#god i Wish i’d gone to the hospital when i first did this. i wish i knew for certain i hadn’t torn anything

[herlondonboy]

Beauty And The Beast

Pairings: Tyler Galpin x gn!reader / Wednesday Addams x twin!reader

Summary: Tyler helps you realise that you really don’t deserve to love.

Warnings: angst kind, manipulation. I write this whilst I was supposed to be tidying my room.

Word Count: 1.0k

You never believed that you deserved the love your parents got; the love you see in movies or love at all. You weren’t as smart or as cunning as Wednesday and you weren’t as funny or kind as Pugsley. You found yourself wanting to be your siblings. You wanted the the relationship that they had. You wanted Wednesday to protect you from bullies in a bittersweet manner, you wanted Pugsley to talk to you, period.

You didn’t know what happened or what went wrong, but Morticia and Gomez somehow ended up with you as a child. Maybe you were switched with someone else in the hospital because you didn’t feel like an Addams. You felt like an outcast in your own family. You liked colour, you weren’t abnormally pale, your touch was warm. You were you and that was enough for your family, so why wasn’t it enough for you?

When your sister was sent to Nevermore, and your parents decided it was best for you to tag along, you almost began to despise them. It only got worse when you found out you had a single room, closed off from the rest of the school. It was like you were being punished for no reason.

You were exiled by the world’s outlaws.

It didn’t take long for you to realise that you weren’t welcome there. You started taking long walks down to Jericho after your last period just to sit in the back booth of the Weathervane and write down all of the reasons you didn’t deserve to be an Addams. The book was nearly halfway full.

But one uneventful Thursday, a barista, the youngest one that you had seen working in here, walked over to you. “May I sit?” He asked, a kind smile on his face. You nodded hesitantly as he sat. God, how you wished you could turn back time and tell him no. “My name’s Tyler.”

“Hello, Tyler.” You smiled at him, looking down. You felt like if you looked any longer you’d drown in his eyes. “Uhm, y/n.” You held out your hand.

“Oh, I know.” Tyler said, shaking it. “I’m not stalking you, I just… we have to put names on the cups, remember?” He said at your raised eyebrow. You chuckled slightly and he cleared his throat. “I know that we don’t know each other, but i was hoping that we could get to know each other.”

“I didn’t think it was so easy to make me cringe.” You joked, smiling at his blush. “I’d love to get to know you, Tyler.”

“Oh! Great, uh, great, yeah.” He stammered. It was as if he was expecting a swift ‘no.’ “Uhm, here. My number.” He handed you a piece of paper. “Call me. O-or text me, whatever you prefer. Uh, bye.”

From then on, your alone time at the Weathervane became your Tyler Time. Your notebook hadn’t been touched in weeks and there was a predominant smile etched onto your face. For the first time, you actually felt like you deserved to be loved. Tyler saw what no one else did. Tyler saw you. Not y/n Addams - not Wednesday Addams’ abnormal twin. You.

Tyler had asked you to be his date for the Rave’N and you said yes. It was a great nice. Excluding how the normies put red paint in the sprinklers and drenched everyone in a blood-like substance; how Tyler ran away towards the end; and how Wednesday’s friend was attacked by the monster she was hunting.

The first, and last, time you kissed Tyler, something happened. You blacked out and then suddenly you were watching Tyler turn into a beast and murder Kinbott, your therapist. And then you watched him attack Eugene Otinger. And then you watched him talking to someone about how you would help him get insider information on Wednesday. It was awful, like everything you had gone through to allow yourself to love was wasted. You gasped awake in Tyler’s arms as he looked into your eyes, concern written all over his face and you wondered. Was any of it ever real?

“I’m okay.” You mumbled. “I just- I need to go.” You rushed out of the Weathervane. Tyler watched until you were out of his view. You sobbed all the way to Nevermore, hugging yourself as you made your way to your sister’s room.

Wednesday looked almost alarmed when she saw the state you were in. “y/n?” She asked and her voice made you break down.

“It’s Tyler.” You said, standing awkwardly in front of her. You’d kill for a hug right now, but this is Wednesday that you’re talking about. “I kissed him and had this vision thing and saw him attacking Eugene Otinger and I-“ You choked on your words, finding it so hard to breathe. “I thought he really liked me too. I thought… I thought that I deserved love, but it’s all my fault.”

“y/n, nothing is your fault.” Wednesday said softly.

You shook your head. “It is. I told him things about you, us, the school, because I thought I could trust him.” You clenched your eyes shut, sadness dissipating into anger. “I’m so stupid. Of course he didn’t love me. Stupid, stupid.” You began hitting your head in frustration.

“y/n, stop.” Wednesday said, but you didn’t. She grabbed your hands and pulled you into a hug.

You cried into her shoulder. “I want to go home, Wednesday. Home was bad, but it was so much better than this.” You told her. “I loved him and he-"

“y/n, Tyler manipulated you and conditioned you into thinking about him like that. He used you to get to me. You are not at fault here. You let yourself believe that you can be loved, y/n. That’s good. I’m sorry that I wasn’t here for you.”

It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault. You could love again if you let yourself, but would you?

[imagining-supernatural]

Tomorrow

Summary: Just angst and depression, bruh. Remember, I let you guys vote for either this fic or the fluffy one and... well...

Platonic!Reader & Dean & Sam

Word Count: 1583

TW: Hospitals, ed, cancer, avoidance

-----

“That was the hospital,” Sam said once he hung up. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked at Dean with tired eyes. “Y/N’s there again.”

It hurt, but it wasn’t a surprise. “What happened?”

“She collapsed. They’re running tests now to see why.”

Y/N had been getting worse for months now. She hid it, but after it got to a certain point, to the point where the hospital got involved, she couldn’t hide it any longer. Dean grabbed his jacket and keys. “Let’s go.”

The ride was silent and familiar. It was the third time in as many months. The first time was just to pick her up. Y/N had gone to get a sleeping pill prescription, and the doctors wouldn’t let her get behind the wheel, saying that she would be a danger in her current state. The second time, she’d been so sick that her roommate insisted she go. Sam and Dean had been called because they were still on file from the first time.

And now she collapsed.

If only she would tell them what was going on with her.

*****

“They shouldn’t have called you.” I hated seeing Dean and Sam here. They shouldn’t have to take care of me. I was an adult. I could do this on my own.

Well, theoretically.

The Winchesters shouldn’t have to worry themselves about me. Sure, we grew up together, but that doesn’t mean they need to watch my destruction.

“They said you collapsed,” Dean said, pulling over a chair beside the hospital bed. God, I hated hospital beds. I hated everything about the hospital.

Okay, that’s not entirely true. I use to hate hospitals. Now though, I found a strange sort of comfort.

“I had them remove you as my emergency contacts last time. They shouldn’t have called.”

“Well, they did. Why’d you collapse?”

Why does anything collapse? Governments, buildings, organs… too much pressure.

At my lack of an answer, Sam sighed and came to sit on the edge of the bed. “We’re worried about you, Y/N.”

“They shouldn’t have called you,” was all I said. I’m an adult. I don’t need people looking after me. I should be able to do that myself. They could worry about their own problems.

“Why not?”

So far, my favorite part about living on my own was the independence. I could do whatever I liked. Whatever I wished. I just wish people would stop worrying about me because of it. I was on my own, so I should be on my own. I hadn’t talked to either Dean or Sam since the last time I was here. That was a whole month without any Y/N problems hanging off their shoulders. Now the hospital ruined that streak by calling them.

“I took you off my contact list. It’s unprofessional, really. And probably against HIPAA.”

“Why did you take us off your list?” Dean clarified Sam’s question with a sigh. He knew that I’d understood the first time. So he should also know that I wasn’t going to answer this time.

“They said they’re keeping me here overnight. You guys should go back to whatever you were doing. I’ll be fine.”

They shared a look and Sam stood up. “I’ll go find a nurse.”

He shut the door behind him. It was just me and Dean now.

“He’s going to get answers, Y/N. You might has well just tell me why you collapsed.”

Dean was raised right. Sam too. I suppose I was also raised right, but the lessons just didn’t stick for me like it did for them. The three of us. The fearsome threesome. A force to be reckoned with back in high school. Back when life was simpler.

“Have you seen the news? All those hurricanes and earthquakes? Man, I would hate to be there.”

He knew I wasn’t going to give him a real answer, so he just sighed heavily, pulled his baseball cap down over his eyes, and slid down the chair until he was comfortable enough. He was going to have to go to the chiropractor if he fell asleep like that.

“Dean, go home. Get some sleep in your bed. You have a game tomorrow that you need to be ready for.”

“Surprised you even know about that,” he mumbled, not moving.

The school sends out weekly emails about all of the events happening on campus I still get them even though I dropped out a month ago. Of course I know about the football games.

I’m not very good at being a real person lately. There’s just too much happening. Too many strings to keep track of. A to-do list that keeps getting longer and longer. More failures that keep piling up in the corner of my closet. I can’t do it all, so some things had to go. Dean and Sam just couldn’t see how much more free they were without me.

I guess they would figure that out soon enough.

“I forgot to eat,” I finally say out loud. It’s not completely the truth. I knew that I had to eat, but I just… didn’t.

Dean peeked at me from under the bill of his hat. “What?”

“That’s why I collapsed. They’re going to give me whatever I need then send me home. That’s it, okay? Nothing to worry about. You guys can go home now.” I closed my eyes, knowing that Dean was going to blow this completely out of proportion. If I had to hear it, I didn’t want to see it too.

“How do you forget to eat?”

It’s a lot of work. You gotta figure out what you want to eat, then see if you have everything to make it, then if you don’t you have to go to the store and spend money and time and be around people. And if your roommate is home, then you run the risk of having to be in the kitchen with her too and small talk is just something that I can’t do. Then, after all that hullabaloo, there was no guarantee that I wouldn’t just puke the food up in a few minutes.

It’s just easier to… not.

“Y/N, c’mon, what the hell?”

This would have been so much better if the hospital hadn’t called them. Dean was all about eating right. He cared about his body. It got him his athletic scholarships. It was his future. He was going to be in the NFL. He had to worry about that shit. And Sam? His future was all about being a personal trainer. It was his job to figure out the right way to eat and exercise and all that crap.

I was the brains. Well, I used to be. I used to think I was.

Funny how fast things change.

“Go home, Dean. Take Sam with you. The hospital’s got my back now. You have a game tomorrow.” I settle further into the bed.

“When was the last time you ate?”

The worst part of hospital beds was getting comfortable in them. It was impossible on a good day, but with wire and tubes sticking out of you? It was better to just resign yourself to a very uncomfortable night.

“Y/N.”

“And it’s not just the hurricanes and earthquakes. There was a giant tsunami too. It’s like the earth is trying to tell us that we’re not welcome anymore. Crazy.”

“I don’t care about that right now. Y/N, when did you last eat?”

I was so tired. And all this probably wouldn’t matter in a few weeks anyway. Dean had a game tomorrow. “If you don’t leave, I’m gonna call security.”

His mouth dropped open. I couldn’t stand to look at him anymore, so I stared straight ahead at the door instead.

“Y/N, what the fuck is going on with you?”

The door opened and Sam returned with a nurse and a doctor. It was never good when the doctor came back in. Especially with a nurse. I addressed them, rather than my friends. “Can you get them out of here, please? I don’t want them here.”

“Y/N, I don’t think that’s a good idea given—”

“Get them out of here!” I yelled suddenly, finding some hidden reservoir of energy to protect my friends from the ugliness that the doctor was about to tell me.

Dean and Sam protested, but they were too nice to fight against the nurse as she pushed them out the door. As soon as they were gone, I slumped back against the pillow.

“It spread, didn’t it?” I asked weakly.

The doctor nodded sympathetically. “The tumor in your brain that we found a month ago is growing faster than we thought, and the cancer has spread to your spinal cord.”

It didn’t take ten seasons of Grey’s Anatomy for me to know what that meant. “How long do I have?”

“It’s hard to say, but…” the doctor flipped through a few pages on my chart. It was just a stalling technique. It couldn’t be easy to tell a twenty-two-year-old girl that she was going to die soon. “I would say somewhere between three weeks and four months.”

“I can go get your friends, if you’d like. You don’t have to go through this alone,” the nurse offered.

I just shook my head. A single tear trailed down my cheek, but other than that I was able to keep all of my emotions buried deep. “No. They need to go. Dean has a game tomorrow.”

*****

SPN Tags: @missthang2734 @hugwinchester @iamnotsaneatall @angelicshinigami @youtubehelpsmesurvive @sgarrett49 @mogaruke @yoursmilemakesmeloveyou @sandlee44 @goldenolaf25 @smoothdogsgirl @ocholove @valisiofdauntless @emoryhemsworth @carryonmyswansong @percussiongirl2017 @x-waywardaf-x @babynovak05 @kleinkariertebetrachter @akshi8278 @calaofnoldor @mylovelydame21 @sucker-09 @idksupernatural @miraclesoflove @i-should-prob-be-asleep @all-will-be-well-love @blueaura @anthoniastark @buckys-estrella

[starlitangels]

I Promise

To be clear, I refuse to care about Blake. However, I am deeply fascinated by his relationship with his listener

This one is from Blake’s POV, by the way. And I made up a lot of stuff for the sake of it 1.5k words

—

You sit beside me at the movie theater the way you always do. You smile and laugh at the jokes, glancing at me to make sure I’m sharing in your humor. My mom will come pick us up after the movie the way she always does when we’re out like this. Too young to drive ourselves.

I sit in the dark, smiling in all the right places back at you, but I can’t pay attention to the movie, this time. I already Saw the whole thing the second you decided we were going to come watch it together.

And I think about telling you.

Hell, I think about it all the time. Ever since that day a few years ago when my Core woke up and my entire life got flipped on its head.

I’d expected to be a Dreamwalker, like my mom. Although, being a Freelancer like Dad wouldn’t have been bad either. But, according to one of our teachers at school, a Freelancer-specialist coupling often resulted in the offspring taking the specialty, rather than a Freelancer’s unspecialized magic. For reasons no one particularly understood. Magic was genetic, but it also wasn’t. Not entirely, anyway. And despite hundreds of studies, no one had ever figured out the patterns.

That night, you’d gone home after doing your homework at my place like we did every couple days. I’d been alone in my bedroom, my parents out for the night. Mom to work with her Defensive Dream Design clients, Dad at the Healing hospital.

No one was there for me when my chest burned like fire and the entire timestream opened up before my eyes.

You got your powers a few months before I did—and I’d been jealous. I wanted mine to manifest so badly.

And then when they did, I’d wished they hadn’t. Because of what I was.

The first thing a Seer is supposed to See when their Sight manifests is their own death. But as the timestream hurdled past me toward my death, I saw yours. Way too young. I saw the both of us, older than we are now, in this movie theater. I saw you in my arms, unmoving. Dead. I saw myself sobbing, pleading, begging you to stay with me.

It passed like a flash of lightning on my way to Seeing my own death, but the image was burned into my mind. Like someone tattooed it on the back of my eyelids. Every time I closed my eyes I saw you, dead, in my arms.

I still do.

I can’t let it happen.

And, God, have I tried to stop it. Not even sixteen yet and I’ve already tried setting things in motion that would prevent you from dying.

It hasn’t worked yet. It’s just changed the background of the image and the details of the injuries on your body. But it will work. I refuse to accept otherwise. You’re my best friend, and I’m not letting that go. I’ve never had a friend as close as you are. I can’t lose you.

You grab my arm, jolting me out of my thoughts, as you laugh so hard you bend in half. I manage a chuckle, agreeing that the moment on screen was funny. Even with my mind spiraling far away.

I think about telling you, again.

Would it really be so bad if I told you I’m not actually a Dreamwalker? I’ve never had the courage to peek and See how you’d react to the news. But you’re my best friend—surely you’ll be willing to accept me as I am, right? Even if I have lied to you for a couple years? Hiding their specialty is just what Seers do. Maybe not all of us, but a good portion of us never reveal our true nature. Live and die hiding behind another specialty.

The night my powers manifested, I’d been terrified. And desperately wishing I was just a Dreamwalker. I felt my aura shift, but didn’t realize what it had done until Mom came home the next morning, delighted in announcing I’d inherited her magical specialty.

My parents still don’t know. And neither do you.

I’d rather you know than them, to be honest. I love my parents, but I trust you more than anyone else.

I think about telling you, right here. In the movie theater. In the middle of the comedy you’ve been so excited to see since we first saw the trailer. I think about leaning forward where you’re still bent a bit in your laughter, and just whispering, “I’m not a Dreamwalker. I’m a Seer. And I’ve been hiding because I’ve been scared. But I’m not scared of you.”

But I don’t.

I settle back against the back of my chair and stare blankly at the screen. At the movie I’ve already Seen. Funny enough, I guess. But definitely more aligned with your sense of humor than mine. Ours cross over a lot, but not everything you find funny amuses me, and vice versa.

It’s enough though. And I’ll never turn down the opportunity to spend time with you.

No matter how wracked with guilt I feel every second I lie to you about what I am.

I’m tempted, not for the first time, to See how you’d respond to the truth. A small peek into the future. I can’t imagine you wouldn’t accept me but at the same time I don’t want to destroy your trust.

A problem that I’m fully aware will only amplify the longer I keep the secret from you. But if you never find out... maybe there’s no reason to worry.

But still...

I shake my head to clear it. You glance over at me with a curious look on your face. I shake my head one more time. It’s nothing, the gesture says. Your eyes, so open and trusting, linger on mine for a few moments before drifting back to the movie in acceptance.

I pretend I don’t remember the look of the light in those eyes of yours fading out in dozens of visions. I pretend I don’t see another one of the same vision bubbling up after looking at you for long enough.

God—what am I gonna do? I have to save you. But I don’t know how.

I’ll figure it out. Some way. Somehow. You’re not dying in my arms if I can help it.

I promise.

I care about you too much to let that happen.

—

My emotional state has been an absolute wreck since senior year of high school. That night when my parents weren’t home—again—and you and I...

Well. You call it a mistake. I call it a realization. That my feelings for you have possibly always been more than friendship. Or, at least, at some point they developed a depth I hadn’t known until that night senior year.

And I’d scared you. And you pulled away. And I wanted to be fine with that. But when you finally started to come back into my life, I was scared as my feelings for you hit me again.

And I pulled away.

I never told you that my pulling away was dual-intentioned.

See, I’d started to suspect that I couldn’t do more than change the circumstances of your death because I was still part of your life in those visions. I’m always the common factor.

So I withdrew from your life, trying to change your future. I thought maybe you’d be safe if I was no longer in your life. And you were angry with me when I retreated. You had every right to be and I still don’t blame you.

But if it meant saving your life, I had to try. I could leave, if it meant you’d live.

Months passed. You’d stopped trying to reach out. It broke my heart when you finally gave up on me. When I dared to try to text you and found you’d blocked my number.

Finally, I’d looked into your future again.

And nothing had changed. Just the background and the injuries. You were still dying in my arms. Even without being part of your life anymore.

I couldn’t stand it anymore. Being away from you. I had to come back.

You bless me by accepting me into your life again within a few days. You listen when I explain myself. Everything but that deepest nugget of truth about my magic that I still haven’t told you, more than ten years after the movie theater where I sat there and thought about it for two hours.

But your feelings... they’ve grown to match my own for you. When I kiss you, you let me. When I bend you back over your sofa, you lie down and pull me close.

When we wake up together in your bed, that wrecked emotional state of mine has settled a bit, but still roils.

The need to protect you from that early, untimely death has never been stronger.

Whatever I need to do, I will do it. To keep you safe.

I promise.

[yeahimwiththeband]

-> with the band chapter 13

tell the truth (part 3)

warning: smut. larries, shield your eyes.

A/N: it’s all happening. with the band is a love on tour au and in this chapter, anxious izzy and angsty harry clash. it’s a fever breaking and i’d suggest scanning the others before reading. 

word count: 2.82k

Izzy heard the stage door click open and slam shut. It was Harry, still in his outfit from his encore, emerald green pants and a matching vest, bare chest, fidgety with weird vibes. Outside the arena, if he wasn’t still strung out, George waited for Izzy in a hotel room on satin sheets. She would go to him... after visiting Tara in the hospital. Izzy wished she were back at the co-op in Texas, lying on the grass. She wished she were back at that first show, listening to that voice for the first time. She couldn’t shake off the day, and everything awful that had happened—the chaotic party, Tara’s overdose—the whole thing was giving Requiem for a Dream or Trainspotting. But it was real. She tried to push down her anger, but it had nowhere to go. 

“I can’t do this any more,” Harry said, crossing the pit to Izzy quickly. She could barely hear him over the roar of the fans in the arena. He took his monitors out as he walked. Izzy noticed that his hands were shaking. 

“What?” Izzy said, looking around her. Was he talking to someone else? 

“God, it’s so loud in here,” Harry said. 

“Can you—“ he spun around, shouting toward the booth, “—cut the fans? Cut off the AC, just for a minute.” The fans clicked off, stumbling to a stop. Izzy and Harry stood facing each other in the quiet. A door opened and shut above them; the crew in the booth was gone. They were alone in the arena. 

Confetti floated down the floor around them. Izzy was reminded of the last time they were alone in the arena after a show, when Harry taught her to dance—or almost alone, anyway, Lydia was there. 

“I can’t do this anymore Izzy,” Harry repeated. “I can’t.”

 “Do what, Harry?” Izzy asked. She crossed her arms. He was probably going to complain about driving her everywhere, even though he volunteered. She didn’t have the capacity for his brattiness.

 “This,” Harry said. He walked closer to her, stopping about ten feet from her. He gestured at the space between them. “Us.”

His tone was serious. Izzy uncrossed and recrossed her arms, trying to play it off casually. “You’ve already given me a lecture about how I don’t belong here, remember? How I should home? Back in New York?” 

“Please don’t pretend,” Harry said. He unfolded his arms. “I know I’m not the only one.” 

Izzy’s breath caught in her throat.

“Elisabetta.” 

“Harry—tonight isn’t…” Izzy looked at the floor, dotted with confetti, catching sight of her shirt, still splattered with Tara’s blood. “Could we talk about this tomorrow?” 

Harry shook his head and sighed. “You’re crawling out of your skin because we’re about to have a real conversation.” He sounded frustrated, and his accent was thicker than usual. 

“We’ve had real conversations, Harry.” Izzy remembered the night in the garden at the co-op.

“Sorry,” Harry said. “Sorry.” He took a step forward and ran a hand through his hair, a tuft defiantly flopping back down over his forehead. “I’m trying to say that despite everything...” He exhaled, and started again: “I mean, you’re so nice. And I hate that about you. You’re American, from some tiny place. You’re unemployed, basically—“

“I did have a job,” Izzy sputtered, “I’ve been working—“

“I know, I know. The store,” Harry smiled. He laughed a bit. Izzy felt her anger start to bubble again. “It makes no sense, at all. You’re terrible for publicity, for my reputation. You’re not in the business, and that’s the best thing. You’re not an artist or a musician, you’re not hustling to try to make yourself something, trying to find out who you can use. You’re not trying to be famous. You don’t care about followers—”

“So this is it, then,” Izzy said, wounded. “This is the real conversation you wanted to have, about how I can’t hang, and I’m too basic, I’m not an artist...” She felt her fury swell along with her pain as she processed each insult he had thrown at her. She might start crying. Or yelling. Only Harry seemed capable of hurting her like this.

“No, no,” Harry said, stepping closer to her. “Izzy, I know you know.”

Izzy could only look at him. She held her hands out, confused. 

“You’re a nobody, your family sounds awful, and even with all of that,” Harry said emphatically, “even with all of that, I’ve been… You had to have noticed how much pain I’ve been in.”

“I don’t understand,” Izzy said.

“I’m in love with you.”

.

Izzy thought she must have misheard him. The whole arena felt smaller, suddenly, rows of seats coiled tightly around them; it felt claustrophobic, stuffy, and the temperature was climbing with the fans off. 

She waited for Harry to say something, to correct himself, but he only looked at her, with pleading and pained eyes.

Izzy stared at him in disbelief. “What?”

“I’m in love with you,” Harry repeated. “I have been for a while, since New York. Before that, since the rain.”

Izzy stared at Harry. The rain? Her mind seized on the details; she couldn’t face the actual content of his words. Her heart thumped in her chest like a hammer.

“I want to be with you. Stay on the tour, with me.” Izzy flashed on the apartment by the beach, the shiny, perfect apartment George rented for them. On the lease she signed with George just hours ago. 

“Harry,” Izzy said, speaking slowly and carefully. Surprising herself, her eyes were wet and her nose had started to tingle; she was tearing up. 

She cleared her throat before she could continue. Her whole body felt like it was buzzing with a new static energy. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you. But I can’t.”

“You can’t?”

“I can’t.”

Harry shifted his weight to his back foot, and he took another step backwards, knocked back as if she had hit him. He balled up his fists and released them. He looked totally shocked.

Anger flashed in his eyes. “That’s your answer? ‘I can’t’?”

“It is.” Izzy blinked back tears; all the anger that had built up all day had boiled up to just under the surface, just underneath her skin. 

“But you can, Izzy. You don’t… want to, is that it?” The words were so painful for Harry to say, like shards of glass in his mouth.

“I can’t.” 

“Can I ask why you’re being so cold?” Harry said in a clipped voice.

“Only after you explain why you just told me you think you love me despite the fact that my I’m a fuckup and not creative and a nobody who is unemployed and—“ 

“I didn’t say that exactly—“

“You know it’s not just that!” Izzy heard her voice rising. “Why did you have a photographer follow me and George and Meg and then pay a newspaper to run those photos?”

Harry gulped; he obviously didn’t think this would come up. “It was the best course of action at the time,” he muttered.

“Fucking pardon?” Izzy took a step toward him, seething. 

“I did what was best for you, trust me,” he said. “Those photos were way better than the ones published the night before.”

“Meg lost her job! Her boss saw the photos and she got fired.”

“I thought that with her being just, you know, an average person, it wouldn’t really cause—I didn’t think they’d put them on the front page. I was protecting you.” Izzy’s face felt hot; she felt feverish. 

“She was unemployed for a month. A month! Not that you would understand basic concerns like that—“ Izzy was almost yelling; she had never spoken this honestly with anyone else. She couldn’t control the words flying out of her mouth.

“You were the one that was supposed to leave the tour after those came out,” Harry said quietly. “I was trying to help you.”

“So you admit it!” Izzy gasped. “You were trying to get rid of me!” What she had suspected all along turned out to be true—and all this time, Harry had  pretended to be her friend. 

“I told you this before, but you don’t belong with Lydia and that band—we both know what Ryan is about.”

“I don’t belong with my own family?”

“Lydia—we all love Lydia, but thinks she’s Penny Lane and she’s really just a drug addict and you deserve better.”

Izzy’s mouth dropped open in shock. “And you’re better?”

“Thanks for that,” Harry said spitefully, almost spitting. He walked around her, and she spun to face him on the other side. “Now I know how you really feel. Did you honestly expect me to be happy for you, that you were tagging along and doing little stories for Instagram and going on shopping sprees, all wrapped up in Ryan’s bullshit?” He ran a finger along his bottom lip. His hands were twitching with rage. 

“God! You’re so sensitive, such an artist, so progressive, but your ego is the size of a fucking planet!” 

“You’re a people pleaser and every word out of your mouth is a fucking lie!” 


“The money, the stupid hotel rooms, the overpriced clothes - that was never part of the appeal of being here, and how could you pretend to be protecting me, while attacking my boyfriend?”

“Your boyfriend,” Harry spat. He marched over to Izzy, stopping just inches away from her. His cheeks were flush, lips red. “George can manage ‘imself. Why are you so concerned about him?”

“You know why.”

“Right. You care so much about him.” Izzy could feel Harry’s breath on her face.

“Yes,” Izzy replied defiantly, furious. “I’m going to live here in California with him—

“No, you’re not—“ Harry stepped closer, face lit up with rage.

“—and help him with his new album.”

“You’re not, you’re not. Replace new album with store, and George with mom.”

“Harry, shut the fuck up—” Izzy said, furious.

“You’re back on your bullshit, living for another person. It’s not because you’re in love with him. I know you’re not in love with him.” Every muscle in Harry’s body was tense.

“You can’t know that.”

“I know you.”

That voice.

The silence of the arena tightened around them. 

Harry grabbed Izzy’s face and took her waist with his other arm, pulling her close and kissing her suddenly, hard. He tasted like cinnamon and his mouth was hot; Izzy’s whole body was on fire. Her hands flew up to his chest, wrapping around his shoulders. He pushed his tongue into her mouth and wound his hands through her hair, pulling it. Izzy moaned into the kiss. He held her tightly, she could feel his fingertips digging into her waist, gripping her neck; his stubble scratched her cheeks. She pushed the vest off him and ran her hands over his shoulders and down his chest, feeling his heartbeat under pounding in every muscle in his torso. He kissed her deeply; she was so hungry for him and so furious at him, needed him so badly, he was water in a desert. Their hands were frantic, tearing at each other’s clothes and then Izzy was flat against him, kissing him back, their heartbeats thundering together, skin beading with sweat. Harry pulled her shirt over her head, panting, catching her eyes, searching them, briefly: both she and Harry said, I want this. You’re not the only one. 

He kissed her again, then kissed down her jawline, sucking the warm skin on her neck into his mouth. Harry pressed his palm to her mound through her underwear and Izzy twitched. She kicked off her pants. Harry swung her knees out from under her and they landed their discarded clothes where he nestled his hips into hers, grinding against her, heavy. Izzy could feel him through his underwear; she could feel his searing pulse. He kissed her hard and looked down at her through his eyelashes, running a finger along her bottom lip. She ran her hands along his back; his shoulders trembled. 

“Harry, I’ve never—”

Surprise flashed across his face and Izzy thought she saw a glimmer of satisfaction; no, she hadn’t slept with George. “S’alright,” Harry said, all smugness gone, voice deep and shaking. Sweat dropped from his hairline onto her chest as he sucked her right nipple into his mouth, biting down on her areola slightly. Izzy’s hips bucked; she was so close; she couldn’t hold on for much longer. She pushed her underwear down and kicked them off. She ran her hands through his waves, feeling how soft they were for the first time. Harry pushed his underwear down and she could feel him against her, burning hot to the touch; her wetness soaked his cock instantly. Harry pushed her thighs apart with his own and she wound her legs around his hips. 

Harry pressed his thumb into her clit, rubbing it in gentle circles; he watched her intensely and Izzy felt herself lift off the floor, back arching, gasping; she felt like she couldn’t get enough air. She squeezed her eyes tight and moaned, cumming hard, thighs vibrating. Harry clamped his lips down on hers and pushed inside her, groaning deeply; it was a deep, stretching, throbbing feeling with a pinch of intense pain that dissolved into heat as he buried himself to his hips inside her, then pulled back. 

Izzy opened her eyes and saw Harry looking down at her. He smiled, a genuine, soft smile she had seen only once before, and brushed her hair off her face, easing into her again, going slowly; his mouth dropped open, breathing hard. He pumped her faster and faster, Izzy pushing back against him, learning his rhythm; his pelvis ground against her clit and every nerve inside her felt like it was on fire. Her thighs shuddered and she came again, eyes fluttering close, nails dragging up Harry’s back as he thrust deep and hard, grunting; it felt like fever breaking in waves that got higher and higher. Harry was relentless, thrusting faster - Izzy didn’t know her body could feel like that, that feeling this good was even possible. She could feel every contour of his body and her own melting together. Harry grunted suddenly and ground into Izzy hard and she clenched around him as he filled her totally with his cum. He rocked his hips against hers again, kissing her deeply, and let his his chest drop onto hers; Izzy loved the feeling of his heaviness, his whole body pressed into hers, feeling all of him. Harry pressed his cheek against Izzy’s and she kissed his shoulder, running her fingers through his hair. Izzy put her hand to his cheek and nudged his face toward her, holding his face in her hands, cheeks still stinging hot, and kissed him again.  She felt drunk. Harry smiled. 

“Harry,” Izzy whispered, smiling back.  

“Izzy.” 

Just then, the sound of a heavy door closing and a phone clattering onto the floor.

chapter14

[laylab2cool]

i wish you would’ve seen me 🧼

she said it should’ve been the last straw

that july night when i was gone

for twenty seven hours

little did she know i had already been gone since February

me and him played it off like it wasn’t a disaster

like the whole world kept spinning, and we never corresponded like we did before

when he would’ve done anything for me

upsept listen

or call me back

i never told him that i was scared

i was scared of loosing him again

that i cried every single night

about the terrible things he did

that i scrubbed every inch of myself off in the shower still feeling like the dirtiest thing on planet earth

that i saw gods end five times in the last two years

one of them landing me in the hospital

and rehab

learning how to cope without you

and about you

i was shown that you were the exact root of my problems

my emptiness, cruelty, and anger

that how you could hurt a little girl with things she had no control over couldn’t haunt you as much as it did me

i thought the things you did to me were the worse part

but what i did after was even worse

i wish you could’ve been there for the scars

all four of them left on a canvas i’m stuck with

i wish you could’ve been there for the pills

when i was trying to fix something you weren’t even sure of

i wish you could’ve been there for the sex

something i could never re-do or fix, something you took that never should’ve been given to you in the first place

i wish you could’ve seen my mothers face as i told her the crimes you cut deep into my cheeks and jaw

i wish you could’ve watched me lying on the bedroom floor with nothing but a empty bottle for ten hours

god made me lucky

i wish you could’ve seen me shut your door as i ran down the 6th floor crying

i wish you looked into my eyes as you said that bullshit about jesus and our future

knowing straight after i’d be a pointless part of twenty-twenty-two

i wish you could’ve been in therapy everyday with me while i was recovering from the thoughts you pour into my mind, left wondering why it had to be me and not jill

you liked jill

you should’ve seen me on the bridge

you should’ve seen the cop grab my hand and tell me it wasn’t worth it all

to get away from you

you should see me searching for something i don’t know

throwing away the people i love the most just so any trace of your existence can’t reach me

you ruined it all

i think you should hurt a little more now

i wish you could’ve seen me

[cromwelll]

Title: Burden

Pairing: Dr. Turner/Sr. Julienne

Rated: R

Summary: Patrick has forgotten to take his suppressants, and Sister Julienne realizes that she has a crisis to avert.

Word count: 1,655

First, he feels lightheaded. Then, he feels Sister Julienne's hands on his chest, gently guiding him out of the curtained-off area of the clinic.

"What's—?"

"Come along, Dr. Turner," she interrupts.

He’s got a massive headache coming on. He can feel it forming behind his eyes and in his temple as she steers him down the hall and into an empty exam room. She shuts the door and locks it behind her.

"I think it's best if you remain in here until the clinic closes, and you can return home without any fanfare," she says with an air of authority that she hardly ever had to use on him.

He can only think of one occasion actually, but that was back when he was still a little green around the ears.

"I don't understand," he says. "I just need some aspirin and ten minutes for it to kick in. I’ll be right as rain."

And how did she know he was feeling off anyway?

"When is the last time you were at home?"

"Well, I've been torn in two between the clinic and the hospital. Thursday perhaps?"

She purses her lips and nods her head as though he's confirmed her suspicions.

"What's this all about?" he asks.

He sits down on the exam table and lies back as another dizzy spell takes hold.

"Forgive me for this...indelicate observation, but I believe that you've gone several days without taking you're suppressants. And it's starting to affect our patients. Surely you can understand now why I've brought you in here."

Patrick does the math in his head. His last dose had been either Wednesday or Thursday. It was Monday.

"Shit," he curses.

"I'll let that slide, given the circumstance," she gently chides. "Shall I alert Shelagh?"

"No!" he shouts, sitting up too quickly and instantly regretting it as a wave of nausea hits him. "Only because she's not on them because I am. Or I'm supposed to be. She’ll get pregnant."

Sister Julienne's eyes widen momentarily at this new bit of information.

"I see."

She wrings her hands, trying to think of what to do.

"Sister, you should go. And lock the door behind you."

"I hesitate only because I'd hate to leave you to suffer withdrawal and rut without medical supervision."

He writhes on the table, trying to get comfortable. His clothes were starting to feel too rough against his skin. It was almost more than he could stand. Clearly she had gotten him out of there just in the nick of time. Before he'd do something that would completely ruin his reputation and practice in one fell swoop.

"I need—Christ—I need you to go."

"Patrick, you've almost fainted twice now, and from the way you’re squinting, I’d say you’ve a migraine coming on. Withdrawal can lead to any number of severe side effects. Do what you must, but I cannot in good conscience leave you alone."

"It's indecent," he says, reaching for his belt buckle. "It's—"

"It's nothing I haven't seen before," she interrupts.

His mind reels at that revelation. Or maybe it's the withdrawal mixed with his sudden arousal. Her cheeks are pink.

"Do you...require anything?" she asks.

He unzips his pants and reaches in to draw himself out. God, he was already hard, already wishing he had somewhere to stick his knot. He strokes himself a few times, head thrown back, before he registers that she's asked him a question.

"Some privacy?" he asks.

"I'll sit across the room, but I fear opening the door to leave will create an unwanted siren call."

He thinks of all the pregnant women out there, living examples of a fruitful rut. Patrick tries and fails not to think of marking them as his own anyway. And where did that thought come from? Apparently being off suppressants brought out a classic jealous alpha stereotype from within him.

He strokes himself at the thought. He can't help it. Patrick bites his lip and moans. His knot begins to swell.

"Not now," he laments.

Not when his mate wasn't there to receive it. His cock sought out that familiar warmth, and he whimpers when it's not forthcoming.

"What do you need, Dr. Turner?" Julienne asks.

"Nothing."

Your mouth. Your hands. Your cunt, he thinks but doesn't say. But he wants it. He wants her. He needs to touch and be touched, or else he's sure he'll die.

"You can tell me,” she murmurs. “There will be no judgement held against you."

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

"There," she murmurs. "Right into my hand."

She loosely grasps his cock in one hand and uses the other as dome over the top, allowing his cockhead to hit her palm every time he thrust his hips upward.

Julienne looks unsure of herself, totally out of her depth, but she persists.

"We'll have you out of this scrape sooner than you think."

Her soft hands and her husky voice didn't normally turn him on, but now he's almost sure he's never experienced a more arousing combination.

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

"Alright, Dr. Turner, you know how this must end."

"Not yet. I’m not—"

"Shhh, none of that now." She tightens her grip around him. "You've had your fill."

Did she have to conjure that specific image? Of him mounting, marking, and filling her?

"I need y—"

She places her free hand over his mouth, and he stops.

"You mustn't say things you can't take back," she admonishes.

Patrick swallows. If only he could clear his head, he’d be fine. But the sound of skin on skin, the smell of hand soap and disinfectant, and her infinite patience with him was all so very distracting.

"It hurts,” he hisses.

So much that he could almost weep.

"Your body knows what you need. You're fighting against it so hard, my dear."

This must be how the mothers in the midst of birth feel. No wonder they found the courage to dig down deep and pull out some deeply hidden store of resilience to complete the monumental act at hand. With Julienne coaxing him along, what else could he do but obey her?

He cries out, feeling it build. Why was it so difficult to let go? Was it because she wasn’t his mate? Had going off his suppressants affected his stamina? Was this just nerves and withdrawal? He doesn't know. He’s not in the right headspace to figure that out.

Julienne gives him a look that he can’t quite read. But he can’t look away. She’s looking at as though she were studying him. Was she going to kiss him? She leans in then, and he closes his eyes, waiting for her lips to meet his parted ones, for he was panting now from exertion and pleasure and pain.

Her hand tightens just a bit more, trying to accommodate this knot, but not quite managing it. He wishes he were inside, feeling the squeeze of her silky wet folds.

Suddenly, her mouth is at his ear.

“Come for me, Patrick. Please, dear. You must.”

Oh god, that. That was what he needed. To hear his name breathlessly whispered in his ear by her in a low, pleading tone was more than he could handle. He gives a pained grunt as his orgasm overtakes him. He feels it roll through him like waves at high tide. Her hand speeds up, and he moans. And when she squeezes his knot, the pressure is so exquisite that he keens, long and low, come shooting out of him in rope after rope over her hands and onto his shirt, which he’d never gotten around to removing.

She incrementally slows her hand until she comes to a stop. Gingerly, she lets go of him, and she steps back. Patrick takes in the sight of her: cheeks flushed, lower lip bitten red, hands dripping with his essence. In that moment, he knows he wants her, and he knows he can never have her.

“I’m…going to wash up,” she says with a practiced tone of calmness. “And then I’m going to find Shelagh.”

“Sister,” he begins.

She puts a hand up, and he stops.

“I’m a nun, but I am no saint, Dr. Turner. I am merely a human being, and if I don’t wash up properly right now, I’ll do something I’ll truly regret.”

Chastened, Patrick nods. She takes long, quick strides to the wash station and turns on the hot water tap. He watches as she douses herself in the disinfectant soap, scrubbing harder than he thought was necessary until he remembers that he was an alpha, off his suppressants, and deep in rut, and she was an omega, as all the sisters were. Suddenly, her admonishment makes more sense, and ice cold regret settles into his chest.

“Sister?”

“It’s alright,” Julienne says. There was steam coming off the water now. “I just…need a moment.”

He gets up without thinking and goes to her. He reaches over and turns off the scalding hot tap.

“Your hands,” he says. “You’ll hurt yourself that way.”

He grabs a flannel from a nearby drawer and wraps her hands in it. She hisses as he gently caresses them as he dries them.

“Don’t punish yourself for helping me.”

“Oh, Patrick.” Julienne shakes her head. “That isn’t why.”

Her eyes plead with him not to press her, so he doesn’t. The unspoken words hang there between them, acknowledged and ignored in a single breath.

“I must go find Shelagh,” she rasps over a lump in her throat.

Patrick releases her hands and nods. She pulls away from him and heads towards the door with a single-minded focus, but she stop when she gets to the doorway. He looks at her and holds his breath though he isn’t sure why.

“You mustn’t forget your suppressants again,” she says. “Please.”

He couldn’t feel more devastated than if she had struck him, and yet he’s not entirely sure why.

“It won’t happen again.”

She gives a small nod before exiting and locking the door behind her.

[zeniths-haven]

"I'm Sorry"

Just a little something I wrote in an attempt to process the loss of a loved one a year ago.

Loss. It’s never something you want, and it’s almost never what you expect. Whether you’re waiting right next to their bed in the hospital room or miles away from them, you never expect to hear that continuous beep, or to hear those two words that carry so much weight it feels like you can’t breathe anymore. Passed away. 

It’s funny, almost. People hardly ever use the word “dead” to tell you that someone you care about is no longer in the world. Sure, when it’s celebrities or people you barely know, it’s easy to say: “They died.” But people attempt to sugarcoat when they know you have an emotional connection to the person– as if it’s possible to sugarcoat death. I get people would try to let you down easy, or try their best to not offend you, but how would using a euphemism help the feelings that come crashing down after hearing that someone that had practically meant the world to you was no longer in it? 

Eventually, it gets easier. They all say that. But how easy can it get after losing someone that’s been with you for quite literally as long as you can remember? I’ve had the displeasure of losing someone very dear to me recently, and truthfully, I did not know how to handle it. 

I was walking up the stairs with my grandmother after we had gotten home from grocery shopping when she had decided to break the news to me. “She’s gone.” In a way, I wasn’t shocked, because I knew it was bound to happen. I simply said “Okay.” and went up to my room. Then I started crying. The day had been going so well despite the typhoon and me having to wake up at 3 A.M. for a test. I couldn’t believe it, but at the same time, I accepted it. She was gone. 

I would never see her again, hear her voice, have her ask me if I had class the next day, or what I wanted to eat for breakfast. I would never get to taste her cooking again. Truthfully, it lost its touch over time, but knowing that it was her cooking always made it taste so much better to me. She made the best version of a certain kind of dish, and I think that’s something I’ll miss the most. 

I’ll also miss how she used to sing me to sleep every night when I was little, or how she’d pat my back to coax me into falling asleep. I’ll miss that she’d come to me immediately after I slipped in front of her, or how she’d blow onto a wound whenever she saw I had one. I’ll miss how she’d hold up clothes or accessories for me with a proud smile on her face because of how good she thought I’d look in them. And I regret that there were times I took these habits of hers for granted.

Something they don’t tell you about loss is that all your regrets suddenly make you feel like you’re guilty of committing a crime. They don’t tell you that even though there are words you never would have said to them while they were alive, you’d wish you told them. Whether it be a “Thank you.” or an “I love you,” you’re never going to get to tell them in person anymore. For me, those words are “I’m sorry.” Never have I regretted having a temper more than I did when I accepted that she was gone. Some of the first memories that replayed in my head were me snapping at her because I wasn’t in a good mood, or me dismissing her suggestions because I was stubborn. But I’m trying to not dwell on those bad memories, because even if we had rough patches, she always looked out for me. She would always come to me a few moments later like nothing had happened and still treat me like I was her favorite. And I would reciprocate, because she was my favorite, too. 

I was never a religious person, but I always went with her to church, and I always carried around a card of Mother Mary and Jesus with me because she told me it would keep me safe– I realized today that it always did. I struggle with faith, but I pray because of her. I pray for her. It’s because of her that I turn to God whenever I really need help. And it’s because of her that I made the most sincere prayer I’ve ever made in all the years of my life: “Please take care of her.” I thanked Him for ending her suffering. If He is real, then I have no doubts that she’s up there with Him. And I hope He takes good care of her, because it’s nothing short of what she deserves. 

My most recent memory of her was my grandmother telling me how she wanted to come home because she was worried my family wasn't feeding me enough. To be honest, I think that was when I realized she might not come home anymore. But I subconsciously chose to be in denial, and I started looking forward to seeing her again. It pains me so much that I’ll never get to. 

I’m not even sure if we have pictures together, and I’m almost one hundred percent certain that I don’t have a recording of her voice. That’s one of the scariest things about loss: forgetting them. She’ll never get to watch me grow up. She’ll never get to watch me be an adult. She’ll never get to watch me get into my dream college. And I’ll never get to hear her say she’s proud of me ever again. 

But maybe, just maybe, I don’t have to feel bad. Because at the end of the day, she knew I was never mad at her. She knew I was always thankful for everything she had done for me, even if I wasn’t the best at expressing it. She knew that she had and will always have a special place in my heart. 

And I know. I know she’d be proud of me no matter what. I know she’d be happy with who I become, even if she won’t get to see it. I know that if she’s up there, she’s going to continue to be with me, and still be a part of who I am. I realize now that she was my guardian angel, and she truly is in a better place. I may never get to see her again, but at least we were thinking of each other. I know I’d never forget her.  

[alsjeblieft-zeg]

314 of 2022

Skins - Episode Relating Questions < ♥ !!

Tony 1. Do you have any nicknames for your significant other?

Yeah, I call him Waffeltje. Oh God how he hates it XD

2. Have you ever set up your best friend with someone?

No, I don’t play with such things. When it comes to all this romance stuff, I’m better not involved.

3. Have you ever owed someone a lot of money?

No, but I bought my first laptop on loan.

4. Have you or a friend ever passed out at a party?

No, we’re all strong guys and can drink properly.

5. Have you ever overdosed?

No, never.

6. What’s the worst car accident you or a friend has ever gotten into?

Nothing dserious, but it could be; we were driving in the car with our dad and one of the tires burst all of a sudden. Thankfully no one got injured.

Cassie 1. Have you ever gone to rehab or a clinic?

No, just to the hospital.

2. What’s the weirdest thing about your parents?

That they’re still together after all these years.

3. Do your parents openly make out in front of you and anyone else?

No, they don’t even sleep in the same bed.

4. Have you or a friend ever had an eating disorder? How did you/they deal with it?

Yes, I have an eating disorder previously known as EDNOS, I don’t like the current name of it. Honestly, I just live like that. Not even consciously.

5. Have you ever tried to find out if someone liked/loved you? How did you go about doing it?

No. I live in that constant state of “I wonder what does he feel”, but never do anything about it.

6. When was the last time you felt like your parents didn’t care about or you what you did?

Very long time ago.

Jal 1. Do you play any instruments? If so, are you serious about it?

I don’t, but I wish I could. You really need two hands for that.

2. What’s the hardest thing about living in your house, with your family?

I don’t live with my family anymore.

3. Have you ever found out someone liked/was in love with you? How did you deal with it?

Yeah, I did. I was surprised, but I felt the same about him.

4. Has someone ever broken one of your most prized posessions? How did you deal with it?

Only my phone, and I still had to pay it off. I was really sad.

5. Have you ever stood up to your parents? How did it go?

Yeah, but my mum was terrorising me, so.

Chris 1. What would you do if your mother left you?

She kind of did, years ago. I needed my parents, but yeah.

2. Have you ever hit on a teacher? What happened?

No, I haven’t.

3. Have you ever been locked out of your house? What did you do?

Yeah, I gorgot the keys. I called my husband, he laughed. Thankfully he was coming back home in two hours and the weather was nice, so I had a walk and took out the most of that time.

4. What would you do if your father refused to talk to you and didn’t want to see you anymore?

I’d be broken. I’ve always been closer to my dad than to my mum.

5. Have you ever been consoled by a teacher?

No, not really. But I needed it at that time.

6. Have you ever blown a large amount of money on something somewhat useless/not worth the money?

No, not really. If I spend bigger amounts of money, I choose good quality things.

Sid 1. Have you ever failed a course/school? How did your parents react?

I was about to fail PE once. My parents were upset, but not about me - rather about the teacher. I was in a basketball team before and I was so good at it I actually had the chance to go higher with this, but then, my health problems kicked in and I was forbidden to participate in sports at that moment. My teacher didn’t want to acknowledge it.

2. Have you ever broken someone’s heart? How did they deal with it?

I have, apparently. They moved on, and handled it very maturely.

3. Have you or someone you know attempted to commit suicide?

No, but I’ve had suicidal thoughts back in time.

4. Have you ever liked your best friend’s significant other? What happened?

No, never. I barely have feelings deeper than platonic to anyone.

5. When was the last time you felt like your life was falling apart and why?

When I woke up paralysed and unable to speak and I thought I was going to stay like that forever.

Maxxie and Anwar 1. What’s the farthest you’ve ever gone on a school trip and for how long?

We went to Lille, France. I liked it, it’s a beautiful city.

2. Have you ever experimented with/questioned your sexuality?

Questioned for a moment, I kind of didn’t want to admit to myself that I liked other guys and not girls like “it was supposed to be”. I was only surprised that I wasn’t necessarily into romantic gestures and never really thought about having sex with the guys I liked, I thought I was something of “a late bloomer”, b ut I turned out to be ace. It was long before I discovered asexuality. Then I considered myself panromantic for a brief moment because I wanted to be inclusive, but... yeah. It doesn’t work like that, you can’t choose who you’re attracted to. I also had sex for the first time later than average - I was in my early 20s, and while I didn’t feel any desire to do it, I felt my then-boyfriend was the right person to try it with. It has only convinced me that sex was not my thing, but at least I didn’t regret doing it because it was with the person I loved and who loved me.

3. Has a gay/bisexual friend ever had a crush on you? How did you feel/react?

Yeah, three times! That’s how my relationships started :D

4. Has someone ever walked in on you while you were having sex/making out with someone?

No, thankfully not. I would be so embarrassed.

5. Has someone ever caught you doing something you shouldn’t have been doing?

No, not really.

6. Have you ever hooked up with someone while on a school trip? Would you?

No, I haven’t and no, I wouldn’t. This whole sex thing is not for me.

Michelle 1. Have you ever broken up with someone because they lied to you?

No, but someone cheated on me and then he broke up with me. Kind of twisted situation.

2. Have you ever taken advantage of someone who liked you? How?

No. I rather support people, not use them.

3. Has one of your exes ever been the cause of a break up between you and a boyfriend?

No. I don’t even know how it is with my 1st ex, I’m friends with my 2nd ex, though, but my husband accepts it.

4. What’s the most disgusting thing someone has ever sent you?

A porn movie with heterosexual couple having sex in a pretty unusual way. I swear I wish I could unsee it. It’s not even because there was a woman in it. It’s just... anyone having sex that way disgusts me and their sex doesn’t matter.

5. Have you ever sabatoged an ex’s relationship just so the two of you could get back together?

Never. Since I don’t even keep in touch with Jay, I don’t even know his life situation at the moment. And as far as I know, Nielsje is not with anyone at the moment. And I love him, but more as a friend now.

Effy 1. Have you ever been worried about losing a friend? Why?

Yeah, because they started becoming more distant. But we talked and I know it’s nothing personal.

2. Name someone you’d be willing to do anything for and why.

There’s no such person. Not even my husband :P wait, maybe Nielsje because he has never pushed me to do things I didn’t want to do.

3. Have you ever waited what seems like forever for someone, only to realize it’s not what you want at the moment?

No. I’m really stable with my feelings for other people.

4. What would you do if someone was pressuring you to have sex with someone else and you really didn’t want to?

I wouldn’t ever do it. Maybe I’d even become aggressive if they kept persisting.

5. What’s the worst fight you and your best friend ever had? Did you resolve it? How?

I’ve only ever had a fight with my husband, and we resolved it by talking honestly.

6. Have you ever felt like everything was your fault? Was it?

I have felt like that, because of depression. No, it definitely wasn’t.

Series Finale 1. Have you ever been desperate to tell someone you loved them?

No, not desperate. But I like someone at the moment and I’m curious if he knows about it, and how he feels about me. There’s one more man, though, he’s quite much younger than me and it hit me all of a sudden that I like him in platonic way and wish to be friends with him (much like with that first one). I’m not gonna see him again, but I would love to know if he liked me at least a little. In both cases, though, I don’t feel like confessing my feelings to them. I’ll just wait and see where it goes.

2. Have you ever wanted to just break out into song to express how you’re truly feeling?

Yes, and I just do it whenever I feel the need.

3. Has someone you loved ever moved far away? Did you keep in touch? Are you still in touch with them? Do you still love them just as much?

Yeah, Nielsje. The main reason of our break up was that he was away from home for long periods of time, due to his job. We remain good friends and I’m happy he’s still in my life. I definitely love him, but more as a friend than a lover.

4. Have you ever hooked up with someone only to realize they were already taken? What would you do if that happened to you?

I don’t hook up with people. I don’t practice casual sex at all.

5. What’s something that has made you realize just how much you care and love someone else?

Every day I’m hit by this. Nielsje texting me after his workday (a very dangerous job), seeing this one guy I like after a few weeks of not seeing him, and my husband when I found out he was crying when I was in such a bad state in the hospital.

[sublimecatgalaxy]

Soft Place To Land- Part 2

Pairing: Fezco (Euphoria) x Reader

Summary: The reader goes into detail on her history with Fez and their breakup. After a week of utter misery, the reader gets a very helpful call from her gran. But when she's hanging up, she notices she has a missed call from someone a bit more intimidating.

Song: "transparentsoul" by WILLOW feat. Travis Barker

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of sex and drugs, angst.

A/n: Sorry this is 12 hours late, I had a very long day yesterday and I figured I didn't want to put something out that was like 'half done'. I gotta do statistics homework now for a bit. Also I am so beyond sick today, so wish me luck.

Say anything you want about teen pregnancy and teen moms, but I think I was made for it. I had the energy, the ambition, the excitement after I got over the normal anxiety. I had the determination to be similar like my mom, to treat my child with nothing with respect and make sure that they grew up in a healthy, loving household. Though she lacked a father or a father figure, she had all of the support, love, care, and teachings from me, my grandmother and my mom.

What’s that saying?

It takes a village.

Fezco and I were messy from the beginning. We loved each other, sure, there was no doubt in that. But no one our age knew how to love or be loved. We were both still learning how to navigate the world at each other's sides, the drama of school, the issues at home, everything. It was safe to say that I didn’t have a glimmer of independence, always wanting to be with Fez, following him wherever he’d go. I was ignorant to the world but he wasn’, always knowing when and where to go, what to say. He taught me a lot about the people around us, who to trust and why, he taught me that family wasn’t just who your parents were. He taught me that, though he didn’t have a lot of words to offer, he was always watching and paying attention.

His job with drugs made it difficult for me to get super close to him, always worrying that he was out there, getting into trouble. Him and his younger brother were pretty much always out there, getting into trouble, so it wasn’t really new to me. I had tried to convince him to take a break, to relax, maybe think of doing something else with his time. He was smart, contrary to popular belief, and he could’ve been anything he wanted to. But he chose his grandma's lifestyle, a successful but scary life. But it was hard to relax in the time when I wasn’t with him, waiting by my phone as if I’d get a call from a hospital, telling me that they needed me to ID a body. I knew that it was always something that was possible. He would just all of a sudden vanish and be gone from my life.

I think that’s why I left. On top of the anxiety that I felt at that time in my life, I was afraid that the universe would play some cruel joke on me if I told him about the pregnancy and he decided to stay. It was a morbid thought, but with everything that I had gone through with him at that time, it was understandable. I would never forgive myself for breaking his heart how I did, and I could understand if he never spoke to me ever again.

Fez watches me carefully from across the room, his knees bouncing nervously under him. He can tell that I’m anxious, tears already streaming down my cheeks as he waits for me to speak up. I had ignored him for a few days, the news that I had to share weighing heavily on my shoulders. I didn’t know how to tell him, if I should even tell him in the first place. So, instead, my mom helped me come up with an idea that cuts us both off without me having to tell him the whole truth. It was for the best.

“Did you cheat on me?” He asks meekly and suddenly, his cheeks red as my jaw drops, my head shaking quietly. A look of relief passes over his face, his head bobbing in a quick nod of acknowledgment. “Thank fucking god.” He mutters, dragging a hand over his face as he lets out a relieved sigh. He stands up from his chair, my sniffles loud in the quiet room. Sitting down beside me, his arm wraps around my waist to pull me into him. “What’s wrong, ma?” He whispers, his fingers dancing over my cheek to pull me to him. I just shake my head, not wanting to tell him just yet but knowing I need to. I tuck my head into the crook of his neck, enjoying the proximity one last time. He just rubs my arm soothingly, his lips pressed against my forehead as he waits patiently. “You fuckin’ shaking, Y/n.” He mutters, pulling the blanket over my shoulders as I turn to him, his eyes soft and glossy.

He always hated seeing me upset, his eyebrows pulled together, lips pouted at the sight of my tears or discomfort. He had the special ability to read me like a book, knowing exactly how I felt and why. But I can tell that, this time, he couldn’t tell what had been upsetting me so much.

“I’m moving, Fez.” I whisper, reaching up to wipe my eyes as he shakes his head, not understanding. “I’m going to live with my gran.” I whimper, his body pulling away from me as realization slaps him across the face, his whole tough exterior crumbling.

“In Colorado?” He asks, his voice cracked and strained as he pieces together the lie that I was telling. He thinks for a moment, his head falling into his hands with a loud sigh. “So you tryna break up with me? That’s what this is? That’s why you crying?” He asks, my eyes shutting as my head rests against the back of the couch, not able to face him or his teary eyes. I knew that this would be the end, that he would never forgive me after this. Bile rises in my throat, the anxiety making my head spin as I stand. He watches me with his face twisted up in anguish, his blue eyes teary as he shrugs. He looks utterly confused and betrayed as he stands, his hands shaking at his side. “We’ll I’ll fuckin’ come with you, I don’t care-”

“Fez, you can’t.” I cry, my fists resting on his chest as I shake my head, my whole body exhausted from the anxiety that I had been feeling for the last week. “I just- I didn’t want to leave without talking to you.” I whimper, his hands reaching out to rest on my hips. Before he can get too close, I pull away quickly, not giving him another glance as I leave his home.

The amount of times that I almost turned around and told him, ‘I’m pregnant and I don’t want to lose you’, was ridiculous. I lied when I said that I never turned back, that I didn’t give it another thought. I did, more than one thought and I did turn back, twice. I turned the car around twice, planning on going back to his house, to let him comfort me, to explain why I lied and why I was so scared. But seeing his face last week, the look of excitement when he first realized it was me but then the utter betrayal that passed through him, it solidified that I should’ve just turned the car around.. It was heartbreaking to see him piece together the lie that I created, the lie that he believed.

He hasn’t texted me since I unblocked him. I would be ignorant to ignore the disappointment that I felt after the first few days of no text or call. He didn’t owe me anything, in fact he had every right to never speak to me ever again. But the thought of him having the ability to message me about us, our child, and him choosing not to… It made my heart break all over again. And maybe I deserved it.

Lily rests on my chest, her back rising and falling in quiet breaths as she sleeps. She refused to sleep anywhere else, her body curled up on mine as the TV plays quietly in the background. It’s around seven o’clock, past her bedtime but every time I tried to place her in her bed, she would just cry out, her hands reaching out to me. I’ve always had a hard time separating myself from her when she obviously wanted to just be with her mama, so I almost always gave in.

The ringing of my phone startles me, my hand quickly fishing it out from between the cushions in order to not wake the sleeping child. My excitement that it might be Fez fizzles out as I see my grandma’s name across the screen. Answering in, I place the phone between my ear and shoulder, rubbing Lily’s back soothingly.

“Hiya, gran.” I whisper softly, the woman huffing on the other end. I know that she was probably disappointed in my lack of communication but she knew that I would be busy with my mom and Lily, getting reacquainted with the town.

“You gonna tell me why you regretted to inform me that you saw and spoke to that baby daddy of yours?” She asks sassily, my eyes rolling as I silently note to punch my mom the next time that I saw her. I knew that after I called my mom after Fez and I spoke that she would immediately go to her mom. “Tell me about it.” She offers in a softer tone, Lily shifting in my lap as I slide her off of me, pulling the blanket over her. I make my way quietly out to the balcony of my apartment, shutting the door tightly behind me. The cool air hits my skin, a breath of relief leaving my lips as I think of what to tell her. Do I tell her that I’ve cried every day since I saw him? Or do I tell her that I was beyond excited to talk to him and see him?

“He was excited to see me at first.” I smile, my elbows resting against the railing as I recall his face, his smile, his nervous blushing. I always had that effect on him. “Then he realized that I was holding a kid who looked exactly like him.” I huff, a small laugh leaving her lips at my words. “She really does gran, the freckles , the smile- everything.” I conclude, my eyes fluttering shut as I try to escape the guilt that consumes me. She continues with her questions and prying, not knowing what of what my mother said was true.

My eyes look out at the city in front of me, my mind spinning as I find it difficult to find a place where Fez and I haven’t gone. We would spend hours and hours on end exploring the city, whether it be on his bike, in his car, skateboards, anything. We’d smoke at the park to my left, we’d eat copious amounts of chinese food at the place across the street; anywhere that I can see, we’ve made our own. I knew that this would be something I would struggle with when I made the decision to come back home, but I didn’t think it would hit me this hard.

“Do you think he wants to be a part of Lily’s life?” Gran asks cautiously, my teeth biting at my lip anxiously. I had thought about it, sure. That Fez would call me, telling me he misses me and that he wants to be a family. That he wants to take care of Lily and I so we’d never have to worry about anything ever again. But it just seemed impractical.

“I don’t know, gran. I’ll let you know if he magically wants to be in my life. Or Lily’s life.” I sigh, my gran picking up on the fact that this is probably the last thing I wanted to talk about. She sighs sadly, my legs carrying me over to the chair in the corner so I can sulk. Plopping down onto the soft material, my head rests against the concrete wall, my heart heavy.

“Okay, honey. Just make sure you’re taking care of yourself. I can imagine that you’re stressed.” She coos, a soft smile spreading across my cheeks as I nod, sending her hum of acknowledgement. Feeling my phone buzz against my cheek, I pull back to see another call coming in.

Shit.

“Hey, gran, I gotta go. I’ve got another call.” Before I can hear her response, I drop the call, feeling the well known anxiety bubble in my stomach. I see Fez’s number flash over my screen as my stomach drops, my finger hovering over the answer button. This was what I had been waiting for, right? Pressing accept, my voice comes out in a meek, strained tone. “Fez?” I ask quietly, my whole body tensing as I hear him clear his throat.

“I’m still pissed at you.” He starts off, my breathing speeding up as I wait for him to go on, knowing his words are nothing but true and that I deserved them. “But I can’t just fucking sit over here and act like you’re not here. With my- our kid.” He sighs with a quiet laugh, my heart leaping at the sound of him laughing. I expected him to yell at me, tell me that I ruined his life, that I’m a terrible human. The last thing I expected was for him to chuckle.

“Yeah...” I whisper, it being the only word that’ll leave my lips. The line goes silent for a few moments, my throat aching to tell him everything that I’ve been thinking about within the last week. I missed you, I wish I could hug you, I want to tell you everything that’s happened to me and to Lily. I want to let you in. “Just talked to gran.” I mutter, a chuckle leaving my lips as I clear my throat. “Apparently she talked to my mom- you know how that goes.” He laughs, knowing that he had seen how my mom and gran gang up on me, sharing secrets and taking me off guard. They had done it plenty of times to Fez too, my gran loving the ginger.

“I’m guessin’ your ma told your gran shit that wasn’t true so your gran called you to clear the air?” Fez asks, a giggle bubbling in my chest as I nod. “That’s what I thought.” My knees tuck up to my chest as I bite my lip, my heart swelling at the sound of his voice. “So, uh,” he pauses nervously and hesitantly, “how’s Lily?” He asks, his voice shaking as I smile, my eyes flickering over to the girl who’s sound asleep on the couch.

“Passed the fuck out. Drooling” I chuckle, my head shaking as she curls into herself. “She wouldn’t go to sleep at her normal bed time so I just held her for a while, then she fell asleep no problem.” I explain in a hushed whisper, knowing that if I was too loud, she would wake up. His chuckles are heard across the line as I picture him sitting on his couch, a smile on his lips as he talks to me.

“Father like daughter, I guess, huh?” He laughs, my mind flickering back to all the times that he fell asleep in my arms, it being the safest place in the world to him. I would joke that he was like a baby, needing arms around him to be able to relax enough to fall asleep. My face falls slightly, Fez stuttering when he realizes the weight behind his words. “Sorry, shit- that was weird.” He laughs nervously, my eyes fluttering shut as I shake my head.

“No, it’s alright.” I respond in a hushed voice, trying my best to reassure him, my hand rubbing over my face. “You have every right to be angry at me- to hate me- Fez. In fact, I want you to be angry with me.” I laugh, the sky darkening above me as he scoffs, the words being utterly ridiculous to him.

“You know better than anyone that it’s hard for me to stay mad at you.” He whispers, a soft smile fanning over my lips as he continues. My cheeks warm at his gentle tone, almost as if he wanted to reassure me, to let me know that he was mad but not mad enough to hate me. “I want you to, uh, come over. For dinner sometime.” He offers in a soft voice, my eyes widening in shock at the request. That had to be the most shocking thing to leave his lips, it truly being the last thing I was expecting. Was this the olive branch that I’ve been in need of? My breath gets lodged in my throat as I nod, my words stuck at the tip of my tongue. “Unless you think that’s weird and shit. I just wanna see you a-and Lily and I just-”

“We’ll be there.” I cut his nervous rambling off, knowing it could’ve gone on for hours had I let him continue. He doesn’t speak, just fumbles a bit with his words as I laugh. “We’ll be there, Fez.” I repeat, a small surprised gasp coming from his end.

“Really? Cuz I’ll cook and shit, like, whatever you want.” He adds quietly and I can tell that he’s surprised that I agreed at all, let alone that excitedly. Of course I’d let him cook me dinner and get to know Lily. “Alright- shit.” I giggle at his words, my cheeks heating up in nervous excitement. “Tomorrow?” He offers, his voice cracking a bit as hum.

“Yeah, that sounds good. She’ll be excited to have something to do.” I chuckle, watching her roll over not so gracefully on the couch. I know that he’d absolutely love her, the two of them getting along better than I can imagine. They were so similar, their minds and heart, they were both just so good. I can already picture him with her, giggles leaving her lips as he smiles. The thought makes me excited beyond measurable belief.

“I’m, uh, excited to see you guys.” He whispers, my lip tucking in between my teeth as I conceal my grin as best I can. “We should probably catch up or somethin’.” He adds, the tone of his voice shifting to something different, something lighter and playful. I wanted to know anything and everything that had happened to him since I had been gone. With his work, his brother, his grandma, school or lack of school, relationships.

“Yeah, Fez, I’d love that.” My eyes flutter down to my lap, surprised that this is where this conversation went.

“Alright, ma.” The nickname makes my thighs clench, a soft snort coming across the line. I knew that it was probably second nature to him, almost like muscle memory when speaking with me. The idea of him being relaxed enough to let that slip out makes me want to giggle like crazy. “Sorry, shit- I should go before I fuckin’ embarrass myself.” He mutters with a sheepishly chuckle, my cheeks hurting from my growing smile. . “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/n.” He concludes, his voice calm and collected as I nod, tears filling my eyes out of relief.

“Yeah, see you tomorrow, Fez.”

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

Taglist: @bubblebuttwade @rafelover2405 @leslienjazzy @sorceresss @grxnde-dwt @alex--awesome--22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane28282 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin@abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy @steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi @crunchytoenailsyum@glizzymcguirex @beth123lg @melovesmut @rafecameronswhore @ariianelle @write-from-the-heart @vampviolets@haylee-e

Euphoria Taglist: @bluetreecloud20 @scenesofobx@ssprayberrythings @username-lols @pessimisticbiitch @urmomsangel @rosepetalsparks@bluetreecloud20 @scenesofobx

Series Taglist: @bigpoppajes @namjoonsbuspass

Fezco Taglist:@fudgemesteveharrington @hy-my-name-is-riley @trinbby13 @squishiejiminiee

[storiesofsvu]

Well… that was… *something*

Law & order premier event thoughts…

Okay, here we go!

(Fuck i just realized i never did a “what i hope/wish to see this season! I’ll do it after)

oh. Okay. We’re diving *right* into things with Ukraine? 😳 jfc

Cosgrove(?)’s daughter & all this talk about gunshots is terribly foreboding

SNIPED BY DADDY BENSON JEEESUS

I just do not like Cosgrove….

Oh GOD & NOW he’s fighting with Stabler?! We couldnt have gotten through this ep without a “whos dick is bigger” contest, could we? 🙄🙄 like i was *just* gonna say how frank’s acting like stabler & then stabler shows up… ugh. Bring daddy benson back pls

Ayannaaaaaaa lookin like a SNACK as per usual!😍

This “crossover” really is more like a 3hr movie. First 30mins moved pretty slow like the OG l&o vibes… now we’re into the OC feels. Where are my svu babies? Bring them in pls.

I cant decide whether this CI is a complete idiot or a genius.

Why are we being forced to deal with so many low neck, chest exposed outfits for stabler 🥴

Oh so we’re putting Amanda in oversized blazers this year?

Watching them do raids on l&o after watching so much Chicago pd is just pathetic. Like, they’d lose so many cops with how bad it is.

I’m sorry. But if i was going to raid a house of a very dangerous criminal… i’d put my hair up to make sure i could SEE what i was doing…

Loving this style update for Jet😍

Did ANYONE think the CI was gonna make it through the ep?? Like cmon that was obvious

There was 3:44min left on the timer & that was WAY less than that….

Are velasco & fin just like, kickin it back at the precinct watching tv or something rn?!

Yessssssss Sam is here now! 😍😍

But also hate the other ada

Wait… this perp (in pt3) has DEFINITELY been on svu before… he sold liv & elliot a baby… right?!

Sir… you are sitting like a lesbian…

WOW we just jumped two months!!

Where TF is carisi??

AMANDA ROLLINS IS ANTI TAYLOR SWIFT??!! I *NEVER* WOULD HAVE THOUGHT! Like she would be the number 1 swiftie…

FUCK.

Okay like i KNEW something like this was probable because dw wanted her killed off BUT COULD WE GET THROUGH A SEASON OPENER WITH**OUT** SOMEONE IMPORTANT GETTING SHOT??!!

Carisi’s gonna show up now, right??

UGGGHH PEEEETTEERR YOUR ACTING!!??? GOOD GOD. JUST SO SCARED & worried & 🥺🥺🥺😭😭😭

Wtf is this jacket olivia has on? I cant tell whether its leather or denim or leather posing as denim??!

Liv did what was right. Putting nicole out of harms way was way better than making her testify when she’s already almost been killed multiple times.

Oh fuck you mccoy

How is NO ONE from the da’s office even TALKING about/worried about rollins?!

THANK YOU SAM!!! I KNEW I LIKED YOU BETTER THAN ANYONE ON THIS DAMN SHOW (also she’s looked *bomb* in every outfit so far..)

I feel like we might be starting to learn more about Sam’s history/childhood thanks to this ep? Or like, this might be hinting at some future character arc?

UCK. I literally just said “at least elliot’s gone” and WOW he feels the need to come back…

There are TEN mins left & we still havent gotten an update on amanda??!! Come ON

Yo, dick wolf, tell me you hate amanda rollins without telling me you hate amanda rollins 😒😒😒

ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?! The crap scenes we GOT instead of:

a panicked emotional carisi at the hospital, a sympathetic & just as worried liv who’s trying to hide it to be the bigger supporter, a worried fin who’s watched her take a bullet already!! The REUNION & relief when they’re told she’s out of surgery & going to be totally fine. The CONVERSATION between amanda & sonny, the heartfelt confessions of how scared they were to lose each other, how carisi was internally freaking out about the girls and legally who would take care of them if amanda died, and how it should be him over anyone from her family. How the only thing aside from the girls amanda could think of was that she wished she had told sonny she wanted to be with him forever, be the dad to her girls, how life is short & they’d wasted enough time already. Followed by an untraditional proposal, one that neither of them expected & sonny doesnt even have the ring, but they agree to marriage anyways. FOLLOWED by liv, fin, velasco, jessie & billie coming into the room in a big happy found family wrap up…

Brb… just wrote a one shot that was better than the wrap of this damn episode.

Ugh 🙄🙄🙄

@bookpillows here ya go

[sammygvfslut]

i like you a latte | s. kiszka

Summary: Words cannot espresso how much you mean to Sammy Kiszka.

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Hey besties!!! this is my first ever sam fic, and i really hope you guys enjoy it! it’s super cheesy so beware of some tooth-rotting fluff ahead. any and all feedback is appreciated <3

Loud chattering and the sounds of espresso machines hissing and whistling filled the cafe. Every few seconds or so when a new customer walked in, a soft ringing above the door rang. Glancing at the clock, you sighed as it read 7am. Way too early for your liking. You wished to be back in bed under the covers with your cat Joey snuggling. Plus, the cold weather made it even harder for you to get out of bed every morning. Damn you, winter.

“Good morning.” A voice said suddenly, startling you as you slightly jumped. “Whoops, didn’t mean to scare you there for a sec.”

Turning around at the voice, your heart fluttered and a smile pulled at the corners of your lips. “G-Good morning, Sam! Nope, didn’t scare me at all. I was just uh...focusing very hard and you caught me off guard.”

A chuckle rumbled from his chest, his own lips curving and flashing that beautiful grin. God, he made you melt. You took a quick chance to admire his appearance for the day, luscious brown locks pulled back into a low bun with a few stray pieces framing his face, and he wore a slightly oversized brown grandpa looking sweater. He exuded true fall energy today and all you wanted to do was snuggle with him watching a movie while sipping on hot chocolate. “Right. Focusing on what exactly? Staring at the register?”  

“S-Sure. Yes, the register.” Totally not him instead. “Um, I realized it turned off right now and my mind blanked to turn it back on.”

Sam placed a hand on your shoulder as he laughed, his touch leaving a wave of goosebumps to rise out of your skin. “You’re so cute. I’ll leave you to that then, but if you need help trying to get the register to turn back on again, let me know.” And with that, he sent you a wink and turned on his heel away to start on the customers orders.

Alright, alright. So maybe early shifts weren’t as bad as you thought thanks to your insanely charming co-worker. Sam and you had been working together for the past year, and almost instantly you started falling for him. He welcomed you with open arms and he was a great help when it came to your training. Your co-workers were nice too, but Sam took that extra step in making sure you were comfortable with what you were doing. If you made a mistake and were freaking out about it, he somehow knew the way to calm you down. He was too precious and good for this cruel world. And most of all, out of your league too.

With his dashing looks and amazing personality, you just knew there was no way he’d ever feel the same about you. Except, any time you’d voice that thought to any of your friends at work, they’d tell you you’re crazy and that he likes you too. Apparently they caught on to the signs more than you did, which wasn’t a shocker considering that you’d have no clue if a guy was interested in you unless he blatantly confessed. So, trying to figure out hints was completely pointless for you.

“Uh oh, she’s deep in thought,” one of your friends/co-workers, Danny, teased. He also happened to be Sam’s best friend, and current band mate since the pair are in a band with Sam’s older twin brothers. “I bet I can guess what, or who you were thinking about.”

“Don’t even say it,” you warned with a finger, “He’s literally four feet away from us—”

“So?” Danny rolled her eyes with his arms folded. “Why don’t you just tell him how you feel? Come on, it’s been almost a year now. What’s the worst that can happen if you confess?”

“He can hear me.” You stared blankly at him, shaking your head. “Absolutely not though, Danny. I will not embarrass myself from the humiliation I’d have to face from his rejection.”

Danny groaned frustratedly, placing his hands on both your shoulders and shaking them. “You’re so hopeless! Y/N, how many times do the guys and I have to tell you he likes you too!” He raised his voice a little louder than necessary which accidentally caught the attention of almost everyone in the cafe. Sam included unfortunately. Danny’s eyes widened, silently cursing under his breath. “Carry on, everyone.”

As much as you hated to admit it, Danny wasn’t lying when he mentioned about the guys agreeing that Sam likes you too. Every time you came over Josh’s apartment and Sam was there he’d find any little excuse to have his arm around you or teasing you constantly. You’d shake it off that he was just treating you like a friend would, but of course the guys would disagree with you.

“We’ll finish this conversation later,” Danny told you sternly, “But for now, and don’t make it obvious, but Sam’s looking at you.” A mischievous grin spread across his face as he winked and stepped to the next register before greeting a new customer and taking their order.

Heart pounding out of your chest, you slowly looked over your shoulder in Sam’s direction. You saw his head quickly turn and finish off the drink in front of him. Your cheeks burned at this and tried taking deep, slow breaths to calm yourself down. Didn’t work much, but as a new customer waved and told you their order, your breathing turned back to normal.

On the other end of the counter, Sam was currently freaking the hell out from what he heard a few minutes ago between you and Danny. He didn’t mean to, but he also wasn’t that far from either of you. Plus, Danny wasn’t the best at keeping his voice low. He had a strong feeling he knew you were talking about him, and for that reason alone he overflowed the cup he was pouring into and made a mess. He cursed under his breath and wiped his hands on his apron, shaking his head.

You caught sight of this and rushed to his side, grabbing a cloth from under the sink and started wiping the sticky counter. Sam was certain his cheeks were tomato red from his embarrassment, making a complete fool of himself for not paying attention to what he was doing. More so focusing on your conversation and your damn smile from earlier. You weren’t the only one here with a crush.

“T-Thanks, Y/N.” Sam chuckled nervously, throwing the cup in the trash and tossing the drink pitcher he held in the sink. “I’m normally not this much of a dumbass.”

“I’m not too sure about that one, Kiszka.” You teased lightly with a grin. “It happens, don’t worry,” you assured. “I’m just glad it was cold tea you spilled and not steaming coffee. I’d hate for you to get a third degree burn. That happened to me once, don’t recommend it.”

“Didn’t I drive you to the hospital for that?” he asked. “I think that might’ve happened a few months ago.”

Your eyes widened at the memory. “Oh shit, you’re right. God, I’m still so sorry I had to drag you into that.”

Sam shook his head, lips curving and cheeks no longer flushed. “For the hundredth time, stop apologizing about that, Y/N. You know you can count on me for anything, so of course I didn’t mind driving you to the hospital. I remember even blasting some ABBA on the way over there so you’d have something else to focus on instead of the pain you endured.”

You smiled at the memory. “Didn’t we also go out for ice cream afterwards?”

He nodded, lightly rubbing his arm. “Yeah, it was a lot of fun. I mean, I always have fun when I’m with you.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his last few words, blinking slowly. “O-Oh.”

Oh? That’s all you have to say? Nice one, Y/N.

Sam’s heart dropped. Fuck. Maybe you weren’t talking about him after all. Maybe it was Danny or one of his brothers that you had a crush on and he was mistaken about it. He wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow him whole right about now. Being anywhere but here sounded splendid to him.

“Y-Y/N, I—“

“Ihavefunwhenimwithyoutoo,” you muttered all too quickly, and poor Sam barely even understood what you said. He didn’t have the chance to ask you to repeat yourself because you quickly walked away to the back and he was left with a tug at his chest, frowning.

Within the next few days after Sam’s tea spill, literally, things between you and him became...awkward. Something went off in him to become even more clumsy than normal and forget everything he’s ever known when you’re near him. He’d get flustered, stuttering a lot, messing up orders, dropping dishes, and nearly tripping all the time. He hated it so much and wished he could just muster up the courage and apologize for being such an idiot and confess his feelings to you. Even during your hangouts with the guys, Sam and you wouldn’t interact as much and honestly you were well aware you were being super childish and immature about the situation. Sam did too, and he needed to snap the fuck out of it.

The next few days at work Sam would ignore Danny’s little side comments about his immaturity and continued working in silence. For the rest of his shift he didn’t talk much to anyone other than the customers. He wanted to talk to you when he had the chance, but then he’d quickly back out and walk the opposite direction.

He couldn’t figure out why it was so futile for him to just grow a sack and tell you he likes you. He’d never gone through this struggle before. Then again, as cheesy as it sounded, the other girls he’d asked out in the past couldn’t compare to you. Never in a million years, and maybe he was too afraid that he didn’t deserve someone as amazing as you.

Nearing closing that same day, it was only you, Sam, and Danny. The flow of customers died down and not many people came in towards the end of the night which you were grateful for. It finally gave you the chance to relax a bit and start cleaning things up ahead of time so you wouldn’t have to stay after. Joey and a nice warm bath were waiting for you at home.

While Sam decided on working the register and you and Danny would clean, he grabbed your arm and led you into the back.

“What are you two still doing not dating each other or talking?! It’s been way too long now, Y/N. And since it’s only us three tonight, you have no other choice. Come on, I know you can’t take this any longer, and he can’t either. I can take over the register for a bit while you and him talk.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, contemplating his offering. As incredibly thankful as you were for his help, you were also scared shitless of the possible outcome. Perhaps it was finally time though that you say fuck it and say what you needed to. You couldn’t go on for any longer to keep your feelings bottled up inside. Maybe, just maybe he might feel the same way, and by God you hoped that would be the case.

Inhaling, you nodded slowly and made your way back to where you were. Your eyes searched for Sam and saw he was busy making a drink, except there was no one else here besides you, him and Danny. It could’ve been a drink for him, so you shrugged this off and went towards the sink to start washing the dishes.

A few moments later, Sam cleared his throat from behind you. “H-Hey Y/N, so um, I know the créme brûlée latte is your favorite, and I thought I’d make you one. You seemed really stressed and busy today and I wanted to try to cheer you up. I hope that’s okay.”

Your heart swelled at his generosity and your cheeks burned as you felt his gaze burning into you, his palms soaking from nervousness. “Sam, you didn’t have to do that for me.”

He shrugged casually, a small smile on his lips and his cheeks tinted a light pink. “It’s okay, I wanted to. And I uh, tried my best on the art. Hope you like it.”

Raising a brow, your gaze dropped on your cup and your eyes widened as you saw what he was referring to. A small coffee cup with the words I like you a latte around it.

“It’s true,” Sam chewed on his bottom lip while running his fingers through his hair. “I really like you Y/N, and I’m so sorry for acting like such an idiot these last few days around you. I don’t know what came over me, and I’m sorry that I didn’t talk to you much either.”

Setting your cup on the counter, you took a step closer to him and cupped his cheek, rubbing your thumb softly against his soft skin. “You don’t have to apologize for anything, Sam. I’m sorry for not talking to you too, as well as for making a fool of myself. I tend to do that around someone I like.”

Finally, the realization dawned on Sam as a wide grin pulled at his lips. “Glad we’re on the same boat.”

“I-Is it alright if I kiss you?” he asked shyly, his eyes sparkling as he looked at you.

You giggled. “You don’t even have to ask, loverboy.” You playfully rolled your eyes and cupped his other cheek before connecting his lips with yours.

A smirk pulled at Danny’s lips as he glanced at the two of you, shaking his head. Josh and Jake owed him $20 now. 

It was about damn time that Sam and you finally espresso’d your love for each other. 

tagging these lovely folks bc they helped inspired me and their work is amazing <3 @godlygreta​ / @flowervanfleet​ / @dharma-divine​

[luxwritesfanfic]

On Tap

Sherlock insists that it would work better with the reader on top and after the night they’ve had, there’s no point in arguing. Or, the one where reader plays superhero for poor Greg and her beloved detective. Thanks for reading!

Sherlock Holmes/Reader

You hadn’t even taken your shoes off when your phone started ringing in your purse. Sighing, you dug around for it with one hand and reached for the lightswitch with the other. Work had been incredibly stressful since you were working short during flu season and everyone in London had been feeling under the weather apparently. You had told your coworkers that if they really needed you that you would come back even though you had put a solid 16 hours in. Sherlock and John had gone out for John’s bachelor party so you didn’t mind working late, and Bucky was visiting his brother in the States so all your time was truly yours. You had thought about soaking in the bath or catching up on that show you always missed, but all of those thoughts were stopped in their tracks when the ringing persisted.

“Hey, what’s up?” You tried not to sound like you’d rather chew on glass than clock one more minute into the hospital but you weren’t sure you were so convincing.

“Come get him. Please, for the love of God, come get him.” At hearing Greg’s voice, you were both relieved yet confused. Sherlock must’ve invited him last minute to celebrate with them, you didn’t remember him saying that he was coming along.

“Oh, I didn’t know you went out with the boys! Where are you guys?” It was nice to know they were all having a good time. You liked Greg and thought he was a really good friend for Sherlock and John. You had plopped down on the couch and had started pulling one of your shoes off when he said, “No, I didn’t go with them. They were brought to me. Someone called the cops on them and now I’ve got tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum arguing about the solar system and taking turns puking in my waste bin. Please, I beg of you, come get him. Matter of fact, I can bring him home. If that makes the process quicker--- I mean easier.” You heard Sherlock trying to take Greg’s phone in the background, asking to talk to you and then quickly after arguing with John once more if it was really that important he knew they orbited the sun. Greg sounded just as exhausted as you felt and you could only imagine how annoyed he was by the drunk detective that he was already annoyed with most of the time sober.

“Yeah, yeah of course I’ll come get him. I’m actually at my flat though, so if you could meet me at his place that would be awesome. I’d just need a few minutes to finish up here...” You mourned the hot bath you were never going to get to take and worked on shoving the shoe you just took off back on, “did you call Mary for John?”

“Yes, she’ll be over soon. As soon as she gets here, I’ll bring Sherlock. You’re doing the Lord’s work, thank you.” With that, he hung up and you went to your room to pack an overnight bag. You were exhausted and if you had to go all the way to Sherlock’s, it would be easier for you to crash on the couch than to try to come back home late.

By the time you got to Sherlock’s, you were dragging your feet up the stairs and you could barely keep your eyes open. You had received a text from Mary when she picked John up saying “good luck” and you wished you knew what you were walking into. You had never seen Sherlock drunk, or heard any stories of him being drunk, but you were sure he was even more eccentric than he was sober. If you weren’t so tired, you’d be jumping with joy at the experience to see Sherlock so out of character. 

You went into Sherlock’s room and laid out some pajamas for him and went ahead and put a water bottle and some Advil on his nightstand because you were sure he would need it. After doing that, you changed into something more comfortable too and rummaged through his fridge to see if there was anything to eat. Thumbs, unsalted butter, and milk that shouldn’t look like blue cheese was what was on the menu and you had decided sleep for dinner sounded much more appetizing. You’d go shopping for him tomorrow.

Greg had texted that he was outside but Sherlock didn’t have his key so you made your way down the steps to meet them. Upon opening the door, Sherlock looked up at you like he hasn’t seen you in ages. He stumbled towards you and held you at arms length with a look of wonder on his face. “Finally! Y/N, I was thinking I’d die from being surrounded by total stupidity, and here you are. Ever the shining light and the beacon of hope.”

You felt the heat from his stare and turned to Greg to try and keep your composure under all his attention. “Uh.. I— thank you. For bringing him home.”

Still staring at Sherlock and shocked by his outburst, Greg met your eyes with a knowing smile. “It’s no trouble. He’s your problem now. Good luck, my dear.” He was gone in the blink of an eye, leaving you with a very drunk Sherlock Holmes and a dozen steps to climb.

“Okay,” you clapped your hands together, turning towards the door, “do you think you can get up the stairs? Or do you want me to help you?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” he started until his eyes widened like he forgot who he had been talking to. It had only been a second but he saw the look that flashed across your face. You hated when he made you feel dumb because you always tried so hard to keep up with him, and he knew that. You didn’t have a chance to react before he quickly interrupted. His previous statement was immediately followed by, “I’m sorry. Forgive me. Please help me.”

You just nodded, unsure of what made him have such a quick change of heart but you were happy he did. You hated him thinking you were dumb. In comparison to him, maybe, but you were intelligent in your own right and you did a better job of keeping up with him than most. He threw his arm around your shoulders to steady himself and allowed you to lead him carefully up the stairs. He started telling you about his night and it honestly sounded like he had a great time, and so did John. You were really happy that it all worked out even if they did end up with Greg at the end of it all.

As soon as the back of Sherlock’s legs hit his chair, he was down in a clean swoop and you took the opportunity to start untying his shoes. He seemed like he was lost in thought and was quiet for a few moments but you could tell from the way he was swaying that he was too far gone to sober up before the morning.

“I already put your clothes out for you and I’ll help you to the bathroom so you can brush your teeth. You’ll love me for that in the morning.” You smiled at him as you pulled off his loafers and moved to stand up so that you could figure out how you were going to get him out of his chair.

“Will I, though? Will I tomorrow once I’m in my right mind?” He asked, and while he didn’t say it in an ignorant tone, it sounded like Sherlock, and that was close enough.

You looked at him hoping he’d say something else. But he didn’t, and he looked back at you with a look of confusion as if he was really expecting you to answer that. It seemed like just last week he was in your bed trying to convince you that he didn’t have eyes for anyone besides you and now he’s reminding you that he’s not even sure of that. Sherlock could have you at the top of the poll and then have you kissing the ground in the same hour if he tried.

“It’s just a saying. I didn’t really mean...you know, let’s— let’s just get you to bed. It’s late and you have a date with a hangover in the morning.” You could tell he was on the verge of passing out which was good in the way of no more awkward conversations but horrible in that you’d never get him into bed as dead weight. So you pushed things along and eventually got him in bed before he was out like a light.

Draping the blanket over him, you watched as his eyes fluttered behind his lids and how his lips twitched as fell into a deeper sleep and you were sure then that you would never love anyone more. You would never understand how he didn’t realize how beautiful he made the ordinary and how easily he made everything extraordinary. Afraid that you’d turn to stone if you spent any more time staring at him, you turned off his light and made your way to the living room where the the couch had never looked more inviting. It didn’t take you long to get settled in and asleep seeing as the TV in the background ended up being the perfect thing to mask Sherlock’s drunk snores and you had never been more tired in your life.

—

“I thought you were staying over?”

It had only been a few hours since you  had put Sherlock to bed when he found himself looking over you on the couch, wrapped up in his bedsheet.

“M’right here.” You murmured into the pillow, body still turned away from Sherlock on the couch. He was probably still drunk and you were hoping if you laid still enough he’d wander back to bed.

He didn’t respond to you, instead he continued to stand and stare with his lips pursed and brows furrowed. You had drifted back off only to be nudged awake once more.

“I won’t fit like that.” He gestured with the hand not holding the sheet to the couch, sounding exasperated like he had been explaining this to you all night. “It’ll only work if you’re on top, so get up so I can lie down first.”

You didn’t process what he said really, you just knew that if he was being persistent and you didn’t do as he asked he’d never let you go back to bed. You squinted as your eyes adjusted to the light and swung your legs off the couch, standing on stiff bones. Sherlock immediately made to get comfortable on the couch while you stood dazed and confused and he cleared his throat expectantly when he had finally got settled. He was on his back with one arm holding the sheet up between himself and the back of the couch allowing room for you to climb over and snuggle right into him.

All you could do was blink and hold his stare as he waited expectantly, still holding the sheet for you. You didn’t think he was asking you to lay with him, especially with how close you’d two be. Sure, you shared your bed before, but there was always enough room for you both to have your own space. You could tell he was getting embarrassed by your reaction, or lack there of.

“I didn’t think this would be rocket science, even for someone like you.” His nervousness was showing as he yanked his arm back down and curled into to himself like a child. You jumped into action so you wouldn’t upset him any more and shook his shoulder as you whined, partially from exhaustion and from missing the chance to sleep next to him.

“I’m tired, I’m sorry! I didn’t realize what you were asking. Come on, open up. Let me in.” You continued to shake at his shoulder until he looked back at you. He looked wrecked from drinking all night and you knew this bout of sobriety wouldn’t be as easy on him in the morning but you were sure he looked holy.

Sherlock reluctantly brought his arm up again and you wasted no time sliding under the sheet and tucking yourself under the crook of his arm. He smelled like beer and mouthwash and Sherlock and you thought you were going to go into cardiac arrest when he brought his arm back down on you, subsequently pinning you down to him. It was definitely a tight fit especially since the couch barely fit Sherlock but you had decided that if you had the opportunity to sleep with him like this every night that you would. Back pain be damned.

The steadiness of his heartbeat was already working you back to sleep. Sighing content, you let your body fully relax and sink further into him.

“You never answered my question.” He shifted next to you and kept you close to him all the same, his head leaning to rest on yours.

“Hmm?” You made an incoherent sound, your breath evening out as you fell asleep.

“My question,” he whispered more so to himself as he worked it out in his head. The feelings he found himself harboring for you were ones he had never felt before. He thought  so highly of you in a way he couldn’t understand even if he wasn’t the best at expressing it. You were patient with him when he got on your last nerve and was amazed by him when other people would tell him to piss off. You were always kind and warm and made him feel human even after he spent so long separating himself from his feelings. He couldn’t stand the idea of you looking at anyone else the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t looking.

So yes, he thought. Yes, he would love you in the morning. He’d love you when you’re angry with him for putting himself at risk during a case and he’d love you when you were overly tired and petulant after he made you stay up all night to keep him company in the lab. He loved that you valued him regardless of what he offered you, and that you always showed him that even if he never reciprocated it. You were never embarrassed by him, you always tried to learn about what he was interested in, and you never doubted him even when he was wrong.

Girlfriends weren’t naturally his area... but he didn’t think he would mind if it was you. He liked being close to you and physical touch wasn’t something he had sought out often before. He found that he chased the opportunity to be near you at all times. He thought you looked lovely in scrubs and a lab coat and even lovelier in your everyday wear, even if you considered it plain. He had begun to notice the way other people stared at you when you walked by and it left him with the most unsettling feeling. But then you’d smile at him and despite himself he’d smile right back and he wondered if anything in the world mattered to you besides him. Because in those moments, nothing mattered to him besides you.

Sherlock woke up alone again the next morning with the worst headache he’d ever had. Light was shining through the curtains and he cursed the sun for rising another day as he covered his eyes and groaned. Peaking through his fingers, he saw that the Advil and water had been moved to the coffee table for him and when he reached out for it he noticed the note on the table. He sat up with one hand gingerly holding his head as he read it.

“Got called into work to help the girls. John and Mary are coming over for lunch, so text me what you want me to bring home. We can’t serve our best friends buttered thumbs for lunch. I’ll see you soon!

  -Y/N xx”

He held the note in his hand, contemplating what his next move would be. You were interested in him, that he knew for sure. He’d contemplated casually mentioning to everyone that you were dating, but he technically hadn’t asked you to be his girlfriend and you two had never talked about any mutual feelings. Maybe he’d kiss you when walking you to your taxi, but he knew he’d make you stay with him instead of letting you go home. Possibly tonight when you were laying in his bed he’d tell you it had to be you, it could only ever be you.

Leaning back against the couch, he rubbed at his eyes and decided he’d call John over early and he’d help him sort it out. John always helped him. Standing up was harder than it looked apparently, as Sherlock wobbled to the side and fought the urge to puke. Perhaps he should shower first, surely you wouldn’t say yes to being his if he didn’t look his best.

He remembered how he looked and acted last night and winced. On second thought, maybe you would. You had already given yourself to him for better or for worse and soon enough, he smiled, he would give you himself in return.

[lemonjoonah]

Wrapped Together (M)

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader Word Count: 18K Rating: M Genre: Christmas AU, Romance, Drama  Warnings: Protected sex, oral (m. rec.), referenced illness/death of parent, swearing, classism. Summary: Despite your best efforts to keep your head down, to self-preserve and endure what will no doubt be the worst Christmas of your life, you are still roped into volunteering for the hospital's annual gift wrap fundraiser. The enticing factor that lured you out? The promise of a new shift partner, Kim Namjoon. Though your first day together starts off with a slight miscalculation of his skills for wrapping, he soon becomes your essential ally in the fight to get through this lonely holiday season.

| Secret Santa Collab | My Masterlist |

A/N: A big thank you to @kimtaehyunq​ for asking me to join her Secret Santa Christmas Collab, this was my first collab ever and I absolutely loved it. And of course to my beta readers @m00nchild-shi​ and @ladyartemesia​ thank you for helping me gain the courage to post this. I hope that this fic is able to bring a bit of comfort to those celebrating the holidays a little differently this year, so please enjoy!

...

-5 Weeks Until Christmas-

Amidst the chatter of the office, a dull rumble reaches your ears and vibrates the desk beneath your fingers, waking you from the repetitive haze of your hundredth call report. The moment of confusion switches to frantic action when your brain finally catches on and recognizes it as your own personal phone. Scurrying through your purse, you nab it just in time, but after checking the caller ID you desperately wish you hadn’t. 

You knew this call was coming, you’ve dreaded it since you felt the first freezing snowflake on the tip of your nose, when you heard the first carol blaring over the radio, and saw the first tacky inflatable gracing a lawn on your street. It happens every year, like clockwork, though this will be the first time she’ll be enlisting one and not two. Unable to put off the dreaded moment any longer, you answer, accepting that if you rip the band-aid off now and decline her invitation to join the wrapping fundraiser, it’ll be one less uncomfortable moment later. 

“Aunt Emma, hey it’s been awhile.” She’s not exactly your aunt, but you’ve known her ever since you and your mother settled down here ten years ago. With little other family nearby she was one of the few you and your mom could always count on. Making your task to turn her down all the more difficult now.

“My dear, how are you holding up? I’m so sorry to do this but I'm calling with some rather unfortunate news.”

“Oh?” You exclaim, careful not to sound too hopeful that you might be free of your heavy burden.

“Yes, well it’s regarding the wrapping fundraiser. I wanted to put you on the same shifts as myself or Maria. I didn’t want to have you alone, since, well, you know... but there are so many rookie volunteers this year. And with you being part of the organization for so long, I was hoping you work with one of them instead for the evening shifts? It’ll just be you and him, do you think you could manage it?”

“I-I uh...” Now this is something you had not expected. You spent the past few weeks worrying about how you might have to work side by side with pitying glances, condolences, and referenced scripture from the usual staff. Any thoughts and prayers for your loss would likely turn you into a pool of tears. Not something you want to happen in public, or private for that matter, but if you are partnered with a newcomer, one who knows nothing of your past, maybe... maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. “I can do that.”

“I knew you could! I’ll put you down for the weekday evenings from the seventh up to Christmas. You’re off work at four, right? I’ll send you more details later, but do you want me to be there to introduce you to the other volunteer?”

“No!” You blurt out, insisting in a volume far louder than necessary, but you can’t risk her acting on the offer. Introductions when done by Emma are dicey at best, with one solid breath she has the capacity to share every bit of your sad history, leaving you exactly where you’d rather not be. “I’m sure we’ll be fine. No need to put yourself out like that, you can just tell me their name now and save yourself the trip.” 

“Thank you dear, always so considerate. One second let me just grab that for you...” She pauses on the phone line, as you look around your office in worry, not wanting to get in trouble for taking a personal call on the clock. “Ah here it is. You’ll be working with Kim Namjoon...” 

...

-Less than 3 Weeks Until Christmas-

After finishing work you head off to the mall for your first day on wrapping duty. It should be a relatively quiet night, since the majority of the crowd typically disperses at this time, heading home to be with families for dinner. Your own sits in a paper bag on the passenger seat of your car. A solitary meal as you battle the rush hour traffic. Finishing off the last of the salted fries with a lick of your fingers while you secure a parking spot. 

Flipping down your visor you scoff when confronted with your appearance, your makeup melted off thanks to the struggles of your earlier shift. You dab and blend a fresh blot of concealer on the dark bags beneath your eyes, determined to erase any evidence of your doleful days and sleepless nights. 

The rented store space is already set up, with a long table propped up right at the entrance. Dressed with a variety of paper and ribbon and looking particularly festive. The other volunteers give you a brief greeting and run down before they leave and pass the duties off to you. With them gone you take a seat, looking down at the selection you have to offer this year, trying with all your might not to focus on the empty chair beside you, one that is usually fill by your-

“Hi, sorry I’m late...” Your gaze flicks up from the table, startled to find a giant of a man. Greeting you with a smile warm enough to melt your frozen expression. 

“H-hi,” You stutter out, staring at his handsome face framed with light brown locks, feeling as though you’ve seen it before, but can’t quite place where. “You must be Namjoon?” You ask, running through the list of actors and singers in your mind but coming up empty on who he reminds you of.

He nods, before confirming your name too, and launching into the reason behind his tardiness. “The traffic was not in my favour today.” He gestures to the table and the vacant seat behind it. “May I?” 

“Of course.” You quickly scoot the folding table over so he can slip by the barrier that separates you from the mall. He takes off his coat to reveal a whole suit beneath, though he soon disposes of the jacket and tie too. You try not to gulp as he rolls up his sleeves in front of you, his arms flexing as they reveal themselves. 

“Pretty quiet?” He asks looking around the mall. 

“It usually is around now, give it an hour or two.”

“Have you been doing this long?”

“A few years...” You mumble, not wanting to dive too deep in that well, you quickly turn to pin the question on him instead. “What prompted you to volunteer? Did Emma enlist you during her recruiting effort?”  

“She did, I found her posting the flyer at my workplace.” Namjoon chuckles. “But I’ve seen you all set up here before, and since my usual Christmas plans with my family have changed, I thought I’d join you all instead.”

“Oh, so you’re not spending Christmas with them?” 

“No, they’ve gone to visit my sister and her family in her city this year. I unfortunately have a few work commitments I can’t get out of to make the trip in time, but rather than just mope about at home I thought I might be of some use.” Namjoon smiles again, his fingers folding the corner of the wrapping paper in front of him. “What about you, any plans?”

“No, I usually spend it with my mom, but she won’t be with me this year...” Or any year going forward, you consider while you give him a weak smile. She was the very reason you joined this organization all those years ago, when Aunt Emma was making her rounds and signing up everyone she could at the hospital, you and your mother were there for an appointment, your mom offered up both of your services lending you to a tradition that would extend for years through her treatment, remission, and the final return. 

“So we're in the same boat?” 

“I guess so.” His grin is so contagious, despite the differences in your situation you can’t help but agree.

Your first client of the evening comes forward and drops a small pile of kids toys in front of you both . “Thank god you're here. If I bring these home unwrapped my kids won’t hesitate to spoil the surprise.” You divide the presents between you and Namjoon while the mother keeps talking and flicking through the different styles of paper offered. “At least if they’re wrapped I can say I saw Santa at the mall and he gave me these early. They are so hard to fool these days.” 

“I take it you’ll want the Santa stickers?” You ask pointing to a closed box behind you, hidden away from the wide and prying eyes of young children passing by. 

“Yes, thank you so much!” 

“No problem.” You assure her while putting the last piece of tape on the stack of video games. Though when you look over to check on Namjoon you find that he has barely even started. He cut off a sheet entirely too big and is attempting to fold it around the boxed animatronic pet. Your eyes stare at the state of the poor paper unable to look away from the crumpled carnage. But the shock soon turns to amusement over his determination to salvage the mangled sheet, and you find yourself biting your lip in an attempt not to laugh. Luckily the woman in front of you hasn’t noticed but once you're finished with yours, you reach over for the assist. 

“Here, I can take over that one. Could you do the ribbon for me?” 

 Namjoon nods opening his mouth in an embarrassed grin. He does manage to secure the strand around the package but loses the spool before he can cut it. The red ribbon rolls all the way to your foot, before you stop it with a tap on the sole of your boot. Namjoon winces, while you let out a chuckle before bending over to hand it back to him, and finish wrapping the other present. 

The attempt at a ribbon curl unfortunately goes the same as the package before it, with him completely at a loss and using the wrong edge of the scissor blade. Trying to save him you make another suggestion. “If you want you can always use the premade sticker curls.” 

Namjoon nods and places them on the two packages along with the vibrant sticker of a cartoon Claus winking as he delivers the warning, ‘Do not open ‘till Christmas, Santa’s watching.’

As you load up the presents into a bag, Namjoon takes to the cashbox, looking expectantly from the client with his dashingly dimpled grin. 

“Oh right.” She comments with an awkward smile. Opening her Gucci bag and matching wallet, the corners of her lips turning down when she rifles through several triple digit bills unable to find any smaller denomination. 

The stand is by donation only, but the implication has always been that one should compensate the fundraiser for the service provided. You can usually tell when someone intends to leave no payment at all, and unfortunately you know this act all too well. She’ll apologize and say that she has to run to the bank and get some cash, but you’ll never see her again. Namjoon, unfamiliar with this ploy, continues to give his eager smile, and to your utter shock she submits, handing him a hundred dollar bill. 

Namjoon thanks her profusely as she melts too under his gaze muttering, “Not a problem.” Before walking off clutching her now wrapped gifts. 

You look to Namjoon in disbelief while he locks the money away in the cash box. Only breaking the silence when the client is fully out of earshot. “How the hell did you do that?!”

“Do what?” He raises an eyebrow completely oblivious to what he just achieved. 

“She... she... you got her to donate, and such a large amount. How?”

“What do you mean how? People give that much all the time don’t they?”

“No, they don’t!” 

“Oh...” He gives you another of his knee weakening smiles. “Sorry I assumed, I guess I’m just used to it.” He scratches at the back of his neck looking down at the table.

“Used to it? Where on earth do you see, do you get used to, that kind of generosity?”

“Through my job I suppose?” His grin turns to a look of embarrassment. “I work in art procurement, currently under contract with the museum. I seek out collectors and convince them to donate or loan out their assets.”

It would seem that getting people to open up their wallets is practically his profession. “Well... looks like manning the cash will be the perfect job for you.” That smile of his is a dangerous weapon, and one you would be remiss not to use in the fundraiser’s efforts. Though it still leaves one question unanswered. “But I have to ask...” Your previously concealed giggling comes to the surface. “Why on earth would you volunteer for a holiday wrapping station if you don’t know how to wrap?”

A blush reaches his cheeks. “Last year when I was here... I left with far more than I was expecting, and feeling as though I should have given more. So I figured if I couldn’t be with my own family, I wanted to do this instead.” He starts habitually folding a paper scrap. “And maybe I’d learn a useful skill-”

When a streak of red is left on the paper trailing behind his finger you jump to interrupt. “Is that...”

“Fuck.” He mutters pulling his index close to examine it. “Yeah, those scissors are sharp, didn’t realize I drew blood though.”

You immediately start rummaging around in your bag. “I know I have a couple in here, one second.” You pull out a small box of bandages and peel apart the papers to reveal the adhesive.

“You carry band-aids in your purse?” Namjoon asks, with a raised brow.

“You're the one who cut their finger trying to make a ribbon curl.”

“It wasn’t a criticism, sorry I just thought it was... nice.” He holds up the injury and you're careful to wrap the strip around it.

“Yes well,” Your face heats up as you catch yourself lingering. “Try to stay away from the scissors unless absolutely necessary. I’d rather not have to make a trip to the hospital.”

“That would be counter productive wouldn’t it?” Namjoon laughs outright. 

...

Despite you being the only one to wrap you both manage the evening surprisingly well, pulling in a record donation amount.

“You must be good at your job,” you mutter with a smirk, as you finish counting the lockbox. “I’ve never seen people so happy to part with their money.”

“I only showed them how good of a job you did,” Namjoon explains. “I’ve never seen someone put so much care into wrapping.” 

“First impressions for a gift can be important too.” You justify as you secure the cash in a deposit bag. “They put a lot of care into selecting the gift, why shouldn’t I exemplify that?”

“Even the gift cards?”

“Especially the gift cards. I have to make them memorable somehow don’t I?”

“True.” Namjoon concedes, with a small frown.  “Listen I’m sorry if I didn’t make a good first impression on you myself. If you want I can call Emma and we will find someone else to help you.”

“No, I enjoyed working with you. It just caught me off guard that you didn’t actually know how to wrap. If you get bored of handling the cash I could try and teach you if you’d like... you said you wanted to learn right?”

“You’d be willing to show me?”

“Definitely, though let's stick to the premade ribbon curls. I’d rather not have to use anymore band-aids if I can avoid it.” 

After pulling down the gate and locking up the station up behind. Namjoon accompanies you to the bank to drop off the deposit before you part ways for the evening, with you going out one exit and him another. 

The sudden blast of cold air forces you to huddle in your coat, and crank the heat the very second you step into your car. As the windows to thaw and frost retreats, you spot your tall wrapping partner waiting at the bus stop. 

“Now why would he...” You’re left perplexed judging from the description of his job and quality of his attire you assumed him to drive some sort of flashy car, never would you think he would take public transportation. 

You drive over and stop right in front of Namjoon, rolling down the window. “Where do you live?”

“The Swan Estates, but if you don’t leave near there that’s fine I don’t mind bussing home.” Namjoon looks down the road. “It should be here soon.”

“It’s no problem, I pass by that area on my way home.” You reach across the car for the handle opening the door. “Come on get in. It’s too cold to wait for a bus.”  

Namjoon nods, and eagerly hops into the car holding his hands close to his vents with a sigh. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. I didn’t think to ask, I just assumed-”

“That I could drive?”

You nod giving him a sheepish grin this time. 

“As you saw earlier I’m rather accident prone. I think it’s safer for everyone if I leave the driving to others.” He chuckles looking out the window. “What about you? When not rescuing people from cold transit stops or wrapping disasters, what do you daylight as.”

You grimace at the question knowing your answer is nowhere near as impressive as his. “I’m a phone-rep for Interlude Shipping, I work in their tracking department.”

His reaction is not the usual glazed expression you get when you reveal that you work in a call centre, but a look of awe. “You must be so busy this time of year, how do you have energy for volunteering too?”

“I’m used to it.”

“Do you like it there?”

“It’s... a paycheck. I needed a full time position with benefits right out of school and that was what was available. I would have preferred something else but...” You stop yourself, scolding how much you almost revealed. Finding it far too easy to talk to Namjoon. He doesn’t pester you to continue but lets your abrupt end linger in the silence until he points out his house within the estate. “So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Namjoon nods in agreement with his dimples on full display. “Looking forward to it. Thanks again for the ride.”

After he leaves your car another nervous giggle you’ve been holding in finally escapes you. Three weeks working with this kind, considerate and downright gorgeous man. Though there’s no ring on his finger, he has to be attached to someone. Men like him don’t walk around single for long. Your shoulders fall at the thought, despite the fact that you have no intention of forming an attachment at this time... it’s still too soon. 

Before you even pull out of Namjoon’s driveway, your phone vibrates from the cup holder you stashed it in. Aunt Emma’s name popping up on the display. You press the green button to accept and put her on speaker while you pull out onto the road. 

“Hello my dear, just checking in to see how the first night went?” 

“Good, no great actually. I think you’ll be happy with the result.”

“And your partner? Everything working well with him?”

“Yeah,” You confirm looking up in the rearview mirror taking one last look at Namjoon’s house. “He’s really nice, we already have a system in place so I think we’ll work well together.”

“That’s wonderful to hear. I was worried at first, wondered if I had made the right decision-”

“You did!” You encourage her, not wanting her to change her mind, and make another switch.

“Great, so we’ll carry on as is then. I’ll message Maria to let her know, I think she’s still on shift at the hospital though...” Aunt Emma mutters to herself. “Speaking of which I had to stop by there today and guess who was asking about you?” 

You freeze in the front seat of your car, unable to say his name, but that doesn’t stop your chatty Aunt from continuing on despite your silence. 

“That Jackson, such a nice young man, it’s a pity you-” 

“Aunt Emma, I’m so sorry but I should go. ” You cut her off unwilling to listen to her disappointment over your own personal matter. “It’s getting late and I have work in the morning.”

“Oh of course, no problem dear. Call me if you need anything.” 

When you arrive at your cold and empty apartment. The silence greets you with the usual punch to your gut, just as it has for the past eight months. She should be there to say hello and ask you about your day, just as she always had. But all that’s there to welcome you is the stack of dusty Christmas decor boxes thrown in the corner of the living room. Unwilling to spend another minute alone you sulk off to bed, ready to put another day behind and start the next. But for the first time in a while, you are actually looking forward to a fraction of the never ending cycle. 

...

Whoever said Christmas time is the most wonderful time of year, clearly never worked a customer service job. They’ve never been yelled at for four hours straight, gone to lunch, and then endured another four. With a couple weeks still left until the looming deadline of Christmas you can only imagine what you’ll have to listen to in the coming days. The woes of a parent trying to track down their child's number one gift... it’s enough to send chills down your spine. Just once you’d like to find someone happy on the other end of the line, someone who didn’t need something from you, someone who called just to say hi, and indulge you with a friendly chat. 

With the last call of the day done you throw on your coat, and bolt out of the office before anyone else. Elated by the fact that you have somewhere else to be, happy that someone else is expecting you. Namjoon beats you to the station today, chatting with the other volunteers as they leave. One of them pats you on the arm and delivers a sad smile, you seize with fear and the worry that they had discussed you, but when you find Namjoon beaming without a hint of concern the weight lifts and you can once again forget your loss for now. 

“Hey, how was work?” He asks.

“Good... good.” You cover with a smile not wanting to drag him down. He doesn’t look convinced his eyes narrow and the corner of his lip twitches, but you reciprocate before he can confirm. “How about your day?”

“Quiet, I’ve spent the past few months alongside the curators putting together an exhibit and with it finally finished all that’s left is to wait until it’s over.”

“So you had to stay here for Christmas only to wait for it to end? That’s too bad.”

“There are a couple other tasks I have to attend, an auction, and an event for the patrons, but the tear down on the 24th is pretty important, some of the lenders will want their pieces back in time for Christmas.”

“That’s such a miserable deadline for so much work. Why would they ask you to give up your Christmas Eve to do that? Surely it can be done after the holiday can't it?”

“Not this one, it’s ‘The Gift of Christmas’ Past’ exhibit,” Namjoon explains. “Many people were good enough to donate their family heirlooms for the majority of the season, but come the actual holiday, it’s time for them to return home.”  

You just about fall off your chair in awe. You’ve seen that exhibit advertised everywhere, even been tempted to go yourself, but the thought of going alone has prevented your attendance. “I had no idea, that’s such a popular exhibit, you worked on that?”

“I did, I even helped come up with the idea for it.” Namjoon beams, with a small amount of red rises to the surface of his cheeks. “The curators at the museum have been more than accommodating. I never thought I’d get the chance to step into their roll myself. I was lucky to be given the chance, so you can understand why I had to stay and help them once it’s finished. Of course it’s given me some other opportunities I would never have had in the past too, like the ability to help you here.” 

You nod still looking at him in admiration, while in your mind a further divide falls between you. As friendly as he is to you, it’s obvious that he’s way out of your league. Even if you wanted to pursue something more with him, someone of his status... really it’s a wonder he even looks in your direction, let alone chose to volunteer at this tiny holiday wrapping station.  

Your conversation is interrupted by a mall goer with a bag of gifts. Namjoon helps as best he can, supplying you with tape as he learns over your shoulder. Loaning you his finger to help you knot the ribbon around the gifts. With a sizeable donation left in Namjoon’s care you are both left alone at the table again.

Between clients you do your best to show him how to wrap the small boxes and ready cut paper at your disposal. Though his folding has improved, his use of tape can be considered... excessive. “You shouldn’t need more than three pieces on a present like this.” You chuckle as you catch his hand before it can apply the seventh piece of tape. 

“But your packaging looks so durable compared to mine. How is it supposed to hold together if not for more tape.”

“Years of practice with tighter folds and better adhesive placement.” You analyze his work. “You might be an up and coming art curator but wrapping is my craft.”

Namjoon laughs and grabs a fresh sheet along with the scissors. 

“Should I go fetch my band-aids?” You ask, gazing at the sharp implement with trepidation. 

“No I’ve got this, I’m ready to earn my redemption.” Namjoon folds the paper several times before cutting a rounded edge. “Wrapping might not be my forte, but this I mastered long ago.” He opens up the paper grinning madly as he reveals a perfect snowflake.

You giggle at the innocence of the piece in question. “That is quite impressive, when did you become such a proficient?”

“I’d say I peaked at eight. One evening when it was just my sister and I, we covered my whole house with them. Every surface, every window, plastered with paper snow. Though my parents were less than enthused I like to think of it as my first full art show.”

“What on earth possessed you to do it?” You ask, trying to imagine the look on his parents as they returned home to the indoor flurry.

Namjoon looks up with a heavy expression, for such a lighthearted story why does he look so wary to tell you “A mutual fri-”

But as chance would have it he is once again interrupted by another coming to your station. When the post dinner rush hits you hardly get another chance to chat. 

...

-2 Weeks Until Christmas-

The week passes in much the same way as the past two days, but with each evening session Namjoon is able to improve upon his wrapping skills a little more. To the point where you are comfortable to leave him alone for a few minutes to man the station.

“You’re sure it’s all right if I just run to the washroom for a minute?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I could put up the be back in five minutes sign if you-”

“Go, I can hold down the fort... just leave the band-aids.” You are ready to let out a big sigh when Namjoon holds up his hands in defeat. “Just kidding, I promise, now go.”

You hurry off as fast as you can swearing when you find a line up. By the time that you are finally able to return you find Namjoon finishing up with an attractive woman and her single gift. You smile at her as you join him behind the table, she pauses, caught off guard for a moment but then hands him the donation along with a slip of paper. 

Namjoon opens it as she walks off. Blushing profusely before throwing it in the trash along with the wrapping scraps. 

“What was that about?”

“Nothing... she just must have gotten the wrong impression.”

“Did she give you her phone number?”

Namjoon nods looking down with guilt. 

“And you're not going to keep it? She was gorgeous.”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Right, I assume that wouldn’t go over well with your girlfriend.” You speculate, seeking to figure out his status once and for all.

“No girlfriend.” Namjoon mutters.

“Boyfriend?” 

“No boyfriend either.” Namjoon smiles. “I just wasn’t looking to get her number.”

You look at him in disbelief. If she wasn’t good enough, there’s no way in hell you could ever dream of being with him.

...

The drive home in the evening is rather quiet. Namjoon’s fingers drag across his lips as if in deep compilation. 

“Any big plans for your couple days of freedom?” With Aunt Emma’s team working the weekend that gives both you and Namjoon some time off, but unfortunately apart. 

“What? Oh yes, I suppose.” He answers as though you dragged him from a stupor. “I have an auction to go to tomorrow for work.”

“Buying art for the museum are you?”

“Not exactly in the market to buy. But if you're not busy you should come along, I would love some company.”

“Not because you would love a drive?”

“No, not at all, I was planning on booking a car tonight. I could come pick you up on the way.”

You shake your head. “No, if we’re going together I’ll drive. No need to waste your money on something like that. What time should I pick you up?”

“I’ll have to double check and get back to you but likely late in the morning?” You nod in agreement as he pulls out his phone. “What’s your number?”

You give it to him and your cell vibrates in your pocket as he sends off a text a second later, leaving you with his own.  

“So I guess I will see you tomorrow now then.”

“It’s a date.” Namjoon smiles as he gets out and leaves you in the car. 

You snort in disbelief, staring after him while he runs off to the front door of his house. No, there’s no way, he can’t be serious, it’s not a date, date. The phone vibrates again, reminding you of the unread message he sent, prompting you to look at it before you drive off home.

This was the only phone number I actually wanted.  See you tomorrow,  - Namjoon  

...

You lie in bed caught between denial and anticipation for what’s to come in the next day. Every moment that excitement bubbles up inside, you are forced to push it down with the weight of scepticism. Namjoon was looking to distract from his lonely Christmas, you are just the band-aid to his superficial wound, but would that be so bad? Haven’t you been using him the past week in the same manner, a mode of distraction? The only difference is the depths of your injuries. While his might be a simple cut repaired by time, yours is a laceration straight to the heart, damage that will soon bleed through a flimsy bandage, but at least you can hide it for now, you can conceal the extent of your misery and enjoy the comfort that is him for the holiday. Ripping that band-aid off won’t hurt, not compared to the damage that has already been done.

You look back at your phone smiling at his message, confirming that this is what you want for now, when to your surprise another comes in. 

KNJ: Are you awake? 

You double check the time, 12:23 a little late for a friendly chat isn’t it?

YN: Yeah, everything okay?

KNJ: That depends, what are your thoughts on Hallmark Christmas movies?

You pause in confusion, questioning his motives for such an odd query. Coming up dry you can give him the most truthful answer you can. 

YN: They’re chestnuts.

KNJ: Chestnuts? 🤔

YN: Palatable only when thoroughly roasted. 🔥🔥🔥

Your phone starts ringing a second later, the caller Namjoon. You pick it up to hear him laughing on the other end. “I’ll have to remember that. You up for burning a film? I could use another open fire, there’s a pretty horrible one on their channel right now.”

“I’m sure I could spark an ember of criticism. How bad are we talking?”

“There’s a made up country, a town that looks like it exists solely for the purpose of celebrating Christmas-”

“And let me guess, a prince?”

“You know it?”

“Nope, just following the trend of tropes.” You grab your earbuds and venture out to the living room wrapped in your blanket, a beverage in hand, and ready to turn on your own TV. With one bud lodge in your ear to listen to Namjoon the other is free to take in the cringeworthy dialogue. “My god why were you watching this?”

“Couldn’t sleep, and I thought this would also help put me in the Christmas spirit, but I can’t stop laughing at how bad it is.” Namjoon chuckles deeply as the heroine stumbles over a mere pebble and falls into the hero’s arm. 

“I don’t think you have any right to laugh at that part.” You join him in laughter. “You two appear to have some similarities.”

“Wait, so does this make me the clumsy lead and you the dashingly perfect love interest?”

“Oh most definitely, I’ll be saving your Christmas.”

“I suppose you are pretty perfect.”  

You’re thankful that Namjoon isn’t there to see your response, silently choking on your glass of water, followed by spilling your sip all down your shirt, further emphasising your next point. “I’m not perfect.”

“Well you should let me see that side sometime, or I will continue to feel like this poor woman who is confronted with someone way out of their league.” 

Namjoon thinks that you're out of his league? “No, I’m sorry but in order for me to save your Christmas based on this movie I have to play the perfect hero.” Of course the leading lady swoons in her prince's arms. “I just wish the characters had more depth, I’ve read kids books with a wider emotional range.”

“Me too. And the timing,” Namjoon scoffs. “It’s always so perfect. They always meet at the perfect moment and latch on immediately only to have everything work out in their favour, and it all claims to be a Christmas miracle, it doesn’t work like that.”

“That sounds like someone’s been scorned before on Christmas.”

“Not scorned no. More like a missed opportunity, one that I’ve regretted for a long while.”

 “Anything I can help with?” You ask. “As the supporting lead that is my mission is it not?”

“Maybe, I’ll have to think about it. Unfortunately my dilemma isn’t so easy to solve.”

“I don’t think anyone's dilemma’s are ever as easy or clear cut as theirs.” You yawn as you lay down on the couch and watch the pitiful drama unfold. “Their world is perfect and always has their back through some sort of mystical power or being.”

   “I think people in the real world call that god...” Namjoon chuckles.

“Yeah well, our god is a shitty writer if this is what their creations come to expect.” You murmur, stifling a yawn.  

“Is that a crack in your shining armour I spy?”

“No, just commentary.” Though your own internal defences are askew, and the longer you watch the more you understand why. It’s jealousy, jealousy of how quickly they overcome any tragedy, and how they do so with a picture perfect life, as if the creators left all the negative emotions, the realistic impacts of trauma, on the cutting room floor. If only you were that perfect love interest that Namjoon wanted you to be... maybe you can keep the facade until the end of the holidays, at least one of you can have a better Christmas for it. 

All you have to do is continue ignoring the most painful parts, a practice you are well versed in considering the boxes still looming in the shadowy corner, still unmoved after all this time. You know nothing good will come from unpacking them, there is no comfort inside, the only thing that could help is long gone, the story which your mother used to read to you every Christmas before you moved here. You’ve hunted through those boxes so many times while she was still here with you, but now that she’s gone you don’t even have the desire to look, nor the strength to store them away. 

...

You wake hours later with a loud crumpling sound in your right ear. Your bud still in place, and your call time continues to count past the 7 hour mark. “Namjoon, are you there?” You inquire with a groggy yawn. 

“Fuck... yeah, did I wake you?” 

“It’s fine, sorry I fell asleep.”

“Don’t worry I did too. But unfortunately I seem to have lost an airpod at some point in the night.” The rustling continues as he chats to you. “I refuse to lose another to this couch, it’s taken so many from me already, you’ think I would have learned by now.”

“Oh, then this is a regular occurrence for you? Chatting up women until you fall asleep,” you scoff.

“No! God no, I just usually fall asleep listening to music and then my cushions eat them when I lower my defences.”

“I leave you to battle it out with your sofa, but what time should I pick you up?” 

“Eleven okay with you?” 

You double check the clock, ensuring you have enough time for a shower and to look presentable. “Yeah that works. I’ll see you then.”

...

You pull into the packed parking lot of a large warehouse. With Namjoon looking dapper in a blazer and peacoat. You yourself are glad to have chosen to dress a bit classier than your usual garb for a Saturday afternoon. When he said it was for work you couldn’t risk dressing down. 

But there is still an air of confusion about your reason for being here. If he’s not attending to buy something for the museum or a client, why is his presence required? The items up for auction are not exactly what you expected, with the majority of it being furniture and woven rugs. You tilt your head in confusion as Namjoon eyes up an old wooden desk. 

“Sorry,” He mutters, seeing you as he comes to from his distracted state. “I have a personal weakness for such items.”

“Don’t be, but is that why we're here?”

“No, although it is tempting.” He nods over to a collection of old black and white sketches on the wall across from you, graphite scenes of the city from long ago judging by subject matter and the yellowing of the paper behind the frame. “They’re the real reason we’re here. When I heard of this estate sale I knew that some of those works would likely come to market. I’m here to find out who buys them, and hopefully see if we can secure a possible loan for the museum in the future.”  

“So how do you do it? How do you convince them to part with such pieces other than that dangerous smile of yours?”

Namjoon humours you, flashing his most coveted weapon. “Many of the artworks found at estate sales like this, they’ve fallen into disrepair. They often haven’t been cared for, likely kept in some musty room where the humidity damages them. The museum has a team of top rated and highly respected conservators who would be able to properly preserve it and slow any further deterioration, and in exchange for their services we ask for a short term loan of the art. 

“A win-win.” 

“I like to think so, but some people are rather protective of their investment. It can be a tricky negotiation which I have been on both sides of when I worked for the private sector.” 

“Which do you prefer more?”

“Definitely the public. The museum doesn’t pay as much, but the audience and notoriety far greater. I really hope that I can continue my work with them once my initial contract ends.”

“I assume securing this for them will help in that goal?” You nod to the pieces, admiring the sought after collection. 

“One can only hope. Who knows, maybe I’ll get my Christmas miracle like the movies promised.” He jokes, putting his hand on your shoulder and leading you on. 

While you and Namjoon continue to look around at the lots up for bidding, he proceeds to fawn over the wooden art and furniture, taking pictures and looking up the makers. 

You can’t help but enjoy his interest, watching his eyes go wide and his mouth gasp when he’s found something which intrigues him. “Have you ever purchased something for yourself at one of these?” 

“A few things, tables, chairs, and books too. It’s a great place to find unique pieces, or things lost to the past.” He gives you a shy smile. “Is there anything you’d like to look for?”

A possible item springs to the forefront of your mind. “Do they have any books here now?” 

Namjoon grins at your request and leads you over to several crates filled to the brim with books. All the copies inside look to be older editions of epic novels, nothing like what you hope to find. Your heart sinks as you let out a sigh of disappointment.

“Can I help?”

“Nah, I think I’m out of luck. I was looking for a kid’s picture book. I briefly met someone at the wrapping station who found a copy second hand, must have been at a sale like this. I was hoping I would have the same success, but that seems like a bit of a far reach.” Had it not been their gift to someone else you would have made them an offer for it or even gotten their name at the very least, but you were so distracted at the time... all you can see and remember to this day was the book in front of you.

“I’m sorry-” Namjoon starts with an unnecessary apology, it wasn’t his fault that you lost the favourite book of your youth, that you missed the chance to give your mother one last glimpse of the pages with you before she passed.

“It’s fine,” You cut him off not wanting to dwell on the loss or risk deteriorating that perfect cover right here in front of him, in front of everyone, when he has something important to attend to. “Should we go find seats before they start the auction?”

Namjoon nods, seeming to examine your eyes with careful study, but he will find no tears, no dampness there, those are locked away tight. He escorts you to a seat near the back. “This way we can get a better view of those bidding without looking out of place.”

The auction lots pass by with many remaining silent. Namjoon points out several antique dealers to you that are snapping up many of the pieces. But the rest of the buyers all appear to be waiting for the same prize that Namjoon is. 

“Do you have any favourites to win?” You whisper to him as the collection is carried into view.

“I’m hoping for anyone I’ve dealt with in the past.” Namjoon nods in the direction of a middle aged woman dressing in a fur trimmed coat and strands of pearls draped around her neck. “Mrs. Coleman already has a few works in one of the exhibits, and Mr. Roth over there.” He turns to a man wearing a tweed jacket and a sturdy wooden cane in hand. “Is one of the most notable patrons of the museum.”

Silence falls in the room as the auctioneer takes up the gavel again and describes the works. Many around you sit up a little straighter as Namjoon’s eyes dart around at those he thinks might attempt to purchase.

The bids flood in, with very few gaps for breath as the numbers are rattled off. It takes only two minutes before the going price is more than your annual salary. You lower yourself, pooling in your seat as the extravagant wealth is thrown around you. 

Once the pace slows, Namjoon's face highlights his concern, his eyes glancing back and forth between two people, the older lady in mink he spoke of before, and an unknown man with a cell pressed to his ear. 

As the wooden hammer drops so do the corners of Namjoon’s lips. 

“And sold to the gentleman on the phone number three-two-eight, number three-two-eight for sixty-five thousand.” The auctioneer announces. 

“Shit.” Namjoon mutters under his breath.

“What, what happens now?”

“Now we have an anonymous buyer who I have no ability to meet or advise.” He sighs, hanging his head, with his fingers dragging across his mouth again.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper as he nods next to you taking several deep breaths. Your hand reaches out to his arm and he turns to you with a small smile.

“It’ll be fine, I’ll figure something out, but I might as well make the most out of my time here.” With the auction now over he rises from his seat and approaches one of the museum's patrons with an outreached hand. “Mr. Roth, good to see you, you’ll be attending the final night of the exhibit I hope, and who is this with you...”

While Namjoon continues to make pleasantries and exchange business cards you keep your eye on the sketches watching as they are rolled behind the desk and packed away in crates. You approach the area where one of the clerks is recording and distributing the information for the now rightful owners, with a mob of bidders descending on him for their newly purchased items so they might leave as soon as possible. 

It would seem that this business too is feeling the crunch of Christmas. A flurry of paperwork is exchanged in haste passing from one hand to the next, until one signed receipt of purchase escapes his notice and falls to the ground in front of you. Picking it up you wait for the crowd to clear, giving the clerk a chance to recover before you approach with the lost sheet, setting it on the desk before him. His confused gaze soon changes to outright shock over his loss when he realizes what you’ve returned.

He thanks you profusely, causing you wonder how much strife he would have encountered had you not been there to return it. “No problem, you look like you have a lot on your plate.” You smile politely, attempting to soothe your fellow casualty of the Christmas rush. “I just have a question for you though, if that’s okay?” 

“Not at all how can I help?” He agrees, his stance far more relaxed than it was with the horde a few moments before. 

“My friend, he was hoping to get in contact with the purchaser of those sketches there, on behalf of a museum. I don’t suppose there’s any way we could get a hold of them, is there?”

“I’m sorry but not at liberty to divulge that ma’am.” Your rising hope falls, you knew it would be a long shot but you didn’t want to leave without trying. “However... if there’s a phone number or information regarding the museum’s interest I can include that in the paperwork to send off along with the purchase.”

“Really? You would do that?”

When the clerk confirms, you immediately turn on your heel and take a step in Namjoon’s direction before bumping into his solid chest, not realizing that he had already come to find you. 

“What are you doing-”

“Getting you that miracle.” You grab one of his business cards from his hand, and turn back around to give it to the clerk who tucks it into the envelope along with the other documentation. “Thank you.” You smile at the clerk who returns the gesture.

“And you said I have a dangerous smile?” Namjoon mutters as he leads you away with a chuckle. “What did he say exactly?”

“That he would include it with the paperwork for the sale. I just hope they will reach out and call you.”

“Me too.” Namjoon smiles, but it doesn't quite appear to reach his eyes. “Shall we head out. I think I’m done here.”

The drive home is rather quiet, the weight of Namjoon’s gloom hanging in the air and he makes no attempt to hide it. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just trying to figure out where to go from here,” he groans. “Those sketches were going to be the start of something new for me. I know the buyer might still come through but I’m not going to hold my breath. I need to keep searching for what comes next, I’m just a little lost, but I’ll find my path again soon.”

“You make it sound so easy.” 

“Sometimes it is, sometimes life will drop it right in front of me and other times I will have to search for it, but that’s a problem for after the holidays.” Namjoon looks out his window at the lights which start to come alive as you drive home. “Are you ready for the big day?”

“Christmas?” You give a nervous laugh, “No, I haven’t even put up any decorations.”

“Why not?!” Namjoon asks in alarm. 

“Just haven’t really felt the need this year. There’s no one there to enjoy them but myself.”

“Which makes it all the more important to put them up.” Namjoon sits up in his seat, his whole persona changing. “I could help you if you’d like?”

You wince over the quandary. With your decorations sitting in your living room under an inch of dust it might arouse some confusion, and his heart would likely sink if he knew how long they actually rested there for. “I’m not sure I’m quite ready for it yet. Maybe another time?”

...

-1.5 Weeks Until Christmas-

Work continues to degrade as the countdown progresses. The only thing getting you through the shifts is the thought of Namjoon’s help at the stand. But as soon as Christmas is over, you wonder if your friendship will go the same way as the festive season, cast aside like the wrapping of the gifts you tended to in the weeks prior. 

After a few days of busy shifts you’re both thankful to make it to another close. But when you are packing up the station Namjoon’s phone starts to ring. He looks down in confusion at the number without a contact attached. “Do you mind?” 

“No, not at all.”

He grins as he answers the phone pacing further back into the vacant shop space and away from the sounds of the echoing mall. You continue to count off the deposit, and roll the wrapping paper. Trying your best not to listen, to give Namjoon his privacy, however you can’t help but notice the happiness in his tone, spotting his dimples from across the room when you sneak a glance. When you grab to move the last box of bows Namjoon ends his call. Tears glisten in the corners of his eyes accompanied by the widest smile you’ve ever seen from him.

“That was- that was the buyer.” He explains as he comes to help you with the final box, taking it from your hands and placing it on the back shelf. “He wants to meet with me this weekend.”

He’s so close, vibrating with an overwhelming delight. His arms move around you as though he is about to pull you in for a gracious hug. You start to congratulate him as he embraces you, “Really?! That’s gre-” only to be cut off when his lips come for yours instead. Once the shock evaporates, you start to appreciate the heat of the moment, the warmth of his skin, the softness of his mouth. Your hands reach up to his toned shoulders and neck pulling him down, diminishing the space between you. Breathing him in like this with your eyes closed, nothing else matters in the moment, nothing other than his firm chest pushing back against yours, his hands on your waist gripping at your shirt.  

With a deep sigh and a bite to his own lip he pulls back. “Sorry I just-”

“Don’t, don’t apologize.” You cut him off this time.  

“I can’t even begin to thank you.” 

“I hardly did anything.” You laugh at the extremeness of his appreciation, though a small part of you dies when you realize his kiss was nothing more than a gesture of gratitude.

 “That’s not true...” He responds, giving you his wide eyes and a shy smile.

On the drive home your companion can barely contain his delight, breaking into random smiles and laughter as he informs his coworkers of the success via text. 

“There’s this event...” Namjoon starts, as you pull in front of his home. “At the museum on the twenty-third, a week from today, I was wondering if you’d like to go with me.” 

“Next Wednesday? But we have a shift at the wrapping station.”

“I spoke to Emma a few days ago and she agreed to cover if we both wanted to go.”

“Emma, making a change so close to Christmas? I don’t buy it. What did you offer her in return?” You ask with a critical gaze. The woman runs such a tight schedule, only something great or important would have prompted her to agree.

“My next year of service.” Namjoon confesses, he looks down at his feet as though he might buckle from the embarrassment. 

“Next year? You already promised to work it?”

“If you want me there that is. I’ll practice more in the meantime, I promise I won’t leave you to all of the difficult packages.” Namjoon chuckles. “But what do you say, will you go with me?”

“Ye-yeah I would love it’s just...” You stutter trying to come up with a good excuse but your brain draws a blank leaving only the truth. “I don’t know how well... how well I’ll fit in there.”

“What? No, why would you think that?” Namjoon places his hand on your leg while you drive. A move which causes the both of you to pause in reaction and him to retreat. “Trust me when I say you belong there more than anyone else.”

You nod your head and give him a small smile, wishing more than anything his hand would return. “I’ll come if you want me there. What’s the attire?”

“Semi-formal, and don’t worry about driving I’ll pick you up.” 

...

-2 Days Until Christmas-

You stand in front of your mirror, wearing a dress which fits your shape perfectly, but stretches your pocket book significantly. The price tags hanging down from the zipper taunt you, tempting you to rip them away, to commit to the indulgence. Even if it’s only for a night, the payoff in the end might be worth the overpriced lace. You give in with a snip of the scissors and a swallow of guilt, letting the printed cardstock hit your bedroom floor. 

 You’ve spent the past couple of hours leading up to this moment in a fit of stress cleaning, disposing of the dust bunnies. Now at least if Namjoon comes over after... you won’t be completely off guard.

The phone on your bedside vibrates with a new message.

KNJ: Just pulling in.

YN: Be right down.

Sliding your shoes on and grabbing what you need, you leave your empty apartment with a growing smile on your face. The moment you can see the car from the buildings foyer both Namjoon and the driver exit the vehicle, though Namjoon is quick to wave the driver back to his seat, choosing instead to hold the door for you himself. 

The thoughtful gesture is made more appealing as if it gives you a full view of your date in his dark three piece suit, his hair tamed back framing his handsome face, whose gaze appears to be giving you the once over for you too.

“You wrap up nice.” Namjoon jokes.

“Of course, I couldn’t embarrass you now could I? Have to land that first impression.”

“You would never. Besides I’m sure my colleagues will be fascinated to know who has enough courage to teach me how to wrap.”

“And how do you plan on introducing me to those colleagues of yours? As your date or your teacher?” You laugh.

“I was actually hoping I could introduce you as my girlfriend.” 

“Your girlfriend for tonight?” You panic, not expecting this development. “Wait, is this one of those fake dating scenarios? Did you tell them you had one and then-”

“I think we’ve been watching too much Hallmark.” Namjoon laughs and shakes his head. “No this is not one of those scenarios, but I’ll take whatever form of companionship you are the most comfortable with.”

He gives you the stare of a man who is looking for more, but you know he won't need you once the holidays pass. His loneliness is temporary, yours is permanent. You’d rather not get your hopes up only to have them lost as he fades away in the cold gloom of January when his family returns. “Let’s see where it goes.”

Upon arrival Namjoon leads you through the massive doors by hand, taking your coat and checking it. The main hall just off the entrance is filled with patrons and staff all mingling and drinking while dining on tiny hors d’oeuvres. You look at the crowd with apprehension.  

Namjoon’s fingers interlace with yours again, a grip clearly intended to give you confidence. “I’ll introduce you to some of the staff first.” 

Several people congratulate Namjoon on the exhibit as he passes, he responds giving them a brief thank you as he ushers you through the crowd. Stopping at a small group of two, who greet Namjoon with a warm welcome. 

“Thank god you’re here, people have kept asking for the brains behind the exhibit.”

“And why didn’t you answer them.” Namjoon smiles before turning to introduce you to them, following up with the man who just spoke. “This is Eric Nam, a curator who I worked on the project with.”

“Don’t pass the torch, we both know it was your idea, I just helped put it into motion.” His coworker smiles gazing at you. “And you must be the one Namjoon has talked so much about.” 

The heat rises to your face as you look to Namjoon who confirms the statement with his own embarrassment. “Thank you Eric for sharing that with her...”

“No problem, it’s the least I could do for someone who gave you the insp-”

Namjoon coughs and shakes his head, cutting off his verbose friend. 

You're about to question your partner himself when the other colleague of his starts asking you questions. “What do you do for a living Ms....” You remind her of your name while Namjoon spotting refreshments wanders off with a whispered promise to get you both a drink. 

“I-I work for Interlude Shipping, in their tracking department.” You explain clasping your hands together in an attempt to settle your nerves.

“Oh, how nice...” The false quaintness in her tone is matched with a smirk as she takes a sip of wine. “Maybe you can help me find out if my sister’s present will arrive in time tomorrow.” 

“Valerie...” Eric growls. 

“What? I’m merely curious about her employment.” She smirks at him before continuing to her inquisition. “How long have you worked there? Did you have to get a degree for your role?” 

“No,” This is exactly what you were afraid of coming here, you just didn’t think the judgement would be coming from someone who works with Namjoon. “I started there right after high school. I didn’t have the luxury to go to an elite school to work in a place like this.” 

Eric comes over and claps you on the back. “Neither did Valerie; she just has family on the board.” Giving a coy smile to his coworker who scowls and stalks off without another word to you.  “In fact you’ve actually done more work here than her in the past month. I hear you’ve been helping Namjoon secure the collection we’ve been after?” 

You nod looking off after the departed curator, worried as to what impact your interaction could have with Namjoon’s position here.

“Don’t worry about her. She’s just bitter that Namjoon didn’t ask her to accompany him here.”

“Oh, does she- do they-”

“Fuck no, but if she’s not everyone’s first choice she’s not happy.” Eric gets in a little closer. “You don’t have to worry about Namjoon looking elsewhere, if he’s at all hesitant it’s just because he’s a little cautious with you.”

“Why would he be cautious?”

“Why would who be cautious?” Namjoon asks, handing you a drink as he appears by your side again. 

 “Mr. Roth, that man should be careful. I heard he had hip surgery recently.” Eric responds, cutting in with a lie to cover your discussion. “It's good of him to still join us tonight, but enough about that, why don’t you go show her the exhibit before it gets too crowded in there?”

Namjoon offers up his arm in agreement. “I suppose we can get started on the tour, if you’d like.”

“Yes please,” You answer, threading your arm through his. “Thanks again Eric, it was nice meeting you.”

“You too, I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.” 

The stand next to the entrance bears all the names of those involved in the creation and a countless list of those who loaned out pieces to make it possible. “There’s so many involved, how large is this exhibit?”

“Not too big, you’ll see why there’s such a long list soon.”

When the door opens you find yourself in a hallway amidst what you can only describe as a snowstorm. The walkway, made to look like an alley set adrift in snow, with flickering lights and paper creations hanging from the ceiling. “Did you make any of those?” You ask, grinning as you squint through the flurrying beams.

“No, I left those to the talents of the students who came by on school field trips. It didn’t take them long before we had enough.”

“Find any new prodigies?”

“Several.” He answers, before pointing to the mounted photos on the wall. “But these works here are some of my favourites.” The pictures are framed to seem as though the viewer is looking in through the pains of a window to happy holiday scenes. From unwrapping presents around the tree to the busy crowds of your very own mall, each image sets out to draw from you a sense of nostalgia. 

“I can see why.” You find yourself lingering on the last of the photos by an accredited local photographer, savouring the display as much as you can, worried that it might end too soon. 

“Don’t worry,” Namjoon whispers, taking your hand in an eager urge to press on, “There’s plenty more to look at.” He points to the end of the hallway, where you find another door, though this one is dressed with a knocker and wreath looking as if it’s the entrance to someone's home.

You open the door to reveal a series of rooms connected by one long hallway. The first you step into you washes over you with warmth and comfort, the sound of a cracking fire surrounds you while the light of fake embers flows from the side. Set up through the room are tables of items from old to new ranging from Christmas tree ornaments, and household decorations to handwritten cards. “All of these-”

“Were loaned by families from the region, they gave a piece of their history and traditions up for most of the season so everyone could enjoy it. Over here we have...”

You could spend hours sitting and admiring in this room alone, but more than anything you want to push on more to see Namjoon’s excitement in sharing it with you. Each room features a different spot of the home. A chilly shed with vintage toboggans and sleds, a kitchen, stuffed with cookbooks and the smells of baking featuring countless cookie cutters of every shape and size. 

The next room is a little unusual and different from the rest, throwing you off for a moment, when the distinct scent of pine hits your nose. In the centre you find what look to be the replication of a massive trunk, and above false branches twinkling with lights. All round in a circle you find toys in glass cases spanning generations, when it hits you. “Are we under the Christmas tree?”

Namjoon gives you his coveted dimpled grin. “Yeah, do you like it?”

“I do. I can’t believe you managed all of this.” You exclaim hurrying between each display like a kid on Christmas morning. From wagons, and Rubik’s cubes, all the way to Furbies and gaming systems he has the whole collection of popular toys throughout the years.  

Namjoon beams with pride once you’ve circled the entirety of the fake trunk and the presents beneath it. “Only one room left, but I think you’ll like this one the most.”

You're ushered into the next, a dimly lit space, a bed with a quilted cover stands in the centre, and on the walls you find countless story books, pinned open to so their stunning art is on display, papering the room with climatic holiday scenes and loveable characters. In one you find Scrooge meeting the ghost of Christmas past, in another you witness the Grinch save the sleigh from a perilous fall. Namjoon was right, this is without a doubt your favourite. While people filter in and out, you take your time looking at each set of pages. Your pace slow and steady, until you reach the special story that stops you entirely, the book you lost long ago, and have been trying to find ever since. Drawn on the pages before you is a little blue koala, with a pale purple nose, round ears, and a smile that lights up his face as he cuts out dozens of snowflakes. Namjoon stands behind you with a hand on your shoulder as you gaze at the book you know to be titled ‘Koya’s Christmas.’ 

You take a deep breath, while trying not to bend to the tears that threaten to break from your eyes. Focusing your attention instead to seek out the owner of the book, but unlike most there is no nameplate attached to this desirable artifact. “Namjoon, who loaned this? Is there any way I could contact them?”

When he gives you a sad smile, your gut clenches over the possibility that this might be a similar issue to what happened at the auction, a lender who wishes to remain anonymous. The only difference here being that you’ll fight Namjoon for the information if you have to. You’ve already let this book escape from you last year, you refuse to let it happen again. “Please, I’ll-” Just when you are about to plead with Namjoon’s integrity, another memory of your past walks into the room, but this one unfortunately has more tragic ties. “Shit,” you whisper, shifting to put your date between you and the newcomer. 

Namjoon catching the change in your expression immediately reaches out in concern. “What? What’s wrong?”

“There's someone I know just over there,” You nod in the direction behind Namjoon. “I’d like to avoid him if I can. Sorry, it-it’s complicated. ”

 Namjoon puts his hands on your shoulders, eyeing a path the closest exit without letting go of you. “Do you want to leave?”

“If that’s okay?” And just when you thought you were free, when you were ready to make a break for the door. The man in question, spots you and calls out your name.

You turn to face him, trying your best to keep your tone even and your lips pulled into a smile. “Jackson? Hey, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s been so long, not since...” Thankful he stops, not dragging up the subject you wish to avoid. 

Namjoon moves closer, moving his arm from your shoulder around your waist, a comforting and protective gesture. “Dr. Wang... I had no idea the two of you were acquainted.” 

“You know him?” You ask Namjoon, your concern rocketing over what else your date might become privy to. 

“Dr. Wang was the phone bidder. I invited him here tonight to see the work we do.”

“The exhibit was impressive, I can’t wait to see what you have planned next.” Jackson confirms. 

“I should go and let the two of you discuss-” You ready to step away when Namjoon’s hand grabs yours and Jackson calls your name again.

“No reason for you to leave, we should catch up.”

“May-maybe later?” You plead with him fighting back the tears, pushing down the memories his presence drags up. “Sorry I just, I need to go.”

You pull your hand free and race to the exit.  

“Wait.” You can hear Namjoon call behind you. Though you continue to proceed out the exhibit and towards the closest exit outside, breaking into the cold evening air, only to find that he still followed. “Let me call for the car and we can go together.”

You stop in realization that your running will not deter him, he’ll pursue you unless you give him a reason otherwise. “No you should stay, this is your big event, I won’t ruin it for you.”

“Not without you.”

“Please Namjoon,” you beg, adamant that he return. “I don’t belong in there, I don’t fit in and I never will. Even when I try...” The ghosts of your past have a way of finding you and destroying your facade.

“I’ve told you before you belong in there more than anyone else-”

“That’s not true. I can barely keep myself together. I can’t, I can’t go back in, I'm sorry.”

“I don’t understand, what does Dr. Wang have to do with it? Did he hurt you? Did he-”

“No! No, he did nothing of the sort. Jackson was always very kind to me. Don’t let me affect your plans or any arrangement, you should go back and talk to him, I just can't be there.”  

“You think I’m going to just drop you for him, especially when he makes you so uncomfortable? No, I’m leaving with you.”

“Fuck, just... please listen to me. He is a good man, he’s a good doctor, you would be foolish to give up this chance.”

“A good doctor...” Namjoon pauses as a grimace hits his face. “Does he have something to do with your mother?”

“How-How do you know about that?” 

“I didn’t mean to pry, I swear. It's just, when I was first talking to Emma about you, out of concern she opened up about your past... about your mother, about your loss.”  

“She told you?” Aunt Emma, you should have known she would do something like that, god forbid at least one person not know your history. “Then all of this, these past few weeks were they all out of pity?” You should have known, there was no way he would like someone like you. It was all out of sorrow for what you’ve been through.

“Not pity no, I like you, I like you a lot. When Emma said you were pushing her and so many others away... I concealed it out of fear of losing you too. I wanted you to open up about it until you were ready. I was just trying to help you get through this.”

You look up at the museum, drawing a distressing connection between Namjoon’s daily life and you. “Why? You think I’m some abandoned project you rescued from a deceased’s estate? One for you to mend, and later show like an achievement? You should have just left me where I was, instead of breaking me further.”  

   Namjoon’s hands immediately pull back from you. “I never meant to hurt you. Only help you move on, you can’t deny that you are frozen in place. You have so much more potential, but you're living in denial.”

“I live there because it hurts less...” You snap back in fury, as he exposes your painful flaws. “I live there so I can work, so I can help others.”

“But what about you? When will you let someone help you?”

You step away unable to answer his question, turning your back on him you race to the sidewalk to hail a nearby taxi, refusing to let him see a single tear fall. 

Once home, you crawl into bed after throwing the dress to the floor. This was so far from the evening you had hoped it to be, with you instead left alone to ruminate on Namjoon’s words. Despising all the evidence he laid bare against you, turning it over again and again in your mind until your morning alarm startles you out of your stupor. Signalling for the last shift before your break for the holidays. 

...

-Christmas Eve- 

It’s finally here, the worst of all days at the call centre. With your eyes heavy from a lack of rest you take a seat at your desk with an extra large coffee in hand. On your computer you have this morning's team email pulled up, and attached to it a list of de-escalation tactics. You’ll need them today because if people don’t get their package by the end of the routes this evening, there’s no hope for tomorrow morning. 

The call board on your phone is already lighting up like a Christmas tree, but you know those little embers to be fuelled by wrath, fury and unkept promises of delivery dates.   

You try your best to remain calm during the egregious conversations. Offering up tips and tricks to parents who are worried that this will be the year that their child gives up on Santa because your company failed to deliver. 

Your lunch break can’t come soon enough. But when you finally check your own phone it’s littered with texts from Namjoon. Messages of concern, apologies, and the hopes that he will still see you at the wrapping station tonight. He even sent a picture of your abandoned coat and promised to bring it along. 

Fuck, you had completely forgotten about you wrapping shift together. Just one more night, then you can put it all behind you again. If you can just keep your cover for a few more hours then it’ll all be over and Aunt Emma will have what she was promised. 

You send Namjoon a quick message confirming that you will be there, but not promising any more before you head back to your desk. 

The calls get progressively worse with several people using foul language and demanding to speak to your supervisor, you try to talk them down as best you can knowing any call passed on to the higher ups will reflect poorly on your efforts.

Until one woman calling in search of her package finally wears you down, insulting you, your profession, even your family.

“Ma’am I’m sorry but if you continue to speak to be in such a way I am well within my right to disconnect the call.” A desperate bluff, your superiors would rather them end the call than you, you’ve been penalized for it before, and you’ll be damned if it happens again. But unfortunately she calls your hand.

“You will not! I have spent hours on the line trying to reach anyone. The shortsightedness of your company and staff is all too apparent.” 

“It’s the holiday sea-”

 “I know what time of year it is, but it seems your staff doesn’t realize Christmas is tomorrow!” 

“You ordered your package past the guarantee date, we could not insure-”

“Now you listen to me, if there was any form of intelligence in that office you’d be working hard to ensure that all packages make it out before tomorrow morning, but instead you just sit on your ass fielding phone calls and giving excuses so you don’t have to actually go out and do honest labour. You must be the biggest disappointment to your family, not even having a proper job. How can you go home and face them knowing you've left so many without their gifts?”

With the woman's last insult, something inside you finally snaps, giving you the freedom to do what you’ve dreamed of for so long. “I don’t,” you pronounce, building up to take your final shot at both her and your employment. “Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to let you go, as I’d rather not listen to your nonsensical bitching. So merry fucking Christmas to you ma’am, I suggest you go spend it with your own family if they’re willing to put up with your pompous ass.” You hang up the phone and pull off the headset, refusing to answer the next blinking light that comes on to replace it.

You just sit there looking at it denying the next caller their chance at verbal abuse, and your company's lax policy to protect you from it. The chatter of apologies continue to echo around you as your coworkers press on, but after the years of abuse you can no longer hold it in. Your company always said that this position was a stepping stone to greater things, that opportunities would come you just had to wait a little longer, but after being shackled by circumstances, and no forthcoming higher step to take, you refuse to press on any longer. 

...

You pull into the mall parking lot, far too early for your slot at the wrapping stand, with the contents of your desk now stationed in the trunk of your car. Taking refuge in the women's bathroom cleaning your face of the tears you shed on the way over as you try not to think too much about what you’ve just done. After refusing to concede and admit to any wrong doing you quit, telling them to shove their shitty policies right back where they came from.

Namjoon was right... and with the mall closing early tonight you’ll only have two hours with him, two hours to smooth the tension over and allow for an amicable goodbye while maintaining your cover. 

He’s already waiting for you, with your coat in hand, when you show up. The look of pity that you never wanted to see grace his face directed at you. “Are you okay?”

“Fine... I just would prefer if we didn’t talk about last night. I’m sorry for what I said, and now I just want to let it all go if that’s okay with you?” You smile up at him extending the olive branch.

Namjoon nods looking down at the floor as his hands habitually fold a scrap piece between his fingers. The silence between you is drowned out by the carols echoing down the emptying halls of the mall.

“Didn’t expect it to be so slow.” Namjoon mutters after what seems like an age with no one coming to the stand.

“On Christmas eve? Yeah generally people are home by now, spending time with their-” You force yourself to stop, unable to say a word which will bring sorrow to your heart and loneliness to Namjoon’s.  

 “I’m sorry I can’t do this,” Namjoon interjects. “I want to talk about last night, I need to talk about it.”

“Now is not the time.”

“There’s no one here but you and me. It’s just us, the mall is closing, it's our last shift, if not now when?”

“Anytime but now. The last twenty-four hours have been the worst in my life since-since...” You take a deep breath burying the wave of sadness and regret back down in your chest refusing to let it out. “Please, just forget it okay?”

“Not until you stop shielding yourself like that.” Namjoon scolds you. “I’m tired of you living in fear that your tears will erode your cover, and that your anger will tear it away entirely. I’m tired of you thinking that people will only appreciate you if you maintain this perfectly wrapped state. You might think it’s pretty, that it’s convenient for everyone else, but you are only keeping others out.” 

“Maybe I keep it on so that you won’t be disappointed in what you find when it’s discarded. A sad woman, with no direction, no dreams, unable to cope with loss, and I suppose I can add unemployed to the list now. Is that what you want to see? Is that what you want to find?”

“That’s not all you are... and as for your job, I’m sorry but fuck it. It’s about time you moved on to better things, that place was only holding you back, you deserve so much more.”

“No I don’t, do you want to know why I worked there? Do you? I took that job to make sure she got the care she needed. I promised her when she got better I would quit and find something else, but she never did. But if I leave now I’m accepting the fact that she’s gone... that she doesn’t need me anymore, because I couldn’t do enough to keep her here.” The first tear falls breaking through the long standing divide.

“Staying there wouldn’t have brought her back. Tormenting yourself by remaining frozen in place, won’t bring her back. It’s Christmas for god sake and you are being kind to everyone else but yourself.” 

“This isn’t Christmas for me. If it was, she would be here... not you. I’m tired too. I'm so tired of looking at her chair and- and-”

Namjoon wraps his arms around you pulling you forward as your emotions tear through the shroud. He moves you to the back of the vacant store sitting you among the boxes. “I’ll be right back okay?” You nod, while he tugs the table in and drags the gate down to indicate that you are now closed. When he returns his eyes too are starting to redden. His hands brush through your hair, the side of his palm pressing on your cheek and catching your tears. After seeing one of his own fall you crush yourself against his chest, clinging harder to him than before. His lips touch the top of your head, his hands rubbing on your back and arms as he waits, waits for you to be the first to pull away. The lights for every other store shut off around you the music lowers, all that’s left is the retreating chatter of those going to celebrate the eve of Christmas, and still you hold on to him. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t been a very good substitute.” He whispers, encouraging you to finally lean back and admit your denial, accepting his efforts to help, when you yourself wanted to do the same for him. 

“Don’t say that, it was never going to be a happy holiday for me, just something I needed to get past. But for you, I at least wanted to make yours better, I’m sorry I wasn’t a very good one either.”

“You never were a substitute. You were the one I wanted to spend the holidays with. A different Christmas than usual but no less enjoyable.” 

“That’s sweet of you to say.” You smile, but you doubt it’s true. “I suppose we should go...” 

“What about all the supplies?”

“Emma will come by in a few days to collect it all.” You grab the small donation from the lock box and seal it in the plastic pouch, while Namjoon rummages through his own bag. “Do you still want a ride home?”

“If you're offering, I would love one.” The flap of his satchel closes as he stops his search and instead goes with you to the bank and finally your car. You hadn’t checked the forecast for tonight so finding your car buried in a few inches of snow comes as an unexpected sight. At least with Namjoon’s help cleaning it off is a quick task.

Once inside you both warm your hands on the sputtering heater, changing them on the wheel as you continue to thaw your fingers while you drive. 

“Do you have any plans for the next couple of days?” Namjoon presses, though hesitant in his tone.

“Maybe look for some jobs, and take a good long nap?” You answer with a dark chuckle, still preferring to miss the entire holiday if you could. “You?”

“No, nothing in mind. But if you wake up and want to come over, you're more than welcome to spend it at my place.”

You return both hands to the wheel as the road becomes more difficult to drive on, your tires slipping here and there on the ice beneath the snow. “I’ll think about it, though depending on how much snow we get tonight we might both be stranded at home.”

You pull through the neighbourhood gates and up Namjoon’s driveway. With the car stopped he once again dives into his leather bag and pulls out a thin rectangular gift he looks to have wrapped himself. Dressed as per usual, with far to many pieces of tape, he hands it over to you. “I know this won’t make up for everything, but I want you to have this. Consider it a very belated Christmas gift.” 

“Belated? But Christmas isn’t until tomorr-” You take the present and succeed in pulling back the wrapping to reveal the book that you were reunited with just the night before. “Oh...” You look up from the cover to find the return of the sad smile on his face you saw in the museum. “But if this is late then, last Christmas, it-it was you? You were the one at the stand... with this?”

...

-One Year Ago-

You are counting down the hours and minutes until the mall closes, until you can pick your mother up from her doctor's appointment and head home, to your promised tradition of putting up the decorations. The past few weeks have been so busy, with work, volunteer shifts, and her treatments at the hospital, you’ve made it all the way to Christmas eve with the tree and ornaments still packed away in boxes, sitting in the corner of your living room since December first. 

Aunt Emma is currently taking your mother’s position at the cashbox, thanks to the scheduling of the last minute check up. You light up your phone again checking the time, only an hour left. 

“You can head out if you want my love,” Aunt Emma offers while swaying and humming to the carols. “It’s quiet enough for me to manage myself.”

You grin embarrassed by your desire for a hasty departure. “No it’s fine. I’m still waiting for the phone call to say she’s done, otherwise I’ll just end up waiting at the hospital.”  

“Suit yourself.” She stands up to look down the halls of the mall. “Oh, I think we might have someone, he’s heading this way. He’s cute too, you should give him your number and put that mother of yours at ease.”

“Aunt Emma, I don’t need your dating-” You look in the direction she was speaking of losing the rest of your words when you find a tall beaming man coming closer to your station.

“If you need me I’ll just be in the back fetching more ribbon.” 

“But we have plenty.”

“Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.” She waves herself off when he makes it to your table.

“Hi,” He greets you with the warmest smile and an even tone. “I was wondering if I could get these wrapped together?” He holds up a bag of gifts which he hands over to you.

“Of course. Any preference on paper?”

“Whatever you think is best, it’s for my mom. Just a bottle of her favourite perfume and something a little more special.”

You open the bag to find a small box containing the fragrance, and the other what looks to be a kids picture book. But what initially seems to be an odd choice for his mother, slams your chest with nostalgia when you see the cover and read the title.

“Koya’s Christmas.” You laugh with delight, you can’t stop yourself from smiling when you examine the artistry. The memories it brings back is enough to make your eyes well with tears.

“You know it?” The man asks, looking pleasantly stunned. 

“Know it? I had it memorized as a child. I loved it so much I couldn't bear it when it was packed away at the end of Christmas each year.”

“Me neither, I flat out refused to let it go, I read it year round to the point where our old copy is currently falling apart on the shelf. Even made snowflakes to put in my windows like he did.”

“That’s right, that scene was one of my favourites. May I?” You gesture asking him for permission to look through it. He nods just as excited as you by the concept of something so sentimental. As you flip through the book you recall the beautiful storyline of a koala living in Australia, one who is so upset that they must celebrate Christmas in the summer, never getting to have a while Christmas described in the songs and shown in the movies. But once Koya talks to the leaves in the trees, and the other small animals of the forest, the realization hits that none of them would be able to stay there if it was cold enough for snow. 

You are so close to tears when you reach the page where the little koala realizes it’s more important to have friends for the holiday than the frozen flurries. Proceeding to stay up all night cutting out perfect snowflakes to hang in the windows for all to enjoy at the family's Christmas Eve party. 

“Where did you find a copy? I’ve looked for so long, I lost my own in the move here.”

“I actually found it by chance, amongst a bunch of rare second-hand books at an auction.” The man itches at the back of his head. “Sorry, I can’t be of more help in locating another.” 

“No it’s fine. I’m just glad I got to see it again. I’ll have to tell my own mom that I was lucky enough to see a copy, she loved it as much as I did.” 

You quickly wrap the two gifts in the one sheet as requested. Handing it back to him before you can be tempted enough to make an excessive offer of your own on his mothers gift. 

“Thanks again.” He hands you two twenties for the donation. “My mom usually helps me with the wrapping but I didn’t want her to see this, you’ve made her Christmas.”

“I’m glad I could help.”

When he walks off you notice that he makes several glances back to you, holding a smile each time. 

“So did you get his number?” Aunt Emma pokes her head back out from the stock area. “Maybe his social media, his dick-dock or whatever it is you kids do these days?” 

“No, I did not get his tiktok.” You answer, unable to contain your laughter. “I was distracted by-” You’re ready to defend yourself when your phone starts vibrating on the table, the screen lit up with the number of your mother’s doctor’s office. You answer it, excited to share your account of the book. “Hey mom, you all finished? You’ll never believe what I just wrapped-”

“Sorry dear this is Laurie, I’m just calling on behalf of Dr. Wang’s office. We were hoping you could come by as soon as you can, the doctor would like to meet with both you and your mother before she leaves for the day.”

“Y-yeah, I’ll be right down.” You hang up the phone taking a deep swallow of fear, the moment of happiness and nostalgia vanishing with the prospect of the news to come. It’s never been a good sign when they’ve wanted to meet with you both in person. 

Aunt Emma catches on in an instant, pushing your coat on your shoulders and your purse in your hand. “Go, I’ve got this. You give your mother a big hug for me, and I’ll stop by soon to see you.”

...

While you try to relive, to pull back and hold on to, that moment from a year ago, Namjoon nods confirming your suspicions.

You mentally kick yourself for not recognizing him, for not remembering a single thing about him except your connection with the book. But after everything you had gone through, in that night alone, the devastating news regarding your mothers health had blacked out everything else. You took her home that night, trying not to cry, trying to be strong for her. Helping her into bed for some much needed rest, leaving your previous plans boxed up in the corner... where they remain to this very day. And the year only got worse leaving your mind engaged elsewhere, far from the man with the kind smile and similar taste in literature. “I’m sorry, I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you sooner.”

“No, it’s fine, it was a while ago, and I’m the one who should be sorry,” He whispers. “The moment I stepped outside that day, I realized you needed it more than my mother needed a second. I went back, but you were already gone. I was selfish though, rather than leaving it with another, I wanted to be the one to give it to you myself, I wanted to see you, to talk to you again, and so I kept it. I even put it in the exhibit on the chance that you might find it. When I met Emma at the museum and found out that you’d be doing the fundraiser again it seems like fate, but then I heard about what had happened since I saw you last. I realized how foolish I had been, how I had stolen your chance to share it with her before she passed.”

You reach up to your face attempting to wipe away the tears before Namjoon can see anymore, but he catches your hands before you can hide your grief.

“When you saw the book that day, you have no idea the impact it had on me. Watching you react, your emotions so close to the surface. You didn’t care where you were, what you were doing, all you could see was the memory in front of you. I wanted to create that for everyone.”

“Then the museum exhibit-”

“Was a result of my meeting you, my breakthrough idea which got me a chance to curate was thanks to your reaction. I was going to tell you when we were there, why you deserved to be there more than anyone else, but everything fell apart so quickly.” 

“I’m so sorry, I never intended to ruin your night. I just-” You take a deep breath, finally letting out the words you’ve been holding back. “I was scared. Jackson was one of my mother’s doctors, he was always friendly and kind to the point where my mother would joke that he would make the perfect son-in-law. We even went on a date, but when she passed... it was difficult, painful for me to see him again. Finding him there last night, I was so worried you would learn about what had happened, and that you would look at me with the same pity he did, so I ran.” 

“You didn’t ruin it, I deserved what you said for not being more open with you about what I knew. I was scared of losing you. So no more running, no more hiding okay?”

You give him a nod, unable to speak through the tears as you gasp between sobs. He hugs you across the cars divide. “Now will you please come inside? At least for a bit. It’s Christmas Eve and I can’t let you go home like this. I have the snowflakes up and everything but we both know it’s not enough without someone else to see them with.” 

You shake your head, now laughing despite the tears, “You really know how to reel me in.”

“I’m just admitting that I don’t want to be alone on Christmas,” He looks at you with a raised brow. “And I don’t think you want to be either.”

...

Namjoon’s house is the very opposite of your apartment, filled with warmth and light, wooden furniture and plants in every corner. The Christmas decorations bring another layer of himself into the fold. As promised, his window pains are full of snowflakes and the sills... you squint at several small blue lumps perched beside the glass. Moving closer you recognize them as clay koalas made by the skill and hands of a much younger age. Namjoon catches you staring at one position in a dozing state. He takes it off the ledge and hands it to you to give a better look. 

“Careful with that one though,” He points to another figure stationed in the corner. “It’s ears like to fall off.” He rolls the round bit of clay out of position chuckling as it exhibits the trait. 

“Did you make these?”

“When I was a kid. My mom held on to them.” Namjoon muses as he continues to fidget with the figurine. “She dropped off a box of decorations before going off to be with my sister and her family.”

“I’m glad she did.”

“Me too. But even with all the trimmings and decor here this year doesn’t feel quite normal.” He replaces them both in their rightful positions of honour and gestures to the massive couch behind you. “Make yourself comfortable,” he insists, before wandering off to the joint kitchen. “Is there anything I can get you to drink?” 

“I’ll have whatever you're having.” You take a seat on the monstrous cushions, which ease you in before swallowing you in comfort. Making it easy to see how this beast of a sofa has eaten several of his several earbuds. 

“Beer okay?”

“Perfect.”

He comes round with the drinks and takes a seat beside you. Turning on the television he lets it play with low volume in the background so you might continue your conversation if you wished, but at the same time eases the pressure from you if you’d rather not. 

You smile down at your beverage as the overly dramatic film plays out. Your mind still lingering on the damage that you might have caused with your hasty departure the night before.

“Have you talked to Jackson since, is he still going to loan the sketches?”

“He wants to, he sent me an email today saying so...” Namjoon pauses taking a sip of his drink, swirling the contents around in the can. “He asked if you were okay too. I haven’t responded yet, I wanted to talk to you first and get the full story, rather than speak on your behalf. But it’s clear he has feelings for you, if you told him how you felt, I’m sure you could still work things out if you wanted to.”

“No, I don’t think it’s feelings but his concern. He’s just too good of a person not to worry, and I’m sure his own guilt has a place in there too. Jackson and I never would have worked out, we went on that date, we didn’t have much in common, there was nothing there that I wanted to pursue, not like my time with you.”

Namjoon’s eyes perk open as he smiles. His arm reaches around, pulling you in to lean on his side and shoulder. As the strained plot plays out before you. 

“Why do you insist on watching these.” You ask as your eyes become heavy after a few minutes. Leaning into Namjoon more he lays back putting his feet up and sliding you down with him to do the same. Your head now resting on his chest the deepness of his voice carrying down to your ear. 

“They’re like the snowflakes-”

“A paper thin plot full of holes?”

“Funny and true, but not what I meant. I know they are by no means real, but they have this way of adding to the feeling of the season. I didn’t realize how much of a tradition it has become for me and my family until this year, when watching them alone just felt wrong. The movies were an excuse to sit down with them, to talk and laugh. The other night when I called, it wasn’t that I couldn’t sleep, I just wanted to spend the time with you.”

“But why me? You could have anyone, even Valerie seems to-”

“Why would I want anyone else when you helped me achieve something I’ve long dreamed of? You may think this cheesy but at the end of all these films, when everything comes together wrapped in a perfect bow, that’s how I’ve felt in every moment with you.”

“You’re right, very cheesy, but not unwanted.” You look up at him from his chest finding only sincerity in his face. “Now if we’re to continue in this similar Hallmark course of action, I do believe this would be the part where you kiss me again.”

“But I’m just the clumsy lead,” Namjoon jokes. “I’m pretty sure that’s your-” You lean in doing just that, cutting him off and pushing him against the couch as you kiss him. His chest quaking with silent laughter soon turns to rumbling groans as you fulfil the expectation of your role. “Though this would also be the part where I tell you we should wait before giving into temptation.”

Your nose scrunches up in displeasure over the notion of such abstinence. “Then let's omit that line, and go off script for the rest of the night.”

Namjoon takes his turn, flipping you over to push you down onto the plush cushions, where you sink under his weight. “Gladly,” he growls, his mouth trailing down your neck pulling on the collar of your sweater to seek further in. 

Desiring the same you discard your own knit garment, before moving on to unfasten the buttons of his shirt, pushing it back until he is forced to tear his hands from the sleeves himself and whip it down to the ground. 

Sliding between your thighs he wraps your legs around his back and picks you up off the couch. With an arm wrapped around your waist, he continues to kiss you while you squeal from being lifted into the air. 

“Bedroom?” You ask, excited by the possible prospect.

He nods, looking up at you with a smirk. “If that’s okay? I’d rather not risk losing you to the couch too.”

You giggle at the notion, while Namjoon heaves you up again to get a better grasp, his mouth tucking into your chest. He fumbles for the door now behind you looking as though he might break it open if the knob won’t turn to his grappling grip. You reach back to assist and push it open. The cool air of the room hits you, causing you to cling to Namjoon’s warmth. 

With two more steps you’re lowered onto the bed, where he grips the waist of your pants, unbuttoning and tearing them down your legs. Laying on the edge of the mattress, you watch as Namjoon kneels down between your legs. His hands glide up your bare legs and pause at the tops of your thighs massaging them as he asks to go further. “May I?”

You take his fingers and press them down on the dampening fabric. Namjoon groans and dips the tip of his index below the material peeking inside to find the warmth of your cunt. It’s a pity it’s so dark in the room, you would have liked to see his smile. 

But it seems you're not alone in this desire, as Namjoon gets up and reaches over flicking on the lamp beside his bed. “No more hiding, I want to see you, all of you.” 

“I want that too. I want you.” 

He smiles kissing you with both hands before rolling over and pulling you on top of him. You return the favour by taking off his pants and boxer briefs releasing his erection. Running your fingers down the soft skin of his shaft, curling them around the base. Tilting his cock towards your mouth you take the tip, teasing your tongue on the rim of the head. Namjoon groans in delight, thrusting his hips up, you take it again as far as you can manage, enjoying his reactions to your tongue trails downward, tracing the swelling veins of his dick. With another drag of his cock you release him with the pop of your lips and he reaches down to grip your arms, breathing heavily with closed eyes.

“I thought you said you wanted to see me?” You chuckle at his undoing.

“I do, but I also want to last.” 

“Condoms?” You ask, continuing to stroke his cock while you adjust to straddle his thighs.

“In there.” He mutters, pointing to his bedside table breathless and helpless to your touch. Only looking up when you have to free him to reach for the box and unwrap its contents. His own hands help you to roll it down his shaft. 

You guide yourself down on his cock while Namjoon arches against his pillow and mattress. His fingers tracing up your stomach and ribs. You reach back to unclasp your bra just as he reaches your chest, and lean down into his touch. 

With his firm grip you rock your hips clenching on his dick and grinding your clit on his pelvis. The louder he gets the faster you move, trembling as you chase your own high and pivoting down further. When Namjoon’s hands grip your hips pressing you into him the pressure becomes far too great pushing you over the edge, sending waves of pleasure through you until you collapse on his chest. He holds you in place as he thrusts from beneath, gasping as your climax continues, coaxing you to clench down on him, straining his thrusts until he comes. 

Dotting the side of your face and neck with his lips at a soft and slow pace, he succeeds in forging another smile in your still gasping lips. He tilts you off and beside him in your blissful haze so he may dispose of the filled barrier. When returning to your grasp you cling to him and he you, dragging the covers up and over the both of you.  

“I could get used to this.” You whisper, curling into his warmth. No longer afraid of the emotions that the holiday will bring. Glowing over the prospect of not facing Christmas morning alone, but wrapped together with Namjoon in the sheets of his bed. “Maybe even consider it a new tradition?” You joke with him looking up to witness his smile.

“If that’s a tradition...” Namjoon whispers, coming in for another kiss. “I plan on celebrating Christmas everyday for the foreseeable future.”

[cjsinkythoughts]

FATWS One Shot #6 - No One Said Anything About a Metal Arm

Word Count: 2011

Warnings: Explosions, Gunshots, The Winter Soldier, Implied Death, Stevie Almost Crying

Setting/Characters: Towards the End of Captain America: The Winter Soldier; Reader, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, Maria Hill, Nick Fury, Bucky Barnes; Mentions of Alexander Pierce, Arnim Zola

A/N: This one took me a while to write and I’ll tell you why. Rewatching this movie made me want to do a complete rewrite of it. I had so many ideas of where the reader could be and why and what she was doing then and all that. But…I told myself this is a One Shot of her unofficially meeting Bucky for the first time. Which is why it seems incomplete - because it kinda is - it’s just that scene picked from the movie. Am I happy with it? Eh. Am I holding back from writing more parts and just saying “forget this piece, it never happened”? Maybe. But, I can’t. I wish I could. But if I were to rewrite this movie, I’d rewrite the next one. And the next one. And it would take me months to finish these. So…this is what you’re getting.

Also, NO ONE MENTION WHAT’S ABOUT TO HAPPEN IN A COUPLE HOURS! I’M THIS CLOSE TO FREAKING OUT!

Thanks! As always, it’s not beta’d, so please excuse mistakes! Enjoy reading, be kind to yourselves and others, and stay tuned!

FATWS Masterlist

cjsinkythoughts Masterlist

********

Sitting on the edge of the old dam was calming. Peaceful, even. The constant sound of the flowing water, the trees swaying in the slight breeze. It was nice to take a breath after everything that had gone down the past week.

To say you were worried was an understatement. The last time you saw Steve was the evening after you met Sam. He dropped you off at your place, refusing your invitation to stay saying that he should probably check on his apartment since he hadn’t been there in a while.

A lot had changed since then.

Steve was wanted by SHIELD, along with Natasha. Fury was considered dead, but was actually still kicking in the structure beneath your feet with the help of you and Hill. You had tried to go after Steve, but it was too risky. Pierce - who you were almost 100% certain was behind this whole thing - had been keeping a close eye on you since Steve ran away, knowing you’d be behind him. You tried to catch the blonde at the hospital, but you were seconds too late, meeting up with Natasha who told you STRIKE already took him away for questioning.

You had been called by Hill and she told you what had happened. Fury had asked for your help specifically, considering the amount of times you’d had to fake your own death while being undercover. And you’d been dealing with that ever since.

You had wanted to go get the three of them - you learned Sam joined Steve and Natasha, which somehow didn’t surprise you - but Hill refused, saying you needed to stay there just in case.

But Fury was fine, no one was coming, which is how you found yourself swinging your legs above a hundred feet of rushing water.

It didn’t last long. A car pulling up to the side entrance caught your eye and you immediately swung your legs around to rush towards the stairs. It’s not like you haven’t gone longer without seeing Steve before. You’d gone months without seeing him. It was your job. But this was different. Whether it was because for the first time he was the one who left or because he was on the run from the organization you worked for, you didn’t know and didn’t care. All you knew was you needed to see him. Make sure he was okay.

It took you a while to get there, all the stairs and corners and twist and turns. You got there just as Fury ended his explanation, hearing him tell the trio, “can’t kill you if you’re already dead. Besides…I wasn’t sure who to trust.”

Your footsteps were echoing and you were sure Steve heard you but when you entered the room, his eyebrows shot up, his eyes widening. “Honey?”

“Oh thank fucking God.” You breathed out, jogging over to squeeze him tightly. 

“Y/N…” He murmured in your hair, hugging you tightly back. “What happened? Why are you here?”

Pulling back, you jerked your thumb over your shoulder to the director. “I’m saving his ass.” Your finger then jabbed into his firm chest, your lips falling into a frown. “And worrying about yours. Are you okay?”

“I am. Natasha got shot, but she’ll live.”

You looked over at Natasha, who nodded in confirmation, before looking back into those azure eyes of Steve’s. “What happened? Pierce is keeping a tight lid on everything. I was gonna come find you, but I couldn’t because he was watching me. It’s a miracle I got away from them to help Nicky boy. I haven’t gone out since. But, honest, I was gonna-”

“Honey, honey. You’re rambling again.” Steve chuckled, hand resting on the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. “It’s okay. I’m glad you’ve been safe here. Pierce is behind this whole thing-”

“Yeah, I figured that-”

“-It’s HYDRA, Y/N.”

You froze. “What? HYDRA? Whaddya mean?”

Steve nodded. “HYDRA’s what’s been infiltrating SHIELD. It’s a long story, but Zola continued it when he was hired for-”

“Operation Paperclip. Yeah, I remember learning about that.” You ran a hand over your face. “Okay…” You hummed, looking at the three of them. “Let’s…talk about it more in a little bit. I know we gotta act soon, but Natasha and Fury need to heal a little bit longer and you should get some rest. You look tired.”

Everyone seemed to agree with your statement, starting to disperse from the room. You started walking out, too, when Steve grabbed your bicep and pulled you aside, down the hall a ways away. You opened your mouth, only for him to pull you into his chest.

“I’m really glad you’re okay.”

You nodded, lightly scratching his back, your arms around his slim waist. “I’m glad you are too.” You could feel how tense he was, which was understandable considering what he’d gone through the past couple days. But there was something else. Something in the grip he had on your shirt. The way his heart was hammering against your chest. His erratic breathing and his ducked head. You pulled away to catch his jaw between your fingers, eyes scanning the anguish in his own. “Bubba? What’s wrong?”

It took a moment for him to answer, his eyes growing sadder with every second that passed. “It was Bucky.”

“What?” You felt like the air was knocked out of you. “What do you mean?”

“The Winter Soldier. The assassin who shot Fury. The one who tried killing us on the bridge. It was Bucky. It is Bucky. I saw him, Y/N. I saw his face. It’s him. He survived. When they experimented on him, it must’ve…God, I’m so…I didn’t even notice…I didn’t even check…I left him…” he shook his head, which fell to your shoulder. “Stupid. I’m so stupid.”

“No, no.” You shook your head quickly, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as you twisted to kiss the hinge of his tense jaw. “It wasn’t your fault, Steve.” You mumbled softly, lips brushing over the shell of his ear. “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known. He fell thousands of feet, Stevie. You wouldn’t have found him even if you did.”

HIs grip on your hips tightened. “But I didn’t even try.” His voice broke on that last word. “And how could I not notice something going on with him? There were two years between being experimented on and falling. How-?” Voice catching in his throat, he stopped talking to stop himself from crying. You knew he hated crying.

“You can’t do anything about past Bucky.” You reminded him gently. “But you can help him now.”

“He didn’t even remember me.”

“Then make him.”

********************

To say you were pissed was an understatement. “I’ve been doing undercover stuff for years! This is a piece of cake!”

Steve shook his head. “You’ll be more helpful with Hill. You know more about Project Insight than me, Sam, and Natasha.”

“Bullshit, Steven! You just don’t want-”

“Honey, please.”

You clenched your jaw, glaring at him as he gave you those fucking puppy eyes, his dumb pink lips stuck in a pout. Letting out a rather aggressive puff of air, you looked away. “Fine. But I hate you.”

He beamed and nodded. “I can live with that.”

“Okay.” You glanced at the others. “You all ready?”

“Let’s get these sons of bitches.” Sam stated, making the final adjustments to the wings.

Natasha gave a smirk. “As long as you are.”

Turning back to Steve, you raised an eyebrow, waiting for the captain’s orders. He nodded. “Let’s head out.”

****************

“There’s a problem on the flight deck.” Hill informed you, looking at the alert. 

“Alright. I’ll-”

“Stay with Hill!”

You rolled your eyes at Steve’s voice through the comms. “Sorry, Cap. You’re breaking up.”

“I know I’m not, Y/N! I’m serious! Stay there!”

But you were already moving towards the flight deck. “I’m not gonna sit on my ass here, Rogers! Hill’s got it covered! I’m just gonna go check it out!”

“Honey-!”

“Bubba!”

The line went quiet and for a moment you thought you lost connection. “Please stay safe.”

You let out a sigh at his quiet pleads, nodding even though he couldn’t see you. “That goes for you, too, Steve.”

By the time you got out there, most of the jets were in flames, pilots and crew members scattered around the deck. You scanned the wreckage, trying to find the source-

A gunshot made your head whip to the side. Found it. Or, more accurately, him.

He was standing on top of one of the jets, gun pointed down at the pilot that was sitting in it. Before he could slip in the cockpit, though, you took out your gun and fired at him. Even though you knew who he was, when he looked at you it made your blood run cold. It was confirmation - not that you didn’t trust Steve - but still. Seeing is believing. yet seeing the same eyes you’d seen sparkling up at you from pictures now staring you down, void of any emotion? It was hard to believe it was the same person.

“Oh shit. Bubs?”

“What?! What’s wrong?! Are you okay?!”

You took a couple steps back as the Winter Soldier, no. Bucky - Steve’s Bucky - strode towards you. “Uh…nothing, nothing. I just I, uh, found your Bucky.”

“Y/N, get outta there now! I told you to stay with Hill!”

“Fuck!” You dove out of the way as the assassin started shooting at you. “Now’s not the time for reprimanding, Steven!”

You tuned out his cursings so as to not get distracted when you became engaged in a hand-to-hand fight with the fucking Winter Soldier.

“Hi.” You grunted, ducking under his arm and throwing a kick at him, faking it at the last second. Except, he’d already grabbed your ankle. But you did kick him with your other foot. But…he didn’t really move and it made you fall back, so…fail. You let out a grimace when the wind was knocked out of you, but you couldn’t lay there for long as he moved to slam his foot down. You rolled out of the way, swinging your legs up to hit him in the back of the knee. “Nice to finally meet you.”

He growled as Sam exclaimed, “are you seriously chatting with him?”

“It’s mostly one sided - dammit!” The both of you had gotten on your feet again, and you tried hooking your left knee around his left shoulder to tug him down, but he had slammed you against a jet, your leg stretched in a very uncomfortable position as your free foot stood on your toes. He had his metal arm - which no one had informed you about and you were kinda salty about it - against your throat, his other hand coming up in a fist.

Bouncing on your toes a bit, you finally lifted your free leg up to knee him in the side of his face, making you wince slightly at the stretch and the burn in your left thigh, which was the only thing besides his metallic limb holding you up against the jet.

He stumbled to the side, throwing you by the leg on his shoulder. You went sprawling against the pavement, a hiss leaving your lips at the serious roadburn you no doubt just got. Sitting up quickly, not wanting him to get the upper hand, you let out a breath seeing him swiftly moving into the cockpit of the jet he just had you pinned against.

“Guys…he’s…heading your way…just a…heads up. Also…thank you. It was nice…to fucking know…about the metal arm…beforehand. I’m just gonna…rest here for a minute…”

“You’re not hurt too bad, are you?”

“No, Cap. No, just…gonna be aching for a while. Ugh…” Begrudgingly, you got up to your feet. “I think I’m gonna…go back and chill with Maria.”

“Told you so.”

“Shut up, finish your job, and don’t die, Rogers! And next time, please, for the love of God, mention the metal arm!”

****************

****************

****************

All Works Taglist (Open):

@happygoreading​ @bibliophilewednesday​ @breadqueen95​ @marvelettesassemble​ @w-wolfhxrd​

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 4,772 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, coerced marriage, gore, violence, sexuality, typical TWD stuff (recommended NC17+) A/N: This is part of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: Y/N moves forward with a plan to get both herself and Daryl out of The Sanctuary and away from Negan.

Your name: submit What is this?

You lay awake the next night, tucked into the bed beneath the cool sheets. Negan was spending the night with Tanya. All you could think about was Daryl. When it was late enough that you knew the guards would be back loafing in the guard room, you threw the covers off and bent down beside the mattress, grabbing the bag you had hid underneath the bed and pulling it out.

You went to the door of your room and opened it, checking in both directions down the hall. It was blessedly empty. You wandered around the corner, glancing at the familiar sliver of light under Dwight’s door. You slipped past it on your tip toes and rushed to Daryl’s cell.

You withdrew the ring of keys and quickly fitted the right one into the lock. Daryl was wide awake this time, waiting. You were the only thing he had been thinking about for the last 24 hours and he found that it made sitting in the dark both more and less bearable. The realization that you were in that place, with Negan, sent fear and rage through him like he’d never experienced. And the idea that Negan could do with you whatever he wanted made him see red. Every second he was wondering if his hands were on you, if his lips were… But the fact that you were close, that there was even the slightest possibility that he would get to see you that day, touch you no matter how briefly, hear your voice… it sustained him.

The door of the cell opened and you slipped inside, following the same routine you had the night before. You laid the towel down at the bottom of the door and pulled out the small lantern, clicking it on. You set it on the ground between you and Daryl. His heart skipped a beat as you gave him the best smile you could muster. “I told you I’d be back,” you whispered.

“I believed ya,” he said. This time he was the one who sat up on his knees and grabbed you hastily into a hug, throwing his arms around you. His touch was desperate, needy, and you melted beneath it.

You wrapped your arms around him in return and sank into him, leaning against his chest, listening to his heartbeat and breathing.

Daryl suddenly snapped back into reality and felt that wave of humiliation again as he remembered how filthy he was. He pulled back from you abruptly and you gave him a questioning look as he sat down again, his back against the wall. “Are ya—are ya alright?” he asked.

“I should be asking you that,” you replied.

He shook his head. “M’fine. But you—” His deep voice was heavy with gravel as he spoke. “You’re in with the wolves in a completely different way than I am.”

You didn’t say anything and just held out the canteen and some bread with meat and cheese you had swiped from the kitchen.

“Thanks,” he said, nodding as he grabbed it from you, quickly devouring it.

You were much quieter, more reserved than you were the night before and Daryl immediately noticed.

“What is it? What’s the matter?” he asked you, concern clouding his face.

“Nothing,” you said. “It’s just—I wanted to warn you. You may hear a bit of a commotion in a bit, after I leave. It’s nothing to worry about.”

His brow furrowed more deeply and his blue eyes narrowed, peering at you intensely through the strands of his hair hanging around his face. “Y/N… what are you doin’?”

“I told you. I’m getting you out of here.” You sighed and glanced at your bag. “This is just Part 2. I’m not busting you out tonight. But we’re getting closer. And don’t worry. They’ll never know it was me.”

He stared at you, chewing his bottom lip as he always did when he was worrying or deep in thought, the canteen clutched tightly in his hand. “What are you doin’?”

“Can’t get out of here on foot. It’s not fast enough. Once they realize you’re gone, Negan will send out everything they have. Gonna need a vehicle. They store all the keys for the motorcycles and trucks on the first floor, but there’s a patrol through there frequently at night… unless they’re distracted.”

“You’re gonna somehow distract them and steal a key to a vehicle,” he said.

“Yep. Not just a vehicle. Your bike. We’re getting it back.”

Daryl licked his bottom lip nervously. “How are ya gonna do it?”

You gave him a look. “Uhh… blow a steam pipe on the first floor…”

“How the hell—” he stopped himself, remembering your speedy assembly of those nail bombs in the hospital, which felt like a lifetime ago. “Ya build a bomb? Ain’t they gonna know it was deliberate?”

You shook your head. “No. It’s a tiny charge, just very strategically placed. But it will make a noise, and steam is going to be pouring out into the room. It should be long enough to distract them so I can get into the room and get the spare key.”

Daryl just stared at you. You could see his mind spinning, but he didn’t say anything.

“It’s gonna work. Just—if you hear a commotion, don’t worry. There’s supposed to be one.” You grabbed the plastic the food had been wrapped in and gave him an apologetic look. “I have to go. If I’m doing this tonight, it needs to be now,” you said. “I wish—I wish I could stay with you longer. I hate leaving you in here…” He handed you the canteen back and nodded.

“S’alright. Just be careful.”

“I will.” You studied him for a moment and then threw your arms around him again in one last hug. You squeezed your eyes shut as you held him tight. “I’ll try to come tomorrow night.”

He shook his head. “Nah. You’re risking too much. Ya should just be worryin’ ‘bout yourself.”

You met his eyes and sighed. “No. I’m only worried about you. I’ll be just fine.” You slipped from him, leaving an empty feeling in between his lungs. You grabbed the lantern and clicked it off, followed by shoving it and the towel in your bag. Slipping out and locking the door behind you, you snuck around the floor and the small charge you had built from its hiding place in a janitorial closet down the hall. You crept down the stairs and through the halls until you were outside the guard room. There was a rowdy game of poker going on inside.

Everything worked flawlessly. You placed the bomb and raced around the corner to wait for the commotion to begin. The uproar was so loud it even drew guards from the floor above, but you were safely stowed out of sight. As soon as the ruckus was reaching a crescendo, you slipped into the room where the keys were stored and quickly found the spare key for Daryl’s bike. You grabbed it off the nail and shoved it in your pocket, heading up the stairs around the back way. You were crossing in front of Dwight’s room again, almost back to your own, when he stepped into the hall. You froze.

“Hey,” he said, shutting his door softly behind him. “What the hell is going on down there?” he asked you.

You shrugged. “I think I heard someone say one of the steam valves broke,” you explained.

He nodded. “Oh. Huh… Well, this building isn’t exactly brand new,” he said. “Can’t sleep again?”

You shook your head. “No.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Seems to be a habit.” He paused a bit awkwardly. “Hey, do you, uhh, have a smoke?” he asked you.

You shook your head. “No. I don’t smoke.”

“Ahh, right,” he nodded. “Ya know, Sherry used to get on me about it but now she smokes, too,” he said, leaning back against the wall. You nodded.

“I remember.” You watched his face turn sad and had a sudden realization that even though you did want to beat the shit out of him for what he was doing to Daryl, for having no backbone and becoming one of them, he’d had a pretty fucked up run himself… “She talks about you still,” you said softly. His eyes shot up to meet yours. “Sherry. She talks about you.”

“Huh,” he nodded slowly, staring back down at his boots. “Well, that’s over,” he said. “I’m sure Negan is taking real good care of her. And you too.”

You felt like a knife had just been twisted into your chest. You nodded. “Yeah. Night.” You left him behind and rushed back to your room, leaning heavily against the door behind you after you shut and locked it.

You felt like you couldn’t catch your breath for a long time.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You were sitting in your room reading, not absorbing a word of it, when there was a knock on the door the next day. Your heart startled at the thought that you had been discovered and it was essentially the Grim Reaper calling, but you quickly dismissed it. You’d been careful. No one knew. You went to the door and pulled it open to see Negan standing there with a charming smile on his face.

“Y/N,” he said, looking you up and down. You were wearing jeans and a tank top with a loose flannel button-up over it. He let out a low whistle. “Hot damn. You look good in anything. I’m tempted to just have my way with you right now,” he said.

You glanced away from him briefly, licking your lips, before meeting his eyes again, raising your eyebrows. “What do you want?” you asked, purposely giving him a sassy response.

He chuckled again and straightened up from where he was leaning on the doorframe. “And that’s why I like you. You have the guts to try and put me in my place.”

You crossed your arms, surveying him, your heart pounding. “Sometimes you need it.”

He leaned in close to you his eyes flitting down to your lips and back up to your eyes repeatedly. “Sometimes so do you.” There was a deep, almost animalistic growl in his voice. He bit his bottom lip after a moment and broke into a smile again. “God, if only you were on board with my process. You’d probably be the best damn soldier I had. And then you’d come home and slip into a dress and turn every head in the damn room. Beautiful and badass, a rare combination.”

“You know I don’t approve of what you do out there,” you said, unable to prevent the cold edge in your voice.

“I know. That’s why I said if. It’s a damn shame. Anyway, why don’t you throw on something and come join us in the lounge? I put in a special order with the kitchen.”

“Alright. I’ll be there soon,” you said.

He gave you another smile and turned to leave. You did your make up and grabbed a short, form-fitting dress out of the closet, pulling on some heels, and left your room behind, feeling like a parading piece of meat as you walked through the halls. You had a suspicion that you wouldn’t be able to slip away to Daryl later and it left you feeling vaguely lightheaded and sick…

You arrived in the lounge where the other wives were milling about, chatting, all drinking cocktails. As soon as you came in, Negan grinned at you from his place in a cushy chair and he tilted his head at you, beckoning you over. “Come and sit down right here,” he said, patting his knee.

Your stomach twisted, but you obeyed, crossing the space to him and sitting down sideways across his lap. He pulled you against him and you draped an arm around his shoulders.

“My special request,” he said, dipping a strawberry from a nearby tray into a bowl of chocolate fondue and taking a huge bite, closing his eyes as he savored it and tilted his head back. “Mmm. Goddamn. Holy shit, is that good! This is the life, isn’t it?” he asked, catching your eyes.

You managed to give him a small smile and he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours. You forced yourself to kiss him back and pressed a hand to the stubble along his jaw. You could taste the chocolate on his lips and tongue and felt a wave of revulsion.

He pulled back and gave you a satisfied and fiery look. “You are making it up to me, aren’t you?” he asked in an undertone.

Just then, movement in the hall caught his attention.

“Dwight!” Negan yelled. It was Dwight going past the doorway, pushing Daryl ahead of him. They stopped and backed up, Dwight forcing Daryl just over the threshold.

Negan tilted his head. “Bring Daryl over here. I want to talk to him.”

Dwight pushed Daryl hard in the back until he walked over and stood in front of you and Negan. You were very consciously controlling your breathing and stared down at the carpet, but you could feel Daryl’s eyes on you before he too looked down at the ground, unwilling to take in the scene before him with you cozied up on Negan’s lap. His blood was boiling and he was starting to feel out of control.

“Hot enough out there for you, Daryl?” Daryl was red-faced, dripping with sweat, and there was walker blood splattered on his clothes. “Rhetorical question because you look like shit,” Negan said laughing. He cleared his throat and smoothed a hand up and down your bare leg.

“You see this, Daryl?” Negan asked, gesturing around the room. “All of this? You could be a part of this. I’m sitting here with a beautiful woman on my lap, eating chocolate covered strawberries.” Negan quipped. He glanced at the bowl of chocolate beside him and dipped his index finger into it, biting his own lip as he raised it to yours, watching your expression with relish. You felt a hard pit form in between your lungs, like indigestion. My God, how could you do this in front of Daryl? But you had no choice. You met Negan’s eyes for a brief moment before glancing back at his waiting finger and parting your lips. Negan slowly inserted it into your mouth and you closed your lips around it, pressing your tongue gently to it, tasting the dark chocolate. He pulled it back out excruciatingly slowly, the smile on his face growing all the while and you felt his growing erection below you, too. He laughed with satisfaction and you felt it deep in his chest as you licked your lips and averted your eyes away again.

Daryl saw every moment of it. He was shaking with rage and disgust and horror…

“Did you see that shit?” Negan continued. “And later, I’m going to take this beautiful woman upstairs and fuck her brains out,” Negan said, looking back at Daryl, clearly pleased with himself. You felt your face flush with embarrassment and anger. You’d never felt so horrified, humiliated in your life. Negan didn’t seem to notice. “Now, I’m not saying if you start to play nicely that you’ll live as good as me, because—well, no one lives as well as me. But you’ll get a little slice of it.” Negan ran his fingers up and down your bare thigh absently as he talked. “So, I want to remind you of your three choices here. You can die and decorate my fence, you can live in that hole for the rest of your life, or you can join up, be a man like Dwight here, and get a little slice of paradise for yourself.”

You ventured a glance at Daryl and his blue eyes were narrowed in hatred as he stared at Negan. The muscle in his jaw was flexing as he ground his teeth together and you thought you could see him shaking slightly. Negan laughed. “Are you trying to stare me into submission, Daryl? Because that shit don’t work on me. Think about what I said. We’ll talk about it soon.” Negan straightened up a little in his chair, adjusting you on his lap and turned his attention back to you. He leaned into you and pressed his face into the crook of your neck and took in a deep breath, closing his eyes, breathing you in, the scent of your hair and your skin, letting out a satisfied smile and trailing his hand up your thigh. “Dwight, take Daryl back to his little hidey-hole. I have some other matters to attend to.” Negan pressed his lips hungrily to your neck and you had no choice but to shut your eyes and receive it, knowing Daryl was watching the whole thing.

You couldn’t get away that night. Negan was asleep beside you in bed as you again laid awake, staring at the ceiling. You didn’t know how much longer you could do this. You felt like you were carving off a piece of yourself each day and giving it away. You slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom, shutting the door and clicking on the light. You pulled on a t-shirt and some shorts and stared at yourself in the mirror. Your fingers found a bruise on your neck, left purposefully by Negan’s lips. He liked marking you. It was ownership. It wasn’t tender or loving or reciprocal. He might as well brand you with the iron.

That night, Daryl seethed in the darkness in his cell. After what he’d been forced to see, he didn’t expect you to show up and you didn’t. All he wanted was to stop thinking about you on Negan’s lap, you taking his finger into your mouth, Negan’s hand trailing up your bare thigh, Negan’s lips on your neck, Negan taking you back to your room and—but he couldn’t think of anything else.

Daryl’s breathing was coming hard and fast and he finally let out a growl and punched his fist into the wall repeatedly before breaking down, letting out an agonized cry, cradling his now bleeding knuckles. He hated this. He hated that you were there because of him. The guilt was threatening to crush him. It wasn’t worth what you had to do to get him out. It wasn’t…

Sometime the next afternoon, Daryl heard a soft noise beside him and felt the floor blindly. His hand pressed down on what he knew was a slice of bread. He held it in his hands for a moment, feeling his stomach rumble. The bodily hunger was replaced with a deeper one, to get you out and make sure you were safe. To make sure Negan never touched you again. But how helpless he was… locked up like an animal in a cage, while you submitted to what you had to in order to rescue him. He felt useless. He felt like a burden. You’d be better off if you’d never met him. Then you wouldn’t be here. He rubbed his fingers over the swelling on his hand from punching the wall the night before and heaved a sigh. He gratefully ate the bread and went back to strenuous waiting, doing everything he could to keep his mind blank.

That night, you again laid awake in bed. You wanted to see Daryl. You wanted to give him more water, more food… make sure he was still in one piece, but you weren’t sure if you could face him after what had happened with Negan the day before. You were overwhelmed with shame and revulsion and just the thought of it flushed your face and turned your stomach. But Daryl’s well-being was more important to you than allowing yourself to avoid facing the ugliness, so in the early hours of the morning you slipped out of bed and grabbed your bag, making your way silently to Daryl’s cell.

He heard the key slowly insert into the lock and turn and he breathed in a hurried breath, straightening up. The door opened just enough for him to see you silhouetted in the dim light. You stepped inside and shut the door.

When the lantern clicked on, your eyes were downcast and he noticed you were taking deep, slow, measured breaths. You wouldn’t look at him.

He studied your expression, his eyebrows furrowing over his narrowed eyes. “Y/N,” he rasped. He saw you gulp but you still didn’t look at him. “Hey. Look at me,” he said.

Your face contorted slightly as you fought emotion, but you eventually raised your eyes to his and Daryl saw that they were glistening more than they should have been for the dim light. Far from what you expected, you saw no contempt, no disgust on Daryl’s face. You should have known better. All you saw was anger and concern and worry. “Ya ain’t gotta do this,” he said softly. “Not this.” You watched his eyes find the bruise on your neck left by Negan’s lips and you reflexively covered it with your hand. A flash of anger exploded in Daryl’s eyes for a moment and he let out an exhale that was mostly a growl, clenching his teeth. You stared back down at the floor of the cell, half wishing you could melt into it and disappear. Daryl gulped at the tightness in his throat and felt his stomach twist.

“I do have to. It’s almost done,” you said in a harsh whisper. You pulled out the food and water you had brought for him and he accepted it but he didn’t start eating. You could feel his eyes on your face still.

“Hey,” he whispered again, sounding a bit hoarse. “Y/N. C’mon, look at me.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling tears pouring down your cheeks. You covered your face with your hands and shook your head. Your shoulders heaved with shuddering breaths.

Daryl got up from where he was seated in the corner and moved over to you. “C’mere,” he said softly. You felt his arms around you, pulling you to him. “S’alright.” You were stiff at first but soon collapsed against his chest, your fingers clinging to him almost desperately. Daryl gently smoothed your hair. He rested his chin on the top of your head and held you tighter, his heart aching and fury burning in his stomach. “Ya ain’t gotta do this anymore,” he said. “Just get out.”

That snapped you out of it and you pulled back from him so you could look up into his face. You wiped the tears from your cheeks, shoving your shame in a box you could open later. Daryl’s hands stayed steadily around you. “No,” you said quickly. “I knew what I signed up for when I came back. And I wish—I wish you hadn’t seen any of that yesterday.” You straightened up and took a steadying breath. “But you’re getting out. Tomorrow,” you said softly, again meeting his eyes.

“Ya mean we are,” Daryl said.

You gulped again and averted your eyes away from the intensity of his gaze, anxiously chewing on your bottom lip.

“Y/N. Ya mean we are,” he repeated vehemently.

You shook your head. “Just you.”

“Like hell!” he growled.

“Daryl, if I stay in, I can help Alexandria and everyone from in here. I can—I can get information. I can sabotage whatever they—”

He shook his head firmly. “Nah. Nah. Fuck that. No. Ya ain’t stayin’.”

“Daryl—”

“No!” he exclaimed as loudly as he dared.

“Just listen—” you pleaded.

“No, ya listen to me!” he rasped. “If ya ain’t comin’ with me, then I ain’t leavin’. And that’s that. I won’t leave this goddamn cell. I’m not leavin’ ya in here with them, with him! I ain’t. So, you can forget about it. I’m not leavin’ ya behind. So, either adjust your plan, or we both stay in.”

You stared at him and from the look in his eyes and the way his jaw was set, his chin stubbornly inclined, it was apparent that there would be no changing his mind. There were flames in his eyes, like a wildfire. You nodded almost imperceptibly. “Alright. Okay.”

He nodded and grabbed the canteen and food you had brought him. As he raised the water to his lips you saw that his knuckles were swollen and bloody with dark bruises across them. “Your hand,” you murmured, reaching out and taking it in yours, inspecting it carefully, your fingers light on his skin.

“S’nothin’,” Daryl said, shrugging. Your touch raised goosebumps on his skin.

“What happened?” you asked him, again finding his blue eyes.

He just shook his head and didn’t say anything more. His eyes moved back to your hand on his and they caught on the silver wedding band Negan had slipped onto your finger. You suddenly realized what he was looking at and you withdrew your hands from his and ripped it off your finger, shoving it into your bag.

Daryl watched the turmoil on your face for a moment before he spoke. “What’s the plan?” he asked, taking a bite of the apple you had brought.

Your mouth dropped open and you thought for a moment. “I’ve got the keys to get you out of here and get us out of the building. And I got the key to your bike. Negan will be gone tomorrow with a lot of his best soldiers. I heard them talking today—they’re going for a pick up at Alexandria.” You sighed. “We sneak out through the south side, where they keep the bikes and trucks. I can walk around freely and make sure the coast is clear before I come and get you. We get on the bike and we go.”

“Go where? We can’t go back to Alexandria obviously.”

You nodded. “Hilltop. I’ll bring some clothes for you to change into when I can before we leave. We gotta get you out of that awful sweatshirt,” you said gently.

Daryl considered you for a long moment, his blue eyes drinking in your face. He nodded. “It’s simple. S’good. It’ll work.” He paused again. “What about weapons?” he asked.

You shook your head and he read worry on your face. “That’s the one thing I haven’t been able to solve. I don’t know where they keep them and I don’t have access to anything. I could maybe slip away with a knife from the kitchen but—”

“Nah. It’s fine. We’ll figure it out,” Daryl said. He nodded again. “We’re gettin’ out,” he said. “Both of us.” You thought you saw his bottom lip quivering.

You nodded back at him. “Yeah. We are.”

His face contorted a little as he bit back emotion, his head slumping forward and his broad shoulders rounding. Your hands flew to his shoulders, and you brushed his hair aside gently. He gripped onto your wrist tightly. You moved closer to him, your heart breaking. You pressed a kiss to his forehead as his eyes were downcast but they snapped up to yours in surprise again at the tenderness you were showing him, despite where you were and what you were being subjected to. Your face broke into a teary smile and he was amazed at it. Everything you had been through… and you’d thrown yourself into it again, for him, risking everything. You were sitting in this shithole with him, smiling at him. He couldn’t make goddamn sense of any of it.

“We’re getting out,” you whispered.

Daryl nodded and straightened up. “We are.”

It was safe to say that even after you left, locking Daryl back into his cell for what you hoped was the last time, neither of you slept at all that night.

[icantthinkofanythingcool3]

traitor (pt 4) (final part)

The next day I kept my word and went back to school. I saw Stiles and Lydia waiting impatiently at my locker.

“Hey guys!” I said sneaking up on them.

“Oh god, I’m so glad you’re back. I missed you.” Lyds said, hugging me.

“I missed you too! Thank you guys for caring so much. It means a lot to me.” I said, nudging Stiles with my elbow and opening my locker. He smiled at me as I got my stuff out. The bell rang for first period and Lydia waved goodbye and Stiles and I went to English.

“I’m glad you came back today.” Stiles said to me.

“Me too, now can you fill me in on what’s happening?”

As we sat down, Scott and Stiles started telling me how Danny had been poisoned by mistletoe and how the sacrifices had moved on to healers. They said that Isaac and Boys had gone to Derek’s loft to try to fight against the Alpha Pack. At least I wouldn’t have to see him next period. Algebra was fantastic without Isaac. I can’t remember the last time I had been so excited about math. I made my way into Chemistry and sat in front of Stiles and Scott. After Ms. Blake told us she was filling in for the missing/sick Mr. Harris, Stiles started.

“Hey, my dad said that the ER attendant wasn’t strangled, but did die from asphyxiation. They just don’t know how.” Stiles said to us.

“Do you think the on-call doctor could still be alive?” Scott asked him.

“I don’t know, but Scott, there’s gotta be at least 20 other doctors in that hospital. At least! Any one of them could be next.”

“This really doesn’t sound good, guys.” I inserted the obvious.

Scott got a phone call, and Stiles and I just looked at him, trying to hear his hushed whispers. Then suddenly, he ran out of the classroom. Stiles just looked at me and I nodded my head as he followed his friend out of the room. Ms. Blake looked to me and I just shrugged my shoulders.

When the boys got back at lunch, Stiles texted me to meet them in Ms. Morrel’s office. She told us to find Deaton, we had to use Lydia. Scott went off one way and Stiles and I took another trying to hunt her down. We found her with Cora, who was clearly trying to threaten her. We found an empty classroom. After nothing worked, Scott came in holding his shoulder, telling us that Danny was a target, but not a sacrifice. Scott went off to Allison’s and Stiles left for the hospital. Lydia and I stayed in school and waited for them to tell us what was going on.

third person pov

It was a whirlwind after Scott and Stiles met Lydia, y/n, and Cora in Deaton’s office. They figured out the spot where Deaton was most likely being kept using Danny’s paper. Scott split to go find him, while everyone else went to Derek’s to try and help. When they got there, they had to figure out a way to get the electric back on, hoping for the original plan to work. Cora, Lydia, and y/n flipped on all the switches as Stiles texted Isaac. Cora and Stiles bolted up the stairs as Lydia and y/n finished flipping the breakers. They followed closely behind.

y/n ran up, on Lydia’s heels slightly out of breath. She saw Cora kneeling over Boyd’s limp body, Stiles hand on Derek’s shoulder, and Isaac next to Ms. Blake. She gave Isaac a sad look, knowing how the boy must be feeling. First Erica and now Boyd as much as she hated him, she wouldn’t wish this on her worst enemy. She knew the agonizing things Isaac had been through.

He stood up and looked at her, with tears in his eyes, something she hadn’t seen since before he turned into a werewolf. It was a simple gesture really, y/n held out her hand for Isaac to grab. He only held it for a few moments, but it was enough time. They all missed the jealousy that flashed in Stiles’ eyes, except Lydia of course. As soon as the moment between y/n and Isaac started it was over. She made her way to Stiles and Derek as he walked over to Boyd’s body.

y/n thought Stiles would drive her home, but he had asked Lydia without her knowing.

y/n pov

“Do you know why Stiles didn’t drive me home?” I asked Lydia, hoping she would have some more insight than me.

She pursed her lips at me, “You really don’t know y/n/n?”

“Nooooo...I wouldn’t be asking you if I knew.”

“Well what happened between Isaac and you back there?” She gave me a pointed look.

“What do you mean? Nothing happened. He was sad, I could tell how he was feeling...so I squeezed his hand for like 2 seconds to comfort him. He wasn’t going to show anyone else how he was feeling. I caught him in a moment of weakness. I hate the guy, but he doesn’t deserve another one of his best friends dying. Especially like that.”

“Well...maybe you and I understand that, but I bet someone else doesn’t.”

“What? Stiles...why does that matter?”

“Oh come on, he totally likes you! You should have seen the look in his eyes”

I looked at her in disbelief, “What? No, what do you mean? He doesn’t like me...he has a crush on you doesn’t he?”

“Maybe he did a while ago...but it hasn’t been like that lately. He looks at you the way he used to look at me, I can promise you that.”

I was so confused. How did I not notice this before? Usually Lydia knew what he was talking about...but how could I not have known? I’d always liked Stiles, I feel like I connected to him the most...even more than Lydia. And honestly, he was cute, super cute, although his sarcasm could be off-putting at times. There was just no way, Stiles couldn’t possibly feel that way about me.

After Lydia dropped me off, I debated calling Stiles. My mind was going 100 miles per minute. Was it too soon to like someone else? Did Stiles even like me? What if I’m debating this and then embarrassed myself because he didn’t feel that way? Why was I even freaking out about this? It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world….

I picked up my phone and searched for our texts.

[me]: Hey, I kinda need to talk. Do you think you could come over? You can use my front door this time! :)

I put my phone down and waited, I don’t know why I was feeling so stupid nervous.

[Sti :)]: sure, be there in 10.

Now I was even more nervous, damn it! Why did Lydia have to go and put this shit in my head. I paced my living room, waiting to hear the jeep pull up. Do I just straight up tell him what Lydia told me? Do I try to dance around it? Before I had time to lose my mind some more, he pulled into my driveway. I waited for him to knock before I went to the door so I didn’t look like a psycho waiting for him.

“Hey Stiles.” I said to him, opening the door for him to come in.

“So what’s wrong? Why’d you call me over at 11 o’clock?” He said sitting down on my couch.

“Nothing is wrong exactly…” I said, still not knowing how to continue. Stiles looked at me expectantly. “Okay, well listen, Lydia said something to me on the drive home tonight...still confused why you didn’t take me home by the way. And I guess I just don’t know how to feel about what she said…”

“I just had some things to do. So what is it that she said?”

“I can tell when you’re lying Stiles, especially since you would have just said something to me if that was the case…”

“Listen...you said you needed to talk, I didn’t know I was getting interrogated…” He said, clearly annoyed.

“I’m not trying to interrogate you Stiles, I guess I’m just trying to figure out if what she said was true, before I embarrass myself…” I looked at him with nervous eyes, hoping that he would understand I wasn’t trying to be accusatory, I just wanted the truth.

“Well I guess,” He started standing up and pacing my living room , like I had been doing not 10 minutes ago, “I saw what happened between you and Isaac, and listen I know I have no reason to have any type of teeling towards that, but after seeing what went down during the breakup...I don’t know. I guess I felt like he didn’t deserve your kindness. And well, I guess I was a little jealous. And don’t take that the wrong way, I know you just broke up with him and you guys had been together for a while, but…”

Instead of letting him ramble, I interrupted him, “So you like me then?”

“I…” He looked at me and I smiled at him, seeing him pacing and rubbing his chin.

“I think I like you, too.” I said feeling more confident about my feelings.

Wh….wh..you..what?” He sputtered.

“Yeah, I think I do. I mean Isaac and I just broke up, but I had known it was over for a while. I don’t want to rush into things. I don’t want you or anyone else to think it’s a rebound or something, but I do like you. And I would like to see where this could go...if that’s what you want?”

He smiled down at me, “Yeah, I would definitely like that a lot.”

third person pov

Between Stiles and y/n, Allison and Isaac, and figuring out about the Darach life seemed to be flying by for the group. y/n and Stiles said they were going to take it slow, but that lasted all of two seconds, they went on a date the day after their conversation. And boy was it a real date, Stiles spent all day freaking out because he wanted it to be perfect. Not that it was, a lot of shit went wrong. He had planned a very intricate, multi-part date.

First, they had an early lunch in the park, where a bird stole most of their food and shit on them.

Second, Stiles had planned an arcade/bowling date. The machines kept eating their tickets and the pins got stuck after every single turn they took.

Third, they had a reservation at a nicer restaurant in town...but the bowling fiasco made them late and they lost their table.

Fourth, and finally, Stiles had taken y/n back to the same park they had started at. He laid out a blanket so they could look up at the stars. When he finally thought something was going right, the sprinklers turned on and soaked the pair.

As they ran back to the jeep, Stiles was silently cursing everyone he could possibly think of. He was so pissed, he wanted this to be perfect. He wanted to impress y/n, he wanted her to know she was fucking important. Meanwhile, y/n was thanking everyone she could think of. Even with all the ‘issues’, they had so much fun. She had enjoyed herself more than she had in a while. She was truly, entirely happy. She felt important.

“I’m so sorry about all of this...it was supposed to be perfect.” Stiles said running up the hill with y/n’s hand in his.

y/n stopped him, ignoring the sprinklers that were soaking them, “But it was Stiles, just because everything didn’t go as planned doesn’t mean it wasn’t perfect. I had the best time I’ve had in a long time. You literally did all this for me, I don’t care about all the problems. You made this such a special night.”

Stiles smiled at y/n, “You really mean that? I just wanted to show you that I was really serious about this, whether it takes weeks or months or whatever.”

“I know you are Stiles and I am too. You’re very important to me.”

Instead of saying anything, he stepped closer to y/n and looked into her eyes. He knew this is what he wanted. His feelings were confirmed as soon as Isaac and y/n broke up and he let himself think of her as more than a friend. He hurt for her when he witnessed the way Isaac treated her in the hallway the day they broke up. He wanted to do nothing more than drive to her house and comfort her that day and every day since.

y/n was staring up at Stiles. She couldn’t describe the feeling she had, she just felt entirely happy. For a few hours she had been able to forget about all the drama with Isaac and the sacrifices and all the werewolf shit. Stiles had made her laugh and smile all night. Before Stiles could make a move, y/n stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to Stiles’. He gasped a little before he relaxed into her kiss. They pulled away and smiled at each other, it wasn’t quite a kiss in the rain, but it was close enough for them. They walked contentedly back to the jeep, Stiles was no longer pissed at the night. He was excited for what was to come.