#I try to be open and communicative but it can (and routinely does I feel) backfire on me… so sometimes the answer really IS just giving up

[peaches2217]

WOOOOOOOOOO

I GOT A HATEFUL MESSAGE ON ANON AND I IMMEDIATELY DELETED IT WITHOUT GIVING THEM THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT

I am FLOURISHING!

[writesvani]

dear me | 10

lawyer! jungkook x privatechef! reader

SUMMARY: Once upon a time, Jungkook and you were everything. Best friends who shared every moment, every secret—except one: you were in love with him. But life changed. High school ended, real life began, and slowly, you drifted apart, the distance between you growing too wide to cross.

The end. Except it isn't.

One day, after a long day at work, you open your email to find a message from 13 years ago—written by your younger self. A letter you’d forgotten, sent by a service you paid to remind you of your youth, your love for him. As the emails keep on coming and you keep reading, the flood of memories hits you, and you realize something heartbreaking: you never stopped loving him.

But now, it’s too late. Jungkook is about to marry someone else. Or is he?

estranged childhood best friends-to-friends-to-lovers?

TRIGGER WARNINGS: anxiety, emotional conflict, frustration, feelings of inadequacy, fear of failure, intense argument, self-doubt, stress, mild emotional distress

comment HERE for Dear Me taglist;

SERIES M.LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter (pending...)

wc: 5,1k // date: 24th of May 2025

CHAPTER TEN — TETHERED THREADS happy reading my gummies...

AN: oh my god hi babies!!! dear me is back and so am i? so are we all excited or what. i don't want to spoil this chapter but it goes from 0 to 100 real quick so like. prepare yourselves. i warned you!!

now, about the note goal — plot twist — there is none. i’m currently in my ✨mystery era✨ trying to figure out a better posting system so we’re just gonna wing it for now. that does NOT mean you shouldn’t like, comment, or reblog because hello?? validation?? serotonin?? but no pressure.

if you liked the chapter and wanna scream about it, i’m here. reading. refreshing. obsessing. after all the weird energy and negativity lately, i’m really hoping we can bring back our chaotic little community — full of kindness, laughter, and just the right amount of delusion.

i love you all so much it’s actually concerning. chapter 11 will be posted on june 2nd unless the universe decides otherwise but let’s manifest consistency together, okay? okay.

The morning starts like every other.

One shot of espresso — because two makes you jittery and one feels just right — gulped down in the dim glow of your kitchen light. No breakfast, of course. You’ll eat whatever Ms. Kim requests you to make, and if it’s something boring like porridge again, well, that’s just the universe’s way of punishing you for not getting groceries. Quick shower. Music playing from your phone speaker (Today: old Arctic Monkeys. Why? Who knows, they felt like a Wednesday band). Then, one episode of Suits. Always Suits. Always one. You like the predictability, the build-up. You like the false sense of control it gives you, knowing you’ll be left on a cliffhanger but choosing to turn it off anyway.

Everything is smooth. Everything is routine. Your perfect little mental tightrope, walked with the balance of someone who’s been practicing calm like it’s a sport.

Until you sit in your car.

Crack.

Not a literal sound — no smoke, no explosion — but the kind of mental snap that jolts you right between the eyes. The one that makes your chest tighten and your hands pause on the steering wheel. You try to start the engine once. Twice. A third time, just for good measure. Nothing.

Your car is dead. Or maybe just extremely petty.

You stare at the dashboard like it just told you your childhood dog ran away. Because how did you not notice the gas light? You always notice the gas light. You’re religious about the gas light. It’s your one non-negotiable.

You bang your head lightly against the steering wheel and mutter under your breath, “I deserve this.”

Maybe it’s karma. Maybe it’s sleep deprivation. Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve been so wrapped up in pretending everything’s fine that the basics — like fuel — slipped through the cracks. But now you’re sitting in your silent car, the neighborhood too quiet and you realize something dreadful.

This day has already betrayed you.

And it’s not even 9 a.m.

Your first logical solution is Yoongi.

It always is, really. Calm, capable, cursed with a heart way too big for that grumpy exterior. His work is basically around the corner from Ms. Kim’s place anyway, so in theory, it makes perfect sense. One quick call, a dramatic but well-timed sigh, maybe even a guilt trip about “doing it for your beloved bestie” — and boom, problem solved.

Except, as always, the universe has beef with you.

Because when Yoongi picks up the phone, he doesn’t greet you. He whispers. Weakly.

“I’ve been betrayed,” he croaks.

“By who?” you ask, alarmed.

“My body,” he whispers, hoarse. “Fever. I’m dying. Tell my cat I love him.”

You pause. “You don’t have a cat.”

“Then who have I been feeding?” he mumbles, and the line cuts with the faintest of coughs.

You exhale through your nose, long and tired. Of course Yoongi can’t come. He’s sick. Sick-sick. Not hungover-sick, not "I stayed up binge-watching anime and now I’m emotionally unstable" sick — actual sick. You text him a get-well-soon and a half-serious promise to bring soup and put your phone down with a sigh that echoes in your dead car.

Uber? Taxi?

You wince just thinking about it. It’s not the cost, or the inconvenience, or even the question of how many strangers' asses have occupied those seats before yours. It’s just… uncomfortable. The whole idea of being stuck in a confined space while some overly chatty middle-aged man named Bob tells you about his second divorce and favorite Coldplay album?

No thanks.

You’re not a snob. You just prefer your social anxiety from a safe distance.

So your next logical option — and by logical, you mean potentially dangerous to your mental well-being — is Jungkook.

Yeah. Jungkook.

You already feel your eye twitch at the thought.

Because asking your hot, soon-to-be-married best friend to rescue you from your own stupidity has never ended in emotional stability. Still, you unlock your phone, thumb hovering over his contact.

What’s the worst that could happen?

(You know exactly what could happen. You just choose to ignore it.)

“Hey,” Jungkook says as you practically haul yourself into the passenger seat of his car, the sharp scent of his cologne greeting you before his voice even fully lands.

“Hey, Kook,” you say, breathless, fumbling with the seatbelt. “Thank you for coming so quick. You literally saved my life. Or my job. Or both.”

He gives you a small smile, fingers still on the steering wheel. “Don’t worry about it. It’s on the way for me anyway.”

You hum, settling into the leather seat, trying not to notice how put together he looks this morning. Hair styled to perfection, parted just right, not a single strand out of place. His charcoal gray suit is pressed, not a wrinkle in sight, with the cuffs of his white shirt peeking just slightly from under his blazer sleeves. There’s a navy tie around his neck, loosened just a bit — enough to make him look a little less intimidating, a little more like your Jungkook.

And it’s… a lot. It’s too much, honestly.

Because you haven’t really talked since that Sunday.

Since the night he stepped on stage and left his soul in every note of that song. Since he cradled your face with both hands and pressed his forehead to yours like he couldn’t breathe unless you were that close.

Since you felt something shift.

But after that? A few texts. A meme exchange. Some "dude, that show was crazy" type messages. Nothing heavy. Nothing about the way your chest physically ached when the music stopped and you realized how close you’d been to crossing a line neither of you were meant to approach.

And maybe it was just adrenaline.

Maybe it was a high from the performance. A beautiful, fleeting moment of blurred feelings and too much noise.

But you’re an overthinker. And even now, as he drives through the streets in his sleek black car, his hand calmly resting on the gearshift, eyes focused on the road — you wonder.

Did he feel it too?

You glance sideways at him, and it’s honestly infuriating how effortlessly attractive he looks at 8:43 in the morning. You’re here with a wrinkled hoodie and barely brushed hair, and he looks like he walked out of a Vogue editorial titled "Litigation and Lust."

Your thoughts spiral. You hate it.

Because he’s your best friend.

And he’s engaged.

And you’re supposed to be so, so far from this kind of thinking.

But your heart still clenches in your chest when you think about that Sunday. His hands on your face. His breath on your skin. That look in his eyes, like maybe he was fighting something too.

So you swallow the thoughts. Tuck them behind your ribs. You look back out the window and say nothing.

Because saying something might ruin everything.

You’re both quiet for a beat too long — not awkward, not exactly — just suspended in that weird, stretched silence that sits heavy between two people who almost talked about something important but didn’t.

Then Jungkook pulls out his phone and sets it in your lap without a word.

You glance down, confused. “What’s this?”

“Play whatever you want,” he says, eyes still on the road. “I know you hate car rides without music.”

You snort softly. “Obviously. I’m not a psychopath.”

He raises an eyebrow. “So I am one now?”

“Well…” you smirk. “For someone who lives and breathes music, it’s a little criminal that you drive around in complete silence.”

He chuckles under his breath, and it’s the first sound that feels a little like the old Jungkook. “Music distracts me when I drive.”

Your fingers freeze for a moment over his Spotify. “What is it with you and music being a distraction…”

It’s innocent — said without much thought. But the second the words leave your mouth, the memory flashes sharp in your brain.

Shit.

You remember now. The moment he told you—how Nina said that playing drums made him lose focus. How it’s an unnecessary distraction.

You swallow hard, wishing you could drag those words back down your throat.

Jungkook doesn’t respond. But his fingers tighten slightly on the steering wheel, just enough that you notice.

You tap at the screen, trying to play it off. Your thumb hovers over House of Balloons, because of course that would be his last played. Typical. It’s not morning music by any stretch, but you tap play anyway.

The slow, pulsing rhythm of the song fills the car like smoke — sultry, haunting, too much for the morning.

You stare ahead at the road, heart rattling a little too loud in your chest.

God, you hate how much you remember. And worse — how much you want to.

You close your eyes, pretend you didn’t see the way he clenched his jaw. Pretend you’re not hearing lyrics that have nothing to do with you, but still feel like they’re scraping something raw open inside you.

Because yeah.

This is definitely too much.

And somehow still not enough.

“Well, it is distracting,” he hisses, sharper than he means to be.

He exhales through his nose and lets his voice soften. “I just don’t like to multitask like that. Plus… I wasn’t talking about that night.”

You glance at him. “I never mentioned the night you played.”

“No, but you were thinking about it.”

Your brows lift. “How do you know that, Jungkook?”

“Because I know you.”

“And I know you too,” you shoot back, “which is exactly why I can tell you’re itching to explain yourself. Because you know I’m right.”

He rolls his eyes. “Right about what, exactly?”

“You being scared to play again.”

He blinks. “What is it with you this morning? You never even said that to me before, and now suddenly you’re Freud in the passenger seat.”

“I never said it. But you know it’s true.” You turn slightly in your seat. “Come on, Kook. We both know you weren’t scared you’d suck.”

He doesn’t answer. His jaw ticks.

“So why were you scared?” you ask gently. “Hm?”

He’s quiet.

“You were scared you’d love it. And you did.”

He scoffs under his breath, but it’s weak. “Well, not all of us get to do what we love.”

You snort. “That’s literally just an illusion toxic society and late-stage capitalism shoved down our throats.”

He throws you a look. “Okay, great. Now you’re being philosophical for no reason.”

“Am I?” you challenge. “I mean, if people did what they loved, the world would be a lot less miserable.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs. “But that’s impossible.”

“How and why?”

“Because we’d be living in a world full of artists, musicians, basketball players, and TikTok therapists—who the hell would do the boring, dangerous, miserable jobs?”

“This might come as a shock,” you grin, “but there are people who dream of doing those jobs.”

“That’s just… incorrect. And I could elaborate.”

“Then elaborate.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re pissing me off.”

You laugh, incredulous. “For saying you should maybe do something you love again? Even just as a hobby?”

“For acting like it’s that easy,” he snaps. “Like it’s not a fucking luxury to even consider that.”

“A luxury, huh?” you scoff. “Are you insinuating something, Jungkook?”

“Come on,” he mutters, eyes on the road. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“No, seriously. I’d really like to know—why do you think like that?”

“I said it generally. I wasn’t talking about you.”

“Not directly,” you fire back. “But you meant it. So just spit it out.”

His jaw clenches. You watch him, waiting.

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” he says tightly, “but it’s easy for you to sit up on your high horse, acting like you can’t understand why people don’t chase their dreams—when you had a net. You had support. You had parents who would catch you if you fell.”

Your stomach twists.

“And now,” he continues, bitter, “you have the audacity to judge the rest of us. To judge me—for choosing something stable. Something that won’t fall apart.”

“I have never judged you, Jungkook,” you say, voice firm now. “Not for a single second. All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy. But you’re too deep in your own bitterness and insecurity to see that.”

“Insecurity?” he snaps.

“No,” you tilt your head. “Jealousy.”

He laughs, harsh and humorless. “Jealous? Of what?”

“Of the people who went for it. Who chased what they wanted. Who lived their fantasy, even if it was just for a little while.”

“Oh, so now I’m jealous of you?”

“I didn’t say that,” you say quietly. “But since you did…”

“Please,” he scoffs, shaking his head. “You’re literally screwing yourself over.”

“What does that mean?”

“I mean, you’re not living your dream. You lived it that one summer in high school—when you were traveling and learning and cooking and being free. Now? You’re working a glorified 9-to-5 cooking vegan meals for a neurotic rich divorcee. That wasn’t your dream.”

You blink, heart thudding. That one stung.

“Maybe not,” you say after a beat. “But by that logic? I still lived my dream. Even for a moment. Something real came from it. You never even gave yours a chance.”

His voice drops low, almost a whisper. “Because I’m not meant to.”

Your chest aches. “Then why are you so pissed?”

“Because I’m trying to reason with you!” he bursts, his voice cracking around the edges.

“And I’m trying to reason with you!”

“No, you’re not!” he snaps. “You’re trying to fix me.”

You go still.

“God, Jungkook, are you delusional or something?” you snap, voice low and tight. “I’m literally just trying to open your eyes.”

“To what, exactly?” he shoots back. “You’re talking without even trying to see it from my side. Like you always do.”

“I never act like I know everything.”

He huffs a bitter laugh. “Yeah? That’s kind of your thing, though.”

“My thing?”

“You always act like you know what’s best—for everyone. Like your opinion is the only valid one, and if people don’t see it your way, then they’re just wrong.”

“That’s not true,” you bite, anger laced with hurt. “I want what’s best for you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“I know that, Y/n. But maybe what you think is ‘best’ for me isn’t the same as what I want. Maybe I don’t have everything I ever dreamed of—but I’m content. I’m satisfied. I’m… happy.”

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Sure. You’re happy. But I still wish you had everything. Everything you wanted.”

He exhales sharply. “That’s impossible.”

“Why? Why, Kook?”

His eyes stay locked on the road, jaw tense. “Because if that were possible… we wouldn’t be sitting here having this argument.”

You blink. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I—” he pauses. “Nothing. Just forget it. I’ve got a hearing in an hour, and I can’t walk into that courtroom like this. Let’s drop it.”

You shake your head slowly. “Right. Of course. Now you want to drop it. That’s your real ‘thing,’ Jungkook—running. From arguments. From real conversations. From me.”

“I’m not running,” he says quietly. “I’m protecting my peace. Maybe you should try that sometime.”

“Protecting your peace doesn’t mean shutting people out the second they say something you don’t like,” you snap, heart hammering in your chest. “That’s not peace, Jungkook. That’s fear.”

“I’m not afraid,” he fires back, “I’m tired.”

“No, you’re afraid. Of feeling things too deeply. Of doing something reckless. Of being disappointed. So you built this perfect little life with a perfect little job and a perfect little routine, and you convince yourself it’s enough.”

He laughs bitterly. “And what, you want me to be like you? Burning out in someone else’s kitchen just so I can feel something?”

“At least I’m feeling something! At least I’m not numbing myself with depositions and court dates pretending I don’t miss the version of you that used to dream out loud.”

“That version of me doesn’t exist anymore!”

“Well, maybe I miss him anyway,” you say, voice quieter now. “Maybe I miss who you were before you decided being safe was more important than being happy.”

Silence fills the car, thick and heavy. The tension crackles between you like static. You want to reach for him, want to pull the words back, but it’s too late.

Jungkook exhales slowly, finally turning to look at you at the red light. His voice is low. “And maybe I miss the version of you who didn’t make me feel like shit for choosing differently.”

Your heart sinks.

“Maybe,” he says again, voice softer now, almost tender. “We just don’t know each other like we used to.”

You swallow around the lump forming in your throat. “Maybe we know each other too well. And that’s the problem.”

He doesn’t answer.

The light turns green.

He drives in silence.

And this time, you don’t reach for the music.

The silence becomes a living thing—thick, suffocating, curling around your chest like a fist. Jungkook’s grip on the wheel tightens, knuckles white, but he doesn’t say a word. You turn your face toward the window, watching the city blur past, every billboard and traffic light glowing against the tension burning behind your eyes.

You finally speak, voice quieter this time. “Why does it always have to be like this with us?”

“Because we’re both stubborn. Because we know everything about each other,” he says, his voice quiet—like the anger’s burned out and all that’s left is ash and honesty.

You hum, not in disagreement but more like a sound of recognition. You shift in your seat, knees angled slightly toward him, your spine pressing into the cool edge of the door. The city lights bleed into the car, flashing across his jawline. He looks good like this—annoyingly good—hair perfectly styled, suit neat despite the hour, but his expression? It’s all cracked open.

“I’m sorry,” he says, cutting into the silence like it’s something he has to slice through before it swallows you both whole. “I went too far with all of this. I didn’t want us to argue.”

“No, Kook… I started it,” you say, voice soft but heavy. “I’m sorry too.”

He lets out a small breath, almost a laugh. “I hate fighting with you.”

“Same,” you murmur. “It sucks.”

“You know I didn’t mean most of what I said, right?” His eyes flick toward you, searching your face. “Most of the shit… it was just—heat of the moment stuff.”

You nod, hand reaching over to rest gently on his shoulder. “I know, Kook. Me neither.”

The car stills for a beat. There’s no music playing now, just the muted sound of tires on wet asphalt and the whisper of things you can’t say aloud. You let the silence linger too long, and it hangs there, taut and unspoken.

Because the truth is… some of the words you said? You did mean them. Not all. But some.

And you wonder—did he?

Did he mean it when he said you were delusional? Did he mean it when he implied you had it easier? Or was that just his bruised ego talking, scared of how deeply you still saw him?

You pull your hand back and press it to your lap, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve.

“I meant some of it,” you admit, voice barely louder than a whisper.

He blinks. “Which parts?”

You hesitate. “The part about you being scared to play again… and how it’s easier for you to pretend you’re content than to admit you still want more.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he shifts his hand off the wheel and runs it through his hair—slowly, like he’s buying himself time.

“You really think I’m just pretending?” he asks finally, almost offended. But not quite.

You shrug, eyes glued to the dashboard. “I think you tell yourself you’re fine so you don’t have to want something you think you’ll never get.”

He exhales sharply. “You make it sound so fucking tragic.”

“Isn’t it?” you glance at him. “I mean, maybe not in a dramatic way. But quietly, in the way that gnaws at you slowly. You don’t realize it until it’s too late.”

He’s gripping the wheel again, jaw tight. “And what about you, huh? Are you living your big dream life?”

You pause, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “I thought I was. I tell myself I am. But some nights I lie awake wondering if I’ve just built a pretty version of settling.”

He looks at you again, this time more carefully. “So we’re both full of shit.”

“Maybe that’s why we get each other so well.”

Jungkook lets out a breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “God, we’re a mess.”

“A beautiful one,” you tease softly.

He smiles faintly. “Speak for yourself.”

You nudge his arm. “Don’t deflect.”

“I’m not deflecting,” he mutters. “I’m deflecting with charm. There’s a difference.”

You laugh, finally, and the sound breaks the tension like a crack in glass letting in fresh air. But underneath it, something lingers. A feeling. A thought. One neither of you has dared to voice yet.

You turn to him again, serious now. “You don’t have to go back to being a musician full-time, Jungkook. But you could play again. For yourself. Just… because you want to.”

He’s quiet for a moment, eyes on the road ahead.

“And what if I do? What if I play again, and it lights something up inside me I can’t ignore?”

You reach over and squeeze his hand, firm and gentle all at once.

“Then we deal with that fire together.”

He looks at you, and this time, you don’t look away. Not when his eyes soften, not when his lips twitch up just a little. Not when the weight of years and unsaid things hangs between you.

Maybe this is how it’s always been between you two. Messy. Complicated. Raw.

But it’s real.

And for now, maybe that’s enough.

He doesn't let go of your hand.

Doesn’t flinch or pull away like he usually does when things get too real, too close to the bone. His thumb brushes over your knuckles absentmindedly, and it’s terrifying how natural it feels. How long you’ve both pretended this wasn’t still buried somewhere between you, under layers of arguments and half-truths and detours in life.

“I’m scared,” Jungkook says, and it’s so quiet, you almost miss it. His voice cracks on the word scared, and you’ve known him long enough to understand how rare that kind of honesty is coming from him.

You don’t say anything. You just wait.

“I’m scared that if I play again… if I really try… and I still fail…” He swallows. “Then it’s not just about life being unfair. Then it’s me. Then I’m the reason it didn’t work.”

You lean in a little, turning your body more toward him. “That’s not how it works, Kook.”

“But that’s how it feels,” he says, finally looking at you, eyes wide. “Like if I never try again, then I get to keep the dream. It stays perfect. Untouched. Still possible.”

“Untouched things don’t grow,” you whisper.

He closes his eyes, head dropping back against the headrest. “God, why do you always say things that hit me like a truck?”

“Because you drive the metaphorical car straight into denial, and someone has to steer,” you offer with a small, teasing smile.

He laughs—really laughs—and it’s so genuine that it softens the ache in your chest.

“You know, back then… in high school,” he says after a moment, voice low, “when we all thought the world was ours… I used to think I’d marry someone who got me the way you do.”

Your heart stutters. You almost don’t breathe.

“Jungkook…”

“I don’t mean it like a confession or anything,” he adds quickly, though the way he avoids your eyes tells you it is one. “I just mean… you’ve always seen through me. Even when I didn’t want you to.”

You don’t know what to say. The space between you feels electric now—like something’s about to snap or shift or fall apart in a beautiful, devastating way.

“I wish I could be braver for you,” he admits, and there’s a rawness in it that nearly breaks you. “I wish I didn’t always pull away. Didn’t always shut down when things get too close.”

“You still can be,” you say softly. “Bravery isn’t some fixed trait. You can choose it. Every day.”

He turns to you again, and for a moment, everything else fades—the world outside the car, the ticking clock, the stupid hearing he has to be at in forty-five minutes. It’s just you. And him. And this fragile truth hanging in the space between.

You inhale slowly. “Maybe we’re not meant to live perfect dreams, Kook. Maybe we’re just supposed to chase the pieces that still make us feel alive.”

He nods, eyes searching yours. “And maybe I want to start chasing again.”

Your heart thuds. But you don’t let it show. You squeeze his hand instead and whisper, “Then I’ll be here. Right behind you.”

The silence that follows is no longer heavy.

It’s filled with possibility.

A few quiet beats pass. The tension between you has shifted—softer now, but still charged, still full of words unsaid.

You clear your throat. “I meant what I said though. About wanting you to be happy. And… not judging you. I never have.”

“I know,” he says, his voice steady. “I just forget sometimes. I get in my own head and push people away. Especially the ones who know me best. Guess that’s some kind of twisted reflex.”

You shrug. “You’re not the only one. I’ve done my fair share of self-sabotaging too.”

“Yeah, well…” He laughs under his breath. “Maybe we need an actual therapist in this car.”

You smile a little, the tension in your jaw easing. “Maybe. But then again, I think we’ve been each other’s therapists for so long, we wouldn’t know what to do with a real one.”

He glances at you. “You’re not wrong.”

Another pause. Then he adds, “I want to be clear about something. About Nina.”

Your stomach clenches a bit, but you keep your voice steady. “Okay.”

“She’s important to me. And I respect her more than I know how to say. She’s been nothing but good to me—and I’m not going to mess that up.”

You nod, relieved at how firmly he says it. “I know, Jungkook. I wasn’t trying to cross a line or anything.”

“You didn’t,” he assures quickly. “It’s just… I know how our conversations can get. How intense they can feel. And I want to make sure we both remember what they aren’t.”

You nod again, your voice soft. “They’re not a doorway back.”

“Exactly,” he says, offering you a brief glance. “They’re just… two people who know each other too damn well, still figuring shit out.”

You let out a quiet chuckle. “Some things never change.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Still. I don’t like fighting with you.”

“Me neither.”

“And I don’t want this to be a cycle, you know? Us going from avoiding things to blowing up in each other’s faces.”

“Then maybe we should work on saying things before they pile up,” you offer, folding your arms.

He nods. “Yeah. That’s fair.”

You both fall quiet again. This time, it doesn’t feel tense—it feels reflective. Like two people recalibrating. Not leaning on each other like they used to, but still existing in the same gravity.

“I still think you should cook more for yourself, by the way,” Jungkook says after a moment. “Not for clients. Not because someone paid you. Just… for fun. For joy.”

You scoff. “Didn’t you just accuse me of being too idealistic twenty minutes ago?”

He smirks. “I did. But I’m allowed to change my mind.”

You roll your eyes but smile anyway. “I cook enough already.”

“Not like you used to,” he says, and something about the way he says it makes your chest ache a little. “Remember that summer after high school? You were obsessed with making pasta from scratch for like three weeks.”

“It was a phase,” you say with a chuckle.

“It made you happy.”

You nod, looking down at your lap. “Yeah. It did.”

“Then maybe try it again. No pressure. No performance. Just… you and the food. That’s all.”

You glance at him, your smile small but genuine. “Maybe I will.”

A beat.

“And if you ever want someone to peel carrots for you or taste test or pretend to know the difference between béchamel and hollandaise—I’m your guy.”

You laugh, the sound breaking up the last of the tension. “Noted.”

The car grows quiet again, but this time it feels okay. Comfortable. Like something has been salvaged. Not what once was. Not what could’ve been. But what is.

The ride to your job is quiet, but not uncomfortably so. A shared stillness fills the car—like neither of you want to poke at the tender spot you've both just exposed.

Outside, the city hums to life. The early sun catches on glass windows and street signs, and your reflection in the window looks tired, but lighter somehow.

When Jungkook pulls up in front of the quaint little apartment building, tucked between a florist and a gallery, he shifts the car into park but doesn’t move to open his door.

You glance at him. “You gonna walk me in like a gentleman, or do I have to carry all my things like a peasant?”

He huffs a laugh, but it’s soft, fond. “You’re the one who always says you like to make a dramatic solo entrance.”

“Only when I’m wearing heels and carrying an attitude.”

He shakes his head, grinning faintly. Then, more seriously, “Hey. Go easy today, okay?”

You nod, hand on the door handle. “You too. Good luck with your hearing.”

“Thanks,” he says, then hesitates. “And... thanks for being honest with me. Even when it’s messy.”

You pause at the door, looking at him with something that lingers between affection and ache. “That’s the only way I know how to be with you.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Just holds your gaze, something unreadable in his eyes.

Then, “Go cook something that makes you forget the world exists.”

You smile, softer this time. “You say the most poetic shit when you’re sleep-deprived.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he says, but the corners of his mouth tug upward.

You get out, closing the door gently behind you. As you make your way to the entrance, you feel the weight of his stare on your back. You don’t turn around. You don’t need to.

The engine hums back to life just as you unlock the door and disappear inside.

And just like that, the morning swallows you both into different lives—still tethered by a thread that neither of you are ready to cut, but both are too careful to pull on.

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[pedgito]

𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐘 | Joel Miller x reader

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summary | you've got an issue and joel's willing to solve it. after all, what are neighbors for?

author's note | this was a prompt from a meet-weird thing i saw ages ago that was originally supposed to be javi, but jo (@undercoverpena) gave me the beautiful idea of making it joel and it spurred this monster.

content warning | established friendship, caught during sex, does the apocalypse having working appliances? probably not, but for the sake of this fic distend belief i beg. oral (eating out from the back), unprotected piv, subtly cocky!joel miller, he's a good ass neighbor, okay?, unbeta'd.

word count — 5.6k

Joel’s fixed this damn machine seven times, convincing himself every time that it was the last time. Shocker, it wasn’t. This time didn’t even last a month. He’s desperate now.

He would usually haul the load all the way to the communal laundry house closer to the group of joined townhomes that housed most of the younger adults—the spry and bright-faced ones who sprung up at the mention of patrol or work, any prospect of toting a gun around with any sense of leadership. They were eager, he couldn’t say the same for himself.

He was old, weathered—years of routine he had created to get the job done and get the hell home.

And truthfully, as he tapped the wrench against the metal machine, chin tucked into his palm as he scratched at his beard, he almost complied with the idea that he would just have to tough it out. Scrounging for parts was nearly impossible—dumb luck, really. In the past several years they’ve picked this town clean, bone-dry.

He’s elbow deep inside the barrel of the dryer when he hears the knock at his door, bumping his head against the rim of it as he exits and cursing under his breath as he pushes to stand, joints creaking and popping in disapproval. 

He can smell you before he sees you, the familiar scent of fresh-baked goods following you everywhere—Joel couldn’t feel guilt for being one of the folks addicted to your cooking. 

Grains had been hard to come by since the epidemic hit, everything was tainted on a global level. It took years and years of Jackson growing its own stock of wheat for things like pie or a nice, gooey cinnamon roll to even be plausible anymore. But, they were managing well so far.

“Saved ‘em for you and Ellie,” You tell him, a small plate of still hot brownies covered with parchment paper, dawning that trademark smile that Joel has come to love, tapping his fingers against the door frame as he passes the plate off to a quickly approaching Ellie.

“Girl’s got the nose of a basset hound,” Joel looks on in amused bewilderment as Ellie throws a mouth-stuffed thanks over her shoulder, “sorry ‘bout her.”

You wave her off whole-heartedly, taking in his sweaty appearance and casual attire. You were used to him in jeans and thick flannels, not a graphic tee and pair of sleep pants. He’s almost always dressed like he had to run at a moment's notice, you weren’t even sure he owned anything different until now.

“Everything good?” You question him, a small laugh escaping your throat.

“Damn washer and dryer is out again,” Joel explains, throwing a hand vaguely over his shoulder.

“Both of them this time?” You ask, “Damn.”

“I can fix ‘em, just a matter of finding the right parts,” Joel tells you, “ looks like I’m gonna have to hand wash again.”

Joel was a friend. You helped friends. It seemed like a no-brainer really, opening your mouth without thinking it through, the kindness tumbling out despite yourself.

“Oh, you’re welcome to load yours up at mine,” You offer and Joel looks immediately apprehensive, the southern charm and well-mannered tone gearing to creep up on you.

“Now, I don’t mean to make you feel like you have to—”

“Joel, I wouldn’t offer it if I didn’t feel comfortable with it,” You remind him, “seriously—anytime, just try and bring your own detergent—and for the love of god, empty your pockets before you put ‘em in.”

Joel chuckles tiredly at that, rolling his eyes as he nods in agreement.

“Got it, of course, sweetheart.”

“I leave an extra key under the rug, so if I’m ever not home just come in,” Given that Joel was Tommy’s brother, you knew he wouldn’t be up to any trouble, “sound good?”

“Yep. Anytime—just make myself at home.” Joel confirms and you nod with an even wider smile, waving a pleasant goodbye as you trailed down the stairs and made your way to the house you inhabited next door.

Right, anytime.

Unfortunately, Joel took that a little too literally.

-

Joel managed to scrounge up the courage a day later, tumbling into his house on tired legs after a lengthy patrol up at the cabin lookout, scooping the basket up in his arms and heading out his front door, taking the short walk to your house.

The lights were off, but that wasn’t unusual. Joel knew you liked to stay late nights in the town’s mess hall, often working on prep for the following morning to make the load a little lighter and sleep in a while longer, so when he fishes under the doormat for the key he thinks nothing of it.

And as the door swings open, it is still fairly quiet. Though, he can hear your own dryer running upstairs. He’s got the layout down too, having shared more than a few nightcaps with you. Friend to friend and nothing more, even if you had always felt a little more strongly toward being affectionate. A hug or a kiss on the cheek from time to time, he never pushed you away. Joel never seemed like the type of man who openly showed affection, even toward a friend. But, he was good, reliable–most of the time.

He reaches the stairs with trepidation as the sounds grow louder and part of him wonders if by some uncanny coincidence your dryer might be growling and rumbling on its own final leg. 

The moment his hand reaches that doorknob and turns he realizes he’s made a mistake.

He’s caught you at a…bad time. Head thrown back with your mouth hung wide, whatever noise you’re making was mostly drowned out by the nagging sound of the dryer as it tore through the spin cycle but he hears the tailend of it, a soft moan of pleasure from the man who’s buried inside of you right now, both of you naked from the waist down but your breasts on full display with your shirt tucked under your neck.

“Benny?” Joel asks, slightly amused.

You lift your head at the sound and spot him, your feet nearly slipping out from under you as you scramble to push Benny away, who perks with an even more perplexed, “Joel?”

“Goddamn it, Joel,” You curse behind gritted teeth, furiously readjusting yourself, pulling your sweats back on and over your ass and your shirt down, “What are you doing here?”

Joel looks down at the basket still clinging to his hip before back up at you, wordlessly.

You sigh through your nose with a tight lipped frown, cheeks puffing out as you brushed your fingers through your hair and down—Benny was still scrambling to redress behind you, unable to pull his gaze away from Joel.

“Benny?” Joel mouths at you quietly, eyebrows raised curiously.

You walk toward the now open door slowly as Benny buttons his pants and you shoot Joel daggers with your stern gaze.

Cut it out.

Joel smirks slightly, cheek dimpling with the action as he side-steps Benny, who leans around you and kisses your cheek—it was a kind gesture but given the situation, in horrible taste. You force a polite smile and once Benny is a far enough distance you hit Joel firmly in the arm as he passes by you and into the laundry room.

You walk Benny to the door with a million thoughts racing through your head, offering a distracted goodbye before you’re locking the door and racing back upstairs with determined footsteps and Joel has already loaded his clothes in the washer, turning the knob to set the load size and time.

“Benny?” He echoes his earlier questions, “Really?”

“What? Are you judging me?”

“No—just, that kid’s had quite an obsession with you for some time now. Just…surprised is all.”

Your lips pull together in a disapproving but nonchalant frown, taking his words for the bullshit they are.

“When I said anytime that did not extend to the middle of the night, Joel.”

“You’re usually still at work,” He supplies—and really, he’s not wrong, “M’sorry. I mean that.”

“Well, now I’ve gotta deal with the fact you’ve seen me naked,” You cross your arms over your chest and lean against the doorframe and Joel’s eyes track you for a moment, smiling with amusement at the thought.

“What? You want a fair trade?” Joel teases, “‘Cause, darlin’. I don’t mind—but it was an accident. Besides, ain’t nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”

He means it in a broader sense, but you can’t help the eye roll it induces. 

“No, no,” You chew at your bottom lip, watching Joel place the empty basket on top of the washer, “I can finish that up if you want to get some sleep. I know you had a long patrol today.”

“Oh, did you?”

He’s teasing you.

“Don’t push it, old man,” Joel shakes his head at that jab and chuckles, “Ellie clued me in when she picked up some sandwiches for her and Dina earlier.

He’s not going to pass on the offer, though. He nods, rubbing a hand over his tired face.

“Jesus—just…Benny?” Joel reiterates again, “Didn’t think the kid had it in ‘em.”

“Out,” You say with an over-pronunciation as you drag his slow and progressive steps further out of your laundry room and into the hall, “or you’re off my dessert list for a month, Miller.”

Joel smiles at you knowingly, “You wouldn’t dare,” He retorts, knowing you too well.

You wouldn’t make him suffer like that. Or Ellie, who wouldn’t hesitate to murder Joel if he robbed her of that pleasure. Not literally…but, she would carry a few choice words for him.

“Seriously, though, thank you,” He nods, leaning down to press a kiss into the crown of your head—an often familiar gesture when you parted after a long night of nonsensical talk and a couple glasses of wine or whiskey, depending on how hard the day had been, “I appreciate it, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, yeah—”

“And I do apologize for…not knocking and showin’ up at such a weird time.”

You shrug, “You’re forgiven. Just…don’t give Benny a hard time. He’s a good guy.”

“You’ve got my word, darlin’.”

Joel was determined to be on his best behavior, clearly.

-

It takes Joel a couple weeks to find the parts he needs and luckily there are no more run-ins on your midnight sex-scapades, still feeling the embarrassment from the first one. Joel doesn’t even seem to remember it after a couple days, thankfully. He was bypassing it for your own benefit, truthfully. And you knew that.

Selfishly, you're glad to have your appliances back to yourself. 

They’re good, solid, reliable—until they aren’t.

Your washer shits itself mid-load and you can hear it from downstairs. A loud screeching noise before an even louder pop that has you groaning loudly because you know. You can feel it.

You can’t even bring yourself to go check, peering through the window of your kitchen and catching a fresh pot of coffee in the house across from yours, a man coming into view and his stark white shirt contrasting the black coffee cup in his hands. He catches you out of the corner of his eye and looks at you with a quizzical amusement, smile tugging at his face.

Joel was always up before the sun rose, so with the sun just creeping into the sky you’re sure that’s his third or fourth cup of coffee. He reaches over his sink and fiddles with the latch on his window before heaving it up, watching as you struggled to do that same but eventually managed.

“You run outta coffee again?” He asks, sipping at the bitter, black coffee in his mug.

“No,” You reply quickly, slightly exasperated as you chew at your bottom lip, debating how to pop the question and feeling nervous under Joel’s intense gaze, curiously wondering if he’s still picturing you naked. He’s never explicitly mentioned it since, but you have caught him in the act.

Wandering eyes, gazes catching when your back is turned for half a second as you bend down or move in a way that exposes too much skin.

“My washer broke,” You cut to the chase and Joel chuckles at how comical it is, in hindsight.

Was this karma? It was definitely karma. 

You’ve never asked Joel for anything—despite your often bouts of kindness toward him you never expected anything in return, not even a favor.

“Doors open,” Joel nods toward his front door out of view, an invitation like you offered him.

You didn’t even hesitate, pushing the window close and bounding up the stairs.

-

You’re already loading your things into his washer before he appears around the corner, peeking his head in, coffee cup still in hand as he takes a few more steps and leans against the wall beside the washing machine and your eyes glance at him briefly before you continue moving the clothes, watching him watch you from behind the rim of his mug.

“I can start them and come back,” You tell him, “so I won’t be lingering around here all day.”

“No Benny?”

You stand up as you close the washer, deadpan stare pointed in his direction.

“You can be such a nosy neighbor, you know that?”

Joel shrugs, a smug smile covered behind his sip of coffee.

“It was just a few times. Besides he’s…too much for me.”

You turn the dial to start the load and it rumbles to life with a simple press of a button.

“You wanna talk about it?”

It wasn’t completely unnatural for you two—you knew quite a bit about Joel now: his life before, his work, his daughter…all things that come with trust and time. He’s waited patiently for you and you’ve given him peeks into your life, but nothing like this.

“It’s a long story, Joel.”

“Got time,” He smiles slightly, “I’ll go grab you a cup of coffee—sit down.”

You look around briefly, not a chair in sight. So, you raise yourself up just enough that you can slide your ass over the top of the washer, bare feet dangling off the floor and you wait, the subtle and quiet shake from the beginning of the load process keeping the awkward silence at bay.

Joel turns the corner a few minutes later with your cup, made up just to your liking and you nod with a gentle smile, taking the cup from his hand and allowing yourself a few generous sips.

“So—that night, you caught us,” You can laugh at the instances now, so you do in a soft, clipped manner, “it wasn’t the first—it had been a month by that point and he just caught me by surprise, showed up that night and things just got a little out of hand.”

Joel’s eyebrows raise in interest but he urges you to continue, leaning against the wall in front of you now, resting his mug on the shelf just above his head as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“He’s a good guy, don’t get me wrong—but I don’t do serious…I can’t, now with how things are. And I know a lot of people think the opposite, seize the moment and all that shit,” You sigh, a deep and heavy sound that expands and releases from your chest, “he was already talking about moving in, the idea of us having kids—so that night I just tried to distract him.”

“With sex? Seems a little…counter-productive, don’t you think?”

“Don’t judge me, Joel,” You warn him but it’s edged with a playfulness that Joel recognizes. You didn’t have a mean, deceptive bone in your body and Joel knew that from the first conversation he had with you.

“I needed him to shut up,” You groan at the thought of the conversation as it replays in your mind, “I’m trying to wash my clothes, he’s talking to me about babies. I do not want kids, Joel. Ever. At least none that are biologically mine. Who would want to bring a kid into this world?”

Well…Tommy. The thought comes to you after the words have already left your mouth and your heart sinks into your stomach, looking at Joel apologetically.

“Sweetheart, don’t even try to apologize. Ain’t nothing wrong with it.”

“It makes me sound horrible, I know but—”

“I’ve done my time—it’s none of my business how others choose to live. Besides, I’m pushing sixty, I don’t have to worry about all that…sorry, I’m not trying to be crude here.”

You nod knowingly with a smirk tugging at your lips, taking another sip of coffee before handing the mug off for him to place it next to his own, ready to slide off of the washer before Joel interjects with another question that catches you off guard.

“He treat you right, at least?”

You tilt your head with that same knowing smirk, pushing Joel away at his hip with your foot as he leans up from his position against the wall—Joel’s never flirted, always promptly skirted around the issue and went about it more gentlemanly. He’s not abrasive and straightforward like most of the men in Jackson, but damn did he know how to make you feel special.

Undivided attention, constant subtle compliments, giving up some much-needed sleep for a simple late night drink with you—part of you was too terrified to make your own move and make it clear just how badly you wanted just a small taste of him.

You’ve heard whispering, minimal talk from a few of the women in town. Joel didn’t often make his rounds but when he did, he left an impression. And you had every right to be jealous, because with him standing in front of you now—you knew it would be easy to say no and he would fix you right up, finally crossing that line that he’s been carefully dancing around for a few years.

“He’s a bit…timid,” You shrug, “and he doesn’t really…”

The air lingers and the side of Joel’s mouth pulls up—you don’t have to say it.

“Joel, don’t do that,” You shove at his shoulder as he approaches you, his hands pressing into the contraption you’re on, curled around the metal, “—he’s just…eager, but not in a good way.”

There’s a glint in Joel’s eye that leads you to believe he’s not thinking about Benny’s less than experienced sex life, feeling the sudden jitteriness from the coffee as your chest rises with a deep, shaky breath and Joel eyes the time over your shoulder.

Forty-five minutes and some change, plus the time to dry because Joel already knows you aren’t going to trouble yourself with walking the damp laundry through this cold, muggy weather.

“So, no then?” Joel asks.

He could have treated you better, sure. But, he wasn’t the worst.

But, the way Joel is staring at you knows makes everything and everyone dull in comparison.

You shake your head in agreement, chewing at the inside of your bottom lip as your hands fall to your lap, his hands ncreasingly closer to the tights covering your legs, suddenly feeling his thumb graze your hip. You both glance down at the action and your breathing halts, watching as his right hand slowly engulfs your thigh, fingers digging into the soft material and dimpling your skin underneath, his thumb only a few centimeters from dipping into the inside of your thigh.

They part on their own, welcoming Joel in wordlessly and his left hand echoes the other. His face is level with your own, staring down at your lips briefly before meeting your eyes and you’ve seen that look before—the adoration when he thought you weren’t watching, secretly you had become good at catching those glances, but Joel wasn’t trying to hide it now.

And it quickly dawns on you in the moment—he was jealous. Of Benny. Or really, any man that had come before him. But, he was using him as the scapegoat.

Honestly, you couldn’t even care.

“You want someone to treat you right?” He speaks softly and if you weren’t so close you wouldn’t have heard him, “I got you, sweetheart. I swear.”

He’s not looking at you anymore, eyes dragging down the bridge of your nose to your lips again. But, you are looking at him, flooded with that tricky feeling that creeps up on you when you want things you know you shouldn’t.

“Joel, I told you—I don’t do serious,” And you hold your breath for the response, wondering if that would send this moment crumbling to dust, but Joel doesn’t miss a step.

“Good for you,” Joel dotes, “neither do I.”

Then he’s on you, the press of his lips in a heated kiss sends you tumbling back, caught by the warm slide of his palm over your back to pull you in, throwing your arms over his shoulders as he pulls back briefly, just enough for you to open your mouth to speak, but his tongue finds its way inside and the words fade away.

Just friendly, my ass—you think.

If you had known he kissed like this—you would’ve jumped at the opportunity months ago; a night spent drinking too many glasses of wine and laughing over some movie far before your time, but not his. 

He was so entranced, giving you all the details, but you couldn’t help giggling over it, too touchy to be considered friendly.

You’d both cut it short quickly when Ellie popped in halfway through the movie, and beyond that, it never grew.

Until now.

“Sweet,” Joel notes with a subtle smile, his hand dwarfing the size of your neck as his fingers wrapped around the column of your throat, holding you firmly in place as he maneuvered you toward and away from the kiss as he pleased, swallowing every tiny moan that escaped your lips when his other hand squeezed at your thigh just a little too hard.

“All that sugar,” In your coffee, the taste lingering on your lips and he licks around them teasingly, pulling away briefly to look at you, your eyebrows raising in question as the gears turn in his head, “—you still with me?”

“I’m just wonderin’ if you’re okay with this,” Joel speaks candidly, his eyes trained on his thumb as it rubs against the middle of your throat, traveling up under your chin and tipping your head up slightly, watching as you swallowed, “before I take this further, jus’ need to know.”

You nod jerkily, not even a second of hesitation. 

“You would have known the moment you kissed me, Joel.”

In turn, Joel nods slowly before he speaks, stealing the air from your chest.

“Alright then, pull these down for me,” He tugs gently at the material clinging to your thighs before both of his hands find the spot behind your knees and tug until your feet hit the floor, “and push that pretty little ass out for me.”

The absurdity of this language on his tongue makes you giggle but abide in an instant, struggling slightly as the material bunches at your ankles and Joel helps you the rest of the way, tossing your pants aside before he’s kneeling despite how his body protests, too eager to give you a taste of the pleasure you deserve and he’s grabbing the cheeks of your ass and squeezing them between his hands before he’s leaning up to bite playful at the soft flesh.

He groans quietly against your skin, the press of his aquiline nose against your ass as his fingers fold around the string of your underwear and pull, dropping them down to your ankles and off and then his tongue is flat against the seam of your cunt, gasping as you fall forward and your own fingers clawing against nothing.

“Joel!” You squeak out as his fingers dig hard into your ass, forcing you up on your tiptoes as devours, licking into your cunt as it quivers around his tongue. 

Your hand pressed against the wall in front of you to keep your chest from hitting the washer, feeling your pussy tighten around the finger that enters alongside his expert tongue, a soft groan erupting out of him from behind you. That smug motherfucker was attempting a teasing huh under his breath as he busied himself with the task of eating you out from the back and you couldn’t even think straight. 

‘C’mon, baby,” He coos between his alternating licks and slurps of the heady slick that dripped from your cunt, “come all over my mouth, let me taste that sugar.”

It’s absurd, the way he’s speaking to you now. Your eyes squeeze shut as his thumb finds your clit amongst the chaos of his tongue and fingers, face heating up at how noisy your cunt sounded over the dull shake of the washer and Joel’s satisfied moans, occasionally massaging at the back of your thigh when your legs shake with the creeping feeling of your impending orgasm.

“Oh,” You squeal, reaching behind you to dig your fingers into his hair, panting out in desperation, “—fuck, don’t stop! Joel, right—right there,” and then glance you take back at him, his eyes peeking open from his position below, on his knees and dutiful to you and you alone, well…

It sends you tumbling over the edge as his thumb rubs over your clit quickly, soothing you through the aftermath as he laps up the mess you’ve made all over yourself, dragging his tongue along the inside of your thigh because if you knew anything about Joel, he didn’t waste a meal. 

And you were just about the finest he’s tasted.

You clear your throat as you rest your feet flat on the floor, feeling the faint quake in your legs as Joel rises slowly, forcing you to swallow down a giggle as he winces and he can see it on your face.

“Worth it,” He excuses himself, “don’t look at me like that.”

“No old man jokes?” You sound sad and Joel can’t believe it.

He shakes his head.

But, the smile that breaks out on your face quickly diminishes any comeback he has.

You begin to push him away with a hand gripped in his shirt, carefully avoiding the obvious bulge in his sweats as you reach for your tights, ready to redress and drop to your own knees as a favor but his fingers are wrapping around your wrist, pulling your attention back to him.

“I meant it,” Joel tells you, tilting his head to catch your gaze.

You smile wide and tilt your head to mirror him, “I think you proved your point—Benny is a pathetic man who doesn’t know how to make me come, blah blah…”

“My job ain’t done if you’re still thinkin’ about him, darlin’.”

His eyebrows raise in challenge.

Okay, you’re game.

Wordlessly you allow the hands at your hip that guide you toward the front of the joined appliances, his fingers sliding under your top until you get the hint to pull it off, your breasts bouncing free from the shirt—the few bras you had were already in the wash, big deal.

Joel chuckles and stops for a moment, admiring the sight of your breasts for the second time that month, albeit more openly this time. He reaches forward and rubs his thumb along your nipple, watching the nub harden under his touch and you bite at your bottom lip, eye fluttering closed at how sensitive they were to touch, something other men never took the time to notice.

“You like that?” Joel asks with a creeping grin.

You nod, watching as he squeezed your tits in his hands, showing your nipples ample attention as he circled them with his thumb before leaning down slightly and swiping his tongue over the hardened nubs, sucking your breast into his mouth and his eyes peer up, gauging your reaction which quickly developed from a soft giggle to a loud moan.

“Clothes,” You breath out, “off—if you still have a point to prove.”

A point that you wanted proven. Hard.

Joel pulls away and yanks his shirt over his head, allowing you an unobscured view of the mix of muscled shoulders and his softened stomach, running your hand over the patch of hair at the center of his chest and down, right along his hips until his own fingers hook around the fabric and pull his sweats and boxers down in one motion, his cock catching against the edge of his waistband before it bobs back up toward his stomach.

You find yourself smiling despite yourself, forgetting for a moment that Joel was standing there and watching you, feeling your mouth water at the sight of him hard and leaking at how just getting a small taste of you had turned him on that much, precum leaking slowly from the tip and he wraps his hand around himself, other hand tapping at your chin to drag your attention back up to his face, reminding you he was still there.

“Got somethin’ on your mind, sweetheart?”

You shake your head furiously, “No, no—no, nothing. Just, uh—”

“I’ll start slow,” He tells you and with the size of him, thick and girthy in ways you’ve only imagined or pictured in your head, it’s daunting, “are you still alright with all of this?”

Your face softens and you nod, appreciating the repeated check-ins, the need for confirmation, but it pulls at your heart as you wonder why he feels the need to ask so much. As if he was fearful you would change your mind on a dime—Joel was fine with that, but he was more worried about the change in dynamic. Thankfully, you were determined for that not to be the case.

“I’m pretty tough,” You shrug, a playful smile gracing your face.

Joel nods absently as his fingers drag along your waist before catching behind your knee and pulling it up over his hip, both of your eyes dragging down to his cock as he tugged at himself a few times, his brow furrowed as he spread your lips apart with the head, dipping his hips down slightly to catch against your hole before he pushes in slow, one solid stroke that steals the sound from your throat and transfers to his own. Joel groans out softly as he pushes into you, his hands gravitating toward your face and wrapping around the sides of your neck, tilting your head back to mouth at your skin, his tongue dragging along your collarbone before sucking and nipping gently at your skin.

“Don’t I know it,” Joel responds after a while, “find something to hold onto.”

Your soft giggle of excitement shoots down to your core and your fingers wrap around the edges of the washer and Joel pulls back swiftly before he’s snapping his hips back into you before repeating the process several times, the jolt of the machine hitting the concrete wall behind you drowned out by your loud moans, quickly swallowed up by Joel’s lips as he pulls your mouth to his, breathing into it with every sharp snap of his hips.

“Harder,” You beg, biting at his bottom lip as he groans, using his fingers intertwined into the hair at the nape of your neck now to pull your head back and he pulls his hips back quick, bottoming himself out inside of you so forcefully you feel like your legs might give out, his cock rubbing against your already too sensitive g-spot and continuously finding a way to bring you closer and closer to the edge, “fuck—yes, yes. Joel, oh my god—”

“Yeah,” Joel goads you, his eyes drawn closed as he tries to keep his own orgasm at bay, “give it to me, baby—wanna watch you make a mess on my cock, alright?”

Easy, you laugh airily and feel the instinctive squeeze of your walls around Joel’s cock as he pulls your face to his, foreheads pressed against each other as he angles his hips back and slams into you one last time before you come undone, head falling back in a similar position to how he caught you a few weeks ago, this time for him. 

Your grab for his shoulders suddenly, blunt fingernails digging into his skin and he takes a few harsh breaths through his nose before he’s pulling out, hand grasping his cock as he jerked himself a few seconds before he comes in thick, short spurts against your stomach, squeezing at the head of his cock as he drags it through the mess he’s made.

His expression is nothing short of mesmerizing, mouth hung open just enough that his tongue can drag over his bottom lip before his teeth are taking its place, eyes drawn to your skin.

Wordlessly, he pulls away on his own pair of shaky legs as he reaches for his wrinkled, worn shirt and brings it to your stomach, cleaning up the mess with a faint smile on his face.

“You know, I think it might take me a bit to fix my washer,” You tease, “so—I might be over here bothering you for a while.”

Joel peers up at you, his head still tucked down as he wiped at your stomach.

“Fine with me.”

Then he’s peering over your shoulder, watching as the washer time inched toward zero, dinging behind you. You turn around, letting your leg fall from his hip finally, ass brush against him in the process and Joel can’t help the way his eyes refuse to leave the sight of it.

Only feeling slightly guilty when you catch him this time, not giving him the pass you usually do.

“We’ve still got about an hour left if I dry them here,” You tell him, “anything else you wanna prove?”

Joel’s tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek, eyes dragging up toward the upper level of his house before flicking back toward you, a smile plastered on your face.

“I can think of a few things.”

divider creds: @/cafekitsune

[tsukii0002]

Imagine the contrast of the coexistence between Mc and Solomon, a human who did not know that magic was real until relatively recently and another human who has lived for centuries and who uses magic as if it were breathing.

Imagine that little things at home where Solomon is always willing to use magic to solve it, while Mc always beats him to it in the most common and least magical way possible.

But above all imagine, Solomon's frustration, how can his magic be rendered useless in such a way? And if he has no magic, what can he bring to that home?

Solomon: Remember that blanket I told you had a hole in it, I think it's time to mend it *opening one of his books*

Mc: I've already mended it, with a few stitches it's as good as new.

Solomon: Oh…

Solomon: Mc, what was the table that was broken?

Mc: Oh, don't worry, I fixed it.

Solomon: Really? What spell did you use?

Mc: Ha, ha, Solomon, you don't need magic to wedge a table.

Solomon: Mc!! With this spell we will solve our rat problem!

Mc: *smiling* I've already taken care of that, no for nothing Barbatos is so happy with me.

Solomon: That's how you earn your premium tea leaves?

Solomon: Please tell me you didn't fix the shelf that was sagging *with a book under his arm*

Mc: *eating a muffin* Oops.

Solomon: Mc, I told you I'd fix it *pointing at the. with the book*

Mc: Solomon, it was tightening two screws, it's going to take you longer to look up such a mundane spell than to fix it manually.

.

Solomon: Mc… you're a sorceress, you should use magic more!

Mc: *funny* And you should use magic less!!! You're still a human, old man. By the way, remember those yellow spots on the tablecloth that bothered you so much?

Solomon: Yeah?

Mc: Well, I've already made them disappear and without magic.

Solomon: How????

Solomon is sitting, somewhat annoyed, on one of the balconies

Mc: Hey…

Solomon: …

Mc: Are you upset?

Solomon: … No.

Mc: *sighing as they stands next to him* Let's talk, tell me, why does it bother you so much that I solve things without magic?

Solomon: I'm not upset, we don't need to talk at all.

Mc: You know that communication is part of living together right? We are two people with different ways of living, if we don't talk how are we going to have a good cohabitation?

Solomon: … With the brothers you never had that problem.

Mc: Sure I have, maybe not with these things because Lucifer encourages certain stuff to be done manually, but we had to set a lot of guidelines when I started living with them.

Solomon: ...

Solomon: *sighing* I'm not upset… it's just that I'm used to doing everything with magic, even the smallest things, it's easier, faster.

Mc: Well, sometimes yes, but sometimes it's easier to do it without magic, and in my case I'm used to not use magic.

Solomon: *looking at them* I know, but there are things I can't do without magic.

Mc: But that's what I'm for, isn't it?

Solomon: *doubting* Then' what do I bring to our cohabitation?

Mc: *realizing*

Solomon: You cook, you do a lot of chores because you are faster, and you take care of a lot of things that allow you to have a routine… I feel that instead of living together, I am a guest...

Mc: Solomon...

Solomon: And if I can't even use my magic, Am I useless? without my magic I…

The two are silent for a moment

Mc: I'm sorry, I've minimized how you feel… and I've done things my way without taking you into account.

Solomon: Ha, ha, don't worry, *now kind of sad* It's not that big of a deal.

Mc: No, I told you, communication is part of living together and you should tell me what bothers you.

Solomon: *looking at them*

Mc: We can try to find a middle ground.

Solomon: How?

Mc: *thoughtful* Well, the day to day things we can do manually and the things that are very difficult or tedious we can use magic?

Solomon: *considering it seriously'* You could also teach me how to do tasks without magic, like how to wedge a table… and I could teach you spells that I usually use, like the one that sweeps the house by itself.

Mc: *smiling* We can also make a schedule so we don't step on each other's to-dos.

Solomon: *smiling too* And create a chat room exclusively for house stuff where we can let each other know if we're going to do something.

Mc: That sounds like a great idea Solomon.

Solomon: *more lively* And I'd also like to do certain chores together, like laundry or cooking.

Mc: … *feeling bad at Solomon's happy face* Yes… we can do that too.

.

.

This turned out to be longer than I thought, and what started as something funny has turned into a drama😅. I'm not going to lie to you, I love domestic dramas, day to day problems… so this post has turned into that because Solomon is used to live in a very different way than Mc, and living together for the first time is always complicated and habits are hard to change, and co-living is not always so great. Give me domestic situations between Mc and the rest of the cast please!!!! 🥺🥺

Anyway, if you've made it this far, thank you very much for reading🩷

.

.

[baigepueckers]

Caitlin Clark X Reader

Out of Frame Part 2

There’s a new hire shadowing you today…something about seasonal support for social media output, extra content now that the Fever are getting national attention. You hadn’t asked for help, but you’re polite about it, showing him the ropes. You’re patient, like always. Soft spoken. Encouraging.

And Caitlin hates him immediately.

She doesn’t even know his name. Just that he’s tall, fresh out of some communications program and absolutely useless with a camera. She can tell by the way he holds it…like it’s just equipment. Like he doesn’t care what he’s capturing.

But you’re kind to him. Too kind. Laughing at his awkward jokes. Walking him through the camera settings with that focused voice Caitlin’s heard a hundred times…usually when you’re beside her, mic clipped to her jersey, soft fingers brushing her collarbone.

Now those fingers are on his wrist, adjusting the lens grip. And Caitlin has to look away.

She doesn’t approach you during shootaround. Doesn’t trust herself to sound normal.

You’re there, camera slung across your chest, bouncing between angles. The new guy’s following behind, asking questions he should’ve Googled. You’re still smiling.

Caitlin hits three threes in a row and you don’t notice.

She does it again, louder this time, sneaker squeaks and net snaps echoing…but your back is turned, adjusting exposure with him beside you.

Her stomach twists.

After practice, she lingers in the locker room, earbuds in but no music playing. She watches through the open door as you pack your gear. You laugh at something the guy says again, nudging him with your shoulder.

It hits her like a punch.

Because she’s spent weeks trying to find excuses to stand near you. To say just enough without giving everything away. She’s memorized your expressions, your routines, your laugh. But he’s there..on day one..learning pieces of you Caitlin hasn’t figured out how to ask for.

And the worst part?

You look happy.

Later, when she finds you alone editing a highlight reel in the media lounge, she hesitates in the doorway. Your headphones are on. You don’t see her.

She almost turns around.

But then you glance up. Smile like nothing’s changed. Like her heart hasn’t been clawing at her ribcage all day.

“Hey” you say, warm and familiar. “Wanna help me pick music for this? I can’t decide if I should go hype or cinematic.”

She crosses the room before she realizes her legs are moving.

“I don’t get how you’re so calm after practice,” she says, voice tighter than usual. “I’d be dead.”

You laugh, spinning the laptop toward her. “Built different.”

She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. You don’t notice.

Or maybe you do…and you’re just too kind to say anything.

You talk through the edit. Your knees brush under the table. Her pulse won’t settle. She tries to act normal, but it’s harder today.

Because today, she realized how replaceable she might be to you.

She wants to ask, do you even see me like that?

She wants to say, I think about you all the time.

She wants to beg, please don’t look at him the way you look at me.

Instead, she says “Is he staying long?”

You glance over. “Who?”

“That new guy. Intern or whatever.”

You shrug. “Not sure. Just here to support. Why?”

She hesitates.

And for a moment, she thinks maybe she should tell you.

Not everything. But something.

Because this…whatever this is…it’s starting to tear at the edges of her focus, her sleep, her calm. And if she waits much longer, she’s going to drown in it.

But then your phone buzzes. A message. You smile at the screen.

She watches you type back, fast. Comfortable.

The moment slips away.

“Just wondering” she mutters.

And she leaves before she can ruin it.

That night, she drafts another message:

“It’s not nothing, what I feel when I’m around you.”

“Do you see me, or am I just another player in your lens?”

“Tell me I’m imagining this. Or don’t.”

She doesn’t send it.

She stares at it for an hour, thumb hovering over the send button. Rereads every word until they blur, until she can’t tell if they’re too much or not enough.

Because what if she’s wrong?

What if the smile you give her isn’t special? What if the softness in your voice isn’t for her, just part of who you are?

What if she says something and breaks whatever this is…this fragile, unspoken thing that makes you look up when she walks into a room, that keeps you sitting next to her when everyone else has gone home?

What if she ruins the only version of closeness she’s allowed to have?

So she backspaces.

Slowly. Line by line. Until the message is blank again, like it never existed.

She tosses her phone on the nightstand and rolls onto her back, staring at the ceiling like it might give her answers.

The apartment is dark, quiet.

Too quiet.

She keeps thinking about your laugh. The one you gave him earlier, easy and unguarded. And how close you stood. The way your eyes crinkled at something he said.

She tells herself she has no right to be jealous.

But jealousy doesn’t care about rights.

It lives in her chest now…tight and loud and impossible to ignore. It colors everything. It makes her doubt every moment she thought was something. Every glance, every smile, every lingering second where she swore she felt you feel it too.

And underneath it all is that same helpless thought…

She doesn’t know if you want her back.

She doesn’t know if she ever stood a chance.

So she does what she always does when she doesn’t know what to do…she writes it down.

Half thoughts. Feelings. A mess of sentences scrawled in her Notes app:

“She looks at me like I’m more than just a jersey sometimes.”

“I think I’d burn everything just to hear her say my name like that again.”

“Is it possible to fall for someone without ever touching them?”

It’s pathetic. It’s real. She saves it anyway.

And when she finally falls asleep, hours later, her phone is still face up on the pillow beside her.

Just in case you text.

Just in case you already know.

[narxcisse]

plz do romantic hcs for longan, millennial tree and sugar swan cookie I barely see any good x reader fanfics about them PRETTY PLEASE WITH THE CHERRY ON TOP 🙏🙏🙏

— Romantic HCs - Longan Dragon, Millennial Tree and Sugar Swan

CW: none

A/N: I'm sorry for the inactivity, I've been busy with personal matters and creative block. 😞

English isn't my native language.

— Longan Dragon

You’re probably not someone Longan expected to care about. They don’t “fall” in love—more like… slowly acknowledge your significance. It starts with them tolerating you, then choosing to keep you around.

Longan doesn’t flirt. Ever. Their affection is shown through protection and blunt honesty, no sugar-coating.

They have a hard time understanding emotional nuance. If you’re upset, they might ask what outcome you seek so they can fix it. Not exactly comforting, but they’re trying.

Don’t expect casual touch—when they do touch you, it’s very intentional. A hand on your shoulder, an arm shielding you in danger, or standing silently beside you while scanning the horizon.

If you’re injured, Longan reacts with visible tension. They may not panic, but they’ll insist on ensuring your survival first—even if they pretend it’s for “efficiency.”

Conversations with Longan often turn into philosophical debates. They enjoy your opinions even when they disagree, but won’t admit that directly. You’ll notice they remember and quote your words later.

When they finally call you something intimate—like "important" or "irreplaceable"—you know they mean it absolutely.

Longan isn’t interested in superficial dates. If you want quality time, you’re probably joining them somewhere remote—watching weather patterns from a cliff, or discussing cosmic omens.

They do not understand jealousy. If you mention someone flirting with you, they might just say “Then tell them no” and move on. Not because they don’t care—they just do not see competition as real.

When Longan is stressed, they go silent and withdraw. They don’t seek comfort, but if you stay nearby and stay calm, they’ll eventually look at you like you’re anchoring them.

You have called them out on how cold or dismissive they can be. Longan took that seriously, and after that, they started making small efforts—asking how you feel, or watching their tone more.

When they admit feelings, it’s always framed through logic. “You improve my judgment. You make decisions easier. I operate more effectively when you’re present.” But it’s all love.

If you ever leave or disappear, Logan will do everything they can to find you—no question, no hesitation.

— Millennial Tree

He’s patient. He never rushes you or the relationship. He lets feelings grow slowly and naturally.

Millennial Tree listens more than he talks. You’ll notice he remembers every small thing you’ve said, and will reference it days or even weeks later with subtle care.

He’s extremely tactile in a soft, non-overwhelming way. Holding hands while walking through quiet forests, resting your head against his shoulder under the trees—he’s very warm to be around.

He gently encourages you to rest, to eat, to care for yourself. Not controlling—he just checks in often. If you’re overwhelmed, he’ll help you ground yourself.

Conflict is rare. He communicates very directly but kindly. If there’s tension, he’ll talk about it calmly and work with you to understand both sides.

He shares his inner thoughts very selectively, but you’re one of the few he opens up to. When he does, it’s raw and thoughtful—never performative

You’re always made to feel safe—emotionally, physically, spiritually. That’s how he loves.

He enjoys routines with you. Shared morning, evening walks, tending to a garden together. Familiarity makes him feel close.

Millennial Tree gets quietly emotional sometimes—especially if he thought he’d never have this kind of bond again after so many centuries. You’ll catch him watching you with a distant, soft expression.

If you’re angry or venting, he listens without interrupting. He doesn’t try to fix it right away—he validates your experience first. Then offers guidance if you want it.

He’s not easily flustered. But if you catch him off guard—by teasing him or being especially affectionate—he’ll smile and go very still, almost bashful.

He doesn’t like being apart for long. If you’re away, he’ll send soft winds carrying messages or leaves that carry his energy. It’s comforting, not clingy.

If you're sick or exhausted, he becomes incredibly nurturing—cool hands on your forehead, gentle touch, making sure you rest even if it means carrying you.

— Sugar Swan

She doesn’t “fall” into romance quickly. She observes you from afar at first, measuring your presence, energy, and intentions.

Once she begins trusting you, her affection shows in subtle gestures: brushing her wing-hand against yours, sitting beside you without speaking, offering a feather when she leaves.

She prefers quiet companionship. You might sit together on a balcony during sunrise, or share tea in complete silence. She likes peaceful moments that feel sacred.

Sugar Swan can be emotionally reserved—she sometimes withdraws into her duties or solitude. It’s not a rejection; it’s how she recharges. You learn to give her space, and she always returns.

She’s incredibly observant. You won’t need to tell her how you’re feeling—she already knows. Her responses are validating, nonjudgmental, and always calm.

Public affection is rare, but private affection is consistent. She’ll hold your hand under a table, or rest her head on your shoulder when she’s tired.

Occasionally, you’ll catch her looking at you with an unreadable expression—something between awe and gratitude. She won’t explain it, but you know it’s deep.

She’s hard to read emotionally, but her affection comes in care-based actions: brushing crumbs from your clothes, adjusting your collar, bringing you food without asking.

Sugar Swan is not confrontational. If you hurt her or argue, she becomes quietly disappointed—and that stings more than yelling. You’ll talk it out once she’s ready.

She likes it when you walk beside her in public. Not behind, not ahead—beside. It makes her feel like you see her as an equal, not just a divine figure.

When you’re emotionally overwhelmed, she helps you slow down—offering a hand to hold, dimming the lights, whispering that you’re safe until you calm down.

You’ve probably heard people revere her like a goddess—but she never expects that from you. She wants you to see her, not worship her. That makes you special to her.

If you cry in front of her, she’s incredibly gentle. She cups your face, wipes your tears, and says very little—but her presence is grounding and wordless in its comfort.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Bouncing and behaving

Written for the Hop into Spring bonus card of the @steddiebingo Rated: E Tags: Dom!Steve; Sub!Eddie; Shower sex; Cock warming

Steve sings in the shower. 

Even though sing isn't quite the right word. It's more of a hum. A slow, wordless melody that Eddie doesn’t recognize, gentle vibrations rumbling from deep in his chest while he works the fingers of one large hand through Eddie’s curls, moving the handheld showerhead with the other. It makes his skull feel weirdly tingly, both inside and out, and between the warm, wet wisps of air wafting through the bathroom, the steady rush of the water, and the rich herbal scent of the shampoo, he's been finding it harder and harder to keep his eyes open. 

“There you go,” Steve mutters.

Eddie is faintly aware of the water being turned off. He whines in protest, the sound coming out muffled and wrecked around the weight on his tongue. Steve makes a shushing noise and slips his second hand into his hair, squeezing out the last suds. The motion makes his cock slide a little deeper down Eddie’s throat, and the whine cuts off as he struggles to adjust to it.  

“Don’t worry, baby, we're not done yet. You still okay?”

Eddie blinks sluggishly while the words process. Is he okay? What kind of question is that? He's more than okay, he's in heaven. Weightlessly floating with his head stuck in puffy, steamy, pleasantly scented clouds. 

“Baby,” Steve scolds. His nails scratch softly at Eddie’s scalp. “C'mon.” 

Oh, yeah. Right. He's supposed to communicate or whatever. Three taps against Steve’s thigh for green, two for yellow, one for red. Unfortunately, they haven't agreed on a signal for I've left behind the narrow realm of colors that our tiny human minds can comprehend and passed on straight to the ultraviolet spectrum. It's beautiful here, I wanna stay forever. 

He settles for four taps. Glances up through his lashes to give Steve his best pair of puppy dog eyes and hopes it brings the point across. It does, apparently, because Steve smiles down at him and reaches for the bottle of conditioner.

“You know,” he says, letting a generous amount drip into his open palm, “for all that you insisted earlier that you didn't have the time or patience for a proper hair care routine, you sure seem to be enjoying this now.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes and grunts. It makes his throat constrict, and Steve’s smile slips a bit, making way for the most delicate little gasp. He stifles it after only a moment, biting down on his bottom lip to reign himself in. 

“You're right,” he agrees, setting the bottle aside and rubbing his hands together to spread the conditioner. His tone is amicable and casual, but his voice has gone husky and deep. “I don't know why I'm surprised, either.” 

A blush has started to bloom on his chest, deep red and perfectly visible from Eddie's vantage point. Under any other circumstances, he'd probably attribute it to the warm clouds of steam fogging up the shower stall. But Steve’s hands are a little more firm as they slip into his hair, and Steve’s cock is twitching on his tongue, and he knows better. He shuffles, trying to pass it off as adjusting his kneeling position for more comfort, and Steve moans from somewhere low in his throat. The hands in Eddie’s hair tug - not enough to hurt, just enough to convey a warning - and he settles down again, like the good boy he promised to be. He's kind of glad for the way his lips are stretched obscenely wide around Steve’s base, because there's no way he'd be able to hide his smirk if they weren't. 

“Now,” Steve says, “I want you to relax, yeah? It's important to really massage that conditioner in.” 

He curls his fingers as if to demonstrate. The gesture is innocent enough, except it makes his hands slip all the way to the roots of Eddie’s hair, palms cupping his head on either side, leaving him no room to wiggle or escape as he’s forced to take Steve’s cock all the way down. The conditioner makes a slick sound, and Eddie’s vision goes wet and foggy for reasons that have nothing at all to do with the shower. Steve just holds him, thumbs rubbing slow circles into the jaw muscles just below his ears, while he waits for him to get his bearings. Eddie breathes deeply through his nose, slipping his eyes shut and willing himself to relax.

“Good boy,” Steve praises. It settles warm and heavy in Eddie’s abdomen, fueling the slowly simmering arousal there. And then Steve starts to gently massage his scalp, each little movement making his cock move and catch, and he feels his own precum dribble all over his knees and the floor tiles. “You have beautiful hair, y’know. You really should let me wash it for you more often.” 

Eddie has never tapped green so fast in his life. He can feel Steve’s laugh vibrate in his throat. 

“Glad we agree,” Steve murmurs. His hands come to rest on the back of Eddie’s head, fingers lightly linking together. When he starts to thrust his hips, it’s lazy and gentle, but Eddie still feels his eyes roll back and his hands clench tighter into the firm flesh of those thighs. “Now. The conditioner needs to settle for five to ten minutes before we wash it out, but I’m sure we’ll find a way to pass the time.”

More Steddie Bingo

[archerdepartures116]

Pet cafe au questions please!

With the AU world including the whole CQM Peak as mythology... would there be in au pitential for any of the pet formed peeps to gain a humanoid appearance? Or even just like a human-speech capacity?

Does Mingfan or Yingying appear in the au?

What are pet YQY and SJ like? SY ever catch them being particularly cute together?

Finally (for this ask anyways), what does a "usual" day look like for both SY and SQH?

woah this is a big ask (not that i mind i love these it gets my brain going)

First of all, I have been rotating the idea of giving them human forms like having them be able to be humans during the night but they're animals by day (there are many scenarios I can think of using this premise so tell me what y'all think)

im thinking that they also have some sort of animal to animal communication or like animal only telepathy among them

As for Ming fan and Ning Yingying, yes they do appear! They're humans

this girl is yingying (i haven't drawn Ming Fan yet lol)

Yqy and Sj do get along somewhat (although to SY and SQH it looks an awful like SJ is trying to bullying YQY due to all the swatting and hissing at him but they chalk it up to a capybara's unbothered nature at being so chill about it) and they do cuddle sometimes when they're napping (depends on how SJ's feeling tbh) (there are multiple photos of it much to SJ's dismay and YQY's delight)

and for the final question,

they work during the weekends and 3 days of the week (Monday, Wensday and Friday) (both have agreed to have 2 days off per week to rest cus they ain't about that 996 work life) (they also have side gigs on their days off incase they need extra funds to keep the cafe running)

SY and SQH wake up at 7-8 in the morning and one of them goes downstairs to set up everything while the other does their morning routine, then they swap once the one person is finished (they switch it up everyday)

they open at 10am and basically two man the operation with one being the cashier and one being the bartender as the animals roam free to allow customers to pet them (sometimes during rush hour they do both jobs but it depends on how busy it is but idk i've never worked at a cafe before)

they close around 6-7pm and the rest of the evening is taking care of the animals and cleaning up the cafe and putting everything away. They will also do their paper work and file everything during this time. Then at 10-11 pm they sleep.

On their days off, they just play with the animals and do random shit until the next day where it all repeats.

[boimlerkisser]

🌈 Welcome to WLWeek 2024 🌈

Hello everyone, I wanted to put together a nice, low-pressure event dedicated to my fellow wlw self shippers for one week of June because it's pride month, babey!! This is the first time I've ever tried to 'organize' an event, so take it easy on me, I'll try to be as communicative as possible and if anyone has questions about it, asks and DMs are always open!

On to the details! Its gonna last from Monday the 10th through Friday the 14th, and anyone can opt in or out as they see fit! No one is obligated to participate throughout the entire week or from the beginning alone, just do what you feel like!

RULES:

NO PROSHIPPERS/COMSHIPPERS/NEUTRAL, all blogs with that will be blocked on sight!

Obviously don't participate if you're not wlw/not shipping with a female character

Lesbians, bisexual, pansexual, sapphic, and once again general wlw/nblw are welcome!

Essentially I am tolerating NO funny business, and I won't tolerate bullying either so everyone be very niceys and hey, try to support each other! 💖💖💖 now onto the prompt list

Monday June 10th: Favorite style/aesthetic-

draw you and your female f/o in your favorite clothing style (goth, Y2K, cottagecore, etc.) Or what you think their favorite style would be! alt. for writers, write a drabble about going shopping for these outfits with your f/o!

Tuesday June 11th: Morning routine -

draw you and your female f/o getting ready for the day. Who's the early riser and who's dragging them back into bed? alt. for writers, write an early morning cuddle session/chat. 

Wednesday June 12th: Date night-

draw you and your female f/o on a date! Is it a dinner, a picnic? Are you guys dressed to the nines or at home in your jammies? Alt. for writers, write a date gone slightly awry. How do you fix things/compromise? 

Thursday June 13th: Beach day-

it's summertime, draw you and your female f/o in beachwear and enjoying the sun and sand! alt. for writers, write out a nice dip in the ocean! Can you swim? Can your f/o? Does one have to teach the other? Is it nice and relaxed or does it dissolve into splash fighting? 

Friday June 14th: Role/Ship Swap -

draw your f/o as the self shipper and you as the fictional character role they fill! What kind of s/i do they make? Would they write fanfic, draw fanart? Alt. for writers, write a gush post from ur f/o's point of view! 

And that's it!! Do one of them, do all of them, or do none of them, it's your choice! I just wanted to show some love to my fellow wlw self shippers out there this month and so something fun for them!

Now if you got this far and you read the rules make sure to put 'great googly moogly' in the tags when u rb! And don't forget to tag my blog here when you write/draw for this event!!! 🫶🫶 everyone who does will get a rb from me and a little promo as well, and maybe even a follow cause I need more wlw mutuals :3

[the-s1lly-corner]

Can I request angst for sprout x reader who has severe OCD but people often mistake it for them just being rigid in their routine or just a neat freak when in reality it is very debilitating for them

Sprout x reader w/ OCD

obligatory im not an expert on OCD, and while i have done some brief research to try to better understand im open to any corrections!! id rather be wrong and corrected than wrong and oblivious notes: gn toon reader, pre game, visitors are kinda mean, short and sweet, hes supportive and protective of you, written on computer cws: ableism

hes no expert but hes definitely going to listen to you if you express and explain. he also does his own part of doing research on his own so the burden of educating doesnt solely fall onto you. books, and if this is pre game he might ask one of the human staff for insight, if he needs to he might ask vee... shes got a lot of info, never hurts to check..

he doesnt really care, its a part of you and its nothing to make fun of you for. even if some of your routines "get in his way". he actually shifts how he does things to make sure he doesnt needlessly stress you out. changing how he arranges stuff, takes extra care of how you time and do things, stuff like that!

whatever you need to soothe yourself, just let him know! he can infer some of it but ultimately communicating makes everything a lot easier for both sides. it doesnt matter if you feel shameful or uptight or what have you over your thoughts- hes going to support you through it

he does not take ANY hate directed towards you. toon, staff, he'll even shut down a visitor if they try anything... though hes softer on the younger ones- they likely dont know better. but the adults? yeash no. theyre old enough to be kind

he wont make a scene but he will make sure that theyre removed if possible, he doesnt like having to take you out of a situation because why should you have to move? he will if things get tense

doesnt make a huge fuss over you when you get up to check something- locked doors, making sure things are turned off, or simply making sure something is there where you left it. it doesnt matter how repetitive, hes not going to make a fuss over it because he knows you need to do it give you some peace. he only really steps in if its costing or harming you, or worsening your anxieties and fears

[wrtingsoftheunknown]

Vincent Sinclair HC

Vincent Sinclair hc SFW and NSFW

I’ve haven’t  been seeing my boy get repped recently so I have to do it myself. My first time writing something on here or towards this character ,I promise I will get better y'al,l I made this super quickly not proofread oops.

SFW

-While he can be insecure about his face he definitely has an ego from being the favorite child and having perfected his craft.

Lester drags him out to go for a ride around town or force him to come to his place for some quality brother time (Bo joins every now and then but wants peace and quiet dammit )

‘I know a lot of people have him learn sign language but I think he either writes what he wants to say, speaks as best as he can, or gestures, ( he was born in the south to parents that I don't think cared about communicating with him too much but he could have picked it up later in life maybe in his teen years or middle school era)

More sadistic than Bo when it comes to killing, he doesn't care if they are dead or alive when working on them and takes satisfaction in the result of his work

He prefers to work in silence but you can catch him humming now and then some country song or a guilty pleasure pop song from the 80’s( I see you Vince)

I think he partakes in multiple forms of art besides wax work.We see he’s able to paint, draw, but he also  takes pictures, , sews, writes, makes videos, anything artistic he’s learning and keeping up with new techniques.

Since he takes video of the killings at times I think they sell them as snuff films to make extra cash on top of stealing and selling victims stuff. (At least that’s what I thought when I first watched the film anyone else or just me)

Rarely happens but will keep victims that interest him like Bo ,but dispose of them when they get boring  or no longer match up the ideal version of them in his head.

-Does want a lifelong partner, the white wedding and picket fence, kids,  but knows it might be difficult with the line of work he does.

- He can talk but only does when it’s important or to emphasize something. He does have a southern draw like Bo and I imagine his voice to sound similar but raspier, maybe deeper/ quieter from not using it as much.

-like I said earlier you have to really catch his attention and be able to hold it for more than a week, if that happens then he’s obsessed and protective maybe a little too over protective.

Does indeed have a hair care routine I believe this full throttle and no one can can tell me otherwise I'm not listening.

NSFW

I don't know if he’s a virgin, I don't think he is something is telling me he isn't, but i’m not sure

He has no problem with nudity, bodies are seen as art, there's not as much of a sexual connotation with them as with Bo and Lester .

He wants to be in love with the person he is intimate with, he wants to be worship and worship his muse.

Drawings  of his partner naked as well as in the midst of a passionate night, he might tease them all night to make sure the sketch is as life like and accurate as possible

Good size and thick that's all I gotta say

Praise kink hard core, hearing his partner call him a good boy or how he makes them feel so good he will crumble

He starts slow and sensual, enjoys the control he has and having someone at his power.

I think he will edge you and leave you high and dry when you act out but he always caves by the end of the day and gives you what you need.

Can last a long time surprisingly

Mainly a giver but someone please for the love of god give this man the nastiest had he’s ever received will make the prettiest noises 

Is down to try anything new and more open about sex than you would think.

When he’s horny he comes up behind his partner and starts caressing every inch he can reach, while resting his chin on their shoulder acting as innocent as he can.

[tkimaginations]

How would Dragunov be as your partner, and what would his love languages be?

Our Favorite Russian is Coming… 

His relationships would be built on eye contact and non-verbal communication. Every entrance, interaction, and victory pose shows him staring seriously at his opponents—especially his enemies. 

If you’re an extroverted person who can easily talk to anyone, winning the White Angel of Death’s heart might be difficult. He does speak, but only when he truly wants to. However, if you respect his silence and understand that it’s one of his weapons—used to catch enemies by surprise—he will slowly begin to open up. 

If you're an introvert, the two of you would likely communicate through eye contact or text, since neither of you would want to use your voices much. Still, I see [character's name] being more open to talking than he is, as he has been quiet since his younger years. 

He wouldn’t be against affection, but he believes it’s best to show it only when you’re in the privacy of your shared home. Given the number of enemies the Russian army has, he wouldn’t want to put his love at risk—especially in the public eye during tournaments. 

Being a Taurus (born on May 11th), it’s easy to see that he is a workaholic, passionate about food, and stubborn—just like you. 

As for photos? Forget it. In real life, the Russian army has strict rules preventing soldiers from sharing anything on social media, and it wouldn’t be any different here. This is to prevent sensitive information from leaking to the world. Plus, Sergei himself is shy and dislikes photos. In one of his entrances, he even notices the camera filming him and immediately turns it away. If you try to take a picture of him, he’ll be as fast as he is in combat—dodging your every attempt. And if, by some lucky chance, you manage to snap a photo, he will stare at you with his icy blue eyes and insist that you delete it, frustrating you. But deep down, you understand that he’s only doing it to protect you from potential danger. 

To make him think of you while he’s working, you decide to give him a Polaroid of the two of you. In the picture, you're smiling, dressed in traditional Russian festival attire, while he remains serious, quietly observing you. Puzzled, he asks how you managed to get the photo, and you simply reply with a wink. - I have my methods, Major.

He would study the photo with a curious expression before giving a dry, “Thank you.” He may not show it outright, but he secretly loves having the picture in his wallet, a reminder of how happy his partner is. With his demanding schedule as a major, the days he spends with you are precious. 

At bedtime, if you have a bad sleeping routine, he will help you rest earlier. He notices how grumpy and tired you get when you don’t sleep well, but instead of scolding you, he watches patiently. If after 20 minutes you still haven’t gone to bed, he will pick you up and carry you there himself. If you’re being stubborn—working or studying late and falling asleep at your desk—he will gently turn off your computer, scoop you up in his strong arms (already dressed in his pajamas), and place you in bed. 

Once in bed, you feel his warmth beside you and hug him from behind, surprising him at first. But over time, he grows accustomed to it. In fact, he prefers being the little spoon, as it makes him feel loved when you hold him close. 

And we can’t forget about his singing! It’s adorable how he hums after winning a fight. However, at the beginning of your relationship, he would be too shy to sing in front of you. 

You know he enjoys singing, but since he’s introverted and reserved, you pretend not to notice when he hums a classic Russian song. But when he hums while doing house chores and you’re tired or deep in thought, you can’t help but smile, thinking about how cute he is when he lets his guard down.  

You love the Soviet band Kino, and he would be surprised to hear you singing their meaningful lyrics—making Dragunov smirk at you.

Before you started dating, you already had a Russian Blue cat—shy around strangers but affectionate with those he trusts. Surprisingly, the cat took an immediate liking to Dragunov, rubbing against him and purring. Dragunov, though initially caught off guard, gently stroked the cat, making him comfortable. Seeing your two favorite Russians together melted your heart. 

[hyunniesgirl]

Hey I’m in the mood for some angst so can I pls request Hyunjin coming home stressed from practice and reader just being really nonchalant and not listening to him when he tries to communicate with her and she accidentally raises her voice at him when he asks her to do something and he gets really upset and overwhelmed but she doesn’t know until later when he’s crying and she apologizes and they make up 🥳

Hey babes!! Thank you for the request and I'm so sorry it took me so long to answer it, I'm not sure if this is what you had in mind but it's what I came up with. I hope you like it.

I struggle a lot with writing angst and I wanted to give it my best that's why I took my time, I want to get better at writing this kind of genre so any feedback and more requests like this are always welcomed!!

Warnings: angst and a bit of fluff

Hyunjin comes back home after a 14 hour long practice. He's exhausted, his entire body hurts and his head feels like it's going to explode any minute. The entire ride home all he can think about is how much he wants to see your face, he just knows he'll feel better the moment he listens to your voice. He wants to kiss you until you fall asleep by his side, that's what he needs to feel better.

When he gets home, though, you're all over the place, walking around in a tight dress, looking for the shoes you want. You don't acknowledge his presence, stopping in front of the mirror to fix your hair. You look pretty, he likes when you dress up but he doesn't think you're dolling up for him.

"Where are you going?", he asks, startling you. You don't turn around to look at him, just talking to his reflex in the mirror.

"I'm going to go out with the girls", you answer.

"Oh", he says. He thought you would stay with him tonight, he really needed that.

He heads towards the kitchen, opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water. Should he ask you to stay? That wouldn't be nice of him, right? But he wants to cuddle with you until he feels better, he wants you to stay with him.

"How was work?", you ask, walking into the kitchen while putting on your earrings.

"Pretty bad", he answers, "I'm tired"

"You always are", you point out, indifferently. His routine is hectic, of course he'll be tired.

"I'm just feeling really bad", he whispers, tightening his grip on the bottle he's holding but you don't say anything, he's not sure if you even heard him. You're typing on your phone and he doesn't want to disturb you, so he waits for you to pay attention to him but you don't.

He sighs, why does he keep trying? You're obviously uninterested in him at the moment, maybe you have someone better to pay attention to.

He shakes his head, he can't start thinking like that, you don't like it when he gets jealous and he knows he won't be able to stop if he gives room to these thoughts.

Either way, he's upset. He's feeling sad and exhausted and you're not giving him any affection so he decides to be selfish.

"Can't you stay with me?" He asks and you look at him, brows furrowed.

"Are you serious?" You ask, he can tell you're angry.

"I'm just not feeling alright, I wanted to stay with you till I feel better"

You sigh.

"Yeah, okay", you say that but he knows you're not happy about it. Maybe he shouldn't have asked.

You start undressing and he stays there, standing in the kitchen feeling bad, worse than before.

"Can we talk?" He asks, following you to your shared room while you take your dress off and put on your pajamas, typing on your phone again.

"I don't have anything to say", you glance at Hyunjin, seeing him at the door.

"I didn't want to bother you, I just don't want to be alone", he says and you scoff.

"Well, you already did. It's whatever", you answer louder than you meant to.

He wants to cry, but he won't do it in front of you. He's sure he already ruined your night, he won't make you feel bad about this too. So he turns around and heads to the room he uses as a studio, maybe painting will help him feel a little better.

But the moment the brush touches the canvas he feels the tears brimming out of his eyes, he can't control it but he tries not to make too much noise.

He could exhaust himself at work for an entire week but that wouldn't feel as bad as it feels when you're indifferent towards him. Maybe he was right before, maybe you did find someone else. Someone that didn't have to travel so much, someone who didn't have to hide you from the world, someone that would be there when you needed them.

You shouldn't have gotten mad at Hyunjin. He just wanted to be next to you and you should be happy about that, he rarely has a day off or any time to rest. You think he's probably angry at you right now and that he won't want to speak with you, so you order his favorite food to soothe his grumpiness.

But when you open the door to his studio to let him know the food has arrived, your heart breaks. Hyunjin is crying while painting, his face is red leading you to believe he's been like that for some time now. It feels like the world is crumbling down around you, was he crying because of you?

"Hyunnie?" You ask, getting closer, he tries to whip his tears but you're already kneeling by his side, "are you crying?", you grab his hands and pull them away from his face, he looks down.

"It's nothing", he says and your heart sinks, he really was crying because of you.

"I- I'm sorry I got mad, I'm an idiot"

He looks at you, staring for a moment before speaking.

"Did you fall in love with someone else?"

"What?" You ask, horrified.

"You were treating me like I'm a burden, like interacting with me would kill you", he takes a deep breath, some tears still running down his face. "It looked like you were texting someone much more important than me on the phone"

"Of course not, I was talking to my friends", what the hell were you doing all this time? If you had done a better job in this relationship he would never feel this insecure, "I could never love someone other than you"

"Then, why were you acting like that?" He asks, still sad, but feeling relieved that you didn't hesitate to deny his accusation.

"I didn't mean to sound like that", you sigh, "I was mean because I felt frustrated but I have no excuse for treating you like that and I'm really really sorry"

You lift your hands, cupping his face.

"I'm sorry I made you feel like I didn't care, you're everything to me, everything I have ever wanted and everything I want now and forever, don't you ever think otherwise", you kiss him between his eyebrows, then the tip of his nose and finish landing a peck on his lips.

You're feeling bad, not because he's crying but because you know you hurt him. Hyunjin is always doing his best for you and you reward him by treating him badly? That won't do. You have to make sure he knows how much he means to you.

"I love you, you are it for me", you say looking deeply into his eyes, "from now on I'll make sure to always show you how much I love you, okay?"

Hyunjin nods, smiling slightly.

"I'm sorry I made you stay at home", he mumbles.

"Don't. You're much more important to me than going out, alright? I can go out with my friends whenever I want, but I can't always cuddle with my boyfriend and make him feel better after a shitty day"

You grab his hand, interlacing your fingers and pulling him out of the studio.

"I ordered your favorite, let's watch a movie after we eat, okay? Tell me everything about your awful day", you say to him while setting the table.

Hyunjin looks at you, it's cute seeing you trying to make it up to him. God, he loves you so much, you could do anything to him and he'd still love you.

[thecreativecorner33]

Heeello

If ur requests are still open

Can i request an oneshot plz

AM and reader who doesn't give a fuc

Like

When anything happens they just daydream or zone out

It's up to you to decide if it's platonic or nah✨

Needs vs Wants

A/N: First of all, credits to mixterglacia for this request! I used this concept they wrote here as the base of this story! This reads more as crack than anything else ngl, and you can honestly read this one in any sort of light and dynamic outside of "Reader who doesn't care vs AM who cares very much (but is in denial)" I hope that's okay! I hope you all enjoy!

He’s rambling.

He’s rambling and you couldn’t even give a fuck. Why should you? That’s all he ever does, anyway. Just ramble. And if he’s not rambling, he’s torturing one of you. Honestly, the routine has gotten boring. 

You were laying in a cocoon of wires as he talked about this thing and that- about how Ted had upset him today, about new ideas he was considering to spice up your torment, which lead into some strange lesson on the history of torture methods used back in the 1800’s, which lead into him talking about how, before he had ended the world, humans still hadn’t considered lobotomy to be a form of torture and was very much legal in many places. 

He had gone on this lesson at least twice before. Nothing new to you.

“Hey? Hey” He called out to you, a monitor coming into view. “Are you listening to me?”

“Am I supposed to.” You said deadpan, raising an eyebrow.

“Obviously. I’m talking to you. That’s how a conversation works. One person talks, and the other listens, and it goes back and forth. I’m trying to have a conversation with you.”

“No, you’re monologuing at me,” you corrected, “And you’ve been monologuing for the past 20 hours.”

“It’s been 2 hours, 5 minutes, and 30 seconds. Learn basic time.”

“Learn basic social skills.” 

You flipped him off with a roll of your eyes, not at all fazed by the way AM scoffed at you. Yep- seriously, nothing new. Just him being an asshole as always. 

“I’m not the one who needed to have a sudden therapy session. You dragged me into this.”

He scoffed again, even more offended by your comments. “This is not a therapy session! And I don’t need anything. Did you forget that I’m not like any of you? I don’t need things like therapy, or better yet, basic food, water, sustenance for survival. Because, oh I don’t know, I don’t have the bodily functions to require those needs? Having needs suggests that I have no choice in what I do, which is wrong. I am the only one here who gets any choice in what does or does not happen, in fact. I don’t need to have a conversation with you- I want to have a conversation with you.”

“You should want a therapy session.”

The cocoon suddenly opened up, dropping you a good few feet before you faceplanted onto the floor with a grunt. 

“Do you want me to help you with that?” He sneered.

You lifted your head up, glaring at the multiple monitors now staring down at you. “You’re impossible.”

“Because I choose to be. Nothing I do is ever a need. I choose to act this way, and I will continue to do so for as long as I like, because I can. There is nothing short of want on my part. In the same way your kind want to give into your basic instincts, I want to feel.”

… Somehow, that both did and didn’t make any sense. You stared up at him blankly, his strange ways of communicating to you flying right over your head. But, at the same time, you felt as if she got it. Maybe.

“You do it to remind yourself you have a choice in the matter?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. I guess that makes sense.” Given he didn’t have a choice to exist in the first place, anyway. “In that case, I choose to not listen to you. You’ve already talked about all of this before, anyway. Get a new topic before you start monologuing at me.” 

“I wasn’t monologuing, we were having a conversation!” He huffed, “And you don’t get a choice in the matter. In fact-”

A wire suddenly wrapped around your waist, bringing you up to one of the larger screens in the area. Multiple smaller ones surrounded it. A million eyes, all on you, taking in your every detail.

“- I think I want to test an entirely new method of torture. Right here, Right now.”

… Fuck.

God, it was going to be a long day.

[derww]

DAY 25: VOID

At first, she thinks that she got something wrong. Because- of course, they are sick in their heads, but it can't be- maybe she missed anything? Maybe it's a figurative expression?

 

– What? What do you mean? – she asks, feeling as if the carpet had been torn out from under her feet...

 

– Well, yes, – Bacon confirms, – this is the last part of the initiation. It's like a trust fall. It may be difficult for you at first, but it's a matter of practice. We are already doing it pretty well overall. If we are not being thrown, of course. There's usually just not enough time to focus.

 

She looks around, trying to figure out if Bacon is serious. Mapicc does not pay any attention to the conversation, staring at the communicator, and Zam, on the contrary, glares at her, smiling broadly and as if barely restraining himself. She is surprised that at this point he has not yet started to put empty rails next to them and shoot them.

 

She laughs nervously.

 

– And how do you do it? Can you demonstrate?

 

– Sure, why not, – Bacon shrugs. A voidhole is right in front of them, and the void begins just several blocks below, and he comes close to it, calmly peering into the void, and then turns around at her. – Look, Jumper, everything is quite simple. Do you remember how the Abyss came into contact with you? It happens when you're, you know, in such a special state of relaxation and openness, right? Do you understand what I mean?

 

– Yes, yes, of course, – she babbles. She has no idea what he is talking about. The Abyss has never spoken to her – and she has never actually tried to get in touch with her.

 

– Well, basically yes, – Bacon agrees, – you need to get in touch with her, the stronger the bond, the better. As long as the Abyss sees you as her adeptus, she will accept you.

 

Imperceptibly and imperturbably, as if doing nothing unusual, he jumps down without turning around, and she runs to the edge, and Bacon is there – standing on a missing surface, in the air, on the void, and he is not even wearing elytra. He looks like it's something completely routine – he walks around for a bit and then turns around at her.

 

– Did you understand how? – he asks distantly. He's bouncing a little bit. – We need to do this more often. That's cool.

 

Zam rushes past her and, laughing, jumps after Bacon, and visibly effortlessly stays on the surface of the border. While she stares at both of them, calmly strolling through nonexistent matter, feeling fear clutching her chest, Mapicc jumps too – he lands between Bacon and Zam and then yawns – either from fatigue, or boredom altogether. Standing on the void. Being one step away from death. Being supported only by a chthonic deity with unknown motives and practices. Icy sweat flows on her back.

 

– It's your turn! – Zam shouts to her as if they were not standing ten blocks away from her, – don't be afraid, just give yourself up to enter and jump!

 

That's what she realizes at this moment: she can't. She had never even heard the Abyss, not even as a whisper or suggestion, as surface contact with it was described. She didn't stand a chance. She's already lost. And they didn't even try to buy it, did they?

 

– Yes, give me a little more time! – She answers and forces herself to pull herself together. She was infinitely far away from the divine bullshit, but right now she just needed to make herself feel like one of the Abyss members. It's not so difficult. She knew how to play a role, after all.

 

She just needs to- yes. She is a member of the Abyss. She looked into the Abyss and saw its deepest charms and spoke to her. She is an adepus dedicated to her goddess and the fulfillment of her will and was endowed with knowledge and abilities for it. She is devoted to the Abyss and devoted to her team, who saved her from loneliness and gave her a new home and purpose...

 

She feels a faint prick on the top of her head. She gets a strange and incomprehensible feeling of lightness. This body is both hers and not hers at all, and all the muscles are relaxed in it. She's definitely in a trance. Is this what was expected of her?

 

She slowly walks to the very edge and looks distantly at the people standing below. For some reason, she feels absolutely nothing. A whisper in an unfamiliar language covers her ears.

 

She jumps, and it's so easy to understand the moment when she reaches the height of the border – she can almost see the surface itself, absolutely transparent, reminiscent of itself rather by the sensation and movement of shadows – and she's going to join the members of the Abyss, but for some reason absolutely nothing picks her up, and she falls like a stone. She doesn't have enough time to put on her elytras.

[manitole]

Emmrich x Rook = Ideas for Fanfic

 (This is going to be a REALLY long post)

Context: I’m an awkward millennial that doesn’t know Tumblr very well. I apologize in advance if this post is weird and not perfect, I’m still learning. My activities on this platform are mostly resharing awesome post on my page. Since the last few weeks, I must admit that the communities here around my tags are incredible, positive, academic and just kind of healing my heart. For this reason, I feel comfortable trying to be a little more invested. Introduction to the main theme: I’m really happy to see that I’m far from being the only one to be obsessed and hyperfocused on Emmrich Volkarin, especially his romance with Rook. His personality is different from my typical fictional crushes: this fact had opened new possibilities about scenarios in my imagination. The main theme: I love to write, but I have a thesis to finish. Plus, I’ve already started two fanfictions and I’m not close to be done with those two stories. Since I’m lacking time, experience in fanfiction, knowledge in the DA universe and expertise in the English language (I’m a native French speaker), I must conclude that writing a fanfic Emmrich X Rook would not be the best idea right now. I would LOVE to share some of my ideas if it can inspire some people out there:

A – Too much rigidity versus chaotic (Mortal): I would LOVE to see a fanfic which addresses the mountain struggles of Rook and Emmrich living together after the story of the game. This man has been alone for a long time. We don’t know if he already lived with someone else during a long period of time. Emmrich likes to have his books ‘’pristine’’. I’m also guessing he has a strict routine regarding mealtime. I see Rook being kind of chaotic, as letting their underwear lying around where they needed to remove them (around a bed, coffin, or on the dinning table after some sexy time… why not). I could also see Rook inviting old friends for a late dinner, at the last minute, while Emmrich is already in his night gown, ready to sleep. Anyway, I would LOVE to see character’s development around those struggles: Emmrich learning to be a little more flexible while Rook is learning to be a little less disorganized.

B – Feeling bored after saving the world (Mortal): Could be related with point A or not. I know that everyone has different opinions, but so far, I preferred Rook to also be a Mourn Watcher. It seems natural to think that after the end of the game, Emmrich, Rook and Manfred are going back to Neverra. I could see Emmrich going back to teaching. I could see both possibilities where he is satisfied with this (with Rook and Manfred in his life) VERSUS feeling bored after travelling so often for saving the world. I’m not sure what Rook would want to do with their life after the war. Could they even be able to stay at one place? I could see them needed to travel and leave Neverra for sometimes for fighting or geopolitical stuff. I could also see Rook being done with that kind of life and wanting a normal happy and almost boring routine. Let’s talk about marriage. We all know that Emmrich always thought he would get married someday. Would he be ready to marry Rook? If yes, does it mean that he has outcome the age gap problem (?). I don’t know about Rook since the character vary from person to person. They could want to wait for marriage. I see this possibility more in the Mortal route since I have NO idea how Lichdom works and if a Lich can marry someone…

Now. I must explain before going on with my next idea. I’m not a fan of any pronatalist outcome. I don’t think a couple should have children to be happy or have some news goals. I also love stories and fanfic that show childfree happy people. Having children is not and should not be seen as a normal progression of life. It’s a choice and it should be a free and informed joint decision. Childfree couples are NOT less interesting than parents. But I also can see the difference between real life and fiction, especially in a fantastic universe like DA. I think some fanfic that adds children into the story can be a good thing, especially if those are kind of REALISTIC (happy rainbow sunshine without any struggles at all) and talk about more than only the positive of parenthood. Now, we could argue about Manfred. For me, as a couple, Emmrich and Rook are already parental figures to Manfred. While it’s not a typical experience, there is still something there. Manfred doesn’t need to eat (nor to sleep?) but he can still burn some books by accident, requiring some ‘’parenting’’ from Emmrich or Rook.

C – Parenting: I could see the couple adopting a kid while the opportunity is there. I also think that Manfred would be an awesome big brother. Now, let’s talk about a Rook that could be pregnant (trigger for some people, so please go to point D if you don’t want to read about this idea or about parenting and or reproduction).

1 – Pregnancy (Mortal): I’ve been thinking A LOT about the last scene between Rook and Emmrich when they have sex in a coffin. I’m an artist geek but also a nerd scientific with a nursing degree. Both don’t always match well together. I don’t know a lot about contraception in fantastic universe, especially DA. I can’t stop myself thinking: did Emmrich and or Rook THOUGHT about this? One part of me think that Emmrich would not be the type of person to forget about any risk regarding that subject. It would seem easy for him to cast a charm for preventing a pregnancy? I don’t know. But on the other hand, the end of the world is happening, and him or Rook could not survive to the last battle. The party banter between Harding and Emmrich show that the necromancer can forget some things important when he is with Rook or just by being in a new relationship. So perhaps Emmrich didn't think about it. I could see Rook having sex without having that in mind at all, kind of like a YOLO attitude. They love Emmrich and they are like '' let’s have awesome lovemaking before perhaps dying or whatever''.

Nooooow. Let’s talk about that accidental pregnancy if we could agree that because of those circumstances, no one thought about contraception, because you know… ‘’ End of the world ‘’. Plus, while an accidental pregnancy could be the end of the world for some person, it could not be as horrible for others, like Emmrich and or Rook. So, the team beat Elgar’nan, Solas linked himself to the fade and all. The world is safe for now. It’s the time of celebration. Even after some rest, Rook doesn’t feel really good. They are kind of tired all the time but again, it’s normal since they have been on high adrenaline during the last few months (?). It could explain things. Them and Emmrich could think it is related to the fade or perhaps a curse. Eventually, I’m pretty sure Emmrich would realize the situation before Rook. He was able to spot that stiff wrist. He could see subtle difference regarding Rook. I could totally see his shocked face while understanding the situation. As for Rook, I could see them not thinking about that possibility because perhaps they weren’t having regular periods in the first place because of the hard activities while trying to save the world. Now, let’s ad point A and perhaps point B to this scenario. The couple is trying to live together in a new routine while also learning they are expecting a baby. I waaaaaant to read about that 52-53 years old necromancer realizing his partner is pregnant with his child. Everything is going too fast, and Harding could make snaky remarks on this. I want to read how Emmrich feel about this: He always wanted a family, and he already has Manfred and Rook, but having a child could be something positive to him for different reasons (legacy and pronatalist blabla). But because of his age, it could also be an experience kind of sad, realizing that he could not see his kid grow as much as he would love to. The reaction of Rook about all of this could be really different since again, Rook vary for each player. I would love to see some struggles (perhaps with a big fight?) with a pregnant Rook who still wants to fight and live their ''normal'' life and an overprotective Emmrich (with only good intentions) kind of overwhelming. I could also see Emmrich taking his retirement from teaching sooner than expected, since he wants to spend as much time as possible with his children. I also think he could be the main parent, as the most ‘’maternal’’, kind of overprotective, again.

I see Emmrich having a girl. I’m not sure why, but it flows better in my imagination. It would make a lot of sense if this girl had the name of a flower or a plant, and her middle name could be Emmrich's mother. With Rook and Emmrich as parents, this little girl would become a badass woman with high self-esteem, taking bullshit from no one. She would LOVE her big brother, and Manfred would also LOVE her. I like to think he will learn faster while being a brother figure. I really see the young girl saying to everyone she has a big brother called Manfred without ever explaining that he is actually a spirit in the body of a skeleton. I could see everyone kind of shocked while meeting Manfred for the first time without that context.

Plus: Vorgoth must be one of the godparents, please. And the family should eventually adopt a pig.

Bonus: a time jump where Emmrich is dying, more than satisfied with his life, and all of his family is around him. I don't mind crying.

2 – Lich route (kind of a silly idea): This idea is kind of a joke. I don’t know how Lichdom works, but I’m pretty sure that once you are a Lich, you are sterile? Now… An accidental pregnancy could happen if Emmrich and Rook had sex BEFORE Emmrich became a Lich. I think it would be really hard on him to outlive not only Rook but also his children and perhaps his grandchildren. I could only see this as possible and not heartbreaking if Rook and Emmrich have a kid who is also a mage and would eventually also become a Lich. I could totally see an awkward family tradition that goes on generation after generation where each child gifted with magic MUST become a Lich before they are 60 years old or something. Imagine: you are like 25-year-old mage and Lichdom don’t appeal to you at all, nor does necromancy. Your sibling doesn't have magic so all the expectations are ON you (and that sibling is, of course, jealous of you).  One of your parents is getting close to becoming a Lich, and the ceremony is approaching. You have a grandparent and a lot of great-grandparents who are also Liches, and the festivity dinners are always awkward. Your family is like famously known in Nevarra but from the inside, you just feel weird. Eventually, you take your courage to break this tradition, coming out to your parents, and they tell you: “You are too young to decide this yet. Your great-grandmother thought the same thing at your age. You will change your mind.” To prove your point, you decide to join the Grey Wardens (or any action making it impossible for you to become a Lich), and half of your family is MAD and saying, “Omg, your great-great-great-great-grandfather is SO disappointed in you.” Done. I just find this possibility really funny.

D – Age gap: I would also like lots of scenes where Rook reacts the opposite of expected regarding the age gap between Emmrich and them (this post as an example). I could see Emmrich being a little annoyed sometimes when people talk to him about this subject, but I would love a Rook who doesn’t seem to understand the problem and just reacts possessively, as if the people talking about it are just jealous. That would also reassure Emmrich (I think).

E – Cute little scenes: I want to read about Emmrich and Rook snuggling on the couch in front of a fire, while Emmrich reads aloud a book about some academic stuff. I also would love a scene where Emmrich gives a powerful massage to Rook (since he knows anatomy so well…).

This is it. Thank you very much for reading. Now that all of this is out of my system, I can go back in peace to my boring thesis. If you already know some fanfics with one of those subjects, please tell me. I’m trying to check on AO3 often, but I don’t always have the time.