#bottom left photo was taken by them the rest were taken by me

[milesmolasses]

maybe e-42 miles x black fem fashion designer reader 👉🏾👈🏾 and she makes all different types of clothes like street wear and party dresses, and some girls even pay her to make their prom dresses and miles being her model for stuff.

my lil fashionista (e-42 miles x african!reader)

— I’ve added a small twist to this request I hope you don’t mind

— designer… but make it african

— this song has been on my mind all day

— ⚠️: use of the igbo language, some things may be confusing because they are written in broken african english, cursing, this one is on the longer side

in your room scattered with fabrics and sewing materials, you were on the phone with a last-minute client who wanted a prom dress done for her daughter. she was a close friend of your mothers and she called you expecting you to help her out on this last minute request, with prom only a month and a half away. but hey, if she was willing to pay double, who were you to refuse?

she was sending designs and inspo pictures, as well as different materials she wanted you to use on the dress. your mind was reeling, trying to write everything down as she spoke to you on the phone about all of the measurements of her daughter.

"ah, see the picture I sent to you now on whatsapp, that's kind of the style of dress we want for her. the long skirt one," she yelled into the phone. you could hear all the traffic from the road she was on, as well as gospel music from the speakers of her car.

"aunty have you changed the colors of the dress now?" you asked, praying she would say no as you looked at the photo she sent. you had already taken the fabrics out of your wardrobe and laid them out, so a change in colors would only stress you out more.

"no, same colors—"

just then, the woman was cut off by the sound of your phone ringing. you could hear it buzz on the wood of your floor, and when you went to check on who it was, you saw it was your boyfriend miles. "ahhh leave me nah!" you groaned as you picked up the phone to decline his call.

"are you talking to me?"

"no! no no no aunty, someone called me sorry," you pleaded, not wanting to seem rude to the woman who was paying you good money to make a dress on such short notice. you haphazardly threw your phone to your bed as you focused on remembering all of the measurements she told you and writing them down.

"biko (please), what did you say her busts were?" you requested.

"ahn that one is—"

just as she was about to tell you the measurement, your phone cut off. looking at the device on your bed, you saw miles was calling you again. you sucked your teeth as you declined his call, once again. knowing miles, you placed your phone on dnd to make sure you wouldn't get any more of his calls.

you sighed as you just decided to re-take all the girls' measurements whenever she got to your house.

"am nearing your house now, can you buzz me in?" the woman on the other line asked of you.

"of course, just tell me whenever you ring," you said. the commotion and traffic you heard before were gone. "she must be close," you thought to yourself.

you threw your notebook and pen alongside your phone on your bed as you went to focus on the half-finished dress on your mannequin. it was your own prom dress that you chose to make completely on your own, choosing to go for a more cultural look this prom season. you left the needle and thread looped through the sleeve of the dress to attend to the client you had on the phone, but now you went back to the dress you were working on.

the top of the dress was a beautiful, deep, dark red corset with jewels decorating the bust of the dress going all the way up to the sleeves. a swirl pattern of shimmering vines decorated the rest of the top portion. the bottom of the dress—a beautiful maroon color that was also decorated in shimmering, floral vines— went straight down in a tight fit to accentuate all your curves. not yet added to the dress, was the matching train, which you would sew later.

you were about to make the last loop around before finishing off the first sleeve of the dress when you heard a buzz from the front of your apartment. sticking a random hole in the dress to place the needle in, you tugged your bonnet off your head and ran to the buzzer. after buzzing the woman in, you waited by your door patiently.

after a few minutes, your doorbell rang. after waiting a few seconds to make it seem like you weren't literally right next to the door, you unlocked the door and swung it open.

"Y/N, kedu ka ị mere? (how are you),” she asked, leaning in to hug you.

“adị m mma aunty (i'm fine aunty), I was just finishing up a dress i’m working on," you responded. you looked at the girl right next to the woman; she looked just about your age.

"Adaoma you don't greet? is this not your agemate?" she looked to her daughter who made a face of discomfort. you understood exactly what she was feeling as her mother said that, so you shook your head as you chuckled and smiled.

"it's fine aunty, come inside both of you," you affirmed as you walked backward into your apartment.

as they sat down on your couch, you turned to your kitchen and headed straight for the fridge, "do you guys want some lemona—"

you couldn't even get the sentence out as you heard your buzzer buzz again. without thinking, you walked to your door and buzzed whoever the perpetrator was in.

"ah ah, are you having visitors?"

"no, it's probably just my mom. I think she forgot her key on her way to the market," you reasoned. walking back to your kitchen, you poured two glasses of lemonade into glasses and walked back to the living room couch where your visitors stayed.

"thank you my dear," said the woman. her daughter mumbled a small "thank you" as you handed them the cool drink.

"I have the measurements written down somewhere, hold on," you said, running to your room.

as you were searching your room for the small book you kept full of measurements and designs, you heard your doorbell.

"fuck where is it?" you whispered, scolding yourself for losing it so easily. your bell rang again, and then it rang a third time.

"oh my god— I'M COMING!"

finally, after recking your room completely, you found the book on your bed right next to your phone. you were too happy to beat yourself up about how stupid you were to not check your bed first, so you ran back to the living room, placing your things on the small coffee table.

you muttered an apology to your guests as you turned to the door, unlocking it. who you expected to see was your mom frantically telling you about how she left her keys at home before going to the market. however, what you were met with instead only made you even more annoyed.

"why you not answering the phone, hm?" came a deep, calm voice from the other side of the door.

sighing, you calmly tried to collect yourself, tilting your head back and saying a small prayer to the lord up above.

"miles, please. i'm doing something right now," you pleaded. the last thing you needed was your passive-aggressive boyfriend pissing you off when you already had so much to get done.

tilting his head forward, he peeked into your apartment looking at the people sitting on your couch. when he saw that the older woman was wearing a blouse with an African print—an Ankara blouse— he knew to watch his mouth when he entered your home.

"Y/N, who is that? is it your mum?" she questioned. sighing, you opened the door wider, revealing miles standing there with his head down facing you.

"no aunty, one of my friends came to visit," you said, putting on the fakest smiles known to man.

"introduce yourself, friend—" you grunted that last part, hoping miles got the message.

"good afternoon ma'am, my name is miles," he said walking up to the lady to shake her and her daughter's hands. he gave a small smile to seem less intimidating than he usually did and straightened out his back a little.

pulling miles away from your guest, you excused the both of you, walking over to the kitchen. "are you insane just coming here like you own this place? you couldn't even bother to call me before showing up here?" you whispered, not needing anyone but miles to hear you.

"excuse me, but you're the one ignoring my calls and leaving me on delivered. I sent you like ten messages but you ain't even look at them huh?" he accused sounding annoyed with you. you thought back to when he was calling you and you ignored him completely, going as far as to put your phone on dnd.

"if you did look at my messages, you would've seen one of me telling you I'm coming over. but you obviously too busy for me," he chuckled, but ain't shit was funny to him. "my fault, lemme get out your way—"

cutting him off, you grabbed his hand under the kitchen island to make sure any lingering eyes couldn't see you. you never want him to feel like you don't have time for him, miles was everything to you.

"no, no i-i'm sorry miles, i'm just a lil stressed right now. i'm handling a lot... don't go, baby stay."

he sighed looking around the room. he was definitely mad in the moment, but he understood what you were dealing with right now at this moment. he squeezed your hand from under the island and nodded his head yes. immediately, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a hug with a smile.

that was until you heard a cough coming from your living room. turning your head, you were met with the eyes of a wide-eyed woman with her hands folded on her lap, seeming very uncomfortable. almost immediately, you shoved miles away from you and turned to face the woman.

"ahem, uh, s-sorry aunty— i'll be right there," you said looking down at your feet ashamed. you turned to miles and gave a small head nod towards your bedroom, signaling him to reside in there until you were finished.

It only really took around 30 minutes for you to discuss plans on what the dress would look like, and to take the girl's measurements. she showed you her pinterest board of prom dresses she had in mind and you even helped her settle on a photo for you to refer to while making the dress. after the thirty minutes were over, you gifted them some puff puffs your mom cooked earlier that morning and bid them farewell.

sighing in exhaustion, you walked back to your bedroom ready to relax and focus on your current project, only to find your boyfriend hovering over it. he looked absolutely entranced at the sight of the dress, from the jewels sewn into the plunging neckline to the way the rest of the dress shinned whenever the sun from your window hit it just right. he'd seen you wear clothes like this to weddings and whatnot, but every time you managed to blow him away with how effortlessly gorgeous you looked in them.

"it's stunning mi reina," he said, finally turning to face you. you walked up closer to him and leaned your entire body into his, wrapping your arms around his waist. "you think so?"

"baby I know so. you don't even have the dress on and i'm blown away," he reassured to you as he held you closer to him.

looking up at him you reached up to peck his lips, that was until he moved his head back to avoid your kiss.

"what's wrong?" you questioned.

he smirked down at you as he shrugged his shoulders, "nothin', i'm just wondering when you gon' make me a nice suit to match ya dress."

— lord have mercy

— i’m like dying here

— please read lol (｀_´)ゞ

#miles morales #miles morales x reader #across the spiderverse #earth42 miles #miles g #prowler miles #into the spider verse #e-42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles #miles g morales #miles g x reader #earth 42 miles morales #earth 42 miles morales x reader #spiderman miles morales #spider verse #spiderman across the spiderverse

[granaidh]

Hi! I hope you're doing well, and thank you for writing! Could you please write a little something for Lando where the reader is also a driver (but not his teammate) and she got into a big accident at the last gp of the year and it's taken her quite some time (like a few months) to get better, so she has to miss out on the whole next season of racing. A bunch of the drivers have visited her, but Lando hasnt , bc they had a fight before the last gp and also they were both unsure of what kind of relationship they had (like kind of friends but with soft touches, longing gazes, but no guts to make a move). And he finally decides to visit her while she's away on a retreat for her mental health or smth. I long for angst, but it can go and end in which ever way you'd imagine. Thank you!

mistakes — lando norris

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

summary: lando doesn't think before he speaks, and it quickly becomes apparent that he might be too scared to fix it.

warnings: serious injury to reader but not heavily described, casual sexism from lando, bit of angst

a/n: i'm actually proud of this at 2am but I'm sure when I reread it i'll be ashamed

The smell of flowers began to become sickly after a while. You’d never known that before. But as the small private hospital room overflowed, your senses were under constant assault to the point your head began to spin, and your nostrils burned day in and day out. You tried to push the frustration away, noting the flowers were from your friends and coworkers, with beautiful cards stacked up on the sterilised table next to you.

You sighed gently; you really were overreacting; they helped the room feel alive through your recovery, even if it left a bitter taste in your mouth. The orchids from George created a beautiful arch with their stem resting next to Alex’s arrangement of blue hydrangeas; you suspect Logan snuck his name on the bottom of the card, allowing yourself a light exhalation of air in humour at the flustered American, not wanting to overstep your very casual relationship. Lewis’s bouquet of peonies made your lip quiver lightly, while Fernando’s succulent calmed you down and reminded you of the practical nature of the Spanish man who taught you so much.

All the arrangements from coworkers you greeted so often, even if you weren’t close, made the tears well in your bottom lashes, fighting to keep the emotions at bay as you read the card definitely written by Susie from both herself and Toto wishing you all the best in your speedy recovery and return the track in the following season.

If you wanted to take one good thing from your crash, at least it was at the last race, your job fulfilled for the season, allowing you plenty of time to rot away in a hospital bed in Switzerland, far away from Milton Keynes and the extensive expectations placed on you. 

Your phone flashed, a text from your teammate affectionately named in your phone ‘max v’ not to be confused with ‘max f’ or the mysterious just ‘max’ who you couldn't remember ever having in your phone. The photo was of himself, Daniel, Yuki and Christian dressed to the nines at the factory dinner. The accompanying text made you giggle, as most things from your Dutch teammate did.

“Don’t let my smile fool you, and I’m so close to ruining every sponsor this team has out of pure rage; I’ll take the blame if we have no seat next year. This suit is too tight, and if one more person asks me where you are thinking that I’m gonna give a scoop. I’m going to strangle them the way I should’ve strangled Ocon when I got the chance all those years ago. Even Daniel can’t make me feel better; I miss you being here. You would’ve judged people with me, gtg Christian barking orders again.”

You were glad Max was dealing with the dinner and not you. You last saw him a couple days ago. He dropped in with Daniel, completing your collection of flowers before forcing you to be sandwiched between them on your bed to watch a movie, finally allowing yourself to be reminded of everyday life as the two bickered and fought for a remote over your body. You didn’t stay awake for long. 

The final delivery of flowers had been delivered by a charming Sebastian Vettel, who dropped in cuts of native flowers that he had brought specifically for you on his property, tied together with a repurposed ribbon from a gift you had given him years ago. However, there was a noticeable absence in the gifts surrounding you. 

George arrived with Alex first, Logan trailing behind them, adding seeing you in a hospital bed to the third conversation you’d had outside of greetings. Then Bottas and Zhou with an accompanying Lewis. Fernando arrived with Oscar, allegedly heading back to the UK together afterwards. Toto dropped his flowers off at reception as you were asleep, and Yuki came with Pierre, followed by Lance and Esteban, and then Charles, who insisted on staying and catching up. Then Carlos, strangely followed by the dads of the grid, Nico and Kevin, who were far more concerned about your injuries than you expected. However, one substantial absence stood out to you.

Lando.

You knew you hadn’t left on the best of terms, but you didn’t expect him to not visit you at all. You had been in rehab, both physical and mental, for nearly two weeks now, with everyone managing to check in on you despite their busy schedules except Lando. Your crash hadn’t been pretty sure; slamming into a tire wall at 60g, passing out in the car, and getting hauled out of the upside-down chassis before getting rushed to the hospital wasn’t the best final display following your argument, but not enough to ignore you. He hadn’t even caused the crash. It was a racing incident between you and Carlos; neither of you could have avoided it; you just copped the heavier burden. 

You underwent a battery of medical examinations, each a journey into uncertainty. In the X-ray room, the stark images of fractured bones mirrored the ache you felt, tangible evidence of the crash's impact. Inside the MRI chamber, the steady hum enveloped you, the machine's relentless probing revealing the hidden aftermath of the collision. It seemed to echo the pounding of your heart, a nervous symphony amidst the mechanical rhythms. Doctors' questions were like peeling layers, seeking not just physical wounds but the unseen injuries etched within. Each test marked a step toward understanding, painting a complex picture of recovery where visible injuries and unseen scars intertwined. Each evaluation was a mix of relief and apprehension, providing answers that formed a path to healing, a trail marked by uncertainty yet holding the promise of recovery.

The specialists' meticulous evaluations probed deeper into the fractures, soft tissue damage, and the corridors of your mind. Psychologists gently unravelled the knots of emotional trauma, exploring the depths of your psyche, where the crash had left its indelible mark. Their questions felt like delicate hands reaching into the recesses of your thoughts, seeking to mend the fragments of your peace. The psychological assessments uncovered the whispers of anxiety and the haunting spectre of post-traumatic stress, remnants of the crash that lingered within you. Every test result felt like a double-edged sword—confirmation of injuries and a roadmap toward recovery. The prognosis painted a journey marked by rehabilitation, a marathon of physical therapy, and a parallel track of counselling to tend to the unseen wounds.

Yet amidst the medical jargon and clinical assessments, a flicker of hope persisted—the assurance that eventually Lando would show up, flash that smile and quell all the horrible things you had both said before the race start. You grimaced at the memory.

The bustling paddock echoed with the symphony of mechanics preparing the cars, but amidst the controlled chaos, you and Lando engaged in your usual banter. Your race suits wrapped around your waists, both slowly hydrating before race preparation fully began. Your words, initially playful, began to bear the weight of deep insecurities.

“You seem pretty nervous, worried you’re not going to see the finish line again?” He smiled, his head tilted, eyelashes fluttering, not afraid to push your buttons at any given chance.

However, his teasing smirk faltered as your words struck a raw nerve. "At least I'm consistent, unlike someone. Your results have been all over the place all season, let alone your qualifying.”

The playful atmosphere shifted, an undercurrent of frustration tainting Lando's response. "Consistently average, you mean? You talk a lot for someone who hasn't even seen a world championship title in the absolute rockets Redbull have been building; your teammate will always outperform you.."

Your smile wavered, stung by the barb. "You're one to talk, Mr. 'Lando NoWins’' every season. Maybe if you stopped focusing on social media and YouTube content, you'd actually win something."

The words hung in the air, a charged silence enveloping them. Then, in a moment of unchecked frustration, Lando's retort cut through the atmosphere like a blade, "Maybe you should listen to the folks who say women don't belong in F1."

Your eyes widened in disbelief, hurt etching lines across your features. A heavy silence engulfed you both, the weight of Lando's words causing an irreparable breach in your banter. The unintentional insult lingered, an unexpected wound that pierced deeper than you initially intended.

You felt the sting of Lando's words like a visceral blow, the hurt and frustration twisting inside you. You turned on your heel, striding back toward your team garage without a comment. Your footsteps echoed loudly against the paddock floor, a resolute rhythm that matched the pounding of your heart, blood rushing to your ears. Ignoring the concerned glances of your crew, you brushed past, focus singular—preparing for the race ahead. The air hummed with an electric intensity as you suited up, the layers of protective gear around your face against the emotional turmoil swirling within, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

There was a steely determination etched on your face as you tightened the straps of your helmet, shutting yourself into a cocoon of concentration. The roar of the engines outside became your anchor, drowning out the echoes of the hurtful exchange. Silent and resolute, you climbed into the car, the cockpit becoming a sanctuary. Your jaw set in determination, you flicked switches and adjusted controls with precision, shutting out the world beyond the confines of the racing machine. Your eyes, usually bright with laughter, now held a fierce resolve as you rolled out of the garage, the determination to deliver a race that would drown out the hurt, speaking louder than any words you could utter. You sighed raggedly, the memory taunting you as you shakily stood up to make your way to your therapist's office, looking forward to speaking about how everything had played out.

"You know, doc, I thought I had it all figured out. I thought I could handle the pressure, the banter, the camaraderie. But that day, everything shattered. Every hurtful word was a crack in the facade I'd built. I thought I was tougher, stronger, but it turns out I'm just… human."

You sat in the therapist's office, the weight of Lando's words still heavy on your heart. The echo of that conversation on the track had ricocheted into every corner of your mind, leaving a maze of emotions you struggled to navigate.

"I wanted to prove him wrong, to prove everyone wrong. But those words... they cut so deep. It wasn't just a simple jab. It was everything I've fought against, the doubts, the stereotypes, all laid bare in a single sentence by someone I trusted."

Your therapist, a comforting presence amidst the storm within, listened attentively, offering a reassuring nod.

"I geared up for the race, determined to drown out the pain, to prove I was more than what he said. But as I sat there, strapped into the car, I realized I wasn't racing against the others anymore. I was racing against myself, against those doubts that suddenly felt louder than the roaring engines."

Tears welled in your eyes, a mix of frustration and vulnerability, emotions you'd kept at bay for too long now threatening to spill over.

"I wanted to prove that I could compartmentalize, that I could shove aside the hurt and focus on the race. But I couldn't, and it scared me. It was like I was driving blind, my mind clouded by everything he said."

The therapist's gentle gaze conveyed empathy, a silent encouragement to continue pouring out the tangled emotions.

"And now, they won't clear me. They say I'm not in the right headspace, that I need another week. But what if a week isn't enough? What if I can't shake off these doubts? What if I'm not strong enough to brush off those words and just race?"

The vulnerability in admitting these fears felt raw and exposed. The therapist's reassuring words offered a lifeline, a beacon of hope amidst the storm.

"I just... I want to race, to prove I belong here. But right now, I don't even know if I believe it myself."

The confines of his Monaco apartment felt suffocating, the glossy exterior a facade that failed to shield him from the turmoil. Lando's fingers drummed an erratic rhythm on the polished surface, a restless manifestation of his internal conflict.

The memory of their heated exchange replayed in his mind like a relentless loop, each word a shard that pierced through the armour of his racing persona. He had always navigated the paddock with ease, charming smiles and quick wit masking the tumult of emotions that roiled beneath the surface. But with your absence, the mask had slipped, revealing a vulnerability he hadn't reckoned with.

Regret clawed at him, a persistent ache in the pit of his stomach. "I should've been there," he muttered, the weight of those words heavy on his conscience. The realisation of not being by your side during your most vulnerable moments gnawed at him, a pang of gnawing guilt that begged for resolution. The retreat, whispered about in hushed tones among the racing circles, stood as a sanctuary amidst the chaos—a refuge where you sought solace for your fractured spirit. It beckoned to Lando like a beacon, a chance for redemption in the quiet comfort of nature.

The decision simmered within him, a tumultuous blend of apprehension and resolve. It wasn't solely about seeking forgiveness but an acknowledgment—a reckoning with the depth of his feelings that he'd buried beneath layers of uncertainty. As the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting hues of amber across the harbour, Lando made a choice. He would seek you out, traverse the distance to where you had found peace, and confront the storm he'd helped brew.

The journey to the retreat felt like a pilgrimage, each mile an introspective passage into the recesses of his own heart. With each passing mile, the layers of bravado peeled away, revealing a vulnerability he'd long kept shielded. The serene setting of the retreat, a stark contrast to the adrenaline-fueled tracks you had both grown accustomed to, seemed to mirror the quiet turmoil within him. The rustling leaves whispered of a chance for redemption, a fragile hope that clung to the edges of his conflicted heart.

Steeling himself, Lando walked the pathways to where you were staying. Each step felt like an echo of his hesitation, a testament to the emotional weight he carried. The consequence of his absence, the depth of his regret, and the burgeoning realisation of his feelings surged within him, propelling him forward.

The serene sanctuary of the retreat wrapped around you like a comforting shroud, nature’s symphony a balm to the chaotic discord within yourself. The sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the sky with strokes of soft pinks and fiery oranges, casting a serene hue over the landscape. Into this tranquil setting stepped an unexpected interruption—Lando. His sudden appearance punctured the peaceful bubble, jolting a concoction of emotions within you—shock mixed with uncertainty and a flicker of hesitant hope. As your eyes met, the unspoken weight of past conversations seemed to hang thick in the air.

"Hey," Lando's voice, typically confident, now bore a tremor of hesitation, an attempt to break through the thick blanket of silence.

"Hi," your response carried a symphony of emotions—guarded hope woven with the remnants of hurt and unresolved tension. The atmosphere crackled with an awkwardness so palpable it felt suffocating, a thick fog between you two. It was as if the tranquillity of the retreat intensified the discomfort, amplifying the awkwardness to an almost unbearable level.

"I... I'm sorry," Lando's words stumbled out, laden with regret. "For what I said. It was out of line. I was... I was frustrated, but that's no excuse." His apology seemed to echo in the quietude, each word a jarring note in the serene backdrop—a fragile bridge amidst the uncomfortable silence.

"It hurt," you confessed, the echoes of his words still ringing painfully. "It felt like everything I've fought against in my career was thrown back at me in that moment by the person I trusted the most." Lando's composure softened his admission, a mixture of regret and helplessness. 

"I didn't mean it. I let my own insecurities cloud my judgment. And I should've been there for you, especially when you needed support." The admission felt like a rock lifting off your chest, yet the tension remained, wrapped tight around every word.

"I know. It's been tough, not just physically, but emotionally too," you admitted each syllable a struggle against the thickening tension. "I wanted you here but didn't know if I was ready to confront this." The confession lingered in the air, a painful echo amidst nature's serenity—a tentative step in the sad dance of awkwardness and unresolved emotions you were both partaking in. In the peaceful surroundings, amidst the beauty of nature's embrace, a strained encounter unfolded—a painfully awkward ballet of discomfort and unease, each word thick with the weight of past hurt and unspoken feelings.

Amidst the exchange, a gentle breeze rustled through the trees as if nature sought to alleviate the tension between you both. Now, a mere sliver above the horizon, the sun cast elongated shadows that danced across the landscape. You invited him in, allowing him to sit on the lounge. Lando's gaze softened, a silent plea evident in his eyes. "I've regretted my words since they left my mouth. They were careless, thoughtless..."

Your heart clenched at his vulnerability, his voice's rawness echoing your internal struggle. "I know," you replied softly, the hardness in your tone softening. "But it's not just about those words. The silence followed the absence when I needed someone." The weight of unspoken apologies hung between you, heavy yet fragile. It was as though the air crackled with the energy of unresolved emotions seeking solace in the tranquillity of the retreat.

"I should've been there," Lando confessed, his voice tinged with regret. "I let my own doubts cloud my judgment, and I failed you."

The admission was a tiny fissure in the wall of tension, a sliver of understanding breaking through the emotional barrier. "It's been hard," you admitted, the vulnerability of the moment embracing you. "I needed you, not just physically, but emotionally." The words lingered, suspended in the air, a fragile bridge attempting to span the chasm that had grown between you. The sun dipped further, casting a golden glow that seemed to infuse the charged atmosphere with a faint sense of hope. As the silence stretched, the symphony of nature resumed its soothing melody, offering a backdrop to the tentative reconciliation taking root amid the serene setting—a delicate beginning to healing wounds that ran deep.

Lando shifted, his features etched with a blend of remorse and determination. "I want to make it right, if you'll let me," he implored, the vulnerability in his words echoing the sincerity in his eyes.

Your heart wavered, torn between the ache of past hurt and the flicker of a desire for resolution. "I don't know if I can just forget everything," you admitted, the weight of uncertainty evident in your voice. The rustling leaves provided a natural rhythm to the conversation, a gentle reminder that even in discomfort, a cadence existed to life's complexities.

"I don't expect you to forget," Lando responded earnestly, a note of conviction underlying his words. "But I hope, in time, I can earn your forgiveness." The sincerity in his plea was palpable, a fragile bridge extending across the chasm of hurt. You searched his eyes, seeking reassurance, a sign that the rift between you could be bridged.

"I need time," you whispered the words, a plea for patience and understanding. A tentative truce hung between you—a silent agreement to navigate the path towards healing, acknowledging the wounds but willing to embark on the journey toward reconciliation. The symphony of nature continued, a reminder that harmonies were waiting to be rediscovered amidst life's dissonance. 

The air hung heavy with even more unspoken words, the weight of past hurt and hesitation thickening the silence between you both. But amidst the tranquillity of the retreat, a fragile shift began to unfold—a faint glimmer of understanding breaking through the cloud of discomfort. Lando's gaze continued to soften, a silent plea for forgiveness and reconciliation mirrored in his eyes. "I want to make it right more than anything."

The tension seemed to dissolve, the air clearing as you felt the walls around your heart soften. "I... I want to try, too."

He closed the distance with hesitant steps, each movement tentative yet resolute. The warmth of his embrace enveloped you, pulling you into an embrace that felt like a homecoming—a silent promise of healing and renewal. "Forgive me," Lando's voice was a whisper against your ear, each word carrying the weight of his sincerity.

Tears threatened to spill as you buried your face in his chest, a mix of relief and vulnerability flooding over you. "I want to, Lando. I really do." In that moment, amidst the tranquil backdrop of the retreat, the barriers crumbled, leaving behind an outpouring of emotions too long-suppressed. 

"I love you," he confessed, the words a melody of earnestness and devotion. "More than I ever knew was possible." The confession was a key, unlocking the floodgates of your own feelings.

"I love you too," you admitted each syllable, an echo of admiration and affection. "More than words could ever express." In a tender embrace, you found solace—a silent understanding that transcended the hurtful past. The kiss that followed was an affirmation, a sweet promise of starting anew—a union of hearts, mended and strengthened amidst the serenity of the retreat. 

Lando made your food as you sat on the counter in the secluded haven of the retreat, time seeming to slow as you stood facing each other, a tapestry of emotions woven into the fabric of your comfortable shared silence. The fading sunlight casts a golden hue over the landscape, mirroring the warmth blossoming within you.

"I've missed this," Lando confessed softly, his voice hinting at vulnerability.

Your heart ached with longing as you met his gaze. "I've missed you too, Lando."

Your hesitance dissipated as Lando closed the distance, drawn to you by an invisible thread of shared history and unspoken promises. The tranquillity of the retreat cradled your tentative reunion, an embrace of renewal amidst the quietude of nature. "I've been a fool," Lando murmured, his regret palpable in the softness of his touch along your thighs.

Your defences continued to soften, a flicker of hope kindling within you. "I've been waiting for you." Your embrace deepened, a mutual understanding evolving with each shared breath. It was a moment of reconciliation, of letting go of past grievances and embracing the promise of a future together.

"I've loved you endlessly," Lando's admission was fervent, filled with a determination to make amends. Tears glistened in your eyes, a testament to the depth of your emotions. "I've never stopped loving you."

Your lips met in a tender kiss—a blend of forgiveness, yearning, and a silent vow to rewrite your story. It was a kiss that spoke of redemption, a reunion that promised to rewrite the script of their relationship. In the quiet whispers and the gentle caresses, you found solace—a shared resolve to nurture the love you’d reignited amidst the serene embrace of your retreat. As the tranquillity enveloped you both, the surroundings bore witness to your heartfelt reconciliation—a canvas painted with promises of love rekindled, crafted with unwavering devotion and the resilience to begin anew.

#f1 #fanfic #formula 1 #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x y/n #lando x reader #lando #norris #lando imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fic #lando norris fluff #lando norris x you #ln4 one shot #ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #ln4 fluff #ln4 fic #mclaren #mclaren f1 #mclaren formula 1 #ln4 fanfic #fluff #mclaren racing

[noctumbra]

               𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬  

summary ─ you couldn’t take your eyes off of his hands. 

pairing ─ tattooartist!bucky barnes x reader

warnings ─ impure thots lol, finger sucking, sexual innuendos so high it’s opera now, light dirty talk, bucky fights with himself to restrain himself lolol

Your eyes have been on the tattoo artist’s hands ever since you sat down on his seat and watched him getting his tattoo machine ready.

His hands were large, fingers long and thick. They were quick and efficient as they put on the black gloves, shit, and readied the machine: Cleaning it with cotton dabbed into disinfectant, putting on the soft and plushy band around it and rolling on the needle part. The fingers moved smoothly; they curled, straightened and grasped things.

You could feel yourself getting wet and cursed silently.

“You good?” He murmured. You nodded shakily.

“A little nervous,” you answered him truthfully but didn’t add and horny at the end. The guy smiled, and you cursed yourself in your mind again because you didn’t even look the guy’s face carefully enough. You’ve been very busy ogling his hands.

He was freakishly handsome. He had long, dark brown hair that was in a small bun at the back of his head. His pale blue eyes were inspecting and beautiful. His clean-shaven face was showing off his sharp jawline, small chin dimple and artistic cheekbones. You would have whistled if you had some amount of alcohol in you. You sighed, instead.

“Alright,” he said, his voice smooth like velvet. “I would say there is nothing to be nervous about, but it’s your first tattoo, so I get it.” He smiled. It was an assuring one that made you smile back at him. “Are you sure you want this tattoo behind your ear?” He asked.

You nodded. “Yeah, it’s the best place I can hide it if they give me shit at work,” you explained. The guy chuckled.

“Fair,” he said, shrugging. Then, he grabbed his tattoo gun and dipped the tip into the black ink. He lifted his left hand. “May I touch your face to angle it right?” You swallowed and squeaked out a ‘sure’. He winked at you and put his hand on the edge of your jaw.

Oh shit, you thought. His fingers were so close to your mouth. You forced a whimper down, let him angle your head and tried not to pant. He wet some cotton with the same disinfectant and wiped the skin behind your ear. He inched closer with his chair. He was so close that you could smell his cologne: Mint, leather and something unique to him. You took a deep breath.

“Okay, now if we just bend your head like this…” He murmured softly, and his fingers took a gentle hold of your jaw and moved it to your right. His fingers were splayed on your right cheek, edge of his pointer was right next to your mouth and thumb so close to your bottom lip. You cleared your throat silently. “Try not to move to quick, okay? The needle is gonna hurt first but then it’s gonna turn into a numbing pain. You picked a small tattoo, so it’ll be over quick, alright?”

“Yeah,” you breathed. His fingers twitched and moved slightly, and it felt like an assuring caress.

“Good,” he said. “Tell me if I need to stop.”

Then, he pressed whatever that turned the machine on, and you felt the needle biting into your skin. You gasped instinctively but didn’t flinch. He hummed. Like he said, the prickling pain of the needle had turned into a numbing one quickly, and the only thing you were aware of was his fingers on your face, so close your mouth. You were trying to distract yourself by looking around, the tattoo drawings on the wall and photos they have taken after a tattoo session was done. You could see your tattoo artist smiling and posing on the photos, looking proud and happy. You smiled softly.

“Just a little more,” he murmured and dug his fingers a deeper into your cheek, tilting your head more to your right. You breathed shakily, not moving, and tried to calm down.

His thumb was resting on the corner of your lips. If he were to slide them a little to his left, you could open your mouth and…

“Done,” he said and clicked off the tattoo machine. You breathed in with relief and looked at him. His hand was still on your face, and you saw him reach for the soothing lotion. He applied some on the tattoo and leaned in even closer to inspect it. “Looks good,” he murmured and pulled back fully, his body and fingers were gone, too. You tried not to whimper sadly.

“How are you doin’?” He asked. You shrugged.

“I’m good,” you said. Your heart was beating so fast that you were a little dizzy. He smiled as he peeled his gloves off and stood up to wash his hands. When he came back, he had his phone in his sexy hands.

“Can I take a photo of it?” He pointed the tattoo. You nodded. He leaned in after he opened the camera on his phone and took a hold of your jaw. You couldn’t hold the gasp in this time, and immediately felt your body heat up. He didn’t say anything as he moved your head to your side again and took a couple photos. You could feel his eyes on you, though, and after some time he dropped the phone on the small table next to your seat.

“Looks very beautiful,” he whispered, his warm breath licked the side of your neck, and you shuddered instinctively. You turned your eyes towards him and saw him looking at you. His fingers moved slightly closer to your mouth, testing the waters. You felt like your heart was beating on your throat while you parted your lips. You saw the second his pupils dilated and the look on his face darken.

His fingers traced the outline of your lips, rubbing and pulling. You parted your lips more, giving him the permission he was asking, and he slid them in your mouth. You moaned. You heard him take a sharp breath in and felt his fingers moving deeper in your mouth. You closed your lips around his fingers and sucked on them. He pulled them out of your mouth with a gasp. You looked at him with your mouth open and chest heaving.

“Not here, fuck,” he groaned. He stood up and distracted himself with organizing and reorganizing things. “What are you doing tonight?” He asked, looking at you over his shoulder. You swallowed the spit gathered in your mouth.

“N-nothing,” you whispered. “I’m free.” His face darkened more as if it was possible.

He walked towards you and sat right in front of you. “Can I see you tonight?” He asked, his right hand on the air and close to your mouth.

“Please,” you sighed softly. He lowered his hand and let his thumb brush your bottom lip. He slipped his fingers in a bit.

“Mm,” he hummed. “Good.” His now-dark eyes were watching the way your mouth sucking his fingers with hunger. “Good,” he repeated. He pulled them out and spread the spit on his fingers to your lips. You moaned softly. “Not here,” he whispered.

He stood up and washed his hands again. Then, he came back and extended his hand out to you. You took it and let him help you up. “I’ll see you tonight,” he murmured, not taking his eyes off of you and gave you a brochure kind of something. “It has the steps of how to take care of your tattoo on the healing process,” he said. “And a couple extra things.” You nodded. His eyes moved to your lips again, but he blinked them away. “Go now.”

Nodding once again, you took a step back and grabbed your purse. You walked out, paid for your tattoo and got out of the tattoo shop with heart beating fast.

You looked down at the brochure he gave you and saw his number written at the corner.

Milkshakes? With fries? Call me please. - Bucky

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #fingers

[violet-1atte]

Candy Cane Mocha

this is very late...oops

Summary: After being in America for six years, Jisung returns to South Korea for the holidays and reunites with his best friend and ex lover, Minho

Tags: Minsung, Christmas, holiday, exes to lovers, getting back together, fluff, Minho is whipped, Jisung is whipped, smut, bottom!Jisung, top!Minho

AO3 Link

Six years. Six years since Han Jisung had left South Korea to go study abroad in the United States. Six years since he had seen any family other than his parents. Six years since he had been home. 

It was a good six years. In that time, he had improved dramatically in his English speaking skills, made new friends, lost friends, had relationships (although largely unsatisfying), and more hookups than he could count. He had finished college and was working on getting his name known as a producer alongside his friends Chan and Changbin who were transfer students just like him. It wasn’t that he had intentionally stayed away so long. Life had just taken over and he never had the time to plan a trip back. 

This year, he decided it was time. He had some vacation time saved up from work and honestly, he missed it. The States had their own charms, but he would still get an ache in his chest, yearning for his small hometown in South Korea even six years later. That was why he planned a four week vacation to visit his family for Christmas and see them for as much time as possible. 

As he waited for his parents to pick him up at the airport, a nervous excitement bubbled in his stomach. His parents had come to visit him while he had been gone, but it had been so long since he had been home, he didn’t know what to expect. What had changed? What had stayed the same? Did his parents keep his old bedroom in the same state he left it or did they clear it out? Did the same people live in his neighborhood or had they all left like Jisung six years before? If the same people were there, would they remember Jisung? And if they remembered him, what would they think of him? Was his ex still living here or had he left too? Jisung didn’t know whether he wanted him to be there or not. Would it be a crime to say he missed him even though it had been so long? 

There were so many questions Jisung had, and they all left his mind the moment he saw his parents. They hugged him and he hugged them back harder. His mom nearly cried, cupped his cheeks, and whined about how he was, “Too skinny.” His chest filled with warmth and for a moment he forgot all of his worries about returning. 

When he got home, his mother started preparing dinner. “I also got cheesecake for you,” she said, and Jisung’s mouth watered. “I thought you might like a little treat after that ridiculously long flight.” 

Jisung pressed his lips together, a knot forming in his throat. “Thank you, eomma,” he said softly. “Is there anything I can do to help with dinner?” 

“Oh no need,” his mother stated with a wave of her hand. “You appa will be helping me anyway. You should go and rest before dinner. I know you must be exhausted.” 

At the suggestion of rest, the fatigue hit Jisung’s body and his limbs felt too heavy for him to carry. He was exhausted. The jetlag was going to hit him hard and being on the plane for so many hours had taken it out of him. “Okay. I think I will go up to my room and rest for a bit,” he said with a smile. 

“Good! I’ll call you when dinner’s done.” 

Jisung grabbed his suitcases he had set down and made his way up the stairs to his old bedroom. His chest tightened as he took in the layout of the house, the same as it had always been. Family pictures lined the walls and he cringed at the school photo from his sophomore year where he was wearing thick rimmed glasses and had bright blue braces on his teeth. 

When he opened his bedroom door, he was suddenly eighteen again–unsure of himself, apprehensive of the future, mourning the end of his high school relationship–everything was exactly as he had left it, albeit a bit cleaner. The shelf full of manga he had left thinking it would be too immature to bring with him still remained, as did the shelf of figurines below that. His old posters were still on his wall, only the corners were curled in. His bed was made but he had no idea if it was with the same set he had made it with when he left. Knowing his mom and her affinity for cleanliness, probably not. But it didn’t even matter. It was all so similar that the wave of memories it brought back was almost too much for Jisung to handle. 

Going to sleep was the easiest solution to dampening the onslaught of emotionally-charged memories that being home produced. It didn’t take long for him to doze off either, and he only awoke when his father called to him from the bottom of the steps. He did a double take when he woke up, absorbing his surroundings in confusion before he relaxed. It was like stepping back into the past. 

As they sat down to dinner and Jisung filled his plate, his earlier questions came rushing back. “Has the town changed much since I’ve been gone? I remember you said they added a new shelter here,” Jisung started. There had always been stray cats and dogs wandering around his neighborhood when he was a kid, so the addition of a shelter was extremely welcome. 

“Not too much, honestly,” his father said with a shrug. “You know how it is around here. Nothing much to write home about.” He laughed softly, and Jisung was reminded how much he had missed the sound. Even though his parents came to visit, it had still been over a year. “We’ve had a couple families move out here and there, a couple move in. But it’s mostly the same.” 

Jisung nodded softly and then his mother got a lightbulb look on her face. “Oh! But this new coffee shop opened recently. About a year ago, I think. It’s such a cute little place, really gives the village an extra homey feel to it. It’s actually run by–” 

His father cleared his throat and gave his wife a pointed look. “It is really lovely,” he agreed. “You should check it out. We won’t be here tomorrow since I’ll be working at the office and your eomma will be at the shelter, so it’d give you something to do,” he suggested. 

Jisung wanted to ask about what his mom was going to say before she was cut off, but he decided it probably wasn’t important. He simply smiled and nodded at the suggestion. “That does sound nice. I’ve always loved places like that. Maybe I can work on some lyrics while I’m there.” He didn’t write music as much as he produced but there were still some artists he needed to work on lyrics for. Cafes and coffee shops were the best place to do work like that. 

“Good!” his mother said with a sweet smile. “I’m sure you’ll love it.” And contrary to what his younger self believed, she was often right, so Jisung believed her. 

“I’m sure I will,” he responded. 

His parents shared a look that he couldn’t interpret but then the topic shifted and he forgot about the entire exchange, other than the fact that he needed to visit the cafe. 

As much as Jisung loved winter, the wind nipping at his already numb cheeks was not his favorite thing. He pulled his scarf up just a bit higher so that it covered the bottoms of his cheeks and he rubbed his gloved hands over his skin. He reasoned that at least he would have a warm drink and a cozy coffee shop to sit in soon and all the wind and icy temperatures would be worth it. Thankfully, the shop was not too far away from his home and he was able to admire all the Christmas lights and decorations that lined the streets. Even if he was cold on the outside, he felt warm on the inside. 

The coffee shop was not easy to miss. He noticed it as soon as he came upon the building. The outside was decorated with garland and icicle lights and there was a large sign on the front that read, Lino’s Coffee and Tea in cursive lettering. The same title was printed across the two big windows in the front. The door was painted red and had a large wreath hanging on it, which Jisung admired for a moment before he opened the door. 

A quiet chime went off as Jisung pushed the door open and a delicious concoction of scents hit his nose as soon as he stepped inside. Rich coffee mixed with cinnamon and the smell of sweet pastries, and it made Jisung’s mouth water. There was no one standing at the counter, but there were a few patrons sitting at various tables, sipping on lattes and snacking on expertly prepared pastries. The display at the counter caught Jisung’s eye immediately, and while he had originally been planning on just getting a coffee, the sight of a cheesecake with a spiral of red strawberries around the edge and drizzles of chocolate over the top caught his eye. 

From inside the kitchen, someone called, “I’ll be with you in a minute!” and for a second, the voice sounded extremely familiar, but Jisung couldn’t place it. 

That was, until the owner of the voice stepped out. In an instant Jisung’s eyebrows shot up and his mouth fell agape. Deep-set brown eyes, rose-petal mouth, sharp jawline, the most perfect nose he had ever seen–he would recognize that face anywhere. 

The same look of recognition passed over the other man’s face and after a few seconds, his shocked expression softened and he smiled softly. “Jisung-ah,” he said, and Jisung’s stomach flipped when his name rolled off his tongue. His voice held the same, gentle warmth that it always had when he spoke to him. But that had been so long ago.

“Minho-hyung,” he breathed. 

He had not seen Minho in six years and it had been four or five since he had last spoken to him. He couldn’t exactly remember.  But at one point, they had been best friends. And before that, Minho had been his boyfriend. 

They started dating when Minho was in his senior year of high-school and Jisung was in his junior year. They had been friends since 7th grade and Minho was his first kiss. His first everything. Minho never intended to go to college so he was still around even as Jisung was in his senior year. But when Jisung graduated, that's when everything changed. They started having more disagreements, more tension, and less romance. Part of that was fueled by the fact that Jisung had applied to a college in the United States and was fully planning on attending. Minho acted like it would be okay and he would be fine, that they would be fine, but it was clear he was having a difficult time handling it. In the end, they both agreed to break up and go back to being friends. 

As time went on though, they progressively started talking less and less. The major time difference coupled with Jisung’s busy life and their past put a rift between them and at one point, one of them sent the last message. Jisung couldn't remember who, but he had a feeling it was him. 

"It's been a while," Minho said, bringing Jisung back to the present. "How long has it been?" 

"Gosh." Jisung rubbed the back of his neck. "Six years? Yeah. Six years. It's been a long while." 

"It has," Minho agreed with a nod. He was rocking back and forth–Jisung could imagine him bouncing on the balls of his feet. It was something he often did when he was excited or nervous. Jisung didn't know what to do with either of those things. “What are you doing back here?” 

“I’m here to visit my parents and just visit…home,” he answered, hesitating at the word “home.” “I’ve been saving up vacation time and money. So I was finally able to travel.” 

Minho hummed softly. “That’s good. Really good.” And really, Jisung couldn’t agree more.

"How have you been? Is this your place?" Jisung asked, gesturing around to the coffee shop. "Fuck wait–Lino? Is that you? Lee Minho? " 

A smile bloomed across Minho’s face and Jisung’s heart stuttered in his chest. Oh shit. It was just as beautiful as he had always remembered it. Even more so. He still had the same lopsided grin, the same slightly crooked front teeth. 

Jisung’s stomach felt like a whole zoo. 

"Yeah, this is my place. I opened it up about two years ago. I was working to open it for a while before though. The idea came to me when you–" Minho cleared his throat and glanced down. When you left, Jisung gathered. "I didn't really know what to do with myself. You know I was kind of directionless for a while…well I knew I didn't want to leave, and I loved baking and coffee, so it just made sense." 

Picturing Minho putting so much work into this little coffee shop–spending hours developing recipes, saving money to open–made Jisung's chest fill with warmth. He had always been such a hard worker and Jisung had always admired him for it. That hadn't changed. "Well it's beautiful. And everything–everything smells amazing and looks–wow. I can't believe you did this all on your own. It's spectacular. Wow." Jisung couldn't help his exclamations of awe. It really was amazing. The inside of the coffee shop was honestly beautiful, decorated for Christmas just like the outside. He hadn't even noticed the Christmas tree in a corner of the shop until he started looking around as he attempted a coherent compliment. 

Minho laughed, soft and bright, and it was the most beautiful sound Jisung had ever heard. Wow, he had missed him. It was insane how fast he felt comfortable around him again. “Thank you, I’m glad you like it,” he said genuinely. “Ah, I’m taking up your time. You probably have things to do. What can I get you, Jisung-ah?” 

“No, no, it’s okay! I was just gonna chill here for a bit, work on some song lyrics, you’re good,” Jisung said, waving his hand. “I think I’ll take a large candy cane mocha, and…a slice of that cheesecake there,” he said, pointing at the cheesecake on the display. A knowing grin spread across Minho’s face and he nodded as he typed Jisung’s order into a little keypad on the counter. 

“You never change,” he mumbled, the smile still on his face. 

Jisung’s cheeks warmed and he bit his lip. In the past, Jisung got cheesecake on every outing he possibly could, and it was his dessert of choice on dates. He didn’t respond as he paid, but he couldn’t get the thought out of his mind that Minho remembered. 

A few other people entered the shop as Jisung waited for Minho to finish his drink and get his dessert but Jisung’s eyes were focused on Minho. Over the years, Minho’s appearance had matured so much and he had grown into his features in a way that made him even more beautiful, which Jisung hadn’t thought possible when they were together in high school. 

When Minho handed Jisung his drink and his plate of cheesecake, their fingertips brushed. Minho didn’t seem to notice, but the contact sent sparks up Jisung’s arm. He needed to remind himself that this was his ex. His ex he had not spoken to in years. There was no reason for him to be reacting to him this way. None. 

Except, as he thanked Minho and began to move to find a table to sit at, Minho called out to him. “Jisung-ah,” he began, then clenched his fists on the edge of the counter, “it’s good to see you again. I…I missed you.” And oh this was not good for Jisung’s poor, lonely heart. 

He hadn’t realized how much of an ache there had been in his heart until it lifted, eased by Minho’s presence, his words. He swallowed a lump in his throat and inhaled. “I missed you too, hyung.” 

-

Minho and Jisung’s breakup had been Minho’s idea. It was mutual, and Jisung agreed to it almost immediately. That fact only made it harder for Minho, though. When he brought it up, part of him hoped that Jisung would fight for him, that he would say they could work things out, that distance wouldn’t destroy the love they had. Instead, he smiled a little sadly and nodded. “I think…I think that might be for the best.” 

No one knew that Minho spent every night for the next month crying after that. 

Years before, when his last message was left on read by the younger, Minho resigned himself to never seeing Jisung ever again. He reasoned that it was for the best, that it would help him move on and finally get settled with his life. And it had helped, even if not at first. It allowed him to focus more on planning for his cafe and that’s what he did; he threw himself into work like he never had before. In the end, it was worth it. He had a beautiful coffee shop that made a good profit and made the townsfolk happy. He was happy and he was settled. Sometimes he still thought of Jisung, wondered how he was doing and what he would say if he knew how successful Minho’s dream had become. But for the most part, Jisung was out of his mind. 

And then he walked into Minho’s shop and right back into his life. Nothing could have prepared him for the tidal wave of emotions that hit him the moment he laid eyes on Jisung. He looked the same as he always had, but he had grown up. His jaw was sharper but his cheeks were just as full. He had a few new piercings on his ears and his hair was lavender instead of the deep brown he had left with. Minho felt the same way he had felt when Jisung first held his hand, only this time the feeling choked him. 

Despite the cocktail of emotions swirling through Minho’s head, talking to Jisung was easy. As easy as it had always been. They just clicked like that. It felt like they had never stopped talking, like Jisung had never left. But at the end of the day, he had. It had been years, they were both adults, they had both been through things neither of them knew about in the time since they’d last spoken. In a way, they were practically strangers. 

And yet, Jisung looked so happy to see him. 

The interaction was something Minho couldn’t keep out of his head. It took everything in his power not to look at Jisung the entire time he was sitting at his table. He had to remind himself that things had changed, time had passed, Jisung probably had a girlfriend or a boyfriend back in America. 

Perhaps they could be friends. 

Minho had deleted his chat with Jisung a while ago but he still had his contact. He could never bring himself to delete it or block him. He had no reason to. Things had just faded out and they didn’t even end on a necessarily bad note, no matter how heartbroken Minho had been. Circumstance just brought them to that point. But now that he had seen Jisung again and he was in the area, likely staying with his parents, then there was a chance Minho could text him again and they could hang out. 

Unfortunately, Minho was scared. He was worried Jisung didn’t actually want anything to do with him and he would turn him down and he would be stuck in a pit of his own embarrassment. He needed to test the waters first. Jisung would likely be there until Christmas at least so he had time. 

What he had not been expecting was for Jisung to come into the shop almost every day from that point. The second day he came in and told him how his parents were the ones who told him to come to the coffee shop and how much they loved it. Minho realized he would have to give them a personal thank you for bringing Jisung back to him. That day he ordered a candy cane mocha again, saying that while he usually just went for an Americano, it was Christmas time so he wanted to be more festive. He had also had a larger sweet tooth lately. 

He didn’t come in the next day, but he showed up the day after that, getting a simple Americano that time. One day he came in and didn’t even order anything, just said he liked the environment and it was relaxing to write music there. Minho caught him looking at him at least five times while he was working behind the counter; there was no excuse for the way it made butterflies erupt in his stomach. 

Around a week from the first day he came in, Jisung showed up again when it was an hour before closing and he ordered a chocolate filled croissant and a hot chocolate with whipped cream. Minho gave him a little extra just because he could. And instead of leaving to sit at a table and write lyrics like he had the days before, Jisung stayed at the counter so he could talk to Minho in between customers. It was a slow day, so Minho was grateful for the company, especially since it was Jisung’s company. But he wouldn’t admit that out loud just yet. He didn’t talk about anything important, mostly just different anime he had watched recently and what some of the genres he had been working on were, but Minho held on to every word. 

The time rolled around for Minho to close up, and it made his chest ache as he thought of telling Jisung he was closing for the evening, but Jisung beat him to the topic instead. “I could help you clean up, if you want,” he suggested. 

Minho’s heart soared before it landed back on earth and he shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I’m sure you have things to do. I can handle it on my own,” he reassured him. 

Jisung’s bottom lip pushed out in a pout. It made Minho’s knees weak. Fuck, he was even worse off than he had been in the past. “I want to help though. You work here all by yourself and it’s gotta be hard, even if that’s what you usually do.” 

“I have help sometimes,” Minho said with a shrug. Jisung was still pouting and if Minho were a stronger man, he would tell him to go anyway and insist he could do it on his own like he always had. But Minho was incredibly weak. “Alright, fine. But don’t expect to get paid, this is volunteer work.” 

Jisung’s pout turned into a wide smile and he hopped off of his seat. “I know, don’t worry. I just wanted to help.” 

He shuffled behind the counter and suddenly Minho was keenly aware of the fact that since Jisung walked in two days ago, he hadn’t interacted with him without the barrier of the counter between him. Now it felt real–Jisung was actually here and not a figment of Minho’s imagination. He swallowed thickly. 

“Alright, if you want, you can just wipe down the counters and tables. I know where everything goes so I’ll take down the display.” He gestured for Jisung to follow him into the back and handed him a cloth and cleaning agent for the surfaces around the shop. 

“Sounds good to me, Minho-hyung,” Jisung said with a soft smile. He took the supplies from Minho and went back out to the front to begin wiping down the various tables and countertops. Minho watched him for a minute as he went, something tugging at his chest. He gave himself two firm pats over his heart and mumbled, “Shut up,” under his breath. 

They cleaned in relative silence. Occasionally, Jisung would break the silence by humming a melody Minho didn’t recognize under his breath. It was comfortable. This was how they always worked, Minho remembered it clearly. Silence didn’t bother either of them. They didn’t need to talk to fill some imaginary gap–each other’s presence was enough. 

With help, cleaning did go by faster. Jisung was efficient and even helped him sweep and mop so Minho could focus on fixing everything else that needed to be dealt with. 

The December sky was dark when they stepped out onto the street but the sidewalks were lit by lamps and colorful Christmas lights. Under the subtle glow, Minho could see the gentle flush on Jisung’s round cheeks. “Let me walk you home,” Minho suggested before he could think better of it. 

Jisung tilted his head at him, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Do you even remember where I live?” 

“I could never forget,” Minho admitted. He had walked past it a few times over the years and would sometimes pause in front for a moment, hoping that somehow Jisung would come through the front door. 

Jisung hummed, contemplating, and then nodded. “Okay, yeah. I could use some company on the way, if it’s not too much trouble.” He wrapped his scarf around himself, obscuring the bottom half of his face. 

“No trouble,” Minho reassured. “I’ve got nothing to do anyway." What he didn't say was that he just wanted to spend more time with Jisung. He didn’t want to go home and reminisce about the past while wishing he had just spent more time with Jisung. He didn’t even know how much time Jisung would be spending in Korea. He needed to get every second he could, even if it was the last he would ever see of him. 

The streets were fairly busy with cars and the sidewalks with people leaving work, but if anyone asked Minho later, he could only remember the two of them. They walked back together, closer than needed. They didn’t hold hands, but they came pretty damn close with the way their arms would brush together every few steps. Jisung either didn’t seem to notice or he didn’t mind. 

After they had walked a few blocks, thick flakes of snow fluttered down onto the sidewalk beneath their feet. Jisung’s eyes widened at the sight and he let out a soft gasp as more snowflakes joined in. “Oh my gosh snow! Wow, it's so pretty. Where I live in America doesn’t have much snow. This is exciting,” he said, skipping a little as he walked. 

“A little Christmas gift from the universe then,” Minho commented with a chuckle. Jisung’s eyes sparkled as he looked up at the sky and the Christmas lights reflected off them and cast a warm glow on his face. Minho was reminded that Jisung’s favorite season was winter. This walk may have been enough to make it Minho’s favorite, too. 

Jisung caught at least ten snowflakes on his tongue before they arrived at his house. Minho, unfortunately, only caught them in his eyes. But it was worth it to witness the joy on Jisung’s face. 

They paused at the door before Jisung went inside; it painfully reminded Minho of the first kiss he shared with Jisung after a walk similar to this–only that was on a warm summer evening and they were both hot and tired and so inexperienced–Minho thought that if they were to share a kiss now, it would be much better. He thought he saw Jisung’s eyes flick to his lips, but then the look was gone, Jisung meeting his eyes. “Thank you for walking me home,” Jisung said with a soft smile. 

“Of course.” Minho clenched his fists in his pockets. “Jisung-ah–I’ve been enjoying spending time with you at the coffee shop—” He watched Jisung’s face fall for a split second before he continued, “but I want to spend more time with you, if that’s okay? I know we stopped talking and it’s okay if you don’t want to but—” 

“I want to,” Jisung interrupted. “We can talk about all of that another time, I know I…I need to say some things. But I do want to.” 

Minho let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. “Okay. Okay then. I’ll text you. I still have your contact.” Was that embarrassing to admit? Minho realized he didn’t care. 

“Oh…that’s–that’s good. Yeah. Text me. I’ll make sure I find a time.” 

“Perfect.” Minho knew his excitement was poorly concealed but this was Han Jisung. Han Jisung who used to be his Han Jisung. “I’ll let you go in now, it’s fucking freezing. And I think my fingers are turning into popsicles.” 

Jisung laughed and shook his head. “Well you better warm them up then. I’ll see you later, Minho.” He waved and then in a blink of an eye, he was on the other side of the door. 

Minho sighed and a shiver wracked his body. Fuck it was cold. 

-

Minho messaged Jisung the next morning. Jisung was sitting in his living room, sipping a mug of hot chocolate, when his phone made a loud ping! He nearly dropped it when he attempted to pick it up to check who had messaged him and his stomach flipped when he saw the contact name. He hadn’t changed it since they had last messaged. 

Minho-hyungie

10:27am When are you free? 

Jisung 

10:28am I’m free almost any time this week :) My fam still has to work until Christmas So lonely (˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥⋆)

Minho-hyungie

10:32am Later today then? I’ll ask my friend Felix to watch over the shop until close 

Jisung 

10:33am Reallyy? What are we gonna do? 

Minho-hyungie

10:36am Mm it’s a surprise 

Jisung 

10:36am Sounds suspicious You aren’t gonna murder me are you? 

Minho-hyungie

10:37am I already have the dumpster where i’ll dump your body in mind 

Jisung 

10:39am (°△°|||) Scary 

Minho-hyungie

10:40amI’ll pick you up at 2? 

Jisung 

10:41am I’ll be ready! 

Minho-hyungie

10:42am Make sure to wear warm clothes 

When Minho came to pick Jisung up, he pestered him the entire time, begging him to tell where they were going. But Minho wouldn’t budge, even when Jisung used his biggest, saddest eyes possible. That had gotten him so many things in life so it was entirely too frustrating that it didn’t work on Minho in the moment. But Minho apparently had developed a resolve of steel over the years so he could not be persuaded. 

It was only when they actually arrived that Jisung realized the surprise was worth it. Minho was taking him ice-skating. Something he hadn’t done in years. 

“Oh my gosh!” he exclaimed, eyes blowing wide as he turned to Minho. “You’re amazing.” 

“I know I am,” Minho said with a playful grin. 

Surveying the skating rink, Jisung was hit with memories from the last time he went ice skating. He and Minho were still together at the time. It was an icy winter day, colder than this one. Minho had surprised him then too. The only real difference was that it was closer to Christmas then and of course they were holding hands and sharing soft, giggly kisses every time one of them slipped. It was a memory Jisung had totally forgotten until now. He wondered if Minho remembered that too, if this location and the surprise had been intentional. He tried not to think about it. Things were different now. They were different now. 

Yet, when he looked at Minho and he smiled at him with the same soft fondness in his eyes as he did years ago, Jisung wondered if they really were so different. 

“Still remember how to skate?” Minho asked as they walked to get their skates. Jisung rolled his eyes and scoffed. 

“Pft, of course. It’s like riding a bike, right?” 

It was not like riding a bike. 

The moment Jisung was on the ice he was slipping and sliding everywhere except where he actually wanted to go. His arms flailed around and his legs slid across the ice in opposite directions, forcing him into a near split before he landed gracelessly on his butt. His lips jutted out in an exaggerated pout as Minho doubled over laughing, clutching his sides like Jisung’s pain was the funniest thing he had ever laid eyes on. “You are not amazing. I just changed my mind. Stop laughing! ” he whined. 

Minho let out a little “ah” as he finally caught his breath and wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry, Hannie. You were just so confident.” Hannie. He hadn’t called him that in a while. 

Minho eased towards him on his own skates and held his hand out for Jisung to take. Jisung’s eyebrows furrowed and he pursed his lips but he took his hand anyway. Unfortunately, even with Minho holding his hand, he was still unsteady on his feet and they nearly slipped out from under him as he stood so he went colliding into Minho’s chest. 

Warm arms went around his waist, holding him steady. Jisung inhaled a shaky breath, his nose filling with the scent of Minho’s cologne. It was something vanilla and sweet and it made Jisung a little dizzy. “Careful,” Minho chastised, his voice so gentle and warm that it melted over Jisung like caramel. “Hold onto me and I’ll help you.” 

It wasn’t good for Jisung to be this close to Minho. His ex and ex best friend. It wasn’t good for his sanity or his heart but Jisung was selfish. It was okay anyway, right? He was just helping him skate. So he nodded, not trusting the sound of his own voice now that he’d had real physical contact with Minho and had smelled his sugary cologne. 

“Okay, wrap your arm around me.” 

Jisung did as he was told and moved away from Minho just enough that he could wrap one arm around his waist. Minho did the same, his gloved hand coming to grip the curve of Jisung’s waist. They had too many layers between them for Jisung to really feel it but his breath still hitched at the pressure. Minho didn’t seem to notice, and if he did notice, he didn’t say anything. He got right into guiding Jisung along the ice, holding him firmly so that he wouldn’t slip. It started to come back to him as they glided along the smooth surface, but Jisung didn’t want to let go, even after he became confident enough to do it on his own. It was cold and Minho was so warm and his fingers felt nice digging into his side. He was probably holding him harder than he needed to but that didn’t phase Jisung one bit. 

“You really did forget all of this in America,” Minho said, shaking his head. “Is it really that warm there?” 

“Well, no…” Jisung responded, cheeks burning from embarrassment. “I just live in California near the ocean and it’s super warm there. We hardly ever get snow there. And America is so big, hyung! There’s places there that are super cold.” 

“Oh yeah, I know. I just mean…I don’t know…kinda forgot what state you lived in,” Minho admitted sheepishly. “I thought it was like New York or something. Nevermind.” 

Jisung frowned softly, discomfort twisting in his stomach. “It’s okay. I mean, we didn’t really talk about where I was going that much…and it’s been a while.” 

Minho hummed and when Jisung glanced up his lips were pursed and his expression looked pinched. The discomfort spread through Jisung’s stomach and settled in his chest like a weight. There was something hollow there, nestling deep inside him. They had stopped moving, no longer moving smoothly across the ice. The air had gotten colder and it was thick with the unspoken truth they both knew. We don’t know each other anymore. 

Minho looked over at Jisung and his face relaxed a little. “Sorry just… I know it’s silly. It’s just where you live. But it’s really been so long. I don’t–” He swallowed and for the first time Jisung noticed his eyes were glassy. “I don’t know anything about what your life has been like for the last–what? Four years?”

The hollow feeling crawled up Jisung’s throat and he held down a distressed sound. “Let’s–let’s sit down, hyung.” 

Minho nodded in agreement and he directed them to the edge of the rink so they could sit down on one of the benches. They were silent for a moment, both of them trying to figure out what to say, what needed to be said. After a moment, Jisung decided to be the first to speak. “What do you want to know?” 

“Huh?” Minho asked, tilting his head to look at Jisung. 

“What do you want to know about me? About my life. Since the last time we talked.” 

“Everything,” Minho answered easily. “I want to know everything, please.” 

So Jisung told him everything. He told him how he never intended to stop messaging him, how it almost just happened and in the end he thought it might be for the best–but he also told him how sorry he was for that. How the guilt still twisted his stomach like a hoard of snakes whenever he thought about it. He also told him about Chan, a music student from Australia, and Changbin, another music student who had grown up in New York city his entire life but had deeply Korean traditions, both who were Jisung’s two best friends in the United States. He told him how they wanted to start a production group together called 3Racha and they had been slowly working towards producing for bigger artists. He told Minho about the relationships he had while he was in America, not missing the way that Minho’s eyes flashed at mention. He told him about the friends he had made and about the time he went out drinking with Chan and Changbin and got so drunk he made an utter fool out of himself by attempting to dance on the bar. He told him how he started seeing a therapist for his anxiety and how he discovered that working out really helped him mentally. He told him everything that he could think of, everything that would make it seem like Minho had been there all those years. 

The sky was dark with only a hint of sunlight peeking over the horizon when Jisung finished. The tips of his ears were numb and his nose was running from the cold and even though his hands were shoved into his coat pockets, they still felt cold. Anyone else who had been there previously was gone and it was getting close to the point where the rink would be closed off for the night. 

“I’m sorry I took up all our time with my talking,” Jisung said through chattering teeth. Minho smiled softly and shook his head. 

“Don’t worry about it. It’s okay. I just liked spending time with you. Getting to hear you talk,” Minho told him. “Your life sounds so interesting.” 

Jisung chuckled. “Not super interesting. Just chaotic.” 

“It’s interesting to me.” Minho’s eyes held his and his gaze was so intense for a moment that Jisung’s heart nearly stuttered to a stop. But then the intensity was gone, leaving behind a mob of butterflies in Jisung’s stomach. “We should get going. Maybe get some hot cocoa since it’s so cold?” 

“Yeah, that sounds good. I’d like that.” Jisung stood up from the bench and stretched. His limbs were stiff from the cold and from sitting so long. The thought of hot cocoa made a shiver run through him from his head to his toes. He couldn’t wait to be warm and cozy instead of freezing. 

They dropped off their skates and went to Minho’s car. On their way back, they picked up some hot cocoa to go and as the warmth settled in Jisung’s stomach he let out a content sigh. Even though they didn’t spend their whole time out ice-skating, Jisung was happy. He felt a weight was off his chest now that he had shared so much about his life with Minho. There was still more they probably needed to talk about. The end of their friendship, their breakup. Jisung still wanted to be Minho’s friend, but he couldn’t deny there was something more there. Something that could be worth pursuing now that they were both older and more mature. The problem was, Jisung was nervous. It had only been a week since they had reunited and as much as Minho now knew about his life, Jisung knew little about what Minho had been doing all this time. 

He had been working on stepping out of his comfort zone though. He had been working on facing his fears. 

“I wanna hear about your life too,” Jisung said softly, picking at the edge of the lid on his hot cocoa cup with his thumb. “I did a lot of talking and you didn’t get to tell me about yourself.” 

“It’s not all that interesting,” Minho replied with a shrug, turning the wheel with a single hand. 

Jisung shook his head adamantly. “Not true. It’s you. And I think it’s up to me to decide whether or not it’s interesting while you’re telling it, right?” He smiled playfully and Minho sighed, rolling his eyes. 

“Alright, I’ll tell you everything you need to know,” Minho said with a chuckle. “But, later. It’s late. When we hang out next. If you want that, of course.” 

Jisung bit his lip, a jolt of excitement shooting through him. Minho wanted to continue spending time with him. That was good. “I do!” He nodded. “And then you’ll tell me everything, right?” 

“I will.” Minho took a quick glance at him and smiled so fondly Jisung was sure his heart would melt through his ribcage. 

“Then I can’t wait.” His lips curled up in a soft smile and he took a sip of his hot chocolate. The drive was quiet from that point on, with only the sound of the road underneath them for background noise. Jisung tried not to let his mind wander too much, but there was still something left on his mind that he needed to say. 

They arrived at Jisung’s house and as he stepped out of the car, he turned to look at Minho. “I’m sorry. For not texting you back. I should have–I wanted to, I just—” He sighed and chewed on his bottom lip. “I don’t really have an excuse. But I didn’t forget about you. I’m sorry I did that to you.” 

Minho smiled a little ruefully but Jisung could tell that behind the hurt that must have been there, there was sincerity. “It’s okay. It’s in the past now, yeah? I think I needed it anyway.” 

Jisung gave him a nod. “Well, it won’t happen again.” He didn’t say that really, over the last few days he had realized that he never wanted Minho out of his life again. He was a different person than the one that had left for the states, a better one. He could do better now. 

Minho’s smile changed into something sweeter and Jisung’s breathing became easier. “I’m glad. And if you do leave me on read again, I’ll just keep bothering you. Sound good?” 

Jisung’s cheeks hurt from how hard he smiled. “Yeah, sounds really good, hyung.” 

They said goodbye and when Jisung went inside, he placed his hand flat over his racing heart. This was so bad for him. He felt like he was slipping on ice again, careening towards the ground. Only there was a chance that someone might be there to catch him this time. 

Jisung did not get to see Minho much for the next few days. He was busy with the coffee shop and Jisung was busy spending time with his parents and old friends. He got together with his friend Hyunjin, who he had been close to in high school, and that brought a lot of ease to him. Hyunjin was as annoying as ever, but that only made Jisung happier to see him. Their time together reminded him of more carefree days, summers off of school, skipping class to do anything but homework. He hadn’t realized how closed off he had been to his old home until now, but now he had gone from being worried about his return to never wanting to leave. 

His parents seemed to be just as happy to have him back. His mom was making all his favorite foods for every meal and giving him portions to the point where he could swear his pants were getting tighter. His father insisted on hearing about every song Jisung produced or worked on, which was a little overwhelming but Jisung would never pass on sharing his pride and joy with someone else. 

With these bright sides though, there was something…slightly more annoying. They seemed intent on making Jisung’s reunion with Minho a Big Deal. 

“So…have you stopped by the coffee shop these last couple days?” Jisung’s mother asked as she stood at the sink washing vegetables for dinner. Jisung could feel his cheeks turn fifty shades of red and he shook his head. 

“No. Besides, why does it matter, huh? Something you want to tell me, eomma?” 

Jisung had figured out by now that his parents set him up to meet Minho. It didn’t take much inference to come to that conclusion. He was grateful but at the same time he couldn’t help but shake his head at their scheming. 

“No, nothing,” she said with a shrug, humming as she set the vegetables in a bowl. “I’m just glad that you two are talking again. You both always got along so well.” 

“I always liked him,” his father piped up as he entered the dining room. “A really good kid, that one. You should invite him over sometime! Christmas dinner?” Jisung resisted the urge to groan. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes to rub them. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Minho over for Christmas dinner. It just felt a bit too soon for that. And it might insinuate that he wanted more with Minho–which might not be a lie at this point. 

“I don’t think he’d want to do that. We’re just getting back to knowing each other.” He sighed, slumping down in his seat. 

“Well tell him he’s invited!” his mother said with a sharp nod of her head. “He can say no if he wants, but the offer is there!” 

“Humor you eomma, Jisung-ah,” his dad said. 

Jisung did groan this time, long and heavy; like a petulant child. “I’ll ask. Don’t worry.” 

That seemed to satisfy them for the time being and they quickly changed the subject to something else. Jisung didn’t know what–he was once again too lost in his thoughts. Thoughts about Minho, who was taking up too much of his mind. He shouldn’t be like this, not with his ex. But he couldn’t help it. His parents were right. They did work well. Chopsticks, their friends used to call them. 

Perhaps now, things could be different. Perhaps now, the distance wouldn’t be so hard to bridge. 

Later that day, it was Jisung who messaged Minho, asking when he was free to hang out next. They had been texting more since the day Minho brought him skating and through some of those texting conversations, Jisung had learned more about what Minho had been up to during the past few years. To his surprise, he discovered that Minho had not had a boyfriend since they had broken up. He learned that he had a situationship and a few miscellaneous no-strings-attached relationships that did not last long, but nothing substantial. The sicker part of Jisung’s brain twisted with excitement at this news. It made him believe that there was a chance. He wasn’t even sure when he had started wanting Minho back, but somehow he felt like he had since the moment he laid eyes on him in the coffee shop his first full day back home. 

Minho responded a half an hour later, waking Jisung up from the light sleep he had fallen into while lying on his bed watching anime. He rubbed his groggy eyes and blinked rapidly at his screen as his eyes adjusted to the bright light. 

Minho-hyungie

6:34pm You wanna come over tomorrow night? I’d invite you over tonight but I’m totally unprepared for guests lmao 

Jisung 

6:35pm Waaaa you wanna prepare for mee? \(๑•́o•̀๑)/

Minho-hyungie

6:35pm I’m just a great host 

Jisung 

6:37pm Yeah yeah But tomorrow does work good for me *gasp* we should make Christmas cookies! 

Minho-hyungie

6:40pm And have you burn my house down? No way 

Jisung pouted, rolling over on his bed. He had gotten much better at cooking since he and Minho were last together. Minho’s worry wasn’t entirely unfounded since the last time Jisung tried to cook anything he did end up lighting it on fire, but he had grown. He was twenty-four and he would be damned if he couldn’t make some Christmas cookies. 

Jisung 

6:42pm That’s so mean hyung :c I’m a lot better at cooking now yk And you can always bake the cookies while I decorate :3

Minho-hyungie

6:43pm Mhm sure I’ll pick up the ingredients tonight 

Jisung 

6:43pm Yayy! You’re the best 

Setting his phone down, Jisung stared up at the ceiling. His heart was beating too fast and his cheeks were warm, which was becoming a common side effect of talking to Minho or being in his presence. He was royally fucked. 

It only got worse as he got ready to go over to Minho’s house the next evening. He was aware they weren’t doing anything particularly special, but he could still feel the budding anxiety blooming in his stomach. When he and Minho were last together, Minho was still living with his parents. He was on his way towards getting an apartment of his own, but he hadn’t gotten everything settled with that yet. Now Minho was an established adult–he had his own place, his own home. There would be little bits and pieces of Minho’s personality spread throughout the entire place–he would get to meet Minho’s cats that he had heard so much about since returning to Korea. Jisung would be in Minho’s most personal space, he would see the most vulnerable parts of him. And they would be wholly, entirely alone. Together. 

He knew he was making a bigger deal of it than he needed to. But to him, it felt like something big. And it twisted his stomach and pulled his ribs together until the ends were rubbing against each other, making his chest too tight for him to breathe. 

But then Minho texted him a picture of his cat Soonie next to a ball of cookie dough with a text that said, “He keeps trying to steal our cookies. You better hurry up,” and suddenly Jisung didn’t feel as worried. Even if he and Minho were still in the process of getting to know each other again, it was still Minho. And as much as they didn’t know each other, they knew each other more than anyone else could ever understand. 

Everything would be fine. 

He arrived at Minho’s house five minutes before the clock hit 7pm. They had agreed to hang out “around that time,” so Jisung counted it as perfectly on time, if not a little early. Minho’s house was smaller than his family’s home and towards the outskirts of town. There were a few other houses lining the street around it and he had a small yard and what looked like it would be a flower garden during the summer. He had a doorbell so Jisung didn’t bother knocking, opting to ring it in hopes that it worked. 

Minho’s muffled voice responded from behind the door followed by the quiet padding of feet on the floor. Moments later, the door opened and there was Minho, smiling softly. His hair was slightly mussed and he was wearing an apron that had flour and a few sauce stains here and there and his cheeks were slightly flushed. Jisung swallowed thickly. Royally fucked. “Hi, Jisung-ah,” he greeted. “Come in. Are you hungry? I made some dinner ‘cause I didn’t know if you would’ve eaten but I probably should’ve asked—” 

“That’s perfect,” Jisung replied, the smile that had already been on his face the moment Minho opened the door splitting into a wide grin. “I actually haven’t eaten so I could definitely eat now.” 

He followed Minho inside and was immediately hit with just how Minho his house was. It was small, but cozy. Countless plants were spread throughout the living room and the kitchen, sitting on the edges of counters and tables. His furniture and decor was all warm toned with dark green and yellow throw pillows on his couch and a lounge chair he had in the door. There was a yellow checkered tablecloth on the dining room table and a pair of salt and pepper shakers shaped like cats in the middle. The sight alone made Jisung’s heart swell. 

After he was finished surveying the house, he finally noticed the delicious smell wafting from the kitchen. His stomach growled and his mouth watered, hit with the different spices in the air from whatever Minho had been cooking. “Oh my gosh I’m like, actually so excited to eat,” he said with a laugh. Minho turned and looked at him fondly. 

“Yeah? Well, good. I made a good amount,” Minho said, going to get the food off the counter. “Ah–it’s japchae. Is that okay?” 

Jisung’s eyes lit up. “Oh that’s perfect. Seriously. What planet are you from, hyung? You’ve always been so good at cooking.” 

Minho laughed and shrugged as he got the food for them. “Mars, but I didn’t learn to cook there.” 

Jisung shook his head, huffing out a laugh. “You’re so weird.” 

“You like weird though, right?” Minho asked with an attempted wink. Jisung’s stomach did somersaults. There was a time, so long ago, where he and Minho were sitting outside one summer night. Minho was having a hard time with his parents and some of his friends and had lamented at that moment that he was, “just too weird for people.” Jisung had turned to him, cupped his face in his hands and said, “You are never too weird, hyung. Not for me. And besides. I like weird.” 

To think that Minho still remembered that. Jisung ached. And worse, he wanted. 

Minho cleared his throat after Jisung had been silent for too long. “Sorry, that was…too much.” 

“No,” Jisung quickly reassured him. “You’re right. I do.” He smiled and Minho’s eyes went wide for a second before he smiled back. 

It was that moment that there was the sound of paws running across the floor and something furry was rubbing against Jisung’s legs. He looked down and let out a gasp at the sight of Minho’s cat, Soonie, curling himself around his ankles. Then, in less than a second, another ball of fur joined Soonie, butting its head against Jisung’s legs while emitting a loud purr. “Oh my gosh. Soonie and Doongie, right?” Jisung asked, kneeling down to pet the two cats on the head. “Hi guys! Oh aren’t you just the cutest? Oh my, so soft!” he cooed, scratching behind Doongie’s ears. 

“Yep, that’s them. Dori’s probably hiding somewhere, but I’m sure he’ll come out eventually.” 

Jisung glanced up as he petted the two cats and found Minho smiling down at him. He quickly looked away, but the sight made his cheeks warm. 

“As much as I would like for you to keep getting to know my babies, we should probably eat. The food’s gonna get cold,” Minho said, which prompted Jisung to pout. He gave both Soonie and Doongie a final pat on the head and let out a dramatic sigh. 

“I’m sorry, kitties, but your owner insists I leave you.” Doongie meowed and Jisung’s frown deepened. “I know, right?” He shook his head playfully as he stood up. Minho watched him with an amused glint in his eye as he went to sit down at the table. “Oh wow this looks good,” he exclaimed as soon as he laid eyes on the food in front of him, completely forgetting about his cat dilemma. He was salivating just looking at the food. 

Minho chuckled as he joined him sitting down and picked up his chopsticks. “Well I hope it tastes as good as it looks. Please, eat.” 

Jisung was never one to not listen when told to eat, so he did. And immediately he felt himself fall again for Minho entirely, the first bite of noodles bursting with so much flavor he nearly moaned. “Hyung, what the fuck,” he groaned. He scooped up another bite with his chopsticks and slurped the noodles into his mouth. “This is amazing. You’re amazing.” He almost tacked on an “I love you,” but refrained. 

“It’s not anything that special,” Minho said with a shrug. Jisung wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. 

“It is though! And you will accept the compliment.” 

Minho rolled his eyes and laughed. “Alright, I will, thank you.” 

Satisfied, Jisung went back to eating with more vigor than he even ate the meals his mother prepared. He would have to tell her that she had competition.

- 

Jisung looked ridiculously adorable, all messy from decorating cookies. There was a smear of blue icing on the corner of his mouth and flour on the tip of his nose. He was wearing one of Minho’s aprons because he didn’t want to get any of the icing on his outfit. Minho didn’t know what to do with the fact that he desperately wanted to kiss him. 

Making it through dinner without grabbing Jisung by the collar of his shirt and pulling him for a kiss was one of the most difficult things Minho had done in a long time. When Jisung took a bite and his eyes lit up and he smiled, when he groaned as the flavors hit his tongue, when he shook his hands in little fists, Minho’s heart ached. He had so many regrets and he wasn’t sure he could come back from them. He wanted Jisung back. He wanted his best friend back, he wanted the person he had once believed to be his soulmate back. 

Decorating cookies with Jisung made the thoughts in Minho’s head quiet down, at least a little bit. It made Minho so happy he couldn’t think negatively. Even if the ache in his heart didn’t subside, at least Jisung was here. And he was so happy. 

“Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree,” played in the background as Minho filled a Christmas tree-shaped cookie in with green icing. Jisung hummed softly to the tune and swayed his hips every now and then as he decorated his own snowman cookie. Minho’s eyes were drawn to the motion every few moments and he quickly averted his gaze whenever he realized what he was doing. Did he even know how irresistible he was? Or was Minho just insane? 

“Aww, I messed up his eyes,” Jisung whined, his bottom lip jutting out in a pout. He held up his snowman cookie, showing Minho the smeared black where the eyes were supposed to be. If it weren’t for the white all over the cookie and the shape it probably wouldn’t even look like a snowman with how wonky the features were, but to Minho, it was the best snowman in the entire world. 

“That’s okay, I think it looks just fine,” Minho reassured him with a slight smile. 

Jisung huffed a little, shaking his head. “All your cookies look perfect. It’s so annoying.” 

Minho couldn’t help but laugh at that, his cheeks hurting slightly from how much he had been smiling the whole evening. “And yours are good too, Sung. Besides, we’re just gonna eat them anyway so how they look doesn’t matter.” 

“That’s just a nice way of saying mine look fucked up.” 

“It is not!” Minho denied, even if Jisung’s snowman looked more like a demented Santa Claus. He tried. That’s what mattered. 

“Sure,” Jisung mumbled. He went back to decorating his cookies, a sulk plastered on his face. A chuckle escaped Minho’s lips and he rolled his eyes. 

They continued decorating cookies like that, mostly in silence. Occasionally Jisung would pipe up to say something random or he would sing along to the Christmas song that was playing. It was pleasant. Minho felt more comfortable than he had in a long while and for the first time in years, his chest swelled with a true Christmas feeling. His happiness swelled up and overflowed enough to get caught in his throat, giddiness like a child on Christmas morning spreading through even his limbs. 

Minho saved most of his cookies so that he could have a nice spread once he was done. Jisung periodically ate the cookies he made, and when they were finished, Minho had about a dozen cookies left while Jisung had a solid six and was complaining about his stomach hurting. 

“If you hadn’t eaten so many your stomach wouldn’t be hurting,” he scolded. 

“You can’t blame me when they’re cookies you made,” Jisung retorted, indignant. He gingerly rubbed over the top of his stomach and sighed. “It’s not my fault.” He lifted his hand to his face and licked bits of crumb and icing off his fingertips. Minho swallowed thickly. 

“Mhm, blame me.” 

He picked up one of his cookies and held it between his teeth as he gathered the rest onto a plate. “Wanna wastch a Chwrifmash movie?” he asked, words garbled by the cookie in his mouth. Jisung side-eyed him, the corners of his mouth turning downwards. 

“You couldn’t have asked before sticking that in your mouth?” Minho shrugged, finally biting off the piece. Damn, they were good. “But yes, I do. Can we have snacks too?” 

“You were just complaining about your stomach hurting,” Minho said, but at the same time went to his cabinets to see what he had. Jisung didn’t seem phased by his comment, instead going to his living room to make himself comfortable on the couch. The sight of him so at ease did something to Minho’s poor heart and he wet his lips, his mouth suddenly feeling dry. 

 He joined Jisung on the couch a few minutes later with two bottles of soju and an assortment of movie snacks in hand. He sat down with enough space between him and Jisung for another person. He knew they had gotten closer recently, but he wanted to make sure Jisung was comfortable. If they were going to be closer, Minho needed Jisung to make the first move. 

“What movie d’ya wanna watch?” he asked, leaning back against the couch cushions as he opened the bottle of soju. Peach flavored. He remembered Jisung saying he liked that in the past and hoped he still did. The first sip settled in his stomach with a pleasant warmth. Maybe a bit of alcohol would stop his thoughts. 

“Any is good. Elf, maybe?” Jisung asked. Minho snickered. He should have expected that. 

“Elf it is then.” He turned on the movie and Jisung settled back the same way he did, opening his soju with a quiet “thank you.” 

Ten minutes into the movie, Jisung scooted closer to Minho on the couch. He stiffened when he noticed and that made Jisung frown. “Is this okay?” he asked, sounding so small and vulnerable in a way that Minho never wanted to hear. 

“Yeah, it’s perfectly fine,” he told him with a gentle nod. He realized then that with as much as he wanted to be close to Jisung, Jisung might actually want the same thing. So instead of being a coward, he moved closer to Jisung and closed the gap between them so that they were touching from their shoulders down to their thighs. The contact made Minho’s skin tingle and his heart rabbited in his chest, yet somehow he wasn’t nervous. Maybe it was the sips of soju he’d had settling in his stomach sending alcohol through his veins–liquid courage–but he felt confident. Before he could overthink it, he wrapped his arm around Jisung’s shoulders, his fingertips brushing against his shoulder. He may have imagined it but for a second he thought he heard Jisung’s breath hitch at the contact. 

“Is this okay?” it was his turn to ask. Jisung nodded quickly, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. “You sure? I know we…” We’re not the same anymore. We’re exes. We broke up. We didn’t talk for years. 

“It is,” Jisung said, his voice the texture of cotton candy. The weight was removed from Minho’s chest. 

“Okay, good.” He pulled Jisung more into his side and caressed his shoulder with the tips of his fingers. He could hear Jisung’s soft breaths and could smell his shampoo like this–strawberry, he decided–and it was not good for his sanity. He was so warm against his body, so close. He had been worried about Jisung, but perhaps he should be worried about himself. 

They only made it five more minutes and another sip of soju into the movie before Minho’s feelings were exploding out of his chest, too much to contain. “Jisung…I…” He swallowed thickly and fiddled with Jisung’s shirt sleeve. He wasn’t looking at Jisung but he could feel his gaze on him. He took a deep breath. “I didn’t–I didn’t want to break up with you, back then. I thought–I thought it was the best thing for us but I didn’t want it. Fuck, I–I wanted you to say no.” His voice shook a little. 

“Hyung…” Jisung muttered, eyes wide as he stared at Minho. 

Minho wet his lips and turned his head, making eye contact with him. “I just…I need you to know. That I regretted it. There wasn’t a day I didn’t want you back.” 

“Hyung,” Jisung said again, his voice sounding a little more desperate. “Why–where is this coming from?” 

“I—” Minho wanted to blame it on the alcohol, but he wasn’t drunk. Sure, it was affecting him a little bit, easing his nerves, giving him the courage to say this. But it wasn’t why he was saying it. “Since the day you walked into my coffee shop last week, or whenever it was. I’ve been thinking about everything. And it just made me realize how much I missed you. I think I could–no, I am falling for you again, already. I just can’t keep it in, especially since you’ll be going to America again and I–” 

“Minho-yah, hey. Minho, it’s okay,” Jisung said, reaching up to cup Minho’s cheeks. Only when he brushed his thumb over the soft flesh there did he realize that he had started crying. What the fuck. 

“Sorry,” Minho choked. “I’m sorry, the last thing you probably wanted to come back to was your ex I mean we had to stop talking for a reason—” 

Minho was shut up the moment he felt Jisung’s plush lips press against his own in a warm, chaste kiss. There was little finesse, no tongue, no urgency, but in that moment it was everything. A calming buzz settled over Minho’s body and mind, something settling in his chest where it had been left hollow. Jisung tasted like peach soju and sugar from the cookies they had made together, and like something so familiar even six years later and so distinctly Jisung that it hit him with a wave of nostalgia. 

When Jisung pulled away, his heartbeat was roaring in his ears yet he felt calm. He felt sated, but he wanted more. That was the thing. When they broke up he said he was okay being his friend, but he continued wanting more. When Jisung came back, he told himself he wanted to be friends with him again, and here he was, wanting more. With Jisung, he was insatiable. Greedy. There was never enough when it came to Jisung. 

Jisung looked at him, seemingly waiting for a response to the kiss. He didn’t say anything else, rather, angled his body so he could face him better and pulled him into another kiss. This time he slotted their lips together with purpose, tilting his head so he could take all of Jisung in. He cupped Jisung’s cheek with one hand and the other he rested on Jisung’s waist. Oh his waist. It had always been one of Minho’s favorite parts of him and it turned out it was now, too. 

He gave the curve of Jisung’s waist a squeeze which prompted a small gasp from him. Minho parted his lips as Jisung gasped, licking across his bottom lip, a mere taste of all that he wanted. When Jisung seemed to reciprocate his desire, he licked into his mouth, swallowing down the little noises Jisung made as he kissed him deeper. He was a good kisser, much better than when they had been together as inexperienced teenagers. He tried not to think about all the people he must have kissed since then and tried to focus on the fact that regardless of any of that, Jisung was here. 

Jisung shifted and his hands slid from Minho’s cheeks to tangle in his hair and Minho groaned into his mouth. He wrapped his arm around Jisung’s waist and tugged him forward a little; Jisung seemed to get the memo because in the next moment he was moving to sit in Minho’s lap, his thighs straddling his hips. Minho tugged his bottom lip between his teeth and Jisung outright moaned, the sound pooling as arousal in his belly. 

“Min– Minho,” Jisung gasped against his mouth after Minho released his bottom lip. His hands fell from Minho’s hair to his shoulders and he gave a small roll of his hips–a barely-there movement, but Minho felt it. 

“ Mmh, Sung-ah, fuck,” he breathed. He felt dizzy, his head swimming like he was drunk. He wasn’t, but he might as well have downed the entire bottle of soju in one go. He hadn’t felt desperation like this in a long time. But he needed Jisung, needed him in ways he couldn’t begin to describe. 

Jisung released breathy whines into Minho’s mouth, their lips gliding together, slick and wet. Messy, but so good. Jisung’s breath came out in pants between kisses, a string of spit connecting them. It was driving Minho insane. And when he rolled his hips again Minho gasped at the friction against his cock, which was already hard in his sweatpants. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted—

But—

“Ah, Jisung, Sungie, wait,” he said when he got a moment to breathe from how incessantly Jisung was kissing him. Jisung froze, his movements stopping all together. 

“What is it?” he asked, eyes wide with worry, anxiety. 

Minho wet his lips, the taste of Jisung still lingering on them. “I don’t–I don’t really have anything for uh…uhm.” He gestured vaguely with his hand and cleared his throat. “And I think…I think we should wait. Maybe a little.” Getting those words out felt like tearing at his chest but with their history they couldn’t just rush into things. That would only end up in both of them getting hurt and that was the last thing Minho wanted. He wanted to do things right. 

Jisung frowned and looked a little disappointed, but he nodded. “You’re probably right,” he agreed softly. 

Minho swallowed. “I do want you,” he said, hoping to reassure any thoughts that might be going through Jisung’s head. “But I also want to make sure that you know I want you for more than just sex. And I don’t want us…I don’t want you to do something you might regret especially since you’ll be leaving and we have… history.” 

“I wouldn’t regret it though,” Jisung said assuredly. “I know that already.” He slid off of Minho’s lap but still stayed glued to his side. “And the same things you said, hyung. I didn’t want us to end either. And I never forgot about you. Even if I was an asshole and stopped messaging. That was never–it was never because I wanted to forget you. Fuck, Minho, I don’t think I could regret anything with you except for leaving you.” 

Minho’s eyes stung and he looked up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly a couple times. “That’s really…wow.” 

“We were stupid kids, hyung,” Jisung said, rubbing Minho’s shoulder. The action caused Minho’s heart to skip a beat. “I was too, especially. Neither of us knew what we were doing in life, I was totally immature.”

“Right person, wrong time,” Minho said with a wry laugh. Jisung still seemed like the right person, but would there ever be a right time? He was going back. Minho didn’t even want to think about it. 

“Yeah…” Jisung trailed off, looking down for a moment. “I know…things are kind of uncertain right now. But I want you to know that spending time with you since I got back has been the happiest I’ve been in a while.” 

Minho’s heart was going to beat out of his chest, he knew it. “That’s just because I feed you so much sugar.” 

“It is not!” Jisung gasped, shoving his shoulder. “You do make an amazing candy cane mocha, and amazing cheesecake, and amazing cookies–but that’s not the point!” 

Minho couldn’t help laughing, throwing his head back. “Ah, I know. I’m just teasing. I’m glad. Really. I’ve been happy too.” Jisung’s smile was worth any tension Minho had felt, any anxieties he had, any worries. He would do anything to see Jisung smile over and over again. 

A moment of quiet passed over them where Jisung just leaned against Minho. Then Minho took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Let’s think for a few days. I think I already know where I stand but I want to be sure. And I just want to keep enjoying my time with you.” What I have left until you leave. “And I want—” His cheeks warmed and he looked off to the side. “If we do anything, I want to make it special. I don’t get to have you for long, I want to make everything count.” 

Jisung stared at him for a moment before he grinned widely. He giggled and bounced in his seat. “ Hyung! That is so romantic and so cheesy. You’re so cute what the fuck.” He giggled again and Minho tongued his cheek. 

“I am not cute.” 

“You’re adorable. I lo–I love how much of a hopeless romantic you are.” 

Minho could deny Jisung’s accusations all he wanted but there was no way he could deny the way his heartbeat sped up just a little. “I just…I care about you, Sung-ah,” he said, his tone turning serious. “I know you haven’t been back for long, but I never stopped caring about you. So I want to show that.” Even if I only get to have you for one night. Even if that’s all I’ll ever get. 

“Hyung,” Jisung mumbled, eyes going a little wide. “I–that really means a lot. I care about you too. I’m still so sorry I just left like that. I won’t do it again. I promise.” 

Maybe Minho was a fool, but he chose to believe him. He reached up to brush a strand of hair behind Jisung’s ear. “I know. I wouldn’t let you anyway,” he joked, but inside he felt it was the truth. He couldn’t let him go again. He wouldn’t. 

“You better not,” Jisung said with a giggle. “Now let's pay attention to the movie. We missed Buddy getting attacked by the raccoon.” 

“Shit,” Minho muttered, laughing softly. “You’re right. Guess I’ll have to skip back.” 

The smile Jisung gave him made his heart ache. But it was a different ache this time. It was mixed with a little hope. 

“Yeah, you better.” 

-

For the next few days leading up to Christmas, Jisung thought a lot. He went over every memory he had with Minho in his head, mulled over his feelings for hours. His parents even asked him what was wrong with how silent he had been at the dinner table since he was usually full of endless conversation. He explained that he was alright but simply had something important on his mind. He was grateful to them for not prying too much. This was something he needed to figure out on his own. 

While he went over his thoughts, he tried to spend as much time with Minho as he could. That really only allowed for two coffee shop visits since he was busy with his own family and Minho was getting more visitors at the shop with it nearing Christmas. Couples were coming in every few minutes, holding hands, giggling, ordering matching drinks and desserts–Minho’s candy cane mocha was the most popular. Jisung had to agree with the popular choice. If he wasn’t coming for Minho there was a large chance he would come anyway to get it again. But maybe that was his bias. 

On his second visit since their night together, which happened to be the day before Christmas Eve, Jisung met Felix. He had heard about him from Minho and knew he helped out with the coffee shop on its busiest days but he hadn’t met him once since he had started coming there. He had not been expecting to hit it off with him so quickly. He was shocked to find out that they were born so close together, practically the same age. Felix could only be described as sunshine incarnate, with a smile that could blind anyone that looked at it for too long, and a personality that hooked anyone to him the moment they started talking to him. He spent more time talking to Felix then than he did Minho and there were more than a few times where he felt Minho’s gaze on them. Whenever Jisung looked over he would quickly look away, lips turned down in a frown. It made Jisung smile to himself. Minho was jealous. 

As much as Jisung enjoyed his jealousy, it was entirely unfounded. For some reason, Jisung meeting Felix only solidified his feelings. Meeting his friend somehow made him feel one step closer to the closeness they had once shared. And knowing he was friends with such an angel made him trust Minho more. 

That evening, while lying on his bed, he made his decision. He’d practically made it already, but he wanted to think about it like Minho wanted. He wanted Minho. That much he knew. There was a lot he had to figure out since he would be traveling back to the United States after the New Year, but he was also selfish. He wanted Minho even if the future was uncertain. He didn’t want to be cautious anymore. 

Jisung picked up his phone and his thumb hovered over Minho’s contact before he pressed “call.” It only rang a few times before there was a shuffled sound and Minho’s voice came over the speaker. 

“Hey, Hannie. What’s up?” 

Jisung licked his lips and sat up a bit straighter so he could focus. “Hi, hyung,” he greeted. “I’ve been thinking. About our conversation.” 

“Yeah?” Minho breathed. Jisung felt like he could hear his interest over the phone. 

“Yeah,” he reiterated. “I really do want you, hyung.” It made him blush to say it out loud again, his cheeks heating up from the simple admission. “I know it’s complicated and there’s a lot I have to figure out but you’re so…I wanna be yours again, hyung. Will you make me yours?” He swallowed thickly and took a deep breath as he waited for Minho’s response. He heard the other take in a sharp breath. 

“Yes. Yes, I’ll make you mine. I don’t care about anything else. I just want to have you one time, Sungie.” 

Jisung didn’t say how much he didn’t want it to be one time. This wouldn’t be their first time together, but somehow this felt even bigger than the first time they shared together. Jisung could still remember that moment. How they were both so young and inexperienced but that didn’t matter because it was them and they wanted each other even if they were still figuring out how things worked. Now they were reuniting with more experience, both of them more mature. Both of them with so much to figure out but with the undeniable pull towards each other. Jisung didn’t know how he had gone so long without talking to Minho. 

“You can have me, hyung,” he said, so soft he was worried Minho hadn’t picked it up, but the small hum he heard on the other side told him he had. 

“What are you doing on Christmas Eve?” Minho asked. 

Jisung didn’t even have to think. “I’m completely free. I’m not doing anything with my family until Christmas. And either way, I’m sure they would understand.” His parents had been nothing but encouraging of the renewal of his relationship with Minho. 

“Okay, good. Come over for dinner, then? I’ll make it really nice, just for you, Sung-ah.” 

A lump formed in Jisung’s throat and he nodded even though Minho couldn’t see. “That sounds perfect. Absolutely perfect. I’ll see you tomorrow then?” 

“Mm. Same time as last time.”

“Alright, hyung. I’ll see you then!” 

“See you then. I’ll let you go now, ‘kay? Gotta go give the demons water.” Jisung found himself nodding again, even though Minho couldn’t see. “Goodnight, Hannie.” 

“Okay, goodnight, Minho-hyung,” he said, unable to hold back his smile. The line cut off and he let out a sigh as he put his phone down. He had a date with Minho. A Christmas date no less. 

He was so fucked. 

Jisung had done his makeup, styled his hair, and done every possible thing under the sun to make himself the prettiest for Minho that he possibly could. He figured Minho liked him as he was, but a little extra effort didn’t hurt. Especially since he had a strong feeling of where the night was going to go after dinner. His eyes had a light golden shimmer on the lids and there was mascara on his lashes, his lips were a rosy pink tinted from a lip stain and gloss, and had added a hint of blush on his cheeks. He didn’t need much since he would most likely be blushing the entire evening anyway.

Minho’s smile when he invited him in was blinding and it made butterflies explode in Jisung’s stomach. He could tell that despite Minho’s excitement, he was still a little nervous which quelled some of Jisung’s nerves. 

“You look pretty, Hannie,” he said softly as he took in Jisung’s appearance. If it was possible for an entire body to blush, Jisung’s did just that. 

“Thank you, hyung-ah,” he replied, smiling bashfully to himself. Minho still thinks I look pretty. 

The house smelled just as good as last time and his stomach growled the moment he stepped inside. There was a bigger spread than before and the yellow checkered tablecloth had been replaced by a red tablecloth with two lit candles in the middle. The lights were dimmed and the flames of the candles cast a warm glow over the kitchen that made it the perfect combination of cozy and romantic. And when Jisung glanced into the living room he saw that Minho had even set up a Christmas tree. It was fake and some areas were more sparsely decorated than others, but it was the most beautiful tree he had ever seen. His eyes stung. 

“I hope this isn’t too much. Or too little–I wanted it to be nice,” Minho rushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I also–I made a cheesecake. Since I know you like that.” 

“This is perfect, ” Jisung exclaimed. He felt like his heart was going to explode out of his chest. “And you made me cheesecake? You’re amazing. I could kiss you.” 

Minho blinked a few times and then said, his voice a little softer, “You could.” 

Jisung’s eyes went wide but then he smiled, stepping into Minho’s space so he could hold him closer. He tilted his chin up and pressed his lips to Minho’s, eyelids fluttering shut. The kiss was a lot less passionate than the last one they had shared, but not as chaste as the first kiss Jisung had given him. It was just deep enough, the quick swipe of tongue against parted lips a promise of what was to come. 

“You taste so good, Sungie,” Minho murmured as he pulled away and Jisung’s cheeks turned a fiery red. 

“Goodness, shut up,” he whined, shoving him away playfully. “I won’t kiss you again if you’re gonna be embarrassing.” Minho smirked, satisfied with himself. They both knew Jisung was lying. He would kiss Minho again, and again, and again. 

They got to dinner after that, Minho being the gentleman he was and filling Jisung’s plate for him. There was a thick layer of tension that hung in the air as they ate and it made Jisung’s skin tingle and his stomach twist in delight. It was hard to focus on conversation, but he did his best to talk since it was Minho. And he could talk to Minho endlessly. He explained his Christmas plans and learned that Minho wouldn’t be seeing his parents for Christmas. As much as that saddened him, he wasn’t surprised. Minho had always had a rocky relationship with his parents; he was just sad they had never made any effort to repair their relationship with him. He invited him over to his house with his family but he learned that he already had plans to spend time with Felix and his family who were visiting from Australia. Rather than making Jisung jealous, he only felt happy. 

Dinner was filling and delicious and the cheesecake Minho had made was even better than the ones he made for his coffee shop. It practically melted on his tongue and Jisung couldn’t hold back the moan as the taste. “This is literally the best thing I have ever tasted. You have to make these like, every day now. Like seriously, send me this, hyung. I don’t know what I’ll ever do now that I’ve tasted this.” 

Minho blushed and the sight was so pretty Jisung nearly fainted. “I guess I’ll have to now, if you like it so much,” he said. Then, something in the air seemed to shift and Minho’s gaze shifted. He reached across the table and for a moment Jisung was confused at what he was doing, but then he cupped his jaw and swiped his thumb across his bottom lip. “You always eat desserts so messy.” 

Jisung’s cheeks heated up and his stomach swooped. He was going to whine, complain, but Minho apparently wasn’t done. His thumb still remained on Jisung’s lip and he gingerly pulled it down so his mouth opened just enough for him to slip his thumb inside. “Here,” he said. There was a gravelliness to his voice that hadn’t been there before. “Don’t want you to waste any.” 

Stunned, Jisung could only blink at him. And then he did the most logical thing–he swirled his tongue around Minho’s thumb, licking off the crumb of cheesecake he had swiped up. That seemed to satisfy Minho and his lips quirked up as he popped his thumb out of Jisung’s mouth. 

“Good boy. ” 

Jisung gasped and a jolt of arousal zipped through his stomach. He suddenly felt dizzy and all too aware at the same time. Minho ran his thumb along Jisung’s bottom lip, coating it in his own spit, before he pulled away. His lip and jaw tingled where Minho’s touch had been and his entire body felt like it was on fire. Fuck. 

“Finish up, Jisung.” Minho’s eyes were half lidded, sharp and catlike, and arousal pooled in Jisung’s stomach and prickled at his skin like needles. 

He nodded and took another bite of his cheesecake because even though his mind was elsewhere now, there was no way he would let it go to waste. And the sooner he finished, the sooner he could get to the real dessert of the night. 

Minho’s eyes were fixed on him the entire time he made his way through the dessert. He was afraid to look up, but when he did he found that Minho’s eyes never left him, even when they made eye contact. Occasionally Jisung noticed his gaze shifting from his face to his mouth–when he licked some of the cream off his lips the rhythm of Minho’s breathing changed, and even that sound was enough to make heat boil in the pit of Jisung’s stomach. 

Jisung licked the fork clean after the last bite and set it down on the plate. “Done, hyung,” he announced, the anticipation for what was to come sending tingles up and down his spine. 

“Did you like it?” Minho asked as he got up from his chair. Jisung followed, standing on shaky legs. Minho was in his space with two strides and he placed his hand on the curve of Jisung’s waist. His thumb rubbed up and down, melting Jisung’s brain into sugary syrup. 

“Yeah, it was amazing,” he mumbled, swallowing thickly. “I loved it.” 

“Mind if I see for myself?” Jisung knew what he was asking immediately–Minho already had his own slice, but that didn’t matter. 

“Please,” he whispered, heart beating wildly in his chest. 

The grip on his waist tightened and then Minho was kissing him. He coaxed his mouth open with his tongue and pulled him close until their bodies were flush together. He eased a thigh between Jisung’s legs and he let out a gasp into his mouth at the friction. He could feel Minho smirking against his mouth as he used the hand on his waist to make Jisung grind down onto his thigh. 

At the same time, he used the hand that wasn’t holding Jisung’s waist to grab Jisung’s hair and tilt his head so that he could slot their mouths together better. The slick sounds of their lips and tongues sliding together made the arousal coiling in Jisung’s belly grow and he whimpered pathetically. His mind felt hazy already from just a little kissing, his cock already fully hard in his pants as he practically humped Minho’s thigh. It was embarrassing but that only made him more turned on. 

“Minho-hyung, ahhh,” Jisung moaned as Minho tilted his head back with a tug of his hair and began planting open-mouthed kisses on his neck. The kisses quickly changed to him sucking bruises on his neck. He nipped gentle at the skin and Jisung let out a little ah again. 

“You sound so pretty…fuck you’re so pretty for me, Hannie,” he mumbled against his skin. Each brush of his lips made Jisung shiver and his cock twitched in his underwear. 

“Please, Mm-Minho,” Jisung begged. His legs were beginning to shake–any second he was going to collapse to the floor in a pile of goo. 

“Let’s go to the bedroom, hm?” 

Jisung nodded quickly as Minho led him down the hall to his bedroom. He never let go of his waist, instead wrapping his arm around him to guide him. It made Jisung feel safe somehow–owned, like he belonged to Minho. And maybe that was what he had needed all along. Maybe that was why none of the relationships he’d had in America felt right. Because right was waiting for him in South Korea. 

Minho’s bedroom was much like the rest of his house. Various potted plants spread about, some hanging from the ceiling. There was a cat tree in the corner and fairy lights going around the room attached to the ceiling. His bed was big and the blankets were a soft mint color. He still has the same favorite color, Jisung mused to himself as Minho laid him down on the bed. 

“Is this still okay?” Minho asked as he hovered over him, his hands sliding underneath Jisung’s sweater. His breath hitched as he nodded eagerly. 

“Yes, it’s perfect. I want you. Please,” he answered. To prove his point he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, leaving himself half naked for Minho to admire. Minho inhaled as he took in Jisung’s body, the curve of his waist, his built chest, the muscles in his arms. Jisung knew he looked good, but Minho’s hungry gaze still made him feel shy. He moved to cross his arms over himself after Minho looked too long, but he grabbed Jisung’s wrists and pinned them down. 

“Don’t hide, jagi, ” Minho instructed. “You look so perfect. So goddamn pretty.” 

Jisung swallowed down a whimper at the praise and the pet name. Jagi. Minho called him jagi. He never imagined he would hear him say that again, but here he was, calling him that while he pinned his wrists to the bed. He was blushing all the way down to his chest already. “I won’t, but hyung. Stop staring. I want you.” 

“What do you want, hm?” Minho asked, tilting his head. 

Jisung whined, his cheeks burning. “I want–” He wet his lips. “I want you to fuck me. Please, fuck me, hyung.” 

Minho’s eyes fluttered shut as he groaned. “Fuck, such a good boy, asking so nicely. Yeah, of course I’ll fuck you.” 

He leaned down to capture Jisung’s lips in a hungry kiss again and his hands began roaming Jisung’s body, sliding down to undo his pants. Jisung’s senses were overwhelmed with Minho, the taste of his mouth, the smell of his cologne, the heat of his body. His hands left fire wherever they touched, sparks igniting, exploding into flames that enveloped Jisung’s entire body. 

He lifted his hips as Minho attempted to tug his pants and boxers down, having to pull away from the kiss for a moment to get him completely naked. They tossed them somewhere in the room, neither of them caring where they landed. 

With Jisung left completely naked and Minho still dressed, he felt incredibly vulnerable, but somehow safe at the same time. Minho’s eyes were trained on him again, drinking him in like he was some sort of magic elixir. Jisung had never felt so desired. Minho looked at him like he was ready to worship the ground he walked on. 

A bead of precum leaked from the tip of Jisung’s dick and he whined when Minho’s eyes flitted down to it. “Minho,” he pleaded. “You’re still fully clothed. I want to see you.” 

Minho chuckled and smirked down at him. “Yeah? What do you have to say?” 

“Please,” Jisung said. He wasn’t beyond begging. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to have Minho right now. “Please let me see you, hyung.” 

Minho smiled and pressed a quick peck to his lips. “Okay, okay. You can see me.” He pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it in the same direction Jisung’s pants had gone, and Jisung nearly drooled at the sight. He had gotten much more built over the years but still maintained a layer of softness over it all. Broad shoulders and muscular arms faded into a soft tummy that Jisung wanted to sink his teeth into. A light trail of hair went down into the waistband of Minho’s pants. His mouth watered. 

“Off,” he huffed, sitting up so he could start tugging down Minho’s pants. 

“Impatient,” Minho laughed even as he helped him tug them down. 

“Don’t tease me.” Jisung pouted. “I’m so needy for you and you’re teasing me!” 

“Oh baby,” Minho cooed. “You’re just so cute when you’re all pouty.” He cupped Jisung’s jaw and brushed his thumb over his bottom lip. Jisung’s heart skipped a beat and blood rushed to his cheeks. “But don’t worry, I won’t make you wait long. Just a second, okay?” 

Jisung nodded dumbly, laying back down on the bed as Minho scooted back to get rid of the rest of his clothes. His cock hung heavy between his legs, so hard and red. And fuck he was huge. Jisung’s hole clenched around nothing at the thought of it inside of him, fucking into him, keeping him so full. 

Minho grinned at him and crawled forward to sit between Jisung’s thighs. “Spread these pretty thighs for me, jagi,” he said softly, tapping Jisung’s upper thigh. Jisung let out an embarrassed whine at how his cock twitched at the simple contact. 

Jisung took a deep, shuddering breath as he bent his knees and spread his legs apart to give Minho access. He tried to keep his nerves down but they continued to bubble up, making his heart race. Minho seemed to notice and rubbed a soothing hand up and down his thigh. “Shh, relax. I’m gonna take care of you, m’kay? And you can tell me if you don’t want to do anything, alright?” 

He nodded, wetting his lips. “I know. I trust you.” He relaxed a little more as Minho smiled, allowing himself to sink into the bed. Minho moved his thighs further apart and reached behind him to grab a bottle of lube sitting on the dresser and a condom that had been placed there. Jisung bit his lip as he uncapped the bottle and poured a generous amount onto his fingertips. The sight of Minho’s hands covered in the slick substance had Jisung’s stomach twisting, arousal building. 

He reached between his legs and pressed his middle finger to his entrance. “‘M gonna open you up now, okay?” Jisung exhaled shakily, not trusting himself to speak. Minho bit his lip as he pushed the tip of his first finger past his rim and his eyes winded when he was met with no resistance. “ Baby, what is this?” he asked, his voice taking on a gravelly edge it hadn’t had before. 

Jisung squirmed under him, body heating up like he was sitting in front of a fire. “I–uhm–I fingered myself before I came…so I would be ready,” he admitted shyly. He hadn’t planned to, he just got in the shower and it happened. He couldn’t stop thinking about Minho, his touches, the kisses they’d shared, getting fucked by him. 

“Shit, Sung, that’s so fucking hot,” Minho groaned, sliding his finger all the way in. “Did you think about me while you fingered yourself? Imagine it was my fingers? Or my cock?” 

He curled his finger and Jisung moaned, nodding his head. “Hah–y-yes,” he hiccuped. “Pictured it was you…wanted it to be you, hyung.” 

“Shit.” Minho looked almost as affected as Jisung felt and it only made his dick ache more. 

“I can take two now, I promise. I’m all prepped already, I need you, ple– ahhh, ” he moaned, cutting himself off. Minho inserted a second finger, filling him up easily. Jisung had gotten to three fingers before he came all over his hand. Minho’s hands had always been smaller than his, his fingers shorter, but there was something about the fact that it was Minho that made it feel so much better. 

“Sucking me in just perfect, fuck, ” Minho breathed as he pumped his fingers inside his hole. “Can’t wait to fuck you, shit. You’re so pretty.” 

“ Min ,” Jisung gasped, back arching as Minho spread his fingers. “Another, please, I’m ready.” 

Minho was too far gone himself to question and after pulling out his first two fingers he pushed inside him again with three. Jisung’s breath hitched and his toes curled. Minho pushed his fingers deeper, just shy of where he needed it, and it was so much, yet not enough. He needed more, more, more. 

Minho fucked him with his fingers for a little while longer, reducing him to a whiny, breathless mess with just his hands in no time. Even if he had smaller fingers, he knew how to use them and could angle them better than Jisung ever could when he fucked himself. His cock was leaking all over his stomach and his body was shaking when Minho first brushed the tip of his fingers against his prostate. His stomach tensed and his cock twitched against his stomach, telltale signs of his orgasm approaching. 

“Mmm, ‘m gonna–gonna come if you d-don’t stop. I’m ready, I promise, need you to fuck me now,” he begged, eyes stinging with tears of desperation. 

“You sure, Hannie?” he asked, tilting his head. 

“Yes, please. I can take it.” 

Minho let out a little sound, akin to a moan, and it went straight to Jisung’s cock, electricity shooting through his stomach. “O-okay, shit. You’re so perfect. How are you so perfect?” he mumbled as he pulled his fingers out. Jisung whimpered at the loss, body arching against the bed. 

“Don’t–dunno. It’s just for you,” he said, and he truly meant it. Having Minho back, having him like this, felt so good, there was no way he could have anyone else. 

“All for me, hm?” His gaze softened for a moment before they narrowed again as he hiked Jisung’s legs up so he could fold his hips back. “You’ll be good for me and take it then, hm?” he asked as he rolled a condom onto his cock with his free hand. 

Jisung nodded vigorously, eyes wide as he watched Minho adjust him like a doll, with one hand no less. “Yes, yes, please, just fuck me, fuck me jagi,” he begged, the pet name slipping out easy on his tongue. Minho’s eyes went wide for a second and he blinked, but seconds later his expression was back to normal. 

“Gonna take such good care of you Sungie. My Sungie,” he muttered. Jisung moaned as the tip of Minho’s cock pushed inside of him. It was barely anything but already he felt so full. Minho was going to split him in half. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he whimpered, ass clenching around Minho’s length. Minho hissed through his teeth and squeezed the flesh of Jisung’s soft thighs. It hurt a bit, and they were probably going to bruise. Jisung hoped he would be bruised for weeks. 

“Shit, Sung, you’re so fucking tight. Gotta relax for me, m’kay baby?” 

Jisung tried but he was too overwhelmed. Already the sensation of Minho’s cock filling him up was too much, too much—

“Kiss me,” he breathed, inhaling sharply as Minho pushed in a little deeper. 

Minho didn’t respond, opting to instead maneuver between Jisung’s thighs so he could cage him in with his arms. And then his lips were on him, kissing him incessantly as he pushed his cock deeper, deeper. Jisung moaned into his mouth and Minho swallowed his sounds down like a shot. Their breaths mingled together and Jisung was at the point where he couldn’t determine whether the soft moans and whines he was hearing were from his own mouth or Minho’s. And before he knew it, Minho was fully seated inside of him, his hips pressed first against his ass. 

“Oh my–fuck, you feel so good around me Jisung. Hannie ,” Minho groaned against his lips. “So good, such a good boy, relaxing all nice for me.” He pulled back and oh, Jisung was going to die. He looked so pretty, cheeks and ears red, his lips cherry-tinted and spit-slicked. At that moment, he was like a god, and Jisung wanted nothing more than to worship him.

“‘M good. Feel so good inside of me,” Jisung moaned, pressing his head into the pillows so his neck arched. “‘M so full. You fill me up so well, hyung.” 

“Yeah?” Minho breathed, eyes gleaming. “Shit it’s like–it’s like you were made for me.” 

“Maybe I was,” Jisung supplied, too delirious to think about his words. The sound Minho made was akin to a growl and it made shivers travel over the expanse of Jisung’s body. 

“My Jisungie,” he mumbled, reverent. “Can I move now, jagi? Please, my pretty?” 

“Mhmm, please, need you. Need you to fu-fuck me yesterday,” he stuttered. “Wanna feel you.” 

“Fuck,” Minho moaned, and then he was pulling out, all the way, until just the tip was left inside. Jisung was only given a second before he slammed back in, punching the air out of Jisung’s lungs in the form of a choked moan. 

His thrusts were relentless, each one leaving Jisung breathless, dizzy. He cried out as Minho angled himself just right, the head of his cock brushing against his sensitive prostate. Pleasure pulsed in his tummy, so overwhelming and so good at the same time.

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck,” he cried, eyes stinging with tears again. 

“You–you look so fucking, mngh– pretty, shit, S-Sung,” Minho gritted in response. His hair was sticking to his forehead, sweat dripping down the sides of his face. A drop of it ran down and landed on Jisung’s cheek, causing his cock to jolt against his stomach, more precum beading at the tip. 

“ More, harder,” Jisung whined, his voice pathetic to his own ears. He wrapped his legs around Minho’s waist and Minho pushed forward with the extra help, practically folding him in half. The new angle had him hitting Jisung’s prostate head on, and it felt so good that tears finally spilled from Jisung’s eyes. They ran down his cheeks and spilled onto the pillow below him. Minho’s breath caught in his throat at the sight and he dropped his head between his shoulders. 

 “Are you–shit are you crying?” he asked breathlessly. Jisung whimpered. 

“Just feels–feels so good,” he sobbed. 

Minho groaned. “Fuck, you’re incredible. Taking it so well.” 

“Good? Am I good?” Jisung asked deliriously. He felt dumb, so dumb. Completely cockdrunk on Minho.

“ So good. Mm fuck. My good boy,” he praised. Jisung moaned wantonly at his words. He was so far gone. Everything was too much and simultaneously not enough. 

Minho continued fucking into him, maintaining a steady rhythm despite the fact that he was breathless and panting. Every thrust had Jisung sliding up the bed, his cock bouncing helplessly against his stomach. Even though Jisung’s stomach tensed every time he was filled up again, his body remained pliant, perfect for Minho to use how he wanted. He knew he must have looked utterly debauched to Minho with his mouth hanging open, endless moans spilling from his red-bitten lips. His makeup was probably running too. 

A hand reached between their bodies and wrapped around Jisung’s cock and he writhed. “ Nghh, Minho, Min– please, pleasepleaseplease—” he babbled, no clue at all what he was even begging for. Minho smiled crookedly above him. A drop of sweat collected at the tip of his nose. 

“Are you getting close, jagi?” Minho asked. His voice was rough and it made Jisung shudder. 

“Ye-yes,” he hiccuped. 

“Good,” Minho hummed. “You’ve been so good. You can come for me whenever you want.”

His body melted into pleasure as Minho began stroking his painfully hard cock in tandem with his thrusts. Jisung’s body was coming apart at the seams. He squirmed underneath Minho, the combined sensations of being fucked and touched almost too much–and then he was coming. He gasped and tossed his head back into the pillows as his orgasm washed over him and cum spilled all over his belly. He clenched rhythmically around Minho’s cock despite the overstimulation, pathetic whines falling from his lips. Minho groaned above him. 

“ Hng, oh my gosh, Sung-ah, you’re s-so–” was all he managed to get out. His thrusts stuttered as Jisung continued to clench around him while he rode out his orgasm. He needed to see Minho come, needed to see the expressions he made as he hit his peak. 

“Co-come inside me, pl-please,” he whimpered. He squeezed his legs around Minho’s waist and dug his heels into his lower back. “Please, wanna see you.” 

That seemed to be all the encouragement Minho needed, because all it took was a few more thrusts and he was coming too with Jisung’s name on his lips. He shoved his cock deep inside Jisung as he filled the condom and Jisung could almost imagine that it was him he was filling up instead. Minho moaned breathily as Jisung squeezed around his cock a couple times purposefully to milk him through his orgasm. The sound made Jisung’s cock twitch against his stomach even though he just came. There was no way he could get hard again so soon, but the sight and sound of Minho coming was almost enough. 

When he finished, he pulled out and tossed the condom in the trash and then let out a long exhale, collapsing onto the bed beside Jisung.  They laid there for a moment catching their breaths, the only sound in the room their gentle panting. Then Minho rolled over to face Jisung wordlessly. Jisung turned his head toward him and Minho merely blinked a few times and then his arms came around to pull him close. He maneuvered them until Jisung was on his side and they were spooning, Minho’s arms wrapped securely around his waist. His breath fanned across Jisung’s neck as he nuzzled close, and he remained silent. 

For a second Jisung thought that he was asleep, that was until he heard him take in a stuttering breath. “Minho?” he questioned softly, something twisting in his stomach at the sound. 

Minho exhaled slowly and squeezed Jisung’s waist tighter. “Please stay,” he whispered, voice small and barely audible. Seconds away from breaking. An ache spread through Jisung’s chest. He rested his hand on top of one of Minho’s and brushed his thumb over the knuckles. 

“ Jagi,” Jisung murmured. “Of course I’ll stay. I was hoping you’d ask.” He couldn’t be sure if Minho meant for just the night or forever, but he found that maybe he wanted to do both. 

“Okay,” Minho breathed, his body relaxing more behind Jisung. “I’ll drive you to your family’s in the morning. So you can spend Christmas with them.” 

“That sounds good to me. I’m glad I get to spend Christmas Eve with you.” 

Minho hummed and he could feel him smile from where he had rested against his shoulder. “Me too.” 

They continued cuddling for a few minutes afterward and then Jisung yawned loudly, triggering the same reaction from Minho. “Ugh, we should clean up,” he said. “I’d love to go to sleep now but we’re both disgusting.” 

Jisung groaned. “I don’t want to…” 

“What if we shower together?” 

At that Jisung’s eyes widened and he grinned. “Okay…maybe. But you have to carry me to the shower.” He wiggled around so that he could face Minho and gave him the biggest doe eyes he could. “ Please? I’m tired.” 

“You didn’t even do any work,” Minho responded with a scoff. But he moved to sit up anyway, pulling Jisung into his arms like a baby. Jisung giggled happily and wrapped his arms around Minho’s neck. 

“You’re the best, Minho-hyung,” he chirped. He craned his neck so he could kiss his cheek and giggled again at the sight of Minho’s ears turning red. Fuck, he really could love him again. He was afraid he already did. 

Minho set him down once they reached the bathroom and Jisung let out a squeak when he saw himself in the mirror. His cheeks were streaked with tears and lines of mascara and there were bruises littering his neck from when Minho had first started kissing him. His hair was a mess and his cheeks were still flushed even though they had rested a bit. He looked utterly fucked out.

“What?” Minho asked, cocking his head to the side. Jisung covered his face and groaned. 

“I am a mess! Why didn’t you say I looked like that?” he whined petulantly. 

Minho chuckled, shaking his head. “You look pretty. Means I fucked you like you deserved.” 

Jisung sputtered while Minho laughed at his reaction. As much as he wanted to pout though, he couldn’t keep the smile off his lips. 

Something warm bloomed in Jisung’s chest as he watched Minho prepare everything for their shower, humming to himself lightly as he grabbed an extra toothbrush from his cabinet and set it on the counter for him. The feeling quickly turned bittersweet though as he realized that in another week and a half he would be gone again. He couldn’t leave. He couldn’t. 

As soon as he was in the shower with Minho’s hands in his hair shampooing the strands with vanilla scented shampoo, his thoughts melted away. He sank back, rested his back against Minho’s chest even though the other complained that the angle made it harder for him to wash his hair. 

They traded off washing each other, managing to keep their hands from wandering for the most part, and then they walked back to bed, now clean and comfortable. Minho pulled off the top comforter out of principle and switched it for a cleaner one. He also grabbed Jisung a change of clothes and it made Jisung a little dizzy at how much they smelled like Minho and hung a little baggy on him. Minho had never been that much better than Jisung but obviously over the years he had gotten broader, while Jisung had only recently started working out regularly. Any size difference made Jisung’s heart flutter. He felt small in the best way. 

Since it wasn’t that late, they decided to turn on a cheesy Christmas movie while they cuddled under the covers. Jisung had trouble keeping his eyes open but he forced himself to stay awake, wanting the moment to last forever. Minho was completely engrossed in the movie but that didn’t stop the hand that was around Jisung from caressing him every now and then. 

By the time they finished their movie, it was a little past midnight and both of them were ready to sleep. Minho crawled under the covers first and opened his arms for Jisung to burrow in against him. Jisung released a content sigh as Minho’s arms came around to hold him. Minho kissed the top of his head, letting the kiss linger for a few seconds before he moved away. 

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he mumbled against his hair. Jisung’s heart kicked in his chest and he snuggled closer. 

“Merry Christmas, Minho.”

And for the first time in a while, Jisung remembered what Christmas really felt like. Even if he would be leaving soon, this would be worth it. 

-

Minho spent as much time as he could with Jisung during the rest of his time in Korea. Jisung came to visit him in the cafe whenever he was free, and after Minho was done working, he took Jisung out as long as he wasn’t busy with his family or other friends. Jisung also came over to his apartment almost every night. They would have dinner, maybe watch a movie, and then Minho would fuck him until he was a babbling, crying mess underneath him. He felt a little bad for stealing him away from his family so much, but Jisung’s parents seemed to be quite supportive anyway, if their knowing smiles when Minho dropped Jisung off on Christmas morning were anything to go by. 

There was a level of bittersweetness to everything they did. Minho could feel it and he could tell that Jisung felt it too. They were in a bubble, but it wouldn’t be long before reality came crashing down on them and they had to face the fact that Jisung would have to go back to America and they wouldn’t be together. Minho was doing his best to accept it, but it was harder than he could have imagined. He didn’t want to let Jisung go, not when he had just barely gotten him back. 

There was a chance they could do long distance, now that they were older and more mature. But their relationship was still in such a fragile stage that Minho worried the distance would rip them apart again. He couldn’t handle that. 

What made it worse was that Jisung didn’t seem to want to leave either. Minho could see it in his eyes, in the way that he looked at him. He knew it would be hard for them both and that somehow made it worse. Maybe if he knew that Jisung wasn’t feeling the same things he was feeling, and wasn’t falling for him again too, then it would be easier. He could tell himself that it wasn’t meant to be and he shouldn’t waste his time on someone who didn’t even like him the same way. But Jisung did. He could see that now, especially after they spent Christmas Eve together. Minho was losing him all over again and he didn’t know whether he would ever get him back. What if they really did end up getting torn apart again and Jisung chose to never come back to South Korea? How would Minho survive? 

It was New Years Eve when it all came to a head. Minho was with Jisung at a small party hosted by Felix, who had invited them and a few other friends, two of which Minho only had heard of named Seungmin and Jeongin, and one who he learned Jisung had been friends with for a while, who he learned was called Hyunjin. Jisung was lamenting the fact that his friends from America, Changbin and Chan, couldn’t be there to go into the New Year with them, and wouldn’t even be experiencing the New Year for fourteen more hours. At that moment, realization hit Minho like a truck and the drinks he’d had turned sour in his stomach, making him sick. There was no way he could do that. 

He excused himself from the conversation and made his way outside so he could stand in the cold air. Perhaps knock some sense into himself. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart and ease the mess in his stomach so he wouldn’t actually get sick. “Fuck,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. Why couldn’t life just be simple? 

After about a minute of alone time, the door opened followed by a quiet, “Minho-hyung?” 

Minho spun around and his eyes met Jisung’s. A lump caught in his throat and he desperately tried to swallow it down. “Hey,” he croaked weakly. 

“Is everything alright?” he asked. “You just…left.” His voice held a vulnerability to it that hurt Minho’s heart. He quickly stepped forward and grabbed Jisung’s hand to intertwine their fingers. 

“I’m sorry, jagi,” he said, giving Jisung’s hand a squeeze. That was a new development too since they had spent Christmas Eve together. Jisung seemed to like getting called that and Minho liked calling him that. It was normal for them when they were younger and it felt the same even now. “I just…” He swallowed thickly, the lump crawling back up his throat. “I don’t–” his voice began to crack and he took a deep breath. “I’m not good with words.” 

“That’s okay, take your time,” Jisung urged. He gave Minho a reassuring squeeze of his hand and that gave him the courage to continue. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he began. “I’ve missed you so much. And I’ve loved spending this time with you. More than…more than you even know. And that’s why–that’s why it hurts so fucking much, Hannie. I don’t know what I’m gonna do when you’re gone. I’m–I’m falling in love with you all over again and I can’t lose you again. I don’t want you to go but I can’t make you stay—” 

Minho was cut off when Jisung engulfed him in a hug, holding him so tight he almost struggled to take a deep breath. Jisung’s voice came out muffled from where his face was buried into Minho’s shoulder. “I don’t want to lose you either. I don’t. I’ll figure something out, I promise. But we can make it work. Please, let’s try to make it work.” 

Jisung sniffled and his body shook a little and that’s when Minho realized Jisung had started crying. “Oh no, baby, please don’t cry. Fuck, you’ll make me cry. I hate crying, you’ve already seen me cry too much,” he said with a watery laugh. 

“I just don’t want you to leave me. You don’t–I know I left before, but I’m not gonna leave you. I know it’ll be hard.” He lifted his head and moved back enough so that he could make eye contact with Minho. His watery eyes made Minho’s heart clench. He cupped Jisung’s cheek to wipe his tears and Jisung let him. “But can we please try? I promise I’ll do everything to make it work. I’ll visit as often as I can.” 

The promise did ease Minho’s fears but they were still there, sharp and biting. “I just don’t know how…it’s so far,” Minho lamented. “What if…what if you decide it's too much? Or if you decide you want someone else over in America? We’re still…we’ve barely even restarted our relationship. And I know how I feel but I don’t…” 

“I’m falling for you again too, Minho,” Jisung said firmly. “I might…I might already be there. I know it’s fast, but I already loved you in the past. I can love you again. We’re grown up now. I’m–I’m scared too, you know? Cause what if you find someone here? What if you change your mind?” Minho wanted to say that he would never do that, that he could never, but then he realized he would have to apply the same logic to his own thoughts. “But that doesn’t–that doesn’t matter enough for me to not hope.”

Minho nodded and Jisung took a deep breath. “If you…if you really don’t want to try then I understand. I know I may have seemed more chill about this whole thing but…I really think you’re it for me. Why else would we have met up again all these years later?” he asked. 

“You’re right. And I want you to be it for me too. I don’t think I ever fully let you go.” Minho swallowed. He couldn’t let his worries stop him from having Jisung back. He had let his fears stop him in the past, and maybe that was why he was having these issues now. It was probably good for them that they ended things, too young to properly navigate something as complicated as a long distance relationship. But maybe he could do it. For Jisung. For them. 

“I’ll try,” he said finally. “I want to try. So so bad. I’m just scared.” 

“Me too,” Jisung admitted shyly. “Like, really fucking scared. But we’ll be doing it together, right?” He smiled up at him and squeezed his hand. Minho couldn’t help smiling back. 

“You’re right. Together,” he agreed. Jisung’s smile grew wider and he bounced on his heels. 

“See? Now let’s go back inside. I don’t want to miss our midnight kiss. And it’s so cold. What were you thinking, coming out here by yourself anyway, Minho-yah? Trying to get sick,” he grumbled under his breath, making Minho laugh as he dragged him inside. It amazed him how easily Jisung was able to make him feel better. Maybe it was a sign that things would be okay. 

As they counted down the seconds to midnight, eyes locked together as they waited for the clock to hit 00:00, Minho felt it. Like sparks spreading through his chest. A flame igniting, taking over his body. And when Jisung kissed him, smiling so much against his lips that it practically couldn’t even count as a real kiss, and he tasted the decaf candy cane mocha he’d forced Minho to make him to help him sober up, he knew. It would be okay. 

#minsung #minsung fanfiction #minsung fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fic #skz fic #skz fanfic #skz fanfiction #lee minho fanfic #han jisung fanfic #lee minho smut #han jisung smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #smut #romance #minsung smut #fluff #skz fluff #minsung fluff #christmas fanfic #fanfiction #top!minho #bottom!jisung

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Survivor Blues

Part Six: Kitchen Scraps

A/N: I feel like every single one of my author's notes begins with me screaming and apologizing for how long it took me to update the story, so pretend that's what this says. I am very excited to share this part of Survivor Blues because even though there's not a lot of action, it sets up a ton of things to come, and we get a lot more background information on Reader. From the bottom of my heart I hope you all enjoy these kitchen scraps. Thank you so much for reading!

Warnings: language, mentions of trauma, death, murder, mentions of illness, some angst but hey that comes with the territory

Word Count: 8,454

Summary: Three months into your new life in Jackson, you start to notice some changes. But how much change, and are you sure you're entirely ready for it?

June - 2037 

With the start of your third month in Jackson came a considerable number of changes. 

Your apartment, for example, began to look like someone actually lived there. 

For the first time in nearly a decade, your pack had been unpacked, your belongings given places of permanence instead of just pockets and pouches. The pair of chipped enamel camp mugs now sat side by side in the cabinet over the kitchen sink. Gavin’s stained and threadbare concert tee was folded and put away with the rest of your clothing. A hook next to the front door held your coat by the hood, the key to your place dangling on another one right beside it. The creased and tattered old envelope you’d carried with you for years that held photos and a handful of notes had been emptied and tossed. The notes, mostly from Gavin but a few from Laura and Kyle, as well as a faded old marker drawing your nephew had done for you when he was six years old, were tucked away in your bedside table.

But the photos you chose to display. 

Because they deserve to be seen. Everyday. 

You’d found some old frames in a box in the hall closet a few days after you moved in, but you weren’t ready to use them then. Now one sat atop your dresser, holding the last picture of you and Gavin taken before the outbreak - incredibly youthful faces smushed cheek to grin-split cheek, Gavin’s inked fingers holding up your wrist as you showed off the diamond ring he’d slipped onto your finger only moments before. Your engagement ring had been sold ages ago, back when you were still in the Philadelphia QZ and people still cared enough about things like diamonds to trade medicine for them. But the photo was worth more to you than a rock ever could be. 

And I still have our bands. Even though we never… 

You were never officially married, and since the bands had been hand-me-downs from Gavin’s grandparents and didn’t fit either of your fingers, you’d only ever worn them on chains around your necks. But you knew that never mattered. Not to you, and not to him. Not since the moment that picture had been taken. Not since you’d joyfully exclaimed the word yes when he asked you to be his wife. 

Another frame sat on the T.V. stand in the living room. That one held a picture of you and Laura from the summer before the outbreak, the two of you sitting on the steps outside her building, cups of brightly colored Italian ice in your hands and Kyle’s father’s arm sticking in from out of sight to add bunny ears to his girlfriend’s head. Both of you were laughing at some long since forgotten joke, but you’d always be able to hear the sound of her laughter when you looked at it. 

There was another picture taken that day, one of just Laura and Dante on those same steps. You’d taken it yourself, with Gavin’s arms wrapped around your waist from behind you as he made faces at his sister to get her to laugh. That one you didn’t have anymore, though. You’d left it with Kyle. It was the only photo you had of both of his parents. It was only right that it stay with him. 

The last two photos that you had in your possession were polaroids taken with a camera you’d found during your time at the farm. One of them was of you, Gavin, Laura and a two year old Kyle, the little boy perched on his uncle’s shoulders, the four of you standing in front of the old oak tree that his family had been taking pictures in front of for generations. Ty had been behind the camera that day, not wanting to be caught on film herself but more than happy to capture moments for the rest of you. The other was a candid she’d snapped of just you and Gavin from the same day, your hands linked together and hanging between your bodies and his face turned in your direction. The expression he wore was one of pure adoration as he watched you watching the sunset. Seconds later he was leaning in to press his lips to your temple, kissing a whisper onto your skin. 

“Love you, Sugar.” 

Memories like those didn’t belong in your backpack anymore. If you were going to build a life here, they deserved to be a part of it. 

Because they’re a part of me. 

Those two, because of their unconventional shape, didn’t fit in the 3x5 frames you’d found. But you had another option in the form of your stark white refrigerator door. Using the plain green circular magnet that had been stuck there when you arrived, you tacked up the photo of you and Gavin. The last thing that you pulled from your pack was what you used to hang the other - the rest stop souvenir magnet that Joel had given you the morning after you’d sewn up his arm. 

It was the first “new” thing you’d brought into the apartment since you moved in. The first new item in your collection of trinkets that tied you to moments and people that mattered to you. It scared the shit out of you to admit, but one of the biggest changes you’d gone through since your arrival in Jackson was allowing things to matter again. When Kyle died you thought your ability to feel anything but emptiness had died with him. You thought life, however much more of it you’d be unlucky enough to endure, would be nothing more than putting one foot in front of the other until you physically couldn’t anymore. No more laughter, no more happiness, no more warmth and certainly no more human connection. Just the hollow feeling in your skull and the involuntary drive to carry on. Left, right, left until you marched yourself into the dirt. Or worse.  

But then Joel and Tommy found you in that split-level not far from town and now here you were, with a refrigerator door decorated with things that mattered. 

You wondered if it would ever be as covered up with kitschy clutter as the one in your and Gavin’s tiny apartment. Photobooth strips and postcards, recipes that you wanted to try, either clipped from magazines or scrawled hastily on scraps of paper, a birthday card you’d gotten one year from your friend Dave that was too funny to take down, the test results from Gavin’s blood work that showed improvement after his surgery which he jokingly slapped up calling it his A+ report card. Magnets from trips you’d taken, a promotional one from your favorite dumpling place, stray letters from one of those colorful alphabet sets, objects you’d simply glued a magnetic strip to to turn into a magnet, like the little plastic stingray you found on the floor in the hallway of your building or the cork from the champagne bottle you popped when you moved in. 

Like a scrapbook. 

That was what Gavin used to call it. A memory pushed its way forward from the back of your mind as you stood there looking at your mostly bare by comparison fridge, a moment you hadn’t thought about in what felt like ages. 

Your heels clicked against the hardwood floor as you scurried from the bathroom to the bedroom, fingers deftly fastening an earring before flipping the strap of your dress to lay it flat against your shoulder. The anxiety of running late and nerves about meeting extended members of Gavin’s family for the first time at his cousin’s wedding popped and jumped like corn kernels in your stomach. As a result, your thoughts tripped over themselves in your head as you stuffed your phone and a tube of lip gloss into a small purse. I still have to sign the card and - shit! The card! We need to stop at an ATM and grab cash for the card! Wait, the place is in Germantown, right?  

“Gav? Where’s the invitation? I need to check -” 

“Hung it on the scrapbook.” He followed you from the bedroom down the short, narrow hall to the kitchen as his slender fingers worked to form the knot in his tie. “Slow down, Shug, we’ve got plenty of time.” You plucked the invite from the collage you called a refrigerator door just as he finished his task, those same long digits now curling around your hips to pull you flush against his long, lean frame. When he spoke again, lips close to your ear and breath warm on your skin, you could hear the smile in his voice. “We’re not gonna be late, don’t you worry.” You closed your eyes as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “You look gorgeous.” His murmured compliment made you melt, made the nerves that were just exploding inside you go calm. And then he spoke again and made you snort out a laugh. “Gonna upstage the bride.”

You turned in his arms to see the smile still on his face, his eyes shining softly as he looked at you. You rolled yours playfully, smacking his arm with the invitation as you did to draw a chuckle from his throat. “Oh, stop. I’m sure Maya is gonna be a stunning bride.” 

“Yeah.” He nodded, leaning in to nudge the tip of your nose with his. “Just not as stunning as you.” 

You wondered if you would ever again feel even a fraction of what you felt in that nearly forgotten, long buried memory. Like you were floating. Radiating love. Sure of every part of yourself. Safe in the arms and heart of a man who always put you first. Blinking at the expanse of white, powder-coated stamped steel that surrounded the two pictures and two magnets, you decided it was far more likely that you’d fill up that empty space before someone else filled the empty space in your heart. 

But… it’s not entirely impossible. 

Your focus strayed to the Wyoming magnet, a small, soft swell growing in your chest as you remembered the look on Joel’s face when he handed it to you. Maybe it was possible that you could find both here. You scoffed and shook the thought from your head before you took it too far. You knew you were in no shape for anything like that, emotionally speaking. 

The last time you’d been in anything that resembled a relationship had been a little under ten years earlier, just outside the Chicago QZ, and you’d done everything you could to keep it as stunted and strictly physical as possible. A means to an end. A way to release tensions pent up for too long, a way to feel something other than fear or pain or white hot rage or the soul sucking sadness that clawed at your throat most nights. AJ - a tall, muscular smuggler with a deep voice, far away eyes and a teenaged sister he’d shoot you dead to save if it came to that - was happy to agree to those terms. He understood you and your bricked up walls and your need to keep your broken heart behind them. He understood those things without you ever saying them because he was doing the same thing. 

It lasted three months before he ruined it by offering you more. 

“You know, Gia and I are thinkin’ ‘bout leavin’ Chicago,” he told you one night in the upstairs bedroom of the stash house he let you and your family stay in while Laura rested a badly sprained ankle. In exchange, you kept his cache of smuggled goods protected from raiders. The fucking had just been a mutual bonus. “QZ’s goin’ to shit. Think it’s time we get out for good.” 

You balked instantly at the casual way he dropped his future plans on you. Your clothes were still strewn on the floor, your bare skin still pressed to his. You were too exposed for that kind of intimacy. Shifting away from his hold you felt yourself shutdown, an icy flush running through your veins to kill whatever warmth AJ had managed to put there before he spoke. 

“Oh?” Your voice came out flat as you sat up and reached for your shirt. 

The man in the bed behind you cleared the gravel from his throat and sat up, too. “Yeah.” His large palm landed too gently on your shoulder blade, and you knew he felt it when you flinched at the sweep of his thumb, but he kept going anyway. “I was thinking maybe you’d wanna come with us.” He leaned forward and broke another rule, brushing a stubble-studded kiss to your spine. “You and Kyle and Laura, of course.” 

You stood, putting more distance between you so he couldn’t feel the way your heart was banging on your ribs, telling you it was time to pull up stakes and go. Yanking the shirt over your head, you looked at him with empty eyes and a slight shake of your head. “I don’t know why you’d think that.” You arched one eyebrow and shrugged. “That’s not what this is.” You took another step, bending down to pick up the rest of your clothes so that you could seal yourself away from him. 

He let out a sound somewhere between a scoff and a sigh and you heard the bed springs creak as he got up. “It could be,” he answered, reaching for your wrist in an attempt to slow you down, reel you back in, try to coax you into agreeing to let this thing between you go from bare bones and scraps to something more fleshed out and filling. You shook off his loose grip and finished getting dressed despite the click of his tongue and the low murmur of your name. “You could let it be. We can keep each other safe. I can keep you safe, and-“  

A humorless laugh escaped your lips then. “If you think I need you to keep me safe, then you don’t know a goddamn thing about me.” You shoved your feet into your boots and laced them up tight. 

“I know you don’t need it, but-” 

Wheeling on him, you cut him off. “You know what, AJ? I think this has run its course. Laura’s ankle is healed, so-“ You hardened your features against the way his face fell. “We’ll be out of your hair in the morning.” 

And you were.

AJ had tried one more time to get you to stay. One more time to tell you that he wanted you in his hair, that he wanted you in his life. But that would mean him becoming a part of yours. That would mean Gia becoming a part of yours. That would mean two more people to anchor yourself to. Two more people for you to protect. Two more people to weave themselves into the fabric of your heart, and two more people you could potentially lose, causing that fabric to tear in two more places. You’d already worn yourself ragged with responsibility and loss. You weren’t looking for more. AJ was a good man. He could have been good for you. The timing was just wrong. 

But you were safe now. There was no reason to run from companionship or intimacy now. That didn’t mean it would be easy, though. 

Like that’s ever stopped you before, you could hear Gavin tease, a smirk on his face. 

It hadn’t. You had never been one to back down simply because the task at hand might be difficult. You moved out on your own for the first time with only what you could fit in your car. You took your first kitchen job without a lick of experience. You fell head over heels in love with a man with a heart defect, knowing full and well that any chance at forever with him could be cut short by his condition and diving in anyway. Easy wasn’t really in your playbook. 

Again, it was Joel’s face that came to mind. You had no real idea what his story was when it came to relationships, you only knew that he wasn’t currently in one. And with the way you had heard some women in town speak about him when they thought only their closest friends could hear, you gathered that it was by choice. That it wasn’t something he was looking for. 

And though you were almost afraid to admit it even to yourself, a part of you already hoped that you were wrong about that. 

Another change came in the way that you interacted with people in town. For starters, you’d stopped outright avoiding eye contact and dodging conversation when walking to and from your apartment. When people came into the bakery, you smiled and found yourself chatting about things you used to talk to your customers about before the outbreak. 

“Morning, Heather! How was Kaylee’s birthday? Did she like the cupcakes?” 

“Hi, Marty. Didn’t see you yesterday when they were fresh, but I saved you some corn muffins. I know they’re Carl’s favorite.” 

“Hey Nadia, you live next to Allie and Greg, right? How are they doing with the new baby? Can you drop their order off to them on your way home?”

On patrols and trail sweeps you picked up where you left off on topics you’d previously spoken to your partners about. It was never anything truly personal aside from when you were paired with a woman named Jo who still spoke with an unmistakable Pennsylvanian accent, and you shared that you were from Philly. In an extreme case of it’s a small world afterall, she turned out to be from Glenside, a suburb just a few SEPTA stops away. The two of you had spent that shift - an overnight gate patrol - talking about restaurants, bars and other places you missed in the city. Typically you talked about books or movies or music, trading recommendations or trying to recall lyrics to songs you hadn’t heard in decades. Sometimes, like when you were paired with Jesse or one of the other younger volunteers, you brought up a movie they hadn’t heard of and you ended up summarizing or explaining it to them. Like some kind of post-apocalyptic storytime. The Tale of The Men in Black. The Saga of The Breakfast Club. The Epic of Empire Records. 

It never strayed into “opening up” territory, but you were refamiliarizing yourself with being a person again, and not just trying to stay alive for another 24 hour block of time. You were still hesitant to attend one of the Friday night gatherings at the Tipsy Bison, but you had started to eat one or two meals a week in the communal dining hall. You’d sit with people you knew and felt the most comfortable with - Evelyn from the bakery, Tommy and Maria when you saw them, Eugene or Henrik if they waved you over. You rarely saw Joel there but sometimes you caught a glimpse of Ellie surrounded by some of the other teens. You still spent most of your nights alone in your home - cooking small meals for yourself, reading, sewing patches or buttons onto things as needed - but you were trying, and that was new. 

Despite all that had changed though, some things unfortunately remained the same. The nightmares, for example, had proven far more stubborn than your crumbling resolve to not form attachments. They still woke you up every few nights, your breaths coming in greedy gasps as you worked to convince yourself that you were safe in your bed in Jackson and not tearing through the dark woods with a twelve year old Kyle’s hand clamped in your own, a pack of hunters hot on your trail. Or that Gavin hadn’t met a horrific end at the snapping jaws of a horde of infected. Or that those men hadn’t caught you in that warehouse in Kentucky and kept you chained to a mattress in a back room.

But it wasn’t the close call and what if nightmares that were the worst of them. Not by a long shot. The darkest dreams you fell victim to weren’t conjured by your fears or anxieties. They came straight from your actions and experiences. They weren’t dreams at all, just memories played back in excruciatingly high definition. Memories of the worst things you’d ever done. Reminders that you might not deserve this new lease on life. Portals to places where you’d committed the unthinkable. 

Places like that waterlogged and overgrown Walgreens where you crossed the line for the first time - where you became a murderer, taking the life of a human being who wasn’t infected. Who wasn’t even a threat to you. Your mind would floor with details from that fateful day. The squish of the moss covered floor tiles beneath your boots. The odor of rust and mildew that permeated the air. The rustle of things being knocked off a shelf and the terrified hiss of “oh, shit!” that followed. The tilt of your head as you took in the sight of the bottle gripped tightly in the dirty-fingered grasp of the woman, identifying it as the exact drug that you needed. That Gavin needed to stay alive. The way she pleaded with you on behalf of her sick son. “Please, he’s only twelve. He’ll die without them. I’ll split them with you!” The way you didn’t even blink as you shot her dead. The maraca rattle of the pills as you pried the bottle from her hand. The way that shot rang in your ears until you made it back to the farm. 

It vibrated in your lungs, even in the dreams. And when you handed the medicine to Gavin, it was written on your face clear as day for him to read. You’d told him what you’d done, waves of nausea roiling through your belly and adrenaline coursing through your blood to make your hands shake and your breathing turn to sobs and gasps. “Oh, Sugar,” he’d said, opening his arms to wrap you in them, pulling you closer to the weakening, uneven beat of his heart. “Don’t lose yourself over me.” Your hot tears soaked into the old, stained concert tee that hung baggy and loose on his frame as you clutched fistfuls of material. “It’s not worth the toll.” 

You’d tried to argue with him then, because to you, anything was worth it if it meant more time with him. Another year, another few months, fuck, even if it only bought you mere days there was nothing you weren’t willing to do for Gavin. “We both know you can’t buy me much longer,” he said, speaking calmly as he stroked his long, tattooed fingers up and down your spine. “Don’t turn yourself into something you’re not. Stay you, Sugar. Stay you and stay with me.”

In the end though, it was him that couldn’t stay, and that particular nightmare would always end with you sobbing into your pillow. Alone.  

More recently your nightmares took you to that grimey hotel room where you helped Kyle end his life. Where you killed him, your subconscious would remind you. Details you didn’t even realize you’d absorbed would come leaching out once you were asleep. The feel of the dust encrusted carpet against your sweaty, blood soaked palm. The pocked and peeling paint flaking from the walls and piling up in little heaps. The icy draft that came through the broken window to freeze the tears in your eyes. The way your nephew suddenly became so heavy as you held him. And that nagging, illogical thought that burrowed itself into the center of your brain and slammed every cell like a cymbal - He could have been immune. You don’t know that he wasn’t. 

There had always been rumors about the possibility of natural immunity to the Cordyceps infection. You’d heard the whispers whenever you moved through a place that had or previously had a Firefly presence. Genetic mutations are always possible, they’d posit. You’d always rolled your eyes and called it a hopeless hope, a pipe dream. Just something that desperate people told themselves so they could justify what they’d done or give themselves motivation to keep going. Everyone you’d ever known to be infected had turned within a day or two. You weren’t holding your breath for a miracle mutation. 

And even though it was one of the rules you and your family had written for yourselves decades ago, and even though it was what Kyle wanted, and even though you still thought it was easier than having to see your sweet, smart, funny, thoughtful nephew become a snapping, snarling monster, that thought still reverberated in your mind whenever that dream woke you up. He could have been immune. But now you’ll never know. 

There were others, too, but those were the ones that came most frequently. Those were the ones that the firewalls in your sleeping brain had no chance against, the ones there was no falling back to sleep after. 

On those nights you woke shaken and shaking, pulling yourself from the bed and turning lights on as quickly as possible to banish the things that crept into your mind. On those nights you didn’t try to find sleep again, knowing that the ache in your heart and the spike in your adrenaline wouldn’t let you. Instead you’d pad into the kitchen and do what you’d always done when you couldn’t sleep - open the cabinets and preheat the oven and bake something to take your mind off of whatever had just taken over it. 

In college, before you’d dropped out, it was blueberry muffins to distract yourself from the stress of exams. You’d bake dozens of them and give them to your friends as study fuel. On the nights following Gavin’s open heart surgery it was rye bread and cinnamon buns. You’d take them with you to the hospital when you visited him, giving them - along with your unending gratitude - to the nursing staff and doctors that worked on him. At the farm when you worried that you wouldn’t be able to keep your family safe it was potato rolls. And for the few months that you stayed in the Chicago QZ it was a modified oatmeal cookie recipe that tasted more like sugarless styrofoam due to the lack of certain ingredients, but bless their hearts, Laura and Kyle still told you they were delicious. 

Three months into your stay in Jackson, at six in the morning on your weekly day off, it was sourdough and carrot cake muffins. 

By ten o’clock you’d finished baking three loaves of bread - two of which you were planning to take to the community center to be used for meals that day - and were just getting started peeling carrots for the muffins, when there was a knock at your door. 

And as you crossed the room to answer it, wiping your hands on the dish towel that hung over your shoulder, you noticed another change - you hadn’t reached for the knife in your boot. You hadn’t even put your boots on that morning, your feet still only covered by the socks you yanked on before coming out to the kitchen. Your heart didn’t start to race. Your fingers hadn’t even twitched. You’d just heard the sound and moved to respond to it like it was normal. Like you would have before the outbreak. 

Like I would have back at home. 

Unwilling to have that conversation with yourself while someone stood waiting outside your door, you shook your head to clear your thoughts. Not now. Peeking through the view hole, you actually smiled as you saw who was on the other side. I wonder what… 

You unlocked the door and opened it. “Hey, good morning, Ellie. What are you up to? Everything alright?” 

She groaned in dramatic teenage fashion. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Except for the fact that I’m dying of boredom with these lame shifts Maria put me on this week.” 

Maria tried to keep the younger volunteers busy with tasks in the town or on the walls as often as possible, only sending them out when the schedule demanded it to relieve other patrol members, and it seemed that was what had brought Ellie to your apartment. Good. Boring is good and safe. I’m sure Joel loves boring for you, kid. 

“Oh yeah? What’s she got you doing today that’s so terrible?” 

“Compost duty.” She held up a metal pail that you hadn’t noticed at first, nose wrinkled and top lip curled. “I’m here for your rotten vegetables.”   

You let out a laugh in the form of a snort, pushing the door to open it wider. “Well they’re not rotten yet, which is kind of the point, but they’re all yours. Come on in. I’ll grab the jar, it’s in the fridge.”

Closing the door behind herself, Ellie followed you through the small living room towards the kitchen. “Ugh, it smells fucking amazing in here. Are you baking? Even on your day off? Jesus, what time did you wake up?”

You shrugged and looked back over your shoulder at her. “Yeah. You caught me.” You pointed to the counter where the loaves of sourdough sat cooling, moving aside so she could see them. “That’s what you’re smelling.” 

She groaned and slumped against the doorframe. “Oh my god those look so good. It’s making me hungry.” 

Laughing again, you pulled a serrated knife from the block on the counter. “You want a slice?” 

Her eyes lit up as she stood straight. “Are you kidding? Hell yeah I do!” You smiled and turned to saw off a hunk, the knife’s teeth scraping at the thick outer crust before sinking into the soft center. “You know, nothing against Todd or Evelyn, but the bread from the bakery is so much better now that you’re working there.” 

You chuckled, letting her compliment wash warmly over you. “Thanks, Ellie, I take my bread seriously so that means a lot to me.” You handed over the slice and she immediately took a bite. 

“Fuck,” she groaned through a mouthful, eyes rolling closed as she chewed. “So damn good!” 

“Good.” You wiped the blade off and sheathed it in the block again. “I haven't tried it yet, so thanks for helping out with quality assurance.” 

“Literally anytime,” she said around another bite. 

You smiled and already it was hard to imagine that you’d started that morning shaking and in tears. “Hey, if you’re not in a rush I’ll have even more to throw in your compost bucket if you can wait until I peel these carrots?” Picking up the peeler, you used it to gesture to the pile of vegetables on the cutting board. 

She shrugged. “No rush. Peel away.” You nodded and went to work as Ellie leaned against the countertop on the other side of the sink. “So, can I ask you a question?” 

You took a breath and considered the kind of question she might ask. “Um… sure.” 

“You were a baker, like… before, right? That’s what Joel said, and I mean -” She held up the remainder of the sourdough slice as proof. 

“I was.” You answered. “Had my own shop and everything.” 

“Okay, so then… How did you not… I mean, fuck, how do I ask this?” 

Turning in her direction you took a wild guess to help her out of her struggle. “How did I not become infected immediately since the initial cordyceps contamination was spread through flour?” 

She held up one finger, slightly gaping mouth snapping shut. “Yes, exactly.” 

You chuckled and went back to the carrots. “Mine was a little different from a regular bakery. I specialized in baking things for people with common food allergies. Eggs, wheat, dairy, things like that. So the flour I used came from a completely different source than…” You trailed off because you knew she got the picture. 

“Huh. Do you have allergies? Is that why you decided to bake like that?” 

You shook your head. “No, I don’t. I had…” You swallowed. “I knew people who couldn’t eat certain things, so I did it for them.” 

“Well…” She raised one scarred eyebrow. “I guess that was a good choice.” 

Snorting, you nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

She pushed away from the counter and stepped closer to the refrigerator, her head tilting slightly to one side as something there caught her eye. The pictures. She’s looking at… Your grip on the peeler tightened, a pulse of panic seizing you at the thought that you might have to talk about your family. That was something you hadn’t done in a long time, something that you were still just on the cusp of readiness for. Hanging the photos up for your own eyes to see was one thing. You hadn’t thought about the prospect of others in your home seeing them, too. She’s gonna ask about- 

“Hey, Joel has this same magnet.” Reaching out with her pointer finger, she tapped the one shaped like your new home state. 

He… What? You let out a breath and set the peeler on the cutting board next to the pile of long orange carrot skin curls. The flash of panic turned to flurried confusion, Ellie’s comment catching you completely off guard. He took one, too? Clearing your throat, you prepared to respond when she spoke again, this time throwing something that looked like a smirk over her shoulder at you. 

“What, were they on sale or something?” She tapped it again. “Buy one, get one- Oh, shit!” 

The press of her finger must have shifted the magnet, freeing it from the pull that held it in place. You watched as she whipped her head back around and scrambled to try to catch not only the dislodged magnet, but also the picture that was stuck beneath it. She was only successful in saving one from the ground, though, juggling the plastic piece between both hands before closing it in one fist while the polaroid fluttered to the floor. Crouching down she snatched the picture up and reattached it to the door. 

“Fuck! I’m sorry! It- I didn’t mean to…” 

It was then, as she carefully put the photo back in its place, that you noticed the recognition on her face. Like she hadn’t even really seen the picture until that moment, hadn’t noticed anything beyond the familiar magnet. She went quiet, a sadness you wished she didn’t have to know creeping into her expression as she realized that none of the people standing next to you in the photo were there in Jackson with you now. 

“Is this your family?” There was a hollow tone in her typically light and bubbly voice as she stared at the smiling faces on your refrigerator. Like she didn’t want to ask but felt some compulsion to know. Like she already knew but couldn’t keep the question on her tongue. Like she should have been able to do something to change the outcomes for the people you’d lost. 

You recognized it right away and it broke your heart to see it in her, too. The guilt. The deep dark blues of surviving when everyone you loved was gone. When everyone everyone loved was gone. Oh, Ellie. 

Though only moments before you felt panic at the prospect of talking about the people you lost, suddenly, when asked, you were filled with an overwhelming urge to tell her about them. To show her - and maybe yourself, too - that not every memory hurt. That most of them didn’t. 

“Yeah,” you answered around a bittersweet smile. “It is. From about…” You hummed. “Fifteen years ago.” Wetting your lips and blinking back the stinging threat of tears, you stepped closer to where the girl stood. “That’s my-” 

You stopped yourself because you didn’t want to choke on the word you were about to use. You’d never had to explain to anyone who Gavin was to you. For years, the only people who mattered had simply always known. But that’s not the case anymore, is it? Not if you truly were serious about trying to have a life here. Left hand coming up to touch the outline of your chain through your t-shirt, you took a breath and focused on his smile in the photo. Hey, handsome. 

You cleared your throat and started over. “That’s my husband, Gavin.” You pressed the rings to your chest as you spoke his name. “And his sister, Laura.” Dropping your arm back to your side, you raised the opposite one to point at the little boy under the mess of curls that sat perched on Gavin’s shoulders. “And that’s Kyle, my nephew.” 

She stayed quiet for a few seconds, looking at the faces of the people you’d just introduced her to as though committing them to memory. “They look…” She sniffed. “You all look happy there.” 

She’s right. Despite the thick knot forming in your throat, you smiled. “Yeah.” Nodding, you looked down at her. “We were. Those were really good years.” 

The girl looked back up at you, lips pulling to the side before curving back into a small smile. “I’m glad you had those.” 

You took a breath, feeling somewhat lighter than you had in a long time even if it was a bittersweet lightness. “Yeah, me too.” Wetting your lips, you reached for the fridge handle. “Um, let me get those compost scraps for you, yeah?”  

Ellie nodded, lifting one hand up to wipe quickly at her eye. “Yeah. I should get going.” She moved over to the counter and scooped your pile of carrot peels into the bucket, then turned back to let you dump the contents of your scrap jar in as well. “Dina and I are supposed to hit all the apartments on this side of town before noon, so…” 

“So you better get moving, then,” you finished for her. “If I remember the schedule correctly, I think you and I have gate patrol on Wednesday night.” You winked. “I’ll make sure to bring snacks.” 

She grinned, almost all of the sadness that had crept into her expression gone. “You’re the best.” 

That made you laugh. “I’ll see you around, Ellie. Tell Dina I said hi.” 

She told you that she would, adding that she was also going to tell her that she missed out on the best damn sourdough left in the world by choosing odd numbered apartments, which only made you laugh harder. Closing your door after her, you couldn’t help but think of what a kick Gavin would have gotten out of Ellie. She would have made you laugh, too, Gav. 

Over the next hour you finished up the batch of muffins and cleaned the kitchen. Wrapping the two extra loaves in clean dish towels, you stuck them both in the canvas tote bag that you usually used to pick up your groceries from the general store. Once they’d cooled enough to handle, you did the same with the muffins, bundling them up and adding them to the bag. 

That done, you decided to get yourself together, changing your flour streaked shirt for a fresh three-quarter sleeved one, and the sweats you were wearing for a pair of jeans. When you looked in the mirror you were hit by yet another change - you no longer had that lost, wild, withering look that you arrived with. Your eyes had more light in them and fewer bags beneath. Your cheeks were less hollow and the windburn on them was healing well. You looked more like yourself and less like a spectral waif using your name than you had in longer than you could remember. Not that it matters but… Your lips - no longer peeling and chapped - hitched into a small grin. Not terrible. You took a second to adjust your hair, tucking stray pieces into place, and then flipped the lightswitch and left the bathroom. 

Grabbing your bag of baked goods from the kitchen, you shoved your feet into your boots and slipped your knife into place. Some things were unlikely to change after two decades of always needing to have a weapon on you, and you knew that it was the same for many other residents in town. Your gun, though, was left behind with your pack. Those items were reserved only for patrols, trail sweeps and supply runs. They had no place in your daily life anymore. Another small change. 

There was still a lingering late spring chill in the air as you stepped outside your building, but the sun was shining unimpeded in the clear blue sky and you hummed as it warmed your skin. It’s beautiful out today. As you turned onto the main street you were met with the sounds of the town. Windchimes and laughter, barking dogs and the clang of metal on metal from the blacksmith’s shop, birdsong and conversation. It felt like the much more rural version of strolling through your neighborhood in Philly on your way to the farmer’s market that used to pop up in the park on Thursday and Sunday mornings. It made you wonder what it was like here twenty some years ago, and how different things were now. 

The call of your name from somewhere to your right interrupted your thoughts before they could wander too far. You recognized the voice as you turned, eyes widening in surprise to see Joel Miller lifting one hand in greeting from the other side of the street. Oh. Hi. You stopped walking, raising your hand in a return wave and waiting for him to cross to your side.

As he did, you took a few seconds to let your eyes rake over him. He still wore a thin white bandage around his bicep, and it was visible beneath the short sleeves of his faded green t-shirt. As were his muscled arms, the warmer weather letting you see more of them than you had previously. His jeans were worn in but fit him well, the denim broken in to accommodate his movement perfectly. A toolbelt hung at his hips, hammer, tape measure, pliers and several screwdrivers attached to the loops or sticking out of the pouches. Right. He said he was in construction. You drew in a small breath as he came close enough that you could see the sunlight catching the silver in his hair. And then he smiled. Damn. 

“Thought that was you,” he said as he took the last few steps to close the distance. 

Forcing yourself to focus on the conversation at hand and not on how good he looked wearing a toolbelt, you smiled back at him. “You were right, it’s me.” 

That earned you a small chuckle, Joel raising the same hand he’d flagged you down with to scratch at the back of his neck. “How are you doin’ today?”

You tipped your head back, closing your eyes and letting the sun hit your face before responding. “The sun is out and I have a bag full of bread and muffins.” Bringing your chin back down, you shrugged the shoulder that your bag was on. “So I’m doing great.” He didn’t need to hear about the nightmare that preceded the baking. “How are you?” 

“A bag full of bread, huh?” He dropped his eyes to the goods and then brought them back up to yours. “Well I’m doin’ alright but not a bag of bread alright.” 

You laughed and pulled one strap of the tote bag down, reaching inside. “I might be able to help with that.” Pulling out one of the muffins, you offered it to him. “Carrot muffin?” 

He grinned as he took it from you. “If I ever say no to that question you’ll know there’s somethin’ wrong with me.” Nodding, he held your eyes for a second and the rush of warmth you felt had nothing to do with the sun. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, Joel.” You cleared your throat and tilted your head in the direction you’d been walking in. “I was on my way to drop this off at the community center. Are you heading that way, too?” 

“I am. Meetin’ up with Tommy’n a few others to do some roof repairs.” You both started walking again, once your mutual destination was established. “Figure by now we won’t be gettin’ anymore snow, so it’s a good time to get up there and poke around.” 

You blew out a huff and shook your head. “The idea of snow in June or even April or May where I’m from is laughable. It’s probably 85 degrees in Philadelphia right now.” 

Joel made a similar sound. “Snow at all is laughable where I’m from.” You figured he was from somewhere in the south due to the slight drawl in certain words that he said, but before you got the chance to ask where exactly, he took a bite of the muffin you gave him and groaned at the taste. “Christ, that’s good.” 

Hoping you didn’t look as flustered as the sound of him groaning like that made you feel, you managed a smile. “Yeah?” He nodded, eyebrows drawn together in a serious expression as he chewed. “Good. You and Ellie make good taste testers, you know.” He tilted his head in question. “She stopped by my place this morning on her compost collection rounds.” 

“Uh huh, and she weaseled baked goods outta you, did she?” He took another bite, the reaction smaller this time but still visible and still making your chest puff up just a little. 

You shrugged. “She said she was hungry and she complimented my bread. What was I supposed to do?” 

“That girl is always hungry,” he said with a roll of his eyes that you could tell was just for show. “And if compliments are all it takes then let me tell you again, this-” He held up the last bite of muffin. “- Is delicious.” 

Letting a small laugh slip through your grin as you reached the community center, you turned to face him. “Well, thank you. If you like those, just wait until I get my hands on some apples or chokeberries.” 

“Lookin’ forward to it.” 

Just then Tommy appeared from behind the building with a ladder hoisted on one shoulder. He lifted his free hand to flag Joel down, calling out to him. “Waitin’ on you, big brother!” 

Joel clicked his tongue and turned to lob his response in Tommy’s direction. “Hold your horses, will you?” He gestured at you with his hand. “Can’t you see I’m havin’ a conversation?” 

“Yeah, I see.” The younger Miller tipped his chin in a nod and said your name. “Hope you’re havin’ a nice mornin’. Can you please send my brother up to the roof when he’s done yappin’ your ear off?” 

You laughed at that, Joel’s grumbles only making you laugh harder. “Will do, Tommy,” you said with a wave of your own. 

He grinned. “Thank you, ma’am. Take care now.” 

You called a “You too!” back at him as he disappeared behind the building again, and then you turned to face Joel once more. “Sounds like you’re needed on the roof.” 

Joel blew a huff through his nose and swatted his hand towards the roof. “He can wait a minute. I, uh…” He drew his hand up to scratch the back of his neck. “I’ve been meanin’ to ask you if you’d want to come over for dinner some night this week.” What? He dropped his hand to his side again and you tried your hardest not to let the shock you felt at his question show on your face. “Just as a thank you for stitchin’ me up,” he added. 

You blinked and took a breath, trying to process the offer he’d just made. Dinner. He’s inviting me to dinner? What is…  “I…” You shook your head as though your brain was a magic eight ball and shaking it would prompt a valid response to come out of your mouth, but immediately regretted it from the way Joel’s lips turned downward. Shit, he thinks I’m saying no. “That… That sounds nice, Joel.” Your heart hammered at your ribs as his frown faded back into a relaxed smile. “What um… What day were you thinking? I have a gate patrol Wednesday night, but-” 

“How’s Thursday, then?” 

Wetting your lips with the tip of your tongue, you swallowed and nodded slowly. “Thursday works.” Joel’s smile spread a little wider, sending his cheeks up into his eyes and making the skin around them crinkle. “Can I bring anything, or-” 

“Well I was raised to say no ma’am, just bring yourself,” he began, a mischievous glint brightening the depths of his eyes. “But I wouldn’t stop you from bringing something that you baked if you wanted to.” 

You let out a small laugh. “Got it.” 

“Alright then. Thursday it is.” He tilted his head towards the back of the community center, where the sound of the ladder being set up against the wall could be heard. “I better get up there ‘fore he has himself a conniption. You have a good day now.” 

As he turned to go, you reached into your tote bag and pulled out another muffin. “Joel!” He spun back to face you and you tossed the muffin in his direction, leaving him to scramble to catch it in one large hand. “For Tommy. Maybe he’ll be less annoyed at you if you bring him food.” 

He chuckled. “Maybe. See you around.” 

With that he headed off to join his brother and you were left momentarily standing there unsure of what had just happened. I just… He just… 

But then you heard the call of your name from the open door of the community center, and turned to see Maria grinning at you. “You comin’ in, or are you just going to watch my brother-in-law walk away?” 

You could feel the heat spread through your cheeks at her words, and quickly stepped toward the door as she started to chuckle. “Sorry, yeah, I-” 

“Hey,” she said, resting one hand on your shoulder. “I’m teasing.” She winked. “Besides, I think it’s great.” 

You let out a sigh. “Maria, it’s just-” 

“Just dinner, I know.” She nodded and held the door open for you to walk through it. “I still think it’s great.” The door clicked shut behind you and you sputtered for a response only for her to spare you the need to say anything more. “Anyway, what’s in the bag? You’re just in time for lunch prep.”

.

.

.

Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to or removed from the tags for this or any of my stories, please feel free to let me know! You can also fill out the form on my masterlist!

Tags: @something-tofightfor​​  @littlemisspascal​​ @mishasminion360​​ @nyctophiliiiiaaa​​ @practicalghost​ @amb11​ @mindidjarin​ @jk7789​ @tentacruels​ @cannedsoupsucks​ @harriedandharassed​ @marauderskeeper​ @joelmillerscoffee​​ @woodlandmouth​​ @swtaura​​ @grfields​​ @valkblue​ @sleepylunarwolf @stealyourblorbos @trickstersp8 @imtryingmybeskar @wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80 @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns @competentpotato @pedro-pedrito-pascalito @mumma-moonchild @jedi-in-crocs @hannahkatharine @anoverwhelmingdin @chiyo13 @myloveistoolittle @spishsstuff @Noisynightmarepoetry @Severin-proud @jessthebaker @ael-xander @ashleyfilm

#survivor blues #the last of us #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller tlou #pedrostories #pedro pascal character #joel miller fic #tlou fic #survivor blues part 6: kitchen scraps #trigger warnings #tw trauma #tw nightmares

[hyuuukais]

.・゜-: ✧ :- FICTIONAL REALITY .・゜-: ✧ :-

pairing • bang chan x fem reader

synopsis • fiction or reality? y/n preferred the former, escaping into another world, escaping her problems. so what happens when reality takes that away from her; wiping her own story-in-progress off both her laptop and beloved usb? and what happens when she opens the door in the middle of a crisis to none other then the love interest of her novel... and he's holding her usb?

warnings • general,

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

CHAPTER FOUR • OLD CONNECTIONS (1.3k)

It had been just over a year since you last saw Minho; on what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life.

"Minho?" You choke out. "How... how did you find me?"

He lifts a hand, and in it is a letter addressed to him, from you. It's worn, as if he's read it a million times, and soaked from the rain. The look on his face is unreadable with the streams of water going down it, but you think he almost looks sad.

"I never thought you'd reach out," Minho says loudly, challenging the storm. Finally, you step aside to let him in, closing the door slowly behind him. "I almost threw this out- I thought it was some sort of sick joke. That maybe one of the boys was behind it-"

Slowly, he looks around your house, at the barren living space and blank walls. Nothing like the lively home you used to call yours, not even close. His eyes settle on a photo resting on the coffee table; it's of the two of you, smiling, happy. It was taken three days before you left and if you look close enough, you can spot the tear stains left by you before framing it. A heavy weight sits on your chest as Minho picks the photo up carefully, like it could shatter any moment.

Outside there's another clap of thunder and you flinch. Minho looks up, instinctively going over to you, photo forgotten. He tries to wrap his arm around you, but you step back, once, twice. It's too much, having him here.

"I can handle it," is all you say before turning away, pinching the bridge of your nose. "Min... I didn't send that letter to you."

"If you didn't, who did?" He says slowly, confused. "Does someone here know about Y-"

You cut him off with a hand in the air. "Don't."

"Y/n-"

"I said don't," you grit out. "And no. No one does. I don't know what the fuck is going on lately, but I can assure you I never sent that letter. I never planned to see you again."

He breathes in deeply, and you can feel his irritation, turning back around to face him. You're right, his irritation is well hidden, but you know him well enough to spot it.

"You have no right to be upset with me-"

"Oh screw you, yes I do!" He nearly shouts. When you shrink back, his expression softens ever so slightly. "You left me. I needed you, and you left me. Yes, that's selfish given the circumstances, but there were other options and you refused to see them."

"Other options?" You say, disbelief written all over your face. "Like what, living with you?" He nods stiffly. "We both know that wouldn't have worked."

Sitting down at the bottom of your staircase, head in your hands, he leans against the door across from you. The two of you sit in silence for what feels like forever, not wanting to give in to each other. Eventually, Minho slides his coat off, draping it onto a hook next to him, then walks to your left and out of view. You can hear him opening the fridge, picture him shaking his head at your lack of proper food. About half an hour later he's calling you in to eat.

"It's not much," he says, watching you stare at the omelet he's made you. "We need to get groceries tomorrow. The rain seems to be settling down now."

And he's right- you haven't heard any thunder rumbling since before your argument. You silently eat, the only sounds being your chewing and the scrape of your fork against the plate. Once you're done, he gently takes the plate away, but stops before stepping away from you. His hand rests on your shoulder, giving it a squeeze, and it's almost enough for you to come undone.

"Min, I didn't send that letter."

"I know."

"I don't know what's going on."

"I know."

"Am I going crazy?"

"No," he places the plate back down, sitting in the chair next to you. The table is small and circular, not leaving much room between your legs, knees bumping. "But if you are, so am I, but I'm not, so."

"Sure," you snort, surprising Minho.

Shaking his head, he gets up to wash the plate, and you catch a glimpse of the small smile on his face. All of tonight's excitement catches up to you, your body tired and limbs weary. As if sensing this, Minho finishes up and helps you out of the chair and up the stairs.

"Which is your bedroom?" You point. "Okay, just a bit further then you can collapse. Don't you dare take me with you or I'll make you sleep on the porch."

"This is my house, you can't do that," you pout.

"Yes I can, don't test me," he says, but it's an empty threat. "Here we go."

He lowers you gently into bed, pulling the sheets up to your chin.

"You don't need to tuck me in, I'm not five."

"Really? I had no idea!" He rolls his eyes. "Just let me do this so you don't complain in the morning."

Now you roll your eyes. "Shut up, ugh. Go away so I can sleep."

"I'll be downstairs if you need me." He begins to walk away but you stop him with a wait.

"There's a couch in my office that's a lot comfier than that one," you wave him off. "Sleep there."

"Yes ma'am."

-

Weird dreams stir you. First, you're in your old apartment, alone and unable to tear your eyes away from the closet by the front door. It's opened just a crack, some kind of black goo oozing out. Sharp claw marks cover the front door.

Next, you're atop a high building in a very busy city. You look down, leaning over the edge just a bit too much, barely catching yourself. Your breath races, imagining what could have happened--

And someone pushes you, right into reality. You wake in a cold sweat, sitting up quickly and making sure you still have all your limbs. The sky is a deep blue, so it must be early morning now. Everything that happened comes back to you; the rain, Chan, Minho, the letter... it's too much.

Wait... Minho... the letter. You jump out of bed and speed walk down the hall. Not caring if he's asleep, you whip open the door, but he's laying there on his phone wide awake.

"Let me see the letter again. Now."

"It's in my coat pocket downstairs." He looks at you strangely, groaning as he sits up.

You sit down next to him. "Listen, I need to tell you something. I've been getting these weird messages from my USB ever since I met Chan and I was thinking-"

"Woah, woah, woah. You're on first name basis with that guy?"

"Not the point," you glare at him. He smirks.

"Fine, yes, you were thinking? Did it hurt?" He laughs at you a bit.

"Shut up," You poke him in the side and he grumbles. "I was thinking they might be connected. By the way, what was up with you acting like a weird cryptid? You could have, I don't know, acted normal. Like, what was I supposed to do? Sense it was you? C'mon-"

Something across the room comes to life, catching your eye; your laptop. You watch as it logs itself in, opening a blank document. Grabbing Minho's arm, you pull him towards it. You've never seen this happen before. The words type out before you, only five words.

Tell him about that night.

You freeze.

"What the hell was that?" Minho takes his arm away from your loosening grip. "Who? What night?"

"It wants me to..." you take a shaky breath. "To tell you about the night I left."

-

notes • sooo minho is a good guy ! slay ! but why was he acting like that ... like dude ...

taglist • @yongbbokkie @chaeryred @tenebrisirae @toplinelix @chansdoll @amaranth-writing @3rachachoo @linosjureumi @thebrownemo

TAGLIST CLOSED ^^^blue means i can't tag you

#.・゜-: ✧ :- FICTIONAL REALITY .・゜-: ✧ :- #skz #stray kids #bang chan x fem reader #bang chan x reader #bang chan #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids au #skz au #skz series #stray kids series #bang chan series #bang chan fanfic

[mariathechosen1]

Feminine rage and envy:

Inspired by ‘Brutus’ by The Buttress.

[Image description: A collage consisting of 10 different photographs and quotes, all related to feminine rage. All of the images are in various shades of red. From top to bottom and left to right:

A lyrics excerpt in red text on a dark cyan background: "My name is Brutus and my name means heavy."

The painting 'Judith Beheading Holofernes' by Caravaggio: It depicts Judith, a serious-looking woman, in the process of beheading Holofernes. She is wearing a white blouse and a red skirt. In one hand she's holding a sword, cutting into Holofernes's neck, in the other hand she's holding Holofernes's hair. Holofernes looks terrified and is lying naked and sprawled out over a white bed. Blood is spraying out of his neck.

A lyrics excerpt in red text on a dark cyan background: "So with a heavy heart I'll guide this dagger / Into the heart of my enemy."

An excerpt from 'Much Ado About Nothing' by William Shakespeare: "Oh God that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the market place."

The painting 'Love Slowly Kills' by Adrian Borda: It depicts a pomegranate lying on small plate, placed on a wooden table. The pomegranate, which has been been divided into several pieces, is pierced by an arrow and its shape vaguely resembles an anatomical heart. Bits of pomegranate and pomegranate seeds are scattered on the table. Behind the pomegranate there is an empty crystal wineglass and a clear glass bottle filled with clear liquid.

A lyrics excerpt in red text on a dark cyan background: "What's more wrong, that I too wish to be great? / Or my mother wished she'd had a son?"

A photograph of a pomegranate split into two halves. A butter knife, covered in bright red pomegranate juice, lies next to the halves and there is a bright red stain on the floor.

The painting 'Within the Tent of Brutus: Enter the Ghost of Caesar, Julius Caesar, Act IV, Scene III' by Edwin Austin Abbey. The painting depicts Brutus, clad in a bright red toga, cowering from the grey ghost of Julius Caesar. The ghost is splattered with blood stains.

A lyrics excerpt in red text on a dark cyan background: "Of humble and born of the cursed sex"

A lyrics excerpt spelled out with words cut out from paper: "My name is Brutus, but the people Will call me Rex". In contrary to the rest of the lyrics, the words 'Brutus' and 'Rex' are made up of individual letter cut outs instead of whole words, putting more emphasis on them. The background is the painting 'Still-life with bunches of grapes, figs and four pomegranates on a ledge' by Michelangelo Cerquozzi. The painting is dark and depicts fruits in different shades of red.

/end ID]

Sources and further explanation under the cut:

['Brutus' - The Buttress, 'Judith Beheading Holofernes' - Caravaggio, 'Much Ado About Nothing' - William Shakespeare, 'Love Slowly Kills' - Adrian Borda, 'Within the Tent of Brutus: Enter the Ghost of Caesar, Julius Caesar, Act IV, Scene III' - Edwin Austin Abbey, 'Still-life with bunches of grapes, figs and four pomegranates on a ledge' - Michelangelo Cerquozzi]

There's already a lot of 'female rage' web weaves on this website, but i figured why not do one myself? I think a lot of these web weaves either 1) tend to focus too much on biology (which is why I chose to say 'feminine' rage and tried to avoid a lot of cis female imagery. Fuck off TERFS) or 2) Choose photos or quotes taken sorta out of context? Especially when it comes to myths (like Persephone) and classical literature. I've sorta based this entire thing on 'Brutus' by The Buttress which is honestly such a fucking fantastic song, but the interesting thing about it is that it paints Brutus as, not only a female, but as someone driven by envy. I was really considering adding a quote or two from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, but in that play Brutus is specifically one of the only ones NOT driven by envy, his motives are pure. Idk, there's just something fascinating (in a positive way) about the fact that that envy appears the moment the character is female. I've also included a lot of small references that probably only I find interesting: I looked for paintings with figs as a reference to Livia Drusilla (augustus's wife who was rumored to have covered figs with poison to kill him), Beatrice from much ado because she's the best ever and I just absolutely love this rant of hers, and, of course, the pomegranates. I'm very aware that they often symbolize fertility (which goes agaist my whole 'no biology' principles), but idk I just love how bloody they look. They're a fruit. They're sweet, they're elegant, they're pretty to look at. They're blood red and they stain like hell if you're not careful. I just love how gore-y they look.

#web weaving #web weave #spilled thoughts #parallels #classic academia #dark academia #shakespeare #moodboard #feminine rage #mariacore #feminism #(I feel like ‘female rage’ can get a little terfy sometimes so I’m gonna avoid that tag) #much ado about nothing #tw blood #cw: gore #food cw #tw gore #tw violent imagery #tw violence #tw body horror #cw sexism #tw knife #cw misogyny #tw cannibalism #image described #let me know if i need to add any more warnings or tags! #this one is a bit more violent than the other #terfs do not touch

[jazztag]

A Cure for Solitude XVI

Medic is suddenly awakened by some loud knocks on the lab’s door. He checks the cameras, quite hoping it’s W who has decided to stop being an idiot and come to him again.

It isn’t. Instead, on the black and white screen, M sees the familiar face of Army no- Amy, the soldier woman who tends to patrol around the farthest areas in the city.

“C’mon, it’s important” rushes him the soldier, when M unlocks the big heavy metal door.

“What” questions M as soon as she comes inside his humble home. She is pacing around, uncomfortable. Finally, sits down on a near couch and lets her rifle rest on the floor. She looks to the floor.

“Remember when you promised me that?”

Medic disregards his annoyance at once and relaxes a bit. “Yeah”.

She looks then at him in the eye, and his smile shines, something than not even M, who has known the woman for most than two years now, has seen previously. Amy’s eyes shine with some tears strained in them, and there’s faith in there. M steps back a bit, a little bit taken aback by everything that’s going on.

“What? What, Amy? Speak”

The woman dries her eyes and steps up. She adopts a position of rest, as far as a military does, her gun on her side.

“They have approved Protocol T” and she smiles again. But M, on his side, his mouth closes shut.

“What do you mean, Protocol Test was something that our government banned after that fiasco with the Institute, they can’t…”

“Well, they now can! Remember the coup d’etat last year? Some commissions got created, some people left the government, new ones arrived…”

Medic walks frantically around the room.

“That’s bad. That’s really bad…”

Amy grabs him by the shoulders, stopping him in his tracks. She looks at him, half smiling.

“Don’t you get it? Now we actually can find a cure! Now we will all work towards the vaccine! No more gatekeeping, finally full Countries will start trusting each other with the information and…”

“No!” yells M, fleeing from her hold. He backs away into a corner, and repeats himself again, much quietly: “no…”

Amy furrows her brows and decides to let her weapon right there by the wall. She approaches M again, cautiously, but while following the scientist around the improvised apartment, her eyes start to wander around all the papers and documents that decorate each surface. A lot of medical words she has never understood. Then, half hidden under another pile, some random newspapers. Wait…

M arrives by the coffee machine and gets a fresh cup. He gulps it all down. He tries to get his hair away from his eyes for the fifth time.

“You don’t get it, Amelia. How could you? You just wait for results, and when you find them, you just… steal them”

Amy turns to the scientist, raising one eyebrow. Then she returns her attention to the newspaper cover, one from almost three years. There’s a group of scientists there, in the first article, a big photo with a lot of people and names, everything is smiles and handshakes.

“Medic?” asks Amy, without looking up from the paper. She grabs the dusty pages, and starts reading ”Is there something I should know?”

M starts pacing around, coffee in hand. “Not a virus, not a virus” mutters the scientist while shaking his head absentmindedly.

Amy keeps reading the page and stops by the big picture. He can recognize someone from the photo. Her eyes span nervously towards the bottom line of the picture, and from left to right, a series of names are written…

“M-Mel? That was you, on the team?”

M stops dead in his tracks and turns around slowly towards Amy. He then can’t keep it anymore straight and falls onto his knees, dropping the mug and breaking it in shambles. He takes off his glasses and starts crying frantically.

“It was all a mistake” he sobs uncontrollably “We were lied to and stolen…”

Amy walks towards him and yanks from his shoulders to get him up again and away from the cutting ceramic on the floor.

“You don’t need to carry all the pain and guilt by yourself anymore, Mel…” says Amy softly. You have help, now. They will let you guide them and…

“No!” M now is angry, his past is again punching him in the gut, and what he thought was something he was keeping controlled and forgot about, has returned once more. He eyes Amy, and the woman suddenly is scared. But M’s fury has nothing to do with her, that’s something she is sure of.

“There was never a mistake” speaks M, suddenly in a lower voice, more controlled manner. “There was never supposed to be a cure. The virus was the first phase of the plan, and now they are going to start the second phase.

Amy has her eyes fully open. “What- What do you m-mean”

“Three years ago I thought I failed on my research. But turns out, I just provided humanity with the most brutal annihilation weapon ever”.

M looks at Amy, and the both of them stare in shock at each other.

“You mean-”

“Amelia, answer me this one:

If you were to invent the atomic bomb, would you share the knowledge, or burn the plans and die with the secret?”

Taglist: @whump-blog @cupcakes-and-pain @crunchypuppy06 @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @kona-luu @hurtthemgently (comment to get added/removed from the list!)

#promptfactory #originalcharacter #my ocs #prompt #whump #whump prompt #whump scenario #whumpee x caretaker #zombie whumpee #zombie x human #medic caretaker #zombie #whump writing #writing snippet #medical whump #acureforsolitude

[beanghostprincess]

Luffy always gets bounties of other pirates that include the red hair pirates. He always likes to show off his buddy shank's bounty to the rest of the crew and usually puts the others aside. Usopp isn't really interested in his father's bounty it usually stays the same there's no use keeping multiple posters of the same image also, his dad really doesn't think about him all that much so why should he.

Every other year they always change the image to update what they look like of course they did the same thing for the straw hats. Sanji is still getting the short end of the stick, always having terrible images of him this time It was him in mid sneeze. Nami looking like a model as always usopp has a picture of himself with his new locs which is cool.

Luffy shows everyone shanks New bounty and points out how much he's grown his hair out He looks great as always. Usopp takes glances of his dad's bounty expecting nothing but it's a little different He has a tattoo on his arm. It's a kid. It's a little kid.......It's him. He recognizes image. In fact he has this image. He has a photo of this. It's the picture of him with his mom and dad in front of their house, it was taken the day he left. He searches through his belongings to find the old faded and crumpled photo. It's the exact same one he must have one too. His dad has a tattoo of him on his arm, he still thinks about him still loves him. what does it say on the bottom? 'my pride and joy!' [top] 'from king to a God. Usopp' [bottom]

The rest of the crew notice Usopp starting at his bounty. They don't know that much about yasopp except that he left usopp at a young age so they expect the worst when they see tears. Sanji walks up ready to comfort and scorn his father for whatever he did. Usopp shows them the poster of his dad with the tattoo. "He still cares about me! and he's proud of me! Look. Look at the tattoo!" The negative tension washes away and is replaced with joy and happiness for their crewmates.

Usopp puts the picture up next to the old one. His feelings towards him were always complicated. it still is but looking at the bounty, he's looking forward to a long awaited reunion. He can't wait to tell him the adventures and near death experiences he's had, yasopp has a couple of stories for him too

:(( This is so sweet. I can just imagine Usopp's joy when he sees the tattoo. And I'm sure Yasopp would be so proud of it too!! Showing it to his crew all the time and saying how excited he is to see Usopp (even if he's scared af to do so still). I love how all the straw hats are protective of Usopp (especially Sanji hehe) until he says he's staring at the poster for a good thing. It's just so sweet,,, I just love Yasopp and Usopp's relationship because it's really complex and really important for their characters. I really hope we get a great reunion too!

#even if my feelings for yasopp are pretty mixed too yknow #but this was really adorable and i felt so much joy imagining usopp's face #one piece #usopp #yasopp

[harlowsbby]

Urban hanging out with his baby would be so cute. Like the baby is just about to start crawling and he's vibing on the floor with them for encouragement. That would be adorable

( so I know Phoenix in the picture I showed last night looked like he was 6 💀 let’s just pretend this is like a little memory moment for Urban and the reader )

My little man

Phoenix wasn’t a very advanced baby at what you remembered it took him honestly awhile to learn how to walk you smiled looking over the photo you had taken of him the minute he actually started crawling.

Urban and You were backstage at one of Jack’s shows you guys were seated in the little area that was filled with snacks and drinks as well as two long couches everyone could rest on while Jack performed. You laughed watching Urban lay on the floor trying to get Phoenix to crawl but his little head would shake and wobble looking up at his dad he’d smile and make baby noises before laying his head back down.

“Urb come on baby he’ll crawl when he’s ready to crawl I don’t want him stressing.”

“Ma he’ll be fine and besides the doctor said we needed to get him to start crawling soon especially since he should’ve been started crawling.” Urban rolled around and walked on all fours trying to show Phoenix how it was done but all Urban got in return was a bunch of baby laughter.

“Maybe play some music or something it might encourage him to start crawling.” Neelam suggested you shrugged your shoulders and Urban got his phone and started playing some music out loud to which Phoenix actually enjoyed his little head kept trying to stay up for a few seconds trying to see or hear from where the music was coming from, that’s when you got the perfect idea.

“Urb place the phone on the floor but not too far from him.” Urban placed the phone a few feet away from Phoenix he left Jack’s song Talk Of The Town play Phoenix’s little head picked up and dropped a few times once he saw the phone he was determined to get it. That’s when he placed his palms on the floor and his little body moved up and soon enough he was on his knees crawling over towards the phone.

“He’s crawling Urb he’s crawling.” Happy tears started flowing from your eyes you couldn’t believe it your lil baby boy was crawling and you caught it on camera.

“I know he could ma you just had to give him time.” Rolling your eyes you got up from the couch and picked up Phoenix and started blowing bubbles on his little stomach making him squeal.

“My big boy oh soon you’re gonna be walking and I don’t think I’m ready for that and soon you’ll be starting school oh my god soon he’ll be in school.” You babbled on and on but all Urban could do was smile he finally had his little family he always talked and dreamed about of course he wanted more children later on but Phoenix and You was all he needed as of now.

“That was me when I started crawling?” You jumped slightly not even hearing Phoenix coming in from behind you but you smiled and nodded, showing him more baby pictures of him.

“It sure was bub and look at how small and tiny you were and now you’re my big boy who’s gonna start first grade soon.” The tears started forming just the thought of him growing up was eating you alive meanwhile Phoenix shook his head but smiled at you.

“Come on mama no crying I’m a big boy and big boys are suppose to grow up but I’ll still love you forever mama.” His blue eyes sparkled with love and glee making your heart beat he was a spitting image of Urban.

“How’d I get so lucky to have you my little muffin.” You tickled Phoenix making him squeal and toss his head back the only sound coming from the living room was his and yours laughter. Urban stood at the bottom of the stairs smiling before snapping a quick picture this was his life and his mini family and he’s never been happier.

Tag list

@lcandothisallday

@moody4world

@creme-delacreme

@babyharleezy

honestly obsessed with this our little Phoenix 🥺

#jack harlow #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow x reader #urban wyatt concept #urban wyatt blurb #jack harlow x y/n

[hopelesswrites]

#1 FAN Rockstar!Eddie Au

part 2   

(part 1)

Warnings: Pure smut, language, use of toys, kinda sweet near the end

(Do we want a part 3?)

The whole drive back to Eddies hotel you both sat in the back seat practically glued to each other. Eddie had since discarded your seatbelt and had you on his lap, his hands roaming your body as your mouths connected in a heated and desperate kiss.

“How do you get more beautiful with each time I see you” Eddie mumbled against your neck as he nibbled and sucked on the skin just under your jaw. He liked to mark you, as obviously as possible so everyone knew you were his. Many Interviewers had questioned your relationship over the span of Eddies career, his response always saying you’re ‘his special girl’. It felt good to hear him praise you so highly, and claim you so intimately, but sometimes you just wanted the simple title of ‘girlfriend’. But you knew that day would never come, Eddie Munson lead singer of Corroded Coffin didn’t have girlfriends, he had groupies.

The car pulled to a halt and you both hopped out, Eddie after you as he held your waist and directed you inside the building. A couple paparazzi were waiting outside and captured more photos of the two of you entangled in each others arms, this was sure to stir some drama between the fans of the band and Eddies other groupies around the country. You had gotten into a fight with another girl Eddie had been seeing in Florida, she didn’t understand the nature of the relationship Eddie had with girls and claimed you to be a homewrecker, Eddie said later that he had dropped her, too clingy. After that you began to feel a bit more conscious of how attached you got to your rockstar, he clearly wasn’t interested in commitment, and you didn’t want to be dropped like that girl was.

Once you were both in Eddies hotel room you took the time to admire the more lavish accommodation he had this time around, it was definitely an upgrade to the last hotel. He had a big city view with large expensive curtains draped over the floor to ceiling windows, a big king bed in the middle of the room with beautiful satin sheets and a big mirror resting at the foot of the bed.

“Had to go all out for my girl” Eddie said wrapping his arms around you while you took in the expanse of the room.

“Eddie this must have cost a fortune” You gasped, noticing now yet another mirror on the ceiling above the bed. This was clearly a honeymoon suite, and Eddie had taken the time to think about that when booking this room.

“I’m big time now baby, I’ve got the money, and you deserve the best” Eddie placed a gentle kiss to your temple before dragging you over to the bed.

“I got you a present actually” he said walking over to his suitcase and pulling out a pink bag with a pretty little bow wrapped around the handle. “Go on, tell me what you think” Eddie winked as he handed you the bag. Inside was a beautiful black set of lingerie. You observed the delicate lace of the top and the skimpy detailing of the bottoms.

“Eddie, you didn’t have to” You gasped, noticing how high end the brand was, you usually liked to dress nice for him, but this was almost too nice.

“I did, you always come to me in those pretty little sets, you shouldn’t have to pay for them” Eddie stared down at you a hungry look in his eyes, his lip between his teeth. “Plus, I think you’ll look sexy in this one”  

You announced you were going to go change and for Eddie to stay seated on the bed until you got back. You felt Eddies eyes bore into you as you sauntered away from him and into the bathroom. The set really was stunning, and you felt hot in it, you knew it would drive your man crazy.

As you exited the room you noticed that Eddie had reclined on the bed, leaning on his elbows for support. He licked his lips once his eyes landed on your standing in the doorway.

“Come here and give me a spin” Eddie said lowly, his eyes darkening with lust. Just the sight of him soaking you in left wetness at your heat, you could practically read Eddies perverted mind in this moment, not one thought being a mystery to you.

You walked over to the man and spun around pausing a moment so he could get a good look at your ass.

“Like what you see?’ You asked as you crawled up on top of him, hovering your face over his.

“Fucking love it”

Eddie leaned up and connected your lips again, this time more passionate. His hands grabbed your legs, pulling you down onto his waist, you could feel the hardness in his jeans already. His lips trailed down the base of your neck before connecting to the skin above your collar bone, sucking and biting hard to leave a large mark, his signature mark on you.

“Eddie please don’t tease me” you whined beginning to grind down on him to feel any sort of release at your core.

“It’s half the fun though” Eddie responded, grabbing you by the hair and pulling your head back to allow him better access to your throat. He continued his assault on your neck while you rode his thigh, coming to your high. Eddie stopped suddenly and pushed you off, laying you down on the bed, the lack of contact leaving you feeling desperate.

“Not so fast sweetheart, I want to take it all in, let me see you” He got up and admired you sprawled out on his bed.

“Please Eddie, just fuck me” You whined, not interested in entertaining his little game.

“Uh-uh, not so fast, we’re playing by my rules tonight, I want to take it slow, get you all worked up first” Eddie tutted. He walked back over to his suitcase and pulled something small out, he hid it in his palm as he slowly walked back over to you on the bed.

“Let’s see this pretty little pussy yeah?” Eddie whispered. He had to swat your eager hand away from your panties so he could slowly drag them down himself, the pace agonising.

You spread your legs in anticipation, Eddie ran a hand up and down your leg completely ignoring where you needed him most. You heard the sound of buzzing emit from Eddie between your legs before the feeling of vibration run up your thigh. Eddie had placed a small vibrator on your leg, sending shock waves down to your core, but still he ignored your most desperate part. You squirmed underneath Eddie as he ran the vibrator over your public bone and over your other thigh, running it back up so close to your entrance then back down your leg.

“Please please please” You started to quietly beg, the pain of not getting any kind of release clouding your mind.

“Patience sweetie” Eddie cooed before ever so slightly resting the tip of the vibrator on your clit. The vibrations shot through your body making you jerk up but Eddies other hand held you down, keeping you a safe distance from the device so it would only barely offer you any pleasure.

“You’re doing so well, you’ll get to come don’t worry”

Eddie suddenly increased the pressure, the feeling of the vibrations making you let out a loud moan, as your body jerked into Eddies hand. He increased the speed of the device leaving you a moaning mess on the sheets, you couldn’t keep up with your own body’s reaction as your orgasm came too quickly, yet Eddie didn’t stop. His other hand came down rubbing at the wetness around your entrance before pushing two fingers in immediately, knowing you don’t care much for just one finger.

“Jesus Christ, you’re soaked” Eddie mumbled as he began to pump his fingers in and out sending you into another frenzy of moans.

“Eddie I’m going to come again” You all but gasped as you felt the knot in your stomach tighten, harder than before.

“Come on my fingers baby” Eddie encouraged as your high built up to its limit and you were convulsing around him.

“That’s a good girl” Eddie cooed, riding out your high with his fingers, the vibrator now turned off as you had become way too overstimulated.

Eddie leaned down and peppered kisses over your flushed face, “Ill give you a minute” he whispered before continuing his assault on your neck, his hands roaming your chest, rubbing at your sensitive skin while you caught your breath from the previous two orgasms.

“You are the most beautiful girl I have ever laid my eyes on; you know that?” Eddie whispered in your ear. You could ear the jingle of his belt as he was pulling his pants down, but you were still too blissed out to respond.

You watched Eddie sit up and rip the shirt he was wearing over his head, you admired his body through blurry vision, it seemed like he had gotten a couple more tattoos. You didn’t get much time to think about it before you felt Eddie at your entrance.

“I’m going to fuck you so good you’ll be seeing stars” he growled, pumping his cock, you wanted to mention you were already seeing stars, but he grabbed you by the waist and lined himself up.

You braced your sensitive body to feel the familiar warmth of Eddie inside you as he pushed himself in, the stretch of his cock feeling most like a relief, you had missed him so much. He took a moment to let you adjust to his size, his head dropping to the crook of your neck. Eddie began to move, sweet mewls leaving his mouth quietly as he began his thrusts, this was a different side of Eddie, different from the man with his fingers deep in your cunt moment before, he was gentle and vulnerable, it felt good.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer as your bodies moved with each other, each trust getting deeper and more desperate, you knew he wasn’t going to last long, never did when he insisted on the torturous foreplay. Eddies thrusts got faster and his breath got hotter as he desperately chased his own high, you felt yourself coming undone under him for the third time tonight.

“Eds I’m so close” You warned as the man above picked up his pace, face buried in your neck, hot breathe fanning your skin, your combined sticky sweat gluing you two together. You couldn’t help but think how much more intimate this felt to any other time you and Eddie had fucked, even previous times doing missionary, it was never this passionate or romantic.

“I want to come with you, can you hold on?” Eddie said desperately as he rode you both to your highs. You frantically nodded as your only response knowing you were both there together anyway, you felt the coil twist, your hands tangled in Eddies hair, and you pulled him impossibly close and your orgasm released, you watched above you at the mirror, as Eddie had engulfed himself around you, moments later you felt Eddie stiffen above you and his hot release fill you, you not taking your eyes off the man in the mirror coming undone above you.

He collapsed into you as you both caught your breathe, he had you seeing stars alright, but it was different. It was more of an overwhelming emotion, this kind of intimacy was different for you, and it was all brought on by the man you loved.

“Fuck Eddie” you said in a deep breathe. Eddie clucked, still buried in your neck, an odd placement for him, he almost seemed timid.

“Sorry I got a little clingy there” Eddie whispered as he pulled out. He was looking everywhere but at your face, your chest, your legs, his legs, he looked nervous.

“It was nice, I liked it, best orgasm of my life” You chucked.

Eddie looked down at you, a goofy smile on his face. “So, you’re saying I should fuck you like that more?” You laughed quietly, “You’re the rockstar you can fuck me however you like” You noticed Eddie frown at that comment.

“it’s not just about me though”

You looked at Eddie curiously, about to ask what he meant when you noticed something on his left hip bone, it was a small tattoo, one you didn’t notice admiring him before, but it was of a name.

Your name.

“Hey Eddie, what’s that?” You asked, poking the spot on his hip. The man looked down, a look of horror on his face.

“Oh shit” He looked back at you “I was drunk, sorry, it was a mistake, a dare” he was rambling, you smiled adoringly at the man trying to make up excuses for himself. You were ecstatic absolutely over the moon with happiness, because the man you were in love with had tattooed your name on his hip, it looked like a home job, it was crooked and in his handwriting.

“it’s cute” Was all you said before hopping up and heading into the bathroom for a shower.

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #smut #eddie munson x reader #Eddie Munson fanfic #fanfic #rockstar eddie munson

[la-undercover-latina]

Dirty at Download

Requested by @youlightmeupfinn. More specifically Tipsy!Taylor

Summary: After Black Veil Brides’ set at Download 2022, Andy decides he’s got some pent up energy that he needs to get out. Luckily, the kids’ godfather is now free since the set is over.

Photos taken from Andy’s insta

TW: Smut, slight degradation, cursing, bondage (Very slight, but I still wanna throw that warning out there)

A/N: I haven’t written smut in so fucking long. So some constructive criticism is definitely welcome 😊

Andy had just finished Black Veil’s set at Download, and he had energy he needed to get out.

His jeans had tightened halfway through his set when he ran off stage for a second to get some water and give his wife and kids kisses.

There was one bit of Amber left from her hoe days. And that was the ability to make men want her with only a kiss.

“Hey Jake, CC, you mind keeping an eye on the kids for a bit?” Andy asked and CC chuckled and Jake shook his head. They both knew damn well why they needed to babysit.

“Yeap. Bring me my godchildren,” Jake laughed and Andy walked to where he saw his beautiful wife and 2 of his 3 kids standing side stage throughout the set.

They had left Rose with Tommy and Brittany while the couple was in England for Download. Especially with her only being a few months old, it would be best if she was left home for this year’s and next year’s festivals.

When he finally got to his wife, she was smiling as their kids were air playing music as the stagehands were getting ready for the next act and rock music played over the speakers.

“Hey guys, Uncle Jake and Uncle CC want to play with you guys,” Andy told them and then he noticed his drummer coming up to them.

“I’ve been sent to collect some rugrats,” he told them and scooped Tommy in his arms and held his hand out for Addy to take. With the amount of people here, Andy wouldn’t be able to have alone time with his missus if either of their kids got lost.

“UNCLE CC!” Addy yelled and instead of taking his hand, she attached herself to his long legs.

“So we’re gonna take Uncle CC for a ride instead?” He laughed, earning a nod from Addison. Tommy rested his head on the drummer’s chest, too content and a little tired to ride uncle CC’s legs like his big sister.

“Well I’m pretty sure the guys didn’t want to immediately babysit after your guys’ amazing set. Am I sensing you had something to do with this?” Amber asked, a smirk on her lips and batting her long eyelashes once the kids were out of earshot.

“Yeah, I want you now,” he spoke lowly in her ear before placing either hand on her sides, blocking her in with his arms and body. His teeth taking her earlobe between them.

A gasp left Amber’s lips before she bit down on her bottom lip to keep from moaning in public.

“C’mon kitten,” he stood eye to eye with her and Amber’s smirk deepened.

“Lead the way rockstar,” she told him, taking his large hand in hers. The same hands that would delicately hold their children could make her scream in pleasure.

Andy led them to his dressing room. Once Amber made it through the door, he turned around, pressing her body against the door, and roughly grasping her chin in his hands and bringing his lips down to her and bringing her into a kiss that screamed that he meant business.

He took her bottom lip between his teeth and sucked. Amber pressed her body on the door, using the door to support her weight as she brought her legs up to wrap around her husband’s waist.

“Learn that in dance class?” He asked her when he broke the kiss. His oceanic eyes were barely discernible from his pupil as it consumed the blue with lust.

Amber smirked.

“Maybe,” she told him and he walked backwards towards one of the couches in the dressing room, flipping them so Amber’s back laid on the couch, and bringing his lips down to her neck that she bared as soon as she saw his eyes lock on it. Andy’s skillful lips pressed into his wife’s sweet spot and a moan left her mouth and she tightened her grip on his waist.

“Did I say you could tighten your legs? Nah fuck that, open your gorgeous legs for me kitten,” he demanded and Amber closed her eyes in delight as she felt heat travel down her body and looking at her core.

“Yes daddy,” she purred and spread her legs as wide as she could with skinny jeans on. Before she could completely open them, Andy’s hands stopped her.

“Let’s see what you have on for me,” Andy unbuttoned the jeans to reveal a lacy black and red thong. Andy’s cock tightened even more, if that was even possible, behind his skinny jeans.

“You’re wearing daddy’s favorite panties and then kissed me like the slut you are for me,” he growled in her ear before his hands reached down and cupped her sex in his large palm.

“And you’re all nice and wet for daddy and I haven’t even started to touch you,”

“I’ve wanted you to fuck me all day daddy,” Amber purred, her back arching off the couch at her husband’s touch.

Andy lifted off of Amber to take his skinny jeans off, the imprint of his cock defined as the jeans fell to the floor and Amber’s mouth salivated at the thought of her husband wrecking her.

“Do your worst Biersack,” she told him, reaching for her own shirt, but he grasped her wrists in his large hands and lifted them above her head.

“These hands do not move from this spot. Do you understand me?” He asked, his breath fanning over her face. The mix of the honey lozenge and his cologne made Amber heady.

“Yes,”

“Yes what?” He asked, needing to hear the words from her lips.

“Yes daddy,” she bit her lip.

“What have I told you about biting those slutty lips of yours?”

“That you want to hear me moan your name,” Amber answered, bending her knee.

“Please daddy, touch me,” she begged and then her hands moved defiantly to try and remove her shirt.

“Well it seems like my kitten doesn’t want to listen today. So I guess I’m gonna have to make you listen,” he grasped the end of her burgundy tank top and lifted it over her head. Andy then grabbed the belt from her jeans and leaned over his wife, bringing her wrists together again and tying them to the arm of the couch.

“There you go, kitten. Now those hands won’t be where they’re not supposed to be,” he told her and began to work her weeping core with one hand and take off her matching bra with the other.

Without her hands to tangle in Andy’s hair, her back arched and legs reached back up to tighten around his waist.

“Keep disobeying me kitten and I’ll make sure you don’t cum at all,” he threatened and Amber’s eyes flew open and nodded.

“Yes daddy,” she let out as Andy took his hand from her core, making a whine come from Amber’s throat at the loss of contact. Andy gave her a wicked grin and kneeled in front of her, nipping at her thighs before attaching his lips to her clit, making her cry out.

“Daddy!” Andy grinned wide, not letting up on his wife at all, meeting her eyes as his tongue took over where his fingers left off. His hands reached up and rolled her exposed nipples between his forefingers and thumbs.

“Please don’t stop,” Amber cried out. She was starting to see stars before Andy came off of her with an audible pop and brought his lips to hers in a kiss. The taste of her on Andy’s lips made Amber breathless, and she tested the restraints on her wrists.

“Ah Ah Ah Kitten,” Andy chuckled.

“If I let you go, you’ve gotta promise to listen to daddy and not misbehave. Can you do that kitten?” He asked, pressing his lips to her sweet spot.

“Yes Daddy,” she breathlessly let out and Andy released the belt.

“Lay down daddy. Your kitten has a present for you,” Amber purred in his ear, and Andy smirked.

“Is it those pretty red slutty lips around my cock?” He asked, and she nodded.

“Tell me,” he demanded.

“It’s my slutty red lips around your nice hard cock,” she purred in his ear as they switched places.

Amber’s hands reached for Andy’s boxers, her lips pressing desperate kisses to his thighs as her fingers worked the fabric down his long legs. Finally free from the boxers, his erection is released and is dripping with precum, making Amber salivate even more.

“Do you want my slutty lips all over your rock hard cock daddy?” Amber asked, batting her eyelashes.

“Yes baby, wrap those slutty lips around my cock,” he told her, leaning back on his forearms.

Amber looked up at him, keeping eye contact while she kissed around his upper thighs, before wrapping her lips around him.

A low growl left Andy’s lips as his wife began to suck him dry. As if she was a woman stuck in a desert and his cock was the only thing that would provide her water.

He moved his weight from his forearms to his palms as he wrapped one of his hands through his wife’s deep brown hair and made a makeshift ponytail, making the woman at his feet moan out, the vibration making Andy’s head spin.

“Fuck kitten, you feel so good around my cock,” he ground out as she continued to suck, her hazel eyes never leaving his face as his head leaned back in pleasure.

“Switch with me kitten. I need your pussy around my cock, now,” he growled and Amber obeyed, laying on the couch. Andy grasped her hips in his hands and placed her where he wanted. Without warning, he aligned himself with her wet core and entered her, a cry leaving Amber’s lips and a hiss to leave Andy’s.

“Fuck kitten. Even after giving birth to three of our kids, this pussy is tight for daddy,”

“All for you daddy,” she moaned as he started to pick up the pace, her tits bouncing as Andy pounded into her. The only sounds in the room being the slapping of flesh and the sounds of pleasure coming from Andy and Amber’s lips.

“A-Andy, I’m gonna c-cum,” Amber slipped up, her toes starting to curl.

“What’s my name,” Andy asked her, noticing the slip and slowing down.

“Daddy,” she answered and Andy slowed down even more.

“I couldn’t hear you. I want you to scream my name,”

“DADDY!” Amber yelled and that spurred Andy on, resuming the pace that had his wife about to fall over the edge and about to make him bust.

“I’M GONNA CUM!” Amber yelled, and Andy smirked.

“Cum for me kitten,” Andy brought her earlobe between his teeth as he felt his wife fall apart, gripping his cock in a vice before he felt his own release, filling Amber to the brim. Andy rode out their highs before laying next to his wife and grabbing the soft blanket that was hanging over the couch and wrapping them both up in it.

Once Amber was able to catch her breath, she rolled over to lay her head on Andy’s chest.

“I love you Kitten,” he told her before kissing her forehead. She looked up to meet his eyes.

“I love you too liontári,” Amber listened as Andy’s heartbeat went back to normal, and Andy tightened his grip on Amber. Meanwhile, she was tracing the tattoos on his chest, her tattoo of the Greek translation of Lion in his own handwriting meeting her eyes.

“Remember when we got these?” Amber asked, grasping her husband’s hand that had the word Kitten written in her handwriting on his hand between his thumb and forefinger.

“Yeah, I think this was one of the first matching ones we got,” he told her, rubbing her back and checking his phone, being met with a message in a group chat with Jake and CC.

‘We had to put ear pro on the kids, you loud fuckers’ CC texted them.

‘At least we’re at a rock festival and not their house. We were able to pass off the ear pro to the band on the main stage,’ Jake responded.

“I didn’t think we were that loud,” A blush danced over Amber’s tanned cheeks.

“We? That was all you kitten,” he told her with a smile before pressing his lips to hers in a sweet kiss.

#andy biersack #andy biersack smut #andy black smut #andy black #black veil brides imagine #black veil brides #andy black veil brides #amber lee #Amber biersack #Addison Biersack #Thomas Biersack #jake pitts #cc #christian coma

[sparkypantaloons]

Mosaic

Tim hadn't even particularly liked Jason. They hadn't had the best introduction and nobody could say Jason was easy to get on with. But Bruce loved Jason and Tim loved Bruce. If Bruce needed to keep his promise to make it through, then Tim would make sure that he did.

Batman needed Robin. Even if they aren't who they were.

~

Bruce is in his study. Tim hasn't seen him in hours now. Doesn't dare try the door, can only assume it's locked. 

The older man lasted the morning, at least. Much longer than Tim had thought he would. And if the others noticed the tightness in Bruce's jaw during lunch, they didn't comment on it. Just like nobody commented when Bruce excused himself for the afternoon. Locked himself away in Bruce Wayne's cave, rather than Batman's. 

Tim sighs, picks up a lone roller skate. Faded red with silver lightning bolts down the side. It's tiny, must have belonged to Jason when he first arrived at the Manor. Eleven years old and yet to hit a growth spurt. 

Tim looks for the second skate. Rummages through the last of the debris in Jason's closet. The dregs of a childhood cut short, gathering dust for far too long. 

There are board games and stationery and magazines. Old clothes and broken trinkets and hand-me-downs from Dick. There are more notebooks than Tim can count, with stories and homework and case notes scribbled in them. One of them is full of <i>Jason Peter Wayne</i> and <i>Jason Todd-Wayne</i> written over and over again, like the eleven year old was testing them out. But most of what else is here is just teenage rubble. Little worth keeping. No second roller skate. 

Tim places the first carefully on top of the discard pile. They can't give away just one, after all. Clicks a photo on his camera. 

It's taken the best part of two days. Many hands make light work, but none of this has been light. Not just the emotional toil, the mental upheaval of clearing out a life cut short. But the physical too. Getting rid of Jason's old bed had nearly done Bruce's back in. Even with Dick and Tim's help. And Jason has— had... so many books, that they've filled five boxes already. Tim knows he'll feel every one of them tomorrow. 

The room, once all that was left living of a story half told, is nearly empty now. There's the bottom of the closet left to clear. The last few boxes to take to the charity shop. A few posters still on the wall. Little left to say that Jason Todd-Wayne had lived here. Had a home here. A family. However unconventional. 

Tim thinks Bruce is taking it pretty well, all things considered. 

He'd eventually agreed to clear out the room, strip it bare, ready for redecorating. End its days as a memorial shrine. He'd been doing well until Tim had found the marks on Jason's door frame. One for Bruce, six foot two, aged— the number has been scribbled out. And one for Jason, five foot four and a half, aged twelve and three quarters. 

Bruce had let his fingertips rest over the scrawled handwriting. Had stood there a little too long. Eyes wet and wistful. 

He had an old copy of Treasure Island clutched to his chest. Fat with damp and age. A one eyed teddy bear squeezed between his fingers. Threadbare and worn. 

Jason had come with these to the Manor and Bruce couldn't bear to see them go. 

"A photo." Tim had suggested, gently moving Bruce so he stood against the frame. The last thing they needed after two days of work was Bruce deciding he couldn’t go through with it because of a doorframe. Tim snapped a picture of the older man, still six foot two, next to his name still scrawled in the wood. 

The room looks strangely sad once it's empty. The walls a faded mosaic of where posters and furniture have been removed. The carpet still flat where wooden legs have stood. 

The windows are open, and the fresh air of the spring evening brings light to the otherwise heavy room. 

Tim stands in the doorway, snaps a photo before he leaves. Just as a little insurance. In case Bruce can't bear the changes they've made. Tim will upload it all into a file, create a time lapse of the changes. Somewhere for Bruce to revisit. If he needs to... 

~ 

The next day the contractors come in. They rip up the carpet and strip the walls. The ensuite gets knocked through and the old light fixtures swapped out ready for new ones. 

Bruce is conspicuous only by his absence. When 4pm rolls around and he still hasn't shown, Tim finally caves and checks on his whereabouts. Bruce had promised to see this through, after all. The computer shows that Batman never came home last night. Is holed up in his Crime Alley safe house from the looks of it. 

Tim tries not to think about the first time he trailed Bruce there. The way the older man was slumped in the shower. Bleeding and sobbing and delirious with grief. Begging to join his boy. It was a long time ago now, Tim tells himself. Bruce wouldn't be that reckless again. Not after so many years. 

Besides, it had been Bruce's promise to change the room. Make it new. Exorcise the ghost of Jason's childhood, that still haunted that corner of the Manor. He had promised to see it through. Even if it was Tim who had become the driving force. Always the one to pull Bruce back from the brink, help him to get the job done right. Batman still needed a Robin. Even if neither of them are who they were.

So it's Tim who spends all day lurking in the corridor outside Jason's bedroom. And Tim who the contractors call when they make a discovery. 

At some point during all of the deconstruction they find another bundle of notebooks. Wrapped in newspaper and string and hidden behind a loose floorboard. 

Tim doesn't throw them out like he did the others. But he doesn't look at them either. Fifteen year old Jason still deserves his secrets, no matter how long he's been gone. Instead, Tim puts them in his own bedroom, in the hidden drawer of his desk. For safekeeping. 

He doesn't tell Bruce. 

~ 

It takes the contractors a couple more days to fit the new bathroom, lay down the new floor and prime the walls. Then Bruce finally reappears. Paint bucket under one arm and Damian's hand in his other. 

Dick is behind them, holding onto Bruce's shoulders and steering him through the door. The lightness in Dick's eyes a direct contrast to the tightness of Bruce's jaw. 

Tim turns on an old radio, he and Dick lay down giant dust sheets to cover the new wooden floor, and then together the four of them begin to paint. 

When Jason originally moved in, Bruce had let him decorate his new room as he pleased. It was Jason's first after all. But Jason was eleven, so two walls had been black and two a garish red. Now they're slowly turning a cool mint green. A soothing balm over the fading past. 

It only takes a few hours for Bruce's jaw to slacken. For him to engage in the banter with more than grunts or nostril flares. When Cass comes up at lunchtime with sandwiches he actually smiles. Though he always has one for Cass. Tim tries not to think about it. 

They work past sunset, eager to get three coats on before they call it a day. Damian sits on Bruce's shoulders to carefully make sure the paint meets the ceiling. Tim and Dick are relegated to the floor. Lie awkwardly on their sides, tiny paint brushes in their hands. The wood beneath them hard and uncomfortable. 

When they're finished, the room looks very minty. Maybe even... too minty. The thought makes a hysterical laugh bubble up in Tim’s throat. He snaps a picture of the empty room when they're done, and leaves before his laughter escapes. 

~ 

On the sixth day they move in the new furniture. A modern, king sized bed, to replace the four-poster eleven year old Jason had chosen. It has a headboard made from a repurposed pallet, that Damian has skilfully decorated. Tim can't tell if they're meant to be birds or leaves, but against the mint of the wall it almost looks like a garden. Nice enough. Tim thinks. 

They bring in a new dresser and the refurbished bookshelf from Martha's old reading room. Fill it with Jason's favourite books from the library. The only concession to the room’s former inhabitant that Tim would allow. Damian has painted this as well. Little pictures that will only show when a book is taken from the shelf. A little gift for the reader. 

Next to the bookshelf they create a reading nook. A giant armchair and footrest. Covered in cushions, and throws, with a luxurious rug underfoot, and a warm lamp and side table to boot. 

Tim snaps another picture. Reckons he'd have been a pretty decent interior designer in another life. 

By dinner time they're done and Tim whips out the final flourish. A small bird seed table that sticks to the outside of the window. 

"For the Robin's." He tells Bruce, sprinkling sunflower seeds on the little tray. 

Bruce squeezes Tim's shoulder but doesn't speak. For once, Tim doesn't need him to. 

~ 

On the seventh day, Jason comes home. 

He's still in his hospital gown. His broken leg propped up in the wheelchair, toes poking out the end of the cast. The nasal cannula wraps around his ears, passes the scar where they shaved his head and glued his skull back together. It runs down to the oxygen tank on the back of his wheelchair. The bruising around his jaw and his eyes is a sickly yellow colour now, no longer the awful black they'd been when Tim had found him. But the swelling has gone down at least. His eyes are still bloodshot, where the capillaries have burst, making his irises a striking green. His mutilated rist and missing fingers are hidden below layers of bandages. He looks small in the chair. He's lost weight in the hospital. But he's here. He's alive. 

That's all that matters, Tim thinks. 

Jason offers a small smile when the family greet him at the door. Dick and Steph hold a welcome home banner between them, Damian at Dick's other side looking furious with the balloons he's holding. Duke blows a party horn and is popping party poppers and Cass steps forwards to offer Jason a giant Bat-plushie. Jason lets out a weak laugh, wincing slightly as it jostles his broken ribs. 

“Babs is sorry she couldn’t be here.” Dick says. “But she’s challenged you to a race down the drive when you’re ready.”

Alfred pushes Jason carefully into the Manor, and the rest of the family subtly retreat as Bruce steps forwards to greet his son. Tim lingers. Watches as Bruce crouches beside the wheelchair, eyes level with Jason's, his hand on the back of the younger man's head. "I'm so glad you're here, son." Bruce murmurs, his other hand finding Jason's. 

Tim doesn't hear Jason's reply. Looks away awkwardly as both men wipe at their eyes, whisper quiet words to each other. Tries to ignore the ache of longing in his chest. 

When Bruce stands up, Tim steps forwards. "Congrats on not dying again." He says, with more levity than he feels. The sight of Jason's mangled body still follows him sometimes. Tim's not sure this patchwork version is much better. 

Jason shrugs his good shoulder, tries to feign an air of nonchalance. "I made a promise, didn't I?" His voice is still hoarse from where he screamed his throat bloody. 

Tim nods. Follows as Bruce pushes the chair through to the dining room to join the rest of the family. 

They have tea and cake and cucumber sandwiches, but Jason has only had half a cup when he starts to flag. 

"I'll take you up." Bruce says, noticing the younger man's exhaustion. 

Jason shakes his head. "Five more minutes." He says. He beckons Tim over. "I can’t— Tim, if it's that room, I can’t—“ His words come out staccato, like he's a robot learning to speak. 

"Don't worry." Tim soothes. "I took care of it." 

Jason nods, jaw tight. Looking for all the world like Bruce and entirely unconvinced. 

"I made a promise too." Tim reminds him gently. 

He doesn't hear Jason's reply. Bruce re-appears and wheels him from the table. 

~ 

Tim is in the Cave. He’s going over the case file again. It's the only way he sleeps these days. A terrible bedtime story of how Jason Todd-Wayne was nearly lost to them a second time. If Tim studies it enough, he can see all the opportunities he nearly missed to figure out where Jason was being held, can identify all of the discoveries that were just flukes. Can make sure he never cuts it that close with his family's lives again. 

It's not that he even particularly likes Jason. They didn’t exactly have the best introduction and nobody would say Jason was easy to get on with. But Tim loves Bruce and Bruce loves Jason. Tim loves Dick and Alfred too and they love Jason as well. In the worst possible way, Jason gave Tim this family and whatever has happened between them, Tim owes the man for that. If keeping Jason safe and whole and here keeps them together, then that’s what Tim will do.

Besides, he thinks. The family of my family, is family.

It’s getting late, or early. Nearing 3am, so he clicks off the computer. Heads up towards the house. Bruce had cancelled patrol tonight. Had asked Luke and Kate and Helena to take care of things. For once, everyone had been in agreement.

Tim finds himself wandering past Jason’s new, old room. The door is slightly ajar, light spilling out into the hall.

He knocks lightly, pushes it open.

Bruce is asleep in the reading nook. Head back and mouth open, snoring softly in his robe and slippers. Jason watches him from the bed, like he can’t quite believe he’s there. Surrounded by the machines and wires keeping him stable. Keeping him alive.

“Want me to get him out of here?” Tim asks quietly.

Jason’s eyes slide to Tim. He shakes his head.

Tim walks over to the bed, hands Jason the bundle of notebooks, wrapped together in paper and string. Jason looks at him wide-eyed. “Where did you—?” He stops when his voice cracks.

Tim shakes his head. “The guys who did the bathroom found it.”

“Did you—?”

“No.” Tim says, perching on the end of the bed.

Jason’s fingers on his good hand tremble, as they slowly pull at the string tying the bundle together. He unwraps the paper. There’s a leather notebook with the Wayne insignia on it. An old symbol Bruce’s grandfather had used. The notebook is stuffed full of papers. Jason opens it slowly.

“Bruce gave it to me.” He says quietly. “When I first moved here.”

He pulls out his adoption certificate, near enough pristine apart from the crease in the middle. There are photos as well. Some of Jason and Bruce, some of Bruce and Dick, that were clearly taken by Jason. Lots with Alfred and with Ace. There are some of Jason’s mother. Of his first day at school, long before Catherine fell sick and Willis turned mean. Where he’s barely five and toothy grinned, a giant mop of curls atop his head. There are letters his grandma wrote him, before she passed away. Birthday cards and Christmas cards and at least two Hanukkah cards. Jason draws a shaky breath, as he spreads them about his lap.

“I can digitise these for you, if you like.” Tim says, carefully picking up a picture of Jason and Bruce, bundled up in the snow. A deformed looking snowman stood between them. Jason has always had so much more of Bruce than the rest of them. Than Tim.

Jason flinches. “I— Tim.” His voice breaks. “Why?”

Tim shrugs. “Then you can look at them whenever. On your phone and stuff.”

Jason shakes his head. “No, I mean…” He gestures to the room, to himself. “All this. Me. Why are you…”

Tim stares at him. Thinks of the way he had looked when Tim found him. Limbs twisting away from his body, blood bubbling at his lips. The glassiness of his eyes…

Tim’s seen dead bodies before, saw his first at the circus, all those years ago. Jason’s was different. It wasn’t the thought of losing the man himself that had hit Tim in that moment. But everything else Tim would lose because of it. That they’d lose Bruce again and permanently this time. Tim would lose Bruce and then Dick would become Damian’s father, instead of Tim’s brother, and Alfred would lose himself in the sorrow of losing Jason and Bruce both, and why would Cass stay if Bruce wasn’t here to be her father and then the only family Tim had left would all be gone. All because of Jason.

“I tried to kill you.” Jason finishes desperately when Tim doesn’t speak.

Tim shrugs. “Ages ago.”

Jason stares at him incredulous. “This room.” He croaks. “It’s—“

<i>I didn’t do it for you.</i> Tim wants to say. <i>I did it for Bruce. For my… for my Dad. Mine. Not yours.</i> Because Jason had rejected Bruce, rejected him over and over again in a way Tim never could. But Bruce needed Jason. Needed him alive and home and safe. So Tim needed him that way too.

Bringing him home was the only way it would work. The doctors had made clear that Jason was still in very real danger. That without constant care and support his condition could easily destabilise. That he might never recover as it was. 

Bruce was desperate, but Jason refused. Couldn’t do it. Couldn't go back to the Manor with the ghost of his childhood still haunting the halls.

“If I had lived it wouldn’t even look like that now.” He had sobbed, half delirious on pain meds, to Tim one night. “I would have changed it. But he just wants me stuck as that stupid kid forever.”

“What would it have looked like?” Tim had asked. “I’ll sort it.” Tim had promised.

"Don't worry about it." Tim says, dismissing the words that Jason can't get out. 

Jason looks pained, opens his mouth to say more. A loud grunt from behind cuts him off. The two of them turn to Bruce.

He blinks at them bleary eyed, confused by his own snoring waking him up. “What time is it?” He asks.

Tim checks his watch. “Half three.” He says.

“Jason.” Bruce stumbles towards them. “Are you okay? Why are you up?”

“‘m fine.” Jason says quietly. He’s turned his attention back to the photos and cards and letters in his lap.

“What’s all this?” Bruce voice is tender, as he sits himself next to Jason.

Tim rises, excuses himself. Leaves the two of them to each other and their memories. The part of Bruce’s life Tim will never be part of. Limbs and heart aching as he climbs into bed. The week finally over.

He falls into a deep and empty sleep.

~

Tim wakes the next day to his curtains being pulled open. Sunshine spilling across his face. “S’too early, Alfred.” He rolls over, moans into his pillow.

A large hand runs over the back of his head, calloused fingers through his hair. “It’s nearly four, Tim.” Bruce says softly. “Time to get up.”

Tim tries to detangle himself from his sheets. Twists under Bruce’s hand so he can see the older man. “Where’s’Alfred?” He mumbles, wiping his eyes.

Bruce runs his hand over the back of Tim’s head. Lets it rest on his shoulder. “He’s helping Jason with his dressing change.”

“Oh.” Tim blinks.

Bruce drops his eyes. “I know these last few months I’ve been—“ He cuts himself off, squeezes Tim’s shoulder. “I know I’ve been focused on your brother.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Tim says, cutting off Bruce’s apology. He doesn’t need to hear it. Doesn’t care, particularly. Has long since made peace with his rank in the hierarchy.

Bruce frowns, drops his hand. “But I do worry about it.” He says. “I worry about it a lot.”

Tim doesn’t know what to say to that. So he doesn’t say anything.

Bruce holds a hand to Tim’s face. Looks at him with a small smile. The kind of smile that makes the corner of his eyes crinkle. The kind that Tim can count on one hand how often has been directed at him. It makes his stomach swoop. 

“I know I don't say it very often, Tim…” He clears his throat. “But I’m so glad you’re here, son.” 

The words sound as soft to Tim’s ears as freshly fallen snow. Soothe the longing in his chest, if just for a moment. He holds his hand over Bruce’s, gives him a smile in return. “Me too, B.” He says. “Me too.”

#batfam #batfam fic #spbfic #batfic #batfamily #bruce wayne #jason todd #tim drake #batfamily fanfic #batdad

[thislovintime]

Peter Tork, early 1980s (photo 2 taken in Japan).

“In addition to the [Studio 19] club shows, Tork and his band will play Sunday night [March 21, 1982] at Peaches Records in Clearwater at 6:30, 7:30 and 8:30 p.m. The Peaches shows were added because many of Tork’s fans are too young to be admitted into the club, said a spokesman for Studio 19.” - The Tampa Tribune, March 19, 1982

“Last weekend in Clearwater, Tork and his new band, The New Monks, broke up. Until then, his latest comeback attempt had been rolling along smoothly during the last 18 months. […] The breakup resulted from poor attendance at two Studio 19 concerts, an abruptly canceled canceled gig last Sunday and a flare-up resulting from an on-going friction between band and management, Tork said earlier this week. ‘It was the culmination of a long, slow descent,’ he explained. ‘It’s been a struggle. I thought things had been getting better.’ However, drummer Vince Barranco recently said that the band’s split-up is not final, just in limbo, pending working out problems with management. ‘Oh, it’s further out than limbo,’ Tork said. ‘The band is not intact, and not functioning.’ Calling from a pay phone at a YMCA in New York City, where he works out regularly, Tork said his trip to Florida, which coincided with the annual Monkees Fan Club Convention last week in Largo, has left him in less-than-enviable financial shape.
 He said the band members claim they did not get paid for the Clearwater concerts. ‘I’m broke,’ he said flatly. ‘I cannot buy a sandwich. Well, I can, but it’ll stop me from eating for two days.’ Tork said only bass player Paul Ill has served official notice of quitting the band. The rest are ‘not too anxious to get back to work,’ he said. Barranco, pianist Tom Myers and guitarist Phil Simon remained in Clearwater last week waiting to get paid for last weekend’s concerts from the promoter, Barranco said, adding that the break-up is not based on personal hostilities. ‘Peter’s a nice guy and all,’ Barranco said. ‘It’s strictly business. ‘I’m game (to rejoin) if everything’s comfortable,’ he said, noting relations between management and band members would first have to be cleared up. […] ‘When I left the Monkees, I found that I was not grounded,’ [Tork] said, referring to his lack of dues-paying and basic music industry know-how. ‘I wanted to learn the trade from the bottom to the top. In California, you can’t do that — there’s no middle ground.’ The small turnout at the Clearwater shows made him question his career direction. ‘I asked myself, “Do I not draw?” Maybe I overplayed my own value,’ he mused, ‘or maybe it’s Reaganomics.’ Due to cost of traveling, The New Monks have been giving small, well-received performances only in Boston, New Jersey and New York, shows featuring Tork on banjo and guitar. […] ‘Some reviews said “don’t do any Monkees material,“ some said “do only Monkees material,”’ Tork said. ‘We decided to call our own shots, but we don’t have enough consistency or experience.’’ […] [During Monkeemania] separating the musicians from the characters on the show was almost impossible. Cast as the dunce, Tork’s character undermined his formidable musical talent. ‘The Peter Tork character reached a lot of people,‘ he said. ‘He was an outcast — he lurched around, not getting hurt by his own bumbling idiocy.’ The character had a built-in protection system — that dumbfounded, naive look — that appealed to everyone, he said. One of Tork’s fondest Monkee memories came during a break in the filming for the pilot of their first TV episode, in which they had been pretending to play instruments. ‘We got them to give us power in the amps and we just started playing,’ he recalled, ‘and everybody started dancing.’ However, Tork is most proud of the second stage [of Monkees history], circa 1967. On ‘Headquarters,’ their third album, the group, for the first time, played almost all of the instruments. Other personal favorites from that period include ‘Pleasant Valley Sunday’ and ‘Goin’ Down,’ a one-take jam released only on the flip side of ‘Daydream Believer.
’ […] [I]n 1978, Tork started easing back into show business, circulating his picture in hopes of landing a spot on a sit-com but drawing few offers. 
After a brief stint as a strictly oldies act, he founded The New Monks, ‘and now here I am, broke in New York City,’ he said. But the 38-year-old [sic] singer is far from calling it quits. ‘I’m going to keep plugging,‘ he vowed. ‘I’m not done — this is my craft, my trade.’” - The Tampa Tribune, March 27, 1982

#Peter Tork #Tork quotes #The New Monks #80s Tork #The Monkees #Monkees #Peter deserved better #long read #'I'm going to keep plugging' #so much respect for PT #Headquarters #et al #<3 #been typing up a lot of interviews/articles so long reads will be frequent #love his mind #1981 #1982 #Tork reviews #The Tampa Tribune #can you queue it

[plentyoffandoms]

Need You (Part 26) (18+)

Lee Bodecker x f/Reader

WARNINGS: This is smut. If you are under the age of 18, please do NOT read this. Swearing. Unprotected sex (always remember to use protection). Ddlg, step-father/step-daughter. Reader is legal age.

Just like all my other stories, this has not been proofread, but please enjoy.

Gifs & photos do not belong to me.

Main Masterlist ♡ The Devil All the Time Masterlist ♡ Lee Bodecker Masterlist ♡ Need You Masterlist

Summary: F/Reader is the step-daughter of Lee, who has taken care of her ever since her mother walked out on them. The two of them have always been able to keep the sexual tension at bay until one night.

YN's POV:

It has only been a few weeks since Owen came into our lives. Our Mom went to jail. Him and Lee put his bedroom together and he was enrolled in school for the very first time.

His first day of school, not only was I nervous, but so was he. Owen doesn't like being around new people and he has hardly left mine or Lee's side since he came into our lives.

But the moment he saw a bunch of a children his own age, he relaxed somewhat and as he walked into the school for the first time, a few of the boys in his class came running up to him, asking him a bunch of questions.

Yes, Owen was doing just fine settling into life here in Knockemstiff.

But with an older child in the house now, Lee and I had to put some ground rules down.

First Lee put a lock on our bedroom door as we still very much needed alone time. When it is locked, that means do not disturb us unless there is an emergency. We went over what is an emergency and what isn't.

But right now, Owen is at school. Ray and Don are having a nap in their room and my husband in laying on his stomach, with his head between my thighs, with his gorgeous mouth and fingers bringing me to my second orgasm of the day.

My legs were shaking around his head as I got closer and closer to the edge. "Right there Daddy." I cried out as his fingers found that spot.

I whined as I came, my back arching off of the bed. My eyes closed as I enjoyed the aftershocks from my orgasm.

But Lee quickly sat up on his legs and slammed into me and didn't move. His head fell to his chest and he let out a low moan as I clenched my pussy around his cock.

"Daddy." I pathetically whimpered.

"Yes babygirl?" He southern drawl sounded even huskier as he answered me.

"Move." I pretty much demanded, but he didn't like that. I cried out as he slapped my thigh.

"You don't tell me what to do darlin'." But he started to finally move. Slowly at first. I wanted, no needed him to go faster, but I didn't say a word. I knew he would cum and leave me there unsatisfied until he came home from work.

"Love this pussy, but I love that ass even more." I shuddered as he pulled out of my pussy and he helped me get on my hands and knees, playing a pillow under my stomach.

I cried out as he harshly thrust two fingers into my pussy and then those same fingers he worked into my ass, stretching it.

But his fingers never stretch me enough, so I relax my body as best as I can as he slides into my ass.

Lee groaned loudly as he bottomed out. He was panting as I tightened my ass around his cock. I can feel his belly resting on my ass.

He pulled out and the pushed back in, roughly. I had to bite the inside of my cheek as not to wake our boys.

Lee set a brutal pace, going almost feral as he fucked my ass. I had my eyes closed, my own fingers were between my legs as I fingered myself.

"Open those pretty eyes." Lee moaned and I did as he asked. The way how he had us, we were facing our dresser mirror.

Our eyes connected in the mirror and I moaned Daddy as that seemed to make his thrusts go faster.

He chubby cheeks were bright red and Lee was sweating but fuck, he looked good. "Gonna cum. Gonna fill this ass." Was all he got out as he shouted my name as he came in my ass. His gaze never once wavering from mine.

He gave me a lazy smile and I moaned as he pulled out. He flipped me onto my back and went back to eating me out.

"Too much Daddy." I whined.

"I know you didn't finish with my cock in you and I never leave you unsatisfied." Was all he said before his mouth and fingers brought me to my last orgasm of the day.

~

For once in what seems like a long time, life in the Bodecker household was calm. The three boys are doing wonderful.

Everything is good at work for Lee and my pregnancy is a bit easier this time around. At least I am not puking as much and that has calmed down during the third trimester.

Yes, life was going great.

But something just had to come a long and fuck it up.

~

It was Saturday and Lee was working and I was making lunch for the boys, when I heard the knock on the door.

I turned off the burners, grabbed the one of the kitchen knives and walked to the front of the house, wondering who could be on our front step during lunch.

I looked through the peephole and saw a man standing there. He had a leather jacket on, and his fingers were covered in rings. He was wearing sunglasses, even though there was no sun as it has been cloudy for a few days now.

I have never seen him before in my life and living in such a small town, you know everybody.

I locked the door as quietly as I could, hoping he wouldn't hear the click. I turned around and held my finger to my mouth to let Owen know to be quiet.

"I know you're in there. I just want the boy."

I turned and looked at Owen. I mouthed 'hide' to him and he ran. I didn't open the door until I knew he was safe. I have no idea where he went too but he was out of sight.

I unlocked the door and and swung it open, with the knife pointed at his face. He looked oddly familiar as I got a good look at him, but I just can't place him.

"No need for the hostility Ma'am. I just want the boy and I will be gone." He isn't from around here. I am thinking more Boston area.

"The only boys here are my boys, now leave before I call cops."

"If it is only you and your sons, then why the knife?" He was trying to get me to talk more. Maybe to get a layout of the house, or try to catch me off guard and barge his way into my home.

I didn't answer him. I just closed the door in his face. Locking it and I even put a chair under the door handle to make sure it was even more secure.

I heard what sounded like a motorcycle leave the front of my house. Now his outfit made sense.

I went around the house and closed all the window coverings. I called for Owen to come out of his hiding spot and he was covered in dust.

"Are you okay?" I asked him as I looked him over.

"Yes." He said to me quietly.

"Go have a quick bath. Lunch is almost ready." I ruffled up his hair and gave him a smile.

I checked on Don and Ray and they were good. Getting grumpy as it was almost lunch but nothing I can't handle.

I put them in their highchairs, and gave them their lunch and hoped they actually eat most of it.

As all three boys were occupied for the time being, I grabbed the phone and dialed the one number I know better than our own phone number.

Lee's direct line at work.

Lee Bodecker's POV:

The Station is just a mad house today. For some reason, these bikers stopped at the edge of town at the dive bar.

When it came time for them to pay their tabs, well let's just say Johnny who owns the bar, is now in the hospital.

Limbs broken. Face so badly beaten in, you can hardly tell it is him.

But one of the waitresses he is fuckin' hid in the back and saw it all. She called us and the whole department descended onto the bar and arrested anyone we could get our hands on.

I have just returned to my office, hoping for some piece and quiet when the phone rang. I groaned as I knew this day was never going to end.

"Sheriff Bodecker." I gruffly said as I answered the phone.

"Lee." I heard the sound of her voice and I couldn't help the small smile that appeared on my face.

"Hello Darlin', it was like you read my mind baby." She always knew when I needed her.

But as she told me why she was calling, the smile disappeared from my face. YN described what he was wearing.

Almost exactly like what every single person we just arrested, was wearing the same outfit.

"And he wanted Owen?"

"Yes, he said he just wanted the boy."

"Did he say why YN?"

"No, but I do have an indication on why he wanted him. Lee, Owen looks like him."

At that moment, a fight broke out in the station and there was screaming and yelling.

"We will talk about this more love but I gotta go, I love you."

"I love you too." And she hung up the phone. I slammed the phone down, not caring at this point if I leave it off the hook as I had shit I have to deal with.

~

It was well past the time I was supposed to be home. It was all hands on deck at the Station to get everyone processed.

I pulled into my driveway and sat in my car for second. I called YN just before I left to say I was coming home and nothing was going to get in my way to get home to her and the boys.

But as I stepped out of my car, I realised I wasn't alone. I heard movement behind me and I had my gun drawn and pointed at the person.

He didn't flinch. He had a toothpick in his mouth and he was leaning against what I assume is his motorcycle.

This must be the fucker that came here earlier and demanded that Owen be handed over.

"Evening Sheriff." He said as he stepped away from his bike.

"Only goin' ask this one time, what do you want?" My gun was still on him.

"Just the boy."

"Turn around and leave this town if you know what is good for you."

"Not without my son. You have two boys from what I can see Sheriff. You understand."

"Get off my property and leave my family alone before I arrest you." He looked like he was going to say something else, but he held is hands up and got on his bike.

"I'll be seeing you around Sheriff." The bike roared to life and the asshole drove off. I never once lowered my gun.

Not until I knew he was gone. I quickly got into my house and locked the door behind me.

Now to talk to YN and see about making a trip to the women's prison to see what the hell we are up against.

Part 25 / Part 27

Tag List: if you would like to be added, please let me know. @kitty1960 @red-rose-21 @adaydreamaway08 @charmed-asylum @thegirlnextdoorssister @thehuntresswolf @rebeccapineapple @hernameisnoellex3 @avengershoney @bxnnywriting @spooky-stoner @yvonneeeee @winterschildren17

#the devil all the time (2020) #the devil all the time smut #the devil all the time x reader #the devil all the time #lee bodecker #lee bodecker fic #lee bodecker x ofc #sheriff lee bodecker #lee bodecker x you #lee bodecker series #lee bodecker smut #lee bodecker x female reader #lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker x y/n #sheriff lee bodecker x reader #sheriff bodecker #sheriff lee bodecker imagine #Sebastian Stan #seb stan #sebastian stan characters

[aschlindartroom]

Three Photo Tag Game

Thank you for the tag @tryingtimi! Love stuff like this.

Rules: Find 3 photos/images (they can be anything at all, memes, vintage photographs, quotes, anything) that you feel describe your wip. If you want, you can tell a little bit your story, too. You can do it with or without the context.

Second Serpent: Bird & Fish

Small excerpt below the cut.

In the darkness, a familiar, metallic scent stung at her senses. Blood. Old.

A tunnel walled from top to bottom in tile stood before them. Clinical white surfaces now held the grey pallor of dust, the mark of years resting over long-dried streaks of blood and decay. Bodies, now skeletons, were scattered along the corridor. Clothes clung to the bones—the sterile suits of doctors, the flimsy dressing gowns of the sick. Some wore protective vests, Schmidt & Foster issue, heavy and falling off of what remained of them. No cannon residue, no marks from knives or other melee weaponry, no holes where fabric or armor may have been punctured. The ones who carried guns had not drawn them.

Seung stepped lightly over the ground, moving to catch up to Rhen and Antoni. The two were not surprised, moving through the corridor.

“What happened here?” Seung asked. She noted the patterns of crimson, high arcs of arterial spray, flecks against the ceiling.

Rhen avoided Seung’s eyes. Antoni looked back at her with an odd smile. “Project Bloom happened,” he said. He pushed a gurney out of their path. The skeleton splayed on top of it hit the wall and rattled. Seung had never found the need to respect the dead—no dead man but her father, anyway—and didn’t start now. But she noted Antoni’s brazen countenance, coupled with Rhen’s quiet, and filed it away.

The tunnel was long—at least a mile, by Seung’s estimate. It sloped downward, crawling deeper into the earth. A pressure that was not just altitude began to build, a disquiet that felt both familiar and new, growing with each step. Seung slowed to a stop. Rhen and Antoni turned to look at her, halting their progress. Rhen’s ever-present smile was gone, replaced with cold resignation.

What she wouldn’t give, at times, to have Ehren’s insight.

“You haven’t brought me here for the view,” Seung said, gesturing to the bodies at their feet. Their numbers increased the farther down they went. Whatever had ended these people, it had taken advantage of the natural bottleneck. No way out but up.

[...]

“What is this place?” Seung asked.

“A very old Schmidt & Foster facility,” Rhen replied. “We think it predates the Spacebelt Catastrophe. It was abandoned. Project Bloom repurposed it and the resources left behind.”

“Project Bloom?”

Antoni stepped forward to cut them off. Rhen raised her hand, halting him. She did not look away from Seung. “An experimental trial in cast oil exposure, funded and sourced by the Liberation. Anecdotal evidence supported the hypothesis that cast oil exposure in certain quantities to certain people caused valuable mutations—the next step in evolutionary development.”

They weren’t her words—too practiced and concise. How many times had she rehearsed this explanation? How many times had she rattled off the words in broken mirrors, or heard them spoken in her presence?

Seung nodded further down the hall, where the door to a freight elevator loomed ominously. “Why was it blocked off?”

“A leak of cast oil aerosolized,” Rhen said. “The facility residents were already exposed, but they closed off the area to minimize the damage to the rest of New London.”

“How long?”

“Four years ago.”

Seung looked down at one of the skeletons by their feet, draped a patient’s gown covered in blood but long since dried. Empty eye sockets. She remembered H, the eruption of blood as his eyeballs had burst—the fat, pulsing worms that had pushed them out.

“These people didn’t just die of exposure.”

“Not just,” Rhen agreed. She took another step forward, careful. Seung stood her ground. “The airborne cast oil initiated a space-time anomaly. A crack into the void opened.” Rhen hesitated, considering her next words carefully. “Something came through.”

“Something,” Seung huffed.

“Part of something,” Rhen amended.

#second serpent #tag game #tag games #bird and fish #writeblr #writing community #second serpent wip #writers of tumblr #novel #bird and fish wip