#and everything will be fine in the end won’t it

[carnalcrows]

All that we leave behind

pairing: gangster ! male OC x male reader [faceclaim]

synopsis: You take a job. It goes to hell. Suddenly you’re bleeding, locked up, and wondering if your daughter will forget the sound of your voice. Then he shows up. Not with lawyers. Not with mercy. With fists, fury, and a plan that involves you, him, and handcuffs. You should hate him. You should run. Instead, you end up in his car, half-naked and shaking for reasons that aren't entirely fear.

You're free now. Kind of.

But someone’s watching. And they know your kid's name.

content warnings: 18+, bottom male reader, violence, blood/gore aftermath, imprisonment, trauma, emotional distress, power imbalance, mafia themes, handcuffs, mild voyeuristic implication (guards witnessing), handjob (reader receiving), p in a, overstimulation, slight dubcon (stress-induced), light darcyphilia, emotional manipulation, Felix being terrifyingly calm, implied threat to child, enemy gang foreshadowing.

word count: 2.4k [pt 1 here]

You wake up to the sound of your daughter humming.

It’s a tuneless thing, low and content, drifting in from the living room—something she must’ve picked up from cartoons or daycare. Your eyes open slowly. Dry. Your body feels like it was chewed up and spat out by something mean.

Sunlight filters in through the curtains. Too soft. Too normal.

You sit up, and everything aches. There’s dried blood under your nails. Not yours. You should shower. You should move.

But instead, you just sit there. Listening to Nora hum.

Eventually, she calls for you. “Daaaad. I can’t reach the peanut butter!”

You scrape yourself off the bed. Pull on clean clothes that still smell like detergent. Walk barefoot to the kitchen, pretending your legs don’t tremble under you.

She’s standing on her step-stool, arms outstretched like she’s reaching for the moon. Her pyjamas are wrinkled and her curls are everywhere, and when you lift her into your arms, she giggles like everything’s fine.

You make toast and slice bananas. She chatters about some picture she drew at Zia’s yesterday. You nod. Smile where appropriate. Laugh, even.

There’s a stack of folded laundry on the table that you don’t remember folding. Your phone buzzes once.

Felix. You don’t check it.

“You look tired,” Nora says around a mouthful of banana. “Did you fight the monsters last night?”

You freeze.

Just for a second. Long enough for her to blink at you, then giggle again, like she’s only teasing. Like she has no idea what you did with your hands last night. What you let Felix do with his.

“Yeah,” you say finally, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “Yeah, baby. I fought ‘em all off.”

“Good,” she says, swinging her legs. “Then they won’t come here, right?”

You want to promise her that. You want to lie.

But outside the window, you spot a black car parked across the street. New. Too clean.

Your phone buzzes again.

This time, you check it.

Felix: Your next assignment will be cleaner. Less blood, more control. You’ll need to be dressed by 10. I’ll send someone.

You stare at the message for a long time.

Then you delete it. And wipe peanut butter off Nora’s cheek.

✧✧✧

You knew it would get messy. You didn’t think it’d end in cuffs.

The job sounded simple enough. A warehouse, a warning, and rough up a guy who’d been skimming off Felix’s money. You’d done worse things for less reason. This time, though… something went wrong.

Too many people inside. Someone pulled a gun. You saw red, then blood. Then cops.

You were still panting, knuckles split and bruised, when they slammed you onto the hood of a cop car. Felix wasn’t there. He never showed.

The precinct didn’t know who you worked for. Not really. They tossed you in a holding cell like you were nothing more than some cracked-out muscle for hire. You said nothing. Not about Felix. Not about Nora. Not even when they tried to bait it out of you.

Your hands were cuffed behind your back for hours. Your shoulder ached from where someone had clocked you with a bat. The adrenaline was wearing off, and the pain was settling in. You were starting to wonder if maybe this was it.

Then he arrived.

Not with lawyers. Not with bribes.

Felix walked into that goddamn prison in a pair of handcuffs—escorted in like he was just another perp. Like he belonged there.

He didn’t look at you right away. He sat across the cell, calm. Controlled. But when the guards left, when the door clanged shut behind them, his voice was low and furious:

“What the fuck did they do to you?”

✧✧✧

You didn’t speak to him the first day.

He was put in the same cell—whether by coincidence or something far more deliberate, you didn’t know—but he didn’t say a word when the bars shut behind him. Just sat on the opposite bench and looked at the wall. Not at you. Not at your bruised face. Not even when you muttered, “You’re a goddamn lunatic.”

On day two, he finally broke the silence.

“Nora’s fine.”

You didn’t answer at first. You weren’t sure you believed him. He looked too calm. Too clean.

“She’s with Claudia,” he added. “One of my best people. She likes her. Drew her a picture of a unicorn yesterday. It’s hanging on the fridge.”

You clenched your jaw and stared at the cracks in the cement floor.

“You could’ve sent someone,” you muttered. “Didn’t have to get yourself locked up.”

Felix didn’t blink. “No one touches what’s mine.”

You weren’t sure if he meant your daughter or you. You weren’t sure which one scared you more.

✧✧✧

By now, you'd memorised the rhythms of the place. The morning announcements. The guards’ footsteps. The shift changes. The guy in Cell 14 who didn’t stop coughing. The way Felix didn’t sleep, just leaned back with his arms folded, eyes half-shut, but always listening.

You were starting to piece it together—how some of the guards looked at him. Not like a prisoner. Like a storm waiting to happen.

“So what’s the plan?” you asked finally, low and quiet. “You gonna break us out with your mind? Or are your guys tunnelling through the sewer system?”

Felix smiled, a soft, humourless curve of his lips.

“I don’t need a sewer. I already own half the staff.”

That wasn’t a metaphor. You believed him.

Still, you asked the one question that had been gnawing at you:

“Why didn’t you come in with your people? Why… this? You walking in here like a goddamn martyr?”

His eyes finally met yours. Sharp. Dark. Unreadable.

“Because I don’t trust anyone else with you.”

✧✧✧

It happened after dinner on the third day.

A guard stopped by your cell with two pairs of handcuffs and a clipboard.

“Cellmate transfer,” he muttered. “You’re being moved together for the night. Orders from above.”

You raised a brow. Felix said nothing, just stood when the cell door slid open.

The guard—bald, tattooed fingers—clicked one cuff onto your wrist, then reached for Felix and snapped the second half onto him. Deliberate. Tight.

Felix didn’t even flinch. But he gave the guy a look— a nod.

The guard slipped you a folded scrap of paper as he left. No one noticed.

You waited until the footsteps faded.

Unfolded the paper. Two words.

Get ready.

✧✧✧

You were moved to a different part of the prison that night. Fewer eyes. More shadows.

Felix hadn’t said much since the cuffs locked the two of you together. Just that slight tug of the wrist every now and then, guiding you down hallways, across the yard, keeping you close without asking. The skin of his wrist brushed yours every few steps. You hated how steady he felt. Like he was used to this.

The paper said “get ready,” but it didn’t say when.

You got your answer after lights-out.

A clatter of metal. A yell.

Then a fist hit your jaw.

You didn’t even see who threw it—some meathead with a busted lip and too many tattoos. He’d been eyeing you since day one. But tonight, he moved like he had permission.

Your body slammed against the wall with the force of the hit, and the only thing keeping you upright was the sharp jerk of the cuff as Felix pulled you back to your feet.

“Mine,” Felix growled. Just one word. Not even loud.

Then his fist met the guy’s face.

Bone cracked.

The next second? All hell broke loose.

The brawl spread like wildfire—fights erupting between inmates, guards shouting, bodies flying. Someone tackled a guard. Alarms started blaring. Felix never let go of your wrist.

“Move,” he said, voice deadly calm, yanking you through the chaos.

You were still dazed—someone else's blood on your face, yours or theirs, you didn’t know—but your legs listened. His grip was firm and unyielding, dragging you through the stampede with surgical precision.

Down one corridor. Around a bend. He knew exactly where to go.

“This way,” he said, ducking into a side door kicked half open. Inside, a guard already lay unconscious, keys still hanging from his belt.

Felix grabbed them without breaking stride.

You blinked. “Wait, he’s not—?”

“One of mine,” he said simply.

Of course he was.

✧✧✧

It wasn’t glamorous. Not some secret hatch in the wall or dramatic rooftop leap. Just a utility tunnel, half-flooded, stinking of rust and mildew. Felix shoved the door open with his shoulder, pulling you through as water sloshed around your ankles.

The cuffs dug into your skin every time you stumbled, and he didn’t stop moving—not until you both reached the end of the tunnel and emerged into open air.

A black car waited.

Engine running.

“Get in,” Felix said, unlocking the cuffs with the stolen key. He caught your wrist as he did, his touch firm but careful. He didn’t say anything about the bruise forming beneath the metal. Just helped you into the backseat like nothing about the past hour had happened.

You didn’t ask who was driving.

You didn’t ask where you were going.

You just sat there, adrenaline flooding your bloodstream, your ears ringing, your hands stained with someone else’s blood. You felt like you were coming apart at the seams.

Felix sat beside you. Close. Too close.

And then his hand slid over your thigh.

“Breathe,” he said.

You did. Barely.

“Good,” he said, voice lower now, sliding into something darker. “Because I need to check something…”

✧✧✧

The car doors shut like a vault locking behind you.

The night was still ringing in your ears—fists slamming into flesh, your own or someone else’s, the way the cuffs had bitten bone-deep, the coppery tang of blood clinging to your teeth.

You didn’t speak. Neither did Felix.

He drove like he wasn’t in a hurry but knew exactly where to go. His hand rested too casually on the wheel, like he hadn’t just broken you out of prison with his bare fists.

The silence stretched. You were still bleeding, somewhere. Or maybe not. Hard to tell anymore.

Then—

“I told you I’d get you out,” he said. Calm. Matter-of-fact. Like none of it was personal. “Didn’t say you’d be okay after.”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t need to.

He pulled into an alley. Cut the lights. The car’s engine ticked into silence.

And then—his hands. On you. Tugging. Pulling you over the console. Until you were in his lap, straddling his thighs, chest to chest.

Your voice was hoarse. “What the hell are you—”

“You’re not okay,” he murmured, already working open your belt. “I’m going to fix that.”

You could’ve stopped him.

Maybe.

But then his mouth was against your neck, his breath hot and steady, one hand spreading you open like he’d done it before. Like he’d imagined it. Dreamed it. Practised it in his head a hundred times, waiting for this moment.

The first push of him inside you punched the breath out of your lungs.

Not gentle. Not rough. Just inevitable.

You choked on your own voice, grabbed at his jacket like it could anchor you to something real.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, low and wrecked. “Take it. You can take it.”

He kept one hand on your hip, guiding every grind of your body against his, the other hand pressed flat to your back like he didn’t trust you to stay.

You moved with him. Or maybe he moved you.

It was all too much and not enough, and the pain bled into pleasure somewhere along the way. Something in you cracked. Came loose. Maybe it was trust. Maybe it was a survival instinct.

You came first, biting down on his collar to stay quiet.

Felix followed with a grunt, deep and low against your throat, still buried inside you when his grip loosened.

For a while, neither of you moved.

Just the sound of your breathing.

His hand on your back.

Your blood on his shirt.

And somewhere, far away, the question that would haunt you later:

What the fuck did you just let him do?

✧✧✧

You slept like the dead.

You woke up in silk sheets that weren’t yours, wearing clothes that didn’t belong to you. Your body ached in places that weren’t visible, and your throat was sore from silence. The room was dimly lit, clean, and too quiet. A tray sat on the nightstand with a glass of water and a note.

“She’s safe. Sleep. —F”

You stared at the handwriting for a long time.

You didn’t dream. Not properly. Just flashes—steel bars, Felix’s breath on your skin, blood in your mouth that wasn’t yours. Somewhere in between the cracks of sleep, you remembered what it felt like to let go. To not fight back.

To give in.

You didn’t know if it made you weak or just human.

✧✧✧

The next morning, Felix wasn’t in the apartment.

A man you didn’t recognise was seated outside the bedroom door. Not armed. Not hostile. Just… present. He nodded when you walked past him. Said nothing. You got the feeling that if you had asked for a ride to hell, he’d have already started the car.

You found Felix in a high-rise kitchen, sleeves rolled to the elbows, cutting fruit. Like it was a normal Tuesday. Like he hadn’t killed a man in front of you two nights ago. Like he hadn’t had his hand inside you in the backseat of a bulletproof car.

“Sit,” he said, not looking up. “You need food.”

Your stomach churned at the thought, but you obeyed.

He set a plate down in front of you. You didn't touch it.

You did speak, though. “Why are we still here? Shouldn’t we be with Nora?”

Felix paused. Knife mid-air.

“She’s in a safehouse. Out of reach. You showing up covered in blood wouldn’t exactly be soothing.”

You stared at him. “You think this is soothing?”

His jaw tightened—but he didn’t argue. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and slid it across the table.

You hesitated. Then opened it.

There was a photo attached.

A man. Late thirties. Scars down the side of his neck.

The name below the photo made something in your gut clench.

“You’ve heard of him?” Felix asked.

You nodded slowly. “He used to run guns out of Naples. Thought he was dead.”

“He’s not. And he’s been asking about you.”

You looked up. “Why?”

Felix finally met your eyes.

“Because he knows about Nora.”

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

Taglist: @axetivev @yyuinaa @zaynesyumei @sageofspades @onyxmango @puccigucii @the-ultimate-librarian @sooobiinn @sooniebby @i2innie @tintenka1 @timaas-blog @darlinqvi @horrorsbeyondreality @rednugget @lysanderplume @leron1108 @kauo-writez @the0ishere @calgurl @kissenturine @bleedingbl0ssom @gayaristocrat @hyppernovva [comment to be added, or send an ask]

[ceyanabbiolo]

PHOTOGRAPH // M.S [21]

Summary: Daphne Denoire, a 21-year-old, returns to Boston after 3 years—but working for her brother’s best friend, Matthew Sturniolo, wasn’t part of the plan. He’s a 26-year-old multimillionaire. She’s the girl he was never supposed to feel this way about. With secrets between them and boundaries set, how far will they go for a love they never saw coming?

Warnings: angst

wc: 3378

Chapter 21: Week of Insanity

The whole day went by in a blur, just sitting and waiting around, hoping that something good would come. 

However, no news came. 

I hadn’t slept. Maybe I dozed off for a few minutes, head leaning against the wall, but the images of Matt in that bed haunted even the moments my eyes were closed.

Noah had gone downstairs, Nick sat quietly with his headphones in, eyes unfocused, staring at nothing. 

Just past 9 PM, Aurora returned to the waiting area. She dropped into the seat beside me, sighing as she pulled the blanket back around her shoulders.

That’s when it hit me.

“Wait… aren’t you and Chris—weren’t you broken up?”

Aurora laughed softly, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear. The last time I’d seen her at her fashion show, she’d told me the engagement had ended badly after her father’s arrest. Her voice then had been bitter, distant. 

“Yeah… we were,” she said, nodding. “It was messy. But… we actually got back together a few nights ago.”

My eyebrows lifted. “Really?”

She smiled sheepishly. “Yeah… like three nights ago. It just… happened. Kind of out of nowhere,” then added. “He showed up at my worst.”

I nodded and offered her a warm smile. “Good. I’m glad.”

I understood that feeling. That deep-down, unshakable knowing. The way someone could show up at your worst and quietly rebuild everything you thought you lost. 

Matt had done that for me—he’d shown up in my life when I was at my most lost, when I didn’t know what came next or if I even had the strength to figure it out.

“You know…” Aurora said, gently nudging me with her elbow. “Matt really cares about you.”

I glanced at her, unsure. “Really?”

She gave a soft laugh and nodded. “Yeah, girl. Every time he’s around me or Chris or anyone, he always finds a way to bring you up. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it—it’s like you’re just... apart of him now.”

A smile pulled at my lips, quiet and aching.

“I just want him to wake up,” I whispered, the words barely holding together.

He’d been taken in for another surgery earlier—only about an hour ago. It had gone well, from what the nurses told us. The swelling had gone down. His vitals were stronger.

Everyone was saying his condition was better now. More stable. 

Still, I hated the way the doctors always said If he wakes up. Every time I heard it, something inside me cracked a little more, because in my head, there was no if. Matt was going to wake up. That was the only option. No hesitation. No question. It wasn’t if. It was when. 

Mary Lou had come by around 6 PM to check in on Matt. She’d been on edge, panicked, pacing, asking the same questions over and over. Chris and Nick had told her the doctors said Matt would wake up soon. That calmed her down.

Of course, it wasn’t true. The doctors had never said that, but she needed rest. She was older, exhausted, and running on nothing but worry. We wouldn’t want that stress to take her down, too.

As I sat quietly, watching the hallway, I felt someone approach.

“We should go home, love,” Chris said softly to Aurora, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Aurora glanced at me, hesitating. “It’s fine, Chris—we should stay,” she said gently.

I shook my head. “No. Go home, girl. Seriously, I’m okay.”

Aurora still looked unsure, but after a beat, she nodded.

Chris turned his attention to me. 

“Noah’s coming back soon, you should get some rest too,” he added, “if he wakes up, one of us will call you. Me, Nick, or Aurora will. You won’t miss anything, I promise.”

There was a softness in Chris’s voice—gentler than his usual gruff tone—and I noticed the way his hand rested protectively at the small of Aurora’s back as they walked out together.

I let out a long sigh, the quiet settling again around me like a heavy blanket.

A few seconds later, Nick came over from where he’d been sitting, his eyes tired, his smile faint. “I think I’m gonna head out too,” he said softly.

I nodded. “Okay. Be safe.”

Just as he disappeared down the hallway, Noah stepped in through the doors, his expression unreadable but his presence grounding.

“Let’s go,” he said simply.

I hesitated. Every part of me screamed to stay, to plant myself back in that chair and wait for Matt to open his eyes. But my body was worn down, and my brain felt like it had been wrung dry.

Reluctantly, I stood and followed behind Noah. The walk from the waiting room to the parking garage was maybe five minutes, but it felt longer, every step tightening the knot in my stomach.

Something in me kept whispering: Don’t leave. Like if I walked away now, I’d miss something important.

By the time we got home, the exhaustion had finally caught up to me. I went straight to my room, peeled off my clothes, and pulled on an old t-shirt. Then I climbed into bed, burying myself beneath the sheets.

But sleep didn’t come. I stared up at the ceiling, listening to the silence.

My mind was consumed with my boyfriend Matt. My mind went back to the first time I saw him, after coming back from London. How he was just there…sitting on the couch like he belonged there. 

Then my mind drifted further back, to a nearly forgotten memory—the first time I saw Matt. At least, the first time I remember. We must’ve been, what… seven and twelve?

“Matt! This is my little sister,” my brother called out, waving him over.

I was seven at the time, sitting beside my mom on the edge of a playground bench, my legs swinging and my lips stained red from a half-melted popsicle. A boy—taller, a little lanky, with messy brown hair and the brightest smile I’d ever seen—ran up toward us. His cheeks were flushed from playing, his shoelaces half undone.

“Hi!” he grinned, giving me a goofy little wave. "I'm Matt."

I blinked at him, the sun in my eyes, and said nothing.

“Come on, Daph,” my mom nudged me gently. “Say hi, hunny.”

I didn’t. I just raised my hand and waved back—shy, quiet, too unsure of myself to speak.

My brother laughed, clearly used to me being like this. “My sister is a little shy, but she’s nice.”

Matt leaned down slightly, hands on his knees. “That’s okay,” he said cheerfully. “I think quiet people are cool.”

I didn’t answer, but I remember studying him closely. The boy who made my brother laugh louder than anyone else. The one he was always talking about, the one whose name floated around our house like background music.

I’d always stayed tucked away in my room—surrounded by dolls, sticker books, and fairy tales—only hearing about Matt and his brothers through muffled laughter down the hall. They were like characters in a story I wasn’t part of.

Until that day.

After meeting him, something shifted. A small, innocent crush bloomed quietly in my chest. The kind only a ten-year-old could carry—full of wide eyes and silly dreams. 

I even remember one summer afternoon, probably when I was around ten, building up every ounce of courage I had just to walk across the yard and ask Matt to open a juice bottle for me. It was probably the boldest thing I’d ever done.

He was only thirteen at the time, lanky and a little awkward, and to my quiet horror, he struggled with the lid just as much as I had. But he tried anyway—tongue poking out slightly in concentration, eyebrows furrowed like it was a life-or-death mission.

I stood there in front of him, trying to play it cool, but secretly thrilled just to have three whole minutes of his undivided attention. When he finally got the lid off with a proud little huff, he handed the bottle back like he’d just saved the day.

“There you go,” he grinned, brushing his hands off on his shorts. “All yours.”

My cheeks had burned for hours after that. Even now, thinking about it made them heat up all over again—but for a different reason. More of a why was I such a weird little kid? kind of way.

The memory lingered in my mind longer than I expected, soft around the edges, like something I hadn’t touched in years. It made my chest ache—in a good way, and a bad one. Eventually, the weight of everything caught up to me.

I curled deeper into the blankets, still wearing Matt’s hoodie, the scent of him faint but comforting. My eyes fluttered shut as that old summer afternoon faded into the darkness behind my lids.

Day One

When I opened my eyes, morning light was already spilling into the room, casting golden lines across the walls. My phone buzzed quietly on the nightstand—8:07 a.m.

Another day. Another day without him awake.

I sat up slowly, blinking against the sunlight, letting the silence settle around me before reaching for my phone. No messages. No updates. Just the usual emptiness I’d come to expect.

Noah had told me earlier that Chris had called—Matt was still in a coma. Stable, but unchanged. They said there was no point in going in today. That I should rest. Wait.

But I couldn’t. I needed to see him. So I went anyway.

When I got to his room, everything was the same. The machines are still humming. The soft beep of the monitor marked time like a metronome. The light from the window fell gently across his still form.

I stepped closer and looked at his face. The bruises were still there, fading just slightly, but still angry and purple. Still real. Still painful to see.

I leaned down, gently brushing his hair from his forehead, my heart aching as I pressed a kiss to the bruise just above his eyebrow. Then another on his temple, and one more near the edge of his jaw.

“They’ll get better soon,” I whispered, “I promise.”

Day Two

I had woken up in the hospital chair, still curled in Matt’s hoodie, my neck stiff from the way I’d fallen asleep. I didn’t even remember closing my eyes. 

What woke me was a soft hand on my shoulder. I blinked up, bleary-eyed, to find Mary Lou standing beside me.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said gently. “Have you been here with him all night?”

I nodded, sitting up slowly and rubbing at my eyes. “Yeah… I didn’t mean to. I just… lost track of time.”

She gave me a small, knowing smile, her eyes kind.

“It’s alright,” she said, brushing a piece of hair behind my ear like a mother would. “You’re probably the first person he’ll want to see when he wakes up anyway.”

She’d said that before—more than once—and I used to brush it off. But hearing it now, with her hand still on my shoulder and the morning light streaming in through the window, I almost believed it.

“I hope so,” I whispered.

Mary Lou gave my hand a soft squeeze. “Go get changed, love. Wash your face. I’ll sit with him for a while.”

I nodded, grateful, and stood slowly, taking one last look at Matt before quietly stepping out of the room.

Day Three

“You look so stupid in this photo,” I murmured, a soft smile tugging at my lips.

I was staring at my phone, at a picture I’d taken of Matt in LA—standing on the beach, sunburned and grinning like a fool, holding two coconuts up to his chest like makeshift boobs.

I chuckled under my breath. “You thought you were so funny.”

The laugh faded almost as quickly as it came, replaced by that all-too-familiar ache. It was almost 11 p.m., and I was still sitting in the hospital hallway, curled up in the same chair outside his room. I’d told myself I’d leave earlier, but I hadn’t moved. I couldn’t.

I looked down at the photo again, my thumb brushing the screen.

“You’d probably make some dumb joke right now if you saw me crying, huh?” I whispered. “Something like, ‘Aw, don’t ruin your pretty face, sweetheart.’”

I swallowed, blinking fast.

The room was silent except for the soft hum of machines behind the glass.

“You always make everything better,” I whispered, my voice catching. “So can you please just… wake up now? Just open your eyes. Just a little?”

I pressed my forehead gently to the arm, barely touching, just enough to feel his warmth. 

“Please, Matt. Just a little”

Day Four

“Daphne,” Noah said. “You need to go home. He’ll wake up when he does.”

I sighed.

“I’m fine here,” I replied. “Not like I want work, my client’s sleeping.” I gestured toward Matt with a faint, tired smile.

Noah pressed his lips together, clearly holding something back.

“You’re here more than his mom.”

He wasn’t wrong. I was here more than anyone else. Even Chris and Nick haven’t visited since yesterday morning. 

But the thought of being anywhere else made my stomach twist. The idea of leaving him—of walking away from that room and not being there if something changed, was unbearable.

It didn’t feel right.

I couldn’t sleep when I was home. I’d toss, turn, check my phone every ten minutes, and stare at the ceiling until the sun came up. However, here, even if I was curled in an uncomfortable hospital chair, I felt closer. I felt... grounded. Honestly, I’d probably get better sleep in Matt’s ICU room than in my own bed right now, because as long as he was here, this is where I needed to be.

Day Five

“Alright, Matthew, enough sleeping—you’re getting lazy,” I teased softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

I was alone with him again, the quiet hospital room heavy around us. Everyone had left about half an hour ago, leaving me with just the steady beep of the machines and the faint hum of the ventilation.

“Prada is waiting for their most handsome model,” I added, forcing a small smile, though my heart felt like it was breaking. “I heard they’re not getting much business without your photos.”

I swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how ridiculous I must sound. If a nurse walked in right now, they’d probably ask if I needed to be checked instead.

I swallowed hard, fighting the lump rising in my throat.

“Oh!” I said a little too loudly, trying to shift the mood. “I got new Pokémon cards. We can open them together!”

Matt loves Pokémon.

I pulled the pack from my bag, my hands trembling as I carefully peeled back the wrapper. My eyes stung, but I blinked fast, refusing to let the tears fall. I wasn’t crying, not yet. Just... weak.

The weight of it all pressed on me, heavy and cold, but I clung to that small, silly hope. Like maybe, just maybe, he’d open his eyes and smile at me, and we’d laugh about the stupid cards like we always did.

Day six 

“Remember when you said you couldn’t go days without showering?” I murmured, talking to myself more than to him. “Well, sir, it’s been almost a week now.”

I gave a tired little smile, shaking my head at my own words. 

"Your bruises are a bit better now."

Just then, the door creaked open, and Chris and Nick stepped in quietly, their faces etched with exhaustion.

“Any progress?” Chris asked softly, eyes scanning the room.

I shook my head slowly. “Nothing yet.”

Nick ran a hand through his hair, his jaw clenched. “Still no sign?”

I sighed, looking back at Matt’s motionless form. “Nope.”

We all sighed again in unison. 

Nick gave me a sideways look and smirked. “You know, when Matt wakes up, he should probably kneel down and propose to you right away.”

I blinked, surprised, then let out a soft laugh. “Why’s that?”

He shrugged, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You haven’t left his side for a second. I think that’s gotta count for something.” 

I smiled, the heaviness in the room lifting just a little. 

Day Seven 

My silent sobs echoed softly in the quiet ICU room as I sat on the edge of Matt’s bed. His hand rested in mine, fragile and still, and I traced gentle circles on his fingers, trying to send him strength through my touch.

“Please wake up, Matt,” I whispered, voice trembling. “Please. It’s not funny anymore.”

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “Chris and Nick need you. Noah needs you.”

My eyes burned with unshed tears as I added, “Your mom needs you.”

And then, barely audible, I confessed, “I need you…”

The whole week, I’ve been feeling like I’ve been going crazy. Talking to myself, eating by myself, and even pacing around the ICU for no reason by myself. 

Before I could say more, the door opened quietly, and Mary Lou stepped inside. Her eyes immediately found mine, and without hesitation, she crossed the room and wrapped me in a warm, comforting hug.

“Oh, my darling girl,” Mary Lou murmured softly, her voice gentle and soothing. “Don’t cry. Please, don’t cry.” She tenderly brushed her fingers through my hair, her touch warm and comforting.

“You love him so much, don’t you, hun?”

 I nodded, unable to find my voice.

“I know he loves you just as much,” she said quietly. “And I think my son would want you to stay strong—for him, right?” she whispered, leaning in close. “He wouldn’t want to know he’s the one making you cry.”

Her calm, steady presence was something I found myself admiring deeply. Here was a mother, standing so strong despite the impossible weight she carried. The way she kept her composure, the gentle way she spoke—it was a quiet kind of bravery I barely understood but desperately needed.

I glanced up at her, seeing the softness in her eyes and the quiet strength in her every breath. How does she do it? I wondered. How does she stay so calm when her heart is breaking just like mine?

In that moment, Mary Lou was not just Matt’s mother—she was a lifeline. When my mother had passed, she, in ways, started to fill some motherly roles in my life. So I was so grateful for her, and will always have a soft spot for her. 

“I’ll try,” I whispered.

Mary Lou pulled back just enough to look at me with soft, concerned eyes. “Honey, you need to go home soon. You’ve been here day and night, and you have to take care of yourself, too.”

I hesitated, swallowing the lump in my throat.

“Go freshen up, get some rest. Relax a little. It’ll help you be stronger for him.” Her voice was kind but firm, filled with that motherly wisdom I so desperately needed to hear.

“I’ll stay here with Matt for a while,” she added gently.

I nodded slowly, knowing she was right even if my heart protested.

“Okay,” I whispered.

She offered me a soft smile, and after one last look at Matt, I slowly pulled away. My steps were heavy, reluctant, but I knew she was right.

I needed a moment to breathe.

The walk out of the hospital felt longer than usual, like every hallway stretched on just to test me. The silence of the elevator was deafening, and the cold air outside stung more than usual as I stepped into it.

By the time I got home, the weight of the past week hit me all at once. I barely made it out of my shoes before collapsing onto my bed, face-first into the pillows that still smelled faintly like lavender.

I didn’t bother changing. I didn’t check my phone. Sleep pulled me under fast.

For the first time in days, I didn’t fight it. When I finally relaxed and had a good sleep, the call came around 6:09 in the morning. 

READ ALL RELEASED CHAPTERS NOW!

[a/n: i wonder what the call was? teehee – like and reblog! mwah] –ceyana

Tags: @oopsiedaisydeer @ribbonlovergirl @mattsfrenchtoast @lm-a-mirrorball @urlocallera @kingofeverythingmb @idkwhatimdoinghereeeeeee @malox12 @sturnslux3 @carrielovesmatt @vanillakissesxx @sagesturns @enviedparty101 @kiarasmaybank @mattscore @fmg05 @mattsdiva @kenah-sturniolo @tropicfessed @courta13 @meatballlover10 @ellssturn @idkwhatthisis2009 @mattspillowprincess @chrissturniolodailysluts @babyt0matoes @angelxsturns @mattsbabyangel @mattysmrwrinkleton @beardedbernard @sturnsfluff @le4hsblog @sturnsobsessed21 @munkincakes @wesj11

[steddieas-shegoes]

brothers first, always

for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'band of brothers'

rated t | 780 words | no cw | tags: steve and gareth friendship, friendship, arguing, happy ending

also on ao3

🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁����🥁🥁

Gareth’s packing his shit, tears falling down his face. He doesn’t know how they got here, doesn’t know how he’s supposed to just get behind the drumset and act like he’s not questioning his entire friendship with his bandmates.

How quickly they took an opportunity that he couldn’t be a part of. How they apologized, but still went ahead with it even after he asked them not to. How they defended their choice even when he told them he couldn’t ever picture himself playing without any of them sharing the stage.

Steve’s standing by the door, watching him and probably keeping everyone else out. Things got heated and they had to be separated and everything’s gone to shit.

He wipes at his face and throws his bag over his shoulder. He’ll get his drums from the studio tomorrow when everyone else is gone.

If they can do this festival without him, they can be Corroded Coffin without him.

“Gare…” Steve finally says, in that way like he’s trying not to cry. “C’mon man. You’re important to them, they just didn’t know it would upset you so much.”

“We do everything together!” Gareth turns on him, yells so loud his voice breaks. “They knew I had to be in my sister’s wedding this weekend. They could’ve passed. They could’ve asked about another festival. They said yes without even running it by me first and then told me the day before like it wouldn’t upset me!”

Steve breathes in. “I know. No, listen,” he holds his hands up when Gareth is about to argue. “I know. I told them to talk to you before agreeing. I swear I tried. They’re fuckin’ idiots, dude. You know how stupid they are. You’re the brains of their operation. They got left unattended and did something dumb.”

“Yeah, they did,” Gareth’s shoulders fall. Steve’s good at this, calming him down. Calming them all down. If they could afford to pay him, they would. He’s as good as any professional manager, that’s for sure. “I don’t understand how they could do this.”

“You heard me when I called them fuckin’ idiots, right?” Steve laughs, and it almost makes Gareth laugh. Almost. “They were thinking with their brains on vacation. They weren’t even in the building.”

“But I wouldn’t ever do that. I’d never agree to a show without them,” Gareth sets his bag down as he speaks. He hears the others talking on the other side of the door, probably trying to be quiet but failing.

Fuckin’ idiots.

But they’re idiots he cares about. And he knows they care about him.

He’s pretty sure that’s why they waited so long to tell him.

“I guess it’s cool to get our name out there or whatever,” Gareth finally says when Steve doesn’t say anything else. He lets him get there on his own, because he knows that’s what Gareth needs to do. He’s got a short fuse and it can be lit multiple times within seconds. His mom calls him firecracker for a reason. “Wish I could go.”

“They wish you could too.”

“Yeah!” Eddie yells through the door.

Gareth and Steve roll their eyes at the same time.

“Shut up!” Gareth yells, but he’s shaking his head fondly as Steve smirks at him.

He’s already forgiving the fuckin’ idiots. He should’ve known he would.

“You guys are brothers. No way this shit would’ve kept you from being their drummer. This might help get you guys on the map for more,” Steve says, using the logic that Gareth couldn’t find behind the emotions. “You won’t miss the next one. Promise.”

Gareth groans. “Fine, but I’m gonna go be mad at home tonight. They can practice without me.”

Steve nods. “Yeah, makes sense. Just go out the side door.”

“Tell them they piss me off.”

“Present tense?” Eddie asks through the door.

“And future!” Gareth yells right against the door. He hears them all curse and a loud bang like someone fell against the wall. He picks up his bag, but decides to leave his sticks, just one sign he didn’t completely walk away. “See you Tuesday, man.”

“Yeah. Have fun at the wedding. Try not to ruin your tux,” Steve nudges him as he walks by.

Gareth stops and does something he doesn’t do often enough, something none of them do enough except Eddie.

He hugs Steve.

“Thanks for talkin’ me out of it,” he says quietly so none of the eavesdroppers hear him. “Would’ve been mad about it next week.”

“Anytime man. You’re my brother, too.”

It settles something in Gareth’s chest, knowing that he’s got someone on his side. Multiple someones even when they’re fuckin’ idiots.

[thatnightlamp]

LORGAR NSFW ALPHABET

Tags: @incrediblethirst, @iluminatka16, @absynthe-mind

i live with the ideas of virgin church boy Lorgar with high libido don't blame me

A = Aftercare

Lorgar is tenderness embodied after sex. He’ll wrap your body in silks, murmur praise as if reciting sacred scripture, and hold you close as if your breath sustains him. He thanks you. Truly. As if your shared passion was a gift from the divine.

B = Body Part

Your eyes. They’re the windows to your belief, your devotion, your shame. He watches them closely when you fall apart for him, seeking salvation in every flutter.

C = Cum

Messy. He’s embarrassed about it at first, how much he gives, how warm it is, how needy he sounds when he finishes, but part of him also delights in it. Watching it drip out of you leaves him flushed and wordless.

D = Dirty Secret

He’s written psalms about you. Explicit ones. Poetry blending religious fervor and graphic lust. They're hidden among his scriptures and if you ever find them? He’ll go red, then bend you over the altar in penance.

E = Experience

Theoretical genius, practical virgin. He’s read forbidden texts. He’s fantasized endlessly. He knows what should happen. But when it comes to actually doing it? He’s hesitant, flushed, reverent and wildly eager to learn.

F = Favorite Position

Missionary, at least at first. He needs to see your face, kiss you constantly, and stay wrapped around you like he’s afraid the moment will end too soon. Later, once he’s more confident? Cowgirl. Nothing drives him mad like watching you take control while he melts beneath you.

G = Goofy

Not naturally goofy, but adorably awkward. Gets flustered when you undress, stammers if you tease him. Might gasp and apologize mid-thrust for being too rough when he’s barely begun. You’ll have to coax him into confidence.

H = Hair

Soft, fine, a silken trail that leads down from a narrow waist. You stroke your fingers through it and he shudders like you’ve whispered blasphemy in his ear. He probably tried to remove it before your first time, ritual cleansing and all.

I = Intimacy

Off the charts. Every moment is sacred. He wants to touch you, hold you, worship you. He kisses between thrusts, clutches your hand when he cums, buries his face in your neck and breathes like you’re his salvation.

J = Jack off

More often than he’ll ever admit. Always guilty afterward. He’ll cry, mutter apologies to the God-Emperor, then do it again that night while moaning your name this time.

K = Kink

Worship kink. He wants to praise every inch of your body, tell you you’re divine.

Blasphemy kink. The very act of desire excites him because it feels forbidden. Sex in sacred spaces? Dangerous... and thrilling.

Begging kink. Either direction, he’s wrecked by hearing you plead, but will also whimper and beg to finish if you tease him.

L = Location

Private, soft, candlelit rooms until the urge overwhelms him. Then? He’ll fuck you in his sermon chamber, behind curtains, on ceremonial altars, panting apologies with every thrust.

M = Motivation

Any kindness from you. A touch on the shoulder. Your voice calling his name softly. You smile and his cock twitches in his robes, he excuses himself to go pray. Or jack off. Or both.

N = No

He won’t share. Not ever. The thought of anyone else touching you, seeing you, makes his chest ache and his vision blur. Polyamory, open relationships, even playful flirting with others? It wounds him. You’re his devotion, his sacred bond. He needs to be your only altar.

O = Oral

Giving. Obsessed. You’re like a sacrament. He’ll stay between your thighs forever, moaning into you like prayer.

P = Pace

Nervous and slow the first few times. He wants to memorize everything. But once he finds his rhythm, he gets desperate, gripping your hips, stammering apologies while pounding into you harder than he meant to.

Q = Quickie

He tells himself he shouldn’t. It’s not respectful. It’s not proper. But you pin him to the wall and whisper something filthy, and he’s huffing against your neck, rutting into you with frantic devotion in less than a minute.

R = Risk

Terrified of it. Aroused by it. He’ll gasp at the thought of getting caught, beg you not to but then moan louder than anyone should and dig his nails into your back when you keep going anyway.

S = Stamina

At first? One and done, blushes, apologizes, begs to try again in a few minutes. But he’s a Primarch. Once he gets used to it, he can go all night, trembling and panting, still hard even after you cum twice.

T = Toys

Owns none, but his curiosity burns in silence. When you bring out a toy, he flinches, then watches with wide, dilated eyes. If you guide his hand while using it on you, he’ll come in his pant.

U = Unfair

You’re the unfair one. Tease him and he folds. Whisper in his ear? Stroke his cock once and stop? He’ll beg, red eyed and gasping. He doesn’t even know how to tease you back, yet.

V = Volume

So vocal. Whimpers, moans, high pitched cries, “Oh—please—I—” He doesn’t even realize how loud he is until after, when you tease him for it. And then he hides in your chest like a wreck.

W = Wild card

He tried to write a hymn about you. With poetic metaphors describing your body, your moans, how you "parted like a sacred veil", it got so obscene he had to burn the parchment in shame. But he kept a copy. Somewhere.

X = X-ray

Elegant, flushed dark, and thick for his slim frame. Pretty, almost too sensitive, he twitches at the barest touch. Leaks a lot. His hips buck involuntarily when you even breathe on it.

Y = Yearning

Dangerously high. His libido burns beneath that calm exterior. He dreams of you nightly, stains his sheets, and wakes whispering your name like a confession.

Z = Zzz

Clings. Doesn’t sleep right unless you're in his arms. Might murmur verses or your name in his sleep. Once he’s finally rested, he’s the warmest, most affectionate blanket you’ve ever had.

[corkinavoid]

Case File: Danny’s Call

This snippet vibes to Drunk by Tiscore

Danny sits on the edge of the balcony, legs dangling over the drop like the fall down is no scarier than a skipped step on a staircase. Gotham skyline stretches before him in jagged silhouettes and neon bruises, streetlights flickering like tired eyes. It’s late — way past 'should be asleep' and squarely in 'why are you still awake' territory — and deep into the kind of quiet that presses heavy on the chest.

He takes a deep breath, lungs filling with the faint smell of smog and distant promise of rain. A whole week of summer heat is coming to an end, it seems.

From inside the penthouse, muffled sounds drift through the glass doors: Cujo’s barking, excited and sharp, Dani’s laughter trailing after it. She's probably teasing him with something he’s not allowed to chew, or maybe they are both trying to chase Vlad’s cat for sport. Somewhere in the kitchen, Jazz is moving around quietly, teacups clinking — she always makes tea after stress.

The Fenton version of calm after a storm.

Danny’s phone glows pale blue in his hand, thumb hovering over the screen. He scrolls through the contact list without purpose, past names he knows too well — Jazz, Sam, Tucker, Val, Kwan and Star, even Vlad. All of them tangled in the same strange mess of half-truths and ghost stories that make up his life.

He hits 'Call' on one name that is not part of it before he can second-guess himself.

It rings — once, twice, over and over with no answer — then goes to voicemail. And Danny knows he should hang up, should just leave it alone and go on with his life — afterlife, ha — without thinking too hard about it, like he did dozens, hundreds of times before.

But instead, he exhales and starts talking.

"Hey, Caroline," he starts, voice tired but lips still stretching in a smile because that's a polite, nice thing to do, "it’s Danny. Sorry I’m calling so late but something happened and I- nothing urgent, nothing bad, everything is fine," he rushes to add, like trying to stop someone from hanging up. Which… she technically already has, kind of.

"Just… my friend was hurt. I fixed it, everything’s okay, he’s better now, but-" His voice catches slightly, and the pause stretches as Danny takes a moment to breathe and look up into the sky. It's empty — there are no stars in Gotham, just a dim, gray blanket of light pollution and a whole lot of dark corners.

Nothing to guide him through the blizzard.

"I don’t know why I’m calling, sorry," he admits with a soft, awkward laugh, running a hand through his hair. Leaning forward over the railing, he watches the glittering abyss of streets yawning beneath — it doesn't scare him, but it doesn't call to him either. There's no allure to jumping from high places when you can't really fall. "You can delete it. I guess I’m just… lost? My life is a mess, and everyone I know is already in this mess with me. And I think I need someone who’s not."

He pauses, frowning at himself, "Ugh, wait, no, I shouldn’t say that, it sounds like I’m about to unload my whole life story on you, but I won’t — didn't plan to, at least — I’m-"

Beep.

The message cuts off, a mechanical voice telling him it's too long in fake sympathy. Danny stares at the screen for a moment or two until it fades to black, sighs, then lets his head fall back as he closes his eyes.

This was stupid, why did he do that.

But then the phone rings in his hand a second later.

–○–

And they talked very awkwardly for, like, five minutes, both apologizing every ten seconds, because they are idiots in love with poor social skills.

Tim didn't pick up at first because he was busy questioning the surviving assassins. The experience of talking to Danny in Caroline’s voice, while dressed in Red Robin suit, with two knocked-out ninjas two feet away from him was maybe the single most surreal thing related to identity porn that he's been through. Vigilante kind of troubles, you know.

This is a part of Crime Scene Do Not Cross fic and happens after Chapter 4.

[mylovelivv]

ೀ⋆｡˚a boy who’s jacked and kind!! j.m.

⋆˙⟡paring: joel miller x f!reader (no outbreak au)

⋆˙⟡warnings: age gap, dbf, smut, slight angst

⋆˙⟡wc: 1.6k

you’re not supposed to stare at your dad’s best friend.

it’s something your mother told you a few summers ago, the first time you’d come home from college and spent the entire barbecue following joel miller with eyes like he was a storm you were bracing for.

“you’re not slick, sweetheart,” she’d murmured, handing you a glass for lemonade and a warning look. “keep that up and your father’s gonna notice.”

you did your best, after that. you really did.

but joel—he made it hard.

he wasn’t even trying. that was the worst part. he’d shown up in worn jeans and that soft gray t-shirt that clung to his broad chest, smelling like sawdust and aftershave and texas sun, and do something completely mundane like take a swig of his beer or tilt his head back to laugh, and you’d be ruined. every time.

now, three years later, it’s worse.

because you’re older. because you live in the city now. because your summer internship ended early and you’re staying at your parents’ place in austin while you figure out what’s next. because joel’s divorced and still comes by like always, still mows your dad’s lawn like they’re in a suburban marriage.

and because the look he gives you lately feels different. he doesn’t look away as fast.

he watches.

────୨ৎ────

you’re sitting on the back porch when he arrives, barefoot, wearing nothing but a pair of cotton sleep shorts and your dad’s old sweatshirt, legs tucked up beside you on the bench swing.

the wind’s heavy with late june heat, buzzing with cicadas and too-sweet honeysuckle, and joel’s voice cuts right through it.

“well, look who’s back in town.”

you glance over your shoulder.

he’s standing there in a black t-shirt and jeans, heavy work boots, a rag tucked into his back pocket like he just came from a job. his hair’s a little grayer than you remember, curls at the nape of his neck. his face is sun-warmed, dusted with sweat and stubble.

“hey, miller,” you say, trying to sound breezy. “dad’s not home.”

he nods. “i figured. he said three.”

he climbs the porch steps like it’s nothing, heavy frame moving with ease, and gestures to your swing. “you mind?”

you shake your head, and he sits beside you, boots planted on the wooden planks, knees wide. his arm brushes yours.

it’s fine.

it’s fine.

except it’s not.

because it’s joel, and because the second he sits beside you, something deep in your chest goes hot and still, like a matchhead caught between your ribs.

“you home for good?” he asks after a beat, voice low, almost gravelly. he nods at your bare legs. “or just visitin’?”

you sip your iced coffee and shrug. “trying to figure it out.”

he grunts. “your folks happy to see you?”

your eyes flick toward him. “they are.”

“and you?”

you meet his gaze. his eyes are warm, soft brown and curious, but there’s something behind it. like he’s watching too closely. like he’s always watching too closely.

you shrug again. “we’ll see.”

joel hums, like he hears more than you say, and leans back into the swing, elbow slung over the back of it—behind you.

your breath catches.

he smells like cedar and sweat and something darker, like motor oil and warm metal, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body, sinking into your side. you want to lean into him.

you want to ruin everything.

────୨ৎ────

the next time you see him is the fourth of july.

your dad throws his usual cookout—beer, burgers, too many neighbors and not enough chairs. you show up in a red bikini under an open white linen shirt and cutoff shorts, half hoping joel won’t come, half hoping he will.

he does.

he shows up halfway through the afternoon, six-pack in hand, salt-and-pepper curls wet from the heat. he nods at your dad, gives your mom a kiss on the cheek, and then—

then he finds you.

your back is to him, lounging on a beach chair with a popsicle between your lips when he calls your name.

your turn.

he stares.

then he blinks. clears his throat.

“didn’t recognize you,” he mutters.

you raise a brow. “why? because i’m not fifteen anymore?”

joel’s mouth ticks. not quite a smile. “somethin’ like that.”

your dad calls him over then, but not before you see it.

the flicker of something in his eyes—something sharp and low and hungry.

you press the popsicle between your lips again, slow this time, just to test it.

joel watches.

then he turns away.

but he doesn’t stop watching for the rest of the night.

────୨ৎ────

you find him in the kitchen when the sun’s gone down, flipping burgers for the stragglers. the porch is full of noise and music, but it’s quieter here, soft yellow light falling over his shoulders as he leans over the stove.

“you always cook like this?” you ask, sipping from your beer.

he glances at you, amused. “when your dad’s drunk, yeah.”

you lean against the counter, close enough to touch. “you ever cook for a girl?”

he looks at you then. fully.

joel’s face is unreadable. “you know i was married.”

you shrug. “that was a long time ago.”

he’s silent for a beat. then, “why’re you askin’?”

you blink. “just curious.”

joel hums again. “curiousity’s a dangerous thing, sweetheart.”

you don’t move. “so is boredom.”

there’s a long, heavy pause. then he turns off the stove.

“i’m not gonna do this,” he says softly. “you’re—you’re your daddy’s girl.”

you swallow hard. “that’s not all i am.”

joel steps toward you. one step. two. he stops inches away, his big hands curling into fists at his sides.

“you think i don’t see you?” he murmurs. “the way you walk around this house? the way you look at me?”

your breath shudders.

“joel—“

“you want me to ruin you?”

yes.

you nod before you can stop yourself, lips parted, heart thudding.

he’s so close you can feel the heat of him, the way he’s practically vibrating with restraint.

but then—

“don’t tempt me, baby,” he mutters, jaw clenched. “not unless you’re sure.”

then he steps back, and the moment is gone.

────୨ৎ────

you can’t sleep that night.

you lie in your childhood bed and think about his voice. his hands. the look in his eyes when he said ruin you.

you ache with it.

────୨ৎ────

you end up at his house three days later.

you don’t tell your parents.

you just say you’re going out, then show up at joel’s place in a sundress and lip gloss, heart thudding in your chest like you’re about to commit a crime.

you knock once.

he answers the door in sweatpants and a faded austin fc shirt, hair mussed, eyes widening when he sees you.

“jesus,” he breathes. “you tryin’ to kill me?”

you shrug. “maybe.”

he doesn’t move.

you step past him.

“joel,” you say, turning to face him, dress swaying, “i’m not a kid anymore.”

he’s breathing hard. his jaw’s tight. “you think i don’t know that?”

“i want you.”

“don’t say that.”

“i mean it.”

joel groans—deep, tortured—and suddenly his mouth was on yours.

the kiss is hot and hungry and wrong, but it makes your knees buckle anyway. his hands come up to cup your face, then slide down your back, tugging you closer until your body’s flush to his.

you moan.

he pulls back, breathing heavy. “you sure, baby?”

you nod. “please.”

that’s all it takes.

────୨ৎ────

joel fucks you like he’s wanted to for years.

it starts on the couch—your dress bunched up around your hips, hands dragging your panties down your thighs. he kneels between your legs and spreads you open with thick fingers, groaning at sight of you.

“fuckin’ gorgeous,” he mutters. “knew you’d be sweet.”

and then his mouth is on you—hungry, hot tongue working slow and deep as his beard scratches your thighs, holding you open while he devours you like it’s his last meal.

you come fast. too fast.

he doesn’t stop.

he holds you down and licks you through it, groaning against your fluttering cunt, until you’re whimpering, squirming, begging.

“joel—fuck—too much—“

“no, baby,” he murmurs. “not yet.”

he doesn’t even get undressed all the way—just pushes his sweats low and lifts you onto his lap, sinking into you in one slow, thick thrust.

you cry out.

he curses low and rough. “tight little thing. goddamn.”

and then he starts to move, hands gripping your hips, rocking you down onto him with slow, brutal rhythm.

“joel,” you pant, nails digging into his shoulders, “feels so—fuck—so good—“

“i know, baby,” he grunts. “been thinkin’ ‘bout this. every time i saw you—fuck—knew you’d be perfect.”

you come again when he tells you that. he feels that.

“yeah,” he growls. “that’s it. cum on my cock, sweetheart. let me feel you.”

and when you do, he falls apart—hips jerking, cock spilling deep inside you as he groans your name like a prayer.

────୨ৎ────

after, you’re curled up in his bed, bare legs tangled with his, head on his chest.

he’s quiet for a long time.

then: “i shouldn’t have—“

you press a kiss to his neck. “don’t say that.”

he sighs. “you don’t get it, baby. i can’t give you what you deserve.”

you look up at him. “you gave me exactly what i wanted.”

his eyes soften. “yeah?”

you nod. “stay with me.”

joel cups your face again—soft, reverent. “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

you smile. “worth it.”

and he kisses you again.

slower, this time.

like he means it.

[tryingtofindava]

Hellooo!

I was wondering if you could maybe do a Ellie Williams x Gn reader where the reader gets hurt in anyway if not that’s perfectly fine!

── 𝐓𝐋𝐎𝐔 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Loved this idea sm I wanted to write it for everyone hehe

: ̗̀➛Back to Source

╰┈➤ 𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬

Rage First, Then Fear.

Ellie is pure fury when it happens, immediate retaliation. She’s brutal and swift when taking out the WLF patrol.

“Fuck! No, no, no. Y/n, stay with me. Please.”

Everything fades for a moment, no thoughts whatsoever about Joel or Abby. In that moment, it was all just you.

She tears through her backpack for medical supplies, hands bloody and shaking, trying to stop the bleeding.

When you’re passed out or resting, she sits nearby silently, red eyes staring at nothing. You getting hurt rattled her more than she lets on.

╰┈➤ 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

Joel snaps into action like a soldier. There’s no panic on the surface, just cold and sharp efficiency. He yells at you to stay low and returns fire immediately.

Afterwards he quickly takes you to the most secure location and patches you up with all the supplies he has.

“You stay with me, y’hear?”

He walks closer to you now. Always between you and whatever danger lies ahead.

If you even so much as wince, his eyes are on you in a second. He won’t admit it, but he sleeps lighter now. Always listening for your breathing.

╰┈➤ 𝐀𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐀𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧

While making your way to the FOB you get attacked by scars and take an arrow to the shoulder.

The arrow hits and Abby freezes for a heartbeat. Then she kicks into survival mode, neutralising the attackers with her rifle.

She pulls the arrow out clean, gritting her teeth as she does it. Her hands are steady but her jaw is tight. She’s holding back her rage.

“Fuck those guys.”

No one’s taking you away. Not like her father. Not like Owen. Not you.

╰┈➤ 𝐃𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐖𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝

The second the two of you get ambushed by a few stragglers, Dina throws herself between you and the infected the second you fall. Her first priority is ending the threat, fast and clean.

“Hey… hey, babe. Look at me. You’re okay. I’m here.” Her voice wavers, but she keeps it together for your sake.

She patches you up while whispering reassurances. “It’s just a cut. You’ve had worse. At least you didn’t get bit, huh?” She smiles trying to lighten the mood.

Dina becomes ten times more careful after the attack. She’s glued to your side, always watching.

╰┈➤ 𝐉𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞

With Jesse it would be the same as Dina, running into infected while on patrol…

Jesse moves fast, clearing the infected like it’s second nature. As soon as you’re safe, he’s beside you, calling your name with panic in his voice.

crouches down, hand cupping your face. “You clean? Good…” His eyes flick constantly between your and body like he has he’s an ex-ray scanning your.

Let’s you lean into his side as he leads you back to the horses.

Later, when you’re safe, you catch him staring into space, hands clenched. “Should’ve seen the clicker earlier… I’m sorry.” Jesse carries the guilt hard.

[miewriteswoso]

A medal and a place in your heart

Lynn Wilms x reader

Summary: You lose one of the biggest matches of your life, but in the end you got something that a medal can’t replace.

Word count: 1.3K

A/N: its not super long but I liked writing it, hope you guys enjoy ps: the title makes sense in the end

This was the most stressful game you have ever played in your career. It was the European championship final. Netherlands against England. England was currently 0-1 down, and you as a striker were doing everything in your power to get that equalizer in.

You were in the penalty box with the ball at your feet, but just as you were going to shoot, somebody tackled you hard. You fell to the ground feeling a sharp pain in your knee. You knew that feeling all to well. You had ruptured your ACL a few years before when you were making your senior debut for the lionesses. There was no doubt in your mind. You just ruptured your ACL again

You got stretchered of the pitch with tears flowing down your face. You didn’t know who had tackled you in the penalty box, at least not yet.

About 15 minutes later you heard a knock at the door of the medical room. You thought your teammates were there to visit you, but at the door stood the Dutch international, Lynn Wilms with a gold medal around her neck.

“Hi, I don’t know if I am really the person you want to see right now but I just wanted to say I was sorry” she said. “ I shouldn’t have tackled so hard but at that moment the only thing on my mind was the win. That was selfish of me and now you have to suffer because of it. I’m sorry”

You looked her in the eyes and saw that she really meant her apology. “look Lynn, these things happen. If I was you I would’ve also gone all out to save my team from conceding. Its not selfish, it’s choosing your team over the opposition.”

“I just feel bad because it’s not a minor injury. You will be out for at least nine months.” Lynn replied.

“it’s okay. I’ve done it all before if that makes you feel any better.” You laugh. “It really doesn’t. It might just make me feel worse” Lynn said as she smiled at you. “look Lynn, you just won a European championship. I think you should go celebrate with your team instead of standing in the medical room with the opponent sulking.” You said. “okay fine, but I won’t leave until I have your number. I have to make it up to you.” She looked at you with hopeful eyes. You smiled and happily gave her your number.

When she left, you couldn’t stop thinking about seeing her again. The ACL injury you had just suffered because of her seemed to fade to the background for a bit.

------------------------------------------------

It had been 3 months since you ruptured your ACL. You had gotten surgery the week after the final. Right now you were kind of immobile, you couldn’t really do things for yourself because you had to walk on crutches. Good thing that most of your teammates were there to help you. And not only your teammates. Lynn was there too.

Lynn had kept her promise and had taken you out for some coffee the week after your surgery. She wasn’t normally in England, but you were lucky. Lynn’s contract at Wolfsburg had just ended and she decided not to renew, instead she opted to move to Manchester City, your home.

Since she was in Manchester a lot, she came to help you out. She would come to your apartment and help you with things you couldn’t do for yourself. Often she would also just come over to hang out with you. You guys would sit on the couch for hours talking about everything and nothing. Sometimes she would just come over to play videogames on your Xbox.

Slowly but surely, you began to fall for Lynn. You didn’t know what to do because spending time with her while you were utterly in love with her was torture. So you went to get advice from your best friend, Lauren hemp. “If you are really in love with her, you should just go for it.” Lauren says over the phone. “yeah, but what if she doesn’t like me back. I don’t want to loose our friendship” you replied. “ oh come on, Y/N. I’ve seen the way she looks at you, there is no way she doesn’t feel the same way. Just shoot your shot” She says. “okay fine I’ll confess” you say as you hang up the phone.

Later that night, Lynn is sitting on your couch playing videogames. “Lynn” you say. “Yes, is something wrong, do you need something?” she asks as she looks at you with concern in her eyes. “ No, I don’t need anything. I just want to talk to you” you say. Lynn looks even more concerned now. “yeah, okay” she says as she pauses the game and takes her headphones of. “I have been thinking a lot lately, more so about us” you say “you are really scaring me right now” Lynn says. You take her hands in your own. “no Lynn, its nothing bad. I didn’t know what to do so I went to Lauren for advice. She said I should just go for it so here I go I guess.”

“ Lately I’ve been feeling like I want to be more than friends. It’s totally okay if you don’t feel the same way, but spending time with you has become harder because of this and I just want to get it out of my system before I start hurting you. I-” before you could say anything else, Lynn takes your face in her hands. “of course I feely the same way dummy” she connects her lips with yours. Her hands grip your waist as your hands link together behind her neck. After a few minutes you two break apart.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long” Lynn says as she kisses you again

---------------------------------------------------------

It had been a few months since your first kiss. Lynn had taken you on plenty of dates before officially asking you to be her girlfriend. She had also permanently moved in with you.

Nobody knew about your relationship, so when Lynn got asked why she moved she said it was to help you. Nobody questioned her since for all they know you two were good friends so it wasn’t weird. The only person, well not really a person, that knew about your relationship was biscuit, the dog that you and Lynn got when she moved in so you would be less lonely when she was away.

--------------------------------------------------------

The day had finally come. 9 months after suffering from a ruptured ACL, you were back and better than ever

Today was the day that you would come back on the pitch for Man City, and it wasn’t just a normal game, If you win this game, Man City would be WSL champions.

You came on in the 89th minute, the score was 2-2 so if you could score before the final whistle Man city would be WSL champions.

The time on the scoreboard said 90+4, there were 6 minutes of extra time so you had 2 more minutes to score. Mary had the ball, you saw her and sprinted towards the penalty box. She passed to you, you went right through Chelsea’s defense. You shot the ball  into the back of the net. It felt like a slow motion but once it was in the crowd went wild. Lynn sprinted over to you, she took your face in her hands and kissed you hard.

All your teammates and the fans went wild, but in that moment only you and Lynn mattered. You might not have won that euro final 9 months ago, but now you’ve got Lynn and a WSL championship to make up for it.

[emberphoenixisgoingtolive]

the camp fam, Soyona and the Handler going to a spa

(DISCLAIMER: this is based off the spa i went to recently! some spas may look different)

TW — light implied/referenced self harm scars (at the end of Kenji’s section)

i was going to do Mae, Dave and Roxie before i decided none of them are spa people lmao

Darius:

accidentally falls asleep in a hot room (luckily someone else found him and stopped him from getting literal heatstroke)

kinda just. follows Brooklynn around if they go together

likes swimming in the pool. he feels like a mosasaurs or some other kinda water dinosaur

can tolerate the heat but much prefers being in the mild waters

the spa i went to had this massive jet at the bottom of the pool and you could hang onto the edge of the pool with your hands and float like a dragon. Darius would love that

wears swim trunks with dinosaur footprints on them

Brooklynn:

absolute spa babe. she is so good at spas. goes in with the most gorgeous towel and bathrobe

very good heat tolerance. she could stay in the hot rooms for ages. plus the heat helps her chronic pain in her left arm (i love u spas as chronic pain treatment)

goes around everything

cc Brooklynn would start a lot of conversations with people but ct Brooklynn would be a bit more reserved

wears a bikini and glares at people who stare at her scars

Yaz:

used to see going to a spa as more of a functional thing, since the heat is very good for relaxing her muscles

after she stops her athletic career though she gets much better at just. enjoying the spa

she really enjoys the hot tub with Sammy

in fact she goes around everything with Sammy. they love sitting in the hot rooms, Yaz’s head on Sammy’s shoulder, enjoying each others’ company

likes the hot rooms with a floral scent

the water jets scare her. the others have to gently encourage her into it

if she’s with Kenji, she’ll do that mocking hand gesture (in camp cretaceous season 2 when he’s trying to convince her to relax) when they’re in the same room

wears pretty modest (but still super athletic) swimwear. too many people stared at her scars for her to want to wear a bikini

Sammy:

best heat tolerance out of everyone. she is Texan

chats with everyone when they’re sitting in the hot rooms and starts little word games

also makes silly noises and vocal stims in the rooms with a nice echo

Kenji:

absolutely ass heat tolerance. he melts within five (5) minutes. someone usually has to help him walk out of the hot rooms, if not lift him

this won’t stop him going to a spa at least once a month

mama Bowman makes someone go to the spa with him because she knows he’ll otherwise get heatstroke. he used to take Darius because he’s good company, but once he and Ben start dating, they go together. it’s a Thing for them

he doesn’t want to do any swimming. he’ll sit in the same place as long as the others will let him. he came here to relax, not exercise!

dubs everything “Kenji’s resting seat/bench/lounger etc”

wears normal, boring swim trunks and a swimming t shirt. he has quite a few scars he doesn’t want to show, iykwim

Ben:

very good heat tolerance, thank goodness, or Kenji and Ben would not enjoy spas as much as they do

starts rambling random, philosophical concepts out of nowhere in the hot rooms

Ben: “we’re all so afraid of dying, we never stop to wonder if we get rewarded at the end of our lives. maybe the religious people who fear what God has in store for them when they die don’t truly trust and believe in God. or maybe after we die, we just cease to exist...”

Kenji, half asleep against his shoulder who has been listening to this shit for twenty minutes: “that’s nice Benny boy”

finds it hard to relax, and worries a lot about Kenji getting dizzy, but Kenji tells him to relax

wears the most ugly fucking swim trunks you ever saw

Soyona:

loves the heat. it really relaxes her

has ridiculous heat tolerance. the sauna could be 120 degrees and she’s fine

will swim a bit with the Handler; she likes the exercise

wears a really low cut one piece (for her Handler)

Handler:

hates spas. does not like the heat. almost passes out, and Soyona has to half–drag half–lift her out of the sauna after five minutes

the only thing she does enjoy is the pool (at normal temperature)

she just swims up and down while Soyona does her thing

wears swim shorts and a pretty modest tankini; she does not like anything too revealing

[mrsillyhonests-opinion41]

Forever your loyal aster

Pairing: Lahan x fem!reader (Romantic)

Synopsis: A celebration is held for Fengxian nee-san’s bought-out, it is said to be held for 7 days and 7 nights. During those days, a young officer and a courtesan apprentice happened to interact with each other, and after that, something started to bloom between them…  

Warning(s): LN spoilers, inaccurate presentation of characters, the world of knh/tad is already a warning in itself, poor use of English

Taglist: @optimistic-but-very-realistic @blueberry--lemon

The aster flower symbolizes patience, long-distance love, accomplishment, good fortune, and a brilliant future. Symbolism in China: devotion and loyalty

“Auntie! Auntie!/Mama! Mama!” The sound of paddling footsteps, belonging to the children, tapped rhythmically against the wooden floors, along with the screams of them calling. “What is it this time, children?” A woman with an aster hairpin replies, she seems to be the one the children are screaming for earlier. “Can you tell us that story again?” One of the children, a young boy with eye color similar to the woman's, asked. “The love story you told us the other day!” Another child called out, also a boy, with hair that rivals that of the green forest and eyes that remind you of a man known for his deity-like beauty. “Aren’t you bored of hearing the same story over and over?” The woman asked, putting things she was doing earlier out of the way. “Your story is anything but boring, though! Please, mama?” This time, a young girl begged. She’s like a spitting image of the woman, but with more child-like features on her face.   “Alright, alright! Come, gather around then.” The woman gestures for the children to come closer as they all sit comfortably around each other. “Everything started at the place called ‘The Verdigris House’. There, a celebration was held for a sickly courtesan, who was bought out by her long-lost lover…”

“Nee-chan…?” You called out to your blood sister, Meimei. “What is it, [Name]?” She replied, looking at her little sister's face. “Are you disappointed?” You asked, watching as her sister went silent before turning her back. “Hm.. I don’t think I understand what you’re saying [Name].” Meimei hummed out, slowly moving herself to the door. “That Lakan-sama didn’t choose to buy you out.” As the words rolled out, Meimei stood still.

You knew about it. You always hear about it from the same women in front of you. How her affections long for that man who can never see her face like he did with Fengxian nee-san. It saddened you. Both to nee-chan and Fengxian nee-san. To love someone who can never pick up all the signs given to them until it’s too late.

“You know I pride myself on being a courtesan, right [Name]-chan?” Meimei speaks up. “Both me and that man's path toward happiness are not aligned, perhaps never will be. That’s why I won’t weigh him down and continue my path, just like he will with his.” As her last word came out, Meimei finally left the room. You can only watch her figure before sighing to yourself, ‘I should probably go too.’ You think, checking over yourself one last time before stepping out of the room. 

The conversations may end now, but the party surely will not. Let’s see what’s waiting for [Name] in this lively celebration in the next chapter…

Author note 2: I finally finished them! Feel free to share your opinions with me either through the replies or the ask box is fine, I'd love to read some of them! ヾ(≧▽≦*)o

[leejenowrld]

author’s note

this is something that hasn’t been an easy decision for me

hey angels. i’m still (technically) on a break, but i needed to pop in and announce a few things before i disappear again (if i do) —h2h three is dropping tonight. literally in a few minutes. it’s a little surreal, honestly, and i hope you read this before you dive in.

the truth is, i had most of this chapter finished even before i stepped away. i only had to write the ending, and in a weird, unexpected way, coming back to h2h during my break actually helped me. it gave me something to hold onto when i was feeling really low. sometimes writing can be a tether, and this time, it genuinely was. and i want to be honest—so many people have messaged or asked when h2h three is coming out, including people who haven’t really interacted with me or have ignored my posts about my health and needing a break. i know there’s a lot of excitement for this chapter, and i really hope it lands with you. just know this is me sharing a real piece of my heart. i put everything into these stories, and it’s strange to feel so seen and so invisible at the same time. i hope you can feel how much of myself i’ve poured into this.

i also have to admit, posting this chapter is really, really hard for me. the topics i explore in h2h three are some of the heaviest i’ve ever tried to write—trauma, death, medical realism, uncomfortable dynamics, mental illness, imposter syndrome, grief, abandonment, survival, love that’s desperate and messy and so painfully human. in a lot of ways, putting this down on paper helped and healed me; it gave me a way to process things i couldn’t say out loud. but that also means sharing it is terrifying. i worry about how it’ll be received, if it’ll resonate with you, or if it’ll just be too much. there’s a strange kind of fear in releasing something so vulnerable—especially when i know how easily it could be misunderstood or passed over. i worry about silence, about judgment, about whether it’s “too much.” this isn’t just a story for me—it’s a kind of lifeline, and sharing it feels exposing in a way that’s hard to explain. i’ve debated a hundred times whether i should just hold onto it for myself. it hasn’t been an easy decision at all, and i hope you read it with the same care i tried to pour into every line. it means a lot, more than i can really put into words. there’s also one more important thing i have to reveal that is quite heavy and emotional but i can’t tell you guys that until after h2h four drops.

i won’t lie, i’m in a strange place about posting at all right now. i’ve talked about feeling insecure being on tumblr, about being anxious over how people engage—or don’t engage—with my work. it’s hard to explain what it’s like to upload something people have been waiting for when you’re also dealing with a lot offline, and when you’ve expressed just how much engagement (or lack of it) affects you. i said part three would be out in a month or two after part two, and then i dropped part two just ten days ago—so part of me already feels the regret and anxiety creeping in. i really, really hope you all will show some love back. i’m not saying it lightly: i need it. please, if you’re reading, let me know what you think. send an ask, drop a comment, reblog, message me privately, anything. silent reading is fine, but these chapters take so much out of me, and hearing from you is the only way i know if any of it lands, if you care, if you’re here. it genuinely matters. if you love something, let me know. it’ll mean more than you realize.

i also want to say i have quite a lot of asks piling up in my inbox, sent while i’ve been on my mental health break—messages i haven’t had the energy to answer yet. i promise i see you all, i love you all, and i’m overwhelmed and grateful for every bit of kindness and patience. i’ll make my way around to all of them, but please don’t be off put from sending asks just because some are still sitting in my inbox. spam me, yap at me, tell me anything—my inbox is always open, and i really do love hearing from you.

part three is, hands down, the heaviest thing i’ve ever written. please read with care and be gentle with yourself. i put so much of myself into this one, and there are some very dark, intense themes. please take your time, and step back if you need to. also, surprise: i’ve added another full part to the series, so h2h will now have four main parts and an epilogue. part three is not the end—there’s more coming, though i can’t promise when, for all the reasons above.

thank you for waiting, for reading, for caring (if you do). i’m wishing myself a little bravery and hoping you’ll meet me halfway. i love you guys. i really do.

see you on the other side. soph <3

[minlighted]

Hello!

I was wondering if you could right a story where a fan is staying at the same hotel as skz cause she’s on vacation with her friends and there is a massive power outage at the hotel and she ends up getting stuck in an elevator with one or more of the members you can choose which one but can you make kinda of fluff filled and comedic

If not that is perfectly fine just thought I’d ask thank you

Thanks for the request! 🌸

As long as the power goes out (I'm good)

Han Jisung × reader ☁️ Fluff · Comedy · 📏 ± 3,200 words

You’ve never been one for luxury, but when you booked this vacation to Jeju with your three best friends and saw a four-star hotel had a last-minute deal, you couldn’t resist. The hotel was way too fancy for your budget, but hey, you only live once. And how often do you get to have breakfast next to a courtyard with a fountain and soft jazz music?

What you didn’t know: that jazz music would be the only soft part of this day. Because even though you were just heading to the eighth floor with a bag of soft drinks and candy from 7-Eleven, everything would change completely in a minute.

You step into the elevator, alone, and press button 8. The doors slowly slide shut—and just in time, someone else slides in between.

Black hoodie. Hat. Earplugs. Sunglasses in hand.

You glance up briefly. Boy, about your age. Asian. Hat low over his forehead. He presses floor 9. You quickly look away.

But something in your gut says: I know this boy. Not personally. But… I’ve seen his face before.

Then it happens.

A dull thud. Flash of light. The elevator jerks and comes to a stop.

“Uh…” you say.

“Wait… no,” he says, a slight panic in his voice.

Y’all look at the screen above the doors. Black. No more numbers. The lights change to soft red emergency light. No buzzing. No movement.

“Did the power just go out?” you ask softly.

He nods slowly, presses the buttons a few times, but nothing happens. He tries the alarm signal. No sound. Then he picks up his phone.

“No signal,” he mumbles, half to himself.

You look at you're phone. “Same.”

He sighs deeply, takes off his hat and looks at you.

And that’s the moment you know.

Han Jisung. From Stray Kids. In the same elevator as you.

You blink a few times.

He sees your gaze and sighs.

“Yes,” he says. “It’s me.”

You: “Seriously?”

Him: “I’d rather be someone else right now.”

After the first few minutes of shared discomfort, you both sink to the elevator floor. Him on the left, and you on the right. You place the bag of drinks between you as a kind of neutral ground.

He looks at the bottles and candy. “Store?”

“Snacks and drinks for my room. My friends were thirsty.”

He grins. “You deserve a medal. Or a fan.”

“Or a working elevator.”

He laughs out loud. “Touché.”

“You sound surprisingly relaxed for someone stuck with a stranger.”

“Well, you don’t seem like a serial killer to me. And I didn’t feel like taking the stairs.”

You smile. He smiles back.

Time crawls.

The air in the elevator is getting warmer. His hat is now on the floor, his earbuds are hanging around his neck and he wipes his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt.

“Okay,” he says, “if we sit here for another twenty minutes, I’m going to rap my entire mixtape for you.”

“Don’t bother,” you say dryly. “Then I’ll press every button until we’re catapulted out of here.”

He laughs out loud. “You’re different from most people I meet.”

“Thanks?”

“No, really. You’re being sarcastic. That feels… normal.”

There’s a moment of silence. Not awkward. Just silence.

“Why are you in Jeju?” he asks suddenly.

You pull your knees up. “Vacation. I needed some rest. Away from everything.”

“Same reason.”

You look up. “You’re a world-famous idol.”

He shrugs. “And yet this is the first time in months that no one talks to me as if I’m on a stage.”

He starts doing weird things out of boredom. Makes noises like he’s imitating elevator music. Taps on the walls like he’s trying to send Morse code. Then looks at you expectantly.

You shake your head. “I won’t pay attention to this behavior.”

“I’m bored,” he says dramatically. “And you’re my only audience.”

“Then you’re out of luck. I give bad reviews.”

He pretends to faint from sadness. You roll your eyes, but you have to try hard not to laugh.

It’s weird, but also fun. And somehow… you don’t want the elevator to start moving again.

After about 35 minutes, something starts buzzing.

You both look up at the same time.

The screen lights up. The numbers appear. The elevator hums.

“I think we…” you begin.

PING.

The doors slowly slide open on floor 9.

You remain seated for a moment.

Jisung is the first to stand up. He grabs his hat, his bottle of water and looks at you.

“Hey,” he says. “This may sound weird, but… if we ever see each other again in this hotel…”

“…you’ll take the stairs?” You joke.

He laughs softly. “Maybe. But I’d rather meet outside the elevator.”

You feel your cheeks warm. “Yeah. That seems… less claustrophobic.”

He slides his hand into his hoodie and pulls out a small notepad from a side pocket.

“I can’t give you my number here, but…” He writes something down. Fold it in half. Hold it out to you.

You take it.

“Check it when you’re alone,” he says. “Or not. Your choice.”

You nod slowly. “Okay.”

He steps out of the elevator and turns around one more time.

“See you later, elevator girl.”

Then the doors disappear.

You stand there for a moment. Bag of Powerade in one hand. Fold in the other.

You open it slowly.

The note reads:

“I liked being stuck with you. Seriously. Instagram: @__ If you ever want to get stuck again — I’m available.”

You smile.

And for the first time since the power went out… you’re glad he did.

[rattusrattus3]

Been working on this vid since FEBRUARY and I’m so worried it’ll flop lol but . I’m close. So fucking close .

It’s like an hour 45 atm and I for sure need to cut it down some more. It’s due the 25th cause it’s a sponsored one blahhhh . So nervous. So close. I feel like I’ve been in Video Purgatory for months

[winnix85]

On 28th Sep 1938, Lewis Nixon and his mother went to French Riviera to see his grandmother. Nazi Germany annexed Sudetenland on the next day.

The atmosphere was very tense at that time : “Hitler responded petulantly by moving up his deadline to September 28. In conference on the 23rd at 10 Downing Street, Chamberlain futilely urged acquiescence to the new Nazi demands. … “All over London,” Kennedy recalled, “people were being fitted for gas-masks.”

Lew’s next visit to Paris will be in six years later, and without a passport or visa.

[tysonrunningfox]

[chtoyalt]

if you listen closely to grian when he’s witnessing the deaths of mumbo, jimmy, and lizzie in episode 6, you can hear his internal voice screaming "SHIT NO NO NO ALL THE REDS ARE DYING WHAT HAVE I DONE WE'LL NOW HAVE TO RECORD AN EPISODE ON FUCKING CHRISTMAS"