#but no character death just so y'all know ;) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sceletaflores · 1 month ago

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LAYING IT ALL ON THE LINE...

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｡꩜°‧➵ PAIR: Joel Miller x fem!reader

｡꩜°‧➵ WC: 4.1k

｡꩜°‧➵ CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, post-outbreak, hurt/comfort, joel's pov, general violence, minor character injury, jackson!joel, when he picks an unnecessary fight with you because that's all he knows, mentioned age gap, joel miller as a sad old man, joel miller experiences feelings, oral sex (f!receiving), p in v, clothed sex, unprotected sex, erectile dysfunction? we don't know what that means in this house because that old man can fuck like he's twenty AND his knees are made of steel (but only sometimes), porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

｡꩜°‧➵ @retrosabers SAYS: thinking about you almost dying on patrol and joel is FUMING, unable to convey just how worried and anxious it makes him. the only way he can even remotely conceptualize his feelings is through a very PASSIONATE rawdogging ♡

｡꩜°‧➵ NAT'S NOTE: everyone say thank you sid for this absolutely luxurious prompt...i'm waiting. i had so much fun with this! i love love love a good semi-angsty, emotionally constipated man having to come to terms with his buried slash repressed feelings in the gritty wake of a near-death experience, like that's my shit. hope y'all love it!

dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics!

joel miller realizes that love isn’t just a four letter word…

"Southeast perimeter’s clear. Heading west by the river bed."

“Wow, you’re finally gonna stop gettin’ us lost out here, sunshine?”

“Lost? Please, you cried when I found that shortcut through the cedar thicket.”

Joel listens to you and Tommy bicker over the radio, a forgotten cup of coffee going cold at his side. That's all he can do when you're out there—patrolling in the snow with a few others. He's not proud of how he just sits by like some anxious house wife, listening to the static between check-ins, but he can't make himself focus on anything other than the way your bright voice filters in and out.

He tries not to hover. Tries not to keep the handheld clutched like it's a goddamn lifeline. But he does, eyes glued to the thing like it might crack open and spill you out if he stares hard enough.

Joel's really not even supposed to be listening in like this. Maria's chewed him out more times than he can count each time she catches him hunched over an old radio that he's never bothered turning in, says it'll do him more harm than good worrying over it.

Besides, these channels aren't meant for civilians sitting on their asses at home. He knows that, because that's exactly what he is now—civilian adjacent. Half-retired.

Tommy jokes about it every once in a while, the way Joel's slowed down, the way his joints complain louder than they used to. A while back, he might've laughed too. Now, every little twinge of pain feels like a reminder of what he used to be.

Joel used to be the one they all looked to out on patrol. He could track better, shoot cleaner, navigate faster than most of the younger guys. That's not the case these days. His patrolling has slowed down over the past few years. He only goes out a few times every couple of months, if even that.

He tells himself it’s by choice.

It’s not, not at all. He’s tired. His knees ache after long rides. His busted shoulder can’t handle the cold without locking up. Jackson’s got a whole rotation now, young joints, faster reflexes, eyes that don’t blur when the wind hits just right. So he doesn’t go out much anymore. Not unless the group is short. Not unless they really need him.

It makes sense. He knows it makes sense.

That doesn’t make it feel right. You out there, miles away in knee-deep snow with a rifle strapped to your back while he’s stuck here. Not out there. Not beside you.

Joel knows you can handle yourself—hell, you’ve proven that a dozen times over. You’re younger. Strong. Fast. Smart as a whip. You can shoot the cap off a beer bottle and you handle a knife better than most people your age.

Knowing all that still doesn’t quiet the feeling of unease that eats away at him each time you strap on your gear and kiss him goodbye with a, See you later, Miller. Strolling out the door like it’s casual. Like it’s nothing.

There’s a kind of helpless fury in it. A sick twist in his gut every time he watches you ride out. Like he’s some retired goddamn hunting dog. Trusted to guard the porch, but not sharp enough to run with the pack anymore.

Joel adjusts the volume dial on the radio like it’ll make your voice stay longer.

Tommy’s laugh cuts through the speaker. “Didn’t cry. I got snow in my eye.”

“In July? Sure.”

It comes in grainy and light, full of that same teasing bite you always give Tommy—enough to make Joel’s jaw tighten with a quiet, helpless kind of fondness. He almost smiles, but it doesn’t reach past the tight pull in his chest. You’re still picking your way through territory where any tree line might be hiding something.

Joel shifts in his seat, elbows on the table, jaw clenched tight. He tells himself you’re fine. You always are. You have to be.

The channel goes still for a few beats. Then, a crack of static. Some muffled shuffling. And—

“Wait—something’s moving in the trees. Left side, just past the ridge.”

Your voice. Sharper now. Less teasing and pointedly quiet.

“Copy,” Tommy replies, suddenly serious. “Keep eyes on—”

A burst of noise. A flurry of panicked voices overlapping and shouts. The unmistakable sound of gunfire.

Then nothing.

Dead air.

Joel’s heart drops to his boots. “Tommy?” he barks into the receiver. “Come in. What the hell’s happening out there?”

When there’s no answer, Joel shoots to his feet. The chair scrapes across the floor harshly as he crosses the room in two large strides, fumbling for his jacket. “Tommy? Goddammit, someone answer me!”

Nothing.

Joel’s heart thuds violently against his ribcage as he stares at the little black box in his hand like it’s an omen. He feels it rush in all at once—panic, guilt, helpless rage curling cold and mean in his chest. His ears are ringing so loud he doesn’t hear the slam of the door behind him as he tears out of the house and into the cold air.

Something happened. The group was compromised. You were compromised.

And he’s not there.

He should’ve been there.

Joel doesn’t remember the sprint to the stables. Doesn’t remember shouting at Maria when she tried to stop him at the gate. Doesn’t remember half the ride out. All he knows is that his hands won’t stop shaking around the reins and the bile in his throat tastes like ash—a sick, gnawing pit growing in his gut.

When he finds the group what feels like hours later, just as the sun starts to rise behind the ridgeline—you’re nowhere to be found. His eyes scan the way everyone’s spread out, some with minor injuries and the others patching them up.

No sign of you.

Tommy plants himself in front of Joel just as he hauls himself off his horse. He doesn’t even feel the way his knees jolt as his feet hit the ground.

“Where the hell is she?” he rasps, voice so rough it sounds like it’s been dragged through gravel. “Where, Tommy?”

Tommy’s hands are out in front of him like Joel’s a wild animal about to snap. He’s got blood on his hands, but no signs of stab wounds or bullet holes anywhere on him. It’s not his blood. Joel’s stomach turns viciously at the sight, at the thought of whose it might be.

“She’s fine,” Tommy says, eyes wide and placating. “Took a hit, it grazed her side. She wouldn’t fuckin’ stay down.”

Joel knows he won’t feel any relief until he sees you, alive and breathing with his own eyes. “Where.”

Tommy steps aside just before Joel nearly shoves past him, nodding his head toward a rock outcrop a ways away from everyone else.

You’re sitting closest to the makeshift fire, Jesse crouched beside you to clean the gash along your side. You’re bundled in someone else’s coat, hair mussed and blood soaked through your undershirt and spattered across your cheeks.

Visibly shaken. Color drained. Bloody. Alive.

Joel’s throat locks up when your eyes meet his. You give him the smallest, tired smile—like you're trying to reassure him. That look. That stupid, brave little tilt of your mouth like everything's okay even when you're the one bleeding through Tommy's jacket.

It makes something in his chest crack wide open.

“Joel?”

He doesn’t speak.

Doesn’t know what to say.

Doesn’t trust himself for it to be anything good.

Joel takes three shaky steps towards you before his knees give out.

He drops hard into the snow. He doesn’t catch himself, doesn’t try. Just falls forward like a penitent man bowing at the altar of a God he doesn’t believe in. His breath comes in short, ragged bursts, eyes locked onto the red seeping through your shirt like it's the only color in the whole damn world.

There’s a beat where nobody moves. Jesse freezes, half-done wrapping gauze, and you’re just sitting there, wide-eyed and shaking like a leaf, lips parted like you’re trying to say something—but Joel’s already reaching for you.

He's on you in the next breath. Not rough, not like usual, not with that greedy, hungry touch he normally has after you come back from patrol. His hands are trembling when they find your face, tilting your chin up gently, his fingers brushing away wet blood and dirt.

Tommy glances away. Jesse too, both men busying themselves with helping the others. It feels too private, even out here in the open.

“Goddammit,” he chokes. “God—baby–”

His voice breaks on the last word. Breaks, something sharp and gutted and boyish, nothing like the hardened man who's grown to guard his emotions like they’re classified. Your hands hover uncertainty over his shoulders, the side of his face. You’re worried. He can see it plain as day, written in the wavering line of your mouth.

“Hey—hey, I’m okay,” you say, voice low and urgent. “I’m fine. Look at me, Joel, I’m fine. It just—it just grazed me, okay? I’m fine.”

You’re not fine.

You’re too pale. You’re stone-cold. Your blood is still tacky on your shirt, drying beneath his body's warmth.

Joel presses his forehead to yours and exhales like he’s been kept underwater, and you were the surface he’d been clawing to.

You whisper his name again, quieter this time, and he shushes you. “Don’t—don’t talk, just—let me—” His fingers press to the pulse point at your wrist like he still needs proof. “Let me feel you.”

You don’t say anything else.

You just hold him.

And Joel doesn’t cry. He can’t. Something won’t let him, but he stays there in the snow for a long time, holding you like a man who thought he’d never get the chance to again.

The ride back to Jackson is quiet.

You fell asleep half-way through, head lolling back against Joel’s shoulder as you both sat in the saddle, your body loose with exhaustion and the emergency pain meds Jesse had in his pack. Tommy rides ahead, checking the trail, but Joel barely looks up. He just holds the reins with one hand and holds you tighter with the other.

You’re taken to the infirmary the second everyone files through the gates. Joel sits by your bedside in stormy silence, hands curled into fists and resting on his knees, the only thing keeping him together.

You talk to the nurse on duty. You even joke with her, cracked voice and tired eyes like it’s all part of the routine. Like getting shot is just another part of the job. And Joel sits there while someone else wraps you in new bandages and checks your vitals.

It makes his blood boil.

All he can think about is the way your voice cut out on the radio. The way he didn’t know if you were dead or bleeding out in some field, alone. And now you’re laughing. Now you’re telling the nurse, “I’m fine really, just sore.” And it makes him want to tear the whole fucking clinic apart.

Joel doesn’t say a word until you're cleared to leave.

Not on the short walk back to your house. Not when you’re walking through the door, cleaned up. Patched. Your shirt’s gone, replaced by his coat and a thermal blanket around your shoulders.

Not when you nudge his arm gently like you’re testing the waters. Not when you say his name soft, like it might keep him calm before you’re heading towards the bedroom.

It doesn’t.

The moment the door shuts behind him, Joel erupts.

“You got a fuckin’ death wish?”

You freeze in your spot halfway across the room, turning to face him.

Joel doesn’t move. Just stands there, fists clenched at his sides. His voice is low, shaking with barely concealed rage. “You gonna tell me why you thought playin’ saviour was worth bleedin’ out in the snow?”

You don’t say anything for a few beats, eyebrows drawn together in a hard frown as you look at him. “What was I supposed to do, Joel? Jesse was pinned, Tommy would’ve taken the hit. I didn’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice!” Joel grates, stepping towards you. “You could’ve picked you. You could’ve stayed the fuck down like Tommy told you to.”

“I was trying to keep your brother from getting shot in the head,” you snap, the tension finally striking a flint. “I made a judgment call.”

“You made a stupid call,” he spits, voice loud and blistering. “You don’t get to do that.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” you repeat, your body growing stiff and tense.

“You shoulda fuckin’ stayed down.” Joel growls. He doesn’t even look at you when he says it—just rips his flannel off, tosses it hard at the wall.

You don’t flinch. Don’t even look away from him as his shirt falls and crumples into a heap on the floor. “What?”

“You heard me,” he snaps, turning to look at you again. His eyes are dark, fiery. “Jesus, you—do you even fuckin’ think sometimes? You were hit. You knew you were hit, and you kept goin’. You didn’t stop, didn’t stay down like you were told.”

He steps closer, eyes boring into yours, face twisted with something too furious to be rational. “You fuckin’ chose to be a goddamn hero, huh? Run into gunfire like it ain’t a fuckin’ death sentence? That it?”

He can see the second your expression changes, your own anger rearing its ugly head now, bitter and hot. “Don’t do that. Don’t make this about me being reckless when you know I was just trying to keep people alive. I did what I had to do.”

“No!” he snaps, pointing a finger at you, furious and stricken all at once. “What you had to do was come home. That’s it. That’s all.”

You blink at him, breath caught in your throat.

Joel can’t stop, all the emotions he’s been dealt over the past three hours finally boiling over and spilling through his lips before he can think twice about what he’s saying.

“You could’ve died,” he growls, pacing now, hands dragging through his hair roughly like he’s trying to rip the anger out of himself. “Two fuckin’ inches to the left and that bullet would’ve torn straight through your gut. You think you’d’ve made it to town in time for that? Huh?”

“That’s not fair.”

“No,” he snarls, spinning on you, voice cracking. “It’s not fuckin’ fair. Nothin’ about this is. You go out there, and I sit at home waitin’ to see if today’s the day I lose you. That the last thing I heard is your voice cuttin’ out in the middle of a fuckin’ ambush. That’s what I got to live with now. That’s what I saw every time I closed my eyes on that ride back.”

You stand there, lost for words. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“I know you didn’t,” Joel says, suddenly quieter, throat thick. He swallows hard, looking down, shaking his head like he’s trying to get a grip. “But I still almost lost you. And I don’t—fuck—I don’t know what the hell I’d do if that ever—”

His voice cuts off, ragged. Then he’s in front of you again, cupping your face with both hands. “You’re not allowed to do that to me again,” he whispers fiercely. “You’re not allowed to scare me like that.”

“Joel…” You lean into him, slow. Cautious.

Joel meets you halfway.

His mouth is on yours in a heartbeat—hot and bruising and pathetically desperate. His big hands frame your face, thumbs dragging down your cheekbones as he licks a wet stripe over the plush seam of your lips.

You gasp into his mouth when he pushes the blanket off your shoulders, when his palms skate down your sides to grip your hips hard. Not too rough, not yet, but he’s holding you because he needs you rooted. Anchored. Here.

Joel kisses you like he’s still furious at you, like he hates how much he needs you, like he’s punishing you for making him feel so afraid. It’s not soft, all teeth and tongue as he devours you, stealing the breath from your lungs.

When he pulls back, his mouth is wet with your spit, lips pink and swollen. “Need to taste you,” he mutters. “Need to feel you.”

Joel sinks to his knees before you can respond, breath huffing harshly against your stomach. His fingers tug your zipper down with frantic urgency, hooking his thumbs in your waistband to peel your pants down your legs in one swift motion.

There’s no teasing. No smugness. Just a heavy, sharp hunger carved into his face like stone as he pulls your panties to the side, exposing you to his greedy eyes. His hands slide under your thighs, lifting one over his shoulder as he brings his mouth to you like a man possessed.

The first drag of his tongue is slow. Reverent. Hot and wet as he parts the slick seam of your cunt with deliberate strokes that make your spine arch. He groans like your taste knocks the wind out of him, and then he latches on like he’s got a point to prove—to himself or you, he’s not sure. All he knows is that worshipping you is the only penance that could soothe the panic still clawing at his insides.

“Joel.” Your hands tangle in his hair, chin falling to your chest as you gaze down at him.

He sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue relentless, nose pressed deep against you. You whimper, twisting his hair in your grip, hips twitching—Joel doesn’t let you go anywhere. He’s got you trapped, your body pinned with his mouth buried between your thighs like he plans to die there.

It’s filthy, obscene—the way he devours you. Lips slick, beard growing damper with each swirl of his tongue, eyes half-lidded but still trained on your own.

Your eyes are glassy, pupils blown wide and black as spilled ink. There’s sweat beaded on your brow, lips parted and swollen as you let out small huffs of air.

Your thighs are trembling. You're soaked, arching against him, whimpering his name with tears welling in your eyes. And still—still—he won’t let up. He needs this. Needs to make you fall apart. Needs to prove to himself you’re alive by the way your body sings under his touch.

Joel can’t stop. Not until your thighs shake and you’re moaning that you’re gonna come, gonna come, Joel, please—

And you do. You fall apart on his tongue with a broken sob, legs clenching tight around his ears, hips grinding down into his mouth in weak twitches and shudders. He growls and holds you still, licking you through every last tremor until your body goes limp and threatens to sink to the floor.

Joel doesn’t let you fall—he lowers you down gently, like you’re made of spun glass, even as his hands skirt over the hem of your shirt. When he pulls it up, revealing the bandages wound tight around your side, he pauses. His gaze lingers on the wound. Jaw clenched. Something soft and wrecked flickers in his eyes.

Your hand comes up to cup the side of his face, your thumb running over the scar across his temple so gently it has his heart throbbing in his chest. “I’m okay,” you whisper. “Still here.”

Joel takes your wrist in his hand, lowering it down enough to press it hard over his heart. “You feel that?” he breaths. “That hasn’t stopped hammerin’ since I heard your voice cut out.”

You nod slowly. Your fingers curl into his shirt. “I’m sorry.”

Joel squeezes your wrist, turning his head to press a soft kiss to your forearm.

He climbs up over you, chest to chest—the jut of his cock where it tents the denim of his jeans grinds over the sensitive span of your cunt as he settles himself between your legs. He’s thick, heavy even through all the layers.

Joel’s free hand snakes down his body, making quick work of his belt. He rips his zipper down, freeing his cock from the confines of his soaked boxers and letting it slap up against his stomach.

You moan at the sight of it—hard, straining, the tip a dusty red and wet with pre-come. Your legs widen unconsciously, thighs twitching on either side of Joel’s hips.

Joel takes himself in his hand, fist tight over the base of his cock as he runs himself through your puffy cunt, slicking the skin of his cock with your wetness. “Gonna fuck you,” he breathes, lining himself up between your legs. “Gonna feel you around me, baby, need it so damn bad.”

Joel slides in with one long, smooth stroke, your slick making it easy, and the groan he lets out sounds like pain. Like relief. Like he might lose his mind from the heat of you. Your breath hitches at the stretch, head lolling back against the hardwood as your nails dig into his shoulders.

“Mine,” he grits through his teeth, forehead pressed to yours, his hips grinding deeper as you cling to him. “You’re mine, baby. Always—always mine.”

You nod, panting, eyes glassy. “All yours,” you whisper. “Only yours, Joel.”

And then he moves.

Hard.

Desperate.

Unrelenting.

He fucks you like you’re the only thing tethering him to earth, like if he stops, he’ll unravel entirely. One arm hooks under your knee, pushing you open, deeper than before. His hips slap against yours, raw and hopelessly, but it’s not about getting off.

It’s about feeling you.

Every squeeze, every tremble, every gasp that leaves your mouth when he hits that perfect spot.

Joel’s never felt like this before.

So angry.

So scared.

So in love.

He fucks you like he’s trying to imprint himself inside your body. His thrusts stitch you back to him, sealing you inside his chest so you can never leave. A mess of skin-on-skin and heat and slick as the two of you meet again and again and again.

“Could’ve lost you,” he growls against your throat. “Fuck, honey, I could’ve—Jesus—”

You wrap your arms around him. “You didn’t,” you whisper. “I’m here, Joel—I’m yours—”

He groans, hips stuttering, thrusts turning frantic. He can tell he’s close, that he’s been close since he sank to his knees in front of you.

“Say it again,” he pants, slamming into you with a low, wrecked noise. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp. “Always yours—fuck, Joel—”

You wrap your arms tighter around him, pulling him closer. Your nails dig into his skin through the thin layer of his undershirt, legs locking around his waist to keep him pressed against you like you’re scared he’ll let go.

Joel doesn’t let go. He’d never let go. Not even when you moan his name like a prayer, not even when your nails rake down his back, not even when you gasp out a warning, your voice thin and needy. “Joel, I—gonna—”

“I know, baby. I got you.” His hand snakes down between you, finding your clit and rubbing quick circles over it, desperate to feel you come. “Wanna feel you. Need to—fuck—need to feel you, sweetheart. Please.”

You shatter in his arms with a broken sob, clenching hard around him as your body jerks, overwhelmed and too raw to hide it. Joel feels you pulse around his cock, the tight warmth of your cunt milking him.

It’s too much, and he’s coming with a groan that sounds like it’s been clawed from his chest. He buries himself to the hilt, hips jerking with every pulse, breath catching in your ear. “Fuck, fuck—” he pants, voice hoarse, “—love you, I love you, I thought I lost you, baby, I can’t…”

You’re both trembling when it ends.

Joel holds you there for a long time, forehead resting against yours, still buried deep inside you. He still won’t let you go. Not yet.

Eventually, when he’s calmed, he pulls back just enough to look at you.

You expect that same look from earlier—rage, fear, guilt—but it’s not there. Just love. Just deep, aching relief.

“I can’t lose you,” he says quietly. “I wouldn’t survive it.”

You reach up, trace the curve of his brow, the edge of his jaw. “You won’t have to,” you whisper.

Joel kisses you again. Softer this time. Sweeter. A delicate press of lips against lips. His fingers stroke your cheek, pulling back enough for his eyes to trace along your face. He follows the line of your brows, the shape of your nose, the soft curve of your lips.

He can’t feel anything other than love.

Gentle. Solid. Steady.

It’s only love.

mini nat's note: everyone please send good vibes for my hell sent ch*m final on monday...i literally need all the luck i can get. thank you so much for reading! mwah.

2K notes · View notes

ponderingmoonlight · 11 months ago

Text

Sharing a bed with kny men

Pairings: Yoriichi x fem!reader; Sanemi x fem!reader

Word Count: 5,7k (lmao)

Warnings: injury in Yoriichi's part, smut in Sanemi's part so read if you're 18+, this is a long ass fic y'all, not proofread

This is actually my first time posting Sanemi smut and I'm super scared. Let me know what you think 🥹🤍

Also, do you want me to do other characters too?🫶

Yoriichi

I heard you @laurencrsnt 🫶

All your life, you never even thought about the possibility that maybe, you’ll encounter a demon someday. Why you, out of all people? Why especially you?

Even now with its cold eyes glaring down at you and your shoulder ripped open by its claws, you fail to find an answer for that. Is it your fate to die right here, when you only went out at night in order to buy medicine for your little sister who has fever? Is dying the cruelest death really your destiny when you wish for nothing more than growing old and watching your own children live their lives?

It’s unfair.

You shouldn’t lay here, crumpled onto the still wet street. You shouldn’t feel the sensation of your eyes watering, your hands trembling, your heart racing.

This shouldn’t be your last day walking on this earth. You didn’t even have the chance to find the man of your dreams yet…

It’s ridiculous and you know it, that spark of determination that rushes through your bones. All of the sudden you spring back onto your feet and start running. Out of the city, away from the lit streets straight into the dark woods.

Even if you have to die here, you won’t give up this easily. You won’t allow this demon to end your life without putting up a fight.

“Why do you girls always think you can run away, huh? It’s too easy to sweep you off your feet”, the demon behind you comments dryly.

With a swift motion of his hand, it digs open your tender flesh all over again, sends your violent scream echoing through the lonely forest. You fall to the ground like a bag of rice, your torn leg now refusing its service completely.

“Let me go!”, you shriek in horror.

No, you don’t want to die here, you just want to go back to bed and forget about this.

But the forest ground isn’t your bed and the demon in front of you who’s ready to slice through your throat isn’t only a nightmare.

Your heart sinks to the floor, body suddenly feeling numb and lifeless. You will die here.

“I’ll keep you in good memory. Well, at least for tonight”, the demon jeers at you.

You close your eyes, desperately try to imagine your little sister. She’ll find herself a loving husband and her very own family without any doubt. Even without you around, her life will turn out alright. Even without you around, life goes on. You don’t have to feel sad or guilty, you just have to let go…

“Get away from that woman.”

A low male voice, so charismatic that you think you might dream. He sure must be handsome. Men with voices like that always have a matching face.

A slicing blade, a dull thud. But no claws that dig into your flesh one last time, no bow of relief that you’ve been awaiting for quite some time by now. Your eyelids start shivering. When is this finally over?

“Are you alright? Please allow me to help you up.”

The second something touches your skin, your eyes snap open in an instant. But they aren’t greeted by those venomous red orbs from earlier. No, these ones are soft but strong and have that calming fuchsia color. This isn’t a demon.

This is a man.

“Don’t be afraid. The demon is gone”, he continues speaking with his low voice.

You have no control over your own body and shivering limbs. It’s impossible for you to say a single word. Are you really out of danger? Is it really over?

When he pulls you off the ground, a violent scream escapes your lips. No, you don’t want to die, you don’t want your life to end tonight. Not like this, not without saying goodbye.

“Please calm down, everything is alright now”, the stranger tries to reassure you, but his words don’t even reach your ringing ears.

You gasp for air like a fish on land, forehead now covered in ice cold sweat. This can’t be your end.

If Yoriichi doesn’t act now, you might faint due to your stress. But what is he supposed to do? You don’t seem to listen to his words and touching you might only make it worse. Maybe you need, assurance?

“I won’t hurt you, see? My hands have no intention of doing you any harm.”

Gently, he glides his fingertips up and down your uninjured harm. Despite the look of horror on your face and your gaping wounds, you do have a lovely face and truly remarkable eyes.

“I came here to help you”, he continues until his fingertips finally brush over your tear-soaked face.

What is this feeling of warmth deep inside his chest? You aren’t the first woman he saved from the claws of a demon.

“I would like to accompany you on your way back home-“

“No”, you suddenly blurt out.

Even though lying in bed on your own was all you were able to think about just a few moments ago, the thought feels like a threat now. What if another demon follows you back home? What if your little sister gets attacked because of your foolishness? No, you simply can’t go back now. But on the other hand…Just the thought of sleeping alone here in the woods runs shivers down your spine.

“I…I’ll find a place to stay. Otherwise…they might harm my sister…”, you mutter.

“Allow me to escort you to my estate, then.”

You yank your head to the side in sheer disbelief, eyes searching for a spark of humor in his calming orbs. Is he really serious about that? After all, you’re a stranger. He doesn’t even know your name. Now that you think of it…who is this?

“How can I know for sure that you aren’t a demon yourself?”

“Take my hand”, he instructs you gently.

Is this really a good idea? You take a deep breath in, try to calm down your pounding heart. What do you have to lose?

When your shaky fingers wrap themselves around his much larger hand, you get ingulfed by warmth. His palms feel rough but also comforting against your bruised skin.

“Demons are cold since they are dead”, he explains briefly.

“But I am not. I am a demon slayer. It is my only destiny to safe innocent souls from their death.”

Oh. Your gaze drifts towards a katana that hangs dangles from his belt. No, demon don’t find with those weapons. So, are those words really true?

“You…You want to help me?”

“I’d love to help you if you allow me to.”

What has gotten into him? Did he really offer you to hold his hand, let alone to sleep at his house so you don’t have to fear the night on your own? Never in his life, Yoriichi allowed himself to develop feelings apart from empathy for those around him.

But those eyes. Those eyes of yours really captivate him, devour him fully. How is he supposed to leave you out here, soaked in your own blood with bruises all over your body?

“You…really would?”

Is this really okay? When you were a child, your mother told you over and over that you aren’t allowed to talk to strangers, let alone man.

But…does that also include the handsome, charismatic and armored ones?

“I keep my word. Also, your wounds need care as well. Please, allow me to help you.”

What do you have to lose.

“If that’s the case, I’d love to take your offer”, you reply shyly.

“I’m glad to hear that. I will show you the way-“

A loud groan escapes your lips before you’re able to stop it. His charismatic eyes almost made you forget about the gaping wound the monster from before inflicted on you.

Almost.

“You shouldn’t move your leg with a wound like that. I will carry you to my estate.”

“You will…carry me?”, you mutter with widened eyes.

But just when you try to take a step forward, his words become painfully clear. No, there really is no way you’ll be able to walk anywhere with that leg. But allowing him to carry you?

“I might be a little heavy.”

“Let me assure you, you aren’t heavy at all.”

“Fine…”, you grumble.

“But only a few meters.”

Gently, he stranger wraps his arms around your shoulder and knees before he starts walking.

He smells good. Like a field of flowers on a sunny day. And the way his heart beats against your cheek reminds you that you’re still alive, that you survived somehow.

This man saved you.

“I didn’t even thank you.”

“There’s no need to thank me. This is the least I can do for you after I almost came too late.”

He stares blankly at the blood that still drips from your leg. Just a few seconds later and that demon would have killed you with him simply watching. Why? Why is he not able to save them all, why is he still not good enough to stop this madness?

“Don’t tense up, don’t think anything less of yourself because I was injured. I was a fool for leaving the house this late at night on my own.”

Despite the fact that cold sweat still runs down your forehead and even though your fingertips still shake in shock, you cup his cheek and force his troubled eyes to look at you.

“I am beyond thankful for my rescue. The worst thing about dying today would have been leaving my little sister behind. But you saved me. And not only that, you even offered me a safe place to stay for the night. I really don’t know if…If I’d be able to sleep on my own tonight…”

The stranger doesn’t say a word, his eyes roaming around your face without a real aim.

“Oh, I didn’t even ask. What’s your name?”

“My name is not important-“

“I’m (y/n)”, you introduce yourself friendly.

“My…my name is Yoriichi”, the man carrying you mumbles.

Yoriichi. An unusual name that you’ve never heard before.

“That name suits you well.”

“We’ll arrive soon. I hope you don’t expect a big mansion since I am living in a rather small cottage-“

“I’m living in a tiny barrack in the city. A house in the woods sounds like a dream”, you mutter.

The second you open your eyes again, you find yourself in a wooden cabin with a plain futon lying on the floor and an improvised kitchen in the back of the house. Nothing special, very fitting for the man who gently lowers you onto the futon.

“I will take care of your wounds now”, he announces before taking off his haori and katana.

Without his threatful weapon dangling from his belt, he looks like a normal man.

If it wasn’t for those captivating eyes. He has to be the most breathtaking man you’ve ever seen.

“Fortunately, the cut on your leg isn’t deep. I’ll disinfect the wound and bandage it”, he explains briefly before his skilled hands spring into action.

“You really are good at everything”, you comment.

He’s so gentle that even the alcohol that disinfects your wound doesn’t seem to burn. Why have you never stumbled across him? You were so sure that you know each and every man around that it almost drove you insane. But him? He’s different from all the others. He’s truly special.

“You will have to take your kimono off. I need access to the wound on your shoulder.”

Oh.

“Y-yeah, sure…”

Hesitantly, you pull the blood-soaked fabric down your shoulder so that only your chest is still covered. Yoriichi’s eyes seem to gleam in the moonlight like liquid metal.

“You look lovely”, he flusters into the night.

He doesn’t know what has gotten into him. Is it the alcohol rising up his nose, the smell of blood that radiates from your bruised body that makes him say those strange things?

No. It has to be because of those eyes of yours. Those eyes that captivated him from the moment he first saw them.

"Thank you," you stammer, your cheeks flushing as you nervously tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"You too," you add quickly, immediately regretting your awkward response.

Both you and Yoriichi swallow hard, the atmosphere in the room suddenly changing.

“I am finished. You should rest for tonight. After all, this was a draining fight for you”, he mutters while getting up.

You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding, heart still hammering so roughly against your ribcage that you’re almost sure he’s able to hear it. What was this tension?

“But…this is your futon-“

“You are my guest. Of course, I will sleep on the floor on the other side of the room.”

Oh. A wave of disappointment rushes over you before you’re able to stop it. What were you expecting, secretly hoping? That this man will share a bed with you?

Honestly, yes.

“You…you really don’t have to…”

Oh, how much Yoriichi wished he wouldn’t have to.

“I insist on taking the floor.”

“I actually want you to sleep by my side. Please.”

The begging tone in your voice stops him mid-track.

“This night was…horrible. A little company would definitely help, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all”, he replies a little too hasty.

“I just don’t want to invade your personal space. After all, I’m a stranger.”

“A really kind stranger”, you add shyly.

Are you acting out of line? You shouldn’t push him to sleep next to you when his offer to let you sleep here is already generous enough, right?

“Forget my question, I was acting out of line-“

“No, not at all. I would love sleeping besides you.”

He crosses the room in an instant and kneels down next to you.

“But let me know whenever I become too much.”

What a ridiculous thought. Why would he ever become too much? Him, your savior, that remarkable man.

You scoot over until your back is pressed against the cool wall, eyes still fixated on his gleaming eyes. Will you really be able to sleep tonight when this is the first time ever a man lies beside you?

And what a handsome one on top.

“You should try to sleep now. Nothing will happen to you as long as I am here”, he reassures you.

That is the least he can do after failing to protect you in the first place.

“Again, thank you for all of this. I definitely own you a favor”, you mumble.

Suddenly your lids start to get heavy, your mind slows down bit by bit. Maybe this rough night really took its toll on you. Is It the safety he radiates, his calming smell? In the matter of seconds, only your low and even breath is heard.

Finally, Yoriichi is able to allow himself a closer look at you. You look so peaceful and innocent with a face so remarkably beautiful that he can’t stop staring. You have to be the prettiest woman he’s ever seen. A man like him really doesn’t deserve lying next to a woman like you. Maybe he should give you space, leave you now that you fell asleep-

With a quiet groan, you draw closer to him in your sleep until your head rests on top of his chest and with your arms wrapped around his upper body.

He doesn’t dare to move an inch, eyes widen in utter surprise. Is this…cuddling? His mind races back and forth, eyes resting on your calm features. What is he supposed to do now?

Hesitantly, he allows his hand to rest on your back. What an unknown sensation, all those feelings that rise up his chest right where your hand rests.

For the first time since forever, he is the one who feels safe.

He is the one who feels loved.

He is the one who feels warm.

And you? You cuddle yourself against him until the sun rises all over again.

Sanemi Shinazugawa

This one's for you @muichirolover14 🤍

“This is bullshit”, the man walking next to you mumbles under his breath.

“Keep focused. It was Kagaya-sama’s personal wish that the two of us go on this mission together”, you mumble with a fake smile decorating your bright red lips.

And that’s the only reason why you agreed in the first place. Why else would you pretend to be Sanemi Shinazugawa’s personal concubine if it wasn’t for Kagaya-sama and this undercover mission?

The plan is pretty simple. Countless people, including other demon slayers, lost their lives in this little innocent village that becomes a red-light district at night. Nobody knows why or who is responsible for this.

One of the upper moons, maybe.

It just made sense to dress you up as a concubine. After all, you are the light hashira, a mighty swordswoman and probably the most talented out of Mitsuri and Shinobu when it comes to acting.

And then there’s him. You glance at Sanemi’s annoyed face from the side. Why on earth did Kagaya-sama choose him? What about Rengoku, Giyu, Obanai, Tengen, Gyomei? Aren’t they a way better fit?

You sign to yourself.

Truth is, they aren’t. While Rengoku, Obanai, Tengen and Gyomei would stand out immediately, Giyu would never be able to sell you as his concubine. No, no one except the wind hashira is able to make this look natural.

No one but him looks this good in a dark green kimono.

What?

“Stop staring at me like that, brat”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

“I was just hoping you might disappear if I stare long enough, idiot”, you bite back in frustration.

Why does he always have to be so mean, though? You really tried to get along with him countless times, put on the most precious smile whenever you talked to him and made sure to always bring him ohagi whenever you had the chance to. But Sanemi Shinazugawa never stopped hating you. And eventually, a part of you started to dislike him as well. That one part though…

You allow your eyes a minor glimpse at his barely exposed chest. That tiny part deep within your head is somehow still drawn to him. And you hate it.

“Aren’t concubines supposed to shut up?”

“Watch your mouth or I’ll leave immediately.”

“Both of us know you wouldn’t do that.”

You let out your shaky breath, your hand crushing his while you wear the same friendly smile as before.

“Don’t mess with me, Shinazugawa”, you speak out with low voice.

His face tenses up ever so slightly, hand fighting for freedom out of your merciless grasp.

“You’ll regret talking to me like that when we’re alone, brat.”

-at the estate-

“I’d like to show you to my newest possession. Please introduce yourself”, Sanemi speaks out.

Like Amane-sama showed you, you bow in front of the man that looks you up and down with his filthy eyes.

“My name is Kiyomi”, you introduce yourself oh so sweetly.

“That name really suits you. What a beauty you are. I’m sure I’d find a lot of paying customers for you here”, the disgusting man purrs and stretches out his hand in order to touch your face.

“Don’t touch the goods”, Sanemi barks at him immediately before slapping his dirty hand away.

Who does this guy think he is, trying to touch you so casually? No. That jerk isn’t allowed to caress your face. The plain thought of men like him getting to put their hands on you…

Sanemi’s guts turn.

“Aren’t you here to sell her and yourself for the night? If that’s the case, she won’t be your good anymore for the next few hours but mine.”

He smiles at you through rotten teeth, his breath almost forcing you to choke. You are only here to detect the demon who is responsible for the countless deaths in this area. You don’t have to touch any of these men. None of them will touch you.

What about Sanemi, though? An uneasy feeling rises up your chest when your eye catches a group of women who stare him up and down with lust in their eyes. Will he allow himself a taste before continuing with this mission? Will he find a woman he is attracted to? All of them look flawless, too good to even consider the service of a paid men. But if that man looks like Sanemi…

“You will find your room to the right. This is where the female customers choose their good. After paying, you belong to them”, the man explains briefly while showing both of you around.

“Why would these women pay for the services of a man? This is a noble region that is well-inhabited by countless men”, you blurt out.

“It’s not about them being men. It’s about looks. Only the fine-looking men even get the chance to work here for the night”, he explains briefly.

Fine-looking man, huh? Well, there is no doubt in the fact that Sanemi suits that description way too good. With his firm muscles highlighted by scars from countless battles, he looks like a walking god. Let alone his perfect face, his eyes that now look soft and seducing without being irritated constantly. His white hair that frames his features perfectly.

“As for the women, we look for a broad variety of bodies, looks and personalities. You are very easy on the eye and mysterious. I’m sure countless customers will fall for that.”

“And what…what services do they expect?”

The man in front of you bursts out in hysteric laughter, you can feel Sanemi’s eyes piercing through your skull.

“What they expect? Intercourse and everything that revolves around it, of course! Do you think they pay you for some cuddles and nice words?”

You swallow hard. There is no need to do that, right? You’ll somehow shrug them off and investigate this place at night. Maybe you’ll find the demon right away and-

“Now, you are a fine-looking man. Who is this?”, a woman suddenly purrs out of the shadows.

“A new worker for the night”, the disgusting man explains with a dirty smile.

“Well, if that’s the case, I’ll definitely make a reservation.”

“It would be an honor, my lady”, suddenly replies in the same cheeky tone

Your guts turn in an instant, eyes narrowing slightly as you watch how a smile forms itself on Sanemi’s usual resting lips.

“What a gentleman he is. I cannot wait to meet you.”

“The honor is on my side, my lady.”

And then he steps in front of her. Elegantly, he grabs the hand she already holds out and kisses her knuckles. Your heartrate quickens, the warm flush that starts creeping up your face barely covered by your makeup.

Fucking asshole. So he’s acting like a jerk towards you all this time while treating other women like this? You hate the knot that forms itself in your throat, the disgusting feeling of disappointment that rushes over you.

Does he really hate you this much?

“Well, I think I should introduce myself to the customers as well. Have a pleasant night, Sir”, your monotone voice speaks out on its own.

With one last bow towards him, you follow the man into the women’s corridor without even gifting him a single look. Sanemi can’t help but furrow his eyebrows at your sudden reaction. Did you really want to get rid of him so badly? Maybe you’ll actually meet up with some of those guys and…

“Are you interested-“

“I will meet up with you later this evening, my lady. Please excuse me.”

Without another look or word, he storms into his assigned room and closes the door behind him.

Sanemi’s mind starts going insane. What if you actually like one of those guys? Or what if one of them hurts you, tries to force you into something you don’t want? He heard the worst stuff about places like this.

Fuck, he shouldn’t have let you go in the first place. Why you? This mission is way too dangerous for someone like you, for someone this gorgeous-

“I’m losing my fucking mind”, he mutters through gritted teeth.

“I can’t do this”, you breathe out in sheer panic while lying in bed.

No, just the thought of Sanemi having the fun of his life with that girl from earlier feels like ripping your beating heart out of your chest. Will he really share a bed with them?

If it’s for the mission, he definitely would. Nothing is greater than his urge to kill demons, especially when it comes to an upper ranked one. That little sacrifice wouldn’t stop him.

And it breaks your dumb heart.

A hard knock on the door rips you out of your running thoughts. Is this your first customer? All color drains from your face, eyes widen in horror with every bow against the wooden door.

“Just a moment”, your shaky voice shouts.

You…Do you have to look presentable? You have to think about the things you can tell him. Maybe you don’t even have to sleep with him, maybe this will distract you from the things Sanemi is probably doing right now.

You open the door.

And stare straight into the furious eyes of Sanemi Shinazugawa.

Before you’re even able to react, he pushes himself into your room and closes the door behind him before yanking you against the wall.

“What did you do?”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

Your heart starts hammering roughly against your ribcage. Him? Here?

“What the hell are you doing he-“

“Answer my question right now!”, he barks into your face.

“I didn’t do anything!”, you shriek.

“What the hell has gotten into you!?”

“Has somebody touched you?”

His rough hands start running up and down your neck, yank the sleeves of your kimono upwards in a haste.

“What?”, you breathe out.

What the hell is going on? Just when you managed to pull your arm away from him, he grabs your wrist again with his face only inches away from yours.

“Did somebody touch you?”, he screams into your face.

“No!”, you cry back.

“But why would you even care? It looked like you had plenty of fun!”

He shakes his head while looking at you in utter surprise and confusion.

“What non-sense are you talking now-“

“Did you sleep with that woman from earlier when I was gone?”

God, you hate the way your voice cracks in the middle of the sentence, you hate the way your eyes fill with hot tears. He came here to confront you with all those accusations while he was out there having the time of his life, while all you were able to think about is him?

“No, I didn’t sleep with anyone!”

“Stop lying to me!”

“You’re the only one I want!”, he suddenly blurts out breathlessly.

“What?”, you utter in hushed panic.

This has to be a cruel joke, an unforgiving way to stop you from doing anything. Sanemi Shinazugawa, wanting you?

“Since I first saw you with your fucking perfect face and so melodic voice, I can’t think about anything else! You, sleeping with some random guy while I’m just a few doors away. I can’t take it!”

He grabs your head with both hands, eyes staring at you so intensely that you feel like collapsing any minute. If that’s really true, if that’s really how he feels…

“But…I want you too”, you squirm.

“I always wanted you, Sanemi.”

His lips crash against yours with so much power that you almost fall over. Suddenly his hands are all over your body, tongue unforgiving as he discovers your mouth with a passion you’ve never felt before. You allow your very own hands to finally discover the deep valleys of his muscular back, to let your hasty fingertips wander over his tight chest.

It becomes unbearable. Everything starts to become unbearable. That minor gap between your bodies, the clothes that still deny you full access to his naked skin, the feeling of not having enough.

“I need more”, you whimper against his lips, not even knowing what exactly you’re asking about.

Sanemi lifts you up with ease, not even breaking the kiss when he pushes you onto the bed with his massive body lingering on top of you.

You feel like suffocating in the most exquisite way.

“I’ll give you whatever you want”, he breathes against your lips that now find your neck.

A whimper escapes your mouth before you can stop his, body rearing up underneath him.

“S-Sanemi!”

“Fuck”, he hisses before his dark eyes meet you again in distress.

“Tell me you want this.”

“I…what?”

You can’t produce a single logical sound, head still spinning from the unknown sensation that starts building up inside your stomach. Is this what desire feels like?

“Tell me you want this too. Tell me you want me.”

“I wanted you all this time”, you reply without thinking twice.

With a swift motion, you find yourself engulfed by his arms with his lips caressing yours all over again. Like in trance, you begin opening his kimono, expose his bare skin to your merciless eyes.

“You look so shamelessly good”, you whimper.

Oh, how often you pondered about how his chest feels like, if his scars are soft or as rough as his walls.

“Can I…?”

His hands grab the ends of your kimono, eyes staring down at you flustered. Is that blush creeping up his cheeks?

“It’s just…You know…I’ve never done this before…”, you stammer.

“Do I look like I did, idiot?”, he mutters while gently taking off your kimono until you lay underneath him.

Completely naked.

“I mean, yes…”

“No, I didn’t”, he barks.

“I guess I waited for someone special…”

“I did as well”, you reply in an instant.

Is this real or are you dreaming? Sanemi Shinazugawa laying on top of you fully nude. Sanemi Shinazugawa stating that he likes you. Sanemi Shinazugawa’s hand that start moving downwards…

Until he reaches between your legs and simply takes your breath away.

“Are you okay?”, he mutters, eyes filled with worry.

You nod absently, eyes rolling back into your skull. God, this feels like heaven. When a groan escapes his lips, you completely lose yourself. Out of instinct, you grab his neck and yank him even closer towards you, your hot breath clashing against his face.

“Sanemi!”

His name sounds like a prayer coming from your mouth, forces his fingers to move even faster. Is this good? Is he doing everything alright? Your whimpers grow louder and louder, nails digging into his now oversensitive skin with so much pressure that it threatens to burst. You look so gorgeous with your eyes pressed shut, your delicate mouth forming an “o”.

And then you burst right underneath him, scream his name over and over again with your legs shaking. He can’t wait no longer, can’t contain himself another second.

“I need you”, he mutters.

“Please, let me have you.”

“Yes”, you breathe out, mind still spinning when the firework that just exploded in your lower body slowly starts wearing off.

Until you feel him all over again. But this time, not his fingers. Your glossy eyes widen in utter surprise when he carefully stretches you out and disappears inside of you, hands holding onto him for dear life.

“Are you okay?”, he whimpers.

“Please…give me…more…”

He almost loses his mind, the new sensation almost eating him up alive. Countless nights, he dreamed about what it might be like to have you, what it would feel like. But the reality is so much better than any dream.

Sanemi picks up his pace and grabs your waist passionately in order to keep you in place. Over and over, again and again your sticky skin collides with his until he threatens to burst.

“You’re mine”, he presses out through gritted teeth while pounding into you.

“I’m all yours, Sanemi!”, you cry out, nails now leaving marks on his skin.

“I need…ah! I need you! Please!”

He knows exactly what you’re asking for. One last time, he picks up the pace while holding onto you for dear life.

Until finally, you scream his name. Finally, he’s able to let it all go.

“(y/n)!”

He collapses on top of you, his weight leaving you dizzy and unable to move. None of you dares to make a move, the only thing that’s filling the room being your shaky and sharp breaths.

“I love you, (y/n)”, Sanemi finally mutters, his hand caressing your cheek oh so gently.

“I love you too-“

“Mission report, mission report! Kagaya-sama requires a mission re- AH!”

“Get out of here right now!”, Sanemi barks at the crow that casually entered the room.

“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!?”

“Get out!”, Sanemi screams on top of his lungs before yanking up and hunting the crow butt-naked through the room

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine @laurencrsnt

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blackbird-brewster · 1 month ago

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(I ramble in the tags but I'm adding this to the post body for anyone filtering stuff: CM spoilers, Criminal Minds spoilers)

If I see one more Jemily stan celebrating Will’s death and saying that Jemily is going to become canon, I might actually lose it.

#I personally think it's impossible to say you love JJ (and by extension Jemily) while you celebrate Will's potential death #Bc losing Will is going to DESTROY JJ #WHY would you wish that kind of devastation on JJ... Who has already been through SOOOOOO much over the years??????#You CANNOT detach JJ's character from her husband/family without entirely changing who she is at her foundation #So for people who celebrating the potential of her losing her husband/ the father of her sons.... Can y'all please ask yourself :#Is it that you genuinely care about JJ/Emily????? Or is it that you just see JJ as a means to an end bc you want Emily to be gay? 🤔#and yes OP is 100% correct Jemily is never going to be canon. But you know what???#THAT IS OKAY!!!!#This shift in fandom where people think their ship is only valid if its canon is OUTRAGEOUS #Criminal Minds #cm evolution #Cm shit #cm spoilers #Cm s18

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cj-the-random-artist · 2 months ago

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Hey remember the comic that I teased like... an embarrassingly long time ago (the start of the month)?? I finally finished it. It's. It's done. Enjoy

I'm not gonna lie this one was kind of difficult to make?? Partly because the start of this year has just been really difficult in a lot of respects that I don't intend to discuss, but also because given the state of my sanity lately, actually finishing this was a fistfight at every turn. Mostly I think I've just been looking at it for too long, but there's a lot of like... big feelings going on in this one and I wanted it to read the way I intended. But, my own difficulties with this aside, I do have some actually comic- relevant stuff to say about it:

This is kind of supposed to be a sad follow up to the wedding comic, as Julon, the Disciple being taken to paradise is, in fact, one of the characters whose wedding was depicted. They lived a good life, and were probably around for a couple hundred years, and their two children are adults by the time they die. Julon also wanted to be left in the afterlife in the event of their death- I imagine the Disciples get to choose whether they come back or not- and they do have a sister waiting for them in the great beyond. I considered making a comic prior to this about how they actually die, but I couldn't figure out how I wanted it to go (in my save that they're based on, they died on missionary, but in the AU, they are murdered, either by a dissenter or a spy) I never quite figured that out, hence why I didn't make that.

Also, in my AU, Narinder is Lambert's... tether to the living world, if that makes sense. My Lambert tends to get a little disconnected from reality at times, and for a while would spend longer and longer chunks of time in Purgatory, partly because they found it more and more difficult to come back. That said, Narinder for a long time would have dreams of Purgatory, and sometimes, should Lambert be there during the day, would zone out for what felt like a long period of time only to snap back to reality and realize it's only been a couple of seconds, because a shred of his soul (particularly, the part of his soul that connected him to his crown) still resides in Purgatory after being there for so long. So when Lambert comes to him and expresses difficulty staying grounded in the living world after being in Purgatory, Narinder offers to be their tether, and keep them from being swept away in the currents of the afterlife. Hence why he is the one who pulls them back to the real world. I think I could've shown this better visually in this comic?? And it's worth noting that this is a kind of silly concept that I don't know I want to stick with long term, but... oh well. It's a thought I had that's now... I guess officially in the AU lol.

Anyways. Enjoy this little comic I made, it's certainly not perfect but I hope y'all like it. Have a good one lovelies :D

#the yet untitled qpr narilamb au #cult of the lamb #cult of the lamb fanart #cotl #cotl fanart #narilamb #cotl narilamb #cotl lamb #cotl narinder #i guess theres not much narilamb going on in this one and it is more focused on my lamb interacting with their disciple but. oh well #narinder is pretty important in this one i spose #anyways. done tag rambling. enjoy this little comic and have a good day everyone

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writesvani · 2 months ago

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dear me | 07

lawyer! jeonjungkook 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: passive aggression, sibling conflict, jealousy, unresolved romantic tension, emotional cheating implications, verbal conflict, guilt, crying, emotional vulnerability, judgmental behavior, family tension, awkward confrontations, protective sibling behavior, uncomfortable family dynamics, past relationship trauma

comment here for Dear Me taglist;

SERIES M. LIST;

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wc: 6,5k // date: 18th of April

CHAPTER SEVEN — The Family Games: May the Pettiest Win; happy reading my gummies...

AN: hi there babies! so here she is, my baby. my fav dear me chapter so far. i reread it like 10 times because it was genuinely so funny to me. this had me giggling, kicking my feet, and also slightly fearing for everyone’s safety. anyways, the note goal for this one is 400 notes, because y'all reached 350 too soon and i cannot upload every 4 days i swear. i'm one mental breakdown and three espressos away from vanishing into thin air.

so yeah. reblog, like, comment and i'm dropping chap 8. pressure me. threaten me nicely. send digital hugs and chaotic energy.

also, we're meeting y/n's family! what do you think about them? who would you let adopt you and who would you block IRL? who’s your favorite dear me character so far? please do say, i'm nosy and need validation like a cat needs to knock things off a table.

“You told Y/n about us moving back?”

Jungkook’s voice cuts through the quiet hum of the TV. He takes a slow sip of his coffee, eyes trained on Nina. His tone is calm—too calm. The kind of calm that isn’t real. The kind that stretches thin and tightens just before it snaps.

He leans back, resting his elbows on the table, cocking his head slightly, like he's studying her.

Nina doesn’t flinch. She matches his energy with practiced ease, raising her green smoothie to her lips.

“Yeah,” she replies simply, “like days ago.”

She doesn’t look at him when she says it. Her gaze stays locked on the TV screen where a dramatic monologue from Grey’s Anatomy echoes faintly through the room. But she isn’t really watching. Just pretending.

Jungkook blinks once. Twice. “Why, though? I told you I didn’t tell her yet.”

“It must’ve slipped out, Kook,” Nina says with a small shrug, brushing imaginary lint off her pajama pants. “Don’t overthink everything.”

But her fingers grip the glass a little tighter. And he notices.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs, stepping closer to her with a softness that feels practiced—familiar.

His hand finds her shoulder, thumb brushing over the cotton of her shirt, before he dips down and presses a kiss to the side of her forehead.

“I just wanted to be the one to break the news,” he groans, dragging the words out like a kid sulking over spilled cereal.

Nina snorts, giving him a playful side-eye. “Don’t be a lil whiny baby.”

Still, her lips twitch into a smile. She doesn’t fight it. Can’t.

Jungkook grins at her reaction, pleased, and nuzzles into her neck. His warmth folds over her like a heavy blanket, grounding her in the comfort of routine.

Meredith Grey’s voice fills the room, talking about life and death and love and choices, and it blends into the background of the morning like white noise.

They don’t talk about you again.

They just sit. Side by side. Pretending it’s all simple. Pretending the little cracks in the routine don’t matter.

And after that—coffee drained, smoothies gone, hearts still humming—they leave for work. Like always.

As soon as Jungkook steps out of the apartment, the door clicking shut behind him, the breath he’d been holding finally escapes his lungs in one long, drawn-out sigh. It’s almost embarrassing how heavy it feels. Like it’s been sitting in his chest for days instead of minutes. He doesn’t even really know why he was holding it in. Maybe because he didn’t want to start a fight. Maybe because he didn’t want Nina to feel bad, or maybe—just maybe—because he’s tired of pretending things don’t sting when they do.

Because the truth is, he’s pissed. No use sugarcoating it. Nina shouldn’t have told you. It wasn’t hers to say. Not like that. Not through a random DM while he was asleep and she was wide awake, scrolling Instagram and replying to selfies. The conversation wasn’t supposed to happen that way. Not with emojis and half-truths and polite replies. It was supposed to come from him. A real talk. The kind you deserved. The kind he’d been avoiding.

But despite all that, he can’t bring himself to be truly mad at Nina. Not fully. Not when she didn’t mean any harm by it. Not when, in her own way, she was just trying to share something important with someone who used to matter to her, too. Because you did. You still do. To both of them. That’s the part that messes with him the most. She had every right to say something… and he had every chance to do it before her. But he didn’t. And now he’s left cleaning up a mess he made for himself.

By the time he slides into the driver’s seat, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel, his thoughts are a tangled mess. The sun is too bright, his head is too loud, and everything feels just slightly off. His phone connects to the Bluetooth system automatically, the screen flickering to life. Your name is right there. Sitting in his favorites. Familiar. Comforting. Complicated.

Without giving himself a second to hesitate, to back out, to make another excuse—he taps your name. He calls you.

“Heyyy,” you drawl out, voice muffled slightly like the phone’s wedged between your ear and shoulder. In the background, something clatters—probably a pan, possibly your soul. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” Jungkook says, a little smile tugging at his lips even though he’s stuck in traffic and deeply aware he hasn’t had enough coffee yet. “You at work?”

“No, I’m cooking a five-star meal for Gordon Ramsay in the middle of a battlefield. Yes, I’m at work. What about you?”

“Driving. Headed in now.”

“Dang, don’t die before that hearing you’ve got today,” you say, tone deadpan. “It’d be real awkward if my criminal defense attorney suddenly got yeeted off the highway and left me to rot in jail. Like, how selfish. I’d literally kill you myself again if you were my lawyer.”

He snorts. “Wow. I die and your first concern is you?”

“My concern is your client. Or possibly me if I ever need your services. You’re not special. It’s called survival of the fittest. I’m not made for prison, Jungkook. Do I look like I can win a fight over toilet paper?”

“That’s a horrifying image.”

“Exactly. Stay alive. For both our sakes.”

“You’re terrifying,” he mutters, grinning.

“And yet, you called me.”

“Well, I’m starting to regret that right now,” he smirks into the phone, shifting gears with a lazy hand.

“Oh no. No no no,” you gasp dramatically, like a soap opera star. “You just broke my heart.”

“Did I?” he teases, clearly enjoying himself.

“Yeah,” you say, voice tight with fake emotion. “Like—I’m literally seasoning the duck I’m making with tears. This is heartbreak cuisine. Ms. Kim’s about to eat sorrow on a plate.”

Jungkook laughs. “Tell her it’s my fault. Maybe she’ll take pity on you and finally give you Fridays off.”

“Unlikely. She feeds off human misery. Yours especially.”

“Good. I’m glad someone appreciates me.”

“Oh, I’m sure she’d love to appreciate you if she got to meet you,” you sing-song into the phone, already picturing the way Ms. Kim would size Jungkook up like a five-star meal.

Jungkook makes a noise of confusion. “Isn’t she like... fifty years old? If I remember correctly.”

“Yeah, so?” you laugh, setting down a pan. “The woman likes chicken. Likes ‘em a little younger. Possibly taken. She says she’s kinky like that.”

He groans, dramatic as ever. “How do you know all of this?”

“She’s fifty, lonely, and loves to overshare while I’m chopping carrots. I’m basically her therapist.”

“Damn. Does she have a husband? Or kids?”

“She’s divorced,” you sigh, opening the fridge with your elbow. “But I think she really loved her husband.”

“What happened?”

“He cheated. With a 25-year-old model.”

Jungkook goes silent for a beat. “What the fuck?”

“I know, right? Rich people are weirdos. They collect luxury pens and ruin marriages for fun,” you say, voice light. “She has two kids though. A son and a daughter. But they live in different states.”

“Bet they don’t even call.”

“They do call,” you say, “they visit too. It’s just that she needs someone to share her sex fantasies with 24/7, and unfortunately, that someone is me.”

“You don’t sound like you’re complaining too much.”

“Let’s not mention this ever again,” you mumble, your voice softening, “but I do kinda… have a soft spot for her. She practically raised me since I was nineteen. I’ve been working for her for years already.”

Jungkook swallows hard, one hand tightening around the wheel. He’s quiet for a second.

Because yeah—he might have watched you grow from a little kid into a teenager, seen your life unfold in chapters. But Ms. Kim? She watched you step into your adulthood. Into yourself. She saw the version of you he never fully got to meet.

And it stings, just a little.

He’s kind of jealous of her—for being there, for seeing it. For getting that privilege. But it’s the good kind of jealousy, the kind that makes his chest warm and heavy all at once.

“You really love that woman, huh?” Jungkook teases, his voice all light and teasing.

“Ugh, don’t put it like that,” you groan, even as a laugh slips out of you. But Jungkook is already full-on cackling on the other end.

Yeah, okay—you do kinda love her. Scratch that, you absolutely love her. Almost like a second mom. But that doesn’t mean he needs to say it out loud like that. Makes your cheeks burn. You’re not the kind of person to throw the L word around so easily. At least not about your boss.

“So,” you say, shifting the conversation before your heart has the chance to betray you, “When are you guys coming back exactly?”

“We’re packing right now,” he says, a bit of excitement in his voice. “We’ll officially be back in three weeks.”

“Dang, can’t believe you didn’t tell me earlier,” you say, lighthearted. You're joking—he knows that. But there’s a thread woven into your tone, something quiet and just a little heavy. And Jungkook feels it. Hears it. But he doesn’t dare tug on it.

“Yeah, well, like I said last time, I was just waiting for everything to settle. For plans to work out just like I wanted. Sorry you had to hear it from Nina,” he mumbles, a bit sheepish now.

“Don’t apologize, Kook,” you rush to say, too quickly. “I’m glad I know about it. Doesn’t matter who told me.”

But it does. And you both know it.

“I feel so bad now,” Jungkook groans, dragging the words out like he wants you to pity him.

You snort. “Well, as you should, bestie. Clearly Nina loves me more than you do. She tells me everything.”

“Oh, we’re keeping score now?” he asks, dramatic disbelief in his voice. “Didn’t know I was in a polyamorous triangle where I’m losing to my own girlfriend for the affection of my best friend.”

“Fiancée,” you correct, too quickly.

“Huh?”

“You said girlfriend,” you hum, a little too amused. “She’s your fiancée, remember? Ring on the finger, lifetime commitment, all that jazz.”

“Right, right—fuck,” he mutters, and there’s a pause. “Still new to this engaged life.”

You don’t say anything, but the silence is heavy. Almost mocking. Like you’re both pretending that stumble didn’t feel like more than a slip. Like it didn’t hit some nerve you’ve been keeping buried since the day Nina showed you that engagement video.

“Damn dude, don’t sound that excited,” you tease, mocking his tone, “you’re gonna make me wish I could find a guy and get married just to outdo your enthusiasm.”

“Ugh, I am excited,” he groans, but it’s more of a sigh than anything else. “It’s just… different. One moment you’re dating someone and the next, you’re planning a whole future life together. Like—boom. Mortgages. Guest lists. Forever.”

There’s a beat before your voice comes in, softer now, cautious. “Kook…” You say his name like it’s sacred. “Are you second-guessing your decision?”

“No! No, I’m not,” he rushes to say, a little too quickly. “It’s not that. It’s just… I feel like we all grew up too fast. Like one day we were joking about skipping class and now we’re—” he pauses, like the words are caught in his throat, “—we’re here. All serious and shit.”

You take a deep breath. “Yeah, well… we couldn’t stay kids forever.”

“I know.” His voice is quiet now, almost a whisper. “I wish we could, though.”

“Don’t dwell on it too much,” you say in your best therapist voice. “Everyone’s bound to grow up. Look at all of us.”

“What do you mean?” Jungkook asks, suspicious.

“I mean… we’re, like, accidentally functioning adults with actual jobs. You’re a big-shot lawyer who probably says ‘objection’ in your sleep, Nina is out there cutting people open for a living like it’s casual, Yoongi publishes books and complains like it’s a full-time personality trait, and I—” you dramatically pause, “make meals for a rich lady in a midlife crisis who pays me like I’m coding the fucking Matrix.”

“Mhm. We’re definitely thriving,” Jungkook says, deadpan.

“And you and Nina? You’ve basically unlocked the ‘I have my life together’ achievement. Career, love, future wedding registry at IKEA or whatever. Meanwhile, I have a graveyard of failed situationships and dudes who think foreplay is vaguely tapping my knee.”

Jungkook wheezes. “Not the ghost of horny idiots past.”

“Oh yeah. I’ve become a certified sex coach by force. Call me Sensei of the G-spot. Or even a teacher of love."

“Jesus—why does that sound like the title of a cursed, low-budget porn?”

“Because it is, and I starred in it emotionally. And let me tell you—this one guy, Taehyung? If bad decisions were Olympic sports, I’d be bringing home the gold. But he could’ve made solid amateur content. 4K, no cap.”

“I’m actually begging you to stop,” Jungkook laughs. “My brain is trying to leave my body.”

“Too late. The images are already in there. Let them haunt you.”

“So that guy,” Jungkook adds, voice laced with something just slightly too casual, “Taehyung… Were you serious with him or what? Is he the one Nina mentioned?”

“God, no,” you snort. “Taehyung and I were strictly ‘I’m bored, let’s ruin our lives a little’ energy. We still hook up occasionally,” you add with a giggle, the clinking of dishes behind you making it sound even more nonchalant. “The guy Nina meant was Chris. I mean is Chris—man’s still breathing, unfortunately.”

Jungkook hums, trying not to sound too intrigued. “What happened with you and, uh, Chris?”

“Our relationship turned into an instruction manual—confusing, repetitive, and missing emotional screws,” you deadpan. “I mean, I love routines. I love brushing my teeth at the same time every day, watching trash TV on Tuesdays, organizing my spice rack alphabetically. But a routine in a romantic relationship? Bleh.”

He chuckles. “So, what, you just mutually… dipped?”

“We fell out of love. I’ve said it before, but yeah. It was like watching a candle slowly die but you’re too lazy to blow it out. But we’re mature adults now,” you add mockingly, “We wave when we see each other. Very civilized. Very grown-up. Sometimes I even pretend I don’t want to shove him into traffic.”

“Ah, true love’s final form.”

“And Taehyung?” Jungkook asks, trying not to sound too curious.

“UGH,” you groan dramatically, “it feels so weird talking to you about my sex life.”

And yeah, Jungkook feels it too. It is kind of weird. You guys only recently started talking again—like really talking—and now you’re casually breaking into the “so here’s who’s making me see stars” category of conversation. It’s awkward. But like… the good kind. The kind that cracks the ice instead of making you want to drown under it.

“But anyway,” you go on with a sigh, “he’s the only guy I can safely say knows how to do me good. Like, freak level: matched. Energy: dangerous. Results: mind-blowing.”

Jungkook coughs, nearly choking on air.

“Relax,” you laugh, clearly enjoying his discomfort. “I see him sometimes. Mostly during the weekends. Like, Friday nights are for insane sex, Saturday mornings are for pancakes. We keep it simple.”

“Wow,” Jungkook mutters, eyebrows raised as he stares at the road. “I didn’t know you scheduled your hookups like dentist appointments.”

“Kook, I’m organized,” you shoot back. “Just because I’m getting railed doesn’t mean I don’t believe in time management.”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “I forgot how unfiltered you are.”

“Oh please,” you snort. “I was always like this. You just forgot because you became all lawyery and respectable or whatever. Mr. Courtroom with a fiancée and matching mugs.”

“Excuse you,” he gasps. “Those mugs were a gift. And I am still plenty fun. I’m fun as hell.”

“You’re fun like… brunch with your mom fun.”

“Wow,” he says, mock-offended. “That’s low. Take it back.”

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, “you’re more like tequila number three and bad decisions’ kind of fun. Happy?”

“Much better,” he says. “Though, I’m still stuck on the fact that you’ve got a certified weekend dick schedule. Like—is there a Google Calendar involved?”

You hum thoughtfully. “No, but there is a color-coded notes app. Taehyung’s under red. Red means danger.”

“Red means dick apparently.”

You snort, almost dropping the phone. “Do you want me to start naming the colors or should I save you from a stroke?”

“Oh my god, please don’t. I already know too much. Red is Taehyung, green is probably some yoga instructor who reads your aura while hitting it from the back—”

“Just because I’m getting railed by Taehyung doesn’t mean I can’t have some visual stimulation somewhere else,” you say casually, and Jungkook nearly chokes on his own breath.

“I—wait, what?”

You laugh, the sound way too smug. “Lucas, the guy from yoga? I’m not hooking up with him. I just like to watch. Like, respectfully. From downward dog.”

Jungkook groans. “Oh my god, you’re that person.”

“What person?”

“The ‘I go to yoga to spiritually connect with my body but also stare at the hot guy doing warrior pose’ person.”

You hum, unapologetic. “Exactly. He plays the flute after class. Sometimes shirtless. Who am I to disrespect the art?”

“I hate that I can literally see this man in my head. Like, did he step out of a fantasy novel? Does he braid herbs into his man bun?”

“He does, actually. Lavender. Once jasmine.”

Jungkook wheezes. “I swear to god, you’re collecting red flags like it’s a Pokémon game.”

“Oh, Lucas isn’t a red flag. He’s like… a green flag dipped in glitter. He doesn’t talk much. Probably doesn’t even know I exist.”

“Right, so you go to yoga, spiritually align your chakras, and ogle a flute-playing fairy man while pretending you’re invisible?”

You grin. “In short: yes.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

There’s a soft lull after that. Not awkward, just full of something unsaid. Something sitting between the jokes and the teasing.

So you change the subject before it gets too real.

“Anyway. Back to your love life, fiancé man. Tell me, do you and Nina also bond over herbal teas and chakra alignment?”

“Only if tequila counts as herbal tea.”

“Oh, you’re still fun. I take it back.”

“Sooo, is it spicy?” you ask, far too invested for your own good. You should be subtle. Keep it cool. Mysterious. Before you accidentally make it weird. But hey—he started it.

“We make love,” Jungkook says, all serious.

“Okay… and?” you press, already raising an eyebrow.

“What do you mean, and?”

“You make love—and what else? C’mon, give me something. A little spice. A sprinkle of freak.”

“Not all sex needs dirty details,” he says, half-defensive. “Sometimes it’s just… needing each other. Worshiping each other.”

You pause, blink. “Okay, cool cool. So you choke her and spank her at the same time.”

Jungkook chokes on air. “You said that, not me.”

“Damn,” you grin. “Didn’t know Mr. Worship-The-Queen had it in him.”

“Stop.”

“You stop. You’re the one who brought up the emotional part, I’m just trying to balance the chakras.”

He groans. “I should’ve just said missionary and moved on.”

“Missionary with eye contact?”

“Goodbye.”

“You didn’t deny it though!” you shout through laughter. “Jungkook, do you whisper poetry during sex? Tell me you at least moan her name like a dramatic movie scene.”

“Literally why are you like this?” he laughs, and yet… he doesn’t hang up.

“Sooo, missionary with eye contact, huh?” you tease, words laced with just the right amount of smug. You can’t help it. You do tease. And thank god this is a phone call, because if Jungkook could see your face right now? Disaster. You’re not cool. Your cheeks are heating up, your mind just shoved a not-so-holy image of him doing… that—and yeah, you’re definitely spiraling.

Your brain: please do not go there.

Your hormones: too late.

“Ugh, you’re at it again…” he groans, but there’s no heat behind it. “But yeah, I like eye contact. I like the intimacy during sex. Is it so bad a man prefers sex with feelings instead of cold, empty thrusting?” You can practically hear the eye roll.

“Hey, no shame in that,” you say, clearing your throat way too loudly. “Who doesn’t like a little romance with their raunch?”

“Do you?” he asks suddenly.

Weird question. Like… really weird. Why are you even having this conversation? He’s in traffic, you’re at work. And yet… here you are. Having this talk, of all things.

“I mean, yeah,” you reply, trying to sound casual, as if your entire nervous system isn’t short-circuiting. “If I have feelings for the person, absolutely. If I don’t… I enjoy a little emotionless, hardcore chaos on the side.”

“As you already mentioned,” he says, dry as hell.

You snort. “Listen, I’m just being honest. Emotional sex is great. But sometimes you just want to get absolutely wrecked by someone you’ll never text again.”

“…Are you okay?”

“Emotionally? No. Physically? Always.”

“I hate how much that makes sense.”

“You love it. Admit it.”

He sighs. “You’re lucky I’m not swerving into traffic right now.”

“Kook?” you say, your voice a little softer now.

“Yeah?” he replies, equally soft.

“I think Ms. Kim’s back. I hear her keys jingling like she’s trying to unlock a safe full of state secrets.”

He chuckles. “You gotta go play personal chef slash therapist slash accidental sex confidante?”

You groan. “Unfortunately, yes. The woman probably has a fresh batch of trauma and a craving for duck.”

“Well, bon appétit to both of you.”

You snort. “You’re insane.”

“Okay teacher of love, we’ll talk later?”

“Of course. Try not to crash the car thinking about missionary with eye contact.”

“Please—my therapist says I need fewer intrusive thoughts, not more.”

“Then stop calling me while you drive, dumbass.”

“Touché.”

You hang up smiling like an idiot.

The next three weeks pass in the blink of an eye.

Jungkook and Nina are officially back in Cape May, and to celebrate both love and their return to the city, the Jeons decide to host a get-together dinner. A cozy, intimate thing. Just the people who matter.

They’ve both transferred their jobs too—same careers, different zip codes. It’s a homecoming in more ways than one.

The guest list is lined up with the closest circle: the Jeons, naturally (minus Mr. Jeon, who was thankfully disowned when Jungkook’s parents divorced—no one’s mad about that), Yoongi and Nina’s parents, and your family. That includes your mom, dad, two sisters, and your brother—yes, the whole crew.

When you step through the doors of the Jeon residence, you’re instantly hit with warmth—figuratively and literally. The first people you see are Jungkook’s mom and his brother.

Jungkook’s mom wastes no time. She engulfs you in a hug that could probably fix global warming, ruffles your hair like you’re still ten, and says, “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, I swear to God.” You laugh, cheeks burning, and mutter something that sounds like a thank you but could also be interpreted as a dying bird sound.

Off to the side, you spot your younger brother dapping up Jungkook’s brother like they haven’t missed a beat. It makes you smile—generational friendships like that don’t come easy.

Then comes Yoongi and Nina’s mom, and she practically bolts toward you like you’re a soldier coming home from war. She’s all over you—kisses, pinches, emotional declarations.

You side-eye the rest of the room for help, but everyone’s too busy exchanging hellos and catching up. The whole vibe is wholesome. Loud. Slightly crazy. The good kind.

“Mom, don’t strangle her,” Yoongi mutters, visibly embarrassed.

“I love her too much to kill her,” she replies dramatically, clutching her chest like a telenovela star.

“Let her say hello to the rest of us!” Yoongi calls out from behind his mom, looking mildly horrified as she squeezes you like a favorite plushie. You’re halfway convinced you heard your spine pop.

“Fine,” she huffs, releasing you with the flair of a comedy character. “But only because I need a drink. Loving people is exhausting.”

You stumble your way into Yoongi’s arms, and he kisses your cheek with a long-suffering sigh. “Thank God you’re here,” he murmurs, eyes darting around like he’s being hunted. “The moms already asked me when I’m getting married. Twice.”

“Great,” you deadpan. “So I’m next in line for interrogation.”

“Yup. You’re my human shield now. I owe you big time.”

Then Nina swoops in with her usual sunshine energy. “Oh my god, look at you matching with your siblings. Did you plan that? That’s so aesthetic of you!”

“No, no—it was totally an accident—”

“Mm, sure,” she sings, clearly enjoying this. “It’s giving family portrait realness. I approve.”

And then he’s there.

Jungkook.

Jeon Freaking Jungkook in a crisp button-down and that soft smirk that’s always two seconds away from a joke or a disaster.

He leans in and kisses your cheek. No hug. No extra second. Just a quick “hello” kiss, like you didn’t once teach him how to do laundry without shrinking his sweaters.

“Wow,” you say, smiling. “So formal.”

“I’m a changed man,” he replies smoothly. “One kiss per childhood friend. No refunds.”

You raise a brow. “Guess I’ll bill you for emotional damage later.”

“Add it to my tab.”

It’s funny. It's casual. It's the kind of greeting that says we've known each other forever—but also maybe we don’t know each other like we used to.

And all around you, chaos reigns—Nina’s dad is already halfway into a wine rant about sulfites, your little brother is plotting world domination with Jungkook’s brother over the grill, and Yoongi’s mom is trying to sneak you another hug like a ninja in heels.

It’s loud. It’s family.

And it feels like home.

You’re deep in conversation with Yoongi and your little sisters, Vicky and Leah, when Nina and Jungkook approach. Nina’s sipping something fizzy, her smile looking real enough—until you notice how tightly she’s gripping the glass. Jungkook looks like he’s walking into a landmine.

“Look at the happy couple,” Vicky chirps, her voice sugary sweet and fake as hell. Her smile could kill a man.

“Hey, little ones,” Jungkook greets, aiming a warm smile at both your sisters.

Leah beams. “Hi, Jungkook!”

Vicky just raises a brow and crosses her arms. “So,” she starts, eyes never leaving his, “you and my sister are suddenly friends again, huh?”

Jungkook stiffens. “Yeah. We’re… reconnecting.”

“Girl, why?” Vicky asks, snapping her gaze to you. “Did we forget how fast he dropped you like a bad habit when he got boo’d up?”

“Vicky,” Leah whispers, panicked.

“What? I’m being real. That’s more than most people here can say.” Vicky waves her hand vaguely in Nina’s direction. “Yoongi agrees with me.”

Yoongi backs away like she just lit a match. “I’m Switzerland.”

Nina finally chimes in, trying for calm. “With all due respect, I wasn’t the reason they stopped talking—”

“With all due respect,” Vicky cuts her off, mimicking her voice in an exaggerated, high-pitched tone, “I don’t remember asking for a single syllable of your input.”

You close your eyes. Jungkook coughs awkwardly.

“Look,” Nina says, surprisingly still composed, “I get that you’re protective. I really do. But you weren’t there. You don’t know what happened.”

Vicky scoffs. “You’re right—I wasn’t there. But you know what I was? A witness to my sister crying over a dude who forgot how phones work. And then you, magically glued to his side the whole time, never once told her anything.”

“It wasn’t my place—”

“Oh please,” Vicky rolls her eyes. “You think being someone’s girlfriend, soon to be wife—whatever gives you immunity? News flash, Nina: girlfriends don’t erase friendships. People do that themselves.”

Now Nina’s smile is gone.

“You don’t know everything, Vicky.”

“And yet I know enough to know that the math ain’t mathing. If it smells like betrayal and walks like betrayal—guess what?”

“Vicky,” you mutter.

“What? I’m the drama? At least I’m honest drama.”

Yoongi claps slowly. “God, I missed this.”

“Shut up, Yoongi,” you and Vicky say in unison.

“Wow,” Jungkook mumbles under his breath, “this reunion is going great.”

“This reunion was going great until you and Miss Perfect decided to crash the vibe,” Vicky hisses, eyes locked on Jungkook.

“Why do you hate me so fucking much?” Jungkook shoots back. “Y/n and I already talked. We’re good.”

“I don’t care about your little heart-to-heart,” Vicky snaps. “You know what? Let’s ask Yoongi. Because despite what he says, he is not Switzerland.”

All eyes turn to Yoongi.

He exhales like someone just asked him to defuse a bomb. “Look… I honestly think both of you were at fault for the fallout. And maybe… maybe it should’ve stayed like that.”

Nina blinks. “Wait, are you not going to defend me?”

“I’m not picking sides,” Yoongi says, calm but blunt. “And, yeah, Jungkook and Y/n did drift when you two got together.”

“Exactly!” Vicky nearly cheers, but Yoongi holds up a hand.

“But,” he adds firmly, “that happens. People naturally spend more time with their partners when they’re in a relationship. That doesn’t make anyone evil.”

“Yeah, but it’s still partly Nina’s fault,” Vicky presses.

“No, it isn’t,” Yoongi’s jaw tenses as he steps forward slightly, eyes sharp now. “You don’t get to throw blame at my sister and expect me to nod along. She didn’t pull some villain move. The distance? It was on both of them.” He points, first at Jungkook, then at you.

There’s silence.

Thick, awkward silence.

And right then, your parents approach the group, laughing about something they heard in the kitchen, oblivious to the nuclear vibes in the room.

Everyone quickly plasters on fake smiles.

But the tension hangs heavy, clinging to the air like smoke.

And the way Vicky glares at Jungkook and Nina as they walk off doesn’t go unnoticed. Not by you. Not by Yoongi.

And definitely not by Jungkook.

Leah tries not to meddle in drama. She really does.

She’s always the one who sees the best in people—stays quiet during arguments, lets the storm pass while she remains the calm in the center of it all.

But when she walks into Jungkook’s brother’s room, just looking for her jacket, and finds Nina hunched over on the edge of the bed, silent tears streaking her face—something in Leah cracks.

“Hey,” she says softly, freezes mid-step.

Nina straightens, quickly wiping her face with the sleeve of her sweater. “Hey,” she lets out with a shaky laugh. “Caught me in my Oscars audition.”

Leah walks closer, slow and deliberate, as if afraid to startle her. She sits down beside Nina gently, their knees barely touching.

“Are you okay?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper.

Nina shrugs. “Do you hate me?” Her voice is small. Fragile. Almost childlike.

“What? No,” Leah says quickly, hand already rubbing soothing circles across Nina’s back. “Of course not.”

Nina gives a bitter smile, still looking at the floor. “Vicky thinks I’m some kind of devil sent to destroy lifelong friendships… and I just—I don’t get it. You girls used to like me. When you were kids, I was like the cool older friend. What changed?”

Leah doesn’t answer right away. She threads their fingers together and gives Nina’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“Vicky is just… Vicky,” she finally says. “She’s always been too protective. She doesn’t know how to admit when we mess up. It’s easier for her to blame someone else, especially someone outside the family.”

Nina stays quiet.

Leah exhales, continuing softly, “But trust me—none of us actually blame you. Not really. Not even Vicky. She acts like it, yeah, but deep down? She knows the truth. She knows what happened between you and Jungkook and Y/n… it’s just life. Sometimes things fall apart. No villains. Just… timing and feelings and miscommunication.”

Nina nods, her eyes brimming again.

“You inspired me, you know?” Leah says. “I chose medicine because of you. You made me want to be smart like you.”

Nina lets out a wet chuckle, blinking fast. “I’m sorry I made things weird,” she murmurs.

“You didn’t,” Leah says simply. “You just fell in love with him.”

Meanwhile, in the living room, Vicky is livid.

You're sitting between your mom and Jungkook, laughing at something he just said—some stupid inside joke from middle school, probably—and she’s watching the scene like it’s a horror movie she can’t look away from.

She swears your eyes are sparkling.

She’s had enough.

With the speed and precision of someone on a mission, Vicky swoops in, plopping down on the couch beside you like a warning shot.

“Stop laughing at his jokes,” she hisses into your ear, her tone low but sharp. “You look like you’re giving him heart eyes.”

You blink, caught completely off guard. “What the hell is wrong with you?” you hiss back, cheeks flushing.

“Me? Nothing. You? You damn well know.” Her voice is still a whisper, but the intensity behind it is blaring.

You gulp.

She’s talking about that night. Years ago.

The one where you were a little too drunk and a little too sad, and in a moment of weakness, you let it slip—how in love you used to be with Jungkook. How part of you never really got over it.

And now Vicky, with her elephant memory and protective little sister instincts, is here to make sure history doesn’t repeat itself—or worse, that you don’t humiliate yourself again.

You open your mouth, ready to retort, to tell her to back off, that you’re fine, that it’s been years—but your mom’s voice shakes the room.

“Vicky! Let’s go and help Mrs. Jeon in the kitchen!”

Vicky rises like a soldier summoned by duty, but not before turning back to you and sending a look—a very loud don’t-do-anything-stupid look.

Then both of them are gone, and you’re left sitting there with Jungkook again.

Alone.

And unfortunately for your sanity, he’s still grinning at you like he never broke your heart.

“I never really got the chance to apologize for Vicky’s little… performance earlier,” you say, scratching the back of your head, eyes flickering anywhere but him. “I’m really sorry, Kook. I’ll talk to Nina too. She didn’t deserve that.”

Jungkook shakes his head, a small, tired smile on his lips. “There’s no need to apologize. I get it—Vicky’s got her version of the story. And I know how she is.” He lets out a breath through his nose. “I just wish she didn’t hate me so much. She used to really look up to me.”

You nod slowly, the corner of your mouth pulling into a bittersweet smile. “Yeah… she really did. You were her role model back then. You were everyone’s favorite.”

He chuckles softly at that, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I think,” you continue gently, “when we stopped being close, it wasn’t just me who lost you. She lost you too. And for her, that felt like betrayal—like abandonment.” You glance up at him. “She doesn’t know how to grieve things quietly. So she gets loud instead.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “I never thought about it like that.”

“Well… you were her hero,” you say with a small laugh. “Still might be. Deep, deep down under the layers of rage and sarcasm.”

That earns you a real smile from him—soft, sad, but real.

“You really think so?”

“I know so,” you say, meeting his gaze. “She doesn’t waste that much energy hating someone unless she loved them first.”

“Hmmm, I’ll keep that in mind,” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Who knows, maybe she’ll stop hating me one day.”

“Whew, hold up, soldier,” you smirk, elbow nudging his arm gently. “Let’s not get too ambitious. Baby steps.”

He lets out a real laugh, low and familiar. It rolls out of him so easily, it makes something settle in your chest. The tension thins. The air between you shifts back into something softer. Normal. Familiar.

“So…” he leans into the couch cushions a bit more, his arm brushing yours for a second too long. “Are you excited I’m back?”

You glance at him, a smile playing on your lips. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “I am.”

He smiles at that. Like he was hoping you’d say it. He’s thinking about something—hesitating—his eyes flickering to your face and then away like he’s trying to piece something together in his head.

“Do you wanna, I don’t know… do something tomorrow? Just the two of us. Like before?”

You raise a brow. “What, like sneak into The House and get drunk listening to The Smiths in your mom’s basement again?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no. But I was thinking more Smiths and The House—less drinking. I start work the day after tomorrow, and I really don’t want to show up hungover.”

You bite back a smile, pretending to mull it over. “Okay, sure. Fine. Whatever you want, Mr. Responsible Adult.”

“Awesome.” His grin is soft. A little crooked.

Your eyes meet. And for a second, it’s calm. Not uncomfortable, not awkward. Just calm.

And in that quiet, something passes between you. Unspoken. Personal. A flicker of an old bond that never really went away.

The moment is soft, humming with something you can’t quite name. Like standing at the edge of a sentence that hasn't been spoken yet. Jungkook looks at you like he wants to say something—like he’s about to reach across the space between you, bridge the gap, touch you, hug you.

And then—

Plop.

Mrs. Min drops herself between the two of you on the couch like it’s musical chairs and she won. She lets out a delighted little laugh, already turning to you with a conspiratorial glint in her eye.

“So, sweetheart, when are you going to give my son a real chance?”

You blink. “What?”

She winks. “C’mon, you know what I’m saying.”

Your brows knit, confusion crawling all over your face as she leans in closer.

“You knowww,” she whispers, dramatically, as if you're filming a soap opera together, “Yoongi. You two would make the most adorable couple. Honestly? Way better than Jungkook and Nina—don’t tell Nina I said that.”

You burst into awkward laughter, trying to mask the what is even happening expression you’re wearing. “We’re just friends, Mrs. Min.”

She waves a hand like she’s brushing away nonsense. “Friends get married aaaaaall the time. It’s your time now. I'm telling you, the wedding would be so stylish.”

You scramble to change the subject—anything to steer away from the you + Yoongi fantasy Mrs. Min is clearly crafting like a Pinterest board in her head.

But as you turn slightly, eyes catching on Jungkook, something shifts.

His smile is gone.

Jaw set.

Fingers curled tightly around the glass in his hand, knuckles almost white. He’s looking at you, but the expression on his face—it’s not the same as before. It's guarded. Searching. Like there’s something behind his eyes that he doesn’t want you to see.

Like he knows something you don’t.

A truth he’s holding onto, too tightly.

And the look he gives you—it swallows you whole.

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