.

Time appears to have vanished in the blink of an eye because in a matter of seconds a gentle breeze slips through the conference door, accompanied by the arrival of several Hybe executives. You offer a polite "good morning," which is briefly reciprocated as they take their respective seats around the conference table.

You count twelve at the table in total, including your own team.

"Sajangnim should be here in about–"

Hybe's Chief Finance Officer doesn't get to finish his sentence when an older gentleman in a freshly pressed suit walks through the door, fully immersed in conversation. The person following close behind him is none other than the man of the hour himself–Min Yoongi, fitted in a clean white dress shirt that's unbuttoned at the collar and sleeves rolled to the elbows. His soft, raven hair falls gently in front of his eyes, framing his face a little too well.

Unexpectedly, both your gazes shift from Bang PD and onto one another. His dark, intense eyes pierce through you as they observe you from the opposite side of the room. You're certain he recognizes you from your previous shared encounters, though you don't have the slightest clue what he's thinking. Min Yoongi has been known to be many things, but an open book isn't one of them.

He then walks in your direction until he's directly toe to toe with you for the very first time. Completely against your wishes, you feel all the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand straight. You've never officially met before.

"It's nice to finally meet you __-nim. Those nods we give each other in the hallway hardly count as a proper introduction." He extends a hand to you, offering you a sturdy handshake which you accept.

"Absolutely, it's a pleasure to meet you as well Min PD-nim," you say, smiling warmly. "I'm looking forward to working with you on your new album. I truly appreciate the opportunity."

For a split second, Yoongi allows his professional demeanor drop. "I should be the one thanking you. You'll be the one leading this whole operation right? So I'll be in your care."

You want to respond with gratitude, but you're not given the chance due to an authoritative voice speaking up from behind.

"Min PD-nim," Hybe's Vice President calls out to the man in front of you, requesting his attention.

Yoongi is hesitant to leave you mid-conversation but you assure him that it's alright. "Please, feel free to take a seat," you offer. "The presentations will begin soon."

A small, subtle smile graces Yoongi's lips before he turns around to take his seat beside Bang PD at the head of the table. He engages in small talk with Hybe's Vice President who's conveniently seated across from him. Yet despite their conversation, he's only half focused; his eyes repeatedly wandering back to you. At this point, however, you've already stopped looking at him.

"Good morning, all," you address the room when the time comes to commence the meeting. "We'll be getting started now that everyone's here. I'm sending down samples of the album design our graphics team has created for D-Day. Please pass them along." You hand the stack of copies to Hybe's Chief Technology Officer who smiles courteously.

"On behalf of my team and me, I want to thank you for joining us today to discuss our marketing strategy for Min PD-nim's upcoming D-Day album. Our agenda will be as follows," you guide everyone's attention to the presentation board, which provides a rundown of all the points you plan to cover for the remainder of the meeting.

"Let's begin with introductions. My name is ___ ___, I hold a Bachelor's degree in Electrical and Electronics Engineering from NYU Stern, as well as an MBA in Marketing. Over the past five years, I've worked in the music industry as a marketing manager. Three of those years were spent here at Hybe. The recent promotional campaign for TXT's The Chaos Chapter was lead by my previous team and me, resulting in a positive return on investment. Now, with a new team, I aim to achieve similar success with Min PD-nim's D-Day album."

Once you finish your introduction, you introduce each member of your team. This is soon followed by a brief introduction from each c-suite executive.

The whole room falls silent when you begin diving into the bulk of the proposal; every measurable objective, goal, and market analysis is shared for D-Day. When it comes time to present the brand guide and album design, you invite your graphics team to speak.

"You'll notice that we have two versions of Min PD-nim's albums on the sheet in front of you," Yi-joon refers to the mockups you handed out earlier. A few executives nod quietly as they study the proposed album packaging while Yoongi leans over to Bang PD. He's whispering something but you're far to distant away to hear. His expressions aren't telling either.

Does he like it? Does he not? You don't know.

Nevertheless, you give a subtle smile to Yi-joon as encouragement to continue.

"We've opted for a sleek, pitch-black design for the first version, and a dusty brown for the second. The first version symbolizes the past, characterized by societal expectations and internal struggles, while the second represents the present and future, conveying a message of liberation. To complement these themes, we've selected a bold and daring font to exude the album's transparency. This design consistency extends to the album's contents; for instance, lyrical cards will reflect the respective color and style of the version they belong to."

Hybe's Chief Marketing Officer appears to be in approval with the entirety of the plan so far, yet it's short lived when a low voice interrupts.

"I think the vision of album's design aligns closely with mine, so I like what I see in front of me." Yoongi pauses and places the mockup on the table. "There's one aspect that I'd like to discuss in hopes of some insight however. I've been mauling over it for a while now."

"I'll do my best to–" Hybe's Chief Marketing Officer opens his mouth to respond yet closes it immediately when he notices Yoongi's gaze sharply shifts to you. It's a signal that it's your insight he specifically requests.

"Please go on," you reply.

"Regarding the name under which the album should be released, should it be 'Agust D' or 'Suga'? I'm personally biased towards Agust D because it holds more weight for me. It's close to my heart and the stories I have to tell as Agust D are heavier than those of Suga, right? The D even stands for Daegu, my hometown where I grew up and where my parents still live. Suga on the other hand is my stage name, which I have some identity in as well."

You don't answer immediately, preferring to carefully process everything he's said. Your team has already proposed to release the album under 'Agust D', yet he makes a valid point that 'Suga' is also a part of him.

"I understand that releasing the album under 'Suga' has its merit. However, I still support the original idea of releasing it under 'Agust D'. As you've mentioned, the name carries a deeper meaning, evoking memories, emotions, trials, and tribulations. I'd also like to emphasize that by releasing D-Day under 'Agust D', you can showcase who the real Agust D is. The collaboration with IU in People Pt. 2 already has you one step in that door."

Like you, Yoongi considers your words cautiously, weighing them in his mind. "Thank you ___-nim," he finally speaks. "Your perspective is reassuring. We'll proceed with releasing the album under 'Agust D'.

Following your short discussion, the graphics team continues presenting their design materials. Minor comments are made by Hybe executives, but Yoongi doesn't comment again until half-way into the social media segment.

"Why do we need to schedule this many Weverse Lives? People might get tired of seeing my face after so many in a row. ARMY will read, 'Min Yoongi started a live' and say to their friends, 'This is the fifth time in a row, is he in love with his own voice or something?'." His joke sparks a light in the room as Bang PD gives a chuckle.

"I don't think that's going to be an issue for you Yoongi," he replies. "Don't you know the strength of your own fanbase?" Bang PD's statement is undeniable. Everyone in the room is well aware of Min Yoongi's international fanbase who willingly stay up all hours of the night just to catch a glimpse of him. In fact, rather than seeing less of him, they hope to receive his live notifications more, as Yoongi isn't as active on Weverse as other idols.

It's clear that compliments like these aren't easy for Yoongi to take though, judging by the flushed look that subtly sweeps over his face. You'd react the same way to be honest.

"If I may Min PD-nim," you speak up, deciding to offer an alternative plan. "Leveraging Weverse Live to help promote D-Day will draw significant international engagement. We know that time differences pose to be a challenge which is why we proposed an increase of live sessions per week. However, we understand that going live this often might be exhausting. Would you consider reducing the frequency to once or twice a week instead?"

"I'm open to once a week but didn't we film the 'Suga: Road to D-Day' documentary for a similar reason? Won't it be too much to add more than two Weverse Lives throughout the entire promotional phase?" Yoongi's challenge is met with an unanimous hum of support from his fellow executives. You'd feel intimidated if you didn't already have a justification mapped out.

"The objective behind releasing 'Suga: Road to D-Day' on Disney+ differs from that of Weverse Lives," you rebuttal confidently. "While the documentary presents a structured behind-the-scenes view of D-Day's development, the Lives focus on building hype among your existing fans who know you well, will spread the word to their peers, and will likely pre-order the album. As you're aware, Lives are more personal and stripped down, allowing your fanbase to feel closer to you."

Thinking of no further objectives, Yoongi, still somewhat unsure, accepts your suggestion. "Once a week will be fine then. While we're still on the topic, do we know when 'Suga: Road to D-Day' is set to release on Disney+?"

"Our digital marketing and promo team will be reviewing the specifics of that soon," you inform. "Right now we have the documentary releasing April 23 of next year. The poster for the film will release a week and a half earlier on the 12th."

Rather than furthering the discussion, Yoongi sends an understanding nod your way which allows the social media team to resume their portion of the proposal. Recording more Weverse Lives than usual remains a pain point for him, but he's willing to move forward if it means connecting with his fanbase.

Alast, after what seems like three hours of social media; followed by financing & budget talk, the last team to present their material takes lead of the meeting.

"We'd like to provide a timeline for D-Day's promo schedule as a way to wrap up today's proposal," So-hyun from your digital marketing and promos team explains. "Promotions will begin April 10, 2023 and will run until April 25th. During this time the album's track list, concept photos, MV Teaser, and official MV will drop. As far as concert schedule, we're proposing April 26-June 24. These dates include U.S, Asia, and Korea Tours."

"We might need to rethink concert dates but for now I'm on onboard." Yoongi remains brief in his interjection, allowing So-hyun to continue.

"As far as other marketing channels, we plan to implement both print and digital methods including billboards, banners, paid search ads, and YouTube. We'd also like to reach out to a variety of magazines like Rolling Stones Magazine for interviews. If we want to extend our global reach even further, we can book a time slot on the Jimmy Fallon Show. Bare in mind that if we go this route, we'll need to decide fairly quick, as slots are in high demand."

You notice Bang PD whispering amongst Yoongi and his Chief Finance Officer when Jimmy Fallon is mentioned. Yoongi seems the least interested. Perhaps he isn't fond of being front and center of talk shows, you guess.

"When will we need a decision for the Jimmy Fallon Show?" Bang PD inquires for the group.

"No later than three weeks from now," So-hyun answers. "It's a tight deadline but it can been done if we get the official go."

Bang PD directs his attention to Yoongi who's chosen to be silent in this conversation. "What do you think, Yoongi? It's your call."

"Maybe," he says, "give me a day or two to think on it."

Another ten minutes of productive overview with your promos team pass and soon, you're standing up to adjourn the meeting. You have to admit that out of all the proposals you've given in your career, this goes right to the top.

Your team was phenomenal today, and despite the the fact that several Hybe executives are biting at the bit to finally go on their lunch break, you feel confident that everyone is leaving on the same page.

"Min PD-nim."

You're ears inevitably pick up the conversation in front of you as you make your way out of the conference room. Yoongi and his Chief Financial Officer are running through some quick numbers only a few steps steps ahead, but with everyone simultaneously rushing in the same direction, neither must have realized you were within earshot.

"There's no doubt that she's good at what she does," Hybe's Chief Financial Officer continues. "Still, it's hard to believe that she's only 27 or 28. A person should take better care of themselves don't you agree? Like our Eunchae for example."

If there was a way to erase what you just heard, you'd do so, because in an instant, all previous successes you felt from today's proposal shatters to the ground. You're no stranger to receiving these sorts of comments about your appearance, yet it leaves your confidence fleeting, along with any amount of resilience you've built.

Blinking back the tears that threaten to spill, you exit the conference room the first chance you get. You have no desire to stick around for Yoongi's reply.

Not long after you leave does you phone ring off.

Tae 💚: Hey! How's the meeting going? Still available to get lunch this afternoon? I'm heading to the cafeteria as I type this.

You: It went okay. But I don't think I'll be coming to lunch, just a lot to do. I'm also not that hungry.

You second-guess how convincing your message is, knowing that it's your best friend on the other line. Regardless, it's the only words you can come up with right now. You really do have a lot of work ahead of you though, at least that part is true.

Tae 💚: Are you sure? I was looking forward on hearing how the meeting went! Wasn't there something you had to give me too?

The meaning of the last line suddenly dawns on you as you make your way down the long hallway. How could you forget? You made Taehyung one of his favorite foods to surprise him for lunch; Japchae, a sweet and savory dish of stir-fried glass noodles and vegetables.

You: Right, sorry it slipped from my mind for a second. I'll meet you in the cafeteria to give it to you.

"Why won't you stay and eat with me?" Taehyung devours the homemade Japchae you made for him with delight, a pair of chopsticks clamped in his hand.

"I don't have much of an appetite, Tae."

You've already told him this twice already, clarifying that you'd be heading back to your office once you deliver his food. Evidently, he's not letting you slip away easily.

"Then take a break with me instead, even if it's only for ten minutes." You watch as your best friend swiftly pulls out the chair next to him from under the table, gesturing you to sit. "Tell me what's got you down," he says. "Did Yoongi say something to you? He can be a bit too outspoken with his opinions sometimes."

Feeling defeated, you slide into the chair. "No, the meeting was fine. I'm just overthinking something that happened."

You then proceed to explain what you overheard Hybe's Chief Finance Officer say about you from earlier, that you didn't look healthy enough for your age and using Eunchae as an example. The scowl that appears on Taehyung's face as you retell the incident is unmistakable–he's clearly pissed.

"First of all," Taehyung starts once you finish, jaw clenched. "Eunchae is 17 and is a part of a Korean girl group. She has an entire team dedicated to making sure her appearance is flawless. It's the idol life; trust me, I'm well acquainted with it, so it's not a fair comparison. Secondly, Hybe's CFO is an asshole who I'd replace in a day. I don't want you letting him make you feel insignificant just because you don't conform to his narrow idea of how a woman should look."

You appreciate Taehyung's efforts to cheer you up, though you remain unaffected. Besides, he still isn't aware of Yoongi's involvement since you purposely left that detail out due to their close friendship.

"Yeah, I don't know. We don't have to talk about it anymore." You decide to dismiss the topic entirely and reach for your phone, along with a pair of earbuds bundled in your pocket. "Wanna listen to something?"

Music has always bonded you and Taehyung's friendship, as you've frequently found yourselves fully immersed in timeless songs from King of Leon and Led Zeppelin together. Taehyung nearly accepts the offer to listen with you once again, but then he freezes all movement. An eager grin follows close after.

"Hyung!" His voice echos though the room, earning the attention of Min Yoongi who's just entered the cafeteria. This time, you feel nothing but discomfort when the man looks your way.

"I have some material I need to review from my promo team. I'll text you later, okay?" You leave your best friend no time to reply as you quickly rise from your chair, stick your phone in your pant pocket, and head for the nearest exit. Yoongi attempts to make eye contact with you on your way out, but you avoid it completely.

When he approaches Taehyung, he acknowledges your semi-odd behavior. "I didn't mean to make her leave," he states, joining the younger at the table.

Taehyung offers a light shrug in response. "Don't worry, you didn't. She had other matters to get to. Something with her team members I think."

Yoongi grabs a fresh clementine from a nearby fruit bowl and beings peeling it little by little. "You two must be pretty close if you're having your lunches together."

It's not hard for Taehyung to read between the lines of what his member is insinuating.

"We've been friends for a while," he clarifies. "Just friends, nothing else."

a/n: Hope you enjoyed! Lmk what you think 🥰

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justwinginglife · 3 months ago

Text

The Waiting Game

The line between friends and lovers is dangerously thin and Soshiro Hoshina likes to fucking cartwheel down that tightrope like it's his personal plaything.

Any stranger walking by could see he was clearly checking you out, but if asked, he'd simply shrug and say something about how it was his duty as your friend to make sure your fly was zipped or your socks were matching. He never thought to make himself less obvious as he took in the sight of your shirt that dangled just a little too low or your pants that hugged your curves just a little too tight. He didn't have to. If you claimed to notice his wandering gaze, you'd be setting yourself up for a witty rebuttal. He might say, "Oh, look who's paying so much attention to me, if I didn't know better, I'd say you liked me," or even, "Don't go telling me you didn't wear those clothes on purpose, we both know the truth." He had all sorts of banter at the ready, quips locked and loaded. He wanted to corner you, to checkmate you, to coax a confession from your supple lips. Of course he loved you. But it was much more fun to make you admit you loved him too.

And you did. You wore that shirt on purpose, you wore those pants on purpose. You bent over in those pants on purpose. But two could play at this game, and you were awfully good at chess.

If he was a tightrope walker, you were a sword swallower. You could take anything he'd throw at you, gulp it down, lick your lips, and have room for seconds. Maybe throw in a burp for good measure.

So the circus act continued, both of you juggling offense and defense, both of you thinking yourself the lion tamer. It was anyone's guess at this point, who would cave in first.

You pictured the two of you on your deathbeds, your hands wrinkled with age, still trying to wring a confession from each other's throats. It was honestly a terrifying notion, thinking that eighty years from now, your feelings might accompany you to the grave, unvoiced, unreciprocated. But it hadn't been eighty years yet, it had only been one, and your pride was still in prime condition, even despite Soshiro's attempts to wear it down.

When he bragged to you about his hot date, eager for your reaction, you simply pointed him to your favorite flower shop and told him what to buy her. When he ended up not going through with it because some mysterious illness overtook him, an illness that only lasted the length of what would have been the date, you simply smirked and remarked on how convenient it was that his condition was so particular. He had shrugged, saying, "Maybe I was allergic to her, who knows?" You had laughed and he had smiled. Then you both went about your usual day, stealing time from each other whenever you could, sneaking glances, subtly inching closer, the distance both an inch and a galaxy apart.

The gap only widened when Captain Ashiro relayed to the Third Division news of the Winter Ball. It was like prom for soldiers, and when you heard the announcement, you felt like you were right back in high school- everything infamously familiar, right down to the nerves that threatened to swallow you whole.

You could always pull the, "You're single, I'm single, let's go as friends," card. But you weren't sure that either of you would be content with that resolution. Neither one of you wanted to resign yourselves to a night of awkwardly sitting at a side table, using small talk to fill the simmering silence, as you watched other couples slow dance their way into oblivion.

But unfortunately for the both of you, rather than declare a draw, your little game with each other continued, even as the event drew nearer. You'd ask him who he was going with, feigning nonchalance, and he'd dodge the question, feigning ignorance.

At some point, you bought yourself a dress, though you had no idea why. There was only a week to go, and still, no one had asked you for the pleasure of your company on that night, not even him. You weren't sure you should even go. But still, you let your hopes drape from a hanger in your closet, in case maybe he decided to overturn the chessboard, throw the match, ask you out.

Narumi beat him to the punch.

When you asked him why he was asking you so late in the game, he merely shrugged, saying he hadn't realized the ball was happening in the first place, but now he knew and he wanted you.

Soshiro had caught wind of it.

He ignored you until an hour before the dance.

He knew you liked to hide on the roof when you got nervous, and as he climbed the stairs to the top, he begged you to be there. He hoped you were having second thoughts about going with Narumi. He hoped you were pacing in your dress, waiting for him to whisk you away, because he was ready to whisk you away. He had dragged his feet through this whole fucking charade, and now he suddenly found his own pace too exceedingly, disgustingly slow for his liking.

When he got to the roof, all that awaited him was a cold breeze and the night sky. He collapsed on the floor, leaning back to take in all the stars. He didn't care anymore if he got his suit dirty, he only wore it for you anyway. His finger traced patterns of constellations as the white of his breath stained the air. He wished on every single star that he could see you tonight, all dressed up and gorgeous. He didn't have to see you to know you looked stunning. But he had planned to go home after he finished this sulking session. He didn't want to see how happy you looked with Narumi. Of all the people, why did it have to be him? The idea of you with anyone else but him made him ache, but the idea of you with Narumi made him want to tie a noose around his neck.

Another half hour of brooding later, he decided he needed to go home. That, or freeze to death, which would serve him right. But he turned towards the door and suddenly, there you were, his light in the dark, his warmth in the cold. And you were dazzling. He knew you would be. You always were, no matter what you were wearing.

"Y-you're here."

You nodded. "I'm here. And you're here. Why are you here?"

He pulled his jacket tighter around him. "This is your spot."

You raised an eyebrow. "Yes, it is. Were you looking for me?" You tried to keep the hopefulness out of your voice, but it seeped into the frosty air all the same.

He fidgeted with his cufflinks, nodding slowly.

You began walking over to him, and he knew you were going to sit down so he quickly took his jacket off for you to sit on. He didn't want to ruin your dress.

You shook your head at him. "You look freezing, put your jacket back on. How long have you been out here anyway?" You threw his jacket back around his shoulders, plopping down next to him, unbothered by your dress.

He blushed and looked away. "That's not important."

The silence resumed.

"It's your favorite color." You blurted out suddenly, desperate to fill the air with something, with anything.

He immediately knew you meant your dress. He had noticed. "It's nice."

You coughed.

He chuckled. "Alright, it's more than nice. You look breathtaking. Seriously, I'm having trouble breathing with you so close to me." He teased as he nudged you with his shoulder, trying to make light of the awkward situation.

"You don't look so bad yourself. Even for someone who's half frozen to death. So why were you looking for me?"

He bit his lip. "Had a, uh, question... for you."

You settled your head on his shoulder and you felt him tense up. "And what's this question of yours that's so important you almost gave yourself frostbite?"

"Will you.... will you go to the dance with me?" He held his breath as the words left his mouth.

You laughed. "Little late, don't you think? We're about a half hour away from it."

He groaned. "I know, I know. But don't go with Narumi. Please don't. He wouldn't know romance if it shit in his lap. He doesn't know how to treat a woman."

You smirked. "And you do?"

He looked at you properly for the first time that night, his gaze locked on yours with a sudden sense of determination. "Yes, I do. If that woman is you. I know everything about you. I have to. Knowing you is the second greatest pleasure of my life."

"And..." The words caught in your throat, "And what's the first?"

"Loving you."

Your heart soared in your chest. "I love you too."

"So will you be my date to the dance? And the rest of my life?"

You kissed him in response.

Suddenly the cold faded from your bodies, the frigid air rescinding itself from your lungs, as your warmth intermingled in a display of passion.

"So, what should I call this, checkmate?" You teased him as you pulled away from his lips, leaving him wanting more.

He rolled his eyes but nothing could make him less smitten than he was right now. "I call this me throwing the match."

"Well, better late than never, baby."

You kissed him again.

And then the both of you danced the rest of the night into oblivion together.

#kaiju no. 8 #soshiro hoshina #anime #soshiro hoshina x reader #hoshina #oneshot #hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro x reader #anime fanfic #fluff

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godisshook · 11 months ago

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I’ve had a crush on my roommate since we met in the summer, and I thought he liked me too, but he said we couldn’t when I finally got up the nerve to ask him out before break. He said he had to do something first, and left for break. I was so sad, but then on new years he texted me his resolution had been to become a “real man” for me this year… any idea what I should expect now that break is done?

A Real Man

You hoped that winter break would be a nice break from the weight of your confession to your roommate, Sean, but it was all you could think about. Had you made a mistake? Did you miss the signal?

You had talked with Sean occasionally, but not as much as on New Year's. While you didn't believe in all the superstitions around it, you still silently made a wish for the new year; making Sean yours. As the new year rolled in, you celebrated alone, hoping your wish would come true.

Fortunately, the wait wouldn't be long. Just a few minutes past midnight, you get a text on your phone from an unlikely source, Sean. Soon, the two of you were in full conversation. With plans for the new year being discussed, he drops a bomb. “Just letting you know, my resolution is to be a real man for you this year," he texted.

Intrigue came over you as you continued to text back and forth with him. As the conversation died down, he sent a final message that stopped you in your tracks. "Hope to see you soon, until then, hope these can hold you over." He sent the message with two attached photos, and as you scrolled up to see them, your jaw dropped.

The photo leaves you breathless, as you lay witness to just what he meant. He was huge, practically unrecognizable. Drooling over the pictures, to rushed to reply, "I hope to see you soon!" You winced at the exclamation mark in your text, hoping you weren't coming off too thirsty, but dirty thoughts were buzzing throughout your mind.

With winter break drawing to its close, you decided to leave early for campus, packing your bags and booking your flight. While you mainly wanted the extra time to pack, being able to see Sean too wouldn't hurt at all. You scheduled an Uber before getting on your flight, not wanting to bother anyone for a ride on campus. With goodbye texts sent, you got on the plane and dozed off as you got in the air.

As your plane begins its descent, you come to. You start to check for any missed texts, when you're met with one that catches your eye.

"I'll come get you from the airport."

Sean attached two photos of him and simply replied, "I'm ready." You trembled at the certainty of his response, even through text, and braced yourself for the car ride home.

As he put your suitcases in the car, his muscles bulged through his tank top, making your heart flutter. "Thank you so much," you said as you put your duffel bag in his car. "This is the treatment you deserve," he said as he laid a kiss on your forehead. You blushed, not used to this level of chivalry. The two of you recapped your winter breaks on the ride back, with giggling and somber moments included.

He brought your luggage inside, and you were entirely confused as to the sudden change in character. With the last of your bags inside, you demanded an explanation. The two of you sat down as he began to explain. "I know it sounds crazy, but I knew I wasn't right for you back when you first asked," he said. He continued, "That was my wake-up call, and so I had to get things right so I could live up to my promise." His expression darkened as he got closer, now standing above you. "I want to show you just how ready I am if you let me." Your reply was breathy, as your voice began to tremble under his dominance. "I want you, Sean." His response came in a dark tone:

"Kneel."

Your body responded before your mind could, as you kneeled on the floor, grasping onto his massive hands. He pulled down his pants, and his cock rose up in an instant. Looking over his huge dick, you wondered how you were going to suck it. Hoping to not have that question answered, you began giving him a handjob, your hands made minuscule against his massive cock.

But it was clear that wasn't enough. Sean looked down and moved your hands off his dick. His rock-hard cock was once more in your face, and you knew what was coming next.

Opening your mouth wide, he slid his cock inside your mouth. As he filled you up, you were forced to breathe from your nose, as his cock went further and further down your throat. Sean threw his head back in pleasure and began slowly sliding his cock out, immediately leaving you wanting more. In an instant, his hand was now gripping your head, as thrust his cock in and out of your mouth.

Cum had filled every part of your throat, and your face was a mess. He had asserted himself. His softer side revealed itself as he helped clean you up, picking you up and taking you to the shower, where he finally fucked you, his cock filling you like a key in a lock. It was bliss. As hot water made the heat inside you burn even hotter, you couldn't help yourself from coming, and Sean, noticing your release, sped up his thrusts to catch up to you.

The both of you finished your shower, even messier than when you entered. You both slept in Sean's room that night, as you cuddled deep into him. Sean had shown exactly what he meant, and you were overjoyed. It was looking like a wonderful start to your semester, and you thanked your lucky stars that your wish came true.

#muscle #jock #roomates #alpha men #college guys

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ohmytyong · 1 month ago

Text

the color of you [teaser]

cover art made by @/salgoolulu on Instagram

“you picture your emotions through words, while I try to voice out my own feelings with photos”

PAIRING: college student!jaemin x college student!reader (female!reader) x college student!mark

GENRE: fluff, angst, strangers to lovers au, college au, 90s au, love triangle au, best friend!jisung, best friend!yeri, suggestive (if you squint)

TEASER WARNINGS: none!

WC: tba (TEASER WC: 1,8k)

‣[PLAYLIST]: margaret by lana del rey (ft. bleachers), frozen by sabrina claudio, bonfire by wave to earth, yosemite by lana del rey, blue by troye sivan (ft. alex hope), naked by sabrina claudio, let the light in by lana del rey (ft. father john misty)

SUMMARY: winter to spring to fall — seasons change all the time, and life takes turns you never saw coming. as you’re trying to figure out your true love in your career path, you’re also trapped between the hearts of two boys who try to teach you how to find your real colors, by teaching you how to love.

A/N: finally a glimpse of what i've been working on (and still am) for over six months. the writing process is painfully slow, but this story feels like nothing i have ever written before. it feels intimate to me, and i can't wait to share the full story with all of you <3

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Thursday, October 9th, 1997

Τhere is a fine line between love and passion. It is easy to confuse one for the other, and sometimes the boundaries become so blurry that love merges into passion and passion merges into love. Passion is a state of being — it resembles a phase of complete ecstasy that you wish would last forever. It fills you with a sudden burst of happiness that is so strong, it needs to become temporary, otherwise its effect weakens.

Love is more of a state of living — it draws you in, it roams around you like the strong scent of cologne, it captivates you in an invisible way, almost as if it does not exist, and no matter what your state of mind or being is, it will always find you in the form of solace. This is exactly what gives it longevity in its effect.

You tried to keep a mental note of these thoughts for the time being until you could write them down, before you completely forgot about them and they ceased to exist.

You were standing outside your favorite café in Seoul, patting your hair and brushing your fingers through thick strands to untangle them. Fall was your favorite season when you could hear the crunchy sound of leaves under your shoes or the patter of raindrops on your umbrella, but one thing you were certainly sure of was that you were not particularly very fond of the wind.

With a firm push on the door, you stepped inside the place you liked to call your second home and, almost in a cartoon-like way, you rushed towards the front counter, drawn in by the magical, mythical, delicious scent of caramel.

The boy behind the counter was busy placing pastries in a paper box and didn’t immediately notice your presence, even though you thought that he could sense how much you were craving that cup of hot caramel latte you were dreaming about all morning.

“Jisung,” you raised your voice as you spoke, and the boy jolted up in the air at the sound of somebody calling his name, the box of pastries in his hands flying everywhere around him. You liked to mess with him in this way because of his sensitivity towards abrupt loud noises. You didn’t want to, but it always spread your lips into a smiley smirk when he would jump around and drop whatever he was holding. Exactly what happened right now.

“Oh my God, Y/n,” he said breathlessly, pressing one hand on his chest to calm his heartbeat. You let out a soft giggle at his reaction and he narrowed his eyes at you. “I just like to tease you, Ji,” you said as he bent down to pick up the box and the now dirty pastries. He threw away the pastries in a trash can under the counter and placed the box aside in the counter behind him. He rolled his shoulders backwards as he came towards the cash register and swayed his head left and right to move his bangs out of his face. “Alright, alright,” he whispered to himself and he cleared his throat, straightening his back even further. He flashed a wide smile towards you and spoke in a voice that seemed loud to him, but to your ears it still sounded like his usual velvety soft tone. “Welcome to Caramel Craze, what can I get you?”

“Just my regular, Ji,” you said and he kept a note of your order on a small scratch pad, even though he knew your order by heart. “I’ll go sit down at our table, you can come join me when your shift ends. Also, just so you know, Yerim is coming too so be more alert. You know I go easy on you with the jumpscares but she doesn’t,” you said and he laughed at the mention of your friend Yerim, who liked to tease him just a little bit more.

“Okay, you go sit and I’ll be back with your order,” Jisung said and you stretched your arm to ruffle his hair playfully.

You always sat at the table furthest back in the shop right next to the wall-length window. Whatever the season, you enjoyed the access to viewing the outside world through the perspective of the glass that separated you from the people on the other side of it. Today, the atmosphere was covered by dark clouds of gloom that seemed harmless, with no intention of rain. You hadn’t realized how angry the wind was until you looked at the way the branches of the trees moved back and forth to the wind’s direction and the people struggling to walk through the windy force. Behind the glass window, it was peaceful and quiet.

You sat down at your and your friends’ designated table and took out your sketchbook and pencils. Looking around the small coffee shop, you noticed a girl standing, waiting in line to order her drink and possibly a little sweet treat to go along with it. She was wearing a long plaid skirt, falling down to her ankles, paired with a short jean jacket that ended right at the start of her waist. What if she added a leather corset? The length of the skirt kinda throws me off. Maybe a shorter skirt, chunkier shoes, different texture on the jacket-

You picked up your pencil and quickly drew lines that resembled a female human figure. Eyes darting from the girl to your sketchbook, back at the girl and your sketchbook again, you started gaining inspiration for new clothing designs. That’s why you decided to study fashion design; the possibilities of mixing and matching colors, patterns and textures were endless, and your creative mind couldn’t help but be fascinated by the art of fashion.

You were drawing quick rough sketches of clothes, making small changes here and there, trying to find a new, innovative, interesting design to present in class. For the last couple weeks, you were completely stuck and couldn’t create anything. The scholarship abroad wouldn’t be yours if you presented some boring, mediocre stuff.

Lately, you found yourself deprived of inspiration. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason why this was the case, but anytime you picked up your pencil to draw new patterns of clothes, your hand automatically moved away from your sketchbook and gravitated towards the pocket-sized notebook you kept on the side of your desk, and all you could do with your pencil was to write words.

the flowers inside my mind wither and fall;

dark fog covers the sky that hangs above my consciousness

i hate to see you wilt —

perhaps a new seed will grow on the ground

and replace the void with color

regeneration mirrors the art of becoming again

Setting your sketchbook and pencil on the side, you moved to take out the small notebook from the front pocket of your bag, flipping the pages to find a blank one and quickly writing down the words that came to your mind at that moment. This is what you always did when you felt stuck. You could never voice the thoughts occupying your mind, so you wrote them down instead. It was always easier to put them in place this way.

A loud bang resonated in the small café and you jolted up in surprise, dropping your pencil on the table. This is probably how Jisung feels, I get it now. You lifted your head to see your friend Yerim setting her bag and extra books on the table as she sat down on the chair across from yours.

“You scared me, Yerimie,” you said in a shaky voice and her lips lifted up to a smirk. “And I thought Jisung was the fun one to tease,” she said.

You scoffed at her comment and dismissed it. Yerim’s eyes dropped to the sketchbook and pencils scattered everywhere around the table, peeking at your trembling designs and the black smudges all over the pages that covered the designs you didn’t like.

“Still on designer’s block?” Yerim asked and you shook your head lightly. “I actually made some progress today,” you smiled, “I might have some ideas about what to make. These are pretty much the very first draft of it. If you can call it a draft,” you said pointing at your sketchbook.

Yerim hummed in understanding, but her eyes betrayed her true thoughts. Doubt? Hope? Simply processing what you said? You couldn't tell.

“Hey, listen, I have an extra class right now so I won’t stay, wanna meet me later in the library? I know you prefer studying here but I just came to pick up my coffee,” Yerim said. As if they communicated telepathically, Jisung approached your table holding two plastic cups with your beloved coffee shop’s logo on them. The intensely sweet scent of caramel betrayed what the liquid inside the cups was and you felt dizzy even at the thought of finally tasting the drink you were so desperately craving.

“Here you are, girls,” it felt almost as if Jisung mouthed the words by how softly he spoke. With shaky hands, he placed the cups on the table and smiled at himself for successfully bringing them all the way there without dropping them and spilling the hot coffee all over the shop’s floor.

“Are you coming too, Ji? To the library,” Yerim turned to him and Jisung nodded eagerly. “Of course! I’ll be there after my shift ends. Sorry Y/n, I can’t stay at the café all day, it's getting boring and it reminds me of work,” Jisung apologized to you and frowned.

“Don’t worry, guys, I’ll join you. Besides, apparently I also need to find this book I need for my project. You can go and I’ll meet you there later,” you said and you were going to keep your promise.

Yerim grabbed her things and leaned over the table to give you a hug. She winked at you and waved at both you and Jisung on her way out the coffee shop. Jisung smiled and shook his head at Yerim’s sassy attitude and you couldn’t help but smile too at how adorable he was.

“You’d better get back to work Ji, or else someone out there is gonna rob all the money you keep in the cash register,” you reminded him and his posture stiffened, smile dropping and eyes widening when he remembered that his shift, in fact, hadn’t ended yet.

“Oh, you’re right. But wait,” he said, putting his hand inside the pocket of his apron, only to take out a soft caramel cookie wrapped in sealed plastic packaging. He slid it into your hand under the table and offered you a shy smile. “It’s on the house. You need some energy,” he said softly as he walked away towards the back of the café.

You looked at the cookie and quickly put it inside your bag. You were sitting alone once again, blocking your surroundings as you stared outside the window to take a look at the outside world. The wind had calmed down significantly.

* .♡ *:･ﾟ✧ ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆

TAGS: @peachjaem00 @hyuckieslove @bbyyhyuck @vdollys @positionslab

@matchahyuck @renjun-fairy @back2jisung @xxxx-23nct @doieslefttoe

@uwuheeseungie @markleefuckme @letmein2urheart

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llondonfog · 7 months ago

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Since now we have Tsum Silver in JP, I just want Lilia to go through absolute baby fever. HE NEEDS TO TREAT SILTSUM LIKE HIS BABY ALL OVER AGAIN!!!

" . . . I suppose I might have known," Lilia hums, a playful smile tugging at his lips as he lounges against the doorframe and crosses his arms. "Is this where you've been hiding all along, hm? You've given him quite the scare, you know— he's running frantic all around the castle grounds trying to find where you've wandered off to all on your own."

Nestled between the bat-patterned bedsheets and carelessly scattered homework assignments, Silver's tsum blinks sleepily up at him, the picture of unrepentant, bleary innocence. It makes no move to wriggle itself out of the cozy little burrow, and Lilia's grin only softens. In a funny way, he's all too suddenly reminded of those early cottage days— of Silver buried so far into his quilts during the bitterly cold Briar Valley winter, that stubborn tuft of moonlit hair poking out from the blankets like a beacon, a lighthouse drawing Lilia close until he could wrap the child up in the warmth of his arms instead and pepper his giggling face with good morning kisses.

A strange pang pricks his heart at the memory, and Lilia shakes his head with affected disappointment at the once again dozing creature, rubbing a hand absentmindedly against his chest. "I ought to scold you for distressing him so," he mutters with no real heat behind the words, floating the short distance over to the bed and settling down among the mess. "He's a good child, too good for his own heart. I won't have you causing him any grief, no matter how adorable you are— do you hear me?"

A gentle poke to the tsum's plushy cheek begets no response, not that Lilia was truly expecting any with how eerily similar the creature resembled his son in not just looks, but behavior. It merely snored on in complete disregard to Lilia's words, and yet somehow . . . Lilia could swear it looked even more at peace than it had moments prior. Up close like this, if he ignored the uniform tucked around its tiny body, he could believe that he'd somehow found himself seventeen years in the past. He could believe that they were tucked away in the serene safety of their forest home, and that he was once again watching in the dumbfounded awe of a parent in breathless admiration of their baby's first slumber.

Deep in the pocket of his uniform jacket, Lilia can hear his phone buzzing, texts no doubt from Silver asking if his father has had any luck scouting out the dormitory for his wayward tsum. He'll text him back, of course he will— he doesn't want to prolong his son's distress anymore than it already has. But for now, for a moment, he can't bring himself to glance away from the tsum happily sleeping in his bed— perhaps it just might open its eyes and look at him. Perhaps it might yawn, stretching tiny, perfect little arms and sharing a crooked, perfect little smile under those silvery bedhead bangs.

"Good morning, Toto! I had the most interesting dream last night, do you want to hear about it?"

#lettie's asks #lettie writes #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland silver #twst silver #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia #diasomnia #RANY I CAN ALWAYS COUNT ON YOU FOR THE TSUM ASKS #anyways. thats his baby #that his baby!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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aois-amaterasu-painting · 4 months ago

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Ruki (on X):

From January to July, so many things have happened.

Amidst the whirlwind of days, I questioned what is right and what is normal? While swaying between emotions and reason, I was constantly making various choices, and desperately running through each day.

In such times, I was supported solely by everyone's concerned voices and the words "I love you."

Thank you always.

And although it's been a while, I wrote on Instagram. I hope this reaches everyone who loves me. ✉️

It's been about two months since my last post.

Seeing the closet still filled with winter clothes, I realized that this year, for me, there was no spring. Time stopped in winter, and then summer came.

I noticed that I had been putting off such a basic thing as living, and I finally did a long-overdue wardrobe change the other day.

Life is built on daily choices, an accumulation of decisions.

Only you can decide if those choices and your life are right or wrong.

The responsibility for your life is yours and yours alone.

I feel that trying to conform to the standards of "normal" for others will only make you feel more miserable when you are going through a tough time.

It's the same for everything; it's okay not to be "normal" as measured by someone else's standards.

No matter the relationship, I believe it's impossible to fully understand all of someone's inner struggles and pain. Fans' pain and our pain, human wounds vary from person to person.

Therefore, the way and speed at which wounds heal also vary for each person. The way you accept things too. It's okay if it's not the same.

Because the heart is a place that cannot be seen from the outside, others can't understand those wounds, and in fact, even we ourselves cannot measure how deep our wounds are.

Everyone, might be forcing a smile on the outside, and when they come home, no one sees the emptiness they are feeling, and they probably don't want to show it to anyone.

The way I've spent my days, I was told, wasn't very human-like, but I think that's okay.

Now, rather than sadness, I feel loneliness.

Because I am human, I know that I will meet them again someday.

So, thinking that way, I am accepting it now.

Although I feel lonely without Koron and Reita, for now, goodbye. This reminded me of when I wrote the lyrics for QUIET.

And when the day comes that we can meet again, I want to live in a way that I'll be told, "You lived a good life."

In reality, there are four of us now, but not as a mere illusion; another face is vividly present in my mind.

So, the feeling of being five members is not a lie. That will surely be forever.

After thinking about it all, I've come to the conclusion that I need to start living each day in a way that will leave a lot of proof that I lived.

I want to create music and things with more love than ever before.

Although my core approach to making music hasn't changed, what I feel I want to draw and leave behind now has changed significantly.

I want to cherish every moment, even the most ordinary ones, like taking pictures of everyday life, going to different places and feeling the scenery, the smells, all the things that I can only feel at that moment.

And if you're feeling overwhelmed right now, I think it’s okay to put everything on hold and take a break without overthinking it. It’s okay to stop pushing yourself for a while.

If I hadn’t taken a step back, I wouldn't have reached this mindset.

Then, bit by bit, listen to music you love, visit places that bring you joy, and heal your heart.

I'm gradually doing that myself too.

I hope everyone can find their own way of healing.

And if this band, the GazettE, can become something that saves or heals even just one person, I will overcome anything.

To me, everyone who waits for us is my reason for living.

The only place where you can let out everything you can't express in daily life, I believe, is at live concerts.

So, I hope we can share that extraordinary space where we can shout and make noise together as much as possible.

I've said it before, but there will be more opportunities to meet from now on. Or rather, I will make them.

I want to increase the time I can enjoy with everyone who loves me, so please wait for it.

Next is Toyosu PIT announcement, so please check it out.

Thank you for reading such a long post. I'll write again

2024.07.18

#the gazette #2024 #ruki ig #twitter

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nsharks · 2 years ago

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white bandages (the process of healing) | simon "ghost" riley

part 2 to this fic. I will very likely have a part 3 to wrap things up. —tags: tw blood, ghost + therapy, mild angst, fluff too —running out of pictures to use of this man so this is an edit by @ave661

Fluorescent light falls over an unmasked face. It highlights every ridge of every scar, his shorn stubble, his pale skin. When was the last time Simon Riley took a good look in the mirror? He can't remember— there are many things he works hard to avoid, and his own name is scribbled at the top of the list.

That first night without you, he finds himself in front of the mirror and half expects to see a ghost staring back at him. A corpse, maybe.

But, instead, he sees a man who lives and breathes. A man whose need for sleep is evident in the grey blotches under his eyes. A man whose eyes are anything but empty.

I feel nothing.

No—a ghost feels nothing. A ghost would've been able to forget how you looked at him, your eyes wide with the same fear he used to stare at his old man in. But Simon is not a ghost, and he remembers the fresh images with a pain that starts in his ribs and works its way to the pit of his stomach. Burning. It is a pain so unfamiliar that he doesn't know what to do with it—

—so he seeks a pain that he does know.

Pain that bursts in his hand the moment it meets the mirror. Pain accompanied by the splintering of glass as he hits the mirror over and over, and not once does he make a sound or cry or anything of the sort. He just breathes heavily and, once the mirror is not much of a mirror anymore, he looks at his hand and sees the bits of glass and the blood, and - fucking hell - it does nothing to mask what he feels in his chest.

"Jesus Christ."

He sighs.

His breathing slowly begins to settle.

And then he gets out the medical kit he keeps in the cabinet, sits with it on his bed, and carefully picks out the glass from his hand.

He knows how to take care of this wound. Knows exactly what to do to fix it.

But there are some things Ghost— Simon— doesn't know how to fix; wounds that are far too deep for him to reach. And as he wraps his hand up with some gauze, he remembers what you'd said to him earlier that day, so damn caring and gentle, even in your desire to get away from him:

I think you need help. You deserve it, Simon.

------

You loved the snow.

One time, you made Simon build a snowman with you. Well— it was more like you building the snowman while he watched and critiqued it. Your snowman looks like he's seen some rough shit, pet. Jesus, where is his smile? You had pouted through your laughter, nudging his shoulder. You can't judge him for not smiling, Si. Just like I don't judge you for it.

Of course, you ended up with a handful of snow in your hair for that one.

Quite the mouth on you today, huh?

And then he was rolling his eyes and lifting up his mask to kiss you as your hands combed out the ice from your hair, and you swore you felt him smiling against your lips— but you could never know for sure.

You loved that snowy day with him.

But now—

Now you're not sure if you're so happy about the snow you wake up to.

It's been a week of space. Work has been your main distraction, and you know you need to get the fallen snow off your windshield before you can make it there today.

But when you walk out into the white morning with a coat slipped over your pajamas, you find that your car is already being cleared off by a familiar silhouette with broad shoulders and a black, winter coat.

The cold squeezes your chest. Your heartbeat is swallowed up.

Seven days ago, you had begged him for space. Seven days ago, you left his place with defeat thick in your veins.

Today, you're not sure what you feel as you simply stand there for a moment. Your cheeks bitten to pink by the air and your arms crossed over your body. You watch him draw the brush over the hood, so easily, with one hand stuffed in his pocket, but then his eyes are drifting up— up until they land on where you stand a few meters away, and your fingertips dig into the palms of your hands.

He's the first one to speak. A man of few words who leans the brush against your car and utters a simple:

"Hey."

"Hey," you clear your throat, "Um, why are you doing this?”

He takes a step closer to you, but only one. A tentative step that keeps a good gap between your bodies, where faint flakes of snow fill the space.

“I know we are havin’ space right now," he murmurs. Gentle, murky eyes hold your stare. He slips the hidden hand out from his pocket, only for a short moment, to brush off the snow from his other hand, and you spot the flash of white bandages before it disappears into his coat again.

"But I also know you're workin' today so I thought I'd just... make your morning easier.”

"Thanks," your eyes drift to the ground. "But I don't know— I'm not sure if I'm ready..."

"S'okay," he says, gruff yet incredibly careful, a tiptoe over what lays damaged. "I'm not askin' anything of you, alright?"

“Alright,” you say quietly before your eyes drift to his pocket. “What happened to your hand?”

You’re not sure why you are asking him, and you doubt if the truth will even leave his lips. Wounds— over a year with him, and you’d witnessed plenty. Wounds that you only ever found out about when your fingers would graze under his shirt as he fucked you, and you’d carefully ask what happened as you both lay there breathless. Nothin’ worth telling you about, was his usual answer.

But today, with a peppering of snow on his mask and a sigh pooling from his breath, he tells you earnestly, “Broke my bloody mirror, is what happened.”

“What?”

“Look— it’s not important, yeah? There’s somethin’ else… somethin' else I wanted to tell you before you go to work, and I don’t expect anythin’ from you, but I just thought I should tell you.”

“I— okay,” you blink rapidly, still hung up on the mirror part. But you nod your head and shift your weight from foot to foot, willing yourself to listen to what he wants to tell you because maybe your heart is beginning to thump firm, expectant beats against your ribs, and maybe there are flakes of hope peppering the defeat in your chest, just like the snow that dusts Simon’s shoulders.

But what Simon has to tell you feels like pebbles in his mouth. He’s not good with words; his failure with them seven days ago is a testament to that. These pebbles sit behind his teeth for a lingering moment, before he finds the strength to push them out between the cracks.

(Perhaps, it’s all your patience and care for even the darkest parts of him that has finally given him this strength.)

“I talked to someone yesterday,” he tells you.

He exhales immediately.

You’re not sure if you’ve heard him correctly at first - there is no way? - but the words hang in the cold air as he stares at you with lowered brows, studying the expression on your face, and your lips part open like a bloody koi fish because this is not at all what you expected him to say.

“Really?” you finally breathe, a lilt of relief catching at the end. “You did?”

“Get it free through the military,” he mumbles with a nod, clearing his throat. “Thought a lot about what you said, yeah?”

Numbly, you sputter again, “You did?” But then you shake your head and rub your arms, “Sorry, I mean— that’s so good to hear, Simon. That’s just… How was it?”

“Bloody difficult,” he admits in a mumble, and only you, the person closest to him these days, are able to detect the minor tremor in his voice. “But - fuck - I’m gonna keep doin’ it.”

“Maybe it’ll get easier,” you tell him, drawing an arm over your eyes.

“Yeah.”

“I’m… really proud of you.”

You’re not even fully aware of your crying— no, you’re too focused on the sudden warmth that floods your chest because it is now you realize that if there is no worse feeling than watching someone you care for refuse to help themselves, then there is also no better feeling than hearing that help is something they are finally seeking.

And you care about Simon.

You have for so long, even when the agreement was just sex. Even when you'd flinched away. Even when you spent a week distracting yourself from thoughts of him.

This agreement you shared had turned into care. And you care, you care, you care. You care so much that you forget about the space you'd begged him for in this moment that you rush over to him, closing the cold and hesitant gap as your arms wrap around his neck and your forehead presses into his coat.

But the body against you is stiff and unmoving.

Your smile of relief turns into something apologetic and confused when two strong hands gently push you away.

You peer up at him.

"Don't think that's a good idea, pet."

"What?" you exhale, frowning.

He puts his hands back into his pockets. "I've hurt you, yeah?"

"I know, but—"

"I never want to do that again," he murmurs firmly. "Need some more time before I can make that promise to you."

Your heart sinks and floats and tries to swim through everything you feel. You can't discern all the feelings— there's so much. A flood. He's looking down at you as if you are the most fragile thing and as if, even by just getting too close, he might frighten you again.

"More space, then?" you whisper, stepping back.

Where you'd been the one to start it, now you are the one disappointed by it.

The short nod he gives is confirmation, but before you can get too down about it, he allows this: his good hand reaching out to grab yours. He kisses your knuckles with warm, masked lips.

"I care about you," he murmurs against your hand. "So goddamn much."

"I care about you, too."

"I know," and he lowers your hand, carefully rubbing the back of it. "Wanna be the kind of man you deserve. But I need to—" and his bandaged hand lifts up to tap a finger against his temple, "Need to sort through all the shit in here, yeah?"

"Okay," you whisper, nod, and sniffle. "They'll help you with it. You just have to let them in, Simon."

But he doesn't have anything to say to that— his source of words is a bit depleted. This week has drained him in every way possible, visible to you in the bags under his eyes. A squeeze of your hand is the last thing he has to offer before he lets it go, and then he is off to finish clearing your car.

(Although, you already know you will have a hard time getting to work on time this morning.)

#good for him #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #angst #fluff #tw blood

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choccy-milky · 1 year ago

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hey! They already asked you but I don't know if you forgot hehe, what are the mbti of Clora and Sebastian? 😸

OK, I FINALLY HAVE AN ANSWER!! took me a hot minute to figure out sebs, but after reading all the pages and comparing, i do think entp fits him the best. also i saw this picture on pinterest about a relationship between isfj and entp and its so true, esp the "do not listen to each other's advice, still get each other out of trouble" LMFAO. also the 'protecting isfj at all costs' 🥺🥺🥺im soft. (ALSO DONT COME AT ME I KNOW I SPELLED KNOWLEDGEABLE WRONG IM TOO LAZY TO FIX IT😭) OKAY!! and its been a while so i'll be using this ask to reply to a buncha others🙏🙏

my fanfic does follow the plot of the game, but with sebastian added to every sidequest/story mission. and then from around the third (niamh's) trial, it starts to branch more into (mostly all) original stuff!^^

yes actually LMAO, clora's lawley-slap wasn't even planned. but as i was writing it i started to get so offended on her behalf i was like GIRL, SLAP THIS BITCH🤬 so she did😇😇 id say its normal, yeah! even tho i stick to my outlines, a lot of what happens just kinda happens without my prior planning as i begin to write bahaha, especially dialogue scenes.

aw, im glad u like my blog so much and that it can help u even in the smallest of ways 😭thank u!!💖💖

BAHAHA AWW TYY IM GLAD U LIKE IT SO MUCH!! i saw u re-reading it recently on wattpad and ur comments always have me dying. also im just gonna address your other ask here in this one, but as u know seb has now met mr.clemons, and you 10000% nailed the dynamic between seb and clora's dad LMFAOO, they will absolutely bond over disagreeing with how careless she is and wanting to protect her/stressing over her LOOL. ty again for all ur messages, i love seeing how much u love my art/fic😭💖

OMG u are so right i need to draw this

also god idk....following the sebinis example, i guess they'd be...sebora?? reminds me of sephora LMAO. ive also had someone call them "alliteration shipping" which i think is so cute BAHAHA. HONESTLY PPL CAN JUST SAY WHATEVER THEY WANT, i aint picky.

oh god its been too long since ive read the books (tho i do really wanna re-read them esp in the winter) but my fav movie is half blood prince, just because i love all the ron/hermione moments and the highschool drama BAHAHA. what do u mean harry potter isnt a romcom??? ok and last but DEFS not least

THE UNHINGED ENERGY OF THIS ASK CRACKED ME UP SO MUCH WHEN U SENT IT BAHAHAH, couldnt even fit the whole thing in my screenshot. IM GLAD U LIKED/HATED THE CHAP, and also your pfp just makes everything you say funnier, i love it LMAOOO. ty🙏🙏

#ask #ALSO SEB AND CLORA BEING DEFENDER AND DEBATOR IS AN ALLITERATION it was meant to be......#i go from drawing filthy smut to a wholesome mbti pic of the two of them awww #the duality of man #choccyart

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shegatsby · 5 months ago

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I'm sorry but I have another idea for a story😅 please take your time to write it again and if you do it can I maybe be "♡🌸"-anon? I hope you had a really good time the last few days and weeks and that you're healthy! Same for anyone else reading this! Now onto the idea..

Hannibal and reader are already married and reader is a tattoo artist, one day when Hannibal comes home from work he sees reader sitting on the couch and sketching a tattoo, the tattoo is deer antlers(wink wink lol-) with vines around them, when he asks who the tattoo is for reader says that its for him and then they go on and on about why its fitting for Hannibal and he's just listening to her rambling before he stops them and asks if they could do a heart tattoo with the words Mischa, Readers name and the name of their child. (I know Mischa is from Hannibal Rising but I like to think that the movies are all connected to the show so.. yeah that would be amazing <3) Reader would say that they already thought of doing a design like that and they accidently slide the wrong way on the iPad and Hannibal sees a picture that says "Congratulions for a second child!" and idk, the rest is up to you!^^

Sorry that its so long again but its just super cite and yeah.. anyway, a good rest of the day to all of you! I hope all of you are healthy and stay/are safe! And I feel with everyone thats also a bit pissed at the situation with Tik Tok and UMG🥲

-♡🌸

A/N; Girll I haven't been writing Hannibal fics for a long time but here we go. Thank you for the request. xxx

You were preoccupied and didn't even heard the door. Soft yet determined steps approached you from the back and strong arms wrapped around you, you looked up to meet your husband's welcoming gaze, he he seemed tired because his work was consuming his hours more than usual. His hands were cold due to the fact that it was a harsh winter day in Baltimore, ''Hey.'' you said smiling, ''Hello dear.'' his voice softened. ''How long have you been sitting here and designing new drawings my love?''

You were self conscious about your designs before you could respond he added, ''Who is this for?''

His interest was piqued ''Do you like it?'' you asked testing the waters. Hannibal observed the design on the tablet, it was deer antlers with veins around them, ''Yes, I actually like it but you didn't answer my question dear.'' he replied with a questioning look in his maroon eyes, ''Its for you and I'm glad you liked it.''

He seemed confused, ''For me? Why do you think this dsign is suitable for me?'' he genuinely asked. You cleared your throat before speaking, ''In many cultures, the deer is a symbol of spiritual authority. During a deer's life the antlers fall off and grow again and the aniaml is also a symbol of regretion. In Christian imagination, the deer is a symbol of piety, devotion and of God taking care of his children: men.'' you explained, emphasising on the word ''children'' your eyes glowing with passion.

''And you my love,'' you held his hand, ''you are everything and more to us.'' you meant yourself and your daughter Mischa. As if the toddler had sensed that you were talking about her she started crying from her room. ''I'll get her.'' Hannibal said and kissed your temple gently. In moments he came back with Mischa in his arms, he was swaying her gently, ''Cna you also make something,'' he began and caught your attention, you admired the love he held in his eyes for you and your daughter and your hand went to your stomach without realizing, ''Mischa's name in a heart, maybe?'' he suggested, ''I already have.'' he was surprised that you already had thought about it, ''Can I see?''

You showed him the design you had made few weeks ago, ''And I also have other designs maybe you'll like them more.'' you said and moved to the gallery to show more and he made you pause, he held your hand, ''What is it?''

You got a picture of pregnancy test on your latest photos, 'you looked up to meet his gaze, hi clicked on the picture and saw that it was positive, ''Honey are you-'' he began but couldn't finish, ''Yes, yes I'm pregnant!'' you bolted to your feet and hugged your husband and daughter, Hannibal was holding Mischa with one hand and the other hand moved to your neck and kissed you passionately, you let him dominate the kiss. When you parted you were out of breath, ''I'm going to be a father.. again.'' his maroon eyes were glowing with love and warmth for you, Mischa and the new member of the Lecter family.

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frostironfudge · 2 years ago

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Baby, Keep Those Off - Bucky Barnes

Summary: based on this request by @angieptt 'I was wondering how would Bucky react to listen to you mention about you being insecure walking around the house without pants on even though you love it but hate your body at the same time, and last time you mentioned something your last partner said "to me you are okay" , the last word breaking you and confirming in your head you are disgusting and not desirable even "when they love you".'

Word Count: 1.5k

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, you are responsible for your media consumption. fluff, angst, reader is insecure as stated in the summary, bucky comforts reader, insecurity over body mentioned, mild smut, allusions to implied future smut, also it's their first valentines together, they got together a year ago just after valentines day (basically last week of feb 2022 for reference incase their timeline is confusing), oral f receiving mildly described, bucky is a starving man, also bucky on his knees a delicious sight.

A.N. 1: thank you so much for sending in this request! i hope you enjoy what i came up with!❤️ i didn't go into a lot of detail into the insecurity because this is something i struggle with too and i didn't want it to get too much for me, i'm glad you sent this in though because mr. barnes knows how to take care of his girl 💖

Main Masterlist || AO3

Dust specks dance in the bright sunlight peeking through the blinds. The bed is warm yet cold. The sheets carry only your body lotion’s scent. The soft sheets nor do the blankets envelop you as you crave this morning.

You miss the warm arms sleepily pulling you closer, lips slightly chapped that brush against your shoulder and neck. The stubble that draws laughter with your first breath when he nuzzles into you. The sleep laden smile that is whispered against your forehead. Cedar and amber surrounding you, grounding you.

Unfortunately away on a mission leaving you pulling the pillows closer, burying your head into the piece of clothing that isn’t holding your favourite scent. Sighing against the pillowcase.

The alarm clock has you know the date, it stares at you mockingly. Lifting up your phone does uplift your mood. A plethora of messages from the man who graces your lockscreen wearing the cat ears from the winter funfair you went to on a date for new years eve.

You remember the laughter bubbling from your chest and Bucky’s scowl turning into a grin, the way he pulled you close, as snowflakes fell on your shoulders and hair as he kissed you senseless before stealing your phone from your back pocket and squishing his cheek to yours to take a picture. It had been your matching lockscreen ever since that night.

Bucky: Happy Valentine’s Day, my doll, I’m on the quinjet and you have me for the whole day, not sticking around for debriefing (don’t let the team know)

Bucky: i know you’re sleeping, can’t wait to come back into bed with you just wanna hold you close and maybe let my hands wander

Bucky: definitely let my hands wander.

Bucky: I miss you doll. Counting down the hours to celebrate our first valentine's day.

You laugh, sending him messages right back.

You: Happy Valentine's Day, Bucky. Counting down the minutes till you get home. Can’t wait to feel your hands wander, maybe I could wear the gift I got.

You: I even brought a backup in case you rip the first one.

You: Yes there are two. Lacy and very pretty.

You know he has no option while on the quinjet, but teasing Bucky had its perks that led to a delicious ache between your thighs. Skin warming you roll out of bed, Bucky’s oversized shirt caresses your thighs and you chuckle as you spot the typing dots appear.

He was letting your house sit since Alpine needed someone to be there. You smile thinking about how you met him just in the last week of february last year and now he’s yours to love and cherish.

When you exit the bedroom, flower petals trail from the door to the living room. You pause. Your phone chimes.

Bucky: Well, your early gift should be ready despite being a little tease. Go on see it.

Giddy with excitement the walk to the living room is even shorter as you round into the room a gasp leaves you. Bucky stands there with a bouquet of flowers in hand. Breakfast arranged on the table. When you look back from the table to Bucky his eyes are on your legs.

Oh shit, shit, shit.

He was not supposed to see this apart from when you two were getting intimate.

Bucky traces his eyes over your limbs, his shirt being very lucky this morning. Well luckier than him. His lips part to declare his admiration before you scurry back. He frowns.

“Doll?” His feet carry him in strides to you.

“I’m, I’m putting on pants, I thought–, I know it isn’t that good of a thing to see…”

He catches the door in time before you shut it, “What do you mean? This is honestly,” He just stares at your bare legs again, licking his lips, “Doll, fuck, is this how you roam around when I’m not home?”

“I, um,” Your fingers gripping the sweatpants halfway up your legs and you look everywhere but at him, twisting your fingers you try to find the words, “I don’t like how pants feel… for the most part… sometimes I don’t like how…” you pause, the day would be ruined.

“So you mean to tell me, I could have had this glorious, gorgeous, and fucking beautiful sight greet me everytime I’m home?” He pushes the door open wider.

Your cheeks heat, “B-Bucky you don’t have to say that, I know it’s just okay.”

His brows furrow at your voice growing quieter.

Bucky walks over to you cradling your face, “Doll?” your eyes meet his, he’s smiling. Softness and tenderness wrap around your heart at his loving gaze, “Doll, you look absolutely beautiful and I don’t need you wrapped up in lingerie to appreciate the beautiful woman I have and call my girl.”

You smile at his words, “But sometimes I don’t think I look good like this.” your admission is met by his lips brushing over your forehead.

“Doll, some days with our bodies are hard, but you know how you remind me to love my body and be kind towards it? Thank it for getting me through so much?” He rewards you with another forehead kiss when you nod.

“I’m right here to remind you to be kind and loving towards your body. Maybe even give a physical demonstration to allow me to thank your gorgeous body.” He laughs when you swat his chest lightly.

“It will be a long road or a short one, it's different for everyone. I’ll be there for you, every step of the way.” He promises.

The crack in your confidence fills in the slightest, he was right it would be a while before you’d be fully confident, “Thank you for saying that, Bucky.”

“I hope you know I’m not just saying that, I believe it, and we’ll work on it so that you won’t have to depend on me to make you feel confident, you will be confident from within.” He assures, you kiss his cheek.

“But I want you there to be jaw dropped each time I’m without pants roaming around our place.” You let the hope for a future with him slip.

“Trust me Doll, all my blood went to my dick when I saw you. I had this whole cute speech planned and it all flew out the window. I was tongue tied. I still am but thats only till I look at those fucking gorgeous legs again, want them wrapped around my head.”

You bite your bottom lip, “Really?”

“Baby, keep those off. That is my gift for this year and the next several years.” He smiles as he affirms his own want for a future with you, “And if anyone made you believe otherwise then I’m going to change your belief today. Also then track down and beat the shit out of them for making my girl feel underappreciated and made doubt her beauty.”

Bucky moves his hands from your face, grabbing your hips, in a fluid motion you’re propped up against the door, legs wrapped around him and you can feel his hardness. Your sweatpants are a forgotten article and thought.

“No panties too? Fuck Doll.” He groans, the fabric rubs deliciously over your folds. Your whine goes right to his cock, “You aren’t wearing pants or panties at home anymore.” He groans, lips latching onto the exposed skin of your chest, his flesh hand rubbing the flesh of your thighs.

“Bucky–,” you moan as he nips at your skin, your legs tightening around his waist. He undoes all the buttons of the shirt.

“Can’t waste a drop, Doll.” Your legs are placed down, Bucky kneels, eyes darkened he stares at you like a man starved.

Your right leg over his shoulder your fingers move to his hair as he stares at your dripping cunt. The sight of him turning feral only sends thrums of arousal through you, your need for him increasing.

“I’m going to show you exactly why the sight of you just in a shirt is fucking magnificent.” He kisses your inner thigh, licking his way to your folds. He kisses your aching clit then hums in delight.

You ask for more of him needily.

He pulls away, looking back up at you with those darkened eyes and glistening lips and chin.

“You don’t mind that I’m skipping breakfast for my dessert right?” He smirks when you glare at him.

“James,” Your angered tone turns breathless as his mouth returns to devour you.

He moans against your folds, palms digging into your flesh. Oh you weren’t leaving the apartment as he had planned, he’d stay right here and worship you, hear you only remember his name.

-x-x-

A.N. 2: he's a menace. bucky is a menace. also happy valentines day to all you lovelies!!

bucky permanent tags: @slutforsexyseabass

permanent tags: @stevesmewmew @pandaxnienke

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amathslutsguidetofandom · 8 months ago

Text

Forced Coordination - 1

PAIRINGS: Joel Miller x Reader

SUMMARY: The harshness of last winter has left hundreds of frozen Infecteds around the safe walls of Jackson. As a strategist from your job before the outbreak, you devised a smart plan. Maria assigns Joel to handle the cleanup work. However, you must work together as a pair to fulfil this task. How will it go with working with the rugged man the whole town has a crush on?

WARNINGS: Mentions of Infected, swearing, slight age gap (Joel is in his mid 40s and Reader is in her early-30s).

WORD COUNT: 1,760

ENJOY!

“You will be working with our strategist,” Maria says, crossing her arms as she leans against her desk. The sun glints through the blinds, reflecting off shiny surfaces and illuminating the semi-cramped space.

Spring encompasses Jackson with its warmth, seeking forgiveness from the community and offering support with its gentleness after the wreckage of a winter Mother Nature had put them through.

Joel raises a brow from his place on the couch, “strategist?” One of his hand’s rests on the buckle of his belt, while the other is thrown across the arm of the couch. Joel has no idea why his sister-in-law wanted to meet up with him, but he couldn’t deny her request, knowing that Tommy might hand him his ass on a silver plate.

Maria nods, “yes, a strategist.” She walks around her desk and slides open a drawer before retrieving a manila file. “Apparently, the runners that froze over the winter are beginning to thaw, and I need someone skilled to take them out,” she thumps the file on the coffee table in front of the Texan.

Joel reaches for the file and flips through it. He saw black and white pictures of the frozen infected stuck against trees and bushes. “And you want me to sort this out?” Joel looks at Maria with a confused expression, not fully understanding the premise of this meeting.

She nods again, “the number of runners this time around has increased drastically. I can’t just send in a group of men to kill them off; that’s too risky.” And Joel agrees with her; he has seen a lot of them during his patrols over the winter.

Joel nods, “and who-” His line gets interrupted by a knock at the door. “Enter,” Maria says as she goes to sit in her chair.

You open the door slightly and peek your head in, “Maria, you asked to see me?” Maria nods and wave for you to walk in further. You comply, walking in and closing the door behind you, then turned to see another person in the room with you: Joel Miller.

You have seen Joel Miller before, seen him walking around Jackson with some teenager or on a horse at times. You have heard all the women, and some men, of Jackson talk about him and his looks. You have made eye contact with him multiple times, but it had never strayed far from just a nod from either of you.

Maria introduces him to you and vice versa. You nod at him in acknowledgment before turning back to Maria. “I thought this matter would’ve been a little more… private,” you say to Maria. Your hearing caught Joel slightly scoffing at your statement.

“Remember that infected population schematic you created?” She asks, combing through another drawer.

“I, uh, yeah, I do. Why?” You ask, leaning against the door behind you. Maria pulls out a map and pins it to the corkboard next to the couch.

Maria points at a couple of different areas on the map, saying something along the lines of ‘infected’ and ‘area’. Then she looks back at Joel. The man in question snapped out of his reverie, “pardon?”

Maria rolls her eyes, “I said, she managed to figure out an approximate number of infected that are out there around the walls of Jackson. Not only that, but she also figured out their moving patterns too,” she said, demonstrating with your work, drawings, and calculations on the map.

Joel nods, not really getting it, “alright?”

The blonde shakes her head, “I’m indirectly saying that this map is going to be your map. You’re gonna be working alongside her for the entirety of this spring.”

You straighten up, “I’m sorry, what?” You shake your head, “but I’m not in Patrol though.”

Maria nodded in understanding, “I understand. I know that you’re in Sustainability, but your observation and statistical skills are needed here now more than ever.”

You shake your head slightly, “and what about Sustainability?” You care about your work at Sustainability; you help in plantation, but not really in farming. You’re good in statistics, and your work really help in increasing the yield of crops that were grown in Jackson every year. You do good and honest work.

“I can’t just up and leave my position. What happens if-,” Maria quiets you with a raise of her hand. “I understand,” she says sternly. You bite the inside of your cheek to prevent from biting back, inhaling deeply to simmer down your anger.

“You’ll still be in Sustainability; you just have a side task to do. I expect you to not treat this task like any other, but with high importance, understood?” she looks at you, leaning back in her chair.

“Understood,” you reply, crossing your arms and looking away. “Good,” she nods and picks up a clipboard, holding it out for you, “write down anything you both might need on this, and I’ll get it for you.”

You take ahold of the clipboard and thank her when she offered a pen. You write down all the stuff that you might need before ripping the paper and handing your piece to Maria. Then you hand both the board and pen to the rugged man.

“I expect the both of you to start as soon as possible because we want this problem to be solved before we start getting problems from those things,” Maria says, rubbing her temples to soothe her headache.

-----

The sun beats down on your back as you take notes on your clipboard. Merissa yaps beside you about how last night's mac and cheese should've been named "yuck and cheese."

“I mean, we literally make the cheese. And I have it every day for breakfast. What the fuck did they do that was so out of the ordinary to make it taste like diarrhoea?” she scoffs, leaning against her tall shovel.

You wince at the description, “You didn’t have to put that description so graphically.” She gives you a tight-lipped smile, her braid falling behind and back to her back when she looks over your shoulder to see who’s approaching you two.

A throat is cleared behind you, and you turn to see who it is. It’s Joel Miller. “Afternoon,” he nods his head slightly at the two of you. He looks at Merissa, then back at you, “A word?”

You bit your lip and then look back at Merissa, “I’ll see you at tonight’s supper.” Merissa wiggles her eyebrows at you and smirks before practically shooing you into Miller’s space.

“Sorry about her, she’s just-,” he interrupts you before you could even finish your sentence.

“Maria informed me she readied a space in the warehouse and sternly said we get right to it,” he says, not looking at you, but at the workers behind you.

You didn’t understand the deal with this man. Before you were even assigned to this task, you thought that the brother-in-law of the Head of this community would be chill. Turns out he’s not. Is it because he’s old? He seemed to be in his mid-forties. You were formally introduced to the man yesterday, why was he so mean?

You squint at him, thinking about what to say next. “So, uh, do we have to-,” he interrupts you, again.

“We’ll be heading there now,” he says, still avoiding eye contact, and then beginning to move past you.

-----

The basement was chillier than the main level; you slightly shuddered when you climbed down the stairs upon entering.

The office, however, reminded you of your corporate days. Being a former strategist was the highlight of your past life—the life where you didn’t look over your shoulder every five minutes. The life where you had a stable job, enough to get by and live a simple life.

But now, your skills were used to figure out the yield of crops and the population and movement of the Infected.

Joel walks in behind you and sees the blackboard with several pieces of chalk lined on its shelf. “Wonder what that’s for,” he whispers, his accent thickening.

You walk over to it and trace your fingers over the hard surface. “I put it on my list,” you turn to look back at him, “I work better when my work is done on a board.” He didn’t look at you but at the board.

“Right,” he says, thumping his bag on the only wooden table present in the middle of the room. The dingy fluorescent light illuminated most of the space; it was just the corners that succumbed to darkness.

You see the rolled-up schematic of your plan lay behind the rolling blackboard. “You got tape?” you ask the Texan while unrolling the schematic and seeing the mapped-out area around Jackson and all the arrows and circles you made with a red marker.

You hear the scraping of a chair and feel him behind you. “Lemme,” he takes the schematic from your hands while simultaneously ripping a piece of tape from the roll using the other.

He singlehandedly manages to paste the large papers on the wall behind the blackboard. You move the blackboard so it is at an angle; you looked around the room, and you practically stand in the imaginary triangle formed by the map, table, and blackboard.

“Right, let’s get started,” you pick up the white chalk and scratch it against the blackboard.

-----

“I think we can end here for tonight,” you step back and glance at the watch on your wrist, slightly in shock that you had managed to spend five whole hours here, just talking, writing, and planning, while Joel just sat there and watched.

“Did you get what I told you, or did you blank out in between?” you ask, turning to face him.

He sat leaned back against the wooden chair. He scoffs at your question, “I caught on.”

You squint your eyes at him, “I spoke for five hours straight, and you didn’t take any notes?” He puffs air through his nose; you would consider it a chuckle, but you weren’t really betting your money on it. “Don’t need to,” he replies before standing and picking up his backpack. “That it?” he asks, looking at you.

You seriously didn’t know what the deal with this guy was.

You nod, “for today, yeah. But I assu-.” He talks over you, again.

“See you tomorrow, good day,” he nods at you before leaving you alone in the office.

That’s when you realise.

He finally looked you in the eye.

🎀🎀🎀

Here's the first CHP lovlies!!!

Lemme know what y'all think

Till' then

Stay Coquette-y,

Anya 🫶🏽🕊️🎀

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