#love notes: jesse ♡

[frecklystars]

Jesse Pinkman in da fridge

[corrodedcoffins-blog]

History Repeats Itself

masterlist

note: first jess one-shot!!! (and i'm actually proud of it???) also i say their baby is one but i don't know babies to well so if she's too advanced for a one year old, just cut me some slack

warnings: teen pregnancy, food/eating

word count: 4.7 k

♡ summary: Being a teen mom is hard but without any help it's even harder, after saving up enough she can finally move to Stars Hollow to be closer to her baby's father

♡ Jess Mariano x reader

request ✓

The bus ride down was long, and it only got worse as 1-year-old Caroline woke up from her nap and decided to let everyone know of the inconvenience. Finally after the long months of working and saving up she had enough to move to Stars Hollow, unlike Jess who had a parent to send them and an uncle to stay with, she saved up and made it happen. She wanted Caroline to be around her father, and she wanted to be close to Jess.

And Y/n’s always loved the idea of a small town, a place where you felt safe, a place she would feel safe raising her child in, a place that wasn’t $2,500 a month for a closet. Here she could give her daughter a lot more, here she would have a support system in Jess and Luke. Unlike what her parents would give her.

By this point in the bus route it was only the mother and daughter and a couple strays, she saw the messy haired boy sitting on a park bench close to the bus stop, of course he had his nose in a book. She started packing up Caroline’s stuff, tucking her blanket and toys in the basket of the stroller.

When she got to the bus doors, Jess quickly made his way to help her lift the stroller down the steps, when the stroller was once again on the ground Jess squats down getting face to face with his little girl, “Hey, Care!” “Daddy!” He lifted her up by her armpits. When the little girl was out of her seat and in her dad’s arms, her mom stacked their bags on the seat.

“Hi! You’re so big! Really she is. She’s growing up so fast.” “Well she can walk way more stable now. No more scaring, mommy that you’ll fall if I look away for a second.” She says the last sentence in baby voice while she tickles the girl’s belly to make her giggle and their foreheads to rest on each other’s.  

“So you gonna show us around?!” “‘Around’?” They continued their walk around the gazebo area, walking towards Luke’s. 

“This is it, that's the record shop, that’s the bookstore, that's Luke’s, and that’s all you need to know.” “Well where’s the bank, I might need to rob it later.” “You’ll find a job. And if you don’t then work at Luke’s, he could do with the time off then maybe he’d get off everyone’s backs.” “He’s probably stressed with you always causing trouble.” “Me? Trouble? Nooo, I’m a peach.”

-

Jess had the baby today since Y/n was off to find a job, her first stop was the most promising. Luke let her know that a friend of his needed extra staff at their Inn for an event that was coming up, someone who could be an assistant of sorts. So after wearing her most capable looking top, and best fitting jeans. She kissed Caroline’s check and yelled goodbye to Luke and Jess as she began her walk.

When she walked inside she saw a man at the front desk on the phone. Waiting to ask for directions, she hung around the man’s desk, busying herself with some pamphlet. She couldn't help but listen to the man’s angry English in his french accent.

Suddenly he hung up the phone and got back to writing whatever he was writing, without looking up and with an annoyed tone said, “Yes?” “I was looking for Lorelei, I’m here for-” “The assistant job, yes.. Follow me.” He walked quickly to wherever it was they were going, mumbling along the way, “Of course, an assistant. Just what we need around here. Not like I don’t already do most of the work around here.”

He opened the door for them, it ended up being the kitchen they were now in. A tall woman holding a to-go coffee cup that said ‘Luke’s’ on it and a shorter woman in an apron fighting with a scruffy man about vegetables, which look to be parsnips. 

“The mini-you is here.” “One little comment, Micheal. I’m not saying you’re incapable. I just want more help with organising events so I focus on planning!” “Whatever.” Turning on his heels, Micheal walked out the doors making his way back to his desk. 

“So you’ve met Micheal! Sorry, we usually don’t let him around the new people but we're a little short-staffed. Let’s head to the dining room.”

They sat down at a table in the dining room, Lorelei asked all the important questions, and Y/n was perfect, now she was just asking the things she’ll tell Sookie later when the woman asks about the new hire.

Taking a sip of her sixth coffee this morning Lorelei asked, “So, are you new to town? I haven’t seen you around before.” The girl was stirring milk into her second coffee as she responded, “Yeah, I am. I just moved here with my um- my daughter, closer to her dad so…” 

Since it was of course the time most adults got horrified, thought she was a bad kid, and though she didn’t get that vibe from Lorelei, it was at least bound to shock her. “You’re daughter? How old are you? Wait- I know, it’s on your resume. I mean- I’m, deja vu y’know? Abba did say ‘the history books on the shelf are always repeating themselves’.” 

She must have seen the confused look on the young girl and explained, “I had my daughter when I was sixteen.. And came here to get a job, so just getting major deja vu. Well then, since I know what you’re going through, I won’t put you through the short mental torture of waiting for a call I was gonna do and just tell you you got the job.” “Oh, thank you! I really need this, I can’t thank you enough.” “Just change her name to Lorelei and we’ll call it even.” “deal.” Those two would get along great, much to Luke’s misfortune.

-

Y/n sat at the counter with Caroline in front of her sitting on the counter while she played with her mother’s hair. Jess was filling up cups of coffee and serving customers while he listened to Y/n’s words.

“So until you go back to school, you’ll have Caroline during the day here and when I’m done work I’ll take her.” “No, you’ll never have a break. After work you go to your house, relax then grab her after dinner.” 

Jess may have this ‘I only care about myself’ attitude but that never included Caroline and Y/n, he’d kill for either of them at any given moment. He always put them first. If thought Y/n needed a break, she was getting a break whether she wanted it or not. 

Just as the girl was going to thank him she was interrupted by another girl around their age coming to sit down at the counter, two over from her. 

“I have the book you lent me.” She said, unknowingly interrupting the conversation since Jess was facing the coffee machine to make a new batch when she sat down. “Oh, thanks.” He muttered, notably not turning to face her.

On the inside Jess felt guilty. Why did he feel guilty? He didn’t do anything, he and Y/n weren’t together, nevermind the fact that all he did was lend Rory a book. As friends. Because they’re friends. But nonetheless it almost felt like cheating. Jess and Y/n may not be together officially but that didn’t mean that they both didn’t love each other. And not just because they were the parents to a beautiful little girl. Jess had always wanted more, he’d let the girl know that more than a handful of times, and she let him know it wasn’t unrequited, yet something always came between them.

You’d think having a baby together would bring them closer, and in some ways it did; they trusted each other more. But they also fought more and being the dumb teenagers they were, they didn’t have the emotional ability to move past that and build the relationship they both wanted. And then when they felt they were ready to, Jess was sent to live with his uncle. Just another fork in the road. But now they were living in the same town and had a good system, and people to support them. It was the perfect time, everything was going right, they could feel all the feelings that never really left resurfacing.

“Okay, I have to get to work. You’ve got her?” “Yeah.” “Bye, baby, I love you. I’ll see you in a little bit, but you get to spend all day with daddy.” “Bye-bye, mommy!” 

She said bye to Jess after she walked around the counter and handed him Caroline, muttering a small ‘go see, daddy’ that Rory most definitely heard.

When the door finally chimed shut Rory shot up to follow Jess to the table he was now setting Caroline up at. She watched his gentle movements as he readjusts her shirt and places crayons and paper in front of her, which she got right into scriballing away. 

“She’s yours?” “Yeah.” “.. So that girl is your girlfri-" "I’ve got work to do.” 

-

The warm atmosphere of the dinner is a stark contrast to the cold winter air. Noticing Jess and Caroline are nowhere to be seen she assumes they were upstairs and makes her way up the stairs. Half-way up the flight of stairs she could hear her little girl’s loud giggles. She quietly opens the door to see Jess holding Caroline above his head, as if she was flying.

When she first got pregnant everyone told her Jess wouldn’t be a good dad, that she can’t rely on him for anything. God were they wrong. She doesn’t think it’s possible for her baby to have a better person as a dad. She sadly doesn’t get to watch the scene for much longer as she’s spotted by little Caroline.

“Mommy! I see daddy ‘morrow?” “Yes, you get to be with daddy all day tomorrow too.” “Yay!”

As the conversation between them goes on, Jess lets his little girl plant her feet back on the ground and starts collecting some things she’ll need during the night before she comes back here tomorrow, he then starts getting Caroline’s shoes on her feet. While Y/n sits on the couch next to their little girl.

“So who was that girl this morning?” “Who?” 

Jess always did this, it was a tell tale sign that he didn’t want to talk about it, but that’s never stopped Y/n before. “You know who.” Of course having to be difficult, Jess gives her a fake confused look, as if he’s never met another girl in his life. 

“The one returning your book.” “Oh, that girl.” “Yeah, that girl.” “She’s nobody.” “So you just lend books to ‘nobody’s now?” “Care, where’s Mr.Wiggle?” The girl lets out a gasp and reaches out for Jess to help her off the couch, when he does she runs into the closet where she previously hid while playing hide and seek a couple hours earlier. 

“What? Don’t want Care to hear about her new step-mom?” “Don’t call her that.” “What? Care? Only you can call her that?” “No, don’t call Rory Care’s ‘step-mom’.” “Rory! I get her name!” 

Jess was a quiet guy, but not this quiet, especially not with Y/n. He didn’t want to talk about Rory, maybe because it was weird talking about another girl with your baby momma. And yes it was weird for Y/n too, but for a completely different reason, she assumes. She liked Jess, and has since before she even knew about Caroline.

“C’mon, Jess, it’s me. I want you to be happy.” Sure Rory made him happy, but only because she was the only friend he had here, it wasn’t the way Y/n made him happy. Before he could deny for words again Caroline came back running into the room with her stuffie in her hands. Having already said her goodbyes, she opened the door and walked out.

“Caroline, wait hun! I think you should go for it Jess.”

She walked out the door, closing it behind her, leaving Jess to stare at where she disappeared. He decided to take her advice, just maybe not the way she meant it

-

Y/n helped Caroline pack more snow onto their snowman. Caroline wanted to do it after she heard Luke complaining about town events again, he stopped complaining when he saw how excited the girl was. They had Mr.Wiggles off the side learning against the tree, using him as a reference. 

“Mommy, no. Mr.Wiggles has more hair.” 

Caroline was getting very comfortable ordering her mother around, but in this instance Y/n let it slide, poking more sticks on the top of the snowman’s head to mimic Mr.Wiggle’s spiky hair. 

“That’s good!”

Lorelei and Rory were just one snowman down, both told Caroline they thought she would win and encouraged her before she even started. Since they were so close, they could hear the scene that had just played out. 

“Tough age, wait till you get to the terrible twos. ‘No’ is all you’ll hear.” Lorelei said, kindly as her and her own daughter walked past them. Y/n let out a laugh at the comment before she asks, “You guys done already?” “No, but after Michelangelo over there busted out the power buffer, and when Caroline busts out her cuteness, what chance do we have?” “I see your point.” “So off to Luke’s we go.” “We’ll see you there in a bit.”

-

Y/n was standing talking to one of the decorators when she saw Lorelei and Sookie step out of the kitchen, quickly finishing her directions she wrote down a note on her clipboard then made her way to meet them at the entrance of the dining room.

When Sookie sees her, she asks, “What’re we looking at today?” Sookie was really fun to work with, like Lorelei she was very chill as a boss, but Sookie was also so kind and always took it upon herself to make sure Y/n has eaten and that her and Caroline are taken care of. She could tell the woman was going to make an amazing mother.

“This is last on the list.” She replied, after she took a quick glance at her clipboard, then continued, “We’ve got trumpets, the madrigal singers-” “Sorry to interrupt, but I’m not playing squire of Bracebridge.” 

Sookie and Lorelei must have finally told Jackson to play the squire, they told her earlier in the week that they were playing to ask at the last moments so he had to. It was a flawless plan, especially when Jackson can’t say no to Sookie.

She saw that Lorelei and Sookie were just ignoring him, so she played along and continued down her list, “All the servers are lined up. This is just for the recorder players and harpists.” She stopped at the recorder players and let Lorelei talk to them, “Hi. Lay some on us, guys.” 

The two recorder players played the soft tube they were going to come accustomed to in the next few days. The three of them shared positive looks and when their playing came to an end, Sookie said, “Hey, you cats really know how to blow those things.” Lorelei continued Sookie’s comment by saying, “You’ve got the gig. Y/n here will call you later with the details. Thanks.” 

Recorder players started packing their things, Jackson started again on the fact that he wouldn’t play the squire, and the three women continued to ignore him.

“When do the quests arrive?” “Thursday at four on their own jet.” “After buying out the whole inn.”

“Must be nice to have money.” Y/n added, checking off and writing down more notes on her clipboard.

“You know what struck me today?” “-Was it the fact that I am not the squire?-""We’re crazy for doing this.” “We’re beyond crazy.” It did feel crazy, Lorelei told her they’d never done a function this big before and that’s the reason they hired more help. Like her, but also that they were planning to do a lot more big things like this, more weddings, and such. 

“We’re ‘Anne Heche speaking her secret language to god and looking for the spaceship in Fresno’ kinda crazy.” “Oquinis no-goodo noto.” Sookie said, causing Y/n add, “Il ecnatra dos guidan.”

Their nonsense was once again interrupted by Jackson, “And spring this on me at the last minute too. I mean, that’s just manipulative.” Suddenly a cook pops his head out of the kitchen, saying calmly, “Sookie- fire!”

Sookie rolled her eyes softly, this happened far too often, before saying, “I gotta get back in the kitchen. You guys handle the harps?” Both women nodded and replied in unison, “You got it.” 

“Alright. I’ll do it. I’ll play squire Bracebridge if that’s what you want.” Everyone knew he would cave eventually. Sookie patted his arm and said a quick, “Thanks, sweetie.” before walking back into the kitchen to hopefully deal with the fire. “As long as it’s not just because I fit the costume.” Jackson looked back at Lorelei and Y/n, Lorelei had a grin on her face while Y/n wore a tight-lipped smile. “It’s because I fit the costume, isn’t it?” He followed after Sookie.

Lorelei put her arm around Y/n and led them to the harpist, “Go ahead.” The harpist played the same tune as the two recorder players. But just as the woman started, Lorelei got a call. She patted Y/n’s arm, “I have to take this, you handle the harpist.”

The girl tried to stay calm, nodding her head and going back to listening to the music. Lorelei trusted her, yes it wasn’t a big job by any means, but still it was a step into a bigger role down the line.

-

The next day, Sookie and Y/n had all the waiters/performers in the dining room going over what their job was. And teaching them the old English words to use for things.

Sookie was just telling Rune that he couldn’t just talk like an old man whe Lorelei came in with a disappointed look on her face, and let them know the dinner was off.

The three women, as well as Rory and Caroline were now sitting at a table at Luke’s, Caroline was happily eating her pancakes, plain just as she liked and completely unaware of the collective disappointment of the group.

Lorelei has really welcomed Y/n into her life. She may not be Jess’s biggest fan, but she would always help another teen mom out. Especially since she sees so much of herself in Y/n. She’s grown to really love the girl in the short time they’ve known each other. And aftering hearing Y/n didn’t have her family in her life she was more than happy to help and maybe become that family for her one day. Just like Mia did for her.

“I’ve got 30 pounds of aged beef, trays and trays of trout, mountains of prune tarts. I diced pumpkins until my hands turned orange. I’ve got pumpkin hands!” Sookie showed the table her hands, it apparently caught Caroline’s attention since she grabbed Sookie’s right hand and held it in her left while she continued eating. Sookie lets her hand rest in the little girl’s while she freaks out more and asks Lorelei, “How can you stay so calm?” “There’s nothing we can do about it.” 

Rory was just as upset, mostly because she knew how hard her mother worked on the planning, “I can’t believe they got snowed in.” Y/n hasn’t told Jess, but she’s become pretty close to Rory, the girl sometimes comes to the Inn and helps around and Rory’s become kinda her only friend, that was until Rory invited her to the record store with Lane. After that day she had two friends. 

After knowing Rory more, she realised how much she and Jess have in common, and even though Rory has a boyfriend she can tell there’s an attraction to Jess she’s trying so hard to hide. 

Y/n zoned out for a moment, looking outside, she was upset that the first event she helped organise wouldn’t even happen. She was broken from her stare out the window from Caroline jumping in place while sitting on her mom’s lap, the cause of which was Luke coming to the table. 

“You girls want anything besides coffee?” He asked, adding on with a pat on the girl’s head, “Or pancakes?” “Hey, what about Luke?” “What about him?” “He eats, and Jess eats. Doesn’t Jess eat?” Sookie directs the question at Y/n, before the girl could say anything Luke cuts her off, “What’s she doing?” “I think she’s inviting you for dinner.”

Getting distracted while trying to convince Luke to come to dinner, the four decide to still put on the dinner for the town. Like an out of control slumber-party.

-

The dinner was going great, the secret amazing part of inviting the town was that Y/n and Caroline could actually meet everyone. Miss. Patty and Babette loved Y/n and Caroline (mostly Caroline), Caroline loved Kirk, and everyone loved that Caroline could do whatever she wanted and Talor wouldn’t say anything. And Y/n got to meet Paris after all the stories she’s heard.

Caroline and Y/n were in line for the horse drawn carriage rides, when Caroline saw her favourite person, Lane. “Laney! I ride with you!” Lane, before agreeing, made eye contact with Y/n to make sure it was okay. Y/n gave them the go ahead and helped Caroline get settled. After their carriage left she made her way to the next one. Telling the driver it’s just her.

It was nice to get a break from everything. It was quiet and peaceful. Well that was until Jess ran up and hopped on the carriage next to her. Without a word he put the blanket that was over the girl’s legs on his too. 

“I thought you and Care were going together.” “She’s one ahead, with Lane.” “Ahhh. Well it’s two to a sleigh no more, no less. So you were breaking the rules, you're welcome for saving you.” “You could have hurt yourself.” “Aw, you care about me.” “You are my baby's father.” 

She wished she just agreed with him. She didn’t just care for him because he was Caroline’s dad, and she doesn’t think she says it enough. But then again, maybe it would mess things up if she admitted that. But that decision was made for her.

“I’m touched.” “Jess. I don’t mean it like that. I care about you, Caroline or not.” 

Trying to change the topic to something she thought was more lighthearted, she says, “So, how are things with Rory?” “There are no things with Rory.” “C’mon, Jess, we can talk about this stuff-” “Why are you so insistent that I date Rory?” 

She wasn’t expecting that outburst. Not from Jess. He rarely ever yelled at her, and when he did it was always misplaced anger, never actually angry at her. This time it was her, it was what she said.

“I just want you to be happy-” “C’mon, Y/n. Be serious.” “I am. I want-” “If you want me to be happy so bad, why won’t you give me a chance?!” 

He turned his face to her, looking right into her eyes, she could see the hurt in his. Did she put it there?

“What’re you-” “Since we found out about Caroline, I’ve tried and tried to help you realise that I love you. And not how you mean ‘I love you’. I don’t love and care for you because we have a family and I have to. I love you, because I want to. I want to be with you. And I know it will be hard, but I’ll do the work.” 

If she had more social awareness at the pent she would have hated that the coachman heard all of that. But after what Jess said, the look in his eyes; that was so full of love. She felt like it was just them two in the world. No, that it was just their little family in the whole world. He and Caroline were all she would ever need.

“I love you too, Jess. I have for so long, long before Caroline, but I thought you wouldn’t want to be tied down to me, especially after I had Caroline, that any sign I thought you gave me was all in my head.” “It’s not.” 

He brought her in closer to him, an arm around her shoulders and when her arms wrapped around his waist he left a kiss on the crown of her head. The small kiss brought her eyes up to him, which led to their first real kiss in one year and nine months. 

His lips were softer than she remembered, but they still fit into hers as if they never left.

She broke away from their reuniting kiss to place her head in the crook of his neck, wanting nothing more than to be close to him.

“My mom didn’t want me to come home.” She took her head out of his neck to look at him fully. They were always that person for each other, the one you can tell your problem to and they knew when to help and when listening was enough. Right now, she knew listening was enough.

“I’m sorry, Jess.” “It’s fine. Just sucks.” “I know. Well, Care and I will always want you to come home.” After her words, he brought her closer than before. She was always just what he needed. 

Wanting to change the subject, Jess nodded his head to the snowman Y/n and Caroline built. “It’s good.” “What?” “Your snowman, well Caroline’s snowman I'm sure she’d want me to say.” “You know which one’s ours?” “Definitely shows her personality… It kinda looks like Mr.Wiggles.” “That’s what we were going for. But everyone thinks the one on the end is going to win.” “Really? It’s so overdone.” “I agree.” “You and Care’s should win.” “Agree again.”

-

The dinner was filled with Jess and Luke confused at what exactly was in the food, Jess and Y/n trying their best to keep Caroline sat which about half an hour in they gave up and just let her walk around the lobby, as well as saying hello and talking to everyone at the table. Having an interesting conversation with Mrs.Kim about grace, ‘helping’ Kirk by sitting on his rolling food cart, and even talking with Paris for a while. 

Overall it was a great night. Even better when Jess, Y/n, and Caroline got to their shared room, putting Caroline asleep together for the first time in a while. And falling to sleep in the same bed together, holding each other, listening to each other’s breaths, as well as Caroline’s. Everything was just how they both always secretly wanted. And now get to have openly and freely. 

- 

In the morning Y/n got up early since she was technically working, and she still was when Luke, Jess, and Caroline left to open the diner for the day. It was around noon when Y/n finally left, walking to Luke’s to spend the day with her two favourite people. Which was when she saw Michelangelo’s snowman fallen to a large pile of snow on the ground.

She didn’t even have to think for a second to know that Jess did it. Sometimes he did the weirdest things to show his love.

The bell rang as she pushed open the door, she sat down next to Caroline, saying ‘good morning’ and getting one back before she made her way to the counter.

“I saw what you did.” “What’d I do?” “Caroline will be happy she won.” “Anything if my girl’s win.”

[alt-vera]

If you’re taking Joel requests, can I suggest a pre-virus where you’re being a good neighbourly citizen and always bringing him extra food you’ve cooked when you know he’s had a late shift (for Sarah and him) and one night there’s a knock at your door and he returns the favour of gifting you food, when Sarah’s at a friends house, so he stays for dinner and gets to know you except the dinner also comes with some slutty Joel

— cowboy take me away ⁀➷

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joel miller is surprised by how kind his new neighbour is. he decides he has to find a way to repay her.

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♡ | joel miller | 2.5k | ❛ cowboy take me away - the dixie chicks ❜

warnings: preoutbreak!joel miller. mentions of food/eating. thigh-riding. fingering. praise. piv sex. age gap. mdni.

note: very lowkey channeling that scene where jess brings rory food in gilmore girls n denies it was from him <3

❝ i wanna be the only one, for miles and miles, except for maybe you and your simple smile ❞

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JOEL HADN’T EXPECTED HIS NEW NEIGHBOUR TO BE SO… NEIGHBOURLY.

　Sure, he’d offer the polite wave and greeting every time the two of you would leave your houses at the same time, have small conversations when getting the mail, even sending out the offer to help you fix anything wrong with your new place.

　But Joel never imagined that he’d come home after a late shift to Sarah telling him how earlier you’d dropped off food for the two of them, and he certainly didn’t expect for it to become a common occurrence.

　It’s almost as if you had a sixth sense for when he’d be working late and couldn’t make Sarah a proper dinner. Or maybe you were just observational.

　At first, Joel was hesitant. Sure, he knew you, but he didn’t know you. What if you were some psycho freak who put poison in the food just for kicks?

　But one cautious bite into the dinner you made, and Joel knew that wasn’t the case. This food was prepared with heavy TLC; tender love and care.

　After two weeks of your graciously received meals, Joel decided to return the favour. He’d whipped up a hearty pasta salad, excusing it as a reason to use the stray veggies in the fridge for a nice summertime meal. You also seemed the healthy type; he’d snuck peeks of you doing yoga in your backyard multiple times, sports bra and leggings doing nothing to hide your figure.

　As he hovered his meaty fist over the solid wood of your door, the first pins of doubt began to needle him. Was this weird? Joel hadn’t been able to acknowledge your kindness at all, simply because he hadn’t seen you since you began your nearly daily meal runs. It was almost as if you were a ghost, dropping the food off to Sarah and disappearing into the simmering sunset.

　‘No,’ He finally decided. ‘I’m simply returning a favour.’

　He rapped at your thick door, the knocks echoing through the quiet neighborhood being painted by the hues of the sunset. A soft summer breeze flowed around him, cradling him with the smell of lilacs and faint barbecue.

　He tried not to jump when you answered the door almost instantly, a smile gracing your youthful features as your eyes scanned him. He suddenly felt very subconscious in his worn grey tee and ratty jeans. He shifted his weight in the soles of his workboots.

　“Joel Miller,” You greeted, elation present in your voice. “What can i do for you?”

　You didn’t address your dinner droppings at all, and Joel struggled to not let his eyes crinkle in confusion at that. Maybe it wasn’t you doing it? Or maybe you wanted to leave the simple kindness at that. Simple.

　Maybe he was overthinking everything, given he’d been there for only a minute.

　“I, uh, brought this for you,” He said gruffly, awkwardly holding out the tupperware filled with his delicately cooked pasta salad.

　“Come on in,” You welcomed, waving him into the house and shutting the door behind you. He took in his surroundings, breathing in the smell of lavender and linen, noticing how clean your house was despite being moved in for less than a month. He’d figured there’d still be boxes scattered around, like there was when he first moved into his house with Sarah, but everything was pristine and spotless.

　“Did Sarah put you up to this?” You asked, disappearing into the house. Joel took this as a cue to follow you, dinner still in hand as he clumsily shook off his heavy boots, listening to the sound of your voice to find you. “I told her you guys didn’t need to do anything in return. I just wanted to be helpful.”

　“Uh, yeah, she did,” Joel replied. A big fat lie. He did this entirely of his own volition. “Said I should return the kindness.”

　“Well, you might as well join me,” You replied softly, and Joel watched as you already moved to the cupboards, grabbing plates and cutlery. “Is it just you? Or should i grab another place setting for Sarah.”

　“No, she’s stayin’ the night at a friends house,” He replied, sitting down in the oaky chair at your kitchen table, putting the food down carefully, as if it were glass and he were afraid to drop and break it.

　You brought the place settings to him, and he watched you as you neatly organized everything, the smell of fresh flowers tickling his nose from the vase in the centre of the round table.

　You even went as far as to serve the food for him, pouring him a glass of water and making sure he had everything he needed before serving yourself and sitting down to eat.

　Joel tried not to relish in the domesticity of it all.

　“You really don’t need to bring us food,” He said after swallowing a bite of the meal, the sweetness of bell pepper lingering on his tongue. “Sarah can cook—well, she can cook grilled cheese and use the microwave, and that’s about it, but—“

　“No, no, I don’t mind,” You replied, smiling at him before taking a quick sip of water. “Sarah told me it was just the two of you, and I usually make too much anyway. I’m used to cooking for a big family, and now that i’m by myself…” You trailed off. “Well, i guess i’m just not used to portioning for one.”

　“Big family?” Joel prompted after a moment, not wanting silence to dig it’s sharp claws into the comfortable atmosphere around the two of you.

　You nodded. “Yup. Three brothers, all on sports teams. My mom worked a lot, ‘cuz she was an RN, so i’d have to make a lot of food for those knuckleheads. Learned how to barbecue at a very young age.”

　A chuckle escaped Joel at that. “Yeah, I know the feeling. My brother Tommy, well, he was on the football team. I mean, i was too, but boy he could turn a family sized meal into a meal for one.”

　The conversation flowed easily as the two of you ate. Talking about family, and the past, and the present. How the job Joel was currently working on was taking longer than it should. How you were settling into the neighbourhood.

　After the plates were cleared you set a chilled beer in front of Joel, the condensation beading and running down to create a wet ring on the top of your table.

　As he reached for a sip from the now half-empty bottle he winced, a sharp pain shooting through the muscles in his shoulder.

　“Bum arm?” You asked, and Joel nodded silently.

　“Been given me trouble for a few days now,” He mumbled, turning the cuff in a sloppy circle. “Must’ve pulled a muscle or somethin’.”

　You pulled your chair to him, the legs scraping loudly against the floor. “Here, let me see,” You offered, gently taking his arm into your hands.

　“I’m a physical therapist,” You said softly, as if to explain your actions. Joel tried to ignore the smell of your perfume, and the soft tingles your feather-light grip left in it’s wake as you gently stretched his shoulder.

　You pulled your hands away, and Joel’s arm suddenly felt very cold, goosebumps raising on his skin.

　“Is that better?” You asked with a lopsided grin.

　Joel nodded, eyes studying your face now that he was closer to you. He traced your nose with your eyes, zeroing in on the slight tint on your cheeks and the way your eyelashes fluttered as you blinked. How your lips turned as you smiled, and how the faint beginnings of crows feet settled into the corners of your eyes.

　Without thinking, he kissed you. It was all too much for him; the floral smells, the proximity, the domesticated actions. It gave him a sense of warmth, drawing something deep within him that longed for someone to share life with. The feeling of home that your presence gave him.

　You kissed back, as if you were waiting patiently this whole time for him to make a move. Your lips melded into his, becoming whole as his tongue moved along yours, muscles twisting and melting into each other. When you pulled away you gazed at him with wide eyes, face heating into a rosy bloom and lips dewy and parted.

　No words left either of you as you led him up the stairs, steps creaking under your feet, and the absent minded thought crossed Joel’s brain that he’d have to come back and fix those steps for you.

　He lost all train of thought, though, when the two of you entered your bedroom. Clothes were tossed lazily onto the floor as you stripped each other, shirts and pants being discarded haphazardly until you both stood in your underwear, bodies tangling.

　Joel laid you softly onto the cotton of your comforter, your head resting against the pattern of bluebonnets on your pillowcases. The air between you held so much raw animosity, such a strong difference from the homey aura you’d created down stairs. Your eyes were wild, waiting for him to decide what he wanted to do you first.

　His breath fanned your skin, hairs raising as he undid your bra, settling between your parted thighs as he gently took one pebbled bud into his mouth, his stubble creating small red marks on your breast in his wake. A light sound escaped you, airy and desperate. His fingers found your other nipple, twisting as he worked.

　He could feel the warmth radiating off your cunt, feel it clenching around his thigh as he pressed his leg against your panties, rubbing slightly to create a delicious friction that had you whispering his name.

　He couldn’t hide his smile at the sounds you were making. He inched himself lower, unlatching from your nipple as he peppered kisses down your stomach to your navel, stopping as he reached the band of your lacy underwear. He traced the fabric, fingers hooking into them as he pulled them down your thighs, calloused pads tracing shapes into the plushness of your thigh.

　You mumbled his name again, and Joel caught your gaze, eyes clouded with hazy lust. “You’ve been treating me so well, baby,” He said wantonly, “Now let me pay ya back.”

　He entered one finger into you, wetness coating him as your gummy walls sucked him in. It didn’t take long until you were ready for another, and as he entered a second digit he pressed a chaste kiss to your clit, sucking it gingerly. A high pitched whine left your lips, and Joel couldn’t resist as he grinned into your pussy.

　He loved the sounds you were making. They sounded like music to his ears, clouding his mind with a foggy lust that kept him on a single-minded train of thought. “Those noises all for me, baby?” He questioned, keen smile still on his lips as he watched you writhe beneath him.

　He watched you nod, mouth coming to form words that died in your throat as he hit a special spot inside of you, your eyes glazing over as you started bucking against his hand, holding his fingers in a vice grip as you came around them.

　“Please, Joel,” You breathed out after you recovered from your winded state. Your dainty fingers found the band of his boxers, curling around it as you looked up at him with pleading eyes.

　“I wanna hear ya say it,” He teased, watching as your eyes glanced uncertainly between him and his tented underwear.

　You hesitated for a moment before the words tumbled between your swollen lips. “Please fuck me, Joel.”

　Joel groaned as he lewd sounds left your mouth, nudging your hands aside to replace them with his own, quickly working himself out of his boxers. The simple way you said his name was enough to get him worked up.

　He palmed himself, running his hand over his cock to stroke himself skillfully, a drop of precum leaking from the fat tip. He pulled you closer to him by your hips, leaving prints that would be sure to mark you come tomorrow. He dragged his length through your folds, collecting the sloppy wetness that had accumulated.

　He began to push in, slowly, giving you time to adjust. You braced yourself, in turn your cunt began clenching around him, the tightness making it nearly impossible for him to continue to enter you.

　“You’ve gotta relax, baby,” He cooed gently, his thumb releasing pressure to rub tight circles around the jutted bone of your hip. You melted into his pleasant touch, relaxing just as he asked. He pushed himself further into you, your warm walls stretching around him. “That’s it. Good girl.”

　He continued to rub those soothing circles into your skin as he pressed himself into you, hips meeting as he reached the hilt. You let out a shaky breath, the pain of being spread soon turning to a dull pleasure.

　“Move, please,” You begged, and Joel was sure to give in right away, hips rolling indulgently against yours as you let out sounds of satisfaction. Your noises spurred him on further, and his gentle rolls soon turned into harsher snaps, heavy balls making sinful slaps against your bare skin.

　“Joel!” You exclaimed lewdly at his rougher actions, his thumb coming to brush your clit as you squeezed him, pleasure coursing through your veins.

　“So well, baby,” He murmured, barely being heard over the sound of skin on skin. “You’re takin’ me so well.”

　He changed his angle into one that mimic his fingers earlier, finding that spot inside you that had you cursing and clenching around him, eyes lolling back into your head as you squeezed your eyes shut, high over taking you. You felt as though you were in the clouds, wild blue sky washing you in it’s waves.

　Seeing you come undone from his actions fed Joel into his own orgasm, rutting into you tirelessly until he felt as though he was about to snap. He pulled out quickly, thick ropes of hot spend coating your stomach as he pumped himself.

　He barely caught his breath before he was grabbing tissues off of your bedside table and wiping up the mess he had made. Only after you were cleaned up did he allow himself to collapse beside you, thick arms pulling you to rest against his bare chest.

　“It wasn’t Sarah’s idea,” He confessed after a few minutes of comfortable silence. “I wanted to make ya dinner.

　“I know,” You replied, voice soft as he felt you smile against his skin.

　“I think i wanna make ya dinner again,” He spoke again, and you lifted yourself up to face him. His deep eyes stared back into your own, the corners crinkling as a grin spread across his face. It was warm, and sweet, like thick honey on a summer day.

　“If it means i can repay you the way you just repaid me, then i’m all for it.”

　You let out an airy laugh as Joel pulled you in for a soft kiss.

　“If it means I can be close to you like this,” He said fondly, “Then i’ll have to start cookin’ for ya more often.”

[onlyangel4]

potterhead. mv1. smau. part two.

max verstappen x girlfriend!reader

max's girlfriend is the biggest harry potter fan ever.

author's note: this will be a mini series of fluffy moments between this couple. i'm aiming for around 3-5 parts

faceclaim: haley lu richardson

part one

y/ninsta posted a story

written; london here we come

f1updates

liked by user6, user7, user8 and 34,182 others

f1updates: y/n and max have landed in london two days before the other drivers are scheduled to land. we wonder what they are going to be up to.

view all 1,211 comments

user6: it is strange because we expect the british drivers to be early, not these two

user7: whatever it is i just know these two are going to have the best fucking time

user8: i wonder...

wbtourlondon posted a story tagging y/ninsta and maxverstappen

written: today we are joined by two v.i.w (very important wizards)

maxverstappen posted a story

written: y/n has been crying since we got here

y/ninsta posted a story

written: so it turns out dreams do come true

y/ninsta posted a story

written: thank you for the best day ever

y/ninsta posted a story tagging maxverstappen

written: this might be my favourite picture of us

y/ninsta posted a story

written: day two in london and max surprised me with this what the actual fuck

maxverstappen posted a story tagging y/ninsta

written: help she's crying again

y/ninsta

liked by maxverstappen, lilymhe, alexandrasaintmleux and 582,199 others

tagged: maxverstappen

y/ninsta: when i was younger i always had my head in a book, i found fictional worlds easier than the real ones. harry potter was the first book that i really fell in love with. i will always call it my first love. but at the time the people in my life told me that i needed to focus on the real world, that no man would ever want a girlfriend obsessed with a fantasy world. well max just surprised me with the best two days ever and i am incredibly grateful for him, i love you so much.

view all 8,271 comments

maxverstappen: do you love me more than luna lovegood

y/ninsta: know your place

alexandrasaintmleux: next year's miami grand prix me + you = universial studios florida

y/ninsta: omg the best wag date ever

user9: i actually love how max supports her hobbies they may be different to his but he doesn't care. that is husband material.

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[withleeknow]

wishful thinking. (07)

chapter seven: built to break

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; the gorlies are fighting...?, not much for warnings in this chapter ig word count: 4.3k note: i finally got off my ass and wt is finally back lol. i had a last minute change of plans and thought "oh! you know what would be pretty neat? if we prolong the angst so everyone can be sad for longer!" <3 and this is how i announce that the next chapter is not wt8 but wt7.5 and it's written from his pov <3 merry christmas

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

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I’ll hold my breath as I wait for your answer I’ll leave it up to you Tell me whether it’s yes or no Baby, love me or leave me tonight

Love Me or Leave Me - Day6

The warning signs, they're there. You can see them before they materialize. You know your own tells.

Your metaphorical bags are packed, your shoes are already on. You're about to run again, leave a half empty house before it has the chance to become a home. No one has to tell you that you're a flight risk; you're well aware of it yourself.

Wednesday Min: got plans tonight? You: booked and busy with ze old canvas Min: tomorrow? You: same thing probably. sorry Min: u're working hard lately You: yeah this one is just driving me crazy and i need it to turn out decent Min: it'll be perfect. it's u

Thursday Min: running errands at the store Min: want me to bring u anything? that caramel popcorn u like?

Friday Min: don't work too hard. remember to eat

That was three days ago, the last time you'd heard from him after you left him on read. It wasn't a complete lie; this project is driving you kinda crazy and you do need it to end up a decent piece, but you weren't exactly holed up in your apartment to slave over your painting. And you suppose Minho didn't find it all that suspicious because you tend to do this sometimes - disappear for a couple of days and force yourself to focus whenever you had a project to finish, before you come back to everybody again. You've come back to him before; it stands to reason that you'll do it again.

It's been about two weeks since you'd seen him, though the memories of that evening are still fresh in your mind - the evening of the group dinner, when he'd kissed you goodnight and left for his parents' house the following day. True to his words, he did send you pictures of the cats - ones of Soonie wearing a matching hoodie with him, a few of Doongie and Dori napping at the foot of his bed. There was an accompanying text - The kids miss you - along with a frowning emoji, and it made you wonder if what he really meant was I miss you.

You wanted him to miss you, because you missed him too.

The photos brought a smile to your face despite the predicament you found yourself in. A smile that was short lived, a smile that was soon wiped off when you realized your heart shouldn't be swelling with that much affection for him. It shouldn't, but the truth was that it did and you don't know how to live with it.

Love isn't something you've ever learned to hold.

It's beautiful yet full of thorns, and your hands are too clumsy to ever keep it from slipping from your fingers.

You remember when you first met Minho. Freshman year, at some popular senior's house party.

It feels like forever ago when you were just an awkward freshman at orientation who didn't have a single clue on how to make friends. Jess was your first friend in college, and you'll always be grateful that you got along well enough that she adopted you into the group with the rest of the guys.

You didn't cross paths with Minho until you were already acquainted with everyone else. On the night of the party, you remember being enamored with him for those couple of hours, and it wasn't the side effect of too many solo cups of cheap beer. Who in their right mind wouldn't be infatuated with him? He was beautiful, absolutely alluring, and you would always tell him as much.

Back then, he had brown hair, slighter shorter than now but it was tinted with the most gorgeous shade of red. You didn't know much about Minho, only been told that he was pretty quiet and might be off-putting to new people. It was sort of true; that night, you were intimidated by the aura he exuded. Mysterious, couldn't be bothered, didn't seem to give a shit. He looked like a scary little thing, while you were the new kid who was only trying to observe everyone's dynamics, not wanting to overstep any unspoken boundary.

To this day, you're still not sure what really happened, how you two immediately clicked and he's been one of the most important parts of your life ever since.

Maybe it was just him. Maybe it's always been him.

Minho, the one who makes you smile when all you want to do is curl up and cry. The one who makes you laugh when you look for joy but the search comes up empty. The one who grounds you every time you lose your way. Your anchor, the safe harbor you can always return to. The light at the end of a long, long tunnel.

You don't know where you stand, don't know where it goes from here now that everything is changing. He told you so himself, that nothing changed for him, but how could he possibly know that everything is changing for you? And it infuriates you to no end because you don't even have anyone to talk about this with. You're the only person whose world is being turned upside down after all.

You can't tell your friends because they can't know about you and Minho. You can't tell Minho because what would you even say? That you think you're in love with him? That the implications of what it means are devastating to you?

For the first time, you regret everything. Kissing him that night, sleeping with him, becoming whatever this is with him. Letting down your guard and falling for him somewhere along the way and you didn't even stop to notice it. You regret all of the decisions you've made up until now, because they've only led you to the point of no return, the point of losing him. You made bad decision after bad decision after bad decision, until you couldn't anymore. All along, there's been no one else to blame but you.

Maybe it hasn't happened yet, but it's inevitable. You will lose him. You are going to lose him.

There's no other ending, no other alternative that you can imagine. You're going to leave because you're a coward and it's what you do best. You ruin things before they get a chance to hurt you. You leave because if you don't leave then you'll be left behind, and you'd rather not bear the brunt of it.

Now, when you think of Minho, the thought is always accompanied by a painful reminder - Nothing changed for him.

When you get to the cafe, Hyunjin and Seungmin are already seated in a corner booth, three drinks in front of them, one of which they'd ordered for you before you arrived.

You slide into the seat next to Hyunjin, smiling at him appreciatively for the drink. There's still over half an hour before you have to walk to your shared class, over half an hour before Seungmin parts ways with you two to do whatever or whoever it is that Seungmin does on his off days.

"I still think it's Nara," Hyunjin says, casually sipping his iced coffee.

"Nara from your Lit class last semester?"

"Yup."

"Why?"

"I saw them talking at a party once."

"Okay. And?"

"And what? That's it."

"That's... all the evidence you have to back up your claim?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

You wave your hands in front of them. "What are you bozos talking about?"

"He’s still trying to figure out who Minho is hooking up with," Seungmin is the one who answers you without missing a beat, then he turns back to Hyunjin. "Anyway, it can't be Nara. She's dating Jaehyun on the basketball team."

The friend next to you flails his arms like a petulant child, like he couldn't have possibly seen this coming, like he was so sure that he had finally solved the mystery. "Great. I'm back to square one again."

You straighten your back and reach for your drink, tentatively gulping down the beverage as if it'll hide the fact that you've gone stiff the second this topic is brought up. You feel bad about it, sure. These are your friends that you're lying to after all. They don't have to look anywhere far; the answer to the secret is right in front of them.

"We're still on about that?" you ask in the calmest, most nonchalant voice you can muster. You usually consider yourself a believable liar (which, to be honest, isn't really a flex at all), but whenever someone mentions this little arrangement between you and Minho that shouldn't be common knowledge for anyone else, you feel like you're been put under a spotlight for the whole world to scrutinize.

"Duh," Hyunjin says. "You know, I'm kinda surprised that you don't know. You two are like, attached at the hip sometimes."

You give him a thoughtless shrug, your hands fiddling with the sticker on the plastic cup as you avoid looking at either of your friends. "Maybe he just wants to keep private things private, y'know? You wouldn't like either if all of us is suddenly all up in your business. And besides, what if it's just casual?"

Hyunjin scoffs. "Please, I'm an open book. I tell you guys everything. I tell you every time I hook up with someone."

"Yeah, but you see, literally no one needs to know that," Seungmin says.

The taller one only scoffs, waving his hands around dismissively in Seungmin's direction before he turns to you. "If it was just casual, would he save her name as - oh my God, I forgot what her contact name is. Freaking bird person or something."

You make a face. "What?"

"Dude, seriously?" Seungmin rolls his eyes. "You forgot one word? Dove? What is the matter with you?"

Perhaps it's the half-hearted teasing judgment in Seungmin's voice that makes Hyunjin take offense and drop the topic. The conversation veers off course when they start bickering like children in the busy cafe. You suppose it works in your favor, but you can't focus. You drown it all out.

Your hand is still on the cup but the sticker has been left alone and forgotten, half peeled off, half still clinging to the plastic underneath the condensation.

The single word repeats itself in your mind, over and over and over again.

The entire time you're in class, you don't really focus on anything. You can't bring yourself to listen to whatever your professor is saying, not after what Hyunjin and Seungmin told you earlier. At some point, your friend has to nudge your shoulder to bring you back down to earth when usually, you're the one who has to remind Hyunjin to pay attention. Class ends soon enough though; time tends to fly by when your mind is lost elsewhere.

"What's wrong with you today?" he asks with his bag slung over his shoulder, slowing down his steps to match your speed as you walk out of the lecture hall together.

You scratch the back of your neck sheepishly. "Nothing's wrong. I was just tired."

"You wanna grab dinner with me and Felix?"

Any other day, you would've agreed in a heartbeat. But today, you want to be alone. Sometimes, you'd rather wallow in your own misery than settle for a temporary distraction.

You're still stuck on the conversation from earlier, on the small detail that Hyunjin and Seungmin had let slip in the cafe.

Dove.

His dove.

Maybe it doesn't mean anything. Perhaps it's only a nickname that he's assigned to you out of mere platonic fondness, but it makes you conscious about the dove on your own wrist nonetheless, the one that you feel compelled to hide from your friends underneath your long sleeve.

"No, it's okay," you tell Hyunjin. "I'll just go home and sleep it off."

"Okay. I can walk you for a bit," he says. "Just wait with me here. Minho's coming to give me back something he borrowed."

"Minho's coming?" you ask too quickly for it to sound casual. There's a panicked edge that you can hear in your own voice, though you don't think Hyunjin picks it up as he unlocks his phone and types something on the screen.

"Yeah, he was at the library. He's coming over right now, should only be a couple minutes. Then I'll walk back with you."

You shift on your feet uneasily, but you cover it up by rubbing your hands on your arms to pretend like you're just cold. There's no excuse that you could think of that would justify why you can't stand here with Hyunjin for just two more minutes, without giving it away the fact that you're avoiding Minho.

You take in a quiet breath, put on your best brave face. Casual, nonchalant. It's just Minho. Just Minho...

He comes up from behind, where you can't see him. A warm hand gently lands on your shoulder, and it takes everything not to shy away from his touch. It takes even more not to lean into his side.

You've missed it. You've missed him.

"Hey." He smiles at you while Hyunjin only gets a nod in acknowledgment.

"Hey." You return the smile, though you're sure you look a little rigid. You can tell there's an inkling of confusion in his eyes when he senses that your energy is off, but you're thankful he doesn't comment on it, at least not in front of Hyunjin anyway.

You don't notice the paper bag in his other hand until he hands it to your other friend with a simple Thanks, to which Hyunjin just nods along in a silent You're welcome.

"I was going to walk with Y/N for a bit and then meet Felix for food," he tells Minho. "You wanna get burgers with me and Lix?"

"No, thanks. I'm not hungry, I had a late lunch. I'll take the walk though."

You didn't plan on being alone with Minho today, even though you knew you had to talk to him eventually. You just thought you had a little more time, at least until you got your shit together and face him with a brave façade.

Minho's hand brushes yours the entire time you walk, and it's nothing if not confusing. It's unbearable, the way your fingers twitch with the urge to intertwine them with his.

It persists even after Hyunjin has waved you goodbye to you two and turned to head wherever he and Felix agreed to meet. You think Minho would hold your hand now that it's just you and him, but he doesn't. He lets your skin continue to brush, lets you suffer alone and wanting in your sunken disappointment.

It has very little to do with him and everything to do with you, the conflicting thoughts inside your head piling up one by one the more time you spend in his presence.

Dove, the brief display of jealousy at Yeonjun's party, the way he looks at you sometimes that you can't really decipher the meaning behind, how he kisses you so tenderly that it can't possibly be strictly platonic. You want these things to all mean something, and yet...

You want him to hold your hand, but you know you'd wave it off if he tries to reach for your fingers. You want him to stop you right then and there to kiss you breathless, just as he had that night two weeks ago, even though you're sure you'd only dodge his lips and push him away. You want to stay, you want to leave. You're terrified of things changing, but you wish that something, anything, would be different for him; that you aren't the only one who's spinning out of control. You love him, but you wish you didn't.

Eventually, Minho asks, "You okay?"

It's not until now that you realize this is the first time you've ever been this quiet around him. You purse your lips, glancing down briefly at your feet as you keep on treading the rest of the way home. "Yeah, all good. I'm just tired," you tell him, visibly unenthusiastic despite the smile you try to fake. "I just need to sleep it off."

"The project stressing you out?"

"I guess, yeah."

"And here I thought maybe you were avoiding me," he says, half a joke, half inquisitive. "Were you?"

"Was I what?"

"Were you avoiding me?"

You give him a weird look, one that's meant to be dismissive and call his question ridiculous even though you know you've been caught. And maybe it's the over-the-top glance that you throw his way and the way your pitch goes higher when you reply, "Why would I be avoiding you?" that makes him stop walking.

On the other side of the street, there's a couple of kids in high school uniforms, exchanging shy glances and sharing fond giggles.

Minho calls your name softly, and it's like you're just waiting for the ball to drop. You don't want to turn back and look at him, but what other option do you have? What else is there to do?

You can't decipher the expression on his face. He's still calm, but the air has turned serious, the silence of the mostly empty streets surrounding you only serves as the soundtrack of your impending heartbreak. The tender and innocent laughter fades away when young love moves further and further from where you stand. "What?" you ask with faux nonchalance as you look at him, another attempt at stalling. Biding your time even though a few more minutes aren't going to do any good for your case.

Anyone with half a braincell could tell that clearly it's not the truth, let alone someone who has learned to read you better than the back of his hand. He doesn't look like he believes you, though he doesn't push it, much to your surprise.

"Okay," he says after a moment of studying you, and this should be the part where you heave a sigh of relief because he's letting you off the hook for now, but your chest doesn't feel lighter at all. Your head is clouded with dread, with the anticipation that you're only delaying the inevitable.

You walk the rest of the way in awful silence, because you know that he knows something is wrong. You try your best to appear composed, but he sees right through you. You know he does.

You must look like a frightened animal, one that's about to take off running any second now.

When you reach your building, Minho is quick to keep you with him before you can make up a lame excuse and bolt.

"Hey," he starts, his voice so impossibly gentle that it hurts. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

Heavier and heavier, it weighs you down until you feel like your chest is going to collapse. The nerves gnaw on you, clawing into you until you feel your heartbeat quicken, the overwhelming dread simmering low in your belly.

"I know," you say, but deep down, what you're really thinking is, Not this. This is the one thing I can't tell you.

"Is everything okay?"

It's the way that Minho's got his gaze set on you with those deep brown irises, the concern so apparent in them that it hurts you. It's the way he looks like he wants to reach out and touch you - a comforting hand on your shoulder or your back like you're so familiar with - but he has to hold himself back or you might slip away.

It's him, how he always puts you first, how he cares about you in ways that you've never been cared about before. He understands you, he sees you. It feels like it could be love if you let the lines blur just enough.

Is love supposed to hurt? Like this?

Maybe it's not that you don't know how to hold love. Maybe it's because you're not meant to hold it at all. Insignificant, unlovable.

And... it's the reminder that cuts through the dread like the sharpest knife.

You leave his question unanswered, because nothing is okay and you can't tell him any of it. You can't lie to him either, because it's the last thing that you want to do to him.

Instead, you ask, "We're good... right? We're okay?"

"What do you mean?"

You gesture between the two of you, though you're not sure what that's supposed to signify. "Just...," you trail off for a second, hesitant. "Nothing's changed, right?"

Minho doesn't answer right away. He looks at you for a moment, searching for something in your eyes that you can't tell if he's able to find.

He nods, seemingly wistful as he says, "Nothing's changed."

He seems unsure about it, at least more than he was just a few weeks ago when he told you the same thing in your apartment with his fingers wrapped around your wrist. The tug between his brows - though barely noticeable - tells you as much.

Is it because something is different now? Or does he only sound uncertain out of concern, because of you and how you're acting?

Then he continues, "For me, at least."

And there it is.

It's the confirmation this time around that turns you inside out so his simple words could cut into you.

You swallow thickly, put on a smile like you're pleased with his answer even though you're trying your hardest to stop yourself from shaking. Whatever energy you had left is instantly drained from you just because of a few words.

Your sentences get smashed together, tangled up like barbed wire and they only make you bleed when you try to pull them apart. All your nervous tics coming out to play despite your best efforts to keep them at bay. A frustrated hand running through your hair, gripping at the roots a little harshly. Your bottom lip pulled between your teeth and your eyes turning glassy for a split second before you blink the moisture away, because you can't let Minho see you like this. See you trying to keep your pathetic heart intact while he's none the wiser.

He's fine. And unlike you, he's going to be okay when this is over.

Unavoidable and inevitable, the end will come whether you like it or not. You're the only one who won't make it out unscathed, and it will only shatter you into more pieces the longer you drag this out.

Just rip the bandaid off. Salvage whatever you can. Stop digging the grave even deeper for yourself.

One second, then two, then three. You don't speak until you have enough faith that your voice is even enough to carry out a few sentences.

"Okay, uhm... I think I need some time for myself. We should..." But it isn't, and you crack halfway through. The sound is deafening to your own ears. "We should take a break. We should stop this."

Minho doesn't question if you mean the secret between the two of you, or your friendship entirely. Instead, he asks, "Why?"

"I told you." You clear your throat. "I need time for myself."

You can't tell what he's thinking, but the knife twists inside of you nonetheless.

He takes a step closer, you take a step back.

You watch as his face falls, and the same feeling mirrors itself within the confines of your ribcage. Your heart drops at the sight of his eyes, deep brown irises stained with a little confusion, then a little hurt though it lasts for only a few seconds. The slight slump of his shoulders, the absence of the familiar playfulness he always sports when he's with you.

He blinks.

"Time for yourself, or time away from me?"

You say nothing.

You don't address his question directly, and your reluctance to do so is a loud enough answer in and of itself. "Why does that matter? What's the difference?"

"It matters if I did something to upset you."

"You didn't."

"Okay. So?"

This is confusing, because he's not letting you rip the bandaid clean off and you don't know why. "Nothing's changed, right? If it didn't mean anything to you, why can't you just drop this?"

Minho is quiet for a beat. His eyes are searching again, but this time, you think he finds something.

Everything is still and you hate it - the silence of the streets, the scrutinizing orange glow of the streetlights as if they're watching the scene unfold, even the innocent cat that's sitting by itself on the balcony on one of the floors higher up. You hate all of it.

"I never said it didn't mean anything," he tells you.

It makes you a little angry for some reason, and there's enough red to cloud your vision because his words are contradicting and you're tired, you're so exhausted that you can't focus on what it is that he's really saying.

"So you lied to me?"

"I've never lied to you."

"I asked you before and you said nothing's changed. Now you're saying whatever this is didn't not mean anything. Make up your mind."

It gets redder when he keeps his eyes fixed on you, still so calm despite the frown that has returned to its place between his brows. Still so collected, while you're being pulled apart at the seams.

The ball doesn't drop the way you expect it to. It keeps falling so insufferably slowly, hanging over you like it's mocking you for being stupid, like it's milking every second of suspense to make you implode.

Until Minho speaks next and suddenly, it feels like the air has been sucked out of your lungs. His voice, still so soft and tender. His eyes, reading something in yours that you can't bear to admit out loud.

"You really don't see it, do you?"

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 24.06.2024]

[hazelnutsforellie]

i was all over her | e. williams ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

PAIRING— dealer!ellie williams x fem!reader

SUMMARY— you and ellie are best friends, first year college roommates that never separated. when a friend asks for your help in making her ex jealous, you succeed... and seem to smash not one, but two hearts with one singular kiss.

WARNINGS— NSFW, smut [18+], mutual pining, sexual tension, college!au, alcohol use, explicit marijuana use/handling(?), jealous/protective ellie, ellie having dirty thoughts about you, ellie masturbating, hints of angst & fluff, kinda proofread.

WC— 7.5k

AUTHOR'S NOTE— thank you so much for 1k!! consider this a gift from me ♡ this is part one to a potential multi-part series... please feel free to leave feedback!! (also, stream i was all over her by salvia palth)

Soft footsteps mixed with whispers and the flicking of musky pages filled your ears while your eyes scanned the directory signs in the library. You were looking for a particular genre, your eyes jumping from the signs to Dina as she continued on about how Gentoo penguins use pebbles to propose to their girlfriends.

"I just think... if someone proposed to me like that, I wouldn't mind as long as their heart's there," Dina joked, causing you to playfully roll your eyes as you slowed in front of a large bookshelf. You needed a particular book for your world history course, your eyes scanning the titles as you responded.

"Well aren't you a hopeless romantic?" you quirked back, your eyes creasing as you softly laughed. You often found yourself hanging with Dina during the day, mainly due to you having classes together.

You shared more classes with Dina than Ellie did, but you weren't close with her like you were with Ellie, your best friend since the start of freshman year. Naturally, because you and Ellie had different majors, you found yourselves in different buildings during the day. While apart, your time was spent with Dina more often.

"You should come to this party later tonight," Dina said in a low tone to avoid disrupting near students as you pulled the book you wanted from the shelf, examining the cover. "Jesse might be there... I'd like to have you there."

You quirked a brow at her, knowing of her ex boyfriend Jesse. You've spoken to him numerous times, and you thought he was a cool guy. You felt the buzz of your phone in the pocket of your sweatpants, causing you to instinctively pull it out as your eyes shifted to Dina's face.

"I'm interested, but why do you want me there because of Jesse?" you raised a brow before glancing down at your phone screen.

Ellie: told kyle i'd meet at his party tn. you in?

"Who is it?" Dina whispered, glancing from the side of your phone to your face.

"Ellie. Whose party is it?" you asked quickly.

"Kyle's," Dina quickly answered, to which you nodded in understanding. It wasn't a surprise. Kyle was a cool dude and often had chill parties.

Ellie: doesn't matter. already told him im going so

Ellie: you are too.

Despite Ellie being your best friend, little things about her made your stomach twist in tingly knots. You loved how audacious she was, clearly taking the leading role in your friendship. Other than that, your feelings for her controlled your reactions as well.

"Looks like I'm already going," you sighed, tucking your phone back in your pocket before completely facing her. "But seriously... Are you wanting to avoid Jesse, or something?"

"Sh!" she whisper shouted, suddenly becoming nervous that someone could hear you say his name. "You're being loud."

"I'm whispering," you whisper-shouted defensively, causing Dina to playfully roll her eyes.

"I want to make him jealous," Dina admitted, a tiny smirk tugging the corner of her lips.

"Seriously?" you scoffed as the two of you made your way over to the counter, passing a few students studying with earbuds in on the way.

"Don't you think that's a little... I don't know... toxic?" you asked, unsure whether she saw it that way.

"Oh c'mon," Dina drew out, softly nudging your arm. "It's harmless. It's up to him if he wants to make a move."

"Or you could stop being stubborn?" you suggested with raised brows, nearly making Dina's jaw drop. Since you didn't receive a response, you pushed. "So.. what? You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend or something?"

"Not girlfriend, per se. More like... arm candy," Dina smirked, slightly spinning on her heel as she spoke. She seemed a little nervous to ask you, despite her outgoing personality. She gave you flirty eyes, the same eyes you fail to say no to every time. Sure, you thought Dina was cute, but you didn't have feelings for her. She was your friend, one that seemed to be too convincing at times.

A sigh puffed past your lips as you walked up to the counter, giving Dina one last glance before greeting the cashier. Dina's soft smile never went away as you checked the book out, and she was hot on your heels as the two of you left the bookstore with her shiny puppy eyes.

"Fuck, fine. I'll probably show up with Ellie, though," you explained, your shoes padding against the concrete as you walked alongside her, toward your next class. Dina softly squealed in excitement, thanking you before splitting off.

The rest of your day was a lot less exciting than what awaited you in the later hours. You felt a little anxious, but it was just for one reason. Your best friend.

Upon unlocking the door to your dorm and pushing it open, you saw Ellie sitting on your shared couch, manspreading to reach the coffee table. The various sidelamps and hanging lights illuminated the space. You both had a slight hatred for big room lights, your choice in smaller ones giving the space a comforting aura. There was enough light for you to pick up on the outfit she'd chosen for the party. Jeans, and a blue and white button down with a white wifebeater underneath. Her sleeves were rolled up just below her elbows, exposing her tattoo to wondering eyes. She drove you insane, in a good way.

Ellie's fingers were tending to the weed she was preparing to sell at the party, sizing bags as she'd summarize to you. Your best friend was also your roommate, and since she was a rather-lowkey dealer on campus, it wasn't a surprise to walk in and see her with the bud between her fingers.

"Hey," you greeted her with a small smile as you closed the door, locking it behind you as you both usually would. Ellie's attention had already snapped off her task, her bright green eyes meeting yours as you entered. She greeted you back with a smile, her eyes never leaving your face as her hands continued to work. Upon fully entering, you were blanketed in the slight smell of weed (of course) and a lit candle, sniffing and humming in satisfaction before questioning. "Is that cedar?"

"Yeah, it is. Smells good, doesn't it? Did you find what you were looking for?" Ellie inquired a rhetorical question before asking a real one, knowing you were going to the library for a particular book for class.

"Yeah," you sighed, kicking your shoes off by the door. You slipped your backpack off your shoulders, letting it rest on the floor next to the couch before sitting down beside her. "Dina went with me, and she also invited me to Kyle's party."

You didn't bother waiting before just airing it out, wanting to figure out the plan for the night. What you couldn't ignore, though, was how good Ellie smelled. She had hints of musk, spice, and fruits. She tended to switch between scents, but above them all, you could smell her. Ellie had her own scent, and it comforted you to no end. After a fresh shower, it was overwhelming. It was as if the atmosphere was blanketed with the smell of her. You loved it, really.

"She did?" Ellie asked, her eyebrows raising as she sealed a baggie closed before tossing it to a pile of various baggies of the same size.

"Yeah," you sighed again as you placed your water bottle you'd been holding onto the coffee table, making Ellie quirk a brow before a smile began to break on her lips.

"What happened?" Ellie laughed, suddenly becoming nervous as she wiped her hands on her knees, turning her head in your direction as you sunk into the couch beside her.

"Dina wants to make Jesse jealous," you explained, crossing your legs in your lap. "She asked me to help her."

"What does that mean?" Ellie asked, to which you shrugged.

"I don't know, but I said yes," you admitted.

"You what?" Ellie's eyebrows were knit together, her attention suddenly fully on you. Her hands halted from where she was pulling apart nuggets of weed. You watched as her back suddenly straightened after hunching toward the coffee table.

"I couldn't say no! She did the eyes," you frowned, making Ellie roll her own.

"I mean, how bad could it really be?" you defended, watching Ellie's fingers as she pinched weed onto the paper between her fingers, rolling a new joint despite the small pile of prerolls just inches from her slender hands. "If anything, just touching her hip in front of him would be enough."

"So..." Ellie trailed off, realizing that you had most likely agreed to arrive with Dina.

"Yes, we're picking her up," you confirmed what Ellie was thinking. "You didn't give me an option to come to the party, so I figured it'd be fine."

"You were already going!"

"You didn't know that!" you shot back, both of you having cheeky smiles plastered. Ellie didn't mind it, she did mind the task you had at hand, though. She had to admit that the thought of Dina using you to make someone jealous would only have the same effect on her.

Ellie couldn't bring herself to tell you that she didn't like the idea, ultimately ending the conversation as she brought the joint she was rolling to her lips, and you could feel your chest begin to tighten. No matter how many times you've seen it, it continues to have the same effect on you every single time.

You openly watched as she dragged her tongue across the top to seal the joint, and she knew you were watching despite her eyes tracking the paper. You always did, it wasn't new. She just wondered what you were thinking. And oh boy, you hoped she wouldn't realize.

"We have enough time to smoke a little before we go. You game?" Ellie suggested with raised brows as she finished sealing the joint. You knew Ellie had a high tolerance, and that the offer was merely for you. The idea of being a little high when you get to the party put you at ease. You'd hoped you'd feel relaxed in helping Dina.

"Definitely," you replied, sitting up from your slouched position against the couch. Ellie smiled with a nod, reaching into her jean pocket to retrieve her lighter. She then tucked the joint between her lips, sparking the lighter to allow the flame to burn the edge of the joint a bright orange.

Immediately, you were wafted with the smell of it, the familiar smell of herbs, wood, and a slight hint of plum invading your senses.

"Mm," you hummed, watching the smoke escape through Ellie's nose as she passed the joint to you. Her eyes flickered to yours from as you accepted it, lifting it to your lips to pull a drag. You nodded in satisfaction, the taste being familiarly smooth.

"Do you plan to sell a lot at the party?" you asked breathlessly before exhaling the smoke, watching as Ellie reached for your water bottle on the coffee table, handing it to you. She knew you always wanted to have a drink on you when you smoked, the light gesture causing butterflies to swarm in your belly. You accepted it from her as you passed the joint back to her, thanking her before taking a sip from it.

Ellie shrugged as she took a drag from the joint. You watched her face slightly scrunch and her eyes narrow as she stared at the tip of the joint.

Fuck, you thought. You wanted to clench your thighs together, the weed instantly making its way to your core. You knew you couldn't make a move, you were afraid. You had to suffer every single night. Everything you could imagine in a smoking interaction, you've seen it. Her tongue, her eyes, her smirks. It was all too much sometimes, and you'd have to go to bed early.

Ellie passed the joint back to you, to which you accepted before taking a rather-large hit. Ellie's eyebrows raised as she eyed your water bottle, noticing you had added one sticker to it after leaving it bare for so long. A sticker Dina had given you. Why that made Ellie jealous, she wasn't sure.

"A few kids are gonna be there that wanna buy," Ellie finally explained. "We're gonna make a few stops on the way, though."

"Should we leave soon then?" you asked.

"Err," she grumbled, pulling her phone out of her back jean pocket to check the time. "Yeah, probably."

You took one last hit of the joint, Ellie's bright eyes meeting your glossy ones as you finished inhaling, allowing her to take it to finish it off. You then lifted yourself off the back of the couch to prepare to stand, grabbing your water bottle as did so, her eyes remaining on yours eyes she lifted the joint to her lips. The prolonged eye contact had begun swirling more feelings than you'd like to admit, and you needed to avert your attention elsewhere.

"Are you changing?" Ellie asked, eyeing your sweatpants but mainly your ass as you stood up.

"What? Are these not hot?" you joked, turning around to motion toward them with silly jazz hands, causing Ellie to roll her eyes in response and take another hit of the joint, her eyes flicking right back on you as she sucked the smoke into her lungs. You sighed, muttering a drawn-out whatever under your breath as you made your way to your bedroom, which was right next to Ellie's.

Of course your sweatpants are hot. Everything you wear is hot, in Ellie's opinion. Ellie wanted to, but she couldn't stop her eyes from following you as you shuffled toward your bedroom. One thing Ellie couldn't control was her obsession with staring at you, watching you. Her stare was soft, sometimes hungry... but it was in admiration. Upon entering your room, you had decided to change into a comfortable pair of jeans, since you knew it was a somewhat casual party to begin with.

It wasn't long before you were in the passenger seat of her car, controlling the music from your phone as Ellie made various drop-offs. You remained quiet in your seat, greeting people you knew and ignoring those you didn't. Ellie chose which customers to deliver to wisely, not wanting particular people to see you, or try and spark a conversation. She chose the ones she clearly intimidated, and with some spots, she would even get out of the car to avoid them paying any attention to you. Some of her customers were frat boys, and although Ellie couldn't stand them, she needed someone to give less-favorable stuff to. She knew a cocky jock when she saw one, and that's when she would step out of the car. She didn't want to hear their pathetic attempts to bring you into the conversation, knowing well that you had zero interest to begin with.

She tried to hide it, but she was protective. She was cautious of who you were around, all the time, and you couldn't help but feel like she was attempting to shield you. You didn't mind it, though, hence why you never cared to mention it.

As Ellie was finishing up her last deal, her back was against her driver's side window, the only thing you could see being the back of her blue and white button up. You could hear her voice faintly, a deep chuckle leaving her lips before you heard her tug on the door handle, saying her farewells and slipping back into the car.

"Alright, you ready to get Dina? Is she ready?" Ellie asked, shifting the gear from park to drive with her right hand while her left remained on the wheel. Your eyes flickered from her slider hands back to your phone.

"I'll message her," you said, clicking her contact and texting her.

You: we're otw. ellie's driving

Dina: ofc she is. when is the last time you ever drove?

You: wtf i drive sometimes

Dina: LOL since when

Dina: passenger princess.

You scoffed with a laugh, pressing the power button on your phone to lock it before dropping it in your lap. When you arrived to Dina's place, Ellie rolled her window down to greet the girl, with you tilting your head to see her over Ellie's shoulder, waving her to the car. It was a cute sight that Dina would chuckle to herself about.

It wasn't long before you arrived to the party with Dina alongside you and Ellie behind you. Ellie planned to separate from you two shortly after entering, wanting to get her deals over with so she could find someplace to sit. Ellie wasn't much of a... partier. She preferred sitting or standing off to the side, her eyes wondering around her surroundings, and opening dealing from where she sat the entire night.

Most the time though, unbeknownst to you, she would watch you. She would watch you for multiple reasons, one being to purely take your appearance in and appreciate it. What else is a girl to do that's pining for her best friend? Instead of trying the numerous girls attempting to get in her pants by buying from her, her attention is completely taken over by her best friend.

Shortly after entering the house, you and Dina were immediately welcomed by fellow friends. The house was cutely decorated, surprisingly, with string lights hanging off the ceiling.

"Is there a theme?" you wondered near Dina's ear, not getting the memo for the party as Ellie continued to walk behind the two of you, her eyes scanning the house. You continued, "Because I really hope not... I'm wearing jeans."

"No idea," Dina answered loud enough for you to hear over the music. It wasn't blaring, but it was loud enough to make talking difficult. "Kyle shares his place with his sister, they rent together, or something. She probably decorated it."

"I'll be right back," Ellie told you with raised brows, waiting for you to nod in understanding before she left to find Kyle, you assumed. You averted your attention back to Dina, whose eyes were glued to something else, or rather someone else. Jesse was standing off, speaking to another girl. Funny how he was so easy to spot, but it was damning for Dina.

Dina grabbed your wrist, and before you could say anything, you were being dragged toward the bar to get drinks. Dina settled on a vodka cranberry, deciding to make you the same thing. Eventually, after lots of small talk, you and Dina were in the living room, sitting on the couch with a few other strangers, surrounding the coffee table.

You learned their names upon greeting, but the alcohol coursing through everyone's veins had them rather comfortable and giggly. You were playing truth or drink, and you just so happened to choose drink more than truth. You couldn't think of a lie on the spot for some of the personal questions, wanting to avoid mentioning Ellie's name, especially in front of Dina. After what felt like an hour, the auburn returned.

"Hey," you heard a familiar raspy voice from behind you turning your head to see Ellie behind the couch, looking down at you and Dina. Ellie's eyes nearly widened when she noticed the empty bottles on the coffee table.

"Oh, Ellie! Sit down," Dina urged before you could, to which Ellie obliged, taking a seat beside you on the couch. Why would she turn down the opportunity to stick by you?

"Don't mind if I do," Ellie replied, already wanting to sit and relax until you decided to leave. The party was rather calm besides the fairly large dining room, which was cleared to be a dance floor. Everyone was calmly drinking on one side, or loudly playing party games on the other.

Ellie lightly lifted her hips, your eyes unintentionally watching as she lifted her ass to retrieve a lighter and rolled joint from her pocket, not wanting to smash it. Ellie lifted the joint to her lips, sparking the lighter.

"Is this your girlfriend?" one of the girls asked you with a bright smile, you couldn't remember her name, but she was more than gone. Ellie's eyes shifted from the tip of the joint to the girl, the flame continuing to burn the tip until you cleared your throat.

"Oh, no. This is Ellie, the roommate," you explained with a gentle tilt of your head toward the green eyed girl. You had told them a funny story or two about Ellie while she was gone, nothing that would give Dina any suspicions of your feelings. You'd thought about telling Dina you liked Ellie, being good friends and all. It seemed as if you were just more afraid to admit it to yourself, preferring to ignore it and enjoy what you have.

"Oh, your roommate," she smirked, playfully wiggling her eyebrows at you and Ellie. A teasing smile began to tug the corner of Ellie's lips as she exhaled the smoke, glancing over at you.

"Not like that," you laughed, which secretly struck Ellie. You were telling the truth, she understood that, but she wished it was like that.

"Haven't I sold to you before?" Ellie asked, motioning toward the girl with her hand that still had the joint between her index and middle finger. She found the girl fairly familiar, not that it mattered.

"I'm trashed," the girl answered honestly with a flirty smile. "I have no idea right now, but..."

The girl's eyes trailed Ellie from head to toe, and she clearly seemed pleased, "Most likely."

Ellie's eyebrows lifted gently before she brought the joint back to her lips, unintentionally flirting with the girl. Ellie had an effect, that was true. One glance or smile had you convinced you were on her mind. It left you craving her attention, but since you were her best friend, you had it often.

Dina held back a gasp as she took a sip of her mixed drink, her eyes glancing up to the dance floor across the large room. She managed to spot Jesse dancing, but with who, she couldn't tell.

"You want a hit?" Ellie murmured to you, leaning closer to offer you the joint.

You accepted it with your left hand, placing it between your lips. Ellie's eyes immediately began to search for a drink you had on you, noticing the empty cup in your right hand.

"I'm gonna go get a drink, want something?" Ellie asked, instinctively offering as she knew you liked having a drink when you smoked. Though, she also just liked getting drinks for you.

"Sure, thanks," you nodded with a small smile after you exhaled, keeping the joint between your fingers as Ellie got up from her spot, the girls on the couch across from you and Dina going on and on about their own conversation, too drunk to pay attention to you and Ellie's smiles and Dina's longing eyes at Jesse on the dance floor.

Just as you pulled another drag, Dina grabbed your right hand, pulling you up to your feet. She began tugging you toward the dance floor as you laughed, passing Ellie at the bar on the way.

"Hey!" Ellie tried to call out for you as she watched Dina drag you to the dance floor with her joint between your lips. Ellie nearly overfilled the cup of water she was preparing for you, getting caught up in seeing you jog away. She hissed, feeling the cool water run over her bare hand. She then placed the cup of water on the bar top before beginning to make her own drink.

After getting a glass of whiskey, she turned around and pressed her back against the bar as her eyes quickly found you. She watched as Dina spun you around, your usual cheeky smile spread across your lips. Ellie began to feel as if the scene was in slow motion, her thoughts turning vulgar before she could take a second glance at you. The music was catchy, though it was nearly muffled to Ellie's ears since her eyes found you. Despite numerous pairs dancing together in the same room, Ellie managed to spot you. She always could.

Ellie smirked as she sipped her drink, watching you dance with Dina. She couldn't control her mind from wandering as her eyes scanned your body, the alcohol taking its course in her blood. She was completely immersed in you.

No, Ellie, she thought to herself as she finished sipping her drink, a small smile on her lips as she swallowed. She couldn't stop her lips from curling into their form as she caved, her thoughts taking a turn as you continued to dance. Sure, Ellie wanted to be in Dina's place, but the sight before her was something else.

She visualized you underneath her, looking up at her with your usual doe eyes you'd use when you wanted Ellie to do something for you.

"Please, Ellie," she imagined you whimpering, never losing eye contact as she kissed down your chest, between your breasts, then lower, and lower.

Ellie's tongue darted to swipe against her lips in a swift horizontal motion, the icy burn of the alcohol cooling against her tongue. She took another small swig, her eyes glancing back up at you after leaving for a split second to check the glass.

"Fuck, just like that," she imagined you moaning, the thought nearly sending shockwaves from Ellie's spine to her core. Sure, Ellie had heard you moan before, on occasions you thought she was asleep and you would release your own tension. You knew the walls were thin, but not that thin. Ellie wouldn't admit it to you, not wanting to embarrass you but also because she... liked hearing it. Ellie swallowed her whiskey thickly, feeling the coolness of the alcohol drill down her throat. She shook her head to herself, shaking the dirty thoughts out of her mind as she watched Dina bend you backward, your back bending enough to make Ellie choke down a groan. Oh, to be the one doing that to you.

Dina then pulled you back up, your face just inches from hers and that's when Ellie noticed Jesse looking from the sidelines as well. Ellie smirked to herself and glanced to the floor, thinking that Dina's plan was working, and she'd secretly hoped she wouldn't have to take Dina home since it was already late enough. Just as Ellie glanced back up to you, she saw Dina lean into you, her hands on your cheeks, and then it happened.

Dina kissed you. You weren't sure if it was due to the alcohol or the heat of the moment, but her lips were planted directly onto yours either way. Both Ellie and Jesse saw at the exact same time, all movements in their bodies tensing. As much as Ellie wanted to instantly convince herself it was part of the plan, she couldn't control the burning jealousy that began to boil in her stomach.

Although Ellie hoped it was part of the plan, she hated it. She didn't consider how it would feel to witness someone else kissing you, no matter the context. Since it wasn't her, it hurt, even though it shouldn't have. That is when Ellie realized you could have anyone you wanted. Ellie placed her glass of whiskey on the bar top, which was barely sipped on. Her eyes met yours one last time before she made her way out of the dining room.

You watched as Ellie made her way out of the room, a displeased look painting her face as her eyebrows furrowed together in frustration. You didn't understand what suddenly snapped, causing Ellie to storm off after meeting eyes for one mere second after the kiss. In fact, you began to grow a little nervous. She knew it was part of Dina's silly scheme, but you couldn't help but regret it as the auburn disappeared from sight.

"Do you think that worked?" Dina asked you as her back faced Jesse, her big eyes looking at yours as you looked past her to find him. He was staring, and finishing his beer.

"Oh yeah," you answered with a nod, looking back at her. "Is this where you leave me?"

Dina smiled, pulling you into one last embrace. She gave you a small wink before making her way out of the dining room, Jesse following shortly after. You stood alone in the loud room, your drunken eyes scanning the area for your best friend.

Ellie found a small bathroom to slip into, locking the door behind her. The music and loud chattering was instantly muffled, allowing Ellie to let out a huff of relief. She glanced at herself in the mirror, letting out a long sigh at the sight of her slightly hooded eyes. She knew she had to drive soon, and despite not feeling any sort of high, she still looked the part.

Ellie leaned forward and twisted the faucet on, the cool water shooting out against her slender hands. She cupped her hands to collect the water before splashing her face numerous times. She didn't like how she felt, angry. Jealous. She wouldn't admit it if you asked, that's for sure.

"Fuck," Ellie cursed to herself as she twisted the faucet off, wiping off the leftover droplets that remained on her cheeks and chin. She then hissed to herself, "You're being stupid, Ellie."

To pine after your best friend is one thing, but to get overwhelmingly jealous when you see them kiss someone else? That's a slight issue.

The door handle to the bathroom began to rattle, nearly making Ellie jump out of her skin. Ellie quickly unlocked it, no longer needing the bathroom anyway. Her green orbs nearly popped out when she was met with Dina and Jesse on the other side of the hallow door.

"Wha... you know what? I won't ask. Where is she?" Ellie asked Dina, knowing Dina would know who she was talking about.

"Still dancing, I think," Dina said with a smile, looking back up at Jesse as she was overcome with their sudden reformation. Ellie awkwardly stepped out of the bathroom, allowing Dina and Jesse to take the room as she searched the house for you.

After not spotting you in the dining room, she began to have a slight internal panic. Ellie found her way back in the living room, spotting the same girls you were hanging out with before Dina pulled you out to dance.

"Have any of you seen the girl I came with?"

"Oh, your roommate?" one girl teased, nearly making Ellie roll her eyes. "I think she went outside. Looked like she was ready to fall asleep."

Ellie took that as her sign to bolt to the front door, exiting the house. She quickly spotted you next to her car, leaning against the side of the hood with your arms folded over your chest. You looked exhausted, your eyes nearly closed as you hummed a tune.

"Shit, I'm so sorry," Ellie quickly apologized as she approached you, fumbling through her pocket to retrieve her car keys. You blinked, still conscious as Ellie pulled your door open in front of you. "Are you okay?"

"Mhm, I want to go home," you murmured, beyond consumed by exhaustion and the alcohol that continued to make your head spin. You quietly thanked her as you got into the car, Ellie closing the door after you were fully inside. You sunk into the comfortable seat while you lazily buckled yourself, your eyes hanging half-open, threatening to close. You were drunk, but not incapable of simple tasks.

"It's really cold," you softly whined, wrapping your arms around yourself as Ellie slipped into the car. Ellie shoved the key into the ignition, starting the car to get the heat going for you. She then buckled, her arms flexing as she tightened the strap over her chest, glancing over at you to make sure yours was on as well.

"We'll be home soon," Ellie assured you kindly, shifting the gear to drive. You were afraid you had upset Ellie, remembering how upset she looked after Dina kissed you. You weren't sure why, but you had the feeling Ellie had feelings for Dina, wishing it was her instead. Your mind ran and that's when you found yourself outside, waiting on Ellie to go home.

The entire way back to your dorm, Ellie would take occasional glances at your sleeping form. Her left elbow was pressed against her door, her right hand resting on the top of the wheel as she leaned against the door. You were fast asleep soon after the car started, curled into a ball in Ellie's direction. It allowed her to easily catch a glimpse of your face to make sure you were still okay, and to admire.

Ellie was aware of her obsession with staring at you. She couldn't help it, you were gorgeous. She learned every crevice and mark on your skin, the way your lashes would relax against your cheeks.

You entire walk to your dorm from the car, Ellie's hand was gently resting on your middle back, guiding you until you reached your door, her hand then moving to your lower back as she used her other hand to search her pocket for her keys. Ellie was used to taking care of you like this — making sure you wouldn't fall over, exactly.

"I'm fine, Ellie," you'd murmur, though she'd ignore it, since you have indeed fallen on her or the floor numerous times. She managed to swiftly unlock the door and guide you inside, pulling the keys out of the lock with her other hand, then closing the door behind her with her heel. Ellie felt thankful for her tolerance, feeling completely sober as she walked close behind you to your bedroom, stopping in your doorway as you kicked your shoes off.

"You don't have to babysit me," you tiredly slurred, nearly tripping as your hands landed on your bed, using it to stabilize yourself for a moment, a sudden swirl of dizziness finding its way behind your eyes.

"You sure?" Ellie asked, stepping inside your room to help you onto your bed. "C'mon, I got 'ya."

Ellie gently grabbed your forearm, her eyes glancing to your face before guiding you onto the bed. You plopped down rather harshly, sinking into the middle of your bed as Ellie pulled your blankets over your frame. She wanted to tuck you in but she didn't want to be weird with the state you were in, so she merely made sure your entire body was covered, excluding your face.

"Thank you," you murmured with your eyes closed, causing Ellie to smile as her eyes trailed from your eyelids to your nose. She was leaned to your level from covering you, instantly smelling the liquor from your lips, as well as the sweet smell of just you.

"Anytime," she smiled as she leaned back up, taking just one step away to leave until you spoke.

"Are you not sleeping with me?" you whined, reaching to gently tug on her button down, fully expecting Ellie to stay with you during your drunken state. Ellie smiled from how bold you've always been with your words when you were drunk, though they were respectful.

"I want to smoke a little bit," Ellie chuckled at your neediness. Sure, being your best friend and all, she became accustomed to your occasional need for affection, and sleeping in the same bed was one of them. 

"Will you come in after?"

"Maybe," Ellie joked, making her way toward your bedroom door after you released your grip from her shirt.

"Please?" you whined, lightly slurring as you fell into a slumber.

The sound made Ellie want to say fuck it and lay down with you right then and there. She could've sworn she felt her knees quiver, her breath halting as her hand froze on the door handle. It was obvious you were dozing off, if not already sleep talking. Ellie realized you were asleep and quietly snuck out of the room, leaving the door cracked before heading for the couch.

As she sat on her side of the couch in the quiet living area, Ellie could smell the leftover lingering of your perfume, instinctively making her grin to herself. She grabbed a pre rolled joint off the coffee table, something she needed to stop leaving out so carelessly. Lighting the joint for herself, she thought about the party and her reaction. She remembered meeting your eyes for that one moment before she left. She didn't want to leave that way. She was angry, and she hated she was. She hoped you'd forget about it... not want to talk about it.

She was annoyed with herself for not being able to forget about it. She wanted to, she really did. Her mind began to wander as she tugged the smoke into her lungs, softly puffing it back out through her nose and mouth. She watched as it slowly crept toward the cracked windows beside the couch, which were always open, of course.

To avoid the thought of the kiss, she thought about what happened beforehand. The way you were dancing, your beautiful smile, all of it was too much for Ellie to ignore. She couldn't stop the thoughts from running, the rather-dirty thoughts that would lead her to shiver in her seat in desperation.

"Fuck," Ellie grumbled to herself, feeling herself growing wet at the memory. Your smile and the way your back arched was something different. The weed was surely enhancing her arousal, and she quickly got lost in thought about you, sinking into the couch, laying across it as she continued to puff on the joint.

The overwhelming tension in Ellie's heart corresponded with her core, a desperate need for you in particular. She couldn't help herself as her left hand brought the joint back to her lips before she used both to begin unbuttoning her jeans. She needed to release at least a little bit of tension.

Her mind began to wander, instantly picturing you. She wouldn't admit it to your face, but she used her imagination a lot. A lot. She felt wrong... naughty, even. She would be blatantly lying if she told you she had never thought about you while touching herself from being so smitten, but also because she heard you before. She knew what you sounded like when you were making yourself feel good.

Picturing you back on the dance floor and the way she could see the crevices of your neck, the way you smiled as you spun— it drove her mad. She wished she could've been in Dina's place. Once Ellie had pushed her jeans off her hips just enough to give herself comfortable access, her right hand instantly found its way underneath the band of her underwear, her cold fingertips making contact with her throbbing bundle of nerves. Her index finger and thumb of her left hand pinched the joint, pulling it from her lips after she took a long drag, her eyes fluttering shut as her head fell back against the couch.

"F-fuck," Ellie muttered under her breath, nearly sounding like a gasp for air, the sensation sending pleasureful waves through her core as her high only intensified it. She thought about how you'd watch her when she was licking a joint or a blunt when she'd roll. She would notice the way your legs would twitch in the slightest, the way your lips would part ever so slightly. Ellie wouldn't watch you the whole time, of course, because you were watching her. She had good peripheral vision, though, and she took note of everything she could. She always has.

Her fingers then dipped down to her folds, tenderly swirling her own arousal on her fingertips before pulling them back to her swollen clit. Ellie pleasuring herself is a sight, one that no one ever had the chance to see. It was shameful, for if you were to accidentally walk in, you wouldn't know what to do. You would stop in place, your eyes locked on her. She'd thought about the situation before, and had admitted to herself that she would want you to watch.

She just wanted you. In any way she could. She couldn't deny the way she would feel herself grow more and more soaked at the thought of you begging for her.

Please, you had whined. Maybe you intended to make her feel that way, maybe you didn't. Either way, the thought of you begging as she teased you, the sexual tension she had built up over time was astounding. It's a wonder how she never caved, but it was for one thing only. She wanted more than that with you, and the thought of risking your friendship was unbearable.

"Shit," Ellie whimpered under her breath. She wanted to hear you beg for her, but at the same time, she knew that she wouldn't be able to hold herself back from pleasing you the moment you'd ask. She was so distracted with pleasuring herself, the joint was seconds away from slipping between her fingers.

She suddenly brought it to her lips to take a hit, muffling her own moans for a moment as she pictured herself above you, peppering kisses on the pretty, delicate skin of your neck. Ellie imagined saying various things to you, things she would be mortified to admit. It was almost as if she could hear the sounds of your moans, echoing in the back of her mind as she recollected the memory. She wanted to know what you felt like, tasted like, truly sounded like. Ellie knew she could make you feel good, having an internal battle with herself whenever she heard you pleasuring yourself, your soft moans bouncing against the thin walls. You wouldn't say anything besides a string or curses, and Ellie would never tell you that she hoped to hear her name.

"O-oh.. f-f..fuck!" Ellie whisper-shouted, followed by a harsh grunt as Ellie pressed her left forearm against her mouth, careful to avoid burning herself with the joint. She muffled her moans as soon as her peak crashed, her shoulders shuddering and her thighs clamping together, locking her own hand against her soaked cunt.

Ellie laid in the same position for a moment, allowing her muscles to relax as she caught her breath, lowering her arm from her face to glance at the joint. The ash was gone, and Ellie's heart thumped in her chest. She glanced to the side, an obvious burn mark in the couch just inches from Ellie's view.

"Oh, fuck," Ellie groaned, pulling her hand from between her legs to sit up. She tapped the edge of the joint against the center of the ashtray that sat on the coffee table before leaving the joint in it. She then stood up, rather comically, as she nearly fell over from the sudden weight on her feet.

She turned around to face the couch again, her eyes landing on the burn mark in the couch as she buttoned her jeans. She didn't think you would be upset, since it was Ellie's couch, but she wasn't sure how she was going to explain the cause. She reached to scratch the nape of her neck, too exhausted to finish the joint let alone worry about a cover story.

Although you begged her to lay down with you after she finished smoking, the sight before caused a gentle chuckle to erupt in Ellie's throat. Upon gently pushing open your cracked door, she saw you completely sprawled across your bed with zero room for her to join you. She shook her head to herself, unable to control her lips from curling into a small smile as she pulled the door back to its previous position.

Ellie stood outside your door for a moment, letting a soft sigh escape her lips before she turned on her heel and pushed open her own bedroom door, right across from yours. She was thankful you were asleep, unable to question her own inability to sleep as she laid in her bed, eyes open as she watched the city life outside her window beside her. It wasn't often that she would stay up, unable to fall asleep despite feeling such exhaustion.

Ellie was many things, and an overthinker was one of them. She couldn't help but wonder how you felt when Dina kissed you.

It was just part of the plan, Ellie thought over and over again.

Ellie was afraid that if she didn't consider Dina a friend of her own, she would have acted a lot differently. Over the time Ellie has known you, she never witnessed you kiss another person until Dina kissed you, and she had never prepared herself for the sight. The sight of you kissing someone else, no matter the reason. It struck her, and she knew she couldn't tell you. She just hoped you wouldn't question her for her reaction.

TAGLIST @kurosaaki @prrimordiais @bellswlw @rxllingstones @coeurify @dergy @elliesstar @elliephobic

[ugh-yoongi]

by the time i've figured out what it's worth | myg

(or, sometimes you go through hell, and sometimes you make it to the other side.)

✤ PAIRING musician!yoongi x f. reader ✤ SUMMARY you used to find comfort in it—listening to those old songs. the shy sounds of falling in love, the tinkling of a ring in a dish, the inevitable crash and burn. all those songs aren’t so comforting anymore, when you’d do anything to keep him and yoongi’s got one foot out the door. ✤ GENRE est. relationship, marriage au | angst, smut, fluff ✤ RATING explicit. minors dni. ✤ WARNINGS this fic deals with a lot of unhappy topics: mental health, self-worth, divorce, the general demise of a relationship & marriage, counseling & therapy—therefore, there are moments of heavy-ish angst. there are moments where this couple is not all that nice to each other. there are arguments and resolutions. so, it's heavy but they get through it (aka there is a happy ending). american setting, yoongi is a solo artist, everyone pls pray for marriage counselor kim namjoon, seokjin is once again the fic's mvp, swearing, alcohol, recreational drug use (weed/edibles), one quick reference to c*vid, emotional hurt/comfort, miscommunication, two knuckleheads engaging in knucklehead behavior, lots of repetition and space metaphors. this is basically "what would happen if yoongi wrote tiny vessels about his wife: the fic," so do with that what you will. ✤ SMUT WARNINGS oral sex (both receiving), fingering, very slight dom yoongi, dirty talk, unprotected vaginal sex, multiple orgasms, angst and crying during sex, hands on throat but no choking, fingers in mouth bc it's me. i think that's it. the smut is mostly tame. ✤ WORDCOUNT 20k ✤ LISTEN TO all of transatlanticism by death cab for cutie, especially "tiny vessels." all the lyrics used throughout the fic are from this album, so it'd help contextualize a lot! also "monday morning," "stay young go dancing," and "you are a tourist." ✤ WRITTEN FOR the composition of the century collab. thank you to isi (@raplinesmoon), ryen (@kithtaehyung), and mars (@joheunsaram) for letting me participate. ♡ ✤ THANK YOU to jess (@the-boy-meets-evil) and bee (@hot-soop) for being my betas. this was a labor of love and a big ask, so i appreciate the both of you very much. ✤ AUTHOR'S NOTE hi! thank you for checking out my fic. before you read, i just want to overemphasize that this is a pretty angsty piece at times. a lot of it is very personal, and therefore i understand if it's not your cup of tea! if you do read it, i hope you enjoy it and find something human here. relationships are messy because humans are messy, and sometimes both the easiest and most difficult thing you can ever do is love another person.

so this is the new year, and i have no resolutions / or self-assigned penance for problems with easy solutions.

There’s a woman on the television trying to sell you a recliner.

Yoongi isn’t paying attention. He’d downed two glasses of whiskey and said he had something to work on, and he’s here, just like you’d asked, but the distance between the two of you feels insurmountable. Your ninth New Year’s Eve together, and all you’ve got to show for it is a crumbling foundation, a pair of headphones shoved over his ears, a woman on the television trying to sell you a recliner. Some home shopping channel, because you couldn’t bear to see anyone else having a good time. Selfish. Fucking selfish, and you wonder if Yoongi would be on your end of the couch if you weren’t.

What does it matter. You’d be here either way, because you’ve made peace with knowing there are things that are built to last and things like what you and Yoongi have: things that make you hesitant, things that make you yearn, things that sit in your stomach all wrong, taste caustic on your tongue.

It’s logical, then, that you just need something to do. A distraction. You push yourself up from the couch with a sigh, joints cracking, and you feel old. Exhausted, more like; something bone-deep and not easily cured. You pass through the dining room on the way to the kitchen, and all those wedding photos taunt you. Happier times, the two of you smiling into a kiss, Yoongi’s hands on your waist, fingers tangled in chiffon.

You wonder which one of you will stay here after it all goes to shit.

Him, if you were a betting man.

You scrub at the dishes in the sink until your hands are nearly cracked from the scalding water. Yellow gloves sit unused on the counter—sometimes you want the burn because pain is familiar, and a physical pain is easier to solve than your failing marriage. So you scrub away the remnants of a dinner that found you and Yoongi eating in silence. Nothing to say to one another after another year gone by. Not much to look back on fondly. And then you scrub some more, like you could get rid of all the scabs inside of you just as easily.

Some things circle the drain and wash away. Others stain.

You already know which one Yoongi is.

From the living room, the muted sounds of a countdown. Palpable excitement you should be able to feel, but find only numbness instead. Yoongi must have changed the channel. There’s a supercut playing in your head, all the past celebrations. All the parties the two of you have gone to, the years spent alone but together. All the people you’ve kissed in front of. All the quiet, private ways Yoongi used to tell you he loved you. When was the last time? What does it matter. There’s seven seconds until the new year and Yoongi hasn’t come looking for you, so what does it fucking matter.

Fireworks explode outside. A sob wracks your body as you crumble to the floor. There’s a small puddle of dishwater that seeps into the hemline of your shirt. Yoongi hasn’t come looking for you and he can’t hear you, so there’s no one to witness your breakdown but the fucking dishes in the sink. Yoongi had chosen the countertops.

You’re going to miss this place when it’s no longer your home.

instincts are misleading / you shouldn't think what you're feeling / they don't tell you what you know you should want.

Kim Namjoon wouldn’t have been your first choice, if you’d had the luxury of choice.

You like him enough, though. Wicked smart, patient to a fault, pragmatic when it’s required. There’s not much more you could ask for in a marriage counselor besides not needing one at all, but that hadn’t been in the cards. The first time you and Yoongi had met him, you’d cracked a joke that hadn’t landed. The embarrassment of it still stings, made worse by the discomfort of the couch in his office.

“How are things?” he asks. He always dresses impeccably. Today he’s in a sage green sweater and tan trousers that must’ve cost a fortune to get tailored. Even his notebook is genuine leather; sometimes it squeaks when he jots down notes too fast, friction against the fabric of his clothing.

Yoongi is quiet. If you’re embarrassed over a joke, he’s embarrassed over everything else. At least you’re willing to work on things. Getting Yoongi to do anything these days is akin to pulling teeth, and you’ve got a mouth full of blood. “Fine,” Yoongi answers, eyes locked downward. Namjoon’s office has hardwood floors. Tigerwood, he’d said once. Yoongi had complimented them. That had stung, too.

Wicked smart. Namjoon turns to you, glasses slipping a little down his nose. “Would you agree with that?”

You wouldn’t, but the urge to make this easy on Yoongi is hard to fight off. Everything is hard. It’d taken him twenty minutes past midnight to come find you in the kitchen all those weeks ago, chest still heaving, eyes swollen. He’d been distraught, tried to kiss your tears away, apologized over and over like they were the only words he knew. Things aren’t fine, but at least you’ve been willing to fight, and the cost of that persistence feels like the weight of the world.

“No,” you admit, and Namjoon just nods. Writes something down. You don’t have the courage to look at Yoongi. Sometimes it’s easier to let go of a dying thing.

“Okay. How were the holidays?”

It’s hard to breathe around the lump in your throat. All you want to do is hold Yoongi’s hand, scream at him, shake him and ask why he’s doing this to you. Why he’s giving up. Why you aren’t worth more effort—not worth it anymore, when you used to be. If he doesn���t love you anymore you’ve already said you’ll go, and he begs you not to, says he’ll do better, he’s sorry, please don’t.

“They were hard,” you answer, and Yoongi nods his agreement in your peripheral. “We didn’t exchange gifts this year. First time ever.”

“And why is that?”

Yoongi stays quiet. Like pulling teeth, you think, and there’s a flashbang of anger, resentment. Sometimes you want to hurt him. Sometimes you want to make him feel as awful as you do, want him to suffer, want him to atone. It isn’t fair, the things you think, and all you want to do is love your husband without guilt, without wondering if there’s someone out there who’d appreciate it more. Still, you’ve got a nasty streak, and you can’t help but press on the bruise. “Because I knew I’d be the only one.”

“Can you expand on that?”

You shrug. Pick at invisible dirt beneath your nails. “Yoongi said he’d be busy this year. I know what that means.”

“That’s not—” Yoongi sighs, cuts himself off. Runs his hands over his face, sick of this same argument. “Baby, that isn’t fair. I asked you if you wanted to do gifts this year and you said no.”

The laugh that bubbles out of you is derisive, cruel. You’re sick of the same arguments, too. Sick of feeling stuck, some helpless animal in a glue trap. Sick of this office, with Namjoon’s priceless art that doesn’t mean a fucking thing to you; the tigerwood floors that got nicer words out of Yoongi than you have in months; the low thrum of the baseboard heat. Sick of asking Yoongi what you can do, what you can change to make this work, and getting nothing besides a self-deprecating sigh.

Yoongi loves you. Doesn’t want to hurt you. Doesn’t want you to put those kinds of burdens on your shoulders, but taking on all that water himself does nothing but make the both of you sink.

He’ll write about it, though. That’s the thing. Yoongi will write about it, and it used to bring you comfort—listening to those old songs, an aural timeline of your and Yoongi’s relationship. The shy sounds of falling in love, the tinkling of a ring in a dish, the inevitable crash and burn. All those songs aren’t so comforting anymore, when you’d do anything to keep him and Yoongi’s got one foot out the door.

“Because I listened to the song,” you say, and it should feel relieving, should alleviate some of that weight you’ve been carrying around. Instead, you just feel guilty, confessing to some cardinal sin. Yoongi goes stock-still, doesn’t dare to breathe, spine straighter than it’s been in years, and all you feel is guilt.

Namjoon quirks an eyebrow. “The song?”

this is the moment that you know that you told her that you loved her, but you don't / you touch her skin and then you think that she is beautiful but she don't mean a thing to me.

“It wasn’t meant to be about you,” Yoongi says, and his words are pleading, like if he uses the right inflections he can get you to understand. “It was just—shit, I don’t know, I just. I was just writing. I needed to do something with the way I was feeling.” His words take on more panic the longer you’re quiet, and by the end there’s a dazed look in his eyes. They’re taking on water, too. “Baby, please. Did you really think—”

This isn’t the kind of argument meant for an audience, and you’d said as much in therapy. Told Namjoon you’d like to discuss it with Yoongi in private and maybe you could all hash it out during your next session, because you knew this would happen. Knew you’d break down, knew you’d be embarrassed. How do you say your husband wrote a song about not loving you anymore and make it out still feeling whole? How do you swallow all that anger and remember all that bullshit Namjoon had taught you about how to communicate? Your stupid fucking “I” statements.

“Silver Lake?” you retort, resentment burning in your veins. “That wasn’t supposed to be about me? What, are you fucking someone else out there?”

Your husband looks like you’ve slapped him, and sometimes you want to. Sometimes you want to opt out of this life—where they’re just words to Yoongi, but a little too biographical to you. Because you’re not the only one who listens. Yoongi writes these songs and people listen to them and they think, isn’t he married. They think, did he really write a song like this about his wife. They think, that’s a little fucked up. Because they’re just words to Yoongi, and the rest of the world doesn’t know. They’re not in on the joke, and neither are you.

There are few words you can use to explain your hurt. How you’ve sat with that song these past few weeks, scouring each line for something to tell you it hurts now, but it’s going to be okay. Always coming up empty. Those lines you’ve fixated on, refused to let go of—

So when you ask, "Is something wrong?" I think, "You're damn right there is, but we can't talk about it now.”

—because that’s how it is, how it goes.

“This is my fucking life, Yoongi.” There’s only heat where there used to be patience. “You write these songs and you don’t spare a single thought for how they might affect me. You write these songs instead of talking to me, and I’m supposed to know how to fix everything, right? Aren’t I? You can’t even tell me how to fix this fucking marriage, but you’ll write a song about how I don’t mean a goddamn thing to you.”

There are tears rolling down your face. You hadn’t realized you started crying, but everything feels wet, feels wrong. Feels like you’re occupying a body that isn’t yours. You’re having this argument in someone else’s bedroom. You’re watching someone else’s marriage fall apart. Someone else’s life. “Either help me fix this and put in the work or let me go.” Everything boils over eventually. There’s only so much you can stave off before the inevitable, and now it’s come for you. “Please.” You choke on a sob. “Yoongi, please, I’m so tired.”

And Yoongi—Yoongi’s got a lot of nervous habits. Little things he does when the anxiety gets to be too much, and there’s one you share, one of those couple things where you pick up one another’s mannerisms, ways of speaking, specific inflections. Yoongi fidgets with his wedding band, pushes it up to that knobby fourth knuckle with his thumb, twirls it around.

Usually, when he pushes it far enough, there’s a strip of even paler skin. A place the sun hasn’t touched; a place that bears proof that Yoongi is yours. Yoongi pushes his wedding band with his thumb and that strip of skin matches the rest, and it strikes someplace deep that’s irrational and unfair. Because it makes sense that there isn’t a discrepancy, that everything is uniform. It makes sense, but everything is so fragile that the thought comes unbidden. Maybe there’s no discrepancy because Yoongi isn’t wearing it. Maybe there’s no discrepancy because Yoongi has let go without letting go, and there’s nothing to salvage, no point in begging, in putting the gun in his hand and forcing him to make the decision. It all tastes sour, tastes like your tongue has crumbled to ash, but—

“I’m not letting you go,” Yoongi responds, words just as waterlogged as yours. “I can’t. I won’t.”

“But you want to,” you say, and it sounds like a conclusion but you mean it like a question. A plea. Perhaps that’s the crux of it: you just can’t say what you mean. Sometimes Yoongi’s honesty feels like a brand, a permanent reminder of everything he’s ever felt that you’re forced to carry, but at least there’s honor in that. At least Yoongi doesn’t talk in fucking riddles.

He shakes his head. “No.” At least there’s conviction in his words. “No, I don’t. This is just—it’s hard right now, okay. It’s hard and it fucking sucks, and I don’t know why, but I’m not—” He sucks in a breath. Sometimes Yoongi can’t say what he means, either.

“Just say it, Yoongi.” So, you prod. Sometimes you find the most mottled bruise on his body and you press on it, because when you love someone the way you love Yoongi, you also know all the ways to hurt them. Sometimes you hurt Yoongi when you mean to hurt yourself because it feels the same.

“What do you want me to say,” he answers, defeated and raw. “Tell me what you want me to say, because if I didn’t know better, it’d sound like you wanted me to leave. It sounds like you want that but you want me to be the bad guy. You want me to pull the trigger.”

You don’t. You know that for certain, just by the way it feels excruciating to merely think about. What would your life even look like without Yoongi? What would it be? But you’re still that caged animal. Still resentful of Yoongi’s composure, because you can fall apart at a moment’s notice and Yoongi is always calm, prepared; always the last building standing in a hurricane.

“I don’t want that,” you say, borrowing a bit of your husband’s honesty, his fortitude, “but I need you to know that’s where we’re at. I need you to be able to say it, instead of treating it like it’s some impossible thing—“

“It is,” Yoongi argues, brows pinched, lips pouted. “Baby, what are you saying? It is. Why wouldn’t it be? That’s what you want?”

“You don’t write songs like you did about someone you’re not planning on leaving, Yoongi. I don’t know how you don’t understand that. I don’t—how can you think it’s impossible? You think I’ve just been doing all of this for fun? The therapy, the crying? You think I haven’t already—” Mourned the end of my marriage, you want to say, but you can’t. You need to be realistic. You need to say what you mean, and even if it’s true—even if you’ve mentally divided up everything in this house, thehouse itself—it doesn’t do you any good to create new wounds when both of you are already beaten and battered.

“You’re my fucking wife,” comes Yoongi’s response, and the way he says it feels dirty. Yoongi calls you his wife the way lesser men would use a slur, and sometimes Yoongi is composed but sometimes he’s angry. Sometimes he’s so angry the world becomes too small to contain him. “I’m not gonna—you’ve already what? Given up? Checked out? It’s not fair, this thing you do. Decide how things are gonna play out before they even happen. It’s fucking bullshit. You’re my fucking wife, and the least you could do is give me a little credit—”

“Oh, that’s rich.”

Yoongi’s pupils blow wide. Sometimes you think they’re the darkest thing in the universe. Vantablack. “Yeah, it is. It is fucking rich.”

“At least I’m trying! At least I’m doing something, not just writing little fucking songs about how much I don’t care about you.”

Yoongi slams the door behind him.

For the first time, you wonder if he’s coming back.

i am waiting for that sense of relief / i am waiting for you to flee the scene / as if you held in your hand the smoking gun / and on the floor lay the one you said you loved.

You feel him before you hear him, and he doesn’t wake you up.

It’s dark. Probably sometime between one and two, judging by the pillar of moonlight creeping in through the curtains. Yoongi is quiet as he moves around the bedroom, still so considerate even now, and you just watch. Jeans removed one leg at a time, hung neatly in the closet; socks removed one by one, into the hamper; flannel unbuttoned with calloused fingers, dropped on the floor. He’ll pick it up tomorrow, just like he always does. Down to just a t-shirt, neckline loose and stretched from overwear, and black briefs.

Moonlight suits him, you think. (You’ve always thought.) Casts silver shadows on his skin, fills in the contours, lends credence to the thought that Yoongi is something ethereal, someone wasting his time on earth.

He’s down to a t-shirt and briefs, and he hesitates. Takes a step toward the bed and thinks better of it. Doesn’t know what to do in this liminal space, in this liminal period of time. There’s only two ways to go, and Yoongi will either leave or he’ll stay, and right now he doesn’t know which one it’s going to be.

“Yoongi,” you say, and you try to make the decision for him. “You’re home?”

You see him swallow, watch his shoulders slump. “Yeah,” he says, and it’s quiet like the nighttime. You’re in the middle of the city and this moment is so quiet. “I’m—did I wake you? I’m sorry, I just—”

“No,” you answer. You don’t want to fight. “You’re fine. Do you—are you coming to bed?”

He nods. Seems to fold in on himself just a little more. “Yeah. Yeah, just have to brush my teeth.”

There’s the padding of feet on hardwood. Something that sounds like a stubbed toe. A loud curse. The flick of the bathroom light, the faucet, spit. The padding of feet on hardwood, then the bedroom rug. The depression of the mattress, his phone plugged in and discarded carelessly on his nightstand. An exhale, like he’s finally home after a long day.

Does Yoongi still consider you his home?

“I’m sorry,” you say. Still quiet, just like the nighttime. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

You hear Yoongi swallow again. Smell just the faintest hint of alcohol. “No one’s fighting, baby,” he answers. Woven into his words is a softness you don’t deserve. “We can talk about it in the morning.”

“Can we talk about it now?”

Yoongi suits the moonlight, but so do you. It makes you brave. Sometimes things are easier to say in these in-between spaces: love and heartbreak, midnight and morning. Sometimes the sun is too reflective, and sometimes it burns.

“Do you want to?” You nod, even though instinct tells you to shirk away and take it back. A small piece of honesty to work yourself up to something bigger, more consequential. “Okay.”

Sometimes you get what you want and aren’t sure what to do with it, so you roll onto your side, the one facing your husband, and suck in a breath. Hold it. Count to five. Let it go. Yoongi reserves all his patience for you, always. “I’m really scared, Yoongi.”

His sigh is fractured, watery. “Me too,” he admits. “There’s a lot I want to say and I just—I don’t know how. Which makes it worse, I know, and then I don’t know how to fix it.”

Is that why… “The song?”

Yoongi nods. “I needed to get it out. Like, some call of the void shit, you know? Put those big fears into words in a way that—it doesn’t make sense, looking back, because I thought it was just an outlet. Just, write this hypothetical song about the collapse of our relationship because it fucking terrified me and then let it go. Like how sometimes Namjoon tells us to write letters to each other and burn them.” He fists the duvet. Moonlight gleams off his wedding band. “I’m sorry. I need you to know it wasn’t real… like that.”

“Okay.”

“I—you were right. About the other thing. About me not being able to say it.”

“Can you now?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “I don’t think I can. Makes it real.”

“You also can’t stand in a burning house and pretend it’s not on fire.”

That gets a laugh out of him. Sardonic, a little self-deprecating, but it’s there. “Is that where you’re at? With me.” He makes a sound that’s a lot like a whimper. “Divorce.”

“I don’t want to be,” you answer. Another small truth leading up to a bigger one. “I’m trying not to be.”

“But you are.”

Shakily, you nod. “Yeah, I am. Things just aren’t… they’re not working, even though I’m trying, and I just.” Yoongi’s hand finds yours. It’s sweat-slick and cold. “Sometimes I think it’d be the kind thing to do. Put us both out of our misery.”

“Relationship euthanasia.”

“Yeah, kind of. It’s funny, you know. My vet always used to say you’d know it’s time when there’s more bad days than good, so I guess that really is the best way to put it.”

“What would that even look like?”

You want to say you don’t know. That you haven’t thought about it. Is this the call of the void again or is this for real? But the twilight makes you honest, so you tell the truth. “I would leave,” you say. “I wouldn’t be able to stay here, and I couldn’t ask you to go. It’s always been more your space than mine.”

Yoongi hums an agreement. Not cruel, it just makes sense. “I’m not tied to this place,” you continue. “This city. This state. I’m not sure I’d be able to stay, knowing you’re still here in a house that used to be ours without me in it. But sometimes I’m scared I wouldn’t be able to leave, either.”

“You could,” Yoongi answers. When you look up, he’s crying. Cheeks streaked with tears, eyes swollen. “You can do anything, you know? You’re so much stronger than me. You could do the hard thing and be okay. It’s part of the reason I’ve been so scared to have this conversation. You might leave, and you’d be okay, and I wouldn’t.”

“Yoongi...”

“I know you’re tired,” he says, voice laying his own exhaustion bare, “but I want you to be happy. So I will—I’ll let you go, if it’s what you want.” He’s crying harder now, staccato sobs wracking his body, making him smaller. “I don’t want to,” he whispers. “I don’t think I can, but I will. For you. If it’s what you need. If it’ll make you happy.”

You can’t stand it. “Yoongi, no.” You’re on your haunches, wiping furiously at his cheeks, thumbing beneath his eyes. “Being apart from you would never make me happy.”

You’re in his lap. He’s still too anxious to reach out and touch, maybe still a little scorned, and his hands lay at his sides. Twist into the duvet again. You want them on you. You always want Yoongi on you. “Tell me how to fix this,” he begs. “Tell me and I’ll do it, I promise, baby, please just tell me. I can’t—I don’t want to—”

“Yoongi.” He looks up, meets your eye. Moonlight suits him. “Something has to change, and you know that as well as I do. We can’t keep going like this, but just—just meet me in the middle, okay? Help me. Let’s start there.”

“Okay,” comes his automatic response. He’d agree to anything right now. Take any lifeline. And then the words sink in, and the sobs taper off but he’s still got the shakes, so you hold him. Wrap him in your arms and just let him breathe. “Okay,” he repeats. Measured. Considered.

Still standing, even after a hurricane.

i need you so much closer, so come on.

Morning comes, and with it—tenderness.

Also the mug of coffee on your nightstand, Yoongi’s hand splayed on the swell of your hip, the warmth that seeps into your skin. He’s typing away on his phone with the other, and he abandons it to pull you closer when you stir.

“Morning,” you murmur. Yoongi’s reply rumbles against your back.

“S’the afternoon, baby.”

Your laugh is abrupt, soft. Dissipates into the air as quickly as it’d arrived. “Okay. Good afternoon, then.”

Yoongi shuffles closer, adjusts so he’s pressed fully against your back. The hand that was on your hip moves beneath the hemline of your shirt. Explores the soft skin of your stomach, thumbs at the valleys between each rib. Yoongi’s touch is always laced with soft confidence; now, he still knows the way, still has the map memorized, but he’s reluctant.

You place your hand over his, move it higher. His thumb grazes the bottom swell of your breast and he sighs, presses impossibly closer still. “I love you,” he says quietly, like a secret. “Want you to know that.”

“I do,” you answer. He sighs again at your affirmation—more of an exhale, all relief—and drops his head to the crook of your neck. Presses a kiss there. The heat of him is almost disorienting, especially after being deprived of it for so long. “Haven’t been this close to you in months.”

He nips at your ear with his teeth. “I’ll make it up to you,” he says, and something stirs low in your belly. “Take a shower with me. I still smell like the bar.”

You snort. “Very sexy. Top tier dirty talk.”

He presses another kiss beneath your ear. “Please?”

“Let me drink some coffee first. I’m barely awake.” When you roll onto your side, Yoongi looks small, on the verge of dejection. Soft. You can’t help but smile. Can’t help but reach out to smooth the furrow between his brows, kiss away his pout. “I’ll be there, I promise. Give me five minutes.”

He wants to push it, you can tell, but he just says okay, baby. Presses one final kiss to your forehead before he’s gone, before the sound of bare feet on hardwood returns, before you hear the shower turn on, Yoongi’s low hum as he patters around and talks to himself.

You sit up and take stock. Your eyes are sore, head feels like it’s been split in two, but your heart feels… lighter. Scabbed over. Another battle fought and won, and even though the war isn’t over, you feel cautiously optimistic. Better than you have in a while, and you’re smiling when you press the coffee mug to your lips. Still warm, so Yoongi hasn’t been awake much longer than you. You wonder how many cups he’s already had, if he drank them black.

Half your cup is gone before Yoongi starts yelling from the en suite, complaining loudly that he’s cold and lonely, to hurry up. That he’s going to use all the hot water out of spite, but what if it gets too hot, what if he perishes in here and you have to live the rest of your life overcome with guilt. If it’s too hot, wouldn’t I perish too? you call back. Yoongi’s responding silence is so loud, but you fill it with a wild cackle.

“I’m gonna use all the nice shampoo!” he yells, but you’re already in the bathroom.

“And you’re gonna pay to replace it,” you retort, and he’s so caught off-guard that you’re there that he screams, drops a bottle on his foot, screams again. Up and off goes your t-shirt—Yoongi’s; smells like him and not a bar—and then you’re peeling off your underwear, tossing everything in the hamper. Into the shower. You reach out and touch Yoongi just so he knows you’re there even though he already does, but you press a kiss between his shoulder blades all the same. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he grumbles, all embarrassment.

Yoongi had insisted on a large shower. Something big enough for the both of you to fit in, and he’d blushed furiously when talking about it, but it was never anything sexual. You’d tried shower sex once, back in that shitty Silver Lake apartment, and never bothered again. But Yoongi craved the intimacy of showering together, the vulnerability, and over time you found it almost lonesome to shower by yourself.

So when he says, “Come here,” there’s enough space to maneuver beneath the spray, warm and not perishable-hot, and stand beside him. Enough space for Yoongi to rake his hands through your hair, get the strands wet; enough space to reach back for the nice shampoo he didn’t use all of; enough space for him to lather it in his hands and massage it into your scalp. A practiced song and dance. Something Yoongi could never forget the steps of.

Rinsed out, down the drain. Yoongi works in the conditioner next, brushes it through with his fingers, presses a kiss to your shoulder. “I was talking to Jin,” he says, and your mind is blank for a second. Then—when you woke up and he was on his phone. “About the cabin.”

“The one in Oakhurst?”

Yoongi nods. Turns you around so your back is to the spray, facing him. Lets the water rinse the conditioner away, too, before he’s placing a hand beneath your chin, tilting your face up. “Would you wanna go? Just us?”

“How long?”

A thumb settles in the contour of your cheek. Third finger traces the bridge of your nose. “However long you want. I—I don’t have anything, for a while. Could you work from there?”

You nod, a little delirious on how gentle Yoongi’s being with you. “Ye-yeah. Should be fine.”

You suck in a breath, shuddering as Yoongi brushes your rib cage when he reaches for the loofah. “D’you—” A pause. Time for you to swallow that familiar lump in your throat, keep from crying. “D’you think it’ll help?”

He pauses. Nods, so minutely you almost miss it. “I don’t know,” he admits, “but I want to try.”

“Me too.”

“Okay.” Presses his lips to yours. “However long you want, then.”

After he’s scrubbed the scars from your skin, the sadness, he wraps you in a warm towel. Stands behind you and wraps his arms around you as you both brush your teeth. Presses a kiss to your temple. Watches, so fond it makes you ache, as you dry your hair. Cracks little jokes about each product you use, says surely you don’t need all that, and you swat at him because you do. Because he uses just as many as you do, and sometimes uses yours. Tenderly takes the lotion from your hands and rubs it into your skin. His hands are firm when they run over your calves, your thighs, and your moan is quiet but it’s there, and you watch, mouth open, as Yoongi’s eyes flutter shut. As he takes a second to collect himself, breathe through it.

He just hasn’t heard that sound in a while, is all.

“Can I make it up to you now?” The words are spoken into your skin, pressed into the ditch of your knee, all warm breath skirting along your skin. “Show you how much I missed you? How much I love you?”

Goosebumps erupt all over. Dazed, you nod, and instead of words, you can feel the way Yoongi smirks. “Gonna take my time with you,” he promises. “Gonna take you apart. Would you like that, baby? Want me to take you apart?”

You meet your own eyes in the mirror, quick to forget where you are when Yoongi’s like this. You already look picked apart. Glassy eyes, mouth parted. The towel slips in your slackened grip and you dare another glance in the mirror, already knowing you’ll find Yoongi’s hungry gaze staring back, at full height.

“Look at you,” he chides, tone husky, and it’s not a shock that your husband wants you, that you’re both desirable and desired, but Yoongi is usually so unshakeable. Stable. Seeing him so affected from so little has you lightheaded, has your thighs clamping together unconsciously. “No.” Words firm. “Don’t hide from me.”

You reach back, still staring into the mirror, eyes still locked with Yoongi’s. Your hands tangle in his hair. Dark, longer than it’s been in so long, soft when you pull on it a little. Yoongi groans, buries his face in your neck, nips at the skin there. Through half-lidded eyes you watch as his hands roam your body. Feel the way he grows hard against the small of your back. Briefly, you think you might want it like this. Might want Yoongi to hike up the towel, bend you over the counter.

(Impersonal, because that’s what you’ve grown used to.)

But your hand finds his, slow their travel, lace your fingers together. “Not here.” He bites at your skin again and your whole body flushes when he begins to suck a bruise into your neck. “Yoo—Yoongi. No-not here.”

The bites slowly melt into something taunting, almost cruel. “You sound a little needy, baby.”

“I am.” You’re not embarrassed to admit it. It’s been so long you’re nearly aching with want, and you know Yoongi, know the kind of lover he is. The want is so strong you’re trembling with it. “Yoongi, please.”

Your words are hushed, meant only for the sanctity of this moment. Yoongi looks up long enough to catch your eye—long enough for the corners of his lips to pull into a smirk, to squeeze your hand tighter. “You don’t want it like this?” he asks, even though he knows your answer. But he still makes a show of it. Uses his free hand to grip the edge of your towel, drag it up and over your ass. Pauses to knead the flesh there before planting his hand in the center of your back and bending you over the counter. “Bet I could take you just like this, couldn’t I? Bet I’d just slide right in.”

The whine that escapes you is honestly pathetic, but you’re already so wound up, coiled tight, that you’re long past the point of caring. And you wonder, briefly, why you should care at all; why you care about the sounds you make, the way your body looks, when it’s Yoongi. When it’s your husband and not some random hookup. It’s that thought—this is my husband, my husband, my husband—that has your toes curling against the cold tile. It’s seeing the glint of his wedding band in the mirror.

“Do it here.” Your voice betrays your desperation. “Just—fuck, Yoongi, do it here, I don’t care.”

It’s maddening, the fact that he hasn’t even touched you yet. Not properly. But that’s the thing about space: sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes it’s a dying star, a supernova explosion, and you know what comes after. A black hole. Endless, inescapable, dark dark dark. That’s where the two of you are. That’s what all of this is, just a perpetual pull towards Yoongi, fated. Perhaps nothing more than gravity, but you let it reel you in nonetheless.

If the two of you are fated to go out the same way, the same dying star, you’ll go willingly.

“I’ll give it to you how you wan’ it,” Yoongi slurs. Leaves wet, open-mouthed kisses across your neck. “Get on the bed, baby, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

He’s on you before you even have a chance to drop the towel. Drapes his body over yours and presses you into the mattress, wraps one hand around your throat just to keep you there. Like you might leave. Like you might decide you don’t want this, don’t want him. As if you could. “Tell me what else you want,” he says, words unstable and wavering. He’s so fucking hard.

“Your mouth.”

He cock twitches at your words, your direction, and he smiles down at you in a way that makes you feel like you’re burning. “Yeah? That’s what you want?” A switch flips when you nod, chest heaving. Yoongi gets so serious, laser-focused, and it’s overwhelming when it’s pointed at you. You reach out, trace two fingers over his cheekbones just to make sure he’s real, and Yoongi captures them, presses a kiss to the center of your palm.

He’s not so gentle after that.

Yoongi moves slowly, intentionally, and you feel like prey, all part of the show. He trails his tongue down the column of your throat, the space between your breasts, your stomach. Spreads your legs and settles between them, places them over his shoulders. Stares. You can only imagine what you must look like: how wet, how open. His breath is so warm against you when he speaks. “You have to come on my tongue before you can have my cock.” He presses his thumb against your clit and circles slowly, and you can’t remember the last time he touched you like this. “Do you understand, baby?” A few months at least, maybe longer.

You nod. You’d agree to anything to feel Yoongi’s mouth on you, and he knows this, laughs before he leans in to lick a fat stripe against your slit. It’s instinct, the way your hands fly to his hair, trying to pull him closer. Having him here isn’t enough; you need to be consumed by him, need him to ruin you from the inside out, even though he already has. It’s also instinct, the way you know you belong to him, the way everyone who might come after him will pale in comparison.

As diligently as ever, Yoongi works you over. Eats you out so sloppily you can feel it pooling between your legs, seeping into the sheets below you, and the way he’s moaning around you makes you writhe. Has you gripping at the duvet, his hair, his hand. Has you rolling your hips against his face, groaning when Yoongi just takes it. When he says like that, yeah, so fucking hot, baby, love when you use me. When he reaches up to shove two fingers in your mouth and gives you no warning before he presses them inside.

“Fuck, fuck—”

Embarrassing, the way you can hear yourself, the way you can hear every wet pass of Yoongi’s tongue. Embarrassing that he’s only had his mouth on you for a few minutes and you’re already teetering on the edge. Embarrassing how hard Yoongi has to grip your hips to keep you where he wants you. Embarrassing that you welcome the bruises, want to be marked by him. “Are you close?” You think you nod. It’s hard to do much of anything when Yoongi crooks his fingers, presses firmly against your g-spot. “Is my beautiful girl gonna come from my fucking fingers? My mouth?”

(You are beautiful, but you don’t mean a thing to me.)

You try not to go there. You squeeze your eyes shut and try not to think about the words in that song, try to remember that’s all they are. If Yoongi had meant to hurt you, though, he’d hit his mark. Just words, you remind yourself, but they take you out of your body completely.

And it’s a funny thing, this almost-grief, because you’re hurting so badly it feels like you’re drowning, but with the pain comes guilt. What do you do when the person who cut you is the only one who can bandage it? What do you do with this pain when you want to talk it to death, make sense of it, but you don’t want to make Yoongi feel worse?

You hide—hide the pain, hide yourself.

You’ve gotten good at it over the last few months, too much practice, so you let Yoongi suction his lips around your clit and get you off just the way he said he would. You let him kiss you after, taste yourself on his tongue, and you think, This is what you deserve, I hope you taste like me forever, I hope it never washes away. You tug your lip between your teeth when you push him away and reach for his cock. Spit into your hand and say something dirty as you jerk him off, and Yoongi falls for it. Moans brokenly and thrusts into your hand, gets greedy just the way you had before reality humbled you.

“Ba-baby,” he whines, rutting a little harder, a little faster. Everyone gets selfish eventually. “Gotta fuck you.”

It should feel satisfying, seeing him desperate like this, seeing firsthand how badly he wants you, the fucked-out look on his face, but it all rings hollow. So you finish the show—push two fingers into yourself and coat Yoongi’s cock once more with your own slick—and roll over onto your stomach, arch your back the way you know he likes, and beg him to fuck you.

Yoongi falls for it. Yoongi pushes inside and groans, and you moan because you should and not because it’ll cover the sound of your sobs. Yoongi rolls his hips and lets whatever he thinks come out of his mouth, all filth, and it should do something for you but instead you’re wondering what he’d say to someone else. Would he fuck someone else like this? Would he be as desperate for it?

Eventually you forget to keep moaning but you don’t stop crying. You wonder if it should feel cathartic or if it’ll just feel like this forever. You think about New Year’s Eve and crying alone in the kitchen, how Yoongi hadn’t known. You think, I’m scared I could eventually hate him. I’m scared that line gets blurrier everyday.

“Baby?” Yoongi realizes this time.

You think, Another dying star.

“Did I hurt you?”

You think, Maybe I’ve already burned up. Maybe this is all that’s left.

“Baby, talk to me, please—”

You think, How many holes can you patch before it all sinks anyway?

“I’m sorry—”

You think, I’m scared of how much I want to hurt you. I’m scared I’m going to be angry forever.

Yoongi turns you gently onto your back. Takes a long, hard look at the tears rolling down your cheeks. Seems to commit them to memory. Starts crying, too, and it’s nothing more than vindication that doesn’t feel satisfying. Everything just tastes like ash: remnants of the supernova, the crash and burn, a thousand cuts.

Yoongi loves you. “Keep going,” you say, because you both need it. Not every problem can be fucked through, but you think this one can. “Please, keep going.”

Yoongi hesitates. Must find whatever he’s looking for as he stares down at you before he nods minutely and pushes back in. This is not the way you thought you’d heal, but there is only one way this is going to end, so you might as well. The first time was always going to be the hardest.

“I love you,” Yoongi says, and it’s raw. It’s real, the way he drops his head to the crook of your neck and cries. The way he finds your hand and laces your fingers together. His wedding band is cool against your skin. “I fucking love you. I’ll love you for the rest of my fucking life, you know that?”

He’s got something to prove. Wants to fuck devotion into you, wants to promise you impossible things. You wrap your legs around his waist and whimper, ask him to fuck you harder, but he doesn’t. Fucks you steady. “We’re gonna go to that cabin,” he rasps. “We’re gonna figure this out, and we’re gonna do all those things we talked about years ago. I’m gonna fuck you in every room in that place, just like this. I’m gonna make sure you know—even if you leave, you’re gonna know how much I love you.”

He’s going to be the end of you. “Yoongi.” He already is.

He moves your hand to your clit, tells you to make yourself come. Tells you he wants to see it. Fucks into you just a little faster, a little deeper, and you can feel the coil tightening again. Another supernova, you think as your body surrenders and shudders, and buries himself to the hilt and comes with you.

Sometimes space is a dying star, and sometimes it’s salvation.

and when i see you, i really see you upside down / but my brain knows better. it picks you up and turns you around.

There had been a time, years ago, when you and Yoongi would sit at your cramped kitchen table and pluck scraps of paper out of a bowl.

A lot had been left to chance back then. Probably too much, in hindsight, but that’s just the way life was. Carefree, a summer breeze, blissfully naive. The two of you were young and love-drunk and warm from the sun. Yoongi had worked endlessly—gigs for shit pay in shittier bars, overnights in his studio, fingers calloused from guitar strings and networking—to put a ring on your finger, nothing certain except how he felt about you, and that had been enough.

It’d gone like—

(“What’d you write on that one?” you ask, trying to peek over the bowl between you to see. Yoongi laughs, swats your hand away, says oh my god, go away, you’ll see if you pick it. “You’re no fun.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m no fun because I don’t want to spoil a surprise.”

“But you know what’s on all of mine!” you argue, and you feel more in love with Yoongi than ever, picking a place out of a bowl, leaving things to fate.

It’s your pout that does it. You jut out your bottom lip and turn on the puppy dog eyes, and Yoongi folds like a bad hand. Yah, yah, don’t do that! he says, laughing harder than before, covering his eyes with those calloused hands. There are so many stories in those hands.

So Yoongi laughs and unfolds his scrap of paper and pushes it in your direction. Refuses to meet your eye as you read it over, and you can’t figure out why he’s embarrassed of it. “Jin’s cabin? It’s up in Oakhurst, right? That’s only a five hour drive.”

“For a honeymoon, though?” Yoongi’s question is quiet, small. Still embarrassed. “Isn’t it kind of lame?”

“No, it’s not lame. You’ve wanted to go to Yosemite forever.”

“Yeah, I’ve wanted to go. And it’s mostly just for Horsetail Fall—”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing dramatically. “Yoongi. Put it in the bowl.”

“But—”

“Put it in the bowl.”

A flush creeps up his neck but he listens nonetheless, re-crumpling the paper and tossing it into the bowl. You’ll be picking soon, and you know the odds are slim, but you put a silent hope into the universe for Jin’s little cabin in Oakhurst to be the one, to be able to do this one thing for Yoongi when he’s been working himself to the bone to do so much for you.)

—and it hadn’t worked out, that cabin trip. The two of you had gone to Italy, Yoongi having been the one to pull it, and you rented scooters and ate gelato and soaked in the coastline. You’d dragged Yoongi on a tour of the catacombs and he spent hours at the Roman Forum, reading all the plaques and taking it all in.

You hadn’t felt like you’d missed out. Time hadn’t been wasted, and you still look back fondly at those pictures—the one of Yoongi with powdered sugar on his nose from too much sfogliatella, the two of you at Lake Como, you with all the stray cats at the Gatti di Roma, one in your lap, all gray, that you said had looked like Yoongi.

But, going to that little cabin in Oakhurst now, it feels a little like redemption. It feels like the universe is handing you the keys on a silver platter, saying, it’s okay to do it again; even if you got it right the first time, who says you can only do it once. So you take a day off for the drive and your boss gives you the week; you pack as many clothes as you can fit in your suitcase; you set an alarm for seven o’clock and try to stay grounded.

First, though, you have to survive Namjoon.

“How are things?” he asks, folding one endlessly long leg over the other.

Beside you, Yoongi radiates nervous energy. Jittery but not anxious. The kind of pent-up energy a runner might have: in position, awaiting the gunfire before a race. Composed to a fault, it’s not often you see him like this. Maybe right before an album drop or a big show, but never in marriage counseling.

So it doesn’t feel like a lie or lip service when you say, “Better,” and Namjoon and Yoongi both swallow down the same kind of smile.

“And why is that?”

“We’re going on a trip,” Yoongi says, and this surprises you, too. Protective, fiercely private Yoongi. “To, um. A friend’s place. Up in Oakhurst.”

Namjoon looks excited. “Near Yosemite,” he says. Not a question. “Is this a getaway or just a change of scenery?”

You look at Yoongi; Yoongi looks at you. “I’ll have to work some of the time, so I guess it’s a little bit of both,” you answer, “but it feels… good, exciting. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Yeah?”

You’re fidgeting, digging imaginary dirt from beneath your nails again as your cheeks warm. “Yeah. I know Yoongi has wanted to go for a long time, so I’m excited for that. I think… I think it’s important for him to do something like that, right now. Something big, you know? Or, something that feels big, I guess. I think it’ll be good for him, and—”

“It’ll be good for us.” Yoongi’s correction is gentle, dandelion-soft. He can’t look you in the eye as he says it, but he doesn’t need to. His neck is flushed and Namjoon’s expressive enough for all three of you. “Anything that’s good for me is good for us.”

If you’re stunned, Namjoon is shell shocked. It lasts all of five seconds before he’s coughing to cover his grin, jotting down notes like a mad professor, and it’s a little tooreminiscent of the way your parents had pushed you out the front door on your prom night—that same brand of giddy excitement, like they knew something you didn’t. But, Namjoon is a professional before anything else, so he simply asks, “How long are you going?”

“TBD,” Yoongi answers again.

“You’re able to take the time off?”

Right back to earth. Another sore point, because sometimes, like now, it’s easy to forget who you’re married to; easy to forget when you’re the pinnacle of American suburbia—standard nine-to-five, family health insurance plan, a maxed-out Roth IRA—and Yoongi is anything but. It’s easy to forget when your lives are so different. When Yoongi’s got songs and albums to write, for himself and everyone else, and shows and tours to plan, for himself and when someone else needs him as a fill-in, and you’re gearing up for another half-year spent alone at home.

Sure, it sucks sometimes, but getting to watch Yoongi live out his dreams tampers down all that negativity. When it’s two a.m. in Los Angeles but midday where he is and he sends you pictures of whatever he’s doing, what he’s eating, candids of his tourmates, all the sights and sounds. Yoongi’s doing exactly what he’s always wanted, what he’s meant to, and it’s okay.

What’s good for him is good for you, after all.

“I, uh—” He pauses, rubs at the back of his neck. The flush is still there. “I put a pause on the stand-in work for the rest of the year. Told everyone I wanted to focus on writing and producing and… stuff. Everything else. Getting my shit together.” You can hear it when he swallows, can see the slight tremor of his hands. Yoongi has never done well when he’s not working himself to the bone—when he has too much free time to spend in his own head. “And I can do that from anywhere, so.”

Namjoon catches your eye over the rim of his glasses. Seems to ask a question you’re not sure the answer to so you just stare back, and then his attention turns back to Yoongi. “When you say ‘stuff,’ what do you mean?”

“Well, I wound up here, didn’t I?”

From anyone else, it would sound snappy and bitter, but from Yoongi it’s just… self-deprecating, wounded, like it’s nothing more than a personal failure. Like Yoongi is the only reason the two of you are in marriage counseling and not a million little things the two of you have done. “We,” you correct, dandelion-soft just like Yoongi had been, and his head turns toward you so sharply you worry his neck is going to snap. “Don’t do that, Yoongi.”

He’s stock-still, back uncharacteristically ramrod straight, jaw dropped slightly. “Don’t take on the full burden of this. We wound up here. It’s okay to say that.”

Namjoon tries so hard to hide another smile that his dimples look more like craters.

i roll the window down and then begin to breathe in / the darkest country road and the strong scent of evergreen.

“Hi.”

Yoongi is slouched in the doorway of your office, beanie pulled down low. Strands of curls stick out of the bottom and you shoot him a smile, distracted from your task of packing up your work equipment. “Hi. What’s up?”

“Are you all packed?”

You shrug. “Just about. I don’t really have that much stuff. Just my laptop and some files.” You eye him skeptically, already sensing where this is going. “Are you?”

Your husband pouts, and it’s such a pathetic expression that you swear you can feel your heart grow three sizes. “In my defense—”

“Oh my god.” You try to look stern, but a laugh bubbles out of you anyway. “Why do you always do this?”

“I don’t like packing,” he whines. “And I need help.”

“With what?”

“Some of my production stuff.” He pouts deeper, sends you an impressive pair of puppy dog eyes. “Please help me. You’re my only hope.”

“How much are you bringing?”

“Not that much,” he answers in a way that sounds like a promise. “I wanted to bring the Yamaha because the cabin has that screened in porch and I think the acoustics could be really interesting in there, but it’s really heavy—”

You sigh. Look down at your laptop and stack of paperwork and wireless mouse and sigh again, then nod your agreement, because it’s not the first time you’ve helped Yoongi lug his gear in and out of your place and it won’t be the last. You’ve all but perfected it by now.

The car looks more like you’re moving than going on a trip. Your neighbor’s such a shithead you’re surprised he hasn’t poked his head out by now and asked when the house is getting listed so he can buy it and flip it for three times the price. Another brainless capitalist shill, Yoongi always says, and you laugh to yourself as you force another duffel bag of god-knows-what into the trunk. And we’re his neighbors, so what does that say about us? you always reply.

It takes the better part of twenty minutes, but then it’s done and you’re left with sore arms and a sweaty brow. Yoongi looks like the weight of the world’s been lifted from his shoulders rather than his hefty digital piano, and the thankful smile he shoots at you is worth any price.

“Do you need help with anything?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“No,” you respond, picking up the stack of files only to drop them back down on your desk. “It’s really just my laptop and this stuff. I’m fine; go do whatever it is you’ve got left to do. I’ll take care of it.”

There’s a look Yoongi gets when he’s laser-focused. Intense, unmistakeable, intimidating, especially when it’s trained on you. That’s how he’s looking at you now: looking at the sheen of sweat on your skin, the way your tongue runs along your bottom lip, your mussed-up hair. Both of you know exactly what he wants, and it drives you a little crazy when he’s shameless like this. When he’s not shy about looking, about wanting.

So Yoongi bends you over your desk and fucks you right there, right in your office in front of the street-side window. It’s hazy and primal but he takes his time, does and says exactly what he wants, has you a trembling, incoherent mess in record time, and it works. You come so hard you don’t think about the song, you don’t cry, and those threads of optimism start weaving something you can hold in your hands.

—

“Shut it off,” Yoongi slurs, voice deep and raspy from sleep.

You snort, turning off your alarm, seven a.m. sharp, and roll over to press a kiss to his forehead. “Wake up, sleepyhead, I got breakfast.”

He opens one eye, looks at you questioningly with it, blinks in confusion. “How long have you been up?”

“A while. Now, come on, I ordered your favorite.”

That piques his attention. “The breakfast sandwich?” You nod. “And the little strudels?” You nod again. “Coffee, too?”

You grab the plastic cup and shake it, rattling the ice. “One large iced Americano, at the ready. I even got you one of those bottled horchata cold brews for the road, even though you swear you don’t like them.”

“They’re too sweet,” Yoongi answers. It might be early, but apparently not early enough to not lie right through his teeth.

You glare. “You steal mine every time I order one.”

“That’s not true,” he grumbles, accusations forgotten as he spots the greasy takeout bag. “I should brush my teeth first,” he whines, looking agonized. “I should, right?”

“Says who?”

“I don’t know. The universe or whatever.”

You laugh. Watch, fond, as he drags himself out of bed and into the bathroom. Watch, even more fond, as he returns with a little toothpaste on the corner of his mouth that you thumb away. Watch, hopelessly and forever endeared, as he buries himself back under the duvet, pulls it up and over his nose. You can see the way he’s pouting from his eyes alone, and he starts whining about the cold, how early it is, how the only thing that’ll cure him is a kiss.

Which you give. Freely, without thought.

(And the two of you barely make it to Santa Clarita before Yoongi cracks open the cold brew he didn’t want. Doesn’t say a word about it being too sweet, just sits quietly in the passenger seat, half asleep, as he scrolls through his playlists. Queues up something soft, easy to listen to, and talks your ear off about Jeff Beck when one of his songs comes on.

Beck’s Bolero, which is not as soft and easy as the songs that played before it, but it makes Yoongi’s eyes light up. Has him seemingly speaking in tongues as he spits guitar terms to you, half of Jeff Beck’s life story interwoven with endless praise and awe, all the while he drinks his horchata cold brew and doesn’t say a word about it being too sweet.

You want to listen to him for the rest of your life.)

—

Oakhurst is small.

Only two traffic lights before you reach the road Seokjin’s cabin is on—a sharp right turn off the main highway, an acute angle, a steep decline. You’re glad you’re doing this in early March and not the dead of winter. Doubly glad you’d ignored the judgmental stare Yoongi had given you at the car dealership when you’d insisted on an SUV, all-wheel-drive.

You’d know the cabin was Jin’s even without an address. Baby blue exterior, pink front door. Blends in but still manages to stick out, much like the man himself. More like a bungalow, maybe. Looks, from the outside, like the kind of place that might be good for starting over. Someplace small and unassuming—someplace with a screened-in porch with two rocking chairs. A place where you can drink coffee. Decompress from the city. A place where the only thing you know is Yoongi, so he’s your focus.

A place that makes you smile.

You kill the engine. Just sit in the silence for a moment, hesitant to wake up Yoongi. Unsure, honestly, how he’d slept through the last leg of the trip, all the hairpin turns and uneven roads, but you close the car door gently and punch in the lock code for the house and lug in everything except Yoongi’s gear and let him sleep. Then, when he stirs awake, looking confused and a little lost, you press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth and gesture theatrically at the baby blue bungalow with the pink door and say, “Surprise! We’re here!” even though it’s not a surprise.

Yoongi laughs anyway.

There isn’t much to unpack, nor is there much space to put it. Only a closet in each of the bedrooms, so you dump everything out of your suitcase and thread your clothes through velvet hangers. Laugh at the thought of Yoongi doing no such thing—of Yoongi living out of his luggage for the next couple weeks, everything wrinkled and looking lived-in.

He comes and finds you, places a hand on your hip as he asks for the car keys, says he’s going to the store. Seokjin had stocked the pantry, but he wants to get fresh stuff, and you know that means he’s going to come back with more coffee than groceries. So you just nod, say okay, ask if he’d like you to unpack and put away his clothes. His nose scrunches; you hide your smile and leave it alone.

When he’s gone, you crack a window in the living room to air out the lingering emptiness. Suck in a mouthful of fresh air that seems to sting your lungs, all evergreen. There’s still so much to do, and you should probably stretch your legs after so long in the car, but the temptation to sink into the couch is strong. Seokjin’s got a soft blanket thrown over the back that you arrange over your legs, and then you’re asleep, some stupid paranormal show playing on the television to greet Yoongi whenever he gets back.

You dream of forgiveness, endless sprawling mountains, and the smell of coffee.

the rhythm of my footsteps crossing flatlands to your door / have been silenced forevermore. and the distance is quite simply much too far for me to row. it seems farther than ever before.

There’s a dive bar up the highway that does karaoke on Friday nights. You crack a joke about going.

“Fat chance,” Yoongi answers. He’s driving this time, and his hands are gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles have gone purple-white.

It shouldn’t mean anything. It doesn’t. Yoongi isn’t a dive bar karaoke kind of guy anymore. Left those days back in college, where you were suffering through your economics courses at USC and barely had two nickels to rub together. Yoongi would play open mics during the week just to cover the bus fare for the two of you to go into Koreatown on Fridays—enough to cover a noraebang for an hour, just to sing some girl group song horribly off-pitch just to make you laugh.

So it shouldn’t sting when Yoongi scoffs and says fat chance about singing karaoke at the dive bar when you drive past it, because Yoongi isn’t a dive bar karaoke kind of guy anymore. Now he’s the kind of guy who gets up on a stage and sings songs to thousands of people. They don’t laugh; they take pictures and videos and sing along to words he wrote, so it shouldn’t sting, and you try not to let it.

Instead, you focus on the blur of scenery: all the greens and browns; whites and deep grays from all the trees that have burned; the blue of the endless sky; the color of the asphalt, the edge of the world, like you could tip right over and disappear, nothing beyond the margins. Yoongi drives the thirty minutes to the park and it doesn’t sting, and you wonder if it’s just because it doesn’t or if it’s because you’re numb.

—

Yosemite is hard to put into words.

You feel small, wrapped in the expanse of the mountains, in this ancient nature that has existed long before you and will persist long after you’re gone. Maybe insignificant is a better word for it, because there’s so much to see—so much that’s known and unknown—and it feels like counting grains of sand. Feels like you could never possibly catch up.

So you sit on the ledge of an overlook and just exist. You don’t watch Yoongi take pictures on an old point and shoot, the one he’d ordered from Japan, because this is just for you. Whatever happens between you and Yoongi, these memories will only belong to you, and you don’t want to override something that’s happy with something that could eventually be sad.

The two of you get back in the car. The drive to Yosemite Village is slow, made even slower when you pass a bunch of cars pulled over. There, about thirty feet from the road, is a baby bear and a crowd. There’s a woman standing too close in order to take a picture and ten more people screaming at her for it. Yoongi looks awestruck when you catch his eye.

“I’ve never seen a bear before,” he says, and you nod. Neither have you.

Maybe you were a little stung before, about the karaoke, even though it’s stupid. But the fact that you and Yoongi have been together for so long and still manage to see new things together eases it a little. Plants a tiny, hopeful little seed.

All you have to do is water it.

—

The weather in the village is bitter cold.

Both of you are wrapped up tight, only your noses peeking out from between the layers of your scarves, tinged pink. Yoongi had wanted to go to Mirror Lake; didn’t seem at all deterred when he found out the shuttles were only doing basic routes so the two of you would have to follow the trail from the shuttle stop. Just under two miles. Hadn’t seemed so bad at the time, but now your lungs ache.

Snow and ice cover most of the lake. It isn’t as reflective as it’s known for, but you’re glad to experience it nonetheless. The sand crunches beneath your boots as you look for a log to sit on, the chill seeping through your clothing as you rummage through your backpack for a protein bar. Yoongi’s off taking pictures again, and it’s another moment you’re content to sit in the quiet.

Gives you time to take stock, figure out how you’re feeling. Instinct wants to say better, but you know it’s wishful thinking. Immature. The tendrils of hurt are still wrapped around your heart, and it’s only been a few days. Not enough time to hack them away. But you’re… at ease. For the first time in a while, it feels like you can breathe, and doing so doesn’t make you feel heavy, doesn’t weigh you down with guilt. Things might not be okay right now, not all the way, but you think your compass is finally pointed in the right direction.

Your husband joins you once he’s done. Doesn’t say anything, just sits beside you on the log and accepts when you offer him half of your protein bar. He’s got a nervous energy about him, like there’s something he wants to say but can’t figure out how to, and that feels familiar. That feels like the status quo. Two people who love each other but can’t figure out how to talk to one another.

So you say, “It’s gorgeous here,” and hope it’s enough. You’re not going to push him if he doesn’t want to talk, but it feels necessary to extend an olive branch. It feels necessary to try.

“It is,” Yoongi agrees. Rubs his hands together. Watches his breath dissipate in front of him. “It feels different.”

“What do you mean?”

A bird lands on a branch in front of you. Orange chest, vibrant blue on top; striking against the dreary backdrop of winter. You watch as it ruffles its feathers, shakes off the snow, and Yoongi cocks his head to the side. A guy who knows a little about a lot, full of knowledge, so you aren’t surprised when he says, “That’s a western bluebird.”

You hum an acknowledgment, because you know what it means to see a bluebird. You know the symbolism, but it feels a little too heavy to bear right now. “Pretty.”

“Yeah.” Then he’s sucking in a breath. Says, “There’s a ramen spot in Mariposa, if you’d wanna go there for dinner.”

It’s not what you were expecting him to say, but you nod anyway. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

Yoongi finally turns to you, then. Raises an eyebrow in question. “But is it what you want?”

“It’s just dinner,” you shrug. “Something warm will be nice after this.”

That nervous energy amplifies. Turns all those words clearly biting at the back of his teeth into a tangible thing. “Something warm—yeah, okay. Sounds good. They have matcha cheesecake.” He smiles, like he doesn’t want to but can’t help himself. “Seemed like something you’d like.”

Two things strike you, then: that your husband is always centering you in his world, even when the two of you are like this, and how badly it hurts that you can’t seem to talk to one another. Because you aren’t taking pictures with him because they might turn out sad, and Yoongi is choosing restaurants because they have matcha cheesecake.

And to hell with that, you think. Yoongi is your husband, and if you can’t talk to him then who can you talk to? So you sigh, say, “Look at me, Yoongi,” and you know there’s a fragment of surprise evident on your face when he listens. You know there’s a fragment of sadness on yours when you take in how exhausted he looks. Almost defeated. “Why can’t we seem to talk to one another?”

It must be what he was working up the courage to say, because his shoulders sag immediately. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I’m trying, but it’s just… I don’t know. Sometimes I’m scared I’m gonna say the wrong thing and that’s gonna be it.”

Your brows pinch. “Okay,” you say, because sometimes you aren’t easy to talk to. Sometimes you take things too personally, sort of revel in the hurt. You understand hesitation. “I… want to fix that. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me.”

Yoongi nods. “Yeah,” he eventually answers. “I do, too. We’re not really gonna fix anything unless we can talk to each other.”

“Yeah, true.” The bluebird chirps from its spot in the tree. Stares down at the two of you with these jerky little tilts of its head. “Do you think that’s our problem? How it got… like this.”

“I don’t know, baby,” he says again, and you immediately want to push back on it. I don’t know doesn’t tell you anything. Doesn’t tell you how to fix it, how not to let it get this bad again. But then he says, “It could’ve been anything, you know? A million things. I think—I know that doesn’t help you, but for me, it’s less important how and why we got here because that’s… gone. I can’t change it, and the more I dwell on it the more I spiral, so I’m trying not to do that.”

A stuttered exhale. “I haven’t felt present in a long time and I guess it just compounded. Like, once I realized something was wrong, it felt like I’d left it too long to try and do something about it. I knew you were hurt, and instead of trying to fix it, I’d just think, of course you hurt her, because you’re good at that.”

“That’s what you think?”

“Sometimes.” You reach over and take his hand, barely able to slot your fingers together with the thickness of your gloves. “I know I explained it to you before, but the song… it wasn’t honesty, it was self-destruction. Because I thought if all I do is hurt you, then you should be with someone who doesn’t do that. Someone who knows what they have and is able to hang onto it.” He hangs his head, guilt-stricken. “I don’t know why I wrote it. Call of the void shit, I guess, like I told you. I knew the whole time it was a bad idea. I just thought… maybe you’d hear it and do what I couldn’t.”

“Leave?”

He laughs, all derision. “Yeah. Stupid, isn’t it? I’m scared to death that you’ll leave me, so I tried to speed up the process.”

You sit with his words for a minute. “I don’t think it’s stupid, Yoongi. Can I tell you what I think? I think you feel like you deserve to be a little sad, like some kind of artist’s curse. I think you think you need to feel tortured in order to create, and I think you’ve appointed yourself the arbiter of my happiness, so you see me being human as a failure on your part. And I think I made a very smart choice when I was twenty-one years old, because I think you’ve taken my heart and kept it safe all these years.

“It… does matter to me, how we got here,” you continue, “because if I don’t know why, I’m scared it’ll happen again. But you told me I need to give you more credit, and that goes both ways. I know I can be a bastard, so I’m going to be selfish and ask for patience, and I’m going to give you the same. Just… please believe me when I say I’m not going anywhere. Not as long as we’re both gonna try to fix this.”

Yoongi stays quiet. Sticks out his pinky, and you hook yours around it.

(You know what it means to see a bluebird. Remember reading about it once, back when you were desperate to find meaning in everything. Right after a time of tremendous difficulty, the bluebird comes to bring good fortune in all things such as love, healing, and happiness.)

and together there in a shroud of frost, the mountain air / began to pass through every pane of weathered glass / and i held you closer than anyone would ever get.

Yoongi’s birthday is soon.

Four days, to be exact. The two of you will be celebrating in Jin’s cabin in Oakhurst, surrounded by nature and a town still foreign to you, Yoongi’s music gear scattered all around like a treasure hunt. Follow the cables until you find him, hunched in front of a glowing computer screen, massive headphones shoved over his ears as he gets absorbed into his own world, strumming his guitar all the while.

You think thirty will look good on him.

The weather’s still mild, still colder than you’re used to, but the breeze feels nice when you open the small windows in the kitchen and let it blow through. It feels nice when you run to the grocery store and stand in the foreign aisles, staring at all the ingredients you’ll need to bake a cake. You haven’t done it in ages; since Yoongi’s twenty-sixth, you think. Almond with chantilly cream. It had taken you ages because the cream kept splitting, and you insisted on meticulously arranging little strawberry slices between the layers, but Yoongi had loved it so much it hadn’t felt like work at all.

So you grab what you need and some things you don’t and you feel as light as the breeze on the drive back to the cabin. You make a last-second decision to stop at the donut shop because it closes in the afternoon and you never catch it when it’s open. Two blueberry old fashioneds, a large Americano for Yoongi, and a mocha iced coffee for yourself. Six dollars, and the woman behind the counter is kind.

“What’s that?” Yoongi asks when you place the coffee and donut on his makeshift desk. The headphones are looped around his neck.

You click your tongue, all sugar. “What does it look like?”

“This looks like a donut and an Americano. What’s in the bag, though?”

“I went to the grocery store.”

“For what?” he pouts. “I was just there!”

That pout fades when you press a kiss to the top of his head. “Don’t pout. I picked up stuff for your birthday cake.”

“My birth—” he begins, seemingly offended by the mere thought of his birthday and that it might be soon, and then he looks at the date on his computer and mumbles an, oh shit. “You’re baking me a cake?”

“Yeah, I thought it’d be nice.”

He tries to peer into the bag. “What kind?” You swat him away.

“It’s a surprise,” you deadpan.

“But I saw strawberries in there.”

“No you didn’t. Now, eat your donut and get back to work.”

Yoongi pouts again. Really exaggerates it. “I’m really stuck on this bit. I might need a kiss for good luck.”

As you press a kiss to his lips, you think you might give him whatever he wants.

—

Yoongi spends the morning of his birthday tucked in bed.

You spend the morning of Yoongi’s birthday beneath the duvet, hands roaming every inch of your husband’s body. Thumbs digging into the muscles of his calves, sore from the overuse they’ve suffered the last few days. Nails grazing the sensitive skin of his biceps, his stomach, the insides of his thighs. Lips pressing open-mouthed kisses to his forehead, his temple, his neck, down his chest, the jut of both hip bones. And then, once he’s whining and writhing and just on the verge of begging, you spend the morning of Yoongi’s birthday making him come with your mouth.

He spends the early afternoon in his makeshift studio with a cup of coffee. Answers a couple emails. Calls his parents. Messes around on Cubase. Fixes the two of you a quick lunch and says he might want to wander around town for a little bit. Check out the antique store down the street, maybe spend a few hours in the park with his guitar, get some fresh air. Thirty feels weird, he says, and you’re anchored to your laptop at the small dining room table, so you just say okay, I’ll see you later for dinner. There’s a crooked smile on Yoongi’s face as he hikes the gig bag over his shoulder, and then he’s gone.

You: He just left. Coast is clear.

Seokjin: Thank fuck, I’ve been sitting at this Starbucks for 500 hours

You: No you haven’t

Seokjin: 499 hours*

When he arrives, Seokjin blows right by you and locks himself in the bathroom. You know I refuse to use public restrooms, he says after, slinging his arm around your shoulders. He’s not a hugger, so it’s the closest you’re going to get to one.

“My car reeks of kimchi and soup,” he says, dropping a bag of groceries in front of the refrigerator. “Won’t be able to get that smell out for weeks, probably.”

“Thank you for your sacrifice,” you intone. “You’re a god amongst men, Kim Seokjin.”

It’d been your idea. Wanted Yoongi to ring in his thirtieth birthday surrounded by as much love as possible, and a cabin-bungalow nearly five hours away from home wasn’t especially opulent. Not to mention Yoongi had been on tour the last two years—spent twenty-eight and nine in grimy venues in Texas and Birmingham, respectively—and the less said about 2020 the better.

So Seokjin had fucked off from his cushy job for the day and made the drive from San Francisco. Made the miyeokguk and myeongnan-jeot himself, and had whined when you told him you already bought the ingredients for a cake because I was gonna pick up mujigae-tteok, to which you replied, pick it up anyway.

Now he’s standing in the small kitchen of his own small bungalow, and you’ve got a one-thirty meeting so you can’t help, but he’s determined to make gyeran mari anyway, even if it inconveniences you. “Maybe I should make it closer to when he’ll be back?”

“Up to you,” you shrug. “You could also stand on the side of the road and resell all those eggs for ten times the price.”

He just sends you A Look.

—

You watch through the small window above the kitchen sink as Yoongi returns just after six, cheeks pink from the wind, arms full of goodies.

“Hey,” he says, kicking his boots off on the porch, “is that—”

“SURPRISE!”

Seokjin’s scream is so shrill you think you black out for a second. Nearly topple over from your spot in front of the island, frosting knife poised to strike. Yoongi’s still out on the porch, and there’s a terrible crash that can only be him startling and knocking into one of the rocking chairs. He’ll appear any second now, brows pinched, and go is that Seokjin? and once he confirms it is, in fact, Seokjin, he’ll start yell—

“Jesus Christ,” he grumbles, appearing in the doorway. Brows pinched. “I was gonna ask if that’s Seokjin’s car outside, but now I don’t fucking need to.”

Seokjin tuts, ladles another bowl full of miyeokguk. “Is that any way to speak to your elders? Now, get in here and sit down. It’s not breakfast, but it’ll have to do.”

Yoongi grumbles the entire time, but you see the way the flush deepens on his cheeks. The way he’s pleased to be fussed over, to have you and Seokjin in the same room as him. Pleased to be celebrating thirty surrounded by people who love him, people he loves in turn.

“Did you call your mother?” Seokjin asks, setting the bowl in front of him. He jokingly tucks a napkin into the front of Yoongi’s shirt.

“Of course I called my mother.” Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Are you stupid? It’s not my first day being Korean.”

“That’s correct! It’s your 10,950th day being Korean.”

“How did you—”

“I knew you would say that so I looked up how many days are in thirty years. Now, is your lovely wife done with the cake?”

You are, just about. Just a few more slices of strawberry to place on top, and you take a step back once you do so. Admire your hard work. Send up a quick thanks that the cream hadn’t split this time. Seokjin and Yoongi are still bickering—

(“Did you make the miyeokguk last night?”

“I’m offended, Yoongi. Of course I made it last night, the broth needs time to develop! It’s not my first day being Korean, either!”

“No, it’s your ten billionth, you decrepit bitch.”)

—and your heart feels full. Content. You see Yoongi laughing, all gums, and feel untethered. Like any second now your ribs are going to crack apart and give way, let your heart tumble right out of your body. Because it belongs next to Yoongi, always. Because it wants to be next to Yoongi.

So you finish the cake and set it aside. Sit down at the place Seokjin set for you, right next to your husband, whose hand immediately goes to your knee; who immediately turns and smiles at you, even though Seokjin is still squawking in the background. Yah, Yoongi, compliment the soup! Tell me how good it is! Yoongi doesn’t, because he’s still smiling, can’t look away from you, and you swear you can hear a fissure forming, except this one doesn’t hurt.

This one doesn’t hurt at all.

—

Yoongi is sufficiently drunk by nine.

That traitorous combination of alcohol and sugar. A shot of soju, a bite of cake, some mujigae-tteok. Seokjin’s endless chatter as background noise. Yoongi’s hand still on your knee, warm warm warm. Liquor loosens him up a little, has him bashful, chin tucked to his chest, when he offhandedly mentions Namjoon and Seokjin says who’s this Namjoon, and Yoongi says he’s our marriage counselor. Seokjin looks to you, then. Connects some dots.

Says, “Ah, Yoongi, did you eat your tteokguk on Seollal? No? See, this is why things are hard right now, because you didn’t eat your tteokguk. It’s good luck, that’s why you eat it,” because it’s easiest to get through to Yoongi, to let him know he’s okay, when you’re scolding him a little. When you treat it kind of like a joke. No big deal.

And Seokjin follows that up with, “How are you settling in here?” when what he really wants to know is are things better, are the two of you doing okay. Yoongi grumbles again, barely coherent at his current level of inebriation, and Seokjin says, “Ah, I bet not well, huh? There’s just the one Starbucks, can’t find your bougie pour-over, LA coffee here, can you? Do they even have oat milk? Are you—”

“It’s still California,” Yoongi argues, “there’s fucking oat milk everywhere. Hey, hyung, did you—did you know there’s, like, the tree nut milk orchard near here? Not far. Close by. I could drive to see the al-almonds.”

“Tree nut milk,” Seokjin deadpans. “You know, Yoongi, I did not know that. Why don’t you tell me all about it.”

—

By eleven, Seokjin is passed out on the couch.

By eleven-ten, Yoongi has convinced you to lay in the grass with him. A minute later he’s staring up at the sky, making wishes on superstitions. His breath vaporizes in the cold, and he’s not wearing a jacket, but he’s still flushed from the alcohol, feels invincible.

“Think the edible’s hitting me.” He laughs, short and raspy, and he doesn’t seem to care that the grass is wet with dew. Doesn’t care that it’s in his hair, seeping through his clothes. “What’s your favorite one of those?”

He’s pointing at the stars, wants to know your favorite constellation. All of them, you want to say, following his line of sight. Because they’re all different. All meaningful in different ways. All have their own story. Instead, you roll your head to the side, take in Yoongi’s profile. Say, “You’re my favorite,” and laugh at how flustered he gets, laugh at his gravelly protests.

“Yah, you can-can’t say that,” he whines. “That’s so greasy, you can’t say that, it doesn’t count. Give me a real ans—”

“Then why are you smiling?” You laugh as he grows even more thunderstruck, completely caught-out, and it’s nearing midnight but it does nothing to hide the blush creeping down his neck, tingeing the tips of his ears. “You’re so red. That’s exactly what you wanted me to say, you absolute—”

“Real answer, please.”

You decide to take pity on him. Poor thing, can barely look you in the eye because of one terrible pick-up line. “Fine. Pisces.”

His responding groan is so loud you have to slap your hand over his mouth. The grass is so cold but Yoongi’s laughter, the way his shoulders shake with it, makes you warm. “You’re just saying that,” he says once you remove your hand.

“Am not. Ask me why.”

“Okay. Why?”

“Because you’re a Pisces, first of all—”

“Oh my god, here we fuckin’ go—”

“—but I just like the myth. Aphrodite and Eros transformed themselves into fish to escape Typhon, and tied themselves together with rope so they wouldn’t lose one another.” You sigh, watch your breath dissipate into the dark. “I don’t know. I like to think… I don’t believe in soulmates, but I like to think some people are meant to tie themselves together. Some people aren’t meant to be apart.”

There’s a quiet little oh, and then there’s silence. Just the distant sounds of the highway, a dog howling, and, if you listen closely enough, Seokjin’s snoring from inside. Yoongi finds your hand, brings it to his mouth to press a kiss to the back of it, and he’s oddly quiet. Contemplative, maybe. Usually gets a couple drinks in him and starts talking your ear off, but this is nice, too. It’s nice to just exist in the silence alongside someone else.

“Do you know the myth about Eurydice and Orpheus?” he finally asks, and you nod, suddenly understanding why Yoongi doesn’t care that his hair is wet. So inconsequential to this moment where you can exist in the silence alongside someone else. “I was thinking about it today.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I think… I think I’d fuck it up. I think I’d look back. And I think you wouldn’t.” He sighs, and the weight of the world expels alongside it. “What you said about Aphrodite and Eros, that some people are meant to be tied together—if I couldn’t hear you, or touch you… That’s what you are for me, you know? An anchor. The first time I read it, it made me so fuckin’ angry, like why can’t this guy just listen, if he loves her that much wouldn’t he listen, but… I dunno. I think I get it.

“I’m so scared all the time that one day I’m gonna look back and you won’t be there anymore. What would I even do? Baby, what would I do? Sometimes I’m fuckin’ terrified that I don’t think I could have that kind of faith in anything, and I’m finally gonna make it to the end of this cave and they’re gonna lay all my betrayals at my feet.”

Midnight finds you still staring up at the sky, hair wet, breath tangible, wondering how you can be both an anchor and an albatross.

—

(In the morning, Seokjin makes tteokguk and ladles extra into Yoongi’s bowl.)

i'm reaching for the phone to call at 7:03, and on your machine / i slur a plea for you to come home, but i know it's too late / and i should have given you a reason to stay.

The thing about grief is that it’s indiscriminate.

Because it has no context. Grief doesn’t know that things are better, doesn’t know that the two of you have stuck to your appointments with Namjoon and are able to talk honestly; doesn’t know that laughing feels lighter, easier; doesn’t know that guilt isn’t weighing you down as heavy. So it feels a lot like treading water, and sometimes you’re able to float and sometimes you slip beneath the waves, struggle to breathe.

And it’s stupid, you think, that you can disappear too far into your mind to the place where everything feels bad. Where progress is meaningless. Where there’s still you and Yoongi and a crumbling marriage. Where the only words ringing in your ears aren’t I love you, but you are beautiful but you don't mean a thing to me. Just like last time. Regression.

There are only so many distractions. Work helps, because you can’t focus on how shitty you feel—how scared you are—when your boss is on your ass about deadlines. The antique store in town helps, too, though you must’ve worn a pattern into the floors by now, but you can’t help it. It’s nice to hear the stones crunching under the tires when you pull into the parking lot; nice to laugh at the giant Sasquatch outside and greet them like a friend; nostalgic to breathe in the scent of old stuff—belongings that were once well-loved, now free to be loved by someone else.

Grief doesn’t care that you’re sad and Yoongi has that spark in his eyes.

But Yoongi is smart. Wickedly perceptive. Knows there’s something bothering you long before you gather the courage to say it, because it feels wrong to dim that spark, take it away, so he lets you sit with it. Lets you take your time, and that endless patience just makes you feel worse. Makes you think, he deserves better. Makes you think, what’s the point of any of this. Makes you angry, because things aren’t fixed but they’re better, and why can’t everything hurt all at once instead of incrementally.

And, just like always, you can only tread water for so long, stave off the inevitable.

Because Yoongi’s giving you time but when you feel like this, everything reads like an attack. Feels like disregard and indifference. What you want is unfair, and you know it, because you want Yoongi to be able to reach into your mind and see everything that’s turned necrotic. You want him to know how to fix it without having to talk about it, because talking about it makes you feel guilty. How many times can you press your fingers into the same wound and be shocked when they come out bloody?

So it isn’t fair and it’s also hard. Words bite at the back of your teeth, because this is your husband—if you can’t talk to him, what are you even doing? Namjoon would laugh. The one that’s equal parts patient and exasperated, like he can’t believe someone like you exists even though he’s seen some shit. Worse shit than you and Yoongi have, that’s for sure, so it should be reassuring.

(Everything reads like an attack.)

“Hey,” Yoongi says, hip resting against the counter, towel thrown over his shoulder. (These things always happen in a kitchen.) “You okay?”

How doubly unfair is it that your first instinct is to lie? To say yeah, I’m fine—not to be deceptive, but because you’re sure with enough time you can make it true, foolishly certain you can either bury it or delude yourself. But Yoongi is looking at you like a caged animal; like he, too, is foolishly certain of foolish things. Yoongi is looking at you like he knows this is it. Like this is where you say I’m sorry, this just isn’t working, we were stupid to think it would even though we’re trying. Like this is where you take off your wedding band and place it calmly in his hand. No dramatics, just resignation.

So you don’t lie. You can’t. Instead, you say, “Yeah, I think… I think it’s just been a little hard lately.”

Yoongi tries to lie, too. Tries to hide how relieved his exhale is, but the smile peeks through, the flush on his cheeks. Can’t hide that he’s pleased because all those nightmares he’d conjured in his head aren’t coming true.

“I should’ve said something earlier,” you say, because it’s something that’s true, “I’m sorry. I just—I don’t want you to feel bad, you know? I don’t want to keep rehashing things.”

He closes the distance. Wraps you in his arms, all warmth. Presses a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s okay. I know it’s hard to talk about these things sometimes. I just wanted to make sure we’re okay.”

“Yeah. Yeah, Yoongi, I think we will be.”

(Something that’s true.)

it felt just like falling in love again. and it felt just like falling in love again.

On Friday, the two of you go to the bar for karaoke night.

As he’s buttoning his shirt, Yoongi says do you think they’ll have Epik High? and you can’t help the ugly laugh that tumbles out of you even though it’s not really funny. Because no, this two stoplight town won’t have Epik High, but it’s the kind of thing you laugh at when you’re feeling terribly fond, horribly endeared—it’s the kind of thing you laugh at when you’re riding the high of going through hell and making it to the other side.

It’s the kind of thing you laugh at instead of detailing every reason you’re in love with him.

So you do your hair and makeup nice. Barely make it out the door, because Yoongi stumbles into the bathroom to fix his hair and put on cologne and stops dead in his tracks when he sees you. Mutters a goddamn under his breath before he’s all over you. Kisses pressed to the nape of your neck, hips pressing you against the counter. The right side of painful.

You manage to pry him off of you long enough to shove him out the door, thighs just a little bruised, Yoongi’s lips a little too red. He’s still all over you at the bar. Still rests a possessive hand at the small of your back, still presses a kiss to your cheek every time he gets up to order another round of drinks, still whines and pretends to drag his feet when the house music plays and you pull him onto the dancefloor.

Someone sings “Fly Me to the Moon” by Frank Sinatra. It’s off-key and a little grating and Yoongi’s got wing sauce smeared on his cheek, but he still mouths the words to you. You are all I long for. All I worship and adore. You know you look lovestruck, and you think it’s a shame there’s barely anyone in this bar to witness it. What you and Yoongi have—it should be seen. It should be screamed from rooftops.

When the two of you go back to the bungalow, you split a bottle of red wine and sit on the living room floor. Yoongi has his guitar in his lap, barely able to play the chords properly, but he serenades you anyway. Does a better rendition of Fly Me to the Moon than the guy at the bar just because it’s his, and he’s singing it for you. He sweeps the blankets from the back of the couch onto the floor and fucks you slow. Holds your hand and kisses you until you’re breathless. (You already were.)

The rest of the weekend is spent similarly. Yoongi can’t keep his hands to himself, fucks you in nearly every room of Seokjin’s little house in Oakhurst, and presses praise into your skin like a brand. Sits on the living room floor again as you cook dinner, back ramrod straight against the couch; has a spliff stuck between his lips as he jots down words into a notebook. Looks up and over at you every now and then, cheeks reddening each time you catch him staring. You, too, refuse to smile until you’ve turned back around.

On Sunday night, Yoongi ducks out to go to the drug store and returns with an armful of bath bombs. Looks like he looted a bank, but he asks do you want to use the lavender one in that soft, shy voice, and you wouldn’t be able to say no to him even if you wanted to, so you don’t. You sink into the warm water, let the lilac swirl around you, make you soft, and you feel safe here with your back pressed to Yoongi’s chest. With his legs caging you in. With his words in your ear and his lips pressed to the top of your head, fingers dancing along your ribs, clearing the cobwebs from in between.

Monday comes before you’re ready. Insistent, inevitable—the sunlight streams in, wakes you slowly. Yoongi’s arm is thrown over your middle, both of you still lavender-soft, and he groans when you stir, buries his face in your neck. Everything is warm. A blissful little cocoon, made even more so when Yoongi pulls himself out of bed, makes a pot of coffee, returns with your mug steaming hot. He sets it on your nightstand, doesn’t want to risk burning you by handing it off, and tilts your chin up to press a quick kiss to your lips.

You’ve got a nine-thirty meeting, so you tangle your legs together and drink it as fast you can. Shameless, Yoongi watches as you undress—watches as the sun paints you in golden light, watches as you pull his t-shirt up and over your head, watches as your shoulder blades move beneath your skin. It’s the t-shirt that fucks him up the most, has him a little hard in his briefs. One of his tour shirts, the last one he’d gone on before the two of you got married. Says, a little awed, “I’d follow you anywhere,” and he doesn’t elaborate but somehow you know exactly what he means.

And he stays in the bedroom when you log on for your meeting. Listens to you talk to your team, your laugh soft and bright, and feels entirely dumbstruck. Feels overwhelmed, wonders how his body can possibly contain so much affection. Wonders, briefly, where it goes when everything hurts. If it’s just in a reserve, because Yoongi has loved you as long as he’s known you, and he’s not sure it’s ever felt like this; ever hit him this hard.

So, he locks himself in the second bedroom until the late afternoon. Pours over his notebooks, strums every chord he knows until he finds the right one. Jots down words he scribbles over and jots down more. Writes until the calluses on his fingers turn to blisters, writes until the words all blend together, until there’s something singular instead of tendrils. Yoongi writes until there’s something he can feel proud of; something that might feel a lot like redemption.

[interlude: monday morning]

(You listen to it far later. Back in your home that isn’t the apartment in Silver Lake but contains just as much love—perhaps more now than before you left; certainly more patience, more hope, more resilience. And as you take in Yoongi’s words, wrapped in their metaphors and their honesty, you cry again, but this time it’s quiet rather than heaving.

This time Yoongi is singing love, keep your arms around me.)

looking upwards, i strain my eyes and try / to tell the difference between shooting stars and satellites from the passenger seat as you are driving me home.

“Should we go home soon?”

It’s a Saturday morning, and you and Yoongi are on the porch. The air is crisp and cool, makes your coffee a tolerable temperature, and it’s early enough that the world is largely still asleep. There’s no polluted noise, just the rustling of the grass that’s now a little overgrown and the one neighbor from down the road who always wakes up early to run. He must hear your muted voices, because he waves as he passes by.

Home. Back to Los Angeles. Back to your two-storey home with the awful neighbor who doesn’t wake up early to run and never waves to you. Back to the chaos you know. Back to a home that hasn’t felt much like one lately, but one that can be repaired, just like everything else. A home that’s got enough love stored between its walls that you aren’t worried.

But it’s still daunting, somehow. Things feel solid here, like a houseplant sprouting new life—resilient, but a little fragile, too. So you’re scared to burst the bubble and doubly scared of what that hesitation means. “I don’t know,” you say. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know, either,” Yoongi answers. Takes another sip of his coffee, rocks a little in the chair. He’s got his knees pulled up to his chest. Looks impossibly small, especially in his oversized pajamas and the even larger hoodie he’d thrown over them. “It’s nice here.”

It is, in more ways than one. “Yeah, I’m gonna miss it.”

Yoongi hums. “Maybe I’ll just buy it from Seokjin.” Words muffled by the rim of his mug, like he’s trying to hide them from you.

Doesn’t work. Instead, you turn to him, eyebrow quirked. “Oh, really?”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Gotta do something with all this money, hm?” Then he sighs, picks at imaginary lint on his pants. “You like it here, though, right? Not saying I am, but—”

“Oh no,” you interject, voice at least fifty decibels higher. “I know you, Yoongi! You wouldn’t be asking me any of this unless you already had some half-baked plan in the works—”

“Yah! It’s at least seventy-five percent baked!”

You laugh, the sound the loudest thing for miles. “Yeah, okay. How much did you offer him for it? You spend all my money?”

“Your—that’s not funny.” He pouts. “I didn’t spend all of it.”

“Just seventy-five percent?”

“I’ll have you know I am a very successful musician. I could buy you ten of these cabins if I wanted to.”

You drop your mouth open in mock-affront. “And yet I have zero cabins, so what does that say about the state of your priorities?”

“Not this shit again—”

“I think it’s more of a bungalow, anyway.”

“Yeah, Seokjin said the same thing. Was really offended that I offered to buy his cabin.” A pause. A small lift at the corners of his mouth. “Still offered to sell it to me, though.”

You can’t help the smile that splits your face. “And I’m sure you said yes, of course.”

“I’ve grown very attached to those blueberry donuts.”

“Uh-huh.”

“...And it’s been good for us. We’re happy here. Happier.”

“Yeah, we are. You just needed some fresh air.”

Yoongi’s cheeks tinge pink. “Yah, knock it off! You’re making me sound like a tuberculosis patient. Like I just needed a trip to the seaside to heal.”

“I’m just stating facts, Yoongi. You’re a little studio hermit, barely witnessing the light of day. I bet you got one lungful of this mountain air and almost keeled over.”

“You’re a pain in my ass,” he accuses, “I’m revoking my offer.”

“That you extended with my money.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

—

Saying goodbye is hard.

As you load the last of your belongings into the car, it feels like you’re leaving behind a friend. You know you’ll be back (because Yoongi actually did offer to buy the cabin-bungalow and Seokjin seems keen, but whether that’s because he actually wants to offload it into the two of you or because he wants to salvage your marriage any way he can, you can’t be sure), but tears prick at the corners of your eyes anyway. Because you were desperate when you arrived, and now you aren’t. You were scared and lacking direction, and now you have another place to rest when you get tired.

Yoongi joins you at the car, his guitar bag slung over his shoulder. Just stares at the little blue bungalow with the pink door and doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. Whatever he’s thinking, you know he’s saying it in his head in that fond tone of his. The one that’s bordering on thankful, and you are, too.

On the way home, Yoongi drives and treats you to (read: makes you suffer through) John Denver karaoke. Sings “Take Me Home, Country Roads” the way he used to sing girl group songs at the noraebang. Holds your hand the entire way, and the two of you stop at some hole in the wall for lunch, still a few hours from the city. He orders a beer—some disgusting IPA you know he only drinks to seem distinguished, even though this is the same guy you watched do keg stands in college for free Natty Light—to get out of driving the rest of the way and it’s your turn to call him a pain in the ass.

But he’s quiet in the passenger seat, and it’s not from the alcohol. He’s typing intermittently on his phone, pink tongue darting out from between his lips when he gets especially focused. “I think I got something,” he says eventually. “If I read it to you, will you tell me if it sounds alright?”

“I majored in economics,” you say, because you always do. It’s been your go-to since the first time he asked, all the way back in your junior year.

He laughs anyway. “Perfect, then you can tell me if this shit is gonna make me any money,” he answers with a wry smile, because he always does. “I’ve had this stuck in my head for days.”

You nod. You listen.

“And if you feel just like a tourist in the city you were born, then it’s time to go. And you find your destination with so many different places to call home.”

You wonder how Yoongi is always able to put to paper all the feelings you’ve got locked up tight. You wonder how Yoongi always makes Los Angeles seem less daunting.

there'd be no distance that could hold us back. so this is the new year.

It’s the thirtieth of December.

Your shithead, capitalist shill of a neighbor doesn’t wave when you and Yoongi pack up the car this time, either, just watches from his front porch. You can feel his brooding; worse ever since Yoongi had offhandedly mentioned buying a place up near Yosemite. Got a really good deal from a friend, he’d said, just when we need to get away, you know how it is, and that had your neighbor’s jaw clenching, nodding in faux politeness. Even illuminated by the golden ambiance of icicle lights, he still manages to look like a dickhead.

Good riddance.

“Ready?” Yoongi asks, catching the keys with one hand when you toss them to him.

You nod. Then you fold yourself into the passenger seat and reach for his hand.

—

Oakhurst is still small, but it’s made room for you, now.

There’s still only two traffic lights before you reach the road your cabin is on—a sharp right turn off the main highway, an acute angle, a steep decline. It doesn’t matter what time of year you make the trip, because the uneven, precipitous little road always makes your stomach drop, but it’s home now. Another physical one, because you and Yoongi have worked hard over the last year to make as many as possible.

(And, even still, the strongest home you’ve made is Us. What the two of you have is something still standing long after the storm. Something that has persevered and stood tall, even when the foundation was shaking. Even when you wanted to tear it down. Even when it seemed beyond repair.)

“Home sweet home,” Yoongi jokes as he kills the engine, and you laugh because his tone is flat and dry. Belies his excitement, his insistence on digging out an old box of Christmas lights from the attic and bringing it with you. That he has this whole plan to spend New Year’s Eve decorating, bringing life to this little blue bungalow with the pink door.

“It is pretty sweet,” you agree, and just like before, you neatly unpack your stuff and thread your clothes through velvet hangers and Yoongi abandons his suitcase in a corner of his studio.

—

There’s a woman on the television with rosy cheeks and a drink in hand. She isn’t trying to sell you anything.

She’s lovely and very drunk and even more beautiful when she laughs, teeth perfectly straight and blindingly white. She’s prattling off questions to some celebrity, rapid fire, and they’re trying their best to keep up but it’s hopeless. Eventually they, too, just smile into the camera.

Yoongi’s in the kitchen fixing drinks. Expensive champagne flutes filled with inexpensive champagne, a pair of raspberries tossed into each one as a garnish. Your husband doesn’t even like raspberries, but he’d wanted to feel fancy, so you don’t bother questioning it. You know what it means—wants a do-over of last year. Wants this year to be what the last should’ve been, because this year the two of you will be sitting on the same side of the couch, drinking cheap champagne from Vons out of expensive glassware.

A gift from Seokjin, because he’s a bastard. A housewarming gift for a house you’d bought from him.

There’s still an hour before the countdown. There’s still an empty pot on the stove that used to be full of tteokguk. It’s a different New Year, not Seollal, but Yoongi had wanted to make it anyway. Cracked a joke about not wanting to risk it, so he’s going to eat as much tteokguk as possible, that he might need the luck, you never know. I didn’t eat any last year and still bought a second house, he’d said. Imagine how powerful I’ll be if I eat ten bowls of this.

Your husband is always powerful, but you hadn’t pointed that out. Hadn’t pointed out that the only reason the two of you could afford a second house was because Seokjin gave you a steep pity discount, either. Sometimes it’s just nice to believe in luck, on top of all the other things you already have to believe in.

(Like each other.)

There’s still an hour, and Yoongi hands over a flute of champagne and sinks into the couch beside you. You forget about the woman on TV, but you don’t forget about—“You know, I distinctly remember you making me a promise before we came up here last year.”

Yoongi quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah? Did I make good on it?”

“For the most part,” you answer. “Like, eighty percent.”

Yoongi snorts. “Refresh my memory.”

You set your glass on the coffee table. Angle yourself so you can swing a thigh over Yoongi’s lap to straddle him, earning you another quirked eyebrow. “I distinctly remember you promising to fuck me in every room of this house.”

His own glass abandoned, Yoongi settles one hand on your hip, the other on your thigh. “Surely I already did,” he answers, words spoken into the crook of your neck, goosebumps rising along your skin. “No way I would’ve been able to keep my hands off you.”

Warm lips press against your neck. Kiss their way to your jawline to the corner of your mouth. “Do you remember me fucking you on this couch? On the floor? You remember how hard you came that time?”

Your hips start to grind, seeking friction. This time, the cool metal of Yoongi’s wedding band against your flushed skin doesn’t shock you. Just feels like another home. His hands slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt feel like home. His tongue licking into your mouth tastes like home. When he pulls away to say, “I know you remember the time in the kitchen, the way I fucked your mouth,” you lose all concept of home entirely.

Home is just Yoongi. Everything is Yoongi.

“I fucked you in that bed so many times. Against the bathroom sink. Always so good for me.” He’s thumbing over a nipple, embarrassingly hardened from the husk of his voice, the way his cock is filling out in his joggers. “Where’d we miss, baby?”

You swallow. Know it’s audible even over the sound of the television. People are cheering, but you aren’t turning around to look, because what could they possibly have to cheer for when they don’t have Yoongi? When Yoongi only looks at you like this—like he’s already a little crazed, a little fucked up?

“The st-studio,” you choke out. Dizzy, dizzy, dizzy. Not a drop of champagne made it past your lips and still the world spins.

You can feel Yoongi’s smirk against the column of your throat. Hate what it does to you, because Yoongi could talk you off a ledge when he’s like this. “Ah, you’re right.” Fingers trail along the hem of your pants, toying with you. “Is that what you want? You wanna ride me in my chair? You want it fucking dirty like that, my sweats barely pulled down, like you’re fucking desperate for it?”

You are, and you do.

So that’s how Yoongi fucks you. Gives you exactly what you want: sits in his oversized chair, pulls you into his lap. Sweats pushed down only as far as he needs to fish his cock out, slick it up, and then he’s pushing inside of you. Groans loud, tells you how tight you are, how wet and warm. And it’s stupid, because your husband is fucking your brains out, but there’s a little window in his studio, just above his desk.

Through it, you can see the Christmas lights the two of you spent the afternoon putting up.

You can hear Yoongi’s grumbling in your head, all his shouting when he thought he was going to fall off the ladder even though you were holding it steady. Cursed about not having enough zip ties. Cursed about one lightbulb being burnt out. Cursed when the extension cord wasn’t long enough. Only stopped cursing when you shut him up with a kiss.

You come hard. Yoongi makes good on his promise.

Another home.

—

(From the living room, the muted sounds of a countdown. Palpable excitement you’re finally able to feel, last year’s numbness long gone and replaced with endless warmth. Yoongi only leaves to grab a warm washcloth from the bathroom, and then he’s cleaning you up and pressing his lips back to your kiss-reddened mouth. There’s a supercut playing in your head, all the past celebrations. All the parties the two of you have gone to, the years spent alone but together. All the people you’ve kissed in front of. All the quiet, private ways Yoongi used to tell you he loved you. When was the last time? Just minutes ago. There’s seven seconds until the new year and Yoongi is right beside you.

Fireworks explode outside. You cry this year, too, but they’re happy tears. They’re tears that serve as proof you survived, that you went through hell and made it to the other side. Yoongi sheds a few of his own. Laughs, almost disbelieving, as he tells you he loves you. Smiles, certainly disbelieving, when you repeat it.

You’re going to miss this place when you leave, but there’s a ring on your finger and a man beside you that tells you home can be anywhere, be anything. Tells you that sometimes you’ll have to fight for it, but it’ll always be there so long as you choose to.)

if you've made it this far, i'd like to say thank you again for reading this. as i said, this fic is deeply personal to me, and i hope you find something relatable in it as well.

i know people don't always love to read the members in westernized settings, and i completely understand. i chose oakhurst/yosemite because it's where i went for my own honeymoon, and, well, personal.

i'd love to hear your thoughts! feedback and reblogs are always appreciated. ♡

[ja3hwa]

Could you write something with san having a groping kink?

Red, Hot, And Wet.

「Word count」 : 661

-> Genre: Mature, Suggestive.

[Warnings] : Breast play. Body fluids. Humping. San is a bitch in heat. Swearing.

Note : I hope this is to your liking. ♡ I went a tiny bit overbaord, but eh. Hehe ♡♡

Okay, but Imagine San is complaining to you, almost in a begging tone, to play with your breasts. It's like he has no other thoughts but titties. Like he needed them in order to breathe.

You are sitting in bed, readying to go to sleep for the night, but very whiny San has his head in your lap groaning and huffing. His hands are clawing at the sheets, kneading them like a cat. He would be whispering things like 'please baby, just for a few minutes' or 'come on let me feel my precious babies'. God, he is obsessed with your boobs. You are a walking stress toy to him, and he needed to use you to his advantage. So when you finally agree, it's like heaven's gates had opened.

His hands grab the hem on your shirt, tugging the fabric off quickly—cause it would just be in the way if it stayed on—. His hands fit so nicely on your chest. He can see some of your soft plump fat fit between his fingers as he squeezes. Your nipples are pressed against his palm, poking him. He pinches, jiggles, and tugs on your flesh. He seems to groan and whimper more than you as if he is enjoying it more than you. Well, that may be more true than one thinks. He starts to get rougher, pinching your nipples, pulling them tightly making you gasp out. He whimpers in response.

“let me suck them.” He said it so desperately, humping the bed like a dog in heat. He feels so overstimulated as you are, if not more. You needed to feel him every, not just on your breasts but inside you. He spread your legs wider so he could fit in between them, coming face to face with your plump tits. You let him have it, grasping his hair, tugging him closer. His lips latch on your left nipple, sucking harshly, making you let out a sharp, high-pitched moan. He moaned against your skin, swirling his tongue around your nub while he flicked your other nipple with his finger. He moaned against your skin, swirling his tongue around your nub while he flicked your other nipple with his finger. You whimpered at the painful pleasure, bucking your hips against his stomach. He felt himself coming just from his mouth being on you as he keeps rutting down. The feel of his length pressed between his legs and the mattress is too much and yet not enough. With you, the intensity of his orgasms doesn’t decrease. His white seed bursts from the head of his swollen cock each time, making his thighs and belly sticky and soaked.

“S-San…” You feel the pleasure snap up your spine like an electric wire hitting water. He switched breasts, suckling on the right one, leaving the left dark red and bruised. He felt like he was going crazy as if he was going to explode from just feeling his lips around your plump boobs before pulling away with an audible pop.

“I’m sorry baby. I said five minutes but I can’t need one more. Please, okay. Let me have one more minute. Can’t help myself, baby, you feel so soft on my tongue, I just wanna―” He’s sealed his lips around your nipples again, moaning loudly with you as he clamps down on your tit. "You got me horny and humping the bed like a bitch, fuck please baby. The things I want to do to you…”

“Fuck San!” You rasp out and he lets out a whine, pulling away and sitting back on his heels, giving you the perfect view of the mess he’s made, your eyes growing wide when you see him reaching down to stroke his still hard cock. His thighs and balls glisten with his arousal as he squeezes his shaft letting some more of his cum spill down.

“I fucking love you.” He panted.

-

Ateez Masterlist

Navigation

Taglist : @yunhofingers @violetwinters @lmhmh01 @purrhwa @joti17 @jess-1404 @pinki-minki @yesv01 @minkiflwr @rielleluvs @dilfjohhny @whatudowhennooneseesyou   @az-con @jen176pink @sundaybossanova @8tinytings @mysticfire0435 @yeosan8 @spookyauthorspopmusictrash @zi-ever @fl0r4f4wn @candypop1611 @toxicccred @yvnjin-s @meltheninja13 @atinyreads @e-ahn19 @stardragongalaxy

© 𝐉𝐚𝟑𝐡𝐰𝐚. Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my work in any way, shape, or form.

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑 : 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑁 𝑁𝑂 𝑊𝐴𝑌 𝐴 𝑇𝑅𝑈𝐸 𝐷𝐸𝑃𝐼𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝑂𝐹 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐴𝑇𝐸𝐸𝑍 𝑀𝐸𝑀𝐵𝐸𝑅𝑆. 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑆 𝑃𝑈𝑅𝐸 𝐹𝐼𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐼𝑆 𝑁𝑂𝑇 𝑇𝑂 𝐵𝐸 𝑇𝐴𝐾𝐸𝑁 𝑆𝐸𝑅𝐼𝑂𝑈𝑆𝐿𝑌.

[meowlfoy]

06/2024

ᯓ★bambi's record: June

―୨୧⋆ ˚ Artists of the month ⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

ᡣ𐭩 Lana del rey

My queen my love and my inspiration. I think she could be on top of my artists list for long enough. I've been listening to her much more recently

ᡣ𐭩 Chappell Roan

Love this wiw princess. Her songs resonate with me deeply and with my personal romantic experience with women.

ᡣ𐭩 Ayesha Erotica

Who doesn't love this sl*tty big juicy woman? Heavy bimbo energy femme fatal but make it pink and sparkly

ᡣ𐭩 Night club

Band that doesn’t disappoint. I love their retro style with electronic vibes

ᡣ𐭩 Ten (10) CM

Korean calm chill artist. Loved him since day one and go to his profile every time i need something relaxing or little bit sad but beautiful

―୨୧⋆ ˚ Top 10 tracks ⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

01 ᡣ𐭩

fluorescent adolescent by artic monkeys

I love monkeys with my whole heart more then almost any band, this months i felt extremely nostalgic with them and lana and couldn't resist listening to this song

02 ᡣ𐭩

flesh & bone by sammy rae & the friends

I LOVE this kind of jazz and you should too!!

03 ᡣ𐭩

stupid in love by max, yuniin

I can't describe how much i love this song it’s just perfect in every way, it's catchy sounds gentle and voices!!!! their voices just HIT

04 ᡣ𐭩

the girl, so confusing version with lorde by charli xcx, lorde

girly girl song! hearing this song legs ask to move move

05 ᡣ𐭩

licky hérve radio edit by larry tee

Ive been listening to this song a lot imagining myself in edits or like in a runway as a model

06 ᡣ𐭩

andromeda by weyes blood

need a song to slow dance to? or maybe cry? this one is for you

07 ᡣ𐭩

le temps de l'amour by françoise hardy

do i need to say anything? just check it out. it's sexy and sensual

08 ᡣ𐭩

you wish by flyana boss

you must've heard this song in tiktoks, it's so groovy and bad bitch energy coded

09 ᡣ𐭩

war isn't murder by jesse welles

great touching song about war. you can get a hint it's about Palestine mostly but about any other war too. folky sounding!

10 ᡣ𐭩

black rose by taemin, kid milli

taemin and everything he does is epitome of sex what else can i say

―୨୧⋆ ˚ Albums ⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

ᡣ𐭩 AKMU, Love episode

akmu makes me see the world through gentle rose glasses

ᡣ𐭩 Charli Xcx, Brat

slaying this queer a*s

ᡣ𐭩 The smiths, hatful of hollow

Classy band everyone should listen to at least once

ᡣ𐭩 Fiona apple, Tidal

Everyone knows this wonderful singer nothing add besides how good she is and she is

ᯓ★Editor’s note

Hii!! I’ve been inspired by @huellitaa and decided to do my own monthly records.

I love music dearly and want to share stuff that i found or hyper fixations i got this time! Hopefully you will like it~ You can text me your songs recommendations i will happily check them out ⋆⭒˚.⋆𝜗𝜚

[frecklystars]

the most beautiful man in the room!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[corrodedcoffins-blog]

Marriage Rumours

masterlist

note: kinda like it, kinda don't 🤷‍♀️

warnings: none <3

word count: n/a

♡ summary: Rumours of a marriage end up being true

♡ Andrew Garfield x Wife!reader

request ✓

ynln_official

liked by tarayummy, florencepugh, and others

ynln_official: domestic life.

view all comments

yn.stannn: they're puzzling together

drew: whos dog is that???

pughpugh: she's adorable and insanely hot at the same time.

tina.bob_idk: i want this 😭

andrew_imcomingforyou: i want her

-

ynln_official

liked by zendaya, anyataylorjoy, and others

ynln_official: bring your partner to work day

📸 : andrew

view all comments

iamauser: i don't know if i want to be her or be with her

hello.howsurday: y'all notice she never says 'boyfriend' its always 'partner'???

imgettinglazy: i love that andrew just followed yn around work like a lost puppy

author: she's so hot 🥵

user: the hottest couple 🔥🔥

not.lizzie: i don't even know which one i would rather be

lizzie: easy i want to be andrew.

-

emma

@/ynln-updates

yn and andrew were pictured leaving the gym. looks like they were playing tennis.

jemma @/tasm.isbest replying to @/ynln-updates i wish i looked that good after working out

Tessa @/torturedpoet replying to @/ynln-updates if you room in you can see that the necklace yn is wearing is a ring

jess @/likeingilmoregirls replying to @/torturedpoet kinda looks like a wedding ring

jess @/likeingilmoregirls replying to @/likeingilmoregirls plus they did go on like a two month long trip last year

Tessa @/torturedpeot replying to @/likeingilmoregirls wait! truee!!!!

Emily @/maisiepeters.stan replying to @/likeingilmoregirls why would it be a wedding ring if it's around her neck?

Tessa @/torturedpoet replying to @/maisiepeters.stan because they just came from the gym my mom does that with her ring

tiffany @/reblogifyouwatched.tns replying to @/ynln-updates he has bi wife energy. thats why i think they're married.

steph @/currentlybelievesinlove replying to @/ynln-updates if they ever break up i don't think i'll believe in love.

-

ynln_official

liked by sabrinacarpenter, gemmastyles, and others

ynln_official: one year with the love of my life 🤍

view all comments

tessa_sameone: I KNEW IT

mytummyhurts: prettiest wedding photos everrrr

reneerapp.loml: a YEAR? damnnn

tiff.tns_: knew he gave bi wife energy.

brina.and.tayy: the sunglasses are givingggg

[confusedemiposts]

Hello! Love your blog's aesthetic, I'm new to Tumblr so I'm not sure if this message is sent through? Hehe if you don't mind can I request ranpo x reader headcanon/scenario where reader occasionally distance themselves from him because the more they like him, the more they're in denial. reader kept insisting they strictly adore ranpo as a friend but ranpo knew that wasn't the case.

I want something sweeter~

Summery: Reader being in denial about crushing on Ranpo

Tags: Fluff, gn reader, slightly oblivious reader, not proofread, bad grammar ,might be oc, use of nicknames (sweets, sugar)

Format: Headcannons/ scenario

Notes: I hope this is okay,I'm not used to writing Ranpo. Title is from Sweeter by Jess Penner

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡🍰<3୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

You loved being friends with Ranpo, after all who wouldn't?

He may have been difficult to understand at first but you quickly got along with his childish behaviour.

You would spend your time together eating snacks and playing video games when you could, always being amazed at his intelligence.

You found yourself feeling like a giddy child around him.

Heart racing when your fingers and any other body part brushed against each other, that was a normal feeling of course because of the sugar, duh!

He would know you liked him before you even did yourself

You who's mistaking your own innocent crush as just a really big affection for your friend.

I don't he'd bother with it till you figured it out yourself, after all you seem happy enough.

Unless he likes you too

He'd be more childish with you such as play fighting, sitting in your lap for no apparent reason or just holding your hand so neither of you get 'lost'.

He keeps his hand on you for much longer than needed, which he knows you unconsciously love.

Your hand always tingling after

You love when he's says he's feeling tired and dosent want to move at all even though he wants to eat his snacks, so what better is it than to feed him yourself he suggests.

You don't really protest, it's an excuse to be even closer to him

Bringing the sweets to his mouth that he has wide open, warm breath on your hand

You drop the jellybeans into his mouth and watch him eat

Your face unconsciously flushes

You wonder if he's lips would taste as sweet as what he eats-

Oh what was that thought just there?

Wow what a silly thought to be thinking about your really good friend like that

You ignore the thought at first but then even more similar one started appearing

The feeling of his soft hand in yours and wondering how they'd feel holding your face

You wouldn't dare go to a doctor because deep down you already know what's happening

The sight of his pout and lip jutting out, how you just want to kiss it off him-

Nonono those aren't supposed to be thoughts you should have about your friend!

But you can't help but feel those butterflies in your stomach

Suddenly growing nervous as he holds your hand

You 'mistake' these emotions as feeling sick

By "mistake" I mean trying to gaslight yourself into thinking that you are not in love with your best friend

It fails miserably as just the sight of him makes you heart beat 10x faster

You decide to stay home to get better from this 'illness'

You don't really get time to distance yourself because Ranpo will just confront you

He doesn't like letting unnecessary problems fester if he knows it's happening

Especially as something that he considers as small as a silly crush

He's very direct

It's been one week since you've started avoiding Ranpo, your hoping to recover from this 'illness' but your every single thought is about him and it makes you insides all warm and fuzzy, your face is always flushing and your palms feel sweaty, it must be a fever!

You'd be stupid to think he doesn't know that you've been ignoring him but what hopefully he doesn't know won't hurt him your lying to yourself . You know very well that he knows with that stare he gave you when you finally realised you liked him more than a friend.

Your face is flushing even at the memory when you realised your feelings weren't as platonic as you thought they were. You inwardly cringe when you remember you just ran out of his dorm while in the middle of a game, freaking out when he opened his eyes when you finally realised, and you finally knew he knew all along.

You cover yourself in your blanket as if to hide your embarrassment from the world. It's not that your ashamed to like Ranpo as more than a friend, it's just someone as cool as couldn't possibly return your feelings.

Your self pity is disturbed when you hear a knock at your door, standing up and heading to the door you didn't think much until you nearly slammed the door shut in suprise when you opened it.

Ranpo is standing there with a lollipop in his mouth and he leans over the door before you could close it, a cheshire cat grin on his face. "Heya sweets, what have you been up to?"

Your flustered and suprised and you couldn't do anything to hide it, you want to close the door but you can't, his arm is leaning on the door frame and you don't want to hurt him. His grin never falters as if he knows what your thinking, there's a light blush on his face.

"Ranpo what are you doing here?" You try to keep cool but your face is heating up as you watch the lollipop in his mouth. He leans forward teasingly, taking out the candy that was just in his mouth.

"You should know that sugar" You can't keep your embarrassment hidden as you blush at the nickname, how red could you get? "I mean, after all, why wouldn't I be here? You have a crush on me, meaning your someone someone who noticed my amazingness, and I love people who see that!"

"Wait, what—no, no, that's not—Are you actually—no, wait." He sighs as you attempt to convey that you don't have romantic feelings for him which definitely is not the case.

"Y/n. I like you too"

Your brain practically breaks at the words. You babble random things like "no that can't be- that isn't-"

He pouts, growing impatient with your failure of self sabotage and cuts you off by leaning in and kissing you on the mouth.Face instantly flushing,the contact only lasts a second but it feels like bliss. When the kiss breaks you unconsciously lick your lips, tasting the sticky strawberry flavour of the lollipop.

He exaggerates his reaction with a loud "haah! That was brilliant"

Your speechless and staring at him with your mouth agape, his eyes open and your face flushed, he has a smug expression from seeing your reaction.

"See! I am telling the truth! Now let's do that again"

I feel like I didn't do this justice and might rewrite it again 😞 (I lost my original draft so sorry if this seems lazy)

[saintgoths]

ʟᴜꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇ

JEALOUS!ELLIE X READER - LUST FOR LOVE.

[PART TWO OF FADE INTO YOU].

WORD COUNT - 2,893.

RATING - 18+. [ellie being a desperate cunt basically, oral sex, scissoring, over-stimulation & squirting, oh and angst!]

SUMMARY - you had moved on and Ellie hates it, but would do anything to get you back.

[requests are closed, until i post five chapters of a song of thorns they will open again]. if you want to join a the last of us discord/joel miller discord here you go! 𓆩♡𓆪

if this reaches more than ninty notes maybe i'll post part 3, which would most likely be the last one for this mini series :)

You have fulfilled what Ellie had feared, you had moved on and you have moved on quicker than she expected, she had heard the news from Dina who was told by Jesse due to the fact that the current person you were in a relationship with was a friend of Jesse’s, Justin.

Ever since you had started dating Justin, you had not marked Ellie at all; if you were being honest, you had missed Ellie, and it would be a half-truth if you said you weren’t dating Justin as a distraction, the man was sweet and had ticked all the boxes of being an excellent romantic partner.

Forthwith, you had been in Justin’s lodge, he had caught a cold which had made you quite upset since it would mean you couldn’t have him as your patrol partner for tomorrow, he had been your patrol partner this current and previous week. Justin was an excellent patrol partner, protective, skilled and strong, he had always checked up on you to see if you were hurt or bitten. His sweetness was overwhelming, you had wondered if this was all an act because most of the men you had romantically in your life weren’t the kindest.

However, since Justin was sick, and it had meant that someone had to replace him for your shift tomorrow, you had hoped Maria would be kind about who she would replace as your patrol partner. Though, currently, you had made him soup and delivered him multiple medicines to make your boyfriend feel better, presently it was night and you had informed him that you would be sleeping on the couch because you didn’t want to catch the same sickness he owned, but he had pleaded for your presence.

“Please baby,” he hopelessly whined as he reached out for you but you had comically rolled your eyes at him while you had made your way to the doorframe of his bedroom. “Sleep next to me.”

“Justin, I don’t want to get sick,” you smartly replied, “if you weren’t I would have been in bed with you and made you feel better in ways you would’ve loved.”

You had smiled at your sexual innuendo which had made your partner dramatically sob in thought of your sensual behaviour. Albeit, he had let you go and you had peacefully slept on his sofa.

The next day, you had returned to your home to prepare for your current shift, subsequently, you had met up with Maria who was ready to inform you with who you had to patrol with. Maria was a kind lady, stern and straightforward also had the characteristics of a leader, but you had remembered how much she had annoyed you with the lecture she had mailed you after the night you had your party.

You had remembered the words she had used, “disruptive”, “loud”, and “disrespectful”. You were sure most of the complaints had been from Seth, you had never gotten along with that man.

You had greeted the older woman who then politely tapped you on the shoulder, she had a look on her face that had told you that you would not be fond of what she had to tell you. You had not said anything to her but your eyebrows were knitted up as you silently waited for her to tell you what she had to say. “You’re partnered up with Ellie today, I know it’s something you don’t want today, but we’re low with supplies and I’ve been told there’s infected around and you and Ellie make a great team.”

Well, you would’ve made a great team if you two had been keen on each other. You were surprised, but you had kept the startlement to yourself. “Please, be kind to one another and use this time to make up.”

Jokingly, you had furrowed your eyebrows, eyes glistened with curiosity, “had you planned this so the two of us could make up?” You asked, lowly amused by her sneaky attempt.

“Somewhat like that,” Maria hastily commented as Ellie appeared, you had been informed before Ellie as Maria was tactful about it, she had gathered just like you, that Ellie had been avoiding you, so if the leader had informed the red-haired girl before, she was sure Ellie would have done anything to avoid going with you.

It was awkward whilst Maria had delivered the message that the both of you were partnered up, you had kept to yourself while Maria had explained Ellie everything, she had explained to you, when she had completed telling Ellie of her shift, she had shared with you, Maria had then glanced towards you then rebounded towards Ellie. “Like I said, be kind to each other and safe.”

You two had then left to the stables after you had bid Maria a goodbye; your horse was named Stella, she was a ginger mare, known for her stamina and speed and similar to your strength and fortitude. You had waited for Ellie to take her horse, Shimmer but you were quite ahead of her when she had finished her task. Your route out of Jackson was silent, you two were slightly next to each other and this time, Ellie was marginally ahead of you.

Ellie had thought of what happened a week ago and she couldn’t help but scoff about how fast you were to move onto the next piece of meat. You had heard the quick sound she had made but ignored it until the question that had been bubbling in your head eventually popped.

“Why have you been avoiding me?”

Once more, Ellie had scoffed, unbothered to face you, hands suddenly tight on the reigns connected to Shimmer. “Why are you avoiding me?” She foolishly repeated.

“Yeah,” you silently muttered, “why are you avoiding me?”

“Didn’t you kick me out?” She bluntly reminded you, “it would be stupid for me to come back to you and act like nothing happened.”

Well, she had practically slut-shamed you, so if someone had the right to avoid the other, it would be you. Gently, you clicked your tongue while you fiddled with your necklace Justin had given you as a late birthday present, the Williams girl had noticed your small action but had said nothing about it.

The rest of the patrol had involved you two searching for supplies and killing off the infected Maria had been informed about. The both of you had almost been close to one of your bases, and you had decided to use the time to speak again. “That doesn’t mean you have to deny every invitation Jesse or Dina give you, especially in settings where I’m there.”

“You’re almost pushing them to the point where they have to do functions without me so you can come.”

You didn’t want it to become this bad, it had upset both Dina and Jesse because they had missed having the group together. “If I do come then that means I’ll have to see you with that Justin dude.”

You had raised the both of your eyebrows, startled as you pieced together what she had informed you. “Is this what it was all about?” You quickly questioned, “because I moved on with Justin?”

“Maybe it is,” Ellie shrugged as she tried to push the jealousy, she had for the both of you out of her mind. “You did exactly what you denied you would do, you moved on when I did the slightest thing wrong.”

You had remained silent while the two of you made it to the base after you had tied your horses to stable poles so you could relax in the post that was known for its loud and alcohol. You had relaxed on the nearest sofa, fingers fidgeted with the jewellery around your neck as your mind was submerged with dozens of thoughts and ways to start another conversation with the stubborn girl who sat beside you, there was a gap between the both of you, the gap then filled with the presence of her bag.

“I don’t want to keep fighting with you,” you lightly muttered.

“You always give me a reason to.”

You had pressed your lips together and you had sworn you would’ve broken your necklace, Ellie was so difficult, you had matched her energy so it was an endless dispute between the two of you. “Where did you get your necklace?”

“Justin gave it to me as a birthday present.”

She snorted, it’s almost as if she had wanted to piss you off, make you feel like it was a terrible decision to be romantically partnered with the man who had been nothing but kind to you. You had pouted while you looked down at your legs, fingers still wrapped around the necklace, “at least he got me a present,” you pouted whilst you had avoided Ellie’s look who responded with silence until the woman picked up her backpack and unzipped the bag to reveal a small box she had kept in her gear.

It was disclosed to be a bracelet, the jewellery was handmade but it was very detailed and looked valuable, you had stared at it with awe as Ellie dangled the piece in front of you, “I wanted to give it to you during your birthday party, but couldn’t…” she sheepishly trailed off while you had taken the object from her and put it on yourself while you had observed that the trinket had both of your initials.

“It’s pretty, thank you Ellie,” you had gingerly smiled as you continued to examine the developed and itemized bracelet. You hadn’t known what came over you but you were sure you would regret it the next day, your lips confined with Ellie’s, your slender hands were clasped around her face, eyes closed and heated by her short act of kindness.

You didn’t understand why it was so easy for you to fall into Ellie’s arms, feasibly, it could have been the time away you had from each other that had you eager to have her again. You two had mutually taken off each other’s clothes, Ellie’s rough fingers competently found way between your legs and brushed against your bud, you had moaned into her mouth as she had gulled with your cunt, she had known how to play with your body better than anyone else that has touched you, she had always caused you to fall into a love drunk state which perhaps could have been the reason why you had briskly fallen into her arms again.

She had your back pressed against the sofa, legs widely spread as her face was currently enclosed by your cunt, she was always rough with her oral sex, her attention always intent and enfolded with your pearl she was invariably obsessed with, she had perpetually loved your taste, the tanginess and explosive nectar always kept her going, her two digits in your pussy and her heavy tongue lapped against your clit. You had arched your back, jewelled hand had planted in her hair as you animalistically rubbed your cunt against her face, your cries high and lewd.

With you overstimulated, Ellie’s tongue had fallen flat against your heated area, her coloured eyes stuck and fixated with your appearance, your choppy movements as you could feel yourself almost close with an orgasm. “Ellie, just like that!” You shamelessly whined, “just like that Ellie,” you hysterically pleaded during the time that your sweet ambrosia leaked into her mouth, Ellie eagerly belted and devoured your tangy nectar then pulled herself from your cunt after she kissed your pussy with a couple more licks ere she urged her mouth against yours once more.

With her fingers against her clit to prepare herself, the red-haired woman positioned her bud against yours, vulgar and lustful to have you cum again. She had moved her hands to your breasts and tightly fiddled with your nipples while she moved her cunt against yours, the sour and intense feeling enough to make you squeal into her mouth as she humped your heated area rabidly. She used your cunt like an animal maniacally pleasing itself, obsessed and determined to dominate you, the nails of her fingers dug into the skin of the sofa as she drawled the rhythm of her hip moving, sending you into a complete crazed edge.

“Fuck,” she chanted before she cloaked her lips around your nipple and drastically lapped her tongue against your tit, her body caved in against yours as she succumbed into her coarse and sharp desires and brambly caressed and fondled her clit against yours, her eyes tightly closed as her fingers moved from the sofa and to your highly positioned leg, her nails gently pierced into your skin, the afflictive bliss egged you into an elated climatic state.

Ellie’s crude and filthy pornographic shape, dogged and obstinate as she shortly orgasmed against your cunt, but firm on stroking herself against you to ride you into an over-aroused matter, you had loudly whimpered and moaned in relations to her tormenting stance, still, intoxicated by lust you had drowned into her provoking state and had squirted again; satisfied, the auburn-haired girl had pulled herself away from you.

It was silent while the two of you had put on back your attire, you had felt an immense guilt strike over you and you had wondered why that intense feeling hadn’t come before you had kissed Ellie. It seemed as if Ellie had taken a note of your convicted state and had lightly nudged you, “what’s wrong?” She questioned, sincerely oblivious to why you had seemed so disrupted.

You had nimbly choked a laugh at her inquiry whilst you had tied your laces you had looked at her as if she was futile. “What’s wrong?” You carefully repeated, “I’m a terrible girlfriend, that’s what’s wrong.”

“It’s not your fault,” Ellie mumbled but you shook your head.

“I kissed you first,” you argued as you stood up to your feet. “I have to tell him.”

Evidently, against the idea, Ellie gently shook her head. “He doesn’t need to know.”

With your shoulders slumped, doubtlessly shaken by the culpability and error you had just done. “Then what else can I do?” You asked severely stern on making yourself feel improved, Ellie, anxious, had responded with silence, her eyes big with alarm and angst of having to lose you again, “we can just continue not seeing each other.”

God, you were always one to choose the option that had Ellie feel abhorrent. “That doesn’t need to happen.”

“Yes, it does,” you painfully replied, “we pretend that this never happened, you can continue on your-hating-me hill and I can continue having a relationship with Justin.”

“Why do you need to still date him?” Ellie gratingly asked, taken aback that you had still wanted to have a romantic bond with the man, she had felt and believed that the connection you had with him wasn’t one you were genuinely happy with, and she was right, you were someone who loved to have a fiery and foolhardy romantic love life, Justin gave you the opposite of that. He was calm and gentle.

“He’s a good person, he’s good to me,” you hopelessly replied, desperate to move Ellie from the animosity she had for your relationship with him. “I’m sure the two of you would be good friends too.”

Ellie laughably scoffed at your statement, she had now been determined to leave the base, she had picked up her bag and swung it onto her shoulders, yet, she still made effort to look at you, an inquisitive question imprinted in her mind. “Is he more important than me?”

Your eyes widened at her inquiry, surprised to the fact that she would ask such a bold question, but, you had already had the answer in your mind, and it was one she had already knew. “No, he’s not,” you truthfully responded, disgraced that you hadn’t been able to successfully move from Ellie.

“Then break up with him and be with me,” she desperately pleaded, she had moved from her original position and closer to you, her hand had cupped your face that had been suffocated with the state of confusion. Ellie had pressed her forehead against yours, disturbingly in love with you and open to do whatever she’d have to do to get you back. “I’ll be better for you, and I’ll make you happier than him, please [Y/N].”

Your noses had gently stroked one another as you had drowned yourself in thought, Justin was a good man, he was good to you, and loved you in ways you thought a man couldn’t, he had given you what you thought you should have in love, but Ellie, as much as she had put you in situations where you had been a crying mess, had still been able to put you in scenarios where you had felt like the most special person in the world and you had liked that feeling more than you had liked being with Justin.

You had made your mind up, drastically driven by lust and infatuation; you had given into Ellie, and you had felt like you had chosen a choice that would bring all variety of chaos, but, yet, within that chaos you’d still be with Ellie. “Fine, I’ll break up with him.”

songs that fit this song ⬎

⟶ lana del rey ft the weeknd - lust for life. [evidently]

⟶ cafuné - tek it.

⟶ ariana grande - break up with your girlfriend, i'm bored.

⟶ rae sremmurd - guatemala.

[requests are closed, until i post five chapters of a song of thorns they will open again]. if you want to join a the last of us discord/joel miller discord here you go! 𓆩♡𓆪

masterlist

@daenerysluvrr thank you for the comment! and thank you for everyone else who supported fade into you! :)

♆

[tloubae]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆

Game Night

!Friend Ellie x reader WLW!

TW? alcohol, smoking weed, really slightly spicy

Jackson, a small paradise in a apocalyptic world. There is no space for idiocy, everyone grow faster… but sometimes adolescents, just do adolescents.

In this case Ellie and her friends organized a small game night, so music, alcohol and smoking will be the main things. Ellie is preparing the table, she puts on some games, Jessie Dina and you, take a beer from the cooler bag that Dina brought from home.

Ellie finish to set up all the table, then you guys get set at the coffe table, Dina and Ellie set on the couch on the other hand you and Jesse get two chairs and you set in front of Ellie and Jesse in front of Dina.

“so do we want to start or what?” you asked looking at Ellie smirking at her. “Okay okay” Ellie says starting to distribute the cards. For this game you team with Dina, Jesse and Ellie team up.

The game goes on for a while you and Dina are winning every match, but you started to getting tired, “guys i’m tapping out” you said throwing the cards on the table getting up. “Where are u going?” Ellie asked. “I’m going to roll a joint it’s more difficult that beating your ass” you say getting out from your backpack tabacco, the weed, the cigarette paper and filter; “ah-ha-ah really funny” Ellie says in a teasing way, “can i have a drag?” Dina asks, “everything for u girlfriend” you said in fake loving way.

“Guys why have to smoke weed right now? you know it’s dangerous right?” Jesse says “yes dad we know” you both replies, Ellie laughs.

As long you roll the joint u can feel Ellie’s eyes on you switching from your hands to your tongue when you licked the cigarette paper for closing it.

You light it up and after taking a couple of drags you pass it to Dina. “Move a bit” you say to her so you sit between her and Ellie “i’ll help you… you suck at this” you say looking at Ellie getting your chin up to her shoulder looking at her cards. Ellie stays in silence.

The games proceed and with your help Ellie starts to get the best of the game, “throw down the ace” you say in her ear, almost in a sensual way, you are a bit tipsy and high as fuck, it’s seems like you don’t give a damn about Dina and Jesse sitting there.

Occasionally you touches her cards only like an excuse for touching her hands, Ellie doesn’t seem bothered by it it’s like she is kinda enjoying this.

Soon you all are getting tired of the card game so you decided to turn on the stereo and blasting music all over Ellie’s small place.

During that you and Ellie are sitting next to each other almost embraced, Ellie is getting high as much as you, you both now have redness in your eyes, you guys are keeping teasing each other.

Dina and Jesse seeing the trend of your night decided to leave “guys we are leaving”, you turn and wave at them “byeeee” you said, “can u close the door please?” Ellie asked in a really slowly way, “yeah night guys” Dina says before shouting the door.

Now you and Ellie are left alone. The music continues in background, tension between you two grows and before you can realize it, Ellie pressed her lips on yours. Soon you felt her tongue trying to sneaking into your mouth. Her lips are fleshy but chapped due to the winter cold, as her tongue sneaks into your mouth you can taste on your tongue the taste of beer and weed from Ellie’s mouth mix with your own, closing your eyes you can sense even more her smell, it smelled of musk, citrus fruits (perhaps coming from the bubble bath you gave her on her birthday a year ago), and that purely masculine perfume note that had always characterized her. You can also feel her big hands going up and down to your spine, and the other caring your cheek.

When the breath became shorter, you separated, Ellie greens eyes are pieced, locked on yours, her pupils are bigger and a small hint of blush is on her cheeks. “Sorry i don’t know-” you get closer again and start to kiss her again, the kiss starts to get deeper and deeper again, you two split up again and looking at her you say “shut up”, for getting back to kiss her passionately.

Hi guys! HAPPY PRIDE MONTH!! 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

I apologize for despairing AGAIN i’m sooo sorry… i’ll try to get more constant i swear.

Hoping that this is less cringe that last time and i have TO THANK U FOR THE 131 LIKES WHAT THE HECK!!

ILY ALL!! 🧡🧡🧡

As always for eventual mistakes keep in mind that english isn’t my first language!

Also i’m running out of ideas for posts so if u have any request write me and i’ll write it for u! AGAIN TY!! 🧡🧡🧡

[kxmisato]

♡ DISTRACTION — ELLIE WILLIAMS

↳ characters : ellie williams x gn!reader

↳ notes : i am in love with her your honour

↳ song rec : cherries jubiles by yukika

you’ve never really been musically inclined, the interest has always been there whether it’s been learning the piano, violin and even as far as playing the recorder that one time in the third grade (even though you nearly failed your test for your music grade). but you especially favoured the guitar.

whilst on the other hand, it’s entirely different for your girlfriend, ellie. regardless of her learning an instrument later and having less interactions with them than you have had, she is extremely talented.

anytime she picks up her acoustic guitar, strumming a tune, you’re enraptured immediately. she finds it cute, how wide your eyes get, the corners of your mouth turning up in a small smile and how you lightly tap your feet with the tune, even if it’s a little off key.

she knew of your interest in the instrument, which is how you’ve gotten to this moment right now. you were sitting in ellie’s room on her bed pushed up against the wall and under the window. she had posters littering the walls as well as pictures of her with joel, jesse and dina.

the orange of the sunset dusted the room through her window, setting the ambiance and complimenting the smell of ellie, a subtle vanilla musk with hints of sandalwood and pine.

“okay so,” she started and then lightly sighed. “babe, you’ve got to pay attention if you want me to teach you how to play.”

“sorry..” you mumbled out, still being slightly distracted by the way the her eyes looked in the sun and the freckles that were littered amongst her face. “i keep getting distracted.”

ellie was well aware that you were looking at her, it was easy to tell by the far away look in your eyes. but she wasn't about to feign ignorance, you had asked her to teach you how to play the guitar and she intends to do exactly that.

“y/n, you asked for a guitar lesson — not to stare at me, but i'm not complaining though.” she joked as she lightly bumped your side.

you shook your head and laughed lightly before turning to face her again, the guitar sitting in your lap.

“okay! so... how do i hold it again?” you smile.

ellie jokingly rolls her eyes with a smile then grabs your right hand, maneuvering it to be against the body of the guitar. then she moves your left hand to grab the underside of it’s neck.

“like this. at least this is how joel showed me how to.”

you nod and then look down at the instrument, your mouth forming a little ‘o’ then a small smile. you strum lightly, then look up excitedly at ellie.

“i'm a natural, huh? that didn’t sound bad at all!” you chirped happily.

ellie chuckles and then gives a quick peck to your temple. “oh yeah, you’ll be like jimmi hendrix in no time.”

smiling lightly at her joke and the affection, you crane your neck forwards swiftly to press a soft kiss on her lips. she reciprocates, her hands making their way under your jaw to press you further into her, not wanting the kiss to end.

eventually the two of you separate, resting your foreheads against one another and giggling to each other.

“you’re such a bad distraction.” you joke.

“i guess i am.” she laughs, pecking your lips once more.

“but you’re my favourite distraction.” you reply, feeling heat rise to your face.

ellie flushes red, the colour creeping it’s way onto her cheeks and the tips of her ears. “you’re so cringey sometimes...” she mutters shyly.

you let out a light chuckle.

“you love it though? right?” you ask.

“yeah,” she starts. “yeah, i do love it.”

[tlou-reid]

The Show Must Go On - Still

♡ DISCLAIMER: this story deals with heavy, dark, and triggering themes. warnings will be included on each chapter. this story is 18+, minors do not interact. (also i can not guarantee my timeline is exactly right but i am doing my best)

♡ DISCLAIMER: i am incapable of writing songs so reader's music will all be from noah kahan's stick season. songs used in each chapter will be linked at the beginning, and the character is inspired by the story he creates throughout the album.

♡ WARNINGS: reader is injured, mentions of blood, mentions of death, the slow burn is slow burning, spotify links weren't working so the yt links are here. i am sorry they are so ugly

♡ fem!musician!reader x ellie williams

❥ prologue ❥ part one ❥ next part

“What the fuck are you doing?” Dina interrupted, placing her hand on Ellie’s shoulder. Ellie’s face immediately blushed red, moving to cover the drawing she was doing in her journal. “Is that y/n?” Dina asked with a laugh, taking note of the doodle of your face and a sketch of your hands around a shot glass, chipped finger nail polish and everything.

“Shut the fuck up.” Ellie demanded, pushing away her friends hand. Dina just let out a laugh. “You’ve only met her once and you’re this in love?” Dina laughed again. Ellie didn’t answer, just waved her off and shoved her journal away.

The community hall was relatively empty, just a few of the town’s elders hanging around after community dinner. Ellie stayed to help clean up, hoping to catch even just a glimpse of you since you hadn’t come to dinner. Jesse had informed her you were on patrol, but she was still keeping an eye out just in case.

Dina sat down across from Ellie, where the two fell into a normal conversation. Gossip about people in Jackson, sharing stories from patrols and other things they’d done around town, and their plans for the upcoming week.

The hustle that suddenly started outside soon pulled their attention away from each other, rushing out to the porch to see what was going. The big doors that led into Jackson opened, a deep voice yelled “GET OUT OF THE WAY!”, quickly clearing the area in front of it. A small crowd soon formed around the doors, and Ellie and Dina pushed forward to see what was going on.

The first thing she saw was the head of your favorite horse, Marlin. She knew you always chose him to go on patrol with. Her heart started to pound in her chest as your body came into view. There was blood soaking your cargo pants, and your patrol partner was behind you, holding you up. He was missing the left sleeve to his shirt, which she soon found wrapped around your leg.

“Holy shit,” Dina said from behind her. Ellie didn’t say a word as her eyes followed you. She couldn’t stop her feet as she moved closer, reaching her arm out to help your patrol partner get you off the horse. “I got you,” she whispered to you. Even in your slightly delirious state it was comforting.

Neither you nor Ellie could explain how you guys made it to the clinic. The last thing you could recall was getting pulled off of Marlin and onto a stretcher. The last thing Ellie could recall was throwing your bag over her shoulder and racing down the street to catch up with the people carrying your stretcher.

Now, here you guys are, standing at the door of the clinic, where your patrol partner was explaining what happened. “It was a group. I was trying my best to get them away, but they were quick. And spread out. They had people far away, shooting. She got a bow right above her knee, I tried my best to stop the bleeding…”. It was clear his head was frazzled from the way he was speaking. The workers in the clinic just nodded and moved to help you. All Ellie could do was stand by, hold your bag, and hope you’d be okay.

“Are you here with y/n, darling?” A nurse called out to Ellie, who was sitting in the lobby, still holding your bag. She wasn’t sure why she stayed, but something inside her told her to. Ellie nodded and the nurse waved her to come back, “she’s awake and stopped bleeding. She’ll be here for a few days to make sure she heals up right, but I bet she wants some company.” Ellie nodded again, following the nurse to where you were.

“Ellie,” you said with a soft smile when she entered the room, “thank you for coming.” Even after you’d been injured you were being so nice to her. “Of course,” Ellie blushed, “I brought your book-bag.” You thanked her again, pointing to the chair next to your bed for her to sit down in.

“How do you feel?” Ellie asked as she made herself comfortable. “A lot better than I did out there,” you laughed. “I’m glad my hands are okay, I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t play my guitar.” Ellie smiled at this, remembering how you had looked on stage with your guitar. “I can go grab it for you, if you want.” Ellie offered with a slight hesitation. She didn’t want to come across as invasive, trying to snoop into your things. “That would be amazing! Is it alright if I ask you to grab some other stuff from my place?” Ellie nodded and you listed off the things you’d wanted and where she could find them. She pulled your key out of a pocket in your book-bag and headed out.

Ellie was mesmerized by your home, but especially in love with your bedroom. There was a clothing rack full of all sorts of clothes. They’d obviously been collected over a long period of time. Your desk was across the room from your bed, where expired bottles of nail polish, makeup that was damaged and dirty, and an open journal was laying.

Ellie couldn’t stop herself from looking at the pages you’d left open. There were a few haphazard sentences and paragraphs littered around the pages, but most had been crossed out. There was doodles of street signs that were clearly not from around Jackson. Her eyes landed on a paragraph that had been circled a few times:

“Ooh, silence is making me nostalgic Two sizes big your shirt in my apartment Oh, we were kids, but that don't make this less hard If I could fly I doubt I'd even do it I'd probably get high and crash or something stupid You made Ohio feel just like Central Park”

She immediately assumed it was song lyrics and began humming to herself, trying to see if she could figure the tune to the words. Eventually she gave up, knowing she’d never get inside your perfect mind. Ellie grabbed the things you’d asked for—your journal, your guitar, an extra pair of pajamas, and a pen—and then headed back to the clinic.

“So I, uh,” Ellie began after almost an hour of casual conversation, “I was kind of snooping. I saw your journal laying out.” She was awkward, not knowing how to phrase what she was trying to ask. “I was wondering if I could maybe hear the song? That the page was on?” She didn’t make eye contact, not wanting to get rejected. She was just curious, or, at least, that’s what she was telling herself. Truthfully, she wanted to know everything about you. She wanted to know every piece of you.

“Do you remember any of the words?” You asked her, granting her her wish. “There was something about Ohio.” Ellie smiled, finally meeting your gaze. You didn’t look embarrassed or angry, you just looked content. You nodded at her, asking her to hand your guitar. The chords came out as if they’d been ingrained into you, singing the verse that she had read. Ellie smiled, nodding along like she’d done at the bar.

“It’s not done, I’m still working on it. I have been since I got here I guess.” You seemed more sheepish, explaining your song, “it’s angry. It makes me think of home. I can’t stop comparing this place to Vermont. That’s where I was before. I had my sister there, so a lot of my inspiration comes from that.”

Ellie noticed the past tense you’d used when you were talking about your sister. She was unsure if she should ask about it. “I get that. I miss some things about my old life too.” Ellie said solemnly, trying to let you know she felt some of your pain. A small smile crept on your face. “I write a lot of songs about it. About my sister, or about the other towns I’ve lived in. I’d love to play you more.”

Ellie excitedly nodded and you flipped through your journal, landing on another page. She could see doodles of plants in the corners. You started strumming. Ellie listened carefully to the words you were singing.

“I don't, I don't, I don't want to say goodbye. I don't, I don't, I don't want to say goodbye. It only falls into place when you're falling to pieces. You find love that lasts a while 'til you lose the reasons. Sayin' God, I'm alive, but the whole place is quiet. You miss something that you can't place but you can't deny it. Don't know whether you want a place in the coast or the country. You can't stay here, it's hard to face and it feels too ugly. You light a fire inside yourself, let it burn.”

Ellie tried her best to pay attention, but you just look so fucking pretty. Your eyes are closed and your hands move so rhythmically and your voice just sounds so beautiful. She punched back in right at the end, holding onto the way your voice sounded.

“It only falls into place when you're falling to pieces. You find love that lasts a while then you lose the reasons. You say God, I'm alive, but the whole place is quiet. You miss something that you can't place but you can't deny it.”

When your eyes reopen, there are tears threatening to spill. The air in the room in thick as you awkwardly place your guitar next to your bed. “I’ve actually never played that for anyone,” you start as you wipe away the tears, “it’s about my sister. And leaving her behind. It’s not like I had a choice, it just really fucking sucks.” Ellie doesn’t know what to say. She gives you a sympathetic smile, and reaches a hand out to place on your shoulder. The room is quiet for a while.

A nurse is what breaks the silence. “Ellie?” She asks, eyes searching the room. “That’s me.” Ellie answers. “Theres a young man out front, saying you’re due for a sweep.” Ellie nodded and let out a groan, not wanting to leave your side just yet. Her eyes turned to yours, which were already looking at her.

“It’s okay,” you smile at her, “we’ll just have to hang out when I get out of here. I like having an audience when I play.” Ellie laughed. The tension in the room had dissipated, and she felt okay leaving you. She knew you’d be okay. “Hey, Ellie,” you interrupted when she turned to leave. You waved her over and she walked back beside your bed. You reached your hands out, as if you wanted a hug, but when she came down to meet you, you pressed your lips against her cheek. “I’ll see you soon.”

Ellie nodded at your words as a pink flush spread across her face, starting where your lips previously were. “Stay safe, please.” You instructed as she left.