#‘can’t believe they didn’t wait for us’

[mulloey]

unsullied

a late night google and a blurted question take you further than you’ve ever been before.

chan x 9th member!reader

part of my february festival

join my taglist

warnings: virginity loss, sort of innocent reader, reader is described as small, soft but kind of mean dom!chan, like he’s being so tender and loving but he has a filthy mouth, sub!reader obviously, fingering, unprotected sex, breeding, pregnancy mention, younger members being annoying (not during smut). chan is kind of an old head (literally uses the word ‘deflowering’ like it’s 1884 or something) and he definitely has a virginity/corruption kink. he cums very fast i do apologise but you’re so tight can u blame him? etc etc and hate is blocked.

—

“Have you guys ever fucked someone?”

The moment the words leave your mouth a few things happen simultaneously—Chan, halfway through a Diet Coke, chokes on his drink, coughing violently to try and catch his breath; Changbin yells, a horrified, scandalised sound, but his reddened face is telling enough. Minho just stares at you like he can’t believe the words that have just come out of your mouth. Like he can’t believe those are words you’d even know.

Jisung, trying not to laugh, is the first to respond. “Are you high?”

“Huh?” You ask. “Why would I be high?”

“Because it’s a weird ass fucking question to ask randomly.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s just sudden,” Chan says, chiming in as he usually does when Jisung gets the look on his face that he has now. “And it’s not really appropriate. What’s brought it on, though?”

You shrug sheepishly, embarrassed at their extreme reactions and Chan’s curious but scrutinising stare. You didn’t think it would go like this. “Just wondering,” you mumble. “People talk.”

“Which people?” Minho asks. “Where?”

“People. Online.”

“They say we fuck?” Jisung snickers.

“Not each other,” you say quickly, feeling the need to clarify, and he snorts. You shoot him a glare which he playfully returns. “But I saw it a couple times. When I was trying to see what people say about us.”

“And what were they saying, exactly?” Chan asks. He sounds slightly amused too, but you can tell he’s worried about what exactly you’ve been exposed to. He’s not wrong to; you know all too well how weird people can get about idols, but you wish he’d ease up a bit sometimes. He doesn’t seem to realise that you’re not that same wide eyed kid that showed up all those years ago. You’re an adult, and you think about adult things just like he does.

You clear your throat, face burning. This was a bad idea. “They were talking about, like, what we like,” you mumble. “Or what they think we like. Sexually.”

“So what do I like?” Hyunjin asks. He seems genuinely curious but Minho smacks him all the same.

“Yeah, I wanna know too,” Seungmin grins.

“That’s enough.” Chan’s voice is stern and it forces the room into silence. His eyes are narrowed and fixed on you but his voice softens a little when he speaks again. “You shouldn’t read about that stuff, it’s not real. Just gonna confuse you.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before standing up and wandering off the kitchen, muttering about needing some coffee. Jisung waits for him to leave before reaching over to slap the back of your head. “Pervert,” he grins.

—

You’re settled into bed, cozied up in your blanket and clutching the reindeer plushie Felix bought you on your first Christmas in Korea, when there’s a soft knock at the door. You make a noise of acknowledgement and it eases open enough to allow Chan to shuffle in quietly.

“Ah, are you all ready for bed?” He asks. You pull your blankets down slightly to show him your fluffy pyjamas. His smile is fond as he perches down next to you.

“I wanted to talk to you about our conversation today,” he says. “Is that okay?”

You flush, remembering how uncomfortable he’d looked; the stern gaze he’d fixed firmly on you—it’s the same way he looks at you when you really are in trouble, and it makes you feel small and scolded and childish every time he uses it on you. “It’s okay,” you whisper. “I’m sorry for bringing it up, Channie. I really was just wondering.”

His head tilts in confusion. “Why would you apologise for that? I always said you can tell me anything, didn’t I?”

You shrug, noncommittal. “You didn’t say I could ask you anything,” you mumble. “Or ask about… that.”

He just laughs. “Semantics, love. You can ask me whatever you like.” He squeezes your calf, rubbing it soothingly. He figured out a long time ago that touch—his touch, specifically—calms you down; soothes your perpetually anxious mind when nothing else can. He’s never asked about it and you’ve never discussed it; it’s just a silent understanding between the two of you. He looks at you almost apologetically. “I was just caught off guard earlier and I knew it wasn’t a good time with Jisung there to make it all into a stupid joke. It’s a serious thing, sweetheart. You know that, right?”

“I know.”

“If you have questions, I really do want you to ask me. But it’s better to do it in private, yeah?”

“Yeah. Well.” You trail off, hesitant and he says nothing; just waits patiently for you to gather your thoughts and string them into a sentence. “You never answered the question.”

“What question?”

“That question.”

“Ah.” He nods. “That question.”

You groan, nodding embarrassedly and he laughs again. “I have. Have you?”

“Come on,” you whine. “You’re just making fun of me now.”

He grins, caught; it’s a well-known secret among them that you tend to shy away from relationships, or really any contact with the opposite sex outside of them and work. And even if it wasn’t; the embarrassment with which you speak about these things, as if the words are foreign and uncomfortable on your tongue, says it all.

You cross your legs, staring at him curiously. “So you really have fucked someone.”

“Yes, I have.”

“Oh.”

“Is that something you’ve been thinking about?” His voice is soft but his gaze is dark and fixed on you. “Having sex?”

“I mean,” you mumble, shrugging slightly. “I’m old enough, aren’t I? Everyone else is doing it.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to,” he frowns. “It’s not something you should do just to fit in or anything. You do it because you want to, no other reason.”

“Oh. And… if I do want it?”

“Find someone you like and trust who wants to do it with you, talk about what it is you want, and let it happen naturally.”

“Right.”

There’s only one problem—there’s no one you like and trust who you’d actually want to do that with. All the men you’re decently close to are trainees or other idols who can’t afford to be seen slipping in and out of another dorm, and you’re not particularly attracted to them, anyway. You’ve never really been attracted to anyone.

Well. Almost.

Chan’s gaze is heavy on you and you can’t help but squirm uncomfortably beneath it; when he looks at you like that you feel exposed and seen on a level you’re not sure even you have access to. He affects you now just as much as he did the day you met him—when you’d shuffled into their practice room shaking and stuttering with nerves, certain they hated the idea of a new female member and resented you for being it; when he’d taken your hands in his and told you how happy they all were to have you here.

He’s been a guiding force for you since that day—a firm hand when you were out of control and a safe haven when everything was too much to bear; resolute in his determination to care for and nurture you and his assurance that he would never, ever allow you to face it all alone.

He’s the only person you could even picture yourself trusting with this. He’s the only person you want to trust.

You wonder if he knows he’s the only one you fantasise about; if he’s heard the way you squeaked his name in the small hours while you explored yourself with your fingers and tried not to wake the others. You wonder if he’s seen the way your eyes linger on his hands, his arms, the vein in his neck. If he’s seen the way you stare at him like he’s all you’ve ever wanted.

You let the words fall from you before you can change your mind and swallow them forever.

“What if… I wanted it to be you?”

The silence that descends is the longest and heaviest of your entire life. Every possibility, from him laughing at you to hitting you to kicking you out of the group entirely crosses your mind—what you didn’t anticipate is the way his eyes darken, jaw tensing the way it does when something is pulling at his strings and he’s trying desperately not to let them snap.

“You want it with me?” His voice is level and controlled as always but there’s another, deeper layer to it that you’ve never heard before. His fists curl into your soft sheets like he’s holding on for dear life and you can’t pull your gaze away from the way the veins in his forearms bulge under the pressure.

“Yes,” you whisper. “I… there’s no one else I trust like that.”

“Jesus.” He closes his eyes and you see his chest rise and fall with deep, staggered breaths. He’s… well, you don’t quite know what. But he’s not got up and left yet, which is a good sign. “You really want me to do that? You won’t… you can’t get your virginity back once it’s gone. You should save it for someone… someone that’s not me.”

“I don’t want to,” you say, half pleading by now. “Chan. I want you. I want you to do it. I want…I want you to be the first.”

His jaw tightens. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do.” You try to sound confident but your nerves are seeping into your voice from the pit in your stomach. “I swear.”

“I shouldn’t even be considering this,” he mutters. “What you’re asking me—to deflower you. To take your innocence from you. You shouldn’t give me that power.”

“Why not?”

He says nothing for a moment, like he’s looking for an escape and then you catch his gaze, your face hopeful and desperate and it’s like something clicks. His expression shifts into something understanding and… “Fucking hell,” he grunts. “How long have you wanted this?”

“A long time.”

“I’m a bad person,” he says quietly, disgustedly. “I’m a terrible person for even entertaining this.”

You’re not, you think. But that won’t convince him. You both know this is crossing a line. “I don’t care,” you whisper. “I don’t care at all.”

“Me neither.”

Before you can blink the blanket is pulled away and he’s hovering above you, face inches from yours. His breathing is heavy, laboured and you’ve never seen his eyes so focused or intense or… dark.

“Tell me you want this,” he says. “In words.”

“Chan,” you whine, squirming beneath him with increasing frustration. “Please.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Use your words, baby. I. Want. This. Sound it out.”

“I want this,” you repeat it with wide eyes, clinging to the words as they fall from your mouth. “I really want this, Chan. Take me. Please.”

And his lips are on yours; wet and desperate and messy and you kiss him with urgency as though his attention is in short supply. He cups your face in his hands as he nudges your legs apart with his knee and inches it further and further upwards. “You don’t know,” he gasps between kisses, “what you do to me. What your fucking, shit, what your words do to me.”

“Show me,” you whisper. “I can… I can take whatever you give me, Chan.”

He pauses for a moment, movements ceasing and the smile of his face is safe and threatening and warning all at once. He just chuckles. “Not tonight,” he whispers. “Tonight I‘m gonna be gentle. Gonna take such good care of you.”

Your stomach twists at the implication and the image it conjures of what Chan might be like at other times—rougher and harder than what you’ll see tonight; concealed for now but still simmering beneath the surface. Could you bring that out of him today? Do you want to?

“Chan.” You shift underneath him again, lifting your hips desperately and he grins, pushing them back down with one hand. “Easy,” he mumbles. “Easy, baby, I got you. You’re gonna get this dick, don’t you worry.”

“Now,” you groan. “Chan, now.”

Something flashes in his eyes but it’s gone before you can decipher it and he smiles pleasantly at you. “What do we say when we want something?” He asks.

“Please.”

“Good. I’m gonna take those panties off, yeah?”

You lie limp while he manoeuvres you, getting you ready for him; your panties slide off with your sleep shorts, places carefully by his side; his hands are warm and steady where they brush against your thighs and he makes a deep, strangled sound at the sight of your pussy. “Fuck,” he says. “You’re soaked.”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“All for me?” He smiles. “It is, isn’t it? Could only ever be for me.”

He pushes the first finger in slowly; gently and subtly so you scarcely notice the intrusion until he’s all the way in and pumping it in and out of you slowly. You squeak, thighs clamping together on instinct and he tuts, pushing them apart with his other hand. He slots his leg in the gap to keep them where he wants them. “Don’t run from me, pretty girl,” he grumbles. “Gotta be good f’me if you want this dick.”

“I wi—hngh—” The word dies in your throat when he pushes another finger inside and you cry out, throwing your head back against the pillow. He curses under his breath, eyes blazing.

“Forgot how fuckin’ sensitive virgins are,” he says. “Never been stretched like this before, have you?”

“N-no,” you gasp. “Of…of course not, Channie.”

He hums, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “Good,” he grins. “That’s good. God, you’re gonna feel fucking fantastic around my cock.”

Just the mention of it has you mewling and reaching for him, for the sweatpants that hang from his hips and he laughs, nudging closer so you can finally feel his growing bulge. You gasp, mouth open and your eyes flicker between your hand and his face. “Oh.”

He tilts an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“You…” You swallow, trying to clear the nerves gathering in your chest. “Are they usually… um. How does it fit? In there.”

His eyes soften briefly, and the look on his face is the same one of fondness and care you’d seen the very first time you met him. “It’ll fit, bunny,” he mumbles. “M’gonna make sure of it.”

You’re not sure if you believe him; you’ve never felt a dick before but you don’t think they’re usually as big as him. Just the thought is painful, and you wonder how you’re meant to handle it, how you could possibly take it without breaking—

Oh. You remember now. Your face is crimson when you call for him softly. “Channie?”

“Hm?”

“I— um. I have lube. In my drawer.”

He seems to go through a few different cycles of emotions at once before he settles on a cool, curious smile. If he wasn’t knuckle-deep in your pussy right now he’d be teasing you like he normally does. “Lube, huh?” He muses. “Why’d you buy that, honey?”

“I didn’t,” you say. “It was, um, my birthday—”

“Your birthday?”

“Yeah, um. They thought it would— that it would be funny. To give me that. Because I don’t… I’m not into that stuff. Or I wasn’t.”

He can’t help but roll his eyes. “They being Jisung and Seungmin, I’m going to hazard a guess”

“Yeah.” You giggle slightly and he chuckles too; it eases the tension slightly, reminds you of who you’re with and how little you have to fear in his hands. “And they, um. Jeongin got me something too.”

“Go on.”

You bite your lip, nearly chewing through it as you reach for your desk drawer and pull it open with shaking hands and you see the moment it registers with him exactly what’s lying there, still in the plastic wrapping—a dark red and obnoxiously large dildo. Probably bigger than Chan and definitely unused.

“Dickheads,” he mumbles. He grabs the lube that sits next to the unopened box and slams it shut almost petulantly. It makes you laugh again and he fixes a firm but mostly joking glare on you. “You keep encouraging them and I’ll fuck you with that dildo instead.”

Oh, no. No, you don’t want that. You want Chan. You mumble an apology and he chuckles, pumping his fingers in and out of you a few times before pulling them out. The snap of the bottle flicking open makes it jump and he bites back a smile.

He doesn’t waste time building tension before pulling his dick out, just yanks down his sweatpants and underwear and practically empties the bottle onto his dick. “Can’t have you hurting, baby,” he says. “You’re too pretty for that. Tight, too, I bet.”

His hands come down to rest on each of your plush thighs, holding you down as much as comforting you as he slowly pushes in. The stretch is still noticeable even with the lube but it’s not painful, and you take it all with a brave face. He’s cooing at you as he pushes further and further inside until he finally buries himself in you with a grunt. “Fuck, good girl,” he whispers. “Tighter than I dreamed of. Shit.”

He waits a moment, letting you adjust to him before he slowly starts to move; rocking back and forth and getting harder and firmer with each thrust. You whine and mewl and groan with his movements, unable to think of anything but him and all the different ways he could take you apart.

His composure breaks quicker than he’d have liked and soon he’s fucking into you desperately, like his hips are moving of their own accord and unable to stop. You cry out, sobbing his name but it feels so fucking good. So fucking perfect and you both know it.

His sweat is falling onto you, landing on your face and chest and his breathing is heavy and erratic; jaw clenched in focus and frustration. “You’re so fucking fragile, baby,” he grunts. “So little. I could break you.”

“Please,” you cry. “Chan, pl—”

“Next time,” he says. “We don’t have time now. You need to be bred.”

Your breath hitches, stomach twisting. “Bred?”

“Yeah, baby. Need to be knocked the fuck up, don’t you? Clench around me, c’mon, I got you.”

You do your best to obey, squeezing you walls as best as you can around his dick and it’s all it takes to push him over the edge, shouting and spluttering through his orgasm until he practically collapses on top of you. He removes himself quickly, not wanting to crush you. He rolls off of you to lie at your side but he makes no move to remove his dick, still sitting stuffed inside your hole while drops of cum leak out around it.

“Channie,” you mumble.

“You did so good, my baby.” He strokes your face, gentle and tender and you’ve never seen him look so content. “Fuck. Thank you for— for letting me do that. Letting me be your first. I’m so glad.”

“Will you do it again?” You ask softly. “Fuck me, I mean.”

He looks at you like you’ve asked something obvious but his gaze hardens as it flickers up and down your flushed, sweat-soaked body. “Of course I will,” he grins. “Every fucking day, princess. You’re mine now.”

—

skz taglist: @miyaluvvsyou @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @yabbadabbatuh @pixie0627 @ghstin91s @tangerineastronaut @lemonkait00 @aloevendetta @fancypeacepersona

[idolcomplexx]

Hey FUCK you you piece of fucking shit. If you really think this shit wouldn’t of happened if trump didn’t get elected then you’re dumb as a fucking ROCK. It doesn’t matter who the fucking president is. It doesn’t matter whose democrat or Republican. If you still believe that actually get fucking sterilized. Regardless of your political stances, regardless of which party is “in power” it all boils down to one thing. It is US VS THE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT. Not “us vs republicans” not “us vs the president” it’s all fake. It’s all bullshit. They want us to be outraged at each other instead of focusing on rising up against THEM. So for you to say people deserve to get deported because they voted for trump is the stupidest fucking shit I’ve ever heard in my life and you deserve to fucking die. Fuck you. I can’t wait to spit on your grave.

FAFO season gon be funny af. All these fuckers wanna be seen as members of team whiteness sO damn bad, but Trump is about to remind them who Republicans really think of as white. I do not feel sorry for them. At all. They are receiving the fate they wished upon others. My only regret is, good and genuinely innocent people—regardless of their actual citizenship status, in some cases—who did not vote for Trump will also be deported.

[oldsoul007]

Collide

joel miller x famous!reader

summary: A famous pop star and a reserved contractor find an unexpected connection when their paths cross at a concert, leading to a complicated and intense relationship despite their vastly different worlds.

a/n: 20 year age gap, suggestive scenes, kissing, fluff, teen Sarah, please request!!

joel miller masterlist

I was still coming down from the high of the show, the pulse of the bass lingering in my veins as I sat in my dressing room. My legs were stretched out over the couch, my body buzzing with exhaustion in the best way. Another sold-out night. Another crowd screaming my lyrics back at me.

Someone knocked, and my manager popped her head in.

“Your meet-and-greet winner is here—Sarah Miller.”

“Send her in,” I said, smiling.

The door swung open, and in walked a teenage girl, clutching a crinkled tour poster with wide, almost disbelieving eyes. I’d seen that look before—pure, unfiltered excitement, the kind that made all the work worth it.

But what I hadn’t seen before—what I wasn’t expecting—was the man following her.

Older. Tall. Broad shoulders filling the doorway, a flannel stretched over his chest, sleeves rolled up his forearms. His hair was dark but streaked with gray, and the scruff along his jaw was salt-and-pepper. He wasn’t moving like he was part of this world—he lingered, arms crossed, scanning the room with wary eyes like he wasn’t sure if he’d just stepped into a trap.

I was used to seeing dads at my shows, usually half-asleep or scrolling on their phones, counting down the minutes until they could leave. But this guy?

Something about him felt different.

Sarah, completely unaware of the shift in my focus, let out a sharp breath. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “I can’t believe I’m here.”

I grinned, forcing myself to drag my attention away from the man hovering behind her.

“Believe it, babe. You made it.” I patted the couch beside me. “Come sit. Let’s take some pictures.”

Sarah practically collapsed onto the seat, still clutching her poster like it might disappear if she let go. “You were amazing. Like, I love your albums, but live? Insane. And the outfits? Oh my God.”

“Thank you!” I laughed, flicking my hair over my shoulder. “Gotta give the people a show.”

I felt it then—that weight of a gaze pressing into me. Not from Sarah.

From him.

I glanced up, catching him watching me. Not in a creepy way. Not in a casual way, either. It was assessing, lingering, like he wasn’t expecting this from me. Like I wasn’t what he thought I’d be.

Sarah rolled her eyes dramatically. “That’s my dad Joel. He insisted on coming. Thought I’d get kidnapped or something.”

“Smart,” I murmured, turning my gaze back to him.

His eyes flicked to mine, and for a second, the room felt smaller.

“You didn’t have to stay back here,” I said, tilting my head. “Most parents just drop their kids off and wait outside.”

His jaw twitched, like he was debating if it was worth answering.

“Didn’t feel right leaving her alone,” he said finally. His voice was deep, rough—like gravel warmed by the sun.

I studied him, smirking a little. “Didn’t seem like you hated the show.”

Something flickered in his eyes—like he hadn’t expected me to notice him in the crowd, let alone call him out on it.

Sarah gasped dramatically. “Wait. Did you actually like it?” She turned to him, eyes wide. “Oh my God, Dad, are you a fan now?”

Joel—Joel. I liked the name—exhaled through his nose, shifting his weight. “Let’s not get carried away.”

I laughed. I liked this. The push and pull of it. He was clearly out of his element, but he wasn’t running from it either.

Sarah turned back to me, still buzzing. “He literally never listens to anything but old music. Like, dad music. So this is, like, a huge deal.”

I arched a brow at him. “Old music, huh? Let me guess—Springsteen? Tom Petty?”

Joel just stared at me. “Nothin’ wrong with Petty.”

I grinned. “Didn’t say there was.”

He held my gaze for a beat too long, something unreadable flickering in his expression before he looked away.

Sarah didn’t seem to notice any of it, too busy gushing about her favorite songs. I signed her poster, took a few selfies, and listened as she told me about how she and her best friend had waited all night to get tickets.

Eventually, my manager cleared her throat—a signal that it was time to wrap things up.

Sarah pouted but nodded, clutching her signed poster like a lifeline. “Thank you so much. This was, like, the best night of my life.”

“Anytime, babe,” I said, giving her a wink.

Then my eyes flickered back to Joel.

He lingered a half-second longer than he needed to, that same unreadable expression on his face. Like he wasn’t sure what the hell just happened here.

I smirked.

“See you around, Joel.”

His throat bobbed. His hands flexed at his sides. But he didn’t say anything—just gave me one last look before following Sarah out the door.

I watched them go, my body still humming—not just from the show, but from him.

Something told me this wasn’t the last time I’d be seeing Joel Miller.

—

I woke up to a pounding headache, the kind that made me instantly regret every single tequila shot from the night before. The afterparty had been a blur—flashing lights, too many hands grabbing mine, bodies pressed close, music so loud I could still feel the bass vibrating in my bones.

I groaned, rolling over in bed, burying my face in the pillows. My mouth was dry. My limbs ached. And judging by the way my phone was blowing up on the nightstand, I’d missed something important.

I squinted at the screen, ignoring the dozens of notifications, and instead focused on the text from my assistant:

“Contractors are at the house today. They need you to sign off on finishes. Be there by noon.”

I groaned again, rubbing my face. Noon? That might as well have been dawn.

But I couldn’t push it off any longer. The house was almost done, and I wanted to make sure every little detail was perfect before I moved in. So I forced myself out of bed, took the longest shower of my life, and threw on a pair of oversized sunglasses to hide the absolute disaster happening on my face.

By the time I pulled up to the house, it was already hot, the kind of Texas heat that made the air shimmer off the pavement. My head was still pounding as I stepped out of the car, tugging my hoodie up over my messy hair.

Then I saw them.

Two men on the porch, deep in conversation. One was younger, dark-haired, grinning as he gestured toward the house. The other…

Oh.

I froze.

It was him.

Joel.

He was standing there, arms crossed, that same unreadable expression on his face as he listened to the other guy talk. He looked just as solid as he had last night, except now he wasn’t in a dimly lit dressing room—he was in daylight, in his element, wearing a dark t-shirt that clung to the broad planes of his chest, work-worn jeans slung low on his hips. His sleeves were pushed up, revealing forearms dusted with hair, veins prominent beneath tanned skin.

Fuck.

I was hungover. I was in no shape for this kind of thing.

But he turned, catching sight of me, and for a second, I swore I saw something flicker in his expression. Recognition. Amusement. Maybe even something else.

The younger guy—who I was now guessing was his brother—looked between us, raising an eyebrow. “Well, damn. You’re the client?”

I pushed my sunglasses up, smirking. “Surprised?”

Joel exhaled through his nose, something like a chuckle under his breath. He shook his head slightly, looking down before glancing back up at me. “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

I stepped closer, my headache momentarily forgotten. “Yeah? You’re not exactly my usual demographic either.”

Joel’s jaw ticked. He shifted his weight, hands resting on his hips. “That what you call it?”

I let my eyes flicker over him—just briefly, just enough for him to feel it. “You tell me.”

His throat bobbed, but he didn’t answer.

His brother, though, was eating this up. He let out a low whistle, grinning between us. “Alright, what am I missin’ here?”

I smirked. “Your brother was at my show last night.”

The younger man lit up. “Oh, no shit.” He turned to Joel, grinning. “Man, you didn’t tell me you were a fan.”

Joel exhaled sharply. “Jesus Christ.”

I laughed, biting my lip, watching the way his jaw clenched. He wasn’t flustered, not exactly. But he was… affected. And I liked that.

“Tommy,” Joel muttered, clearly done with this conversation. “Go check the tile in the kitchen.”

Tommy—who now had a name—was still grinning as he backed away. “Oh, I’ll check the tile, alright.”

When he was gone, I turned back to Joel, crossing my arms.

“So. You do this for a living?”

Joel nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Been doin’ contracting work a long time.”

I let my gaze drift around the house, imagining him working here—his hands on the walls, the floors, every little detail touched by him.

“Guess that means you’ll be around for a while.”

Joel met my eyes, something heavy in his gaze. “Looks that way.”

The air felt thick, the heat between us stretching, pulling, tightening.

I smirked. “Good.”

Then I turned and walked inside, knowing full well he was watching me go.

—

I stepped into the house, my heels clicking on the polished floors, the cool air inside a welcome relief from the heat outside. Joel followed me, his footsteps steady and even behind me, but it was his presence that made the room feel smaller. He was still there, lingering just at the edge of my periphery as I looked around the space.

“So, what do you think?” I asked, motioning to the wide open spaces, the unfinished but impressive features—high ceilings, sleek lines, all of it still a work in progress.

Joel took a slow turn, eyes scanning the room. “It’s big,” he said. “I mean, damn. You’re gonna need a lotta furniture to fill this place.”

I chuckled, shrugging. “I’ll figure it out.” I didn’t mind the emptiness. I liked the potential of it. The house was a blank slate, just like the life I’d started to build here.

“Texas sure knows how to do things big,” he muttered under his breath, walking over to inspect the kitchen island.

I caught the slight surprise in his voice, and it made me pause. “You surprised?”

He turned to face me, his brows raised slightly. “Guess I didn’t expect someone like you to be from here.”

I tilted my head, genuinely curious now. “Someone like me?”

He shrugged, his eyes flickering to mine before he looked back down at the stone countertop, his hands moving slowly over the surface. “I dunno. You’re, uh… different. Thought people from Texas were more…” He trailed off, not quite sure how to finish the thought.

“More what?” I prodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips.

He rubbed his jaw, clearly trying to avoid saying something that might come out wrong. “I dunno. More country, maybe. More… traditional.”

I raised an eyebrow, amused. “You think I’m not ‘traditional’?”

Joel shifted uncomfortably. “No, it’s not that.” He looked like he was realizing how much trouble he’d gotten himself into with his words. “I’m just sayin’, Texas is a big place. People think it’s all rodeos and oil rigs and cowboy hats.”

I laughed, walking over to a window that looked out over the land. The sunlight was softer now, casting a warm glow on the fields beyond. The house felt like a fortress here, its high walls keeping out everything I didn’t want. But in Texas, even the wide-open spaces felt like they were mine.

“Well, I grew up here,” I said, looking out at the view, my voice softening a little. “I didn’t think I could build a house anywhere else. Texas is home.”

Joel stayed silent for a moment, the weight of my words hanging in the air. Then, when he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “I get that. Texas has a way of sticking with you, doesn’t it?”

I nodded, turning to face him. “Yeah. You can take the girl out of Texas, but…” I let the sentence hang, a half-smile on my lips.

He met my gaze then, something almost reflective in his eyes. “But you can’t take Texas out of the girl.”

I let out a soft laugh, relieved that he understood. That we didn’t need to say everything. I’d always known that about Texas—that it was big, that it was loud, but also that it was home in a way I couldn’t explain to anyone who didn’t feel the same pull.

“So, where are you from?” I asked, stepping closer to him, wanting to shift the conversation away from the weight of what I’d said.

He paused, looking down for a second, like he wasn’t sure if he should say. Finally, he met my eyes, his expression shifting to something more grounded. “Came from a small town outside Austin. Grew up on a farm, learned the trade from my old man.”

I smiled. “Sounds like a different world than this.”

“It was,” he agreed. His gaze drifted toward the large windows, his tone thoughtful. “But Texas has a way of making you feel like you belong, no matter where you come from.”

There was something in his voice, something that made me pause. He wasn’t just talking about the land anymore. He was talking about Texas—and maybe even about himself, too.

For a second, the tension between us shifted. It wasn’t just about the house, or the project we were both now a part of—it was about something deeper. Something about us both finding our places, making a home.

I broke the silence, clearing my throat. “Guess that’s what makes it so special. Doesn’t matter how far you go, you always find your way back.”

Joel looked at me, his expression unreadable, but there was something lingering there. Something unsaid. He cleared his throat. “Guess you’re right.”

I smiled, the weight of the moment fading into something lighter, easier.

But as we stood there, looking at each other in the stillness of that unfinished house, I knew one thing for sure—Texas wasn’t just a place. It was a feeling. And for the first time, I wasn’t sure I wanted to leave it behind. Not now. Not ever.

—

The days passed in a blur of emails, meetings, and decisions about finishes and fixtures, but my mind kept wandering back to that house. The house that was almost finished, but not quite. Every day, I’d get updates from my manager or the construction crew about progress, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the two men working on it.

Joel and his brother, Tommy.

They were good at what they did—no surprise there.

Every time I visited, I saw them in action, meticulously working on the smallest details. Joel was particularly focused, his movements efficient but thoughtful, like he took pride in making everything just right.

I found myself going there more often than I needed to, and I could feel it—something shifting in the air between Joel and me. It wasn’t obvious, but it was there—the lingering glances, the moments where we found ourselves alone, if only for a few seconds, before either Tommy or one of the other workers came around the corner.

I’d always been good at reading people, and Joel didn’t seem like the type to show much of his cards. But there were times when our eyes met across a room, a long, drawn-out moment where neither of us looked away.

Once, I was standing by the kitchen, debating whether the granite countertops I’d chosen would clash with the cabinets. Joel had been in the other room, but when I glanced over, there he was—watching me. Not just looking, but studying me. The way his gaze lingered made my heart skip a beat, even though I was trying to act like I didn’t notice.

I forced myself to focus on the materials. “What do you think about the backsplash?” I asked, knowing I needed to fill the silence.

Joel shifted, scratching the back of his neck before walking over, his boots thudding softly against the floor. “The tile’s fine,” he said, his voice low. “But I’d go with something a little more subdued. You don’t need to compete with the countertops.”

I nodded, stepping back to look at it through his eyes. “Subdued. Got it.”

I could feel him so close now, his body just a breath away, the heat from him lingering in the space between us. But before I could respond, Tommy rounded the corner, grinning. “You two makin’ progress in here, or just talkin’ shop?”

I shot Tommy a playful smile, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that Joel was still standing a little too close, like he didn’t want to walk away. I ignored it, focusing on Tommy instead, but there was no denying the tension simmering beneath the surface.

The next few days felt like that—little moments.

I’d walk through the house, discussing where I wanted certain pieces, and Joel would be there, eyes on me just a little too long. I’d catch his gaze in the reflection of a window, or he’d be watching me from across the room when I wasn’t looking, and when I did catch him, he’d quickly look away.

Tommy, oblivious to the energy between us, was always there too, cracking jokes and making the work feel light. It was clear that he and Joel were close, and I appreciated that—his easygoing attitude balanced Joel’s more serious demeanor.

But still, there were those moments when it was just Joel and me, alone.

Like the time I walked into the garage, planning to check on the paint job in the hallway. Joel had been working on some cabinetry, and when he saw me enter, he set down his tools and wiped his hands on a rag. “Hey,” he said, his voice gravelly, like he hadn’t been talking much today.

“Hey,” I said, trying to act casual, but the moment stretched longer than it should have. I could feel the distance between us closing. He was so close now that I could smell the faint scent of wood and sawdust on his skin, and I couldn’t help but notice how good he looked. It was the kind of ruggedness that worked on him—like he didn’t have to try, but still somehow looked effortlessly put together.

“I was thinking about the flooring,” I started, trying to steer the conversation to something safe as my heart raced in my chest. But the words felt stupid in my mouth when his eyes were on me like that. Like they were seeing right through me.

“Flooring’s good,” he said, leaning against the workbench. He crossed his arms, and his gaze dipped just slightly before meeting my eyes again. “You just need to decide what you want the most. It’s your house.”

His words felt more like a challenge than advice.

I took a slow breath, swallowing hard. “I know. I just… want it to be perfect.”

Joel’s expression softened. “It will be.” He stepped forward then, closer than he had before. So close I could feel his presence in a way that was more than physical. “You’ve got a good eye. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed with anything you choose.”

I could feel my pulse quicken at the way he was looking at me, the weight of the moment too intense for me to shake off. There was an invisible line between us now, a line I wasn’t sure if I should cross, but I couldn’t look away.

Just as the air thickened, the sound of Tommy’s voice came from the other room. “Yo, Joel! We need your help with these measurements.”

Joel exhaled, breaking the spell. He stepped back, his gaze still lingering on mine for just a moment longer before he turned and walked toward the doorway.

“Guess I better get to work,” he said, his voice quieter than before, like it had been touched by something.

I stood there for a beat, trying to compose myself, but my heart was still pounding in my chest. I couldn’t deny it anymore.

The tension between us was undeniable, and I wasn’t sure how much longer we could ignore it.

—

Joel was kneeling by the baseboards, smoothing out the last coat of sealant with practiced precision. The steady scrape of the tool against the wood filled the quiet space, but his attention kept flicking toward me as I sat cross-legged on the floor nearby, flipping through fabric samples for the living room.

“You know,” he said, finally breaking the silence, “I still don’t get it.”

I looked up. “Get what?”

He rested his forearm on his knee, tool still in hand, and nodded toward me. “All this.” He gestured vaguely around the room, but I knew he didn’t mean the house. “You’ve got people screaming your name, selling out arenas… but here you are, sitting on the floor, stressin’ over couch cushions.”

I laughed softly and set the samples down. “Yeah, well… those arenas don’t exactly help me figure out if sage green’s gonna make me regret all my life choices.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, but his eyes didn’t leave mine. “Still. Must be kinda… wild. All that attention.”

I leaned back on my hands, glancing toward the window where the late afternoon sun poured in, warm and golden. “Yeah. It is. It still doesn’t feel real most days.”

His brow furrowed slightly, like he was trying to understand. “What part?”

“All of it.” I shrugged, feeling the familiar wave of disbelief wash over me. “I mean, I was just a kid with a guitar writing sad songs in my bedroom. And now… there are people who know those songs. Who sing ‘em back to me. Who care enough to show up.” I shook my head with a small, disbelieving smile. “It’s insane.”

Joel was quiet for a moment. “You ever get used to it?”

“Not really.” I met his gaze again. “And honestly, I don’t think I want to. I don’t ever wanna stand on stage and not feel completely floored by the fact that people gave me a night of their lives. You know?”

He nodded slowly, his eyes softening. “Yeah. I get that.”

“Like… I’m just grateful, you know? For all of it. The chaos, the weirdness, the fact that I can make music and it actually… matters to someone. It could all go away tomorrow, and I’d still feel lucky that it happened at all.”

His mouth quirked into a faint smile. “Yeah, well… reckon that attitude’s why they show up in the first place.”

My cheeks warmed, and I ducked my head with a laugh. “Okay, stop, you’re gonna make me weird about it.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he went back to the baseboards. “Just callin’ it like I see it, superstar.”

“Superstar,” I repeated with a groan. “God, don’t let Sarah hear you say that.”

“Oh, too late,” he said, smirking. “She already thinks you hung the moon.”

I smiled at that. “Yeah, well… don’t tell her, but I think she might be cooler than me.”

He didn’t look up, but his voice softened. “Yeah. She’s got pretty good taste, though.”

And just like that, the air shifted—just a little. And I couldn’t help but wonder if he realized he was included in that.

—

The clock on the wall read 9:42 p.m., and Joel Miller was still here. I could hear the faint scrape of a utility knife coming from the other side of the room, followed by a frustrated sigh.

I padded down the hall, leaning against the doorway to find him crouched near the kitchen island, squinting at something on the floor. His flannel sleeves were rolled up, forearms dusted with sawdust, hair slightly disheveled from the long day.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

Joel exhaled through his nose and sat back on his heels, turning to look at me. “Yeah, just… missin’ a piece I need to finish this trim.” He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it even messier than before. “I’ll go grab it from the hardware store real quick. Be outta your hair after that.”

I smiled, crossing my arms. “Yeah, you better. Don’t you have a daughter to get home to?”

He huffed a laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yeah, yeah. Sarah’ll be fine. She’s probably still on the phone with her friend complainin’ about algebra.”

“Smart girl.” I hesitated for a second before straightening. “You mind if I tag along?”

His eyebrows lifted slightly. “To the hardware store?”

“Yeah.” I shrugged. “I’ve been cooped up here all day. A quick trip sounds nice. Plus… I’ve never been to a hardware store this late. Kinda curious what kind of characters we’ll run into.”

He chuckled under his breath. “All right, suit yourself. Just don’t blame me when it’s not as exciting as you’re imaginin’.”

The hardware store was exactly as I’d pictured it—rows of tools, pipes, paint cans, and that faint metallic smell that reminded me of childhood. My dad used to drag me to places like this on weekends, letting me pick out paint colors for walls that never actually got painted.

Joel walked ahead of me, eyes scanning the aisles like he’d been born here. I followed, occasionally stopping to run my fingers along unfamiliar tools.

“What’s this?” I held up something that looked like a cross between scissors and a medieval torture devil.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Tin snips.”

“Ah.” I turned them in my hand. “For… snipping tin, I assume?”

“Smart girl.”

I gave him a mock glare. “Watch it, Miller.”

He smirked and kept walking, turning into the next aisle. I followed, catching up just as he crouched down to grab a small package from the bottom shelf.

“There she is,” he muttered, holding it up.

“Thrilling.” I clapped my hands together. “That was… what, a seven out of ten on the adventure scale?”

He chuckled. “More like a two.”

“Well, maybe next time we’ll hit up the plumbing section. Really go wild.”

His eyes met mine, and we both broke into laughter. I felt the warmth of it spread through me, the ease of being around him so simple and effortless. I didn’t notice the kid with the phone a few aisles over, or the faint click of a camera shutter.

Joel’s pov

I had barely managed to get some sleep after the late-night trip to the hardware store with y/n. The drive had been strange, in the best way possible. It was the kind of moment where everything felt familiar and carefree, yet I couldn’t shake the weight of the unspoken tension between us. The way she looked at me last night—so open, so real—made me feel like I was standing on the edge of something I wasn’t sure I was ready for. But I couldn’t ignore the way she made me feel, how easy it was to be around her.

This morning, I had to snap myself out of those thoughts. The quiet of the house was a bit too loud as I stepped into the kitchen, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. Sarah was still asleep in her room, thank God. I had a few hours to get myself together before the day really started.

That’s when I heard her.

“DAD!” Sarah’s voice rang out from the living room, startling me. I rubbed my face and made my way down the hall, already bracing myself for whatever was coming.

When I reached the living room, Sarah was standing there, phone in hand, eyes wide with excitement. She was practically bouncing on her heels, her face flushed with energy. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I knew I wasn’t going to like it.

“Look what I found!” she exclaimed, holding up her phone, the screen pointing directly at me. I squinted at it, immediately regretting the choice.

There was a picture of y/n and me from last night at the hardware store. It was a candid shot—y/n had been laughing, her head thrown back, her eyes sparkling in the dim light. I was standing close to her, my face right beside hers, both of us sharing a moment that, to anyone else, probably looked… well, too intimate. Like we were more than we were.

I could feel my heart rate picking up, my stomach knotting. This wasn’t how I wanted Sarah to see this. I wasn’t ready to explain anything yet, least of all to her. I didn’t want to complicate things between me and Lauren, but now… now it was out in the open, whether I was ready or not.

Sarah’s eyes were wide with excitement, but there was a hint of curiosity too, like she was waiting for me to say something.

“Dad, is that you and… y/n?” she asked, her voice laced with both excitement and surprise. “You guys look like you’re having so much fun. What’s going on? Were you two hanging out last night?”

I felt the heat rising in my face, and I could tell that I was doing my best to hide the anxiety gnawing at me. This was not the conversation I’d planned on having today.

“It’s not what you think, Sarah,” I said, my voice low, trying to keep it casual, trying to keep things under control. “We were just getting somethings for her house. It’s no big deal.”

Her expression didn’t change. She wasn’t buying it. “No big deal?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Dad, you’re literally standing there, like, super close to her. You two look like you’re having the best time. What’s going on? Are you two, like, friends or—”

“Sarah,” I cut her off, trying not to sound too defensive. “I know how it looks, but I swear it’s just a friendly moment. We were just… talking. That’s all.”

But she wasn’t convinced. “Talking? Dad, I’ve never seen you look at someone like that before.”

The weight of her words hit me harder than I expected. I wasn’t sure why it stung so much, but it did. Sarah wasn’t wrong. There was something between me and y/n. I wasn’t blind to it. But this? This was complicated.

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to collect my thoughts. “It’s nothing to worry about,” I said, my voice steady, but the truth was that I wasn’t even sure if I believed myself. “She’s just… she’s a friend, Sarah. That’s it.”

But the way she was looking at me told me she wasn’t buying it, not for a second. “Dad, you’re really bad at lying,” she said with a laugh, but there was a sharpness in her tone. “I’m just saying, you’re looking at her like… like you really like her. You should be honest with me.”

It wasn’t the words, but the tone—the way she said it, like she saw right through me—that made me feel exposed. I had always prided myself on being able to manage my emotions, to keep my thoughts locked up tight. But with Sarah, with y/n… it was becoming harder and harder to hide what I felt.

I sighed, trying to soften the tension. “Look, Sarah… I don’t want to get into this right now, okay? Just trust me when I say that nothing’s going on. I care about you, and that’s my focus right now.”

She seemed to consider my words for a moment before giving me a knowing look. “Fine, but just so you know, Dad…” She smirked. “I think you really like her.”

My stomach twisted at her words, but I tried to push the feeling down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, my voice a little too forceful, but I wasn’t ready to dive deeper into this yet.

Sarah looked at me, her eyes narrowing just slightly. She wasn’t giving up that easily, but thankfully, she dropped the subject. “Whatever, Dad. But if you do start liking her for real, you better tell me first. Got it?”

“Got it,” I said, giving her a reassuring smile, though I wasn’t sure if I was reassuring myself or her.

She shrugged and walked off, heading back to her room with the picture still in her hand. My heart was still pounding in my chest. It wasn’t just the photo that had me rattled—it was the truth that I wasn’t sure how to confront yet.

Was I starting to like y/n? The answer was obvious. And yet, as I stood there in the silence of the house, I couldn’t figure out if I was ready to admit it, especially not to Sarah.

The question lingered, unanswered, in my mind. But one thing was clear: this was just the beginning. And it wasn’t going to be easy to figure out where it would go from here.

—

Joel was different the next time I saw him.

He showed up like usual—punctual, focused, still dressed in that same worn flannel and faded jeans. But the easy warmth that usually hung between us was gone. The quiet jokes, the teasing smiles, the way his eyes would linger just a second longer than necessary—none of it showed up today.

He barely looked at me.

I tried to ignore it at first. Thought maybe he was just tired or preoccupied with work. He and Tommy had been running around nonstop to finish the details on the house. But when I brought him a coffee mid-morning and he mumbled a polite “thanks” without even glancing up, my stomach twisted.

Something was wrong. And whatever it was, it had to do with me.

I hovered in the doorway while he knelt by the fireplace, adjusting the custom mantel we’d argued about for a full twenty minutes last week. “Okay,” I finally said, gripping the edge of the doorframe. “What’s going on?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. He kept working like I hadn’t spoken at all. I watched the muscle in his jaw tighten as he used his level to check the alignment.

“Joel.” My voice softened. “Talk to me.”

He sighed through his nose, set down the tool, and wiped his hands on his jeans before finally turning toward me. His face was unreadable. “Did you see the picture?”

The picture.

My chest tightened. “What picture?”

His eyes flicked toward mine like he didn’t believe me. “The one from the hardware store.” His voice was low, careful. “The one that ended up all over the damn internet.”

The words hit me like cold water. “Wait. What?”

“You really didn’t see it?”

“No.” My heart started to race. “Joel, I don’t go looking for that stuff. What—what picture are you talking about?”

He rubbed a hand over his face and pulled out his phone. After a few swipes, he turned the screen toward me.

There it was. The photo. Us, standing in that stupid hardware store aisle, laughing like we didn’t have a care in the world. From this angle, it did look… cozy. Familiar. Like we were something we weren’t.

God.

I felt my stomach drop through the floor. “Shit. I—Joel, I had no idea.”

He lowered the phone, his jaw tight. “Yeah, well… Sarah found it this morning.”

I blinked. “Sarah?”

He gave a short nod, eyes hard. “She came runnin’ downstairs with her phone, askin’ me if I was ‘dating a pop star.’ Thought it was funny.” His mouth twisted like the word tasted bitter. “Didn’t feel so funny to me.”

The guilt hit me hard and fast. I took a step toward him. “Joel, I’m so sorry. I swear, I didn’t know someone took that picture. I didn’t mean for it to—”

“I know you didn’t,” he cut in. His tone was sharp but tired. “But it happened anyway, didn’t it?”

The truth of it settled like a stone in my chest. He was right. Intentions didn’t erase the fact that his life—his daughter’s life—had just been yanked into my world without warning. Without permission.

“Look,” I said, voice cracking slightly. “I can call my manager. Get them to reach out, try to take it down.”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Once it’s out there, it’s out there.”

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating.

I wrapped my arms around myself and swallowed against the lump in my throat. “Joel… I’m really, really sorry.”

He stood there for a long moment, eyes dropping to the floor like he was weighing something.

“I know you are,” he said finally. “But I can’t let Sarah get caught up in all this. I just… I can’t.”

His voice was low, almost gentle, but it still hit like a gut punch.

Because “all this” was me.

And no matter how much I cared about him—how much I liked him, admired him, wanted to be around him—this was the part I could never change. The part I hated. The part where my life bled into someone else’s without permission. Where someone like Joel Miller—normal, grounded, fiercely protective of his daughter—would look at me and realize that whatever this had been?

It wasn’t worth it.

I gave a small nod and forced a weak smile. “Yeah. I get it.”

Joel didn’t say anything else. He just gave a tight nod, turned back to the fireplace, and got back to work.

And I stood there for a few more seconds before heading upstairs, heart heavy, throat burning.

I didn’t cry.

But God, I wanted to.

The next few days passed in a blur.

Joel came and went with Tommy to finish the last of the work on the house, but things between us were different now—strained, distant. He didn’t avoid me completely, but he didn’t go out of his way to talk to me either. No more lingering conversations about the best gas station snacks. No more teasing glances when I asked dumb questions about tools. Just quick, professional exchanges about the house.

It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did.

I tried to stay busy. Studio calls, interviews, brand meetings—they all demanded my attention, and I gave it to them. I smiled, answered questions about upcoming music, joked about how I was “just a Texas girl at heart.” But the whole time, the memory of that picture, of Sarah’s name on Joel’s lips, sat heavy in my chest.

It was an accident. I hadn’t asked for it. And yet, somehow, I still felt like I’d broken something.

By the fourth day, I’d had enough.

That evening, just after the sun dipped below the horizon, I heard the familiar rumble of Joel’s truck out front. I didn’t overthink it. I walked downstairs, pulled open the front door before he could reach it, and stepped outside.

Joel stopped short on the porch, toolbox in hand. His eyes flicked to mine, guarded as ever. “Evenin’.”

“Hey.” I crossed my arms, ignoring the way my heart jumped just from standing this close to him. “You got a minute?”

He hesitated. “Kinda gotta finish the bathroom grout—”

“It can wait.”

His brows lifted slightly at the sharpness in my voice. He set the toolbox down with a sigh. “All right.”

I leaned against the porch railing and took a breath. “Look… I’m sorry about that picture. I know it put you in a bad spot with Sarah, and I swear I didn’t know it was being taken. But I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine when you’ve barely looked at me all week.”

Joel shifted his weight, rubbing the back of his neck. “I ain’t been avoidin’ you.”

“Yeah, you have.” I tilted my head. “You’ve been avoiding me since the picture thing. And I get it—it sucks. You didn’t ask to get dragged into all that. But I thought we were at least friends.”

He exhaled heavily and looked down at the porch. “We are.”

“Then act like it.” I gestured toward the front door. “I feel like you’ve been treating me like I’m radioactive or something.”

His mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “Ain’t you, like, a global sensation or whatever? Radioactive sounds about right.”

I let out a sharp laugh. “Seriously?”

He finally met my eyes. There was something softer there now, something that chipped away at the tension. “I dunno, y/n,” he said after a moment. “I guess I just… got caught off guard by all of it.”

“The picture?”

He shook his head slowly. “Nah. More like… what it stirred up.”

I froze. “What does that mean?”

He dragged a hand down his face, clearly frustrated. “I mean… I spend most of my time tryin’ to keep life simple. Easy. Predictable. And then I meet you, and suddenly there’s a picture of us floatin’ around the internet, and Sarah’s gigglin’ about it, and Tommy’s givin’ me shit every day about how I ‘can’t handle all that.’” He let out a humorless laugh. “And the worst part is, he’s probably right.”

My heart stuttered. “Why?”

Joel’s eyes caught mine, steady and unguarded for the first time in days. “Because I’ve been in denial about this whole thing since the minute I saw you onstage.”

My breath caught.

There it was. No dancing around it this time. No quiet looks or lingering glances. He’d said it out loud.

“You’ve been… what?” I asked, voice unsteady.

He gave a small shake of his head and ran a hand through his hair. “Pretendin’ it don’t mean anything,” he said softly. “That you’re just some client and I’m just here to finish a job. But I’m lyin’ to myself.”

The air between us thickened. I gripped the railing so tightly my knuckles ached. “Joel…”

“I know,” he said, cutting me off. His voice was rough. “It’s complicated. Sarah, my job… your life, your whole… world.” He huffed out a breath and glanced at me. “I just… needed you to know I ain’t avoidin’ you because I don’t care. I’m avoidin’ you ‘cause I care more than I should.”

The confession knocked the air out of me.

I could’ve kissed him then. Could’ve stepped forward and closed the gap, erased every last inch of distance. But instead, I smiled softly and reached out, brushing my fingers lightly over his forearm. “You think too much, Miller.”

Joel let out a low chuckle and shook his head. “You don’t think enough.”

“Maybe.” I squeezed his arm once before dropping my hand. “But I’m not scared of complicated.”

It was one of those rare moments-those fleeting ones where everything felt like it was shifting into place.

The house was still a mess, not completely finished, but it felt intimate, in its own way. The lights were dimmed, casting a soft glow over the room, and for some reason, everything else seemed to fade away.

The music playing softly from a Bluetooth speaker in the corner was barely audible. It was just us, in this moment, and the world outside didn't matter.

Joel's eyes were on me, steady and intense, like he was studying every inch of my face. There was something in the way he looked at me-something that had been building for weeks, simmering beneath the surface.

I stepped closer, drawn to him. Every part of me wanted to bridge the distance between us, to finally give in to whatever this was, this magnetic pull that had been growing since the moment we met.

"You know," I started, my voice softer than usual,"I'm really glad you're working on my house. It feels... different when you're here."

His gaze flickered down to my lips for a fraction of a second, and that was enough. My heart skipped a beat.

"Yeah?" he said, his voice low, his usual confidence faltering slightly. "I'm glad to be here, too."

I could feel the tension in the air, thick and tangible now. We were standing close, too close, but neither of us was stepping away. I could hear my own breathing, shallow and quick, as if my body was already betraying me, telling me what I already knew.

I could feel the heat from his body, the warmth of his breath, and I knew-we both knew-that something was about to happen.

I took another step forward, my fingers brushing lightly against his arm. He didn't pull away. Instead, he reached up, his hand hovering near my face, like he wasn't sure if he should touch me.

"You're so..." he started, but his words trailed off.

I didn't need him to finish. I could feel it-the pull, the magnetism. I leaned in just a little bit more, my lips barely brushing against his ear as I whispered, "I've wanted this for a while Joel."

The words hung in the air between us, thick and heavy. For a second, I thought I saw his resolve crack. His eyes softened, the sharpness from before blurring into something warmer, something more vulnerable.

He stepped in closer, his breath on my neck sending a shiver through me. His lips were inches away from mine, and I could feel the moment hanging on a thread.

Then, just as our lips were about to meet, the door slammed open.

"Hey, Joel! I need your-" Tommy's voice came booming from the hallway, interrupting everything.

I froze, and so did Joel. His eyes darted away from me, that familiar guarded expression slipping back into place.

He stepped back, like he was trying to pull himself together, but I could see the way his hands were trembling slightly, betraying the tension that had been building between us.

Tommy appeared in the doorway, blissfully unaware of the moment he'd just interrupted. "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to... well, yeah, just—" He cleared his throat, clearly sensing the awkward energy. "I need your help with something in the garage."

Joel let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping.

He looked at me, and for a split second, I could have sworn I saw regret in his eyes-like he was frustrated, too.

"Alright, Tommy. Just give me a minute," Joel muttered, walking past me without another word.

I stayed where I was, my body still buzzing from what had almost happened. The connection between us hadn't dissipated-it lingered, humming between us like an electric current.

Tommy was already halfway down the hall before Joel caught up with him, offering me a brief, almost apologetic glance.

I stood there in the dim light of the living room, my heart racing. I didn't know if I was more frustrated or relieved.

But deep down, I knew one thing for sure: this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

—

The next day, the air felt thick with tension, like something had shifted between us and I wasn't sure how to navigate it. I hadn't heard from Joel since last night, but I couldn't stop thinking about that almost-kiss. The way everything felt in that moment-like we were so close to crossing a line that neither of us fully understood. It lingered in my mind, that charged silence, the unspoken words that seemed to hover in the air between us.

I'd tried to go about my day, tried to keep myself busy with meetings and interviews, but all I could think about was Joel. The warmth of his touch, the way his eyes had looked at me as he'd almost kissed me-like he wanted to but couldn't let himself. It was maddening.

Finally, after hours of pretending like everything was normal, Joel showed up at the house. He was here to do some more work with Tommy, but I could tell from the moment he walked through the door that something was different between us.

There was a heaviness to his steps, a tightness in his jaw that made the air feel suffocating.

I was in the living room when he came in, and I knew this was it-the moment where we would either pretend it hadn't happened or face the truth of what had been building between us for so long.

He cleared his throat, a little awkwardly, as he stopped just inside the door.

"Hey," he said, his voice lower than usual, like he wasn't sure how to start. "I... I wanted to talk about last night."

I glanced up from where l'd been sitting, my heart instantly picking up pace. "Yeah?" | tried to keep my voice casual, but there was no hiding the fact that I was still processing everything that had happened.

Joel ran a hand through his hair, clearly uneasy.

"Look, I... I just want to say that what happened-what almost happened-was a mistake. I don't want you to think I'm some kind of... I don't know, some guy who takes advantage of situations like that."

My chest tightened, and I stood up from the couch, crossing the room to face him. "Joel, it wasn't a mistake," I said softly, but firmly. "You don't have to apologize for it."

He looked at me, his brows furrowing, like he was trying to figure out if I was being serious. "Y/n, it was a mistake," he repeated, his voice a little more strained now. "I mean. you're... you're so young, and I'm-"

I cut him off, not wanting to hear him talk down to himself like that. "I'm not a kid, Joel," I said, the words coming out sharper than I meant. "And I don't need you to protect me from myself."

He looked taken aback, clearly not expecting my response, but there was something else in his eyes-something softening, something that told me he wasn't as sure about his apology as he was trying to make it seem.

"I just didn't want you to think I-" he started again, but I took a step closer, interrupting him once more.

"No, Joel. I've been in this world, l've dealt with a lot more than people think. And you..." I paused, looking up at him, feeling the weight of everything that had been building between us.

"You're not just some guy l've been casually seeing. There's something here. I feel it, and I know you do too."

His eyes softened at my words, and for the first time, I could see the walls he'd been building around himself start to crack. He let out a deep breath, his hands running over his face as if he was trying to come to terms with the fact that he couldn't deny what was happening between us anymore.

"Y/n..." He stopped, the words catching in his throat. "I don't know what this is, but I'm trying to figure it out."

"Me too," I whispered, finally closing the last bit of distance between us. "But maybe we don't need to figure everything out right now. Maybe we just need to stop pretending that this isn't happening."

I reached out, my fingers brushing lightly against his chest, and I felt him freeze under my touch. His eyes were locked on mine, and for a long moment, we both just stood there, both of us breathing a little too quickly, both of us waiting for the other to make a move.

Then, finally, Joel spoke in a low voice that made my heart skip. "Are you sure about this?"

I didn't answer with words. Instead, I leaned up slowly, giving him every chance to pull away if he wanted to, but he didn't. And when our lips met, it was like everything fell into place.

It wasn't a slow, tentative kiss this time. It was desperate, passionate-an unspoken release of all the tension that had been building between us for so long. His hands were at my waist, pulling me against him as if he couldn't get close enough.

I tangled my fingers in his hair, feeling the way his body tensed beneath mine, the way he was finally giving in to something he had been holding back for so long.

I could feel the heat between us, the raw energy that pulsed through every touch, every kiss. It was like nothing else mattered in that moment-no fears, no regrets, no questions about what this would mean. There was only him, only us, caught in the rush of something real.

Our lips moved together, urgent and hungry, as if we were both finally acknowledging the truth we'd been dancing around. The kiss deepened, becoming more frantic, our bodies pressing closer together, craving the connection we'd been denying.

When we finally broke apart, we were both breathless, our chests rising and falling as we tried to catch our breath. I could see the same question in his eyes-the same look of wonder and disbelief, like neither of us could believe what had just happened.

But I didn't need words this time. I didn't need him to apologize again, or explain himself. I just needed him to know that it wasn't a mistake, and that I wasn't backing away from this.

I stepped back slightly, my fingers still tracing his jaw, and I looked up at him, my voice low. "It wasn't a mistake, Joel. It never was."

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I saw him smile-genuinely. It wasn't forced, or awkward, or hesitant. It was real.

And in that smile, I knew. This wasn't over. This was only the beginning.

—

We spent hours together in the quiet of my house. The sound of my music barely registering in the background as we talked, laughed, and touched. There were no real words for the way we fit together—how perfectly we seemed to complete each other. And the way we kissed—God, the way he kissed me—it was like he was marking me as his own, like every kiss was a promise.

One night, after a long day of working on my house, Joel and I found ourselves alone in my bedroom, the door cracked open just enough for the light from the hallway to seep in. He was standing by the window, watching the last slivers of sunlight fade behind the trees. I couldn’t help myself—I walked up to him, standing just behind him, letting my hands brush over his shoulders.

Without turning, he murmured, “You’re always so quiet around me.” His voice was low, almost a growl. He tilted his head slightly, just enough for his lips to graze the side of my neck. “What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?”

I closed my eyes, leaning into him. “You know what’s going on,” I whispered back. I slid my arms around his waist, my chest pressing against his back. The warmth of his body, the scent of his cologne mixing with the musk of sweat, was intoxicating. He turned around then, his eyes darker than before, as if he were trying to fight back something deeper inside him.

Joel was always so controlled—always careful with his emotions, with what he let slip. But I knew it was different with me.

His hand cupped my face, his thumb tracing the curve of my cheek as if memorizing every inch of me. “You’re makin’ it hard to breathe, darlin’.”

“You make me forget to breathe,” I admitted, my fingers brushing against his chest. I leaned in, the distance between us practically nonexistent. “Don’t fight this. Don’t fight us.”

His lips met mine, urgent and hungry. There was no hesitation this time, no distance between us. The kiss was full of need—years of repressed emotions finally crashing together in one fluid motion. His hands were on me, under me, pulling me closer, as if he couldn’t get enough. My hands found his hair, tangled in the strands as I deepened the kiss, needing to feel him closer. The energy between us was electric, an unspoken connection that neither of us could deny anymore.

We stumbled back toward the bed, not breaking apart for a second. I couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything other than the way his lips moved with mine, the way his body pressed against me. The yearning, the hunger—it was all too much and not enough all at once.

He pulled back for a breath, his chest rising and falling in quick succession. “You sure about this, Lauren?” His voice was rough, like he was fighting against a tide pulling him under.

I nodded, pulling him back toward me, my hands gripping his shirt, desperate for him. “I’m sure. God, Joel, I’m so sure.”

And then there was nothing but us, lost in the pull of one another. Nothing else mattered. Not the noise of the world outside, not the worries that had plagued us both. In that moment, all we had was the now, and it felt like the most powerful thing we could ever give each other.

The night blurred by in a haze of soft whispers, heated touches, and frantic kisses. We explored each other like we had all the time in the world, but both of us knew we were racing against something unspoken. The desire was overwhelming, and every inch of his skin against mine made me ache for more.

When we finally lay in bed together, tangled in the sheets, the silence felt heavier than the night before. I turned to him, running my fingers over his chest, tracing the faint outline of a scar near his ribs.

Joel’s eyes were still dark, a fire burning in them, and his hand rested on my back, his thumb rubbing slow circles. He glanced down at me, his lips curling into that familiar lopsided grin. “You were right, darlin’,” he said softly, his voice husky. “We do get better with practice.”

I smiled, my heart still racing from the intensity of what we had shared. “I’ll take your word for it.”

But deep down, I knew one thing: this was just the beginning. There would be more. So much more between us. And even though it was complicated, even though we were still figuring it all out, I wouldn’t change a thing.

We were finally where we were meant to be.

—

Sneaking around with Joel was a dangerous game.

Not because we were doing anything illegal—but because every glance, every brush of his hand against mine when no one was looking, every stolen moment made me want more. And when it came to Joel, more was a slippery slope I was already tumbling down headfirst.

It started small.

The first time, we were in my kitchen. Tommy was in the living room talking on the phone with some supplier, and I was pretending to organize my spice cabinet while Joel installed a new light fixture above the island. I didn’t need to be in there. I could’ve left and let them work. But when Joel was around, leaving didn’t feel like an option.

He was on the ladder, arms raised as he adjusted the fixture, his shirt riding up just enough to show a strip of tan skin. I didn’t realize I was staring until his voice snapped me out of it.

“See somethin’ you like?” he murmured without looking down.

Heat shot through me. “Yeah. My new light fixture.”

Joel’s shoulders shook with a quiet laugh. He climbed down, stepping close enough that I caught that familiar mix of cedar and sawdust clinging to his skin. “Sure it is.”

Tommy’s voice carried from the other room—loud, oblivious.

Joel’s eyes flicked toward the doorway, then back to me. His hand brushed against mine on the counter. He didn’t grab it. Didn’t lace his fingers with mine. Just… touched. A whisper of contact that sent a shiver down my spine.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. “Careful, Miller. Tommy’s right there.”

Joel’s thumb grazed mine. “Don’t tempt me, sweetheart.”

And just like that, the light fixture was the least interesting thing in the kitchen.

The next time, we weren’t quite as subtle.

It was late, and Joel was helping me move some furniture in the upstairs guest room. Sarah had just gone to a sleepover, and Tommy had headed home for the night, leaving us blissfully alone for the first time in days.

We’d started with actual work—really, we had. The guest bed was heavy, and the dresser was wedged at an impossible angle against the wall. But somewhere between Joel teasing me about my lack of upper body strength and me calling him “old man” one too many times, things shifted.

I was standing against the wall, still laughing from some joke he’d made, when he caged me in with his arms.

“Still think I’m old, huh?” he asked, voice low.

I swallowed hard. “Well, you did complain about your back twice today.”

His lips twitched. “You’re pushin’ your luck, darlin’.”

“I like pushing it.”

Joel’s eyes darkened. He leaned down and kissed me—slow, deep, his hand slipping beneath my T-shirt to rest against the small of my back. I melted into him immediately, fingers tangling in his hair as he pressed me harder against the wall.

The kiss turned messy fast. He groaned when I nipped his bottom lip, and I gasped when he responded by gripping my hips and dragging me closer. It was the kind of kiss that promised more, the kind that made me forget that the guest room window was cracked open and that sound carried.

The slam of a car door outside brought us crashing back to reality.

We broke apart, breathing hard. Joel wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and gave me a lopsided, regretful grin. “Guess we should get back to work.”

“Yeah,” I panted. “Totally.”

Spoiler: we didn’t move the dresser for another twenty minutes.

Sneaking around with Joel meant stolen phone calls late at night, when Sarah was asleep and his house was quiet.

It meant me dragging him into my music room one afternoon, away from Tommy’s curious eyes, just to kiss him breathless on the worn-out couch.

It was ridiculous. It was fun. It was dangerous.

And neither of us could stop.

—

One afternoon, Tommy caught us almost-red-handed.

I was sitting on the kitchen counter, legs dangling, Joel standing between my knees with his hands on my thighs. We weren’t kissing—not yet—but we were definitely standing too close to be discussing drywall.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble,” Joel muttered.

“You love it.”

He grinned and squeezed my leg. “I do not.”

Before I could argue, the front door creaked open.

“Joel? You still here?” Tommy’s voice echoed from the entryway.

Joel jumped back so fast I nearly fell off the counter. I caught myself just in time, schooling my face into what I hoped was an innocent expression.

Tommy stepped into the kitchen, eyes flicking from me to Joel. His brows lifted. “Interrupt somethin’?”

“Nope,” Joel said quickly. “Just—uh—talkin’ about the backsplash.”

I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

Tommy didn’t buy it for a second. He smirked and shook his head. “Yeah, all right. You keep tellin’ yourself that.”

Joel turned bright red. I couldn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.

Sneaking around wasn’t sustainable. We knew that.

But every time I caught Joel looking at me across the room when he thought I wasn’t paying attention, every time his hand brushed mine on purpose, every time we kissed like we didn’t care who saw…

I knew one thing for certain.

When we finally stopped sneaking, the fallout was going to be worth it.

It had been a slow, steady build-up—every stolen glance, every touch, every quiet moment. But in the heat of the moment, I didn’t realize how obvious we were being until Tommy walked into the living room and caught us.

We were standing by the couch, Joel’s hands tangled in my hair, his lips pressed against mine with a desperation neither of us was trying to hide anymore. It was like the world outside that room ceased to exist—until it didn’t.

Tommy’s voice broke through the air like a cold slap. “Well, this is… something.”

Joel pulled away instantly, eyes wide, and his hand shot up as if to ward off the inevitable. “Tommy, wait—”

But it was too late. Tommy was already leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a smug grin on his face. He raised an eyebrow, looking from Joel to me and back again. “I’m just gonna go ahead and assume this isn’t the first time this has happened.”

I opened my mouth to explain, but Tommy cut me off, his grin widening. “Y’know, I’ve been tryin’ to avoid this. But now that it’s right in front of me—” He looked down at his shoes with exaggerated thoughtfulness. “I gotta admit… I owe Sarah so much money.”

Joel froze, his face going red. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

Tommy uncrossed his arms and looked at Joel with amusement. “Sarah. She bet me you two were already messin’ around.”

Joel’s jaw dropped, and I felt my face burn. “No way,” he muttered. “She—she bet you? Seriously?”

“Yep. She’s been on my case about it for weeks. Figured I owed her that money anyway, so I’m glad to be rid of it.” Tommy’s tone was casual, but there was a hint of something else there—a mix of mischief and, maybe, a little concern.

I looked at Joel, trying to process what was happening. “So, she knew?”

“Of course she knew. She’s not as oblivious as you two seem to think,” Tommy teased, before his expression shifted to something a little more serious. “But… y’all didn’t want her to know, right?”

Joel sighed, running a hand through his hair, looking like he was suddenly about to burst from the pressure. “Not yet,” he said, voice low. “We’re still trying to figure this out. I haven’t even had the chance to take her out on a real date, man. Everything’s… messy.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. “Yeah? Messy, huh? You two sure look like you’ve got everything figured out.”

“Not exactly,” Joel muttered, rubbing his face in frustration. “But we’re not ready to deal with it. Not yet.” He met Tommy’s gaze, tone more serious now. “Can you keep it quiet? Just until we figure out what the hell this is?”

Tommy paused, then grinned. “I can keep quiet. But this is gonna be fun to watch.” He held up his hands, like he was surrendering. “No promises, though. I’m still Team Sarah on this one.”

Joel shot him a look that could’ve frozen water. “You better not say anything to her, Tommy. I’m serious.”

Tommy held up his hands in mock surrender, laughing. “I won’t. For now, anyway.” He pushed off the doorframe and gave us a knowing smile. “But, you two better figure it out quick, because Sarah’s gonna want to know why her dad is sneaking around with her favorite pop star.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” Joel grumbled, clearly still uneasy, but Tommy had already turned and left, muttering something under his breath about needing a beer.

I turned back to Joel, heart still racing from the confrontation. “So… this is really happening, huh?”

Joel ran a hand over his face again. “I guess so. But we gotta take it slow, y/n. We owe it to Sarah… and to ourselves.” He stepped toward me, his expression softening. “Let’s not rush into this. I can’t promise I’ll be perfect, but I can promise I’m not running away.”

I nodded, feeling a wave of relief wash over me. “We’ll figure it out. No pressure.”

Joel’s lips curved into a small, tentative smile. “Good. I don’t want to mess this up.”

“Me neither.”

The tension in the air had shifted, but it wasn’t over. Not yet. We had a lot of questions left unanswered. But for the first time, I felt like maybe we were on the same page.

We still had a long way to go—but at least we were taking the first step together.

—

Being with Joel felt different than I expected—easier in some ways, harder in others. It wasn’t like the whirlwind relationships I’d had before, the ones that burned hot and fast before fizzling out. Joel was steady, deliberate. The kind of man who made sure things were built to last.

Once we stopped pretending we didn’t want this, everything changed. He was still his gruff, no-nonsense self, but now his touch lingered when he brushed past me. Now his eyes softened when they met mine across a room. Now he kissed me slow and deep when no one was watching and sometimes even when they were.

But being with Joel also meant being with Sarah and Tommy.

Sarah, of course, was ecstatic. The morning after we finally made things official, she nearly tackled me in the kitchen, eyes bright with excitement.

“I knew it,” she practically yelled, grinning. “I mean, I bet on it, so I really knew it.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Bet on it?”

Sarah’s grin widened, and that’s when Tommy strolled in, smirking.

“Don’t tell her, Sarah,” he said, pouring himself coffee. “I ain’t got the cash yet.”

Joel groaned from where he stood by the fridge. “Y’all gambled on my love life?”

“More like invested,” Tommy shot back, winking at me.

Sarah wiggled her eyebrows. “So, do I win the pot, or…?”

I laughed, but Joel just shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face like he was seriously reconsidering his life choices.

Being with Joel meant stolen moments in between my hectic schedule. It meant late-night dinners when I got home from rehearsals, sitting on the kitchen counter while he cooked something simple, rolling his eyes when I tried to help. It meant quiet mornings, wrapped in his arms, pressing sleepy kisses against his jaw before slipping out of bed to get ready for the day.

It also meant dealing with the outside world.

We had kept things quiet for a while, but people caught on fast. A blurry picture here, a leaked story there, and suddenly, headlines were calling me the pop star dating a Texas contractor, which was ridiculous and not even remotely close to who Joel actually was.

I expected him to hate it, but surprisingly, he handled it well.

“Ignore it,” I told him one night, lying on the couch with my head in his lap as he scrolled through his phone.

“Didn’t say nothin’,” he murmured, but his jaw was tight.

I reached up, running my fingers along his beard. “If it really bothers you—”

“It doesn’t,” he said, looking down at me, expression softening. “Long as we’re good, I don’t give a damn what anyone else says.”

And we were good. Better than good.

One night, after a show, I came backstage to find Joel leaning against the wall, arms crossed, waiting for me.

“Took you long enough,” he said, smirking.

I rolled my eyes. “You’re just mad ‘cause Tommy and Sarah dragged you here early.”

“They did,” he admitted, pushing off the wall and stepping closer. His voice lowered as he murmured, “Worth it, though.”

I smiled, reaching up to fix the collar of his shirt. “Yeah?”

Joel didn’t answer with words. He just pulled me in, his lips brushing against mine—slow, steady, full of promise.

It was still surreal sometimes, having this life—the fame, the lights, the chaos—and him all at once. But as long as I had Joel, I had something real. Something worth holding onto.

[kunareads]

heavy angst not a lot of comfort!! + wc: 0.7k

masterlist

choso hasn’t breathed right in months.

he tries sometimes. draws in a deep breath, holds it, waits for his ribs to expand the way they used to when you were curled up beside him, murmuring something soft in your sleep.

but every inhale is shallow, every exhale unfinished. he can’t get enough air in his lungs without you.

he thinks about the phone call often. shoko’s trembling voice on the other end. the way his blood turned to ice when she said they found a body.

they never let him see it. too much damage, they said. better to remember you as you were. so he had nothing to hold, nothing to bury. just a handful of ashes and the suffocating knowledge that you were gone.

he never got rid of your things. your shoes are still by the door. your toothbrush still sits next to his. your clothes still take up too much space in the closet. your blanket—your favorite, the one you used to throw over him when you thought he looked cold—still rests on the couch, untouched. he picked it up once, buried his face in it to see if it still smelled like you. it didn’t. it just smelled like dust.

and now—

now you’re standing in front of him.

but it can’t be you.

his body locks up, frozen in place, because this can’t be real. it’s another cruel trick of his exhausted mind, another dream that will end the moment he dares to reach for you.

he should know. he’s had so many of those dreams, where you’re warm in his arms again, where he gets to say all the things he never did. sometimes, you forget your keys at home and come back for them. sometimes, you whisper his name from the other side of the bed, voice so soft he almost believes it. sometimes, you just look at him, silent and hollow-eyed, before fading into nothing. he wakes up gasping every time, drenched in sweat, grief choking him like a curse he can’t break.

this is just another dream. another hallucination.

but you take a step forward, and he sees the way you move—slow, hesitant, your hands shaking. there’s an old cut on your cheek, bruises along your jaw, faint lines on your wrists like you were bound. your clothes are torn, dirt and dried blood staining the fabric. your lips are cracked, your eyes hollowed by exhaustion.

you look like you fought your way back to him.

“…choso.” your voice is hoarse. he barely hears you, but it devastates him.

he doesn’t realize he’s moving until his legs give out beneath him. his knees hit the floor hard, but he barely feels it. his breath stutters out in a sharp, broken sound, and it’s only then that he realizes he’s crying.

you walk forward, kneeling in front of him, hands ghosting over his shoulders, his face, his hair. “i’m here,” you whisper. “i—i tried—“ your voice cracks, and something snaps.

“where the fuck were you?”

it rips out of him, raw and jagged. his hands clutch at your arms, desperate, terrified, fingers digging in like he’s afraid you’ll slip through them again.

“do you have any idea—“ his voice breaks, and his grip moves to cup your face like he needs proof. “i scattered your ashes. i mourned you. i—i—“ his breath falters, his forehead pressing against yours, a sob rattling through his chest. “i thought i lost you.”

your hands slide up to cradle his face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “i know,” you whisper. “i know, i—“

a short inhale, your fingers curling against his skin. “i thought i was gonna die there.”

choso swallows hard, his throat thick with grief and relief and something darker, something furious. his fingers hover, barely grazing your bruises, as he presses his palm to your ribs to physically confirm you’re real.

who did this to you?

the question burns in his mind, but he can’t bring himself to ask you that yet. not when you’re here, not when he’s barely holding himself together.

he pulls you in, arms locking so tightly around you that you gasp. but you don’t pull away. you clutch at his back, holding him just as desperately, needing this just as much.

his breaths are uneven, shaky, but for the first time in months, he actually breathes.

[bradleysass]

Grimmauld Place: Part Deux - wc: 898 - @samynnad102687 @accio-sriracha @missmoonfrost

James doesn’t sleep. Not that he could, not with the thought of Regulus still trapped in Grimmauld Place, still there—with her. His stomach churns every time he imagines Walburga’s shrill voice, the Cruciatus rolling off her tongue like second nature, Regulus on his knees—alone, helpless.

He grips his wand so tightly his knuckles turn white.

Sirius watches him from the other side of the room, arms crossed over his chest, the shadows under his eyes deepening by the hour. His wounds are half-healed thanks to Euphemia’s careful touch, but the weight of tonight still clings to him, settling into his bones.

“James,” Sirius says, voice low.

James doesn’t look up.

“James.”

He finally meets Sirius’ gaze.

“I swear to you,” Sirius says, serious in a way that makes James stop breathing. “We’ll get him out.”

James clenches his jaw. “Tonight.”

“Tomorrow,” Sirius corrects, and when James’ expression twists into something close to rage, Sirius raises a hand. “You storm in there now, and you’ll get yourself killed. Then who’s saving Regulus?”

James forces himself to breathe.

Sirius is right. Again.

But patience has never been James’ strong suit. Not when Regulus is suffering.

They wait until the first light of dawn, until Fleamont and Euphemia are awake, until James can explain without shaking so hard he can barely breathe.

Euphemia presses a hand to her mouth in horror as James speaks. Fleamont exhales sharply through his nose. Sirius just stands there, silent.

“He’s still in the house,” James finishes, voice raw, “and we have to get him out.”

Euphemia’s gaze flickers to Sirius, heartbreak and understanding etched into her features. “We’ll help,” she says softly.

“Don’t suppose we can just knock on the door and ask politely?” Fleamont muses, rubbing his chin.

James shoots him a glare.

“No, I figured not,” Fleamont sighs. “Then it has to be careful.”

Sirius nods. “We can’t go in through the front.”

James shifts impatiently. “I know that. Do you still remember how to break into your own bloody house?”

A ghost of a smirk tugs at Sirius’ lips. “You think I didn’t sneak out more times than I can count?”

“Then let’s go,” James says.

They move quickly. James and Sirius fly under Disillusionment Charms, landing on the rooftop of Grimmauld Place just as the sun begins to rise. The house is still dark, but James knows better than to think Walburga is asleep.

Sirius leads the way, dropping down into an alleyway near a side entrance, pressing a careful hand against the old brick. “There’s a service door,” he whispers. “Never used except for the elves. It opens from the outside.”

James barely holds back a snarl at the word elves—he doesn’t want to think about Kreacher, about the way Walburga probably forces him to punish Regulus for even breathing the wrong way.

The door clicks open.

James’ breath catches.

Sirius grabs his arm before he can lunge inside. “Slowly.”

James nods, even though every part of him is screaming to run.

They creep inside, the house unnervingly silent. The air is stale, suffocating. James’ heart pounds so loudly he’s afraid it’ll give them away.

Sirius nudges him forward, whispering, “Reg’s room is—”

But James already knows.

He moves on instinct, weaving through corridors, pressing himself into the shadows, Sirius hot on his heels.

Finally, they reach it. The door is slightly ajar.

James braces himself, then pushes it open.

Regulus is curled up on the floor.

James’ breath stutters.

He doesn’t look hurt—no visible injuries, no fresh wounds—but his arms are wrapped tightly around himself, his face pale, his breathing shallow.

James drops to his knees beside him. “Reg,” he whispers, hands hovering, unsure where to touch.

Regulus’ eyes flutter open, dark grey and dazed. “James?” he breathes, as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

James lets out something between a laugh and a sob. “Yeah, love, it’s me.” He reaches out, brushing damp hair from Regulus’ forehead. “We’re getting you out of here.”

Regulus blinks slowly, then shakes his head. “You shouldn’t be here.”

James clenches his jaw. “Not leaving without you.”

“Jamie, you don’t—”

The sound of a door slamming open makes them both freeze.

“Regulus Arcturus Black!”

James whips around just in time to see Walburga storming down the hall.

His blood runs cold.

Sirius grabs his wand, yanking James up. “Time to go.”

James hauls Regulus up with him, wrapping an arm around his waist. Regulus stumbles, still weak, but James holds him steady.

“Move,” Sirius hisses.

They run.

Walburga’s shrieks echo through the house, a curse narrowly missing James’ head. The walls seem to close in, the air crackling with dark magic.

James doesn’t stop. He grips Regulus tighter, pushing forward, chasing the glimpse of daylight through the open door—

Sirius throws a hex over his shoulder, hitting a portrait and sending it crashing to the floor. Walburga’s screech is deafening.

The three of them burst outside.

James doesn’t stop until they reach the alley, until they’re hidden behind the wards, until he can finally, finally breathe.

Regulus sags against him, shivering violently. James cradles him close.

Sirius runs a shaking hand through his hair, laughing breathlessly. “Bloody hell.”

James presses his forehead against Regulus’. “You’re safe,” he murmurs. “You’re safe now.”

Regulus exhales, eyes fluttering shut.

And for the first time in his life, he believes it.

[veronicascreenwriter]

An amazing catch for a pro, if you think about it.

I miss seeing pay phones and having that convenience in case of an emergency, but I have had serious OCD since I was just a little girl. Both, a blessing and a curse.

Think about what these kids would do today, if cellphones didn’t exist.

I would say computers, the internet, home video games and cellphones were the beginning of our downfall.

The kids today have no idea what it feels like to receive an old fashioned letter in the mail, the anticipation of it all and the patience you had to have, just waiting to receive sincere words from a close friend, pen-pal or family member.

This guy was holding a long conversation on that pay phone, clearly. Who was on the other end? It must have been someone he loved, thus how relaxed he is sitting. And at 55, I recall when a pay phone was still 10 cents, and an operator would answer, you’d give her the number and say “collect call” or “person-to-person” if it was going to be a long call and you didn’t have 2 extra dollars in coins to slap into the phone to pay for it.

I miss hearing live phone operators.

I can still hear the sounds of the phone, the dial tone, the little ring when you dropped the coin into the phone closing the door of a glass phone booth just to have a bit of privacy.

I was born in 1970.

I am so glad to have been around well before the internet or cellphones - when we sat with family or friends to eat supper together, waiting for our prime time TV shows every week, unable to “binge watch” shows like anyone can do now.

So much to be said here - not enough room.

This photo doesn’t look like a whole lot at first glance - but for those of us who are 50 plus - I think they will see the beauty in it like I do.

It brought back bittersweet, yet fond memories of simpler times, however chaotic, however awkward or abusive the past may have seemed - I would rather go back to these times - than live in a world of zero emotions, no one caring, zero respect toward each other over simple differences of opinion.

I am truly disgusted by the world today and regardless of family or friends still here today. I can’t wait to get off this shit show of a planet, even though I still see beauty, I still hold a shred of hope for humanity - I don’t know nor believe I will ever see those I truly loved since they’ve died - but one can still hope, right?

I appreciated living when I did - have no idea if it will be nothing but blackness or perhaps a new life somewhere in the Universe of Multiverses, enjoying a new time period. Who knows, it that which I did not appreciate growing up… is now hanging on by a thread in my ailing mind.

They say memories are all we have left - but I have watched even memories ripped away from loving family members with photographic memories. And then they were just a shell, overnight due to Alzheimer’s/dementia and other brain diseases.

So do not rely on memories, write everything you can down now and as often as possible for the future to see and learn from.

Don’t let the new world, take History away from us.

All of these thoughts - from a photo.

- VJV Feb 19th, 2025 (10:02 am)

1982

Photo: Bill Wunsch/The Denver Post

[redisthenewblue]

TINKER-Twisted Wonderland x Tinkerbell!Yuu/Fem!Reader Part 6

Part 5

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･“Whoa, I didn’t realize you had that in you…” The delinquent looked down, clearly embarrassed, while [Name] shot them an angry glare.

“Listen, I’m gonna let you slide this time, but that’s only because I don’t want my pasta getting cold,” the delinquent said as they backed away, trying to save face.

“Pffft! I knew you were all talk! You better hope I never see you again!” Grim chuckled as he watched the boys scurry off.

“Well, I guess this is my life now,” Yuuken groaned, rubbing his face in frustration.

“Can we just grab some lunch already? I missed breakfast and I’m about to pass out here,” Ace whined.

Deuce let out a sigh, “I can’t believe this. Textbook bullies at a school that’s supposed to be known for training top-notch mages…”

“Oh, come on! Get over it already. It’s time to eat like there’s no tomorrow! This omelet is as fluffy as a cloud and bursting with cheese!” Grim said, obnoxiously chewing and smacking his food. “So, I checked out your guys’ dorm, but what’s the deal with the others?”

“Are you familiar with the statues of the Great Seven? Night Raven College has a dorm themed after each of them,” an orange-haired upperclassman chimed in, addressing the lowerclassmen.

“Bwah! You’re that guy from this morning!” Ace exclaimed, his face painted with shock.

“You totally tricked us into painting those silly roses!” Grim pointed an accusatory finger at Cater.

Cater grimaced, glancing at [Name] as he tried to defend himself. “Tricked? That’s such a harsh word. Do you think I wanted to spend MY morning painting roses? It’s dorm policy! I was just following orders.”

“And grinning like a maniac the whole time,” Deuce added, backing up Grim.

“Now, now, Deucey. Outside of the dorm, I don’t care what rules you follow. Here, I’m just your friendly mentor!” Cater waved off the first year’s comment.

“Please, do NOT call me Deucey,” Deuce replied, shaking his head in disapproval.

“Ah ha ha! That’s just how Cater shows he cares,” a mysterious voice chimed in, causing [Name] to look up from her meal.

Ace narrowed his eyes at the newcomer, “And who are you?”

“Right, I should introduce myself. I’m Trey. Trey Clover. I’m a junior at Heartslabyul, just like Cater here. And you must be Yuuken and [Name], the new prefects from that, uh, rustic dorm. I heard all about what went down from Cater. Thanks for having our boys' backs yesterday.”

“The dorm is a work in progress, Trey,” [Name] corrected him.

“I don’t remember inviting you to sit with us…” Ace shot him an unimpressed glare.

“Hey now, we’re all from the same dorm, right? Let’s try to get along. Here, give me your digits,” Trey said cheerfully.

“I don’t have a smartphone,” Yuuken replied, looking disgruntled.

“For real? I’ve read about people like you, but I never thought I’d meet one in real life! I know a place that sells the latest models for cheap. How about you, [Name], and I go on a phone-shopping date?” Trey suggested with a grin.

“Wait, what...?!”

“Whoa, okay. Coming on a bit strong there,” Grim said, looking a bit taken aback.

“What’s up with you guys? You all look so tense! Chill out, baby! Relax! I bet you’re the type who’s super awkward in real life but can text like a pro, huh? Just give me your info already!” Cater pressed on.

“Cater,” Trey interjected, “You’re freaking out the freshmen. Maybe tone it down a bit?”

Cater chuckled, “Ha! Sorry! I can get a little carried away sometimes. So, what were we talking about... Ah yes, the dorms! What a blast it is to mentor new students! Go ahead, A-M-A.”

“Before we dive into the other dorms, I’d love to know more about ours. Like, what’s with all this ‘Queen of Hearts rule number whatever’ nonsense?” Ace leaned in, eager for answers from the upperclassman.

“You know about the legendary Queen of Hearts, right? She had to rule over a kingdom of oddballs, and she did it by enforcing order and making strict rules,” Cater explained.

“Our dorm, Heartslabyul, is a tribute to her. By tradition, we wear armbands in the red and black of the Queen's dress and live by the rules she set,” he added.

“Pfft. Can you make this any more boring?” Grim rolled his eyes, clearly uninterested in the topic.

“Now, how strictly we follow those rules really depends on the current housewarden. Past wardens have been a lot more flexible,” Cater continued.

“But Riddle? He doesn’t play around. You could say we’re honoring that tradition to the fullest extent,” Trey chimed in, trying to put a positive spin on the strict rules.

“Ugh. Just my luck…” Ace sank deeper into his cafeteria seat.

“So what are the other dorms like, then?” Grim asked, trying to steer the conversation back.

Trey opened his mouth to explain each dorm one by one. “As Cater mentioned, the dorms here are themed after the Great Seven. We have Heartslabyul, modeled after the Queen of Hearts’ strictness. To summarize the rest, we’ve got... Savanaclaw, inspired by the relentless spirit of the King of Beasts. Octavinelle, reflecting the benevolent heart of the Sea Witch. Scarabia, representing the thoughtful nature of the Sorcerer of the Sands. Pomefiore, showcasing the tenacity of the Fairest Queen. Ignihyde, based on the diligence of the king of the underworld. And finally... Diasomnia, which embodies the noble spirit of the Thorn Fairy.”

“That’s a lot to take in,” Yuuken said, clearly overwhelmed.

“All those names are way too long! How are we supposed to remember them?” Grim crossed his arms, frustrated.

“Any good magician would take the time to learn them,” [Name] chimed in, poking Grim’s forehead with her index finger.

“Ah ha ha! Well, you get the idea. Whether you like it or not, you’ll learn them soon enough,” Cater laughed.

“At orientation, the Dark Mirror chooses a dorm for you based on your essence. Each dorm ends up with its own distinct... flavor, let’s call it,” Trey explained.

“That’s so true. I totally see it,” Cater nodded in agreement with Trey’s quirky metaphor.

“‘Flavor,’ huh...?” Deuce sweat dropped at the unusual choice of words.

“For example, check out that guy.” 

Turning around, [Name] whistled at the sight of him, only to get elbowed in the side by Yuuken.

“Muscly dog man, sure, why not?” Yuuken blinked at the tall beast man.

“That rough-and-tumble vibe he’s giving off screams Savanaclaw,” Trey noted.

“No doubt. That dorm is packed with tough guys who are all about working out and fighting. How should I describe the vibe...? Macho dudes? Gruff big brothers? Something like that. The black and gold armband is another giveaway,” he elaborated.

“Huh. Okay, what about that guy with the grey and purple cord wrapped around his arm?” the cat asked.

“He’s definitely from Octavinelle. And the student sitting at the table in front of him has a red and gold armband—Scarabia colors,” Trey continued.

“Those dorms are for the brainiacs. They’re always neck-and-neck in academic rankings. Ah, but the current housewarden of Scarabia doesn’t seem to be the brightest bulb…” 

“And here goes Cater again, rambling off on a tangent,” Ace said, rolling his eyes.

“Ha. You catch on quick. Let’s get back on track. You see that flashy one with the purple and red armband? Those are Pomefiore colors,” Trey pointed out.

“Whoa! The girl with the potion books, I really like her!” Grim exclaimed, staring at the boy with light purple hair and striking blue eyes.

“I don’t think—”

“What’s she doing in a boys’ school?!” Deuce asked, confusion written all over his face.

“That’s not—”

Ace almost facepalmed at his dormmate's cluelessness. “You two are such dummies. There aren’t any girls officially enrolled here, except for [Name].”

“WHAAAT?!” Deuce and Grim shouted in unison.

“Speaking of girls, there’s a portrait in the west hall of a real beauty. Her name’s Rosaria. If you want to meet her, I can introduce you. Maybe we could set something up?” Cater suggested, a hopeful look in his eyes. Everyone sat in stunned silence, processing his words.

“A painting? No thanks! I don’t care how cute she is if she’s two-dimensional!” Ace shook his head vigorously.

“Come on, who cares how many dimensions she has! Anyway, they take vanity super seriously at Pomefiore. It’s basically a dorm full of models. Their housewarden has 5 million followers on Magicam,” Cater said with admiration.

“Hey now, they’re not just pretty faces. The students at Pomefiore are top-notch when it comes to potions and casting curses,” Trey added.

“Eh heh. True that. Next up, we have Ignihyde... Their armbands are blue and black, but I don’t see any around here. They tend to be a bit antisocial. Even I don’t have any friends from that dorm. They’re kind of the complete opposite of us sunny, fun-loving Heartslabyuls,” Cater sighed.

“So they’re gloomy and miserable?” Grim asked.

“Hey, no need to put it that way! They just have a reputation for being quiet and serious, that’s all. That dorm tends to attract magical-energy engineers and students who are good with tech.”

Good with tech and engineering? Hey… why wasn’t [Name] chosen for that dorm? What was the mirror trying to say?

“And that just leaves... Diahonyalara, right?” Deuce stumbled over the name.

“You were close, but you hit a guardrail there. It’s ‘Diasomnia,’” Ace teased.

“I know that! I just misspoke, okay?” Deuce shot back, his irritation flaring up again.

“Diasomnia House is, hmm...” Cater scanned the cafeteria, “Ah, look over there. Those guys in the special seating area. You can tell by their neon green and black armbands. They’re basically campus celebrities. The vibe they give off makes it super hard for regular folks like us to approach them. And their housewarden? That’s a whole different level of intimidating.”

“There’s a little kid in that group!” Ace exclaimed, his jaw dropping.

Trey shook his head, “Ah, we do have some child prodigies here. But that guy over there is no kid. He’s a junior like us. Name’s—”

Suddenly, the same familiar fae they were just talking about appeared right in front of them, “Lilia. Lilia Vanrouge.”

“BWAH?!”

A bright grin broke across [Name]’s face, “Lilia!”

Lilia smiled playfully, matching the energy of the girl, "Fufufu, look who’s finally here, [Name]. So, my youthful appearance has caught your attention, huh? As our insightful friend here pointed out... Even though I’ve got that fresh-faced, boyish charm, calling me a 'child' would be a bit off the mark."

"‘Fresh-faced,’ huh?” The green-haired guy let out a nervous sweat at the older fae’s words.

"Hey, no need to stare at us from a distance! Feel free to come chat with us. We’re all schoolmates here, right? Everyone in Diasomnia House welcomes you with open arms." Lilia extended a warm invitation, but as their gazes drifted back to Diasomnia's table, a chill ran down their spines. There sat two guys, both muscular and a bit intimidating. One had silky silver hair, while the other sported a pale green that was just a shade darker than [Name]’s wings.

“Wait a minute,” the girl's eyes narrowed, “isn’t that the rude jerk who told me to move at the Diasomnia entrance ceremony?” All of [Name]’s fear seemed to evaporate, replaced by annoyance. Seriously, could she fit any more emotions into that little body of hers?

"And those guys over there? Not exactly the friendliest vibe, huh?" Deuce stammered, clearly uneasy.

The male fae chuckled softly, “Sorry if I seemed a bit above you during your meal. I really hope we can chat again soon.”

“Their table is, like, twenty yards away! And they heard our convo? That’s so creepy!” Ace shivered at the thought.

In response, [Name] pointed to her pointed ears. “Fae have incredible hearing, and honestly, their senses are just off the charts.”

“Yeah, Diasomnia House definitely has a reputation for housing some seriously talented students. A lot of them are magic prodigies. And their housewarden, Malleus Draconia? He’s one of the top five mages in the whole world,” Trey explained, sounding a bit in awe.

“Malleus is definitely not someone to mess with. But hey, you could say the same about our own beloved housewarden,” Cater added casually.

“No kidding! He freaked out on me for snagging just one slice of tart! His obsession with rules is totally over the top!” Ace complained, completely ignoring the stares of everyone around.

“My 'rule obsession' is 'over the top,' is it?” 

[Name] couldn’t help but stifle a laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

“Absolutely! Riddle’s just a little tyrant who uses the whole 'rules' thing as an excuse to keep everyone under his thumb!” Ace continued, oblivious to the grimaces on everyone’s faces. Finally, someone decided to save Ace from his blundering.

“Ace! Behind you!” Deuce warned his dorm mate.

“Wha—?! Housewarden!” Ace froze under the piercing gaze of the strict housewarden of Heartslabyul.

“Hey, Riddle! What’s up, buddy? You’re looking adorable, as always!”

“Hmph. Cater, keep talking like that and you might just lose your head along with that mouth of yours.” Riddle dismissed the compliment with a glare.

“Sorry, sorry! My bad!”

There it was again. [Name] quickly lost interest in the conversation, her gaze wandering around the cafeteria. This place never ceased to amaze her. The Merfolk, the beastmen, and all the different fae were completely new to her. I guess being sheltered as a kid does that to you. Then she started to wonder what would’ve happened if she hadn’t acted out all those years ago. Maybe she’d still be close with Peter and the Lost Boys. Then her mind spiraled even further—what if she could invent a time machine to erase every single mistake she’d ever made and create the perfect future? What if—

“You want me to pay you to make it?! What kind of scam is this?!”

“Nah, I wouldn’t take money from a freshman! But Riddle wants a chestnut tart next, so I’ll need you to gather a whole bunch of chestnuts,” Trey reassured him.

“Like that’s any less of a hassle. But... fine. How many do you need?” Ace replied, acting like he wasn’t the one who got himself into this mess in the first place.

“Well, it’s for the unbirthday party, so... probably two or three hundred?” Trey estimated.

“Did you say HUNDRED?!” [Name] exclaimed, staring wide-eyed at the baker.

“And they all need to be boiled, shelled, and pureed,” Trey added, completely serious.

“Alright, I’m outta here.” Grim finished his food in one last bite before sliding off.

“I’m leaving too.” Deuce followed suit.

“See ya,” [Name] said as she dumped her plate, getting ready to leave.

“You heartless cowards!”

“Wait up!” Cater called out to the first-years walking away, “Haven’t you heard that food tastes better when you make it with friends? This could be a memory to cherish! Plus, it could be your big break as a cooking blogger!”

Trey chimed in, “Don’t tell Riddle, but chestnut tarts are best when eaten fresh out of the oven. Only the ones who make them get to enjoy that luxury.”

“Well, when you put it like that... Alright, humans, let’s do this!”

[Name] shook her head. Seriously, how was Grim so easily swayed?

“Where can we find chestnuts, anyway?” Yuuken asked, cutting right to the chase.

“I heard there are tons of chestnut trees in the woods behind the campus botanical garden,” Trey suggested.

“Sweet. Plan in motion. Let’s meet at the botanical garden after our last period,” Ace declared.

“We’re gonna be swimming in chestnuts!” 

“I can’t believe I’m actually helping with this,” [Name] sighed, pushing some loose hair behind her ear.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“Whoa! Check it out, there are so many chestnuts just chillin' here! I’m about to feast on some delicious chestnut tarts! Mmm! Let’s start grabbing—YOWCH!” Grim yelped, “Myah! These chestnut spines just pricked my paws!”

[Name] couldn’t help but stifle a giggle at Grim’s little mishap, “I could’ve warned you about that,” 

“And you didn’t say anything?!” The cat was frantically trying to get a spine out of his paw.

“Nope! You gotta learn the hard way sometimes!”

“I don’t think we can do this with just our bare hands. Plus, we need something to put them in,” Deuce chimed in.

“Maybe we can find some supplies over in the botanical garden,” Ace suggested.

“Let’s check it out,” Deuce said, leading the way into the garden.

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“Whoa, I had no idea this place was so massive.” Ace spun around, soaking in the sights of the garden.

“If it’s this big, there’s gotta be a groundskeeper somewhere. Let’s split up and search.”

“Sure thing. I call dibs on the right side.” The orange-haired guy started heading toward that direction.

“Then I’ll take the left, and Grim, you and [Name] can go straight ahead?” Deuce suggested as he headed left, leaving Grim, [Name], and Yuuken to go straight.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“Hey, come check this out! There’s a ton of fruit growing here! And it smells ripe too!” The cat tried to grab some berries from the bush but was yanked back by [Name].

“Hey! You can’t just step on my tail and walk away like that!”

[Name] glanced around, her eyes landing on a figure lying on the cement floor. 

“Are you the groundskeeper? Not sure you should be talking to students like that, buddy.” Grim shot at the beast man.

“Ain’t nothing worse than trying to catch some Z's and having some jerk step on your tail,” the guy replied, sitting up to meet the freshmen’s gaze.

“Here’s a thought: don’t sleep on the ground in a public space,” the fairy snapped back at the lion.

The guy chuckled, leaning in closer, “You... I know you. You’re that girl from orientation.” Then, shockingly, he started SNIFFING HER?! A yelp escaped from [Name] as she stumbled back, her wings flapping wildly to stay upright.

“Well, it’s true. You’re definitely one of a kind.” The beastman commented, “You’re taller than most fairies around here. What kind are you?”

[Name] and Yuuken stood there, completely shocked and speechless at his boldness. Thankfully, Grim broke the silence.

“I don’t know what’s up with this guy, but he’s giving me serious creeps...”

“No one gets to step on my tail and just stroll away without facing consequences. I’m in a bad mood because of this nap interruption, so you’re gonna owe me a tooth.”

“Sevens, WHY DOES EVERYONE AT THIS SCHOOL WANT TO FIGHT?!” The fairy threw her arms up in exasperation.

“Please! I don’t have dental insurance!” Yuuken cried out, earning some puzzled looks from [Name] and Grim.

“Yuu! Chill out!” Grim yelled at him.

“Leona! There you are!” A voice called out.

In walked another beast man, “I knew I’d find you here! We’ve got after-school classes today, remember?”

“Ugh... And now I’ve got this guy bugging me...” Leona ran a hand down his face in frustration.

“Leona, you’ve already had to repeat a year. If you get held back again, we’ll be in the same grade!” The beastman scolded.

[Name] nudged Yuuken, “He’s like a hobo.”

“Oh, just zip it already. I’m tired of your chatter, Ruggie,” Leona waved off the hyena beast man.

“Look,” Ruggie said, exhaustion evident in his tone, “you think I enjoy always being on your case? C’mon, man. You could coast through life if you just put in a little effort. Let’s get moving!”

“Hrmph... Next time you mess with my turf, there’s gonna be a price to pay, herbivores!” Leona finally relented, giving in to Ruggie’s insistence.

“Myah! I don’t like the sound of that! What is up with this weirdo?” Grim shuddered.

“Yeah, I don’t think he’s the groundskeeper...” Yuuken concluded.

“Seriously? You’re just figuring that out now?!” [Name] mentally facepalmed.

“Yo, guys, we found baskets and tongs!” Ace called out to the group.

“What on earth happened to you three?” Deuce asked, noticing their frazzled expressions.

“Oh right, the chestnuts! We gotta gather those so I can whip up my tart! We’ll fill you in on the crazy groundskeeper while we gather,” Grim said, excitedly.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“…and then he just dipped out!” 

“Right? No way that dude was the groundskeeper,” Ace chimed in, nodding his head.

“Wait a second, now that I think about it, he was rocking that golden vest from the Pajama-clog dorm,” Grim said, tapping his chin like he was deep in thought.

“Pajama... clog? You mean Savanaclaw? Man, I’m starting to think there are way too many troublemakers hanging around Night Raven…” Deuce looked like he was really getting lost in his thoughts.

“Okay, that’s enough chit-chat. Let’s hustle these baskets over to Trey!” Ace said, striding ahead, clearly eager to wrap things up.

“Myahaha! Now that we’re all pumped up, it’s time to hit Flavortown, baby!” Grim clapped his hands together, clearly ready for action.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“Welcome back, folks! Looks like you scored big!” Trey waved them in, looking pleased.

“Now you can whip us up some gigantic tarts!” Ace plopped the bag of chestnuts down on the counter with a thud.

“Well, the bigger the tarts, the tougher it’ll be to peel all these nuts, so... good luck with that!” 

[Name] just stood there, jaw dropped at what Trey said. 

“We have to peel all of these...? Suddenly, I feel like the room is spinning...” Deuce closed his eyes, bracing himself for the task ahead.

“Preparation is key to good baking,” Trey noted, like a wise sage.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. We’ve come this far. No way we’re giving up now!” 

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“There! Finally got all these pureed!” Ace shook his hands, trying to shake off the ache.

“My arm is killing me...” Deuce stretched out with a big yawn.

“I’m gonna throw up,” [Name] pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly overwhelmed.

“You didn’t even use your hands; you used your fairy dust!” Ace shot back.

“Okay, but who am I really helping here?!” The fairy flicked some dust into Ace’s mouth before he could respond.

“Nice work! It'll taste even sweeter because of your struggle!” The green-haired boy applauded his underclassmen.

“The smell alone is making me drool...” Grim reached for the paste, only to have Yuuken swat his hand away.

“I just need to mix in some butter and sugar with the chestnut paste, plus a splash of oyster sauce—that’s my secret ingredient!”

“Oyster sauce?!” [Name], Ace, and Deuce all looked at Trey with disgust plastered on their faces.

“Yep! The umami from the oysters gives the cream this rich, savory flavor. I use the Walrus-brand Young Oyster Sauce. All the top bakers swear by it in their tarts,” Trey pointed at the label like it was gold.

“Really? But isn’t oyster sauce, like, super salty?” 

“Some people throw chocolate into their curry, right? Maybe it’s the same vibe,” Ace suggested.

“Pfft... Ah ha ha ha! I’m totally messing with you! No one in their right mind would put oyster sauce in a pastry!” Trey burst into laughter.

“What?! So you were just pulling our leg?” Ace shot a look at the upperclassman.

“Ah ha ha! I mean, if you’d thought about it for a second, you’d have realized how ridiculous it sounded! Let this be a lesson: don’t believe everything you hear,” Trey laughed at the clueless freshmen, clearly enjoying his little prank.

“Touché,” [Name] replied, giving him a blank stare. Jokes aren’t so funny when you’re on the receiving end, huh?

“Feh. And here I thought that guy was actually kinda decent,” Grim grumbled at Trey.

“Next up, I’ll add in the cream… Oh!” Trey suddenly looked shocked. What now?

“What’s wrong?” [Name] asked, concern creeping into her voice.

“You guys gathered so many chestnuts that we might’ve overdone it with the chestnut paste. I don’t think we have enough cream to mix in.”

“Then I’ll go buy some. Do they sell it at the school store?” Deuce offered, sounding like a scholar.

“They pretty much sell everything, so... probably. Could you grab me a few other things while you’re at it? I need two cartons of milk, two packs of eggs, some muffin cups, five cans of fruit…” Trey scribbled down the list, making it impossible to forget.

“I don’t think I can carry all that back. Yuuken, you wanna come with me?” Deuce said flatly, eyeing the black-haired boy who was lounging in a chair.

[Name] sighed, glancing at the sleeping figure, “I’ll help. I could use some fresh air anyway.”

“I’m coming too! I’m getting dizzy from all this stirring. I need a break!”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The bell chimed as they opened the door and stepped into the shop.

“Hello, can I get some he-” Deuce froze, taking in the sights. “Whoa. This shop is wild! They have crystal skulls, grimoires, and... uh, I don’t even know what animal that is!”

“You think they actually sell cream here?”

“Maybe it’s in a different section?” [Name] suggested, pondering the possibilities.

“Greetings, my wandering imps! How do you fare today? Welcome to Mr. Sam's Mystery Shop. What among my humble selection interests you? A charm from a hidden land? The mummified remains of an ancient king? A cursed tarot card?” Sam pulled out each item with flair, presenting it to the students.

“Myah! I wasn’t expecting this kind of selection,” Grim said, scratching his head in disbelief.

“Um, we wanted to buy everything on this list...” Deuce handed over the paper like a true customer.

“Throw in two cans of tuna while you’re at it!” Grim called out as Sam headed to the back.

“Are you going to pay for that, Grim?” [Name] shot him a glare, “I’m pretty sure we’ve talked about this before…”

At her words and glare, Grim sulked like a toddler denied a toy.

Before long, Sam returned with two grocery bags in hand.

“Whoa... He really does have all this stuff, huh?” Deuce muttered to himself.

“Here you go. It’s pretty heavy… Are you sure you can handle this? Luckily for you, our 1/100th size flying saucers are 30% off today. Perfect for carrying groceries!” Sam offered the discount with a grin.

[Name] perked up at the idea. She’d never seen a flying saucer in real life before. “Ooh, let me see! That sounds awesome!”

“We’re good, thanks. Let’s go,” Deuce said, taking the bags from Sam.

“Myah! I didn’t realize today was National No Fun Allowed Day!” Grim pouted, getting dragged out by the back of his neck.

“Very well. Until next time, my little imps. Do come again! Ciao!” Sam called out as they stepped onto the warm patio.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“That store was amazing,” Deuce said, clearly impressed.

“Yeah, and you’re impressively cheap,” Grim quipped, eyeing the awestruck Deuce.

A disgruntled cry came from the side. There was [Name], hunched over, desperately clutching a heavy bag filled with cans, trying to hold onto her dignity at the same time.

“Need a hand there?” Grim chuckled at her struggle. “Don’t get squashed now!”

“Shut up,” she hissed through clenched teeth.

“Here, let me take that,” Deuce offered, grabbing the bag and tossing it over his shoulder. “I’ve got a trick for this,” he handed [Name] the eggs, which she clutched tightly.

“A trick?” The fairy raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“Yeah. My mom always stocked up when things were on sale, and the bags would get ridiculously heavy. Being the only guy in the house, I had to do all the heavy lifting, and—oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to hog the conversation,” Deuce explained.

“Sounds like you took great care of your mom,” [Name] complimented.

“No, it wasn’t like that at all. The truth is, I— Owww!” Deuce winced, feeling a sharp sting on his arm.

“Myah! The eggs!” Grim exclaimed, eyes darting to [Name], who had fallen to the ground, eggs smashed in her arms and splattered on the pavement. A groan escaped [Name] as the sticky mess settled in.

“[Name]?! The carton of eggs is totally wrecked! And now the bag’s leaking egg goo everywhere!” Deuce rushed over to help her up.

“Ouch! Why don’t you watch where you’re— Hey! You’re the jerks who broke the egg yolk on my carbonara!”

“I’ve had it with you punks. You need to learn your place!” The magenta-haired student stepped forward, getting all up in Deuce’s face.

Deuce took a step back, disbelief written all over him. “......You’re the ones who jumped out at us from around a corner! And you picked a fight with us at lunch over an egg that you could’ve still eaten! And now you’ve wrecked six of OUR eggs and knocked over [Name]!”

The white-haired one piped up again, “So what? You saying that was our fault?”

“I am. Please reimburse us for the eggs. And then apologize to the chickens and [Name],” the dark blue-haired boy tried to sound as polite as possible, but his words came off more like a warning.

The delinquents just laughed, clearly not taking Deuce seriously. “Ooh, look who’s got his big boy pants on. You’re making a huge deal over some stupid eggs.”

“What?” Anger bubbled up in Deuce’s voice, his blood starting to boil. The delinquents were still finding amusement in the situation, but for Deuce, this was crossing a line.

“They haven’t even hit the ground, so they’re still good. Quit whining. Plus, the girl could always just take a shower.”

“You should thank us for saving you the trouble of cracking ‘em and cooking them for you!”

Deuce stood there, watching as those punks laughed at the girl who was just sitting there, all sad and covered in egg while baking under the hot sun. 

“Seriously, that’s not cool,” he said, feeling a surge of anger. 

The delinquents looked at each other, clearly confused by his outburst.

“I mean it! I said, THAT'S NOT COOL! You think it’s okay to call my eggs stupid? No way! Those eggs might not have turned into chicks, but they were destined to make some delicious tarts! And instead of saying sorry, you just trash [Name]’s uniform and throw insults? Do you even get it? DO YOU?!” Deuce’s stare was intense, piercing right through them and making them rethink their choices. 

“What’s up with this guy all of a sudden?!” The confusion was clear on the face of the delinquent, totally thrown off by Deuce’s fiery attitude shift. 

“You owe me six eggs and [Name] a heartfelt apology. If you’re not down to do that, then you’re in for a world of hurt!” Deuce's fist was clenching tight, ready for whatever came next. 

“Are you for real?!” The magenta-haired delinquent stepped back, utterly shocked. 

“Buckle up,jerks!” Deuce shot them a fierce glare, standing his ground.

I made a bonus chapter for Valentine’s Day but I don’t know if I should post it😭😭 it’s like 3 days past Valentines Day💀 But thank you for reading!!🤍

Taglist : @itwaszzmoon @brights-place @capcryooo @strayharmony943 @chaoticotaku @animegirl-12s-world

[empressdede]

The Secretary - 6

Chapter Six

Previous

Serena took a deep breath, steadying herself. If they were going to do this—if they were really going to be honest—then he needed to understand everything.

She turned to face Roman fully, her arms crossing over her chest. “Do you have any idea how hard I worked to get here?”

Roman’s expression softened. “I do.”

“No, you don’t,” Serena said firmly, shaking her head. “You don’t know what it’s like being a Black woman in a position like this. In a business like this.” Her voice wavered slightly, but she kept going. “I had to fight twice as hard to be taken seriously. To be seen as more than just someone filling a quota. I had to prove I deserved this job—over and over again—just to be seen as equal.”

Roman listened intently, his gaze never leaving her face.

“And now?” Serena gestured between them. “I won’t let all of that be ruined because of a situation I can’t control. If people find out, if rumors start, they won’t come after you. They’ll come after me. They’ll say I slept my way to the top. That I was never qualified to begin with.” Her voice cracked, and she clenched her fists, trying to steady herself. “I won’t let my name be dragged through the dirt because of this—because of us—if it’s not something real. If you’re not serious.”

Roman let out a slow breath before stepping toward her. His presence was steady, grounding.

“Serena,” he said, his voice calm but certain. “You think I don’t know how hard you worked? I see it every day. You’re one of the best at what you do, and anyone who says otherwise is a damn fool.”

She swallowed, looking away, but Roman wasn’t done.

“And as for this?” He gestured between them. “You think I’d let anyone talk down on you? That I’d let anyone disrespect the woman who keeps my entire world together?”

Serena’s breath hitched.

Roman’s voice dropped, firm and sincere. “Before anything else, you are a professional woman. You are smart, strong, and damn good at your job. And if you think for one second that I would ever let anyone take that from you, you don’t know me as well as you think.”

Serena felt her walls shaking, crumbling, the weight of her fears colliding with the weight of his words.

Because she wanted to believe him.

And deep down… she did.

She met his gaze, searching for any hesitation, any doubt.

But there was none.

Just Roman. Steady. Sure.

Serious. And that terrified her more than anything.

Serena stood there, staring at Roman, her heart pounding so loudly she swore he could hear it.

She had spent so long convincing herself that this—they—could never happen. That it was too risky. Too complicated.

But now, standing in this room with him, no distractions, no way out… she couldn’t lie to herself anymore.

Roman took another step toward her, closing the distance between them. His voice was quiet but firm. “Tell me the truth, Serena.”

She swallowed hard. “Roman—”

“No more excuses. No more running.” His dark eyes held hers, unshakable. “Do you want this?”

Serena’s breath hitched. She felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, seconds away from falling.

But the truth was—she had already fallen.

She had been falling for months.

She exhaled shakily. “Yes.”

Roman’s lips parted slightly, like he had been waiting for those words.

Serena forced herself to keep going. “I don’t know where this leads. I don’t know what it means for us. But I do know that I—I want you.” Her voice broke slightly, but she didn’t care. “And that scares the hell out of me.”

Roman reached out, his fingers brushing her cheek, tilting her face up so she had no choice but to hold his gaze.

“I know,” he murmured. “But you don’t have to be scared, Serena.”

She let out a soft, breathless laugh. “Easy for you to say.”

He smirked slightly. “Nah. I’ve been just as messed up over this as you.”

Serena arched an eyebrow. “You didn’t seem too messed up when you were standing there looking way too confident five minutes ago.”

Roman chuckled, his thumb tracing lightly along her jaw. “You think I don’t struggle with this? You think I don’t wake up every damn morning trying to convince myself to keep things professional?”

Serena’s breath caught as his fingers skimmed down her neck, setting her skin on fire.

His voice lowered. “But then you walk into a room, and suddenly, I don’t give a damn about keeping it professional.”

Serena felt something snap inside her.

She wasn’t sure who moved first.

Maybe it was him. Maybe it was her.

All she knew was that one second, they were standing there, staring at each other—and the next, his lips were on hers.

The moment their mouths met, everything else faded.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate.

It was slow. Intentional.

Like they had both been waiting for this.

Roman’s hand slid into her hair, tilting her head just right as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against hers with a certainty that made her knees weak.

Serena melted into him, her hands gripping the front of his hoodie, holding on like she was afraid he’d disappear if she let go.

But Roman wasn’t going anywhere.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathing hard, he rested his forehead against hers, his thumb still brushing her cheek.

“Still scared?” he murmured.

Serena let out a shaky breath, her lips tingling from the kiss. “Yeah,” she whispered.

Roman smiled slightly. “Good. Means it’s real.”

Serena exhaled a laugh, her fingers curling against his chest. “This is so reckless.”

Roman smirked. “A little.”

She looked up at him, searching his face for any hesitation. Any regret.

There was none.

Just Roman, looking at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

And for the first time… she let herself believe it.

Serena stayed close, her forehead still resting against Roman’s as she tried to steady her breathing.

Her hands were still gripping his hoodie like she was afraid to let go. Like if she stepped back, this moment would disappear, and they’d go back to pretending nothing had changed.

But everything had changed.

Roman’s fingers traced slow, calming circles against her lower back, his voice softer now. “Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

Serena let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know.” She pulled back slightly, looking up at him. “I just… I didn’t expect this.”

Roman smirked. “You really thought we were gonna keep dancing around this forever?”

She groaned, covering her face with her hands. “I don’t know, okay? I spent so much time convincing myself that this was a bad idea. That I couldn’t risk it.” She dropped her hands, meeting his gaze. “And now? I still don’t know what to do.”

Roman nodded, his expression understanding. “Then we figure it out. Together.”

Serena let out a humorless laugh. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re Roman Reigns. No one questions you. But me?” She shook her head. “If people find out, they’ll say I don’t belong here. That I only got this job because of you.”

Roman’s jaw tightened. “Ain’t nobody gonna say that.”

Serena arched an eyebrow. “Oh, really? You think people won’t talk? Won’t judge?”

His grip on her waist tightened slightly. “Let them.”

Serena blinked, caught off guard by the certainty in his voice.

Roman exhaled, steadying himself. “Listen to me, Serena. You’ve earned your spot here. Anyone who says otherwise is either jealous or a damn liar.” He tilted her chin up slightly, making sure she was really listening. “And if anybody does try to question your place, they’re gonna have to answer to me.”

Serena felt a warmth spread through her chest at his words, but the doubt was still there, lingering. “It’s not just about what people say. It’s about what this means.”

Roman held her gaze. “Then let’s make it mean something.”

Serena sucked in a breath.

Because that was the real question, wasn’t it?

This wasn’t just about a kiss. It wasn’t just about the tension they had both been trying to ignore.

It was about them.

And whether they were willing to stop pretending and actually try.

Roman must have seen the hesitation in her eyes because his grip on her waist softened, his voice lowering. “We don’t have to have all the answers tonight.” He smirked slightly. “Hell, I know you are gonna overthink the hell out of this.”

Serena shot him a playful glare, but he wasn’t wrong.

Roman cupped her face, his thumbs brushing along her jaw. “But I meant what I said before. I’m not going anywhere. And I damn sure ain’t letting you push me away.”

Serena swallowed hard. “Even if I try?”

Roman smirked. “Then I’ll just keep showing up until you stop.”

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

He grinned. “And you love it.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips gave her away.

Roman leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her forehead before resting his chin atop her head.

Serena closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the moment. Letting herself breathe.

Maybe this was reckless.

Maybe this was dangerous.

But for the first time in a long time.

It didn’t feel like a mistake.

…

Just as Serena started to relax in Roman’s arms, feeling the weight of their conversation settle, the door burst open with a loud BANG!

“Ayyyyy!”

Serena jumped, nearly stumbling back as Jey Uso barged into the room, both hands in the air like he had just won the Royal Rumble.

“Let’s goooo!” he shouted, obnoxiously clapping his hands together. “My Tribal Chief and Miss Serena finally stopped playing!”

Serena groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Oh my God.”

Roman exhaled a long, long breath, rubbing his temples like he was reconsidering all of his life choices. “Jey…”

But Jey wasn’t done. “Y’all finally made up? We good now? The tension in this room the last few weeks been crazy, bruh.” He turned to Serena with a playful grin. “Sis, I knew you couldn’t resist my cousin forever.”

Serena shot him a glare, her face burning. “Jey, leave.”

Jey gasped dramatically, placing a hand on his chest. “Ohhh, so you get one kiss and now I’m getting kicked out?”

Roman sighed heavily, clearly done with Jey’s antics. “Bro, get the hell out.”

Before Jey could respond, Naomi strolled in right behind him, looking smug as she held her hand out toward Jimmy.

“Pay up, babe.”

Jimmy groaned, pulling out his wallet. “Man, I knew she was gonna get him, but I thought it was gonna take another week.”

Serena’s jaw dropped. “You bet on us?!”

Naomi shrugged. “It was free money.”

Jey snickered. “I was on your side, Serena! I said you’d fold by last week, but Naomi gave you one more.”

Serena groaned again, spinning toward Roman. “You see what I deal with?”

Roman just shook his head, shooting a glare at his cousins. “Y’all are too much.”

Jey grinned. “Nah, we just love love, Uce.”

Jimmy handed Naomi a few folded bills with a grumble. “I ain’t bettin’ against you no more.”

Naomi winked, stuffing the cash in her pocket. “Smart man.”

Serena sighed, crossing her arms. “I hate you all.”

Jey draped an arm over her shoulders, grinning. “Nah, you love us.”

Roman shoved him off her. “Alright, you celebrated. Now get out.”

Jey held his hands up in surrender. “Aight, aight, we gone.” He started backing up toward the door, still grinning. “Just don’t be too professional at work, Serena. We see you.”

Serena picked up a throw pillow from the couch and launched it at him.

Jey dodged, laughing as he ran out, Jimmy and Naomi following behind.

As soon as they were alone again, Serena let out a deep sigh, looking at Roman.

He smirked, shaking his head. “You still wanna run?”

She rolled her eyes but smiled. “Not yet.”

Roman chuckled, tugging her closer. “Good.”

Because now, they both knew there was no going back.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

We finally here yall😭 Shoutout to the bloodline for the heavy lifting cause Serena was NOT letting up 🤣🤣

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[mister-ancunin]

tl;dr ➜ Star has been one of the most wonderful additions to my life and I don’t know where I’d be without him. He’s my entire world, my darling husband. Darkstar day is an amazing day and everyone should go do something that makes them feel just as happy !! ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১

It’s honestly hard to believe that an entire year has gone by since star and I got married. If anything, it’s felt like no time has passed at all. Today is quite bittersweet for me, but it’s so wonderful to see how far the two of us have come and how far we’ll go. Ah, I don’t know what to talk about; there’s just too much to say. He’s my wholly everything—my perfect star. We complement each other. No matter what we’re doing, he makes me feel like my heart’s going to explode. It’s so embarrassing how much happiness he brings me; how he can turn me into some kind of flustered mess. I didn’t think that was possible with me! Every day feels easier knowing he’s there with me, from his voice to his presence alone. A lot’s changed in one year, and I can’t wait to see what comes next. 

I am so head over heels for this dramatic vampire. My precious husband. The love of my life. ૮꒰⸝⸝> <⸝⸝꒱ა

taglist ;; big thank you to those who wished to celebrate this important day with us !! ૮꒰˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶꒱ა

@boyfriendblogging ✮ @jinxs-trinket ✮ @lipsticklens ✮ @sparklings-husband ✮ @wuffverine

@akashirl ✮ @fatiguedshipper ✮ @fl0ralsxgar ✮ @cel-dmg ✮ @pemdragon

@cervinae-canine ✮ @apollothedrunkgod ✮ @gnarpkurt ✮ @luovias ✮ @alittlesmartcookie

@oracld ✮ @vergils-beloved ✮ @fictionalsillies ✮ @starlos-soulmate ✮ @halsinkisser

© — cherry dividers

[howlett-dekarios]

𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎

▏Worst!Logan Howlett x Reader

▏Summary: After being forced to help Wade, Logan ends up finding himself a new purpose to live: showing you that you are so much more than just his other late variant lover.

▏Warnings: angst | canon death | depression | self doubting | MDNI

▏Word count: 4k

▏A/n: This is my first story posted here so it's probably not the brightest one since english is not my first language. I'm thinking about writting part 2 though if people gonna like it. Unedited, will fix possible mistakes later.

Yeah his tantrum in the car went too far. He had said words that even if they were true, shouldn’t have left his mouth. But the red suited clown got on his nerves. Saying how he was able to fix it all, damn well knowing how big bullshit it was. 

Oh no, sorry, it was a fucking educated wish. 

Waking up next to Deadpool wasn’t a great memory. First few seconds he had been considering possibly killing that prick in his dream. Suffocating or maybe cutting the head off. Anything to finally shut him up for good. 

But after seeing that one pic after Wilson blacked out, being tied up with safety belts, he just couldn’t. Most of the people on it were complete strangers to him. Some random group of idiots, enjoying their time together. No matter how pathetic excuse of a hero, the red suited man was, he had a family. Logan got it, fuck he understood it too well. That’s why it hurt. Not physically but he had to give to Deadpool for hitting a few good punches. It hurt his ego. How Wade, even being the biggest clown, was able to stand for his world. Not willing to wait and see how it all goes to shit. Not walking away the moment life fucked him to the ground. Not like Logan did. 

He did and he lost it all. Not turning around to fight with his friends. Fight for his close ones. Admit how deep he really cares. Show his vulnerability which he has always been hiding from everyone, even himself. And then instead of getting himself together, trying to do better, be better… he abandoned it all. Sunk in self pity and anger. Killing innocent people who hadn’t even had anything to do with the raid. Losing himself and becoming a dark shadow of himself. 

In his reality, everyone knew the name Wolverine. 

And every single one hated him the same. He fucking deserved it all which was one of the reasons why Deadpool attempts to made him look like a hero were frustrating him. He didn’t want to be one. Didn’t deserve to be. Because if he would, it would be a dishonor to their memory. 

Logan didn’t give a fuck when the angry guy destroyed the bottle. He had seen more of the alcohol hidden here when he searched through the room. While Deadpool took care of talking, Howlett only brought another whiskey, opening it and starting to zero it out again. Laughing at the pathetic attempts of his kidnapper to convince these god forgotten heroes to team up in the fight against Nova. Another lies and bullshiting. 

“Oh please, shut the fuck up!” He finally got irritated enough to interfere. “You’re just an asshole who can’t accept the fact that you fucked up.” 

“I wouldn’t have been here if your handsome old ass hadn't felt like dying in a tragic overpriced act of self sacrifice, because Hugh Jackman got tired of being the main mascot for FOX, thank you very much.” Wade reminded him about the other variant who was an anchor being for his universe. Logan still couldn’t believe that. Who had been stupid enough to choose Wolverine as a great hero to glue the entire world in existence. 

“Whatever.” Another gulp of whiskey landed in his throat. “Why are we even here? Who the hell dragged us here?” His tone was stern as if he would like to argue with whoever brought them there. 

“That would be me.” 

You were patrolling the area after storming out and slamming the door behind you. The arguments were an inevitable part of living in this shithole. Plus Gambit was sometimes really an irritating dickhead. 

Deep down you knew what got you on edge. Johnny not coming back nor giving any sign of life for the last few days. It only reminded you about how this all gonna end up. Every single person who had been sent to Void and hadn't joined Casandra’s gooses has eventually vanished or died. Frank, Eric, Matt and now Johnny. Sooner or later you all will die off. And you have seen enough deaths in your lifetime already. Including one particular one… The one which you never agreed with. Constant stinging that made you cry on lonely nights when Laura wasn’t around. You could still recall how tightly you had been holding his corpse. Begging for one more miracle that never came. 

Suddenly your attention turned to a car which you knew too damn well. Nicepool’s Honda. From all the Deadpools he was the only particular one who was allowed to enter the area. Keeping in touch by being a messenger between his other variants and other people who survived. Being considered as a normal one. Or more like as normal as any Wade Wilson could be. But nonetheless even he couldn’t barge in without any previous announcement. 

“For fuck’s sake Nice, how many times we need to-“ You groaned but closer you got, it was more obvious that something was really wrong. 

Looking into the vehicle, your heart stopped. 

It couldn’t be. 

The woman who entered the room was probably in her late twenties or early thirties but Logan couldn’t be sure. Unlike your friends you weren’t wearing the superhero suit. Looking very domestic even, considering their surroundings. 

“Oh my Faige, it’s her!” Deadpool looked back at his companion in disbelief and excitement, his inner nerd showing up. “I’m a big fan. Deadpool or Marvel Jesus, but you can call me Wade, peanut. Oh fuck me, the cameos really cost fortune.” By your confused eyes Howlett could bet that you haven’t understood any shit Wilson just said, but in the end you nodded acknowledging his introduction. 

You hadn’t talked much in the whole conversation, more focused on listening and hanging on young girl, Laura as Wade previously mentioned. When the man in the red suit finally came with a plan and recruited all the heroes in, you only nodded, looking indifferent. Presumably only agreeing because others did. It made Logan curious but not enough to stick with all the clowns in spandex. In the end, this whole plan was a suicide mission and he will take no part in it. 

Yes it would be easy to just die. Too easy. 

“Love, I know, I get it.” You sighed, couldn’t blame Laura for wanting to try. To talk with her father even if it wasn’t really him. But it was dangerous. Possibly giving younger girl's hope. You knew it all too well. You’ve already seen it all. Been there in Wolverine’s lowest. And this variant? It just screamed trouble. An unsuccessful suicidal who just wanted to stay in his self pity and misery hole. It was the last thing that your daughter needed. But either way, you decided to support Laura. The girl was old enough to make her own choices, only thing that mattered was her knowing the possible outcomes. “You want to talk with him, but… it’s not Logan.” Not yours. 

“I know it!” The desperation in teen’s voice made you close your eyes. It was already too late to change her mind. “I know. He died. He’s gone. But he’s still Logan. Maybe not ours, but… he feels familiar.” Drunk, broken and running from everything and everyone. “I want to try. Talk with him and see who he truly is.” 

You sighed once again but nodded, walking towards the younger one and closing your arms around the teen. 

“Okay. But be careful and don’t let him get in your head.” 

“I always am, you know me.” Laura smiled and left to meet the variant of her father who had been sitting outside. 

After a few minutes of standing there and overthinking, you decided to focus on training which was a routine for clouding your damn brain. Anything that could be used as a distraction. Exhaust you to the point where your muscles were sore. 

You had a very bad feeling about it all. At the beginning when you both ended up in Void you had been praying for any variant of Logan to be sent there. So you could’ve felt his arms one more time. Hear his voice and smell his cologne. But with every passing day that hope slowly vanished, leaving you with only grief and emptiness in heart. 

“Such a coincidence, huh?” Gambit leaned over the door with a smart smile, looking at how you’ve been boxing the punching bag. 

“Not in a mood for your teasing, Remmy.” You didn’t hold any grudges from the morning fight. Especially after agreeing to fight Cassandra. It would be a shame if one of your last memories together would’ve been an argument. 

“You let Laura talk with him. Quite impressive.” Clearly your friend had other plans. 

“And what do you think I should’ve done, what?” An irritated look was sent towards him, but Gambit only walked closer. “She’s almost grown up woman. She can do whatever she wants.” 

“Yeah, I know and I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. Actually I’m surprised you weren’t the first person who ran to him.” His smirk only made you instantly regret not leaving the room the second he entered. 

“Excuse me?” 

“I only say that you finally have a chance.” 

“Chance for what, Remmy? Because let me tell you-“ 

“Don’t act stupid because it doesn’t suit you. You’ve missed Logan since you got here. You can try to lie to yourself about being over him but we all hear your little sobs when you think no one is looking. This fucked up universe finally gave you a chance to heal. To get better by facing your past-“ 

“He is not my past for god’s sake!” Not that Wolverine. “And is none of your fucking business, Remmy!” You walked over to him quickly, pointing a finger into his chest. Your emotions conflicted even more than ever before. Shit, you warned Laura not to be brainwashed and here you were, getting more and more confused by it all. All the years you’ve spent with Logan, your Logan, just to see him die on your eyes. And now the other untouched and very alive one is talking with your freaking daughter. You looked in Gambit’s eyes, breathing rapid. “Listen I know what you’re trying to do. I get it that we all gonna die tomorrow but it’s not an excuse for me to do something stupid.” To betray Logan like that. 

“Honey.” Remmy’s hand squeezed your arm reassuringly. “I won’t make you listen to me, but… I’m your friend. Your happiness is my business. And believe me… maybe I didn’t know your Logan, but if he really loved you… he would like you to live. Not only exist in constant grief.” His tone was serious which was rather an unusual thing for Gambit. “Think about it, okay? That’s all I’m asking for.” 

You knew how your friend had your best interest in minds but fuck… he hasn’t got it any better. 

After making sure that Laura had already fallen asleep, you walked out of the hideout building with your arms wrapped around yourself. 

“You gonna get cold.” 

His grumpy voice reached you sooner than expected. Screw the heightened senses…

“I’m okay unlike you.” A basic observation. The light of fire illuminated his posture and the already half emptied bottle of whiskey. Thanks to his mutation it wouldn’t affect him as much as a normal human but it wasn’t about ending drunk and you knew it. It never has been about it. Not when it came to Wolverine. “You know that we have spare rooms, right?” Thanks to the constant rotation of people around in the Void. “Your friend already occupied Johnny’s bed. You’re not gonna really rest here. The ground is rather cold and uncomfortable. That is if you even want to sleep.” Which you doubted. 

“I’m fine.” Another rough grumble, while you sat next to him. 

“Yeah, clearly.” An obvious hint of sarcasm in your voice. You stretched out a hand, signaling to pass the bottle what was met with his judging glance. But he did it anyway. 

“So since the young one hasn’t done her job to talk me into going with you, they’ve sent another one?” A low chuckle left him. Logan wasn’t looking at you, his eyes longing, focused on fire. “Sorry to disappoint you sweetheart but I’m not a hero.” 

“I know you’re not. I’m not here to try to make you change your mind. It won’t work.” The sureness in your voice was evident and it surprised him a bit. 

“Then what are you here for? Want to share your teary story? The red asshole already told me what the other one did and-“ 

“There is nothing to share. He died, I survived but it made no difference.” Probably the most painful aspect of your lover’s death. How it didn’t fucking matter. Not even a week after the events in North Dakota agents of TVA showed up in the hotel room you and Laura stayed in, evaporating you two without much explanation. Some bullshit how you had no reason to exist anymore since Wolverine was gone. 

But your words… how you were so indifferent about it all. It didn’t sit right with Logan. Your facade and previous convo with Laura… it all made him curious. Waking up some part of him that Logan was so sure was already dead. 

“Listen I…” A long sigh left him, finally looking at your face. Shit, it was the first time he saw you so close and there was no doubt why his other variant was so fond of you, how really pretty you were. Your soft face, grey eyes intelligent and shining because of the warm glow of the fire. “I’m not good at this. Apparently I’m the worst person for it. I’m not him.” 

“You are not. And I don’t expect you to be.” 

“You’re always so pessimistic?” Logan couldn’t understand why he even tried to joke but he had that deep feeling inside of him that told him to just do it. To try. 

“Just when I’m alone. I’m trying to keep myself sane along Laura.” 

“Smart girl by the way. Didn’t take any bullshit. Did a good job in raising her.” 

“I know.” Gambit’s words still rang in your head so you decided to be less defensive. “Thanks.” Your tone changed to a more polite one. 

“She’s not your bio daughter.” It wasn’t really a question but you shook your head anyway, which made Logan smile lightly. “Damn, he had to be a lucky bastard if you were willing to treat his kid as your own.” 

“She is my own.” Not biological but Laura was your daughter. 

“How long you’ve been together?” 

“Asked me out not too long after he joined X-Men. Stayed with him to the end. Almost ten years.” 

He kept looking at you intently, his eyes searching the face as if trying to recognize any familiar features on it. Ten years of being together. How on earth could someone care about the broken man like that? He couldn’t understand it.

“You never… gave up on him? Despite knowing he was a complete mess?” You chuckled at that. The first fully honest reaction. Shit, Logan had to admit how lovely the sound was. 

“He was asking the same questions, you know? And no. I never gave up on him, because he never gave up on me.” 

He let out a faint laugh at that, thinking that the other him must have been a damn saint to deserve your love and loyalty.

“So you two… you were in love huh?” 

“Yes… yes you can say that.” A simple nod, feeling a mix of curiosity and something else he couldn’t explain. The idea of someone loving him was completely foreign to him, and the fact that you loved a different version of him was even weirder.

“What was he like? The other me.” 

You looked at Logan, first time being face in face since your lover died. At first glance this variant was completely different. Younger, healthier, more bulky… but the features stayed the same. Small wrinkles around the eyes which color reminded you of all the times you had woken up in his arms. The softness that appeared only when it came to you… 

“You are so sure of your difference. But the truth is that, fuck, you’re so similiar… familiar.” You couldn’t believe your own words. After all day of denying that, now sitting next to him it all came back to bite your ass. The memories, scent, how your body instantly relaxed just because of him being close. “Both of you are thinking that you’re fucked up, that you’re the worst one for your job, that you are only good and capable of hurting others. But it’s not true. You are always on the right side, protecting people you care about… you can’t stand and just watch how everything goes down.” 

Logan could see the honesty in your eyes and the words made his stomach clench. You,  sounding so sure and so convinced that it almost made him want to believe it. But he’s always been too aware of how messed up he was, too aware of the fact that he was just a broken old man who’s only good at causing pain and violence. That his whole universe turned their back on him exactly because of how he left and watched from afar how it all burned to the ground. 

“You don’t know me, bub. You know another me. Don’t go getting ideas that I’m anywhere close to him.” 

“Oh really? Then why are you constantly drinking yourself out? Why are you here, helping Wade, huh?” 

The accusations only made him grit his teeth. These words… just stating the obvious, but it bothered him anyway. He looked at you and couldn’t help the defensive tone in his voice, as if he was trying to prove that he was in fact, the wrong Logan. 

“You don’t know why I drink, sweetheart. You don’t know why I’m here. So stop acting like you do know me.” 

“You drink because you fucking care Logan. You care so much that it hurts you, the knowledge about losing people you loved. You’re here because deep down you know that you have to help Wade, that it’s your duty to help innocents.” At this point you weren’t even sure to which Logan you were talking to. Maybe it all were just unspoken words that you couldn’t have said to your lover because he died too soon. Or maybe your brain had other plans for her. 

A pang of surprise struck him. You were hitting uncomfortably close to the hidden part of himself that he so hard tried to kill off and it made him grow more frustrated and vulnerable than he’d like to show. 

“How can you be so damn sure about it?” How could you if he wasn’t even himself? 

“Because I know you, Logan. No matter if it was him, or if it’s you. No difference. You’re the same Logan.”  

“The same, huh sweetheart? Don’t make me laugh. That other me, the one you knew, was loved. Cared for. You obviously cared for him.” The walls he had built for all the time he was alone were slowly falling. “In my world everyone knows my name. Because I fucked up. Your Logan died as a hero. I can’t even die.” Not because he hasn’t tried to. But because of how his death would be a disrespect for all the other people he cared about in the past. Him living was the punishment he deserved. “I’m useless, darling.” 

“Yeah I loved him. But I buried him long time ago. And the moment I did the TVA came and told me that my purpose was over. That I was just a side lover with no further reason to be kept alive. You really think you are the useless one?” Your true feelings finally flowed out. All the concerns and insecurities. After years in the mansion, being an x-men you really thought that you found yourself. That you were so much more than you once thought. But no. The universe only needed you because Logan did. 

“What?” His confused face was enough proof that he hadn’t even thought about why exactly Laura and you were here. “It can’t be… you can’t say that stuff about yourself.” Logan couldn’t point out why, but he immediately changed his perspective. Something in his brain pushed him out of the self pity hole and guilt trap he has been in for years. Hearing that the most perfect woman he ever met, the kind and caring person who sat beside him was born only for his other self to be with… it didn’t sit right. “You are much more than that, sweetheart.” 

“You don’t know me.” The fact that you just repeated his previous words made his blood boil. For fuck’s sake why he had to be such an idiot all the time.

“Don’t be a smartass, and don’t you fucking dare to hide behind it now. You stayed with that asshole for ten goddamn years. You raised his daughter and are treating her like your own. You’re trying to help me, who’s just a pathetic excuse of a man constantly self pitying himself. Screw what those bastard told you. You are not just a lover. You are your damn fucking person.” Logan’s hand cupped your cheek. His eyes were so serious and demanding but at the same time gentle and worried. “Look at me, princess. You are an intelligent, patient, kind, strong and absolutely beautiful woman, who is not just a puppet that can be thrown away, you get it? I don’t have any idea why the fuck universe had chosen the other me to be this screwed glorified idiot, because it should’ve been you. I should’ve been the addition that was unnecessary for existing. Because you? You are the reason why he existed. Why I-“ 

The word slipped through his lips before could stop himself. All the emotions and things he heard that day, all he had seen. How Laura treasured you, how others respected you, how Wilson was fangirling and almost came just because of you being in the same room. Listening to your story of how much you’ve cared about the other him. It made him want it all. Wanted to be the other him. Do something to deserve your love. To show you how much you were supposed to be loved. How you should be a treasure to keep safe and protect at all costs. 

“Fuck it-“ 

And before you could’ve reacted, Logan reached for you, closing the distance and pressing your lips together. Trying to savor the taste of you on him, deepening it like his life depended on it. Living the moment of pure oblivion, wanting you to forget about it all. About the other him, TVA, Void and everything else. Tell you without using words how much he loved you. 

Yes, he didn’t deserve you. But it wasn’t about him. Not anymore. 

[they-call-me-whiskey]

All the bitter truths

pairing: Sirius Black x fem!reader

summary: knowing the truth doesn’t make it hurt any less.

warnings: angst; probably some ooc; English is not my first language.

author's note: sorry not sorry. here's the link to the previous chapter.

Sirius has no idea how you found out about his initial intentions, and honestly, he doesn’t even care—all he wants is to fix things with you, but he doesn’t know how, and it’s driving him mad.

he tries to reach you that same day, but you lock yourself in your dormitory and refuse to come out. he considers asking one of your roommates—who is also your close friend—about you, but the moment she sees him, the first thing she says is, “what did you do?”

apparently, you haven’t spoken to anyone. all she knows is that you’d been happy that morning, gone on a date with Sirius, returned early—completely broken—and refused to talk.

Sirius knows that if he tells her the truth, she will never help him. in fact, she will do everything she can to keep him away from you. So he doesn’t.

the next day, he waits outside your classes, hoping to catch you alone. but you either never turn up, or you somehow find another way to slip past him. by lunchtime, it’s clear you’re actively avoiding him.

by dinner, you aren’t even sitting in your usual spot in the Great Hall.

the ache in Sirius’ chest grows heavier with every passing hour. he isn’t used to feeling helpless—he’s always the one who can talk his way out of anything. but none of his usual tricks will work here. you don’t need his charm or his grand gestures. you need the truth.

the problem is, he doesn’t know how to give it to you.

because, technically, you’re right.

at first, he pursued you with the sole intention of winding up his family. dating a Muggle-born, parading you around Hogwarts, making sure everyone saw how much he adored you—it had been an act of defiance, another way to prove that he was nothing like them.

but somewhere along the way, it stopped being about them.

he isn’t sure when it happened—maybe it was the first time you ran your fingers through his hair absentmindedly, or the time you hexed a Slytherin who insulted him, or the way you always saved him the last piece of toast at breakfast. maybe it was all of it.

all Sirius knows is that, before he even realises it, he has fallen in love with you.

and now he’s losing you.

he can’t let that happen.

so, that night, Sirius does the only thing he can think of.

he writes you a letter.

it’s messy, rushed, but it’s honest.

when he slips it under your dormitory door, he hesitates for a moment, fingers lingering against the wood. part of him wants to knock, to force you to face him, but he knows better.

so he steps back.

he doesn’t sleep that night.

every creak of the dormitory floorboards makes him lift his head, every shift of the wind outside makes his heart lurch. maybe you’re reading it. maybe you’ve already thrown it away.

but maybe—just maybe—it’ll be enough.

darling,

I know you probably don’t want to hear from me, and I wouldn’t blame you if you burned this before reading it. but I need you to know the truth, even if you never speak to me again.

yes, in the beginning, I wanted to piss off my family. I was angry, reckless, and you were— Merlin, I don’t even have the words for what you were. brilliant. fearless. everything they hated. I wanted to shove it in their faces. to show them I could love someone they’d never accept.

but here’s the part I don’t know how to make you believe:

it stopped being about them a long time ago.

I fell in love with you. I didn’t plan to, didn’t expect to, but I did. and I know that doesn’t erase how we started. I know that if I’d been a better person back then, I would have seen you for who you are instead of what you represented. but I see you now. and I swear to you, there isn’t a single thing in this world I care about more than you.

I don’t expect you to forgive me. but if there’s even the smallest chance that you believe me, that you could maybe—not today, not tomorrow, but someday—let me prove that this was real… then I’ll wait.

forever, if I have to.

Sirius

the parchment crinkles in your hands as you finish reading. the words sit heavy in your chest, but all you can focus on is one thing.

“I know that if I’d been a better person back then, I would have seen you for who you are instead of what you represented.”

because that’s exactly it, isn’t it? if he hadn’t needed to rebel, he wouldn’t have looked at you twice. he can say he loves you now, but would he ever have loved you if not for them? if not for spite?

your throat burns as you fold the letter, setting it aside like it might hurt you if you hold it too long.

you don’t sleep that night.

your mind won’t let you. not with his words echoing over and over, not with the question you don’t know how to answer.

does it even matter?

the morning after, Sirius arrives at breakfast, hoping to see you. his eyes scan the Great Hall, searching for any sign of you, but you’re nowhere to be found. his chest tightens. did you even read the letter? did you toss it aside without a second thought?

the uneasy feeling follows him all the way to first period. then, just as he and the other Marauders head down the corridor, he spots you.

before he can think, he moves towards you, but Remus catches his arm.

“wait, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Remus asks carefully.

Sirius shrugs him off. “I just want to talk.”

before anyone else can stop him, he’s running after you.

he catches up easily, reaching for your wrist, and you freeze at his touch.

“can we talk?” his voice is quiet, almost pleading.

you hesitate, your eyes darting to the students passing by. then, shaking your head, you pull away.

“I’ll be late for class.” the words are clipped, and before he can protest, you turn and leave.

Sirius stands there, stunned. he thought the letter would fix things—or at least help. instead, it feels like nothing has changed.

behind him, James places a hand on his shoulder. “give it time, mate.”

Remus sighs. “just… give her some space.”

Sirius doesn’t reply. he can’t.

but he doesn’t listen, either.

in class, he tries to catch your attention, but you keep your gaze forward, refusing to acknowledge him. when he leans closer, whispering your name, you sigh.

“fine,” you murmur. “after class.”

it’s not much, but it’s something.

the moment class ends, Sirius is at your side. “listen, I’m sorry, I—” he doesn’t waste time, doesn’t give you the chance to slip away again.

you glance around. “not here. let’s talk somewhere private.”

he nods immediately. “alright.”

you walk in silence until you find an empty corridor, away from prying eyes. the tension is thick, pressing against Sirius’ chest, and he hates it. he hates the distance, hates the way you’re looking at him like he’s someone you don’t quite recognise anymore.

“I wrote you a letter,” he says when you stop.

“I know. I read it,” you reply.

“I meant every word,” he rushes out, his voice urgent. “I love you. I—”

“I believe you.”

the words stun him into silence.

he expected resistance. doubt. maybe even anger.

but this?

“then why—”

“because that’s not the point.” you take a deep breath, looking at him like you’re waiting for him to understand. “you love me now. but if you didn’t need to prove a point—if you hadn’t needed an easy, convenient person to use—you would have never even looked at me.”

Sirius shakes his head. “that’s not—”

“think about it,” you cut in. “really think about it before you say anything.”

silence stretches between you.

and then, without another word, you turn and walk away.

Sirius watches you go, a sinking feeling settling deep in his chest.

because he does think about it.

and for the first time, he doesn’t like the answer.

[rubylace]

PROLOGUE 2. TEEN-AGE

m.list

pairing: musician!jay x reader (f)

genre: coming-of-age, new adult, personal growth, sexual tension, fams dynamic, love hate

wordcount: 5,423

💙 taglist: @rikizm @sumzysworld @xylatox @morganaawriterr 💙

Eleven years earlier. Mom had left to go out again. Lord knows where she went or with whom, you could never count on your mom, Helen, for anything. There were only two people you could depend on in your life: Ameryn and Jay. The one good thing about mom leaving you alone most nights was that it allowed you to sneak out of the house and go wherever you wanted.

Ameryn assumed your mom was home half of the time, so she couldn’t stop you. Jay and you were planning to meet in 15 minutes, you were going to the mall to hang out with some of the other 8th graders from school. These kids were part of the cool crowd that Jay and you had been trying to break into. Because the two of you mainly hung out with each other, you really weren’t associated with any one clique.

He was waiting at the corner with his hands in his pockets. You loved when he wore his baseball cap backwards and the way the messy strands of hair peeked out of the sides. You was starting to notice little things like that more and more lately. It was hard not to. He walked toward you. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah.”

Didn’t know why the thought of hanging out with these kids was making you so nervous. Jay didn’t seem nervous at all. He was more confident than me in general. When you stepped inside the mall, the fluorescent lights were a sharp contrast to the dark winter outside.

You were supposed to be meeting these kids at the food court, so you made your way to a map of the three-story building. Jay started to run. “We have to hurry up. The next bus is in five minutes.”

Your heart was pounding as we approached the two boys and a girl who were standing outside of an Auntie Karen’s pretzel stand. Jay could tell you was on edge. “Don’t be nervous, Patch.”

The first thing you remember hearing out of Seon’s mouth was,

“What the hell is that?”

“What?”

“Did you sh*t yourself, Y/n?”

Your heart was now beating out of your chest as you looked down at yourself. You knew that despite your nerves, you hadn’t lost control of your bowels. This was not poop, it was blood. You wasn’t prepared for it because it was the first time you’d ever gotten your period.

At thirteen, you was later than most of the other girls you knew. This probably the worst timing imaginable. Jay looked down then up into my panicked eyes. You mouthed to him, “It’s blood.” Without hesitation, he gave you a quick nod as if to say that he had it covered. “It’s blood,” he said.

“Blood? Ew…gross!” the other boy, Hajun, said. “Y/n stabbed herself with my knife on the way here.”

You’d been looking down, but you whipped your head up and looked over at your friend incredulously. Seon’s eyes widened. “She stabbed herself?”

“Yeah.” Jay smiled. He took a pocket knife out of his jacket.

“See this here? I carry it everywhere with me. It’s a Army knife. Anyway, I was showing it to Y/n on the bus. I dared her to stab herself in the abdomen. Crazy girl that she is, she actually did it. So, anyway, she’s got blood on her pants now.”

“Are you joking?”

“Wish I was, dude.”

The three of them looked at each other before Seon said, “That’s the coolest f*cking thing I’ve ever heard.”

Hajun smacked your arm. “Seriously. That’s some epic sh*t right there.”

Jay laughed. “Yeah, so we figured we’d come say ‘hey’ since we were almost here anyway, but we should probably get her to the emergency room.”

“Cool, man. Let us know how it goes.”

“Alright.”

“What the heck did you just do?” you whispered as you walked away.

“Don’t say anything. Just walk.”

The cold night air hit us as you exited the rotating doors of the mall. You stood on the sidewalk and stared at each other for a moment before breaking into hysterical laughter. “I can’t believe you came up with that crazy story.”

“Not that you should be ashamed of the truth, but I knew you were embarrassed. So, I wanted to do something. You were pulling on your hair like crazy.”

“I was? I didn’t even realize.”

“Yeah. You do that when you’re really nervous.”

“I never knew you noticed that.”

His eyes travelled down to your lips for a moment when he said, “I notice everything about you.” Feeling suddenly flush, I changed the subject. “I never knew you carried a knife.”

“I always do. You know, in case something happens when we’re out. I need to be able to protect you.”

Your heart that was beating for those jerks just a moment ago was now beating incessantly for an entirely different reason. “I’d better get home.”

“There’s a drug store right there. Why don’t you go get something. Ask them if they have a bathroom you can use.”

You went inside and used the money you had reserved for video games at the mall arcade to buy a box of maxi pads and some cheap granny underwear. You’d tackle tampons later when you had time to figure out how to use them.

When you emerged, Jay took off his hoodie and handed it to you. “Here, wrap this around your waist.”

“Thank you.”

“Where are we going now?” he asked.

“What do you mean? I have to get home! I have blood all over my pants.”

“No one can see it with my jacket wrapped around you.”

“I still don’t feel comfortable.”

“I really don’t want to go back home tonight, Patch. I know where we can go where we won’t know anyone. It’s some place I go by myself sometimes. Come on.”

Jay led you down the sidewalks of Providence. After about ten minutes, you turned a corner and approached a small red building. You looked up at the illuminated sign. “This is a movie theater?”

“Yup. They show the kind of movies that nobody knows about or that people don’t talk about. The best part? They don’t even care how old you are here.”

“Are they bad movies?”

“No. Not like those naked kind of movies, the ones I told you my dad watches. No. These ones are like foreign with subtitles and stuff.”

Jay bought two tickets and a popcorn for us to share. The theater smelled musty and was practically empty, which was perfect considering you didn’t want to see anyone tonight. Even though the seats were sticky, this was just what you needed.

The movie was a French film with subtitles, called L’Amour Vrai. Tells the story of the struggle to achieve true love. You lay your head on Jay’s shoulder and thanked God for someone who always knew exactly what you needed. That place became your secret hangout over the next couple of years. Indie movies became Jay and your thing.

Going there wasn’t about being seen at the big cinema or running into people from school. It was a place where both escape from reality without being watched. Afternoon, you listened from your window as Jay sat on Ameryn’s stoop, playing a new song you’d never heard him perform before. It sounded like I Touch Myself by the Divinyls, but he’d changed it to I Stab Myself.

[redcamellia13]

Mitsukou Analysis: Nightlife Arc

I have to be honest, I didn’t think I would get this far. I thought I would give up in the middle of these analyses, and I would be saved from making this one, but alas, here we are.

(Who am I kidding, chapter 120’s gonna be so. Much. Worse.)

This isn’t quite as important as the other events that happen in this arc, but it’s still of note how our Mitsuba becomes a smiling little angel over here, and this is Kou’s actual response: “……welp.

I don’t… why would you do that? He didn’t even answer the question! If Nene asked him that, he would probably grin and go, “yeah! :D”.

This is kind of a crack theory, however, this panel ties in ever so slightly.

Have you ever read KotLC? Not a lot of people in the TBHk fandom do, but one of the concepts in the novels is people have “heart emotions” and “head emotions”, which are two completely different things.

I believe Kou think he likes Nene, which he doesn’t, that’s simply a result of Nene being somewhat close to his type and the only girl he interacts with on a daily basis, and his mind is molding that into making him believe he likes Nene. (Kou’s head feelings).

Because of numerous circumstances, like Mitsuba being supernatural, a boy, and a wee bit of a b*tch towards Kou, Kou believes his relationship with him is somewhere between annoying kid that lives across the street, and best friend. (Also his head feelings).

But deep, deep down, in the place where his brain cannot influence his feelings into something safer, Kou has a serious crush on this boy- and The Look TM we see in these panels might signify a bit of that crush influencing his decisions. (Heart feelings.)

I dunno, but the moment I picked up TBHk, that is what I immediately thought of. By the way, please read KotLC. I started when I was in 1st grade, and it was so. Dang. Good. Changed my life, highly recommend, and kick started my reading obsession.

Basically, what’s happening in this page is Mitsuba is telling Kou he wants to die, and when Kou is understandably like, “w-wait. What? You wanna die?” Mitsuba kinda just brushes it off.

Why? I don’t have an exact answer (quite a common theme in these analyses) but we can rule a few things out right off the bat.

He’s not trying to ease Kou’s mind, or protect him from the truth since in Sacrifice of the Grim Reaper, Mitsuba actually became mad a Kou for attempting to do the same to him.

Maybe Mitsuba’s the type to always have an exit plan, and always has one foot out the door? But that seems more like an Aoi thing than anything else…

Ah yes, I was wondering when Kou’s savior complex would rear its ugly head once more.

Mitsuba is telling Kou Tsukasa is the only one who can put him back together, and procure him the supernatural hearts he needs to survive.

Obviously, Kou is not happy about this, since he wants Mitsuba to rely on him and only him, exemplified by his desires in the Red House.

So what does he do next? Make it blatantly clear he can do exactly the same thing as Tsukasa.

Kou is attempting to *checks notes* shove a “disgusting looking thing” down Mitsuba’s gullet. How lovely.

What this means for Kou’s psychology, and what he is trying to say through this, consciously or unconsciously, boils down to: “I can get you the same things as he can.”

Many people are using this scene as an example of Mitsukou’s toxicity, which is ridiculous, and I shouldn’t even have to defend/ explain this.

Yes, Kou is force feeding Mitsuba, and yes, it is without Mitsuba’s consent. We even see him protesting, telling Kou he said no.

This is the primary argument used by the aforementioned people, but what they fail to mention is Mitsuba would literally die if he stopped eating. This is not Kou being abusive, this is Kou saving his best friend’s life.

Wow. I can’t decide if Kou being furious came completely out of left field considering his personality or if I saw this coming from a mile away.

I also can’t decide whether it’s understandable why he’s so angry, or if Kou’s being unnecessarily aggressive.

On one hand, your friend is being a spoilt little baby and not eating. On the other, did you even try to convince him to eat it? Not really… he just kinda popped in with a corpse, gouged out the heart and stuck it in his face.

Kou is also this angry since he’s still dealing with the fact Mitsuba relies on Tsukasa now, not just him, and he’s taking it out on Mitsuba.

This signifies how Kou sometimes gets tunnel vision when it comes to Mitsuba, a bit like how Hanako gets tunnel vision when it comes to Nene’s lifespan- although in Kou’s case it isn’t quite so dramatic or common

(Not listening to Mitsuba in order to keep him from worrying too much in the Sacrifice of the Grim Realer Arc would be another example).

Wow, I didn’t think he would actually go and say it! He’s spilling his guts out to Mitsuba right here, and all three of the things he says are an integral part of his character.

I don’t think he has ever confessed this to any character. This is kind of a big deal, actually.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I’m… gonna have to stop here for now. My fingers physically hurt, and the word Mitsukou doesn’t have meaning in my mind anymore. I’ll close out the arc by next Monday.

[expertfool]

they should bring back ttoi for one special ‘reunite the cast’ episode, but it’s just twenty minutes of malcolm and ollie having crazy old man sex randomly intercut with ten minutes of the rest of the cast meeting up at a restaurant passive aggressively commenting on each others’ political careers for the past ten years while they wait to put their orders in until the entire party’s arrived and getting increasingly more confused and frustrated that malcolm and ollie haven’t arrived until they decide they aren’t worth the wait. the credits scene is just malcolm and ollie arriving to find staff cleaning the restaurant and all their old colleagues gone

[ourwhisperingtorment]

SQUID GAME 2 SPOILERS!!!

I find it funny. How people are mad that Junho didn’t reveal the frontman’s identity to anyone. But I also saw a lot of reactors who said they didn’t know Player 001 was the frontman till episode 7. EVEN IF they showed Inho’s face as the frontman in the flashbacks quite a lot of times in the early episodes.

Well, I don’t blame them since I know a lot of people who’s not very good with faces. Sometimes, I’m not very good too 🤷

But imagine if Junho did show Inho’s photo to Gihun but Gihun just. couldn’t. remember 😭😭

Gihun: “You look familiar” 🤔

Inho: “what? I’m certain this is the first time we’ve seen each other.”

Gihun: “no, no… ah, i remember! You really look a lot like Detective Hwang’s brother!”

Inho: *sweating* “oh really? Ahahaha pfft, i don’t have a brother” 🙃

Gihun: “yeah yeah, he said his brother was the frontman. That couldn’t be you, Youngil.”

Inho: 🙂🙂🙂

[embv]

I think everyone’s subscribing to the “Helena Infiltration Theory” WAYY too quickly. I kinda feel like a lot of the oddities in the way she was acting could be chalked up to something else, and defaulting to “that’s not Helly” feels a lot like… I don’t know, like brushing off character flaws by saying, “No, [X] is possessed! That’s not actually them!”

I’d probably buy into it a bit more if she didn’t have that moment in the halls with Mark where she fervently said, “We’re not the same, actually. Us and the outies, we’re not.”

There are reasons why Helly would want to lie about her identity, and chief among them is the fact that she hates her outie—desperately wants to place distance between them, desperately wants to convince herself that the person she saw wasn’t her.

But there are compelling reasons for both angles, and I can’t say that I won’t be scanning future episodes for hints to either prove or disprove this, so… cheers, 🥂.