#i feel like i sound like this post when i speak

[hcneymooners]

⋆ ambessa headcanons but it's a modern au & she's a ruthless business mogul.

business mogul!ambessa x wife!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: what it says on the tin.

cw: implied age difference! explicit sexual content below the cut!

notes: i need her. i am going to lose it. the theme of this marriage is definitely cherry by lana del rey ( listen here. ) and bordersz by zayn ( listen here. )

getting together

one night, a little tipsy and feeling bold, you post a video to social media. you don’t care about the controversy, you declare—you need ambessa so badly.

despite the chaos that follows, your words are so heartfelt, so sweet, that the video practically goes triple platinum overnight.

later, at a restaurant opening, you both happen to be there. she spots you sitting in a corner, all soft warmth and radiant energy.

you look lovely, your wide smile lighting up the room. she notices how your nose scrunches when you laugh and how your dress—loaned as a favor to a designer you adore—dips elegantly at your hips.

with a little... maneuvering, ambessa secures the seat next to you and strikes up a conversation.

you’re so vivacious, so intelligent, and for the first time in a long time, she meets someone who doesn’t greet her with judgment or disapproval.

when you speak, you lean in, your hand occasionally brushing her arm. you’re so intentional, and it utterly endears her to you.

after the event, she goes home haunted by your perfume and the sound of your laughter.

the next morning, her PA reaches out with a dinner invitation to one of your dream restaurants. ambessa had spent the night scrolling through your socials, watching videos over and over.

the married life.

you’ve become a media darling—everyone adores you.

sometimes, ambessa can’t handle sharing you with the world, so she’s left her mark: photos of you often feature dark hickeys blooming across your neck like wildflowers.

your ring is massive, but she insisted you pick it out yourself—she wanted to make sure it was exactly what you wanted.

you call her “bessa,” and she alternates between “my love,” “baby,” or “sweet girl” when speaking to you.

when you leave for trips, whether for work or to visit family, she secretly diffuses perfume oils that mimic your scent throughout the house.

the playlist you share is ridiculously long—so long, in fact, it almost crashed your phone once, but neither of you care.

her desk is cluttered with framed photos of you, and your house has a photo wall that stretches up the staircase.

even when she’s annoyed or upset, she’s impossibly soft with you.

she gets genuinely upset if you don’t use her card to make purchases. like pissed.

“you will want for nothing” was one of the first promises she made to you.

you have to sneak birthday and christmas gifts for her because she always checks to make sure you’re spending her money “as the Lord intended.”

“i didn’t add this card to your apple wallet for decoration.”

she’s deeply affectionate, both in public and private.

she adores nonsexual intimacy—massaging your feet as you tell her about your day, pulling you into her lap while she works, and just sitting quietly together.

when you cup her face during conversations to focus her, it often leads to... wonderful outcomes.

if she catches you pouting, she pinches your lips into a duckbill and laughs. you let it slide because her laughter is so full-bodied, so infectious, you can’t help but love it.

her humor is so dry and witty it takes you a minute to register sometimes, but when you do, you’re in stitches.

she’s always close—sharing water, joining you in baths and showers. you’re rarely apart.

ambessa loves to provide for you. she’s your dictionary, bank account, calculator, calendar, dild—

her gift-giving is unmatched. she remembers things you mentioned wanting years ago, down to the minute you said it. it could've been mentioned 6 years, 2 months, 3 days, 1 hour, 6 minutes, and 23 seconds ago. she still remembers.

she keeps a lawyer on retainer because you’re fiercely protective of her. she acts exasperated but secretly loves it.

if you get sick, she’s terrifying—she’ll track down whoever got you sick and sue them into the ground. when you had pneumonia once, she nearly had a breakdown. it is now referred to as the crashout of the century in your household.

she’s serious about keeping you healthy, even if it drives you crazy. workouts with her are intense.

“just a little more, my love.” “you said that two rounds ago!"

her countdowns are the worst. she swears there’s ten seconds left, but it feels like eternity.

speaking of households, you don’t play when it comes to your family.

you’re fiercely protective and, let’s be honest, a little conniving when necessary.

the pta? you run it like the navy. everyone falls in line when you walk in the room.

once, a kid at mel’s school thought it was a good idea to bully her. you pulled up, found the kid, and made sure they’d never even think about messing with her again.

after that, everyone was a little afraid of mel and kino’s stepmom. you never heard another peep of bullying.

when it's good—it usually is—it's wonderful. but there were compliated moments in the beginning.

ambessa’s rise to the top wasn’t exactly clean. there were deals in shadows, strategies that left her enemies ruined. you should’ve felt more conflicted, but you found it difficult to care.

but then she announced she was running for office, and everything changed. you hated what she was doing to win—how ruthless she was, how far she was willing to go.

it led to the biggest fight you’d ever had. you left, heartbroken, and stayed with your parents for weeks.

mel had never seen her mother so undone. ambessa was quiet, distracted, a shadow of herself.

mel flew out to see you, desperate to fix things. when you saw her, the grief on her face mirrored your own, and it shattered you.

you forgave ambessa immediately—not because she was blameless, but because you hated what it had done to both of you.

she will always choose you and the kids above anything.

the marriage bed.

it's a workout in here, too.

she gon’ put that baby inside of you.

you are a bit of a perfectionist and stressed about doing it wrong and she literally could not have cared less.

she loves to lace your hands together when you fuck.

the first couple times you sleep together she treats your body like a land she needs to learn, to map.

she prefers to be dominant but sometimes you just need it and she allows you to take control.

you adore her strength and you are not slick about it because your favorite positions reflect it: mating press and amazon press, specifically.

she’s a munch and she likes humiliating you so that usually entails spreading the lips of your pussy to watch it drool for her, spiting into your cunt, pushing your legs out or up so that it’s completely bare to her.

you're enamored with her breasts. 

even outside of sex sometimes you just squeeze or hold them.

she says you’re being ridiculous but then will take off her top and reveal the most insanely tight sports bra. her tits are practically spilling into your mouth all on their own.

you can no longer go to the gym with her bc it will get crazy.

impact play. 

straps you down. you are not walking for at least two days.

once she begins, she will be finishing. no breaks. so don't tease unless you can commit.

will most definitely keep fucking you even she gets a work call + sometimes if you try to be quiet she’ll loop a hand under the thin fabric of your g-string and bounce you fast and hard on her cock until you’re moaning shamlessly.

you love kissing her so she’ll make out with you until your lips are so swollen and your words are slurred.

the best sex you had was in the bathtub one evening.

you were slipping and sliding but a swat team couldn’t have pulled her out of you.

you held onto her tightly, felt her back ripple, and to this day you swear you saw the gates of heaven. you knew if you came to be before them without her, you'd hold the gates to let her in.

she’s always telling you to take it and forces you to look at the ring you’re making around her cock.

when you’re ass up she’ll consume you until you’re shaking.

she loves making you squirt; it’s like a challenge for her.

when it happens she’ll drop her mouth open and moan so loudly it makes you flush.

she then begins to finger you and the overstimulation really works you up.

she loves to put you on your side with a leg raised so she can snap her hips hard against your ass and hear the squelch.

you love when she does this because her tits are against your back and she’s just so fucking big and warm. you feel safe.

you’re usually so sweet but during these moments you curse like a sailor.

“fuck fuck fuuuuuck. holy shit, bessa.” “such a dirty girl.” 

one thing about her fingers? they’re going in your mouth and you’re gonna gag on them.

super thoughtful with aftercare.

massages every part of your body and intersperses the pressure with tender kisses.

you always fall asleep to affirmations of how beautiful and loved you are.

you are her angel, fallen and found by her hands.

© hcneymooners.

[iid-smile]

★ — usage

content — nagi seishiro x fem!reader, continuation from this post, hurt no comfort, angst, nagi is a piece of s###, like he's bad, nagi insults the reader quite a bit, some profanity, break up

wc — 1.5k

a/n — this is kinda rushed oopsies 🙈 also these a little surprise at the end !

two hours have passed. two hours of hearing nagi's stupid nintendo 3ds, two hours of hearing those same stupid theme songs over and over, and two hours of dread continuously pouring into your heart.

you've tried sniffling to get his attention. nothing. not even a glance to see if you're crying or not. you've tried getting up and going into another room. the sound of shuffling makes you think he's getting up to check on you, only to realise that he's turned from one side to the other on the bedsheets. call it toxic to fake your emotions, but it's way worse to not care whatsoever about what your partner is feeling.

all you needed to do was talk, right? and then this would be over. you'd get over it, and things would go back to normal.

but what can you say? what could you say without tearing up midway through? you could bring up today, or yesterday, or what's happened months ago, if you really wanted to. there's only been one thing repeating in your mind over and over, and that's what he's said two hours ago.

"sei." no response. "sei." and still. "seishiro." you beg for him to say something. out of frustration, you snatch his 3ds from his hands.

a soft gasp escapes him as he groggily stretches out for his device, his hand just inches away from it —exactly where you wanted him to be. for a moment, his eyes remain fixated on the screen, the sounds of the device ringing in his ears, but gradually, nagi drags his gaze up to find yours. "hey... i was usin' that..." normally, you would relish hearing his sleepy voice on a lazy day, but today... today was something different.

"and i'm trying to talk to you, so will you just—" he shifts his gaze, his eyes drifting elsewhere, leaving an air of unspoken tension between you. determined to bridge the gap, you subtly inch closer to his still figure, your heart racing as you attempt to keep him within your line of sight, hungry for a connection that feels just out of reach. "just listen to me. please?" pathetic, having to ask to be listened to.

"mm..." he mumbles.

"you're not—"

"i am."

with a sigh, your shoulders drop. "okay." that's not okay. you shouldn't allow that to happen. swallowing down the knot bubbling in your throat, you continue to speak. "what did you mean when you said you hated me?"

"i never said that." he's lying right through his teeth. either that, or he's managed to forget, to which you know he's not that stupid.

you brush your teeth over your lower lip, holding back the urge to scream at him — scream whatever words come to mind. your arms are crossed, and your legs too. "then what did you say? be honest with me, because we both know that i heard exactly what you said."

"hm?" he attempts to pull off a clueless expression, but you see right through it. once more, nagi shies away from making eye contact. just when you think the truth might forever remain hidden, a flicker of honesty manages to break through the facade. "i said i used to hate you."

"you said you still maybe do."

"...oh?"

"don't 'oh' me. why did you say it?"

"i didn't mean it like that..."

you are filled with disbelief, your mind racing to comprehend the situation. a deep, simmering anger sizzles beneath the surface, clenching your fists as frustration takes hold, leaving you almost absolutely furious.

"what else could you have possibly meant?"

the only sound that filled the room was the ticking of the clock on the wall, and the rapid thumping in your chest. not a word for five minutes.

for those agonizing five minutes, you turned your back on him, not daring to meet his gaze. you were all too familiar with his ways — the charm that masked his manipulative tactics, whether deliberate or not. it was a game he played expertly, and the last thing you wanted was to be drawn into his web of deceit.

yet somehow, he possesses an uncanny ability to captivate you, much like a moth irresistibly drawn to a flame. as you find yourself locked in a gaze with him, his eyes hold an intense yet disarming quality, radiating an expression that seems to shout, 'i’m innocent'.

their depth invites you in, while the softness of his gaze stirs a blend of curiosity and empathy within you, making it hard to look away. will you fall victim to it once again? "don't give me that look..." you mumble.

"baby..." nagi reaches out for you, his head now laid on your lap and his hands around your calves. he always does this, every time he doesn't know how to ask for forgiveness.

"no... sei, please don't." it's hard for you to push him away, caught between wanting to stay and the pain of your own feelings. seeing the frown on his face tugs at your heart's strings in such a way that shouldn't be possible. you can feel the weight of his grip, heavy yet comforting; it pulls at your emotions in a way that’s almost overwhelming. it's so painful to see him so...

...empty?

"seishiro." finally, you manage to position him in a way so that he's somewhat facing you. you take a deep breath in, slowly exhale out, and brush some hairs away from your face out of habit. "i need you to be honest, okay?"

he only nods.

stay calm, stay calm. you can't let him see how you're really feeling. "what do you think about me?"

"honestly?"

"honestly."

"you won't get mad?" uh oh. that seems like a bad sign. still, you push forward, needing the full truth more than anything. maybe you could fix your relationship, or in this case, maybe you could fix yourself.

"i—"

"you're annoying." he abruptly interrupts you, and your eyes widen in surprise. in that instant, it feels as though a dam that has been sealed for years has suddenly burst, unleashing a string of words that flow effortlessly from his lips. each sentence spills out with urgency, as if he can no longer hold back the thoughts that have been swirling inside him. "you talk too much, i hate listening to you talk and you don't know when to shut up."

you sit there and take every word as if you deserve it. you can't even breathe, just staring down at your shaky hands, now starting to become damp with tears.

"stop bothering me right after class, and stop trying to stop trying to hold my hand all the time. it makes me cringe having to tell everyone else you're my girlfriend. and quit calling my name whenever you watch me play. it's embarrassing."

with a trembling breath, your voice falters, cracking like fragile glass as you softly gather the courage to speak. "...don't you have something nice to say?"

"something nice? you're pretty... i guess..."

and that completely broke you.

for all these years, you believed your relationship was filled with trust, never once feeling a hint of doubt about him. you believed wholeheartedly that he liked your endless rambling filling up the silence, or your randomness, or the little quirks that just make you you.

but clearly, that's not the case. it never was.

with tears blurring your vision, you steeled yourself and carefully made your way through his apartment, memories flooding back with each step. you grabbed what little was yours: your phone, charger, and headphones, clinging to these small, faint tokens of familiarity as you prepared to leave. you even abandon the oversized jacket you wore on your way here, which was his.

the red flags, how did you not see them? they were so obvious, and you still chose to ignore them. because he had a pretty face? because he wants to be treated like a fucking baby? you're sure as hell not going to act like his mother, and your sure as hell not going to let him treat you like his other boy toy.

"i'm so done with you." you try to stifle a sniffle, but a couple of tears escape, tracing an unwelcome path down your face. as you fumble with your shoes, your fingers tremble, and you nearly lose your balance more than once, the world around you blurring with each shaky movement. "don't even think about calling me anymore. don't wanna hear your stupid voice anymore..."

not a single hint of protest escaped nagi's lips. he remained perfectly still, his gaze locked onto you as you finally slammed the door shut behind you.

it was embarrassing, having all of his neighbours and him listen to your sobs echo through the hallway as you approach the metal doors, pressing the button multiple times. the wait felt like torture, your body aching to approach his doorstep once more. you enter, your hand on autopilot as you reach for the button right at the bottom.

"why...?" you find yourself whispering to your own reflection in the elevator mirror, dabbing at the tears glistening on your cheeks with your shirt sleeve. "if you didn't like me in the first place, why couldn't you just say so?"

all you did was talk, right? and everything went back to normal. he was no longer in your life, and you weren't in his.

but is that really what you wanted?

yesterday at 16:19

im bored

playyyy

yesterday at 3:27

hey :x

can we talk plz?

today at 13:40

ar u ignoring me?

2 missed voice calls at 13:42

bllk m.list

[dammit-tazmuir]

@grievingbovine I am always happy to gush about Paul ;w;

Also I feel like... I'm not sure if it's more "codependency isn't always bad" or "codependency is a term we've grown to use too liberally when what should actually be the defining factor isn't the behaviors involved but whether or not those are actually hurting the people involved" or something in between or adjacent to that. It also feels like there might be kinda two definitions people use interchangeably? One being the more medical term and the other a looser thing of like, deeply dependent on each other.

But semantics aside I know what you mean, and yeah.

It is, generally speaking, unhealthy to be SO dependent on a SPECIFIC person that you can't live without them. Cam and Pal post-explosion had a very unique situation, whereas for most cases in real life, it's better to at least like... need SOMEONE, a purpose, a cause, but also be capable of seeking a new one if you lose that, after time to process and grief. A Camilla whose whole life revolved around Palamedes but didn't get him back learning to live again for Nona, as a hypothetical, or Harrow who would not let herself survive alone but can live for God and for Gideon and for Alecto and for the memory of those lost to conceive her and who may find other purposes still. Ofc no one is arguing Harrow is healthy about that, but like, if you CAN'T find an internal sense of worth, a purely external one is still infinitely better and healthier than none!

It feels very silly but a straight up life-changing thing for me as someone who does the same shit was the anime Gurren Lagann throwing around the phrase, "believe in the me who believes in you." Over time it morphed into "believe in the you that I believe in", and ultimately into having genuinely self-assurance, but taking even one or two of those steps is like... YEAH? Yeah! You know? External validation can be so meaningful and powerful, and isn't antithetical to internal by any means. If you can find it in even a handful of different sources, even better. A thing I try to tell people a lot when it comes to mental health too is you don't have to Get Better to get BETTER. It's not "you're unhealthy and must be fixed" or "you're 100% healthy in all ways". Less unhealthy and more functional than you were is amazing and to be celebrated actually!!!

But at the same time?

Ya know, no, I agree, I DON'T think it's a bad thing to need to NOT be ALONE. I understand the importance of being capable of surviving alone, at least long enough to seek new connections. And living for a person or cause is always easier than dying for them ("you could have lived for her, but you didn't know how"...), especially if you're living for their memory after they're gone, but people should try to do it anyway! But to just..... want to be devoted to someone? To thrive on supporting or caring for other people???

That's not what I'd call "toxic codependency", that's humans being a social species. Hell, that's looking at stories and seeing how many supporting characters are vital to helping a hero succeed and deciding "that sounds awesome actually! Not everyone needs to be the hero, I would love to be a supporting character!" Especially when you're not losing sight of your own needs in the process.

Like... Sacrifice and martyr mentality can be horrible destructive things that do more harm than good, but sacrifice is also objectively a major way people show love. Parents doing without a little more to make sure their kids get something nice, someone doing a chore they don't like because they know their partner hates it more, etc. The difference between "my needs aren't important, I'm not important, I'll always prioritize others because I don't take care of myself in general" and "I have weighed the pros and cons and decided that I can handle this and wish to put someone else first in this situation" is not always apparent from the outside but it's an extremely important distinction. There's a difference between being needlessly reckless and hard on yourself versus making a decision to achieve an end you want even though it costs you something.

Cam trying to hide how rough carrying Pal was on her wasn't her being needlessly reckless, it was her being a stubborn bitch who knows she's tough as hell. If anything people have more grounds to criticize her going against Pal's interests and wishes by not giving him information he needed to make properly informed decisions! To think that he was in any way taking advantage of her when she'd have found a way to kick his ass if he'd tried to force her to stop is wild lmao. (Not to mention Pal literally killing himself— he was still Around but objectively dead all the same!— in the "dying for someone is the cruelest thing you could do to them" book. Like he ain't making big sacrifices fueled by his love for and trust in her too smh.)

And honestly? Yeah that does sound like the kind of thing that could save the world. Our world would be a better place with less people striving to be main characters and more people eager to support each other. More people should be saying "No you will let me help you, you son of a bitch. Don't you dare tell me it's Too Much." >:( So many people are afraid of Being A Burden but more people need to understand— from the perspective of the person with that fear and as friends wishing to help someone who has that fear— that only the person offering help can decide what is A Burden to them! It's not the other person's decision to make!

Palamades didn't have a right to tell Camilla not to push herself to keep him around when that was her choice, and anyone fearing their loved ones sacrifice too much for them don't have a right to tell them to love them less, either. Sometimes— often, really— the alternative is worse. And part of me has to wonder if some people are averse to acknowledging that because if they did, then they'd have to acknowledge that letting someone else help you can be actively beneficial to them, and constantly refusing to ask for or accept help is in turn actively depriving them of something that would help them too. <.< Too bad everyone, gotta let people love you.

Locked tomb hot takes:

Insisting that the birth of Paul is only a tragedy because of the uneven power dynamics between Palamedes and Camilla as Necro and Cav invalidates Camillas autonomy and undermines her as a character capable of making her own decisions. It also undermines Palamedes constantly checking for consent. He understands more than most that there is an uneven power dynamic and actively works to respect her autonomy as much as he can while also respecting their bond/positions as necro and cav.

In a world where those who identify as men have no natural power over those who identify as women or neither, we can not apply the same cisheteronormative expectations of male behavior to male characters.

Camilla made every. Single. Choice. Willingly. She had reasons for it, and Palamedes respected that more than readers seem to. We get plenty of examples.

"What would you do if you discovered Camilla was a murderer?”

“Help her bury the body,” said Palamedes promptly.

“Sextus.”

“I mean it. If Camilla wants someone dead,” he said, “then far be it from me to stand in her way. All I can do at that point is watch the bloodshed and look for a mop. One flesh, one end, and all that.”

GtN chapter 30

NtN chapter 17

The relationship between these two may be codependent, but it's predicated on trust and consent. The whole way through. This is the life Cam wants to live. Becoming Paul was what *she wanted*.

I find it strange that some people think they know what's best for her more than she does, just because she's a cavalier.

[galaxy-fleur]

⋆Midnight Rendezvous⋆

Pairing: Post-RE4R!Leon/gn!reader.

Summary: It's only natural to miss and long for the one you love, regardless of how accustomed you are to being apart from them. One lucky phone call can mean so much more when it's an unexpected surprise. For you and Leon alike. Or: Quick smutty drabble for @thatpyramidthing that turned into a one-shot, which then turned into a full-blown fic. Oops!

Word Count: 4k words.

Notes: Established relationship, phone sex, mutual masturbation, smut with feelings. Suspension of disbelief because people were not using their phones like this in 2000's lmao.

Credit: Divider by @/saradika-graphics

For you and Leon, spending extended periods of time apart was not an exception but rather a tried-and-true routine. That was just the nature of his job, and it couldn't be fought or challenged, only accepted and adapted to accordingly. The only thing you could do was cherish what time you did get to spend together.

This particular assignment of his was the same as any other. While you had no expectations for him to call, you can't help but beam once you see his name appear on your phone screen. Waisting no time at all, you quickly fall back into bed and answer the phone, feeling a little bit too excited for what is likely going to be a brief check-in given how busy he is normally when he's gone. Still, him calling at all is enough for your heart to race, and although it was late at night, you didn't mind at all.

For him, you'd jump up at 4 am if you had to.

"-Hey."

It's painfully obvious he has no idea what to say, probably just wanting to hear you speak more than anything else. The sound of his voice ringing in your ear makes you smile a little, even if his greeting was almost comically abrupt. Then again, you did not expect him to make a lovey-dovey speech for you or anything. That's just not the type of man Leon was, and you had no qualms with that. Moreover, he was probably very tired, anyway. You weren't about to complain over him not sounding joyful enough when he already made the effort to call you in the first place.

"Hi," you reply, shifting to lay flat on your back, your gaze staring up at the ceiling. Without his warm body here to cuddle up to, your bed felt a bit too large for your liking. However, expressing such a thought outloud was way too sappy-sounding, even for you. So, you kept the sentiment to yourself. "Did not expect you to call. Did you get a free moment?"

An ocean away, Leon slouches into his own hotel bed, cluttered with belongings haphazardly thrown abound with not much care for hospitality, his phone in his hand. What he does know, however is that he wanted, no, needed you to be over here, with him, right now. But, alas, that's a wish too ambitious to be granted. So he settles for the next best thing. And hearing your voice is definitely no reason to complain about.

He takes a deep breath, almost feeling as if his physical distance from you is the main cause of the exhaustion seeping into his bones. He missed your voice, touch, even your scent. It wasn't until he spoke to you again that he realized how much he had missed you.

"Yeah, I was surprised, too. The job's done, but they can't take me back to base yet because of the weather. So I'm just stuck here until further notice." He hesitates for a moment before adding, his voice taking on a more softer tone: "…Are you in the mood to keep me company?"

"-Is that even a question?" You laugh slightly, shaking your head, although he obviously couldn't see it from a phone call. Your reaction causes him to smile and chuckle to himself as well. God, he missed hearing you laugh. "How your mission went, by the way? Everything okay?"

Really, mission talk? His expectations were slightly higher than that.

"It was fine. Same bullshit. A bunch of bastards getting what they deserve." A part of him almost wants to act as though he's not truly alone in this dimly lit room, so he lets out another breath and turns over to lie on his stomach. It was hard to feel cozy when nothing about this place felt like home. Your voice helped with that, though. "I'm more interested in talking to you."

He hears you laugh under your breath again at his unenthusiastic answer. It wasn't necessary for him to say it outloud for you to understand that he was not interested in discussing work. Not that you blame him.

"The feeling's mutual, trust me," you murmur, a small smile audible in your voice. "Not to rush things before they happen, but I've been planning on making that braised steak for you when you get back. You know, the one you liked on Thanksgiving."

The notion of some homemade food instantly makes him feel a little more excited. The mere thought causes his tired eyes to light up a bit and his mouth to water. Guess men really don't need much to be happy, huh? What can he say, few things bring as much joy as a homemade meal from the one you love. Especially when he compares it to quick tasteless meals he got by with on the job.

"Oh really now?" His voice now has a somewhat lighter lilt to it, his words gradually regaining some of their emotion. "-Because that sounds like you're trying to butter me up for something."

He teases, but the excitement in his voice is very much genuine. You laugh, this time a muffled giggle, and the sound promts a small, warm smile to make its way onto his lips as he closes his eyes and concentrates solely on your voice through the speaker. This was nice.

"Is it so odd that I want to treat you to something?"

"-No, it's not odd. It's sweet. I appreciate it. I really do," he corrects softly, quietly expressing his appreciation. For a man who has endured far too much hardship for his age, it was refreshing to have someone care for him in such a simple yet meaningful way. After a brief peaceful pause, he speaks again in a somewhat quieter voice, nervously drumming his fingers on the bedsheets: "...Hey, can I ask... can I be a bit selfish with you for a second?"

The way he fidgets and murmurs out his request is almost bashful; it's a part of him that, all things considered, feels a little strange even to him. But he can't help it. You make him anxious, but not in the stuffy, claustrophobic way he's accustomed to. This type of anxiousness feels good. Exciting. A welcome contrast to the blood-curdling anxiety that was his unspoken partner on the job.

"How so?" You inquire, curiosity evident in your voice. You were oceans away - literally - so it's not like there was much for you two to do except talk. A part of him was honestly just going to ask you to stay on the phone with him until he falls asleep. It's a kind of a dumb request, which makes him embarrassed, but he doesn't really want to back down from it anyhow.

Leon bites his lip, slightly perplexed on how to go about it without just asking you upfront. He wasn't good at this whole 'subtlety' thing.

"I, uh… I just wanted to ask you to talk to me a little more. For a while, I mean." He pauses, lets out another sigh, and then shifts in his bed into a more comfortable position. To hell with this, he might as well just spill the beans to you now. "My mind's just filled with… crap. I’m tired. The 'I could sleep for a week straight' type of tired. But I know I’ll just end up tossing and turning for hours instead. I just... your voice would help."

You chuckle at that, the sound uplifting, as at least you're not bewildered by his request. He knows you'd gladly do a lot more than just talk for him if you were actually here. Which makes the whole separation even more difficult to deal with. He shifts onto his back, his gaze now fixed on the ceiling as he lays his head back against the pillow with a soft sigh.

"Well... I wish I could have you laying on top of me so I could play with your hair, but... I guess us just talking on the phone will have to do for now."

He feels a small, enjoyable shiver from the mental picture you conjured up for him. The sense of contentment he's always felt when you did that is something he knows by heart now. His brain always seemed to just shut itself down, nothing for him to focus on except for the sensation of your soothing touch in his hair. God knows he'd kill to have that right now.

"Yeah. You really know what to do to make me feel all better… I hate being apart like this." He shifts again, feeling a little restless due to your words and his own thoughts making him long for you ever more. He hesitates for a moment, his heart racing as he imagines your touch. If he tries hard enough, he swears he can nearly feel the ghost of your fingertips combing through his hair. "Keep going. Tell me something else."

His voice comes out a bit muffled, and he is inadvertently tightening his grip on the phone a little, almost as if it'll bring him closer to you, somehow.

"Like what?" You ask without hesitation. Well, it's better than you playing a guessing game with him, at least. You were notoriously horrible at those, anyways.

Leon takes a deep breath while he clumsily mimics your touch by idly running his fingers through his hair. His hands are not comparable to yours at all. They're rougher and completely different in size. He drops his hand back onto the sheets with a small, frustrated huff.

"Anything. Just... keep talking. Your voice, it’s…" He clears his throat and considers the precise words he should use here. He's sure on where he is going with this, either. He simply knew that he needed to hear you, and that this need was gradually developing into a full-on craving that was desperate to be satisfied. "I want to hear more of it. And... what you’d do to me if you were here."

That's subtle enough, he thinks. He's fine with you being the one to decide on the way to interpret him. He just wanted to listen to you.

But, admittedly, his brain had other ideas.

As Leon closes his eyes, his mind is racing with countless ideas, none of which are as innocent as a simple cuddle or a hand stroking through his hair. He imagines your weight settled on top of him, steadying him, your legs wrapped around his waist, your hands holding onto his shoulders as your bodies mold and move together, skin to skin, with nothing but your presence there to fill his head with. Your sweet voice whispering all the things he wants to hear, your warm breath waffling over his ear.

All the ways in which you hold him, touch him, want him.

Your voice, which sounds nearly muffled through the pleasant fog buzzing in his head, jolts him out of his fantasy.

"Oh. ...Ohhh," you draw out, the realization clear in your voice. He almost snorts in endearment. Well, at least you caught on. His heart flutters in his chest with wordless excitement as the thought causes heat to rush to his face. Nearly subconsciously, he reaches for the other side of the bed with his free hand, almost as if you would be there. Which, of course, you're not. Much to his disappointment. "We're not... talking about cuddles here, are we?"

The tone of your voice changes, and Leon's breath catches a little. He can imagine how flushed your cheeks probably look, how your heart is beating a little faster at the realization. At this point, he was too worked up to restrain himself. Besides, the cat's out of the bag now. Not much point in walking back on his own words. Biting his lip, he lets his fingers slowly slide down his abdomen as he contemplates your words. Would you be up to what he has in mind? He hopes you would.

"No. No we’re not." He reaches for his belt and slowly starts to unfasten it. The button on his jeans is next. Then the zipper. The release of some tension causes him to inhale sharply, feeling the cool air against his skin, a small shiver running up his spine. He closes his eyes. "Keep. Talking."

His tone is direct, curt, rough. It's the same one often uses on the job, perfect for giving out clear orders in the heat of the moment, but using it under these circumstances definitely hits a little different. Especially for you. He can hear your breath quicken just a tiny bit, wordlessly reassuring him that you are, indeed, just as into this as he is. He smiles a little at the thought, feeling both relieved and little amused. He can imagine you lying there, your mind running hundred miles an hour to come up with a response while holding the phone up to your ear. He wonders if your other hand is wandering south now, too.

"Well I'd, uhm..." He lets you take your time and get your bearings, not hurrying you further. Hell, he's perfectly fine with you pulling out of this if it just wasn't clicking for you. He made his intentions clear. Now it was up to you to make the call, whatever it was. On any other day, he'd be the one getting all awkward over talking of these things outloud, but today, his mind is focused solely on your voice coming through the speaker. He hears you sigh, a sound steadying, and he feels himself smile. There you go. "I'd... want to kiss you. Long. Until we're both out of breath. And you get that dazed look in your eyes. You look so beautiful when you get like that. And just from me kissing you, too."

Leon listens to every word with keen interest, his eyebrows raising as you create a vivid picture in his mind for him to mull over. It was relatively tame, but it was a good starting point. Not to mention genuine. He can almost sense the warm touch of your lips against his, the taste of you on his tongue. You calling him beautiful was a nice cherry on top, making his breathing quicken in turn.

With his movements jerkier and clumsier than usual due to the excitement that was now steadily flowing through his veins, he quickly pulls his shirt over his head. He doesn't really look where it lands, just throwing it somewhere to the side with zero regard for decency. Not like it matters.

With his eyes still closed, he moves his hand slowly down his bare chest, grazing each ridge of his abs with his fingertips before lowering it further. He tries to mimic the manner in which you would touch him from memory. It's not a flawless attempt, bit it's good enough in his books. He can't help but groan softly, finding himself wanting to press into his own touch, if only to feel even the fraction of how your affection would feel like upon his battered body.

"And then?" He prompts, his voice lower now, charged with underlying tension hanging in the air. He knows full well that you can probably sense the hunger and anticipation he's not trying very hard to conceal. He wishes he could actually see you right now. But, alas, this will have to do.

"-What are you doing right now?" Your voice breaks him out of his momentary fantasy, his heart picking up speed in his chest as he focuses on you: every little change in your breathing, the dip in your tone, the words you choose to say to him. He hears you swallow before continuing: "What would you have me do if I was there? I could... y'know, go from there."

His heart swells with affection as he laughs a little. You weren't very slick. Then again, you never were. He liked you for that. It was painstakingly clear that you were just eager to hear exactly what he was up to. He was happy you were enjoying yourself.

He moves again, lying on his side, and switching the phone to loudspeaker while resting it on the cushion next to him before sitting back up to get comfortable. His own breath comes out shakily now, charged with rising arousal. Slowly, his other, free hand moves up his stomach, stopping at his chest. He huffs softly as he imagines your touch.

"I’d… I’d have you sit here." He moves his hand up to one of his pectorals and squeezes slightly as he pictures your fingers squeezing at his flesh instead. The action, along with his imagination, makes him bite his lip again, sucking in a breath through his nose. "Right in my lap."

He can’t help letting out a quiet 'fuck...' as he imagines you on top of him, holding his face in your hands as you kiss him, long and deep. Oh, what he wouldn't give just to have you close and to feel your lips against his again. He misses you so much that it's a little humiliating, but his mind is too hazy to care. No, all he cares about is you touching his bare skin with your hands, stroking the rising flames of his desire with every cares. Lost in the fantasy of your hand taking the place of his own, his hand slides higher up and touches his chin, causing sparks to bloom on his skin as he tilts his head back. He'd be just as pliant with you here, if not even more so. Just to feel wanted by you.

His mind is buzzing from the faint sounds of your own breathing coming through the speaker, which he can hear stuttering and quickening through the delightful fog filling his head. He doesn't push you into talking if you dont want to. However, he is well aware that you are not merely listening to him while innocently laying in your bed. He knows you well enough now to catch onto your state of arousal through the change in your breathing alone. He likes the thought of you doing the same as him right now. He hears some muffled shuffling on the other end of the line, something akin to bed covers being tousled around before you reply to him.

"On your lap," you repeat, almost as if testing out the idea in your head. Your tone is tight, and he can hear you take a single steadying breath before continuing: "I'd like that."

"Good," he finds himself responding, a faint smile on his lips. It's a small encouragement, just to let you know he's very much enjoying himself. To his surprise, you continue without any further promting from him.

"-I'd love to treat you after you get back. Just have you lay back and feel good while I take care of everything. Relax. You deserve it."

Your comments cause Leon's breath to catch abruptly, and he lets out a small, trembling gasp. He was not ready to hear something like that front you right now. In the best way possible. He is able to practically sense your presence and the grounding weight of your body upon him. As he runs his hand back down his chest and over his abs, they begin to tremble slightly.

"Fuck…" He groans lowly again, his brows drawing together in concentration as he pictures you in his lap. Your warmth against his hardening length, the way your hips would push against his.

His other hand mindlessly slides down as he palms himself through his jeans, his breath stuttering at much-needed stimulation. His hips jolt to press up firmly into his touch, imagining it's your hand instead of his own. He visualizes your fingers moving slowly down his chest. You kissing him all over as you usually do, leaving a trail of warm kisses down his hips and abdomen. He shivers and curses under his breath as the heat coiling in his gut only gets stronger.

"Leon?" It takes all of his inner strength not to whimper in response to your voice, which sounds both uncertain and needy. God, you just had to say his name of all things, huh?

"Keep going. Tell me more," he pants out softly, his voice rough with need. "Would you touch me?"

You laugh at that, and the sound makes him chuckle in response, his heart strangely light in his chest despite the intimate mood. You both sound so breathless. He likes that.

"Is that even a question?" You repeat the same thing you told him just minutes prior, and he can't help but snort. You got him there, he'll give you that. Though, your lighthearted playfulness soon shifts back into hushed arousal. "...Everywhere. Would love to touch you all over."

He swallows.

"Oh yeah? Seems like we both have the same idea."

You pause for a long time, and just as he's about to encourage you to speak your mind or reassure you, you beat him to it. And, boy, do you catch him off-guard.

"Just... Imagining riding you slowly. Make us both really feel all of it, every touch. I want to kiss at your neck, too... taste your skin, feel you shiver. And have my hands roaming all over you, too. Want to treat you right. Feel you."

...Oh, damn.

Leon moans at your words as he squeezes his length through his jeans a little. You just set his mind into overdrive. It's everything he wants and more. Your hands on his skin, your lips trailing warm, open-mouthed kisses down his neck, making him forget anything and everything but you and your touch. The way your hips would move against his, slowly and sensually, drawing out the pleasure until it becomes unbearable. At this point, his dick is practically aching to be touched, throbbing in the confines of his jeans.

"Jesus," he breathes out, a small, breathless chuckle following suit. Needless to say, you have him wrapped around your finger, even miles upon miles apart. He wouldn't have it any other way. "Keep talking like that and I'll lose it."

"Maybe I want to hear you lose it," you suggest to him softly, almost like you were testing the waters with what you could say to him. The idea makes him want to laugh. You didn't need to worry about a single thing with impressing him.

He quickly reaches for the waistband of his jeans and tugs them down just enough to free himself from the stiffling fabric. He exhales a shuddering breath as cool air hits his heated skin, a sense of relief accompanying the movement. He wastes no time wrapping his fingers over his cock, slowly stroking himself, still imagining your hand in its place instead of his own. Meanwhile, his other hand slides back up his chest, following the trajectory your touch would follow according to his memory. As he imagines you playfully nibbling at the side of his neck and whispering more sickeningly sweet dirty things into his ear, he shivers and gently rolls his thumb over his nipple.

"...Wish you were here," he exhales. He's losing himself in a fantasy that you two have created thus far, and it's getting easier and easier for him to just speak without hesitation or embarrassment. "Want your hands on me. Hips, stomach, chest, cock… everywhere."

In response, he hears you whine, and his mind generously conjures up a variety of possibilities for what you may be doing at the moment, each one more provocative than the last. What he wouldn't give to touch you right now, God. To be the reason behind those lovely sounds you are making.

"-So touch yourself," you instruct, your words barely above a whisper, your breaths coming out in small, shaky puffs of air, each one shooting straight to his groin. "Touch yourself like I would touch you right now. God, I would love to feel you under my hands..."

Leon shudders at your words, his cock throbbing in his hand as he instinctively bucks up, his breath faltering. A low groan leaves his lips, in equal measure in response to you as well as his touch. This time, he imagines you watching him, your own hand on yourself as well. Your lips parted and your cheeks flushed with arousal as you look at him dutifully.

"Fuck… I am,” he pants out, his hand moving a tad faster over his length. He senses himself leaking, the tip of his cock slick with precum. He spreads it around with his thumb, squeezes at the base, and then draws his hand back up. He bites his lip to stop another moan from slipping out, though, at this point it seems to be a futile effort. He's surprised he hasn't tasted blood yet. "Your hands would feel so good right now… so much better than mine…"

"Leon..." He hears you moaning out his name, and he swears that he almost came right then and there from the sound of it alone.

His free hand slides back up to his chest, gently squeezing at one of his nipples with the tips of his fingers. He pulls at it lightly, his brain picturing your teeth instead of his fingers. His back arches up towards the touch, a low groan leaving his lips.

"Tell me… where would you touch me?" He asks, his voice strained. "Be direct."

Your breath catches, as though you're taken aback by his question. But he was greedy, and he wanted more. He could feel his insides twisting and turning in the pit of his stomach, and not in a bad way. His spiraling brain almost couldn't handle the mental image of you touching yourself while on the phone with him, even though he was doing that exact same thing.

"Your chest," you murmur breathlessly, almost like the words were stealing your breath away as you shared them with him. And yet, you went on: "I want to touch your chest. Caress you all over... Squeeze at you, play with your nipples while I kiss the side of your neck and listen to you gasp and whine. Just like you like it."

Leon instantly visualizes your touch on him and lets out a deep wanton moan.

"Yes," he exhales. "Like that. Miss you..."

"-Miss you, too... so much." His head reels as you echo those words back to him in that breathy, almost whiny tone, and his hips automatically buck up into his hand in an attempt to feel what he perceives to be your touch.

He groans softly, running his hand over his chest, more to tease than to touch. Just as you said, he circles his nipple again and rolls the hardened bud under his thumb. Squeezing it just the way you would for him if you were here. Even if it's a poor substitute for the real thing. "Your mouth, too. Want it all."

Using his precum as lube, he begins to stroke himself quicker, rougher. He moves his hand up and down his shaft, squeezing a bit at the tip before returning back to the base in a familiar technique. Seeking the increasing pleasure coiling in his gut, he thrusts his hips up into his hand.

And as he hears every tiny sound of pleasure coming from your end, his desire for more only intensifies. You seem to be enjoying yourself just as much, stuttered breaths and muffled whines flowing through the receiver. He is saddened by the fact that he cannot see you in person at this moment in all your glory. But, this will have to do.

You exhale.

"Yeah," you encourage softly, your own voice breathy and hushed with arousal. "I'm right there with you."

"-Wish you were," he gasps out, his eyes shut tight as he wills himself to somehow bring this fleeting fantasy to life, however briefly. "Would feel so much better with you here."

"I am. Just close your eyes and focus on my voice. My hands stroking you, my mouth on your skin... Whatever you want. I'll give it to you. You deserve it."

Leon's already thin breaths come out in unsteady gasps as a result of your sweet encouragements. Your breathy and needy voice is somehow making him even more aroused than he already is, if that was even possible. His free hand descends to roam over his abdomen, primarily to visualize your hands mindlessly stroking his flesh. It's maddening.

"Fuck, you are too good at this…" He pants out, his hips thrusting up into his hand. Instead of continuing to trace over his lower abdomen, his hand reaches up to comb through his hair, just like you would, the delightful sensation sending jolts of pleasure directly to his cock. "Too good to me. Want to touch you, too. Whatever you want."

In order to give himself greater room to move around without experiencing any discomfort, he spreads his legs somewhat wider. He inadvertently starts to imagine you in a position between them, your head bobbing up and down as you take him in. His cock throbs at the mere thought, another droplet of precum dripping from its tip. Oh, he's lost it completely.

He listens to you groan quietly, and the realization that his words have the same impact on you as yours do on him makes him feel proud. The sound of your pleasure creates a fuzzy sensation in his head, blocking out all thoughts but you, you, you. His mind creates a fairly realistic image of what you are doing at the moment, even while he is itching to actually see you. And, God, was that picture irresistible.

"I want that too... Want to make you feel good."

Leon slightly squeezes the base of his cock at your whispered wants, another shudder rippling through him. He is acutely aware that he is getting close now, his balls drawing up tight and a growing coil of tension simmering deep in his gut.

"-Shit, I'm so fucking close," he pants heavily, his hips thrusting up into his hand steadily. He imagines you straddling him, riding him with all you have until you are both a gasping, trembling mess. Your hands wrapped snuggly over his neck and your lovely eyes on him the whole way through. The moan that comes out of him at the thought is borderline obscene as his head falls back, hot pleasure coiling in his gut until it's borderline unbearable. He does have enough sense in him left to warn you, though, however clumsy. Or maybe ask for permission. He isn't sure, and he is far too dazed to figure it out. "Jesus, fuck, going to cum-"

"That's alright, let go, I want to hear you," you coo at him softly through shaky puffs of air, a hint of urgency laced in your words. You were obviously getting impatient yourself while listening to him enjoying himself, whether that meant you were getting close or not. Either way, it was hot. "Cum for me, Leon. Please."

He didn't need to be told twice.

It only takes him a couple more rough strokes before he comes to a halt and shudders, his cock spurting ropes of his release into his hand and stomach, a broken gasp of your name leaving his lips in a desperate mantra before the pleasure slowly subsides. He's left panting, catching his breath from the pleasurable high of his orgasm as he plops back down on the bed, letting his body relax and gather its bearings.

"Jesus Christ, that was... wow..." He exhales, his voice ragged. As his mind gradually clears from the haze of pleasure that clouded his senses moments prior, he laughs softly, his voice full of tiredness and a hint of sheepishness. He turns his head to the phone, almost like he'd see you there. "You okay? Did you...?"

...He didn't even check if you came or not. Now he kind of feels like an ass.

"Y-Yeah. Just now." Because of your stuttering breaths, your words are a little unsteady. Whether you came with him or moments after, he doesn't really care. He's just glad you were left satisfied, too. Somewhat. Really, this was still more about him than you. He should fix that next time you do this.

He lets out a soft and warm chuckle at the thought. Next time. He was already thinking of next time, huh? Either way, that familiar subtle tremor in your voice makes him smile to himself, wishing he could reach out and stroke your cheek with the back of his hand right now.

"Good. I'm... I'm glad. Got worried there for a sec." He reaches over and grabs a tissue off his nightstand to quickly clean himself up. After tossing the tissue away, he leans back against the bed, feeling completely relaxed. "That was... something. Definitely needed that. Thank you."

A pleasant sense of calm washes over him as he sighs, closing his eyes. The subtle ache in his muscles and post-organasmic bliss is a welcome contrast to the constant tension he was dealing with lately.

"Happy to hear that." While he's unable to see you, he can still hear the smile in your voice, which makes him smile in turn. You take a deep, steadying breath, some rustling following suit as you probably clean yourself up and get comfortable. He didn't prod you. It didn't feel awkward at all when you were on the line with him. Despite his wish for you to actually be here.

"...I can't wait to see you again. To actually hold you, kiss you, make up for lost time," he promises, his voice unusually soft and intimate. "Tell you what, once I get back, we'll spend a whole weekend in bed, just the two of us. No phones, no work, no distractions. Just us."

His wistful smile is accompanied by the image of you in his bed, warm and cozy as you nuzzle up to him. God knows he didn't need anything more to be happy.

"That sounds lovely. I might just hold you to that," you giggle, those same familiar playful notes making their appearance again as you both come down from your highs.

"Hey... Do you mind staying with me on the line tonight? I don't... really want to hang up," he confesses, a bit embarrassed, but unwilling to just part with you so quickly. He can't help but feel a bit clingy.

"Funny. I was about to ask you the same thing."

He laughs at that, shaking his head.

"God, I love you."

"I love you more."

[kingofbodyrolls]

Songs of the Heart (m) | pjm | chap 2: who

You’re only human, and day by day, you find yourself falling for your neighbor—the world-renowned singer-songwriter, Jimin. But behind his dazzling smile lies a hidden fragility, a heart weighed down by unspoken sorrow. When his young daughter shows up at your door, her teary eyes and trembling voice telling you her father is crying, your heart skips a beat. Rushing to his side, you find him on the floor of his studio, surrounded by scattered papers and raw, unfiltered pain. Now, as his quiet strength falters, you’re left wondering—can you be the melody to soothe his fractured soul? Can you help him piece together the remnants of his broken heart?

→ Pairing: jimin x reader (female) → AUs: musician!au (not completely idol!au), single dad!au, slice of life!au → Trope: strangers to lovers / neighbors to lovers → Genres: slow burn romance / fluff / angst / smut / comedy → Rating: mature/explicit/R18  (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 8.8k → Warnings + triggers: mention of past bad relationships (only briefly mentioned), crying, pain, hurt (emotional), stereotypical assumptions, slight misunderstandings, protective and oblivious big brother Yoongi, Hwa-Young is so cute 😭 → Read on AO3? [link] → Author’s note: waaaah 🤧 This chapter holds such a special place in my heart—it’s one of those moments that feels like capturing a fragile piece of the soul in words. There’s something tender, something magical about it... but I’ll let you discover that for yourself. I truly hope it speaks to you as deeply as it does to me 🫶💖 This whole story (which will be posted every Sunday for the next eight weeks) is for my dear friend @remmykinsff! I hope you’ll love it 💜

← prev | s.masterlist | m.masterlist |  next →

Jimin is the kind of neighbor who seems almost too good to be true. Warm, thoughtful, and effortlessly kind, he’s the type of person who lights up a space simply by existing. But there’s a shadow beneath his radiance—a quiet sadness that lingers in his faraway glances, in the melancholy chords of his songs. Despite his inviting smile, you can’t help but wonder what burdens his heart carries. Is it loss? Longing? The memory of someone who used to be here—perhaps the mother of his sweet, joyful daughter? The questions tug at your mind, but you hold them back. Curiosity simmers, yet you don’t dare pry into his private pain.

Since the day you introduced yourself, he’s gone out of his way to make you feel at home. In the past week, you’ve unpacked every last box, even posting an ad for someone to take them off your hands for reuse. And in that same time, Jimin has invited you into his cozy, art-filled home more times than you can count, eager to hear your thoughts on his lyrics. His daughter is just as charming as the house she brightens, her laughter filling every corner. Their kindness is so genuine, so disarmingly human, that you wonder how someone so well-known, so revered, could remain this grounded. You’d expected someone of his fame and talent to carry an air of distance, but Park Jimin is anything but.

“So, do you have the hots for him yet?” Namjoon teases, jabbing his fork into a helpless carrot on his plate.

The question hits like a snowball, and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks, turning them as pink as the cranberry sauce on your plate. “What? No!” you stammer, immediately looking away, out the frosted window of the restaurant. Outside, snowflakes swirl in the brisk wind, blanketing the streets in soft white. It’s warm inside, but the chill of Namjoon’s question lingers. Christmas is just around the corner, and yet, all you can think about is a certain neighbor with sad eyes and a voice that seems to carry the weight of the world.

When you don’t respond—don’t even lift your gaze from the table—Namjoon chuckles, the sound low and teasing. “So you do like him.”

A heavy sigh escapes you as you practically collapse against the table, your arms folding under you like a crumpled paper. “How can you blame me?” you groan, voice tinged with exasperation, though the tightness blooming in your chest says otherwise. Jimin’s face flashes in your mind—his warm smile, his soothing voice, the gentle way he looks at his daughter—and your heart betrays you, skipping a beat. “He’s just… he’s so good-looking, so sweet, so—kind. And don’t even get me started on his daughter. She’s the most precious kid I’ve ever met.”

“Wait,” you say suddenly, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper, as though afraid the other restaurant patrons might overhear. “Did you know he had a daughter?”

Namjoon pauses, his glass of water halfway to his lips. He raises a brow. “I didn’t,” he admits, taking a sip. “But, honestly, it makes sense. The guy keeps his private life locked up tighter than a vault. I didn’t even know he lived out here in the sticks.”

You laugh softly, though there’s an edge of disbelief to it. “Right? I mean, the Park Jimin, living in some rundown neighborhood? When I found out he was my neighbor, I thought I was dreaming. But, seriously, why would someone like him live there? He’s famous. He has money. He could live anywhere—penthouse, sprawling mansion, you name it. So why here?”

The thought makes your cheeks burn, and you look down at your hands, fiddling with the edge of your napkin. You’re not sure if you’re embarrassed at the audacity of your questions or the fact that you’ve been thinking about this way too much.

Leaning forward, you rest your elbows on the table and let your words tumble out before you can stop them. “Joonie…” Your voice is quieter now, almost tender, as though you’re confessing something sacred. “Jimin seems so sad. He lives all alone with his daughter, and all of his songs—they’re so full of pain, of longing. Do you think…” You hesitate, swallowing hard, then press on. “Do you think all his songs are about his wife? Do you think she left him? Or…” You don’t finish the sentence.

Namjoon lets out a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes as he sets his fork down with a clatter. “Slow down there, Miss Investigative Journalist.” He leans back in his chair, his expression somewhere between amused and exasperated. “First of all, did you even check if he had a ring on his finger? That might save you a lot of speculation. Second…” He points his fork at you for emphasis. “Why are you asking me? What do I know? I don’t have some magical hotline to his personal life. All I know is the guy is a phenomenal singer. If you’re that curious, why don’t you ask him yourself?”

His bluntness sends a blush creeping up your neck, but you manage a small laugh, shaking your head. “Ask him? Yeah, sure, Joonie. Hey, Jimin, so who broke your heart and why do you look so sad all the time? That’ll go over well.”

Namjoon smirks, raising a knowing brow. “Hey, you’re the one who’s dying to know. Maybe it’s time to stop speculating and start finding out.”

You let out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the stool, the wooden legs creaking softly under your weight. “I didn’t see a ring,” you murmur, almost to yourself. “But… his daughter, Hwa-Young—she looked so sad when I asked about her parents. I don’t know. I don’t want to pry, but at the same time…” You trail off, glancing at Namjoon, your voice quieter now, hesitant. “I also don’t want to get involved in something complicated, you know?”

Namjoon doesn’t miss a beat. He throws his head back with a laugh, loud and carefree, drawing a few curious glances from the nearby tables. “You’re already thinking about dating the guy, and you barely know him?” he teases, shaking his head as he spears the last piece of chicken on his plate.

“I am not!” you shoot back, your cheeks flushing. You cross your arms, pouting slightly. “I’m just… trying to protect myself, okay? You know what happened last time. I’m not exactly great when it comes to men.”

Namjoon sets his fork down with a scoff, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Oh, trust me, I know. Thank god you never told your brother about Mark.”

At the mention of him, you groan, covering your face with your hands as a whirlwind of memories comes rushing back. Mark, with his sharp words and subtle lies that chipped away at you piece by piece. Controlling. Manipulative. Always holding you at arm’s length, but never letting you go. Everything Jimin doesn’t seem to be.

You peek at Namjoon through your fingers, your lips twitching into an incredulous smile. “Yoongi would’ve kicked his ass.” The thought is enough to make you burst into laughter, the sound coming unbidden and pure, like the first light after a storm. “Honestly, it’s probably for the best that he never found out what really happened with Mark.”

Namjoon’s grin widens as he nods, clearly enjoying the idea of your overprotective brother delivering swift justice. “Oh, no question. He’d have tracked the guy down, dragged him out of whatever hole he’s hiding in, and sent him running for the hills.”

You shake your head, laughing, the tension easing from your shoulders. The restaurant’s warm glow feels softer now, like a comforting blanket against the frost-laden world outside. You glance out the window, watching the snowflakes tumble lazily from the darkening sky, and push aside the lingering thoughts of the past.

By the time you’ve both polished off your plates, the conversation has shifted to lighter things—memories of college pranks, ridiculous holiday traditions—and the laughter between you and Namjoon feels like medicine.

After settling the bill, the two of you make your way to the cinema, the cold biting at your cheeks but doing nothing to dim the warmth between you. You tuck your scarf tighter around your neck as Namjoon buys tickets to the cheesiest Christmas movie playing, grinning like a kid as he hands you your popcorn.

The night stretches out before you like a quiet snowfall, soft and full of potential. And for a while, you let yourself get lost in it—lost in the glow of the screen, the sound of your best friend’s laughter, and the feeling that, maybe, just maybe, better days are finally ahead.

Days later, you find yourself nestled in Jimin’s living room, the soft hum of warmth from the fireplace wrapping around you like a blanket. Hwa-Young is curled up beside you, her bright, innocent energy a stark contrast to the quiet gravity of her father’s voice as he strums his guitar. The song he plays is one you heard last week, but hearing it live—here, in the heart of his home—feels different. Intimate. Raw.

“I’ll put it all on the line.I’ll be that someone she can count on.One, two, three, four, five…So many people to see.Places to go,”

His voice floats through the room, hauntingly beautiful, the kind of sound that lingers in the corners of your mind long after it’s gone. It’s even more mesmerizing live than it was over the radio. How many singers can claim that? His voice is unfiltered, rich, filled with a vulnerability that pulls you in like a tide you can’t resist.

You bop your head gently, letting the words soak into your skin, but your mind drifts, lingering on the mystery that surrounds him. Who is this song about? His lyrics feel personal, like fragments of his soul laid bare, and you can’t help but wonder about the story behind them. He’s not wearing a ring—but not all married or widowed men do. And then there’s Hwa-Young, undeniable proof that a woman once held a place in his life. Where is she now?

Hwa-Young slides closer to you, her small hands tugging at your sleeve as she giggles, her laughter light and free. “Ain’t daddy amazing?” she says, her voice brimming with pride. She flashes you a smile so bright it could rival the glow of the lights strung along the window. “He writes all his lyrics himself.”

You glance at her, then back at Jimin, who’s still lost in his music, his blonde hair falling slightly into his eyes as he leans into the melody. You nod, lowering your voice to a whisper as you reply, “That’s incredible. He’s amazing.”

And he really is. Every note, every word, every small kindness he’s shown you since the day you knocked on his door confirms it. But as much as you’re drawn to his talent and the warmth he and his daughter exude, there’s something else—a shadow in his gaze, a sadness woven into his songs. You know sadness isn’t a fault, but you can’t help but wonder if it’s a key to the puzzle of who he is and the life he’s lived.

You find yourself staring at him a moment longer than you probably should, the sound of his music echoing in your chest, making your heart ache for reasons you can’t quite name.

Jimin’s fingers glide over the strings, each delicate stroke coaxing the guitar to sing. His voice follows, soft and earnest, like a confession carried on a fragile breeze. The melody wraps itself around you, filling the room with a warmth that seems to melt even the winter frost outside.

“We never met, but she’s all I see at night.Never met, but she’s always on my mind.Wanna give her the world. And so much more.Who is my heart waiting for?Is she someone that I see every day?Is she somewhere a thousand miles away?”

The words weave their way into your chest, stirring something unfamiliar yet comforting. You can’t help but feel the faint flutter in your heart, your cheeks heating as his voice dips lower, like a secret meant for only you to hear. And in that moment, you understand. You understand why millions of people adore him—not just because he’s an artist, but because he’s an open wound made beautiful, a man unafraid to bare his soul in his music.

It isn’t just his voice or his lyrics, though both are stunning. It’s him. His presence, his kindness, his quiet humility. The way he feels so human and yet otherworldly at the same time. It’s impossible not to feel flustered under the gravity of who he is, as if he has a way of making you forget the rest of the world exists.

The song begins to fade, his voice softening, the strumming of his guitar slowing like the end of a heartbeat. A stillness settles over the room, fragile and delicate, as if even breathing too loudly might shatter it.

Hwa-Young, oblivious to the sudden weight in the air, turns to you, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Y/N, do you have a boyfriend?”

Her question feels like a pebble tossed into a quiet lake, sending ripples through the silence. Jimin’s fingers falter, the music stopping abruptly, leaving the air heavy with unspoken tension. His gaze flickers to you, unreadable, and you feel the heat of his attention settling on your already burning cheeks.

You laugh nervously, a sound that feels too sharp in the gentle atmosphere of the room. “I don’t,” you manage, your voice betraying the sudden tightness in your chest.

But why does your heart race? Why does the admission of your single status feel like something monumental here, in this room, in the presence of Park Jimin? You haven’t thought about relationships in so long—not since Mark left you in pieces, his manipulation and control carving wounds you thought would never heal. You’d sworn off men like him, sworn off feeling this kind of vulnerability ever again.

So why, now, do you feel as though a single glance from Jimin could undo all those walls? Why does the quiet between you feel louder than the song he’d just played?

Hwa-Young giggles, her innocence breaking the moment, but your thoughts linger, circling around questions you can’t yet answer.

Jimin offers you a soft smile, the kind that feels warm but weighted with unspoken thoughts. You sense his gaze lingering, yet you can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. Something about the moment feels too tender, too fragile to face head-on.

“My dad is single too,” Hwa-Young chimes in, her cheerful tone catching you off guard. Your cheeks burn again, and you feel as though your entire face might combust. Is she… is she trying to play matchmaker with her father? The idea stirs an unexpected mix of flustered amusement and… something you can’t quite name. But if he’s single, then does that mean…?

Jimin shifts in his chair, resting his arms casually against the curve of the guitar, though his expression turns gentle, serious. “Hwa-Young’s mother passed away shortly after she was born,” he says softly, his voice carrying a heaviness that lingers in the air, wrapping around the room like a cloud.

The words hit you like a sharp wind. Your heart clenches as you glance at Hwa-Young, who sits beside you, still smiling, though it’s tinged with something wistful and bittersweet. She probably doesn’t remember her mother at all. And Jimin… Jimin is a widower. A young widower. You can’t help but wonder how he’s carried that weight for so long, raising his daughter with such love and kindness despite the ache that must linger in the quiet moments.

“She was daddy’s best friend,” Hwa-Young adds, looking up at you with a small, melancholy smile. Her words make your heart ache in ways you hadn’t expected, the sweetness of her tone laced with an understanding far beyond her years.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you murmur, the lump in your throat growing harder to swallow as you address them both. Your thoughts are tangled, a mix of sorrow for their loss and admiration for the strength it must take to carry on.

A question bubbles to your lips before you can stop it, driven by the weight of curiosity and compassion. “Is Hwa-Young’s mother who you’re singing about?” The words escape before you can think better of them, and your face instantly flushes with regret. You bite your lip and lower your gaze, berating yourself for prying into something so intimate.

But Jimin doesn’t seem offended. If anything, his smile remains, soft and calm, like the steady rhythm of a tide. He leans forward slightly over his guitar, the warm tones of his voice easing your nerves. “Not really,” he replies with an almost bittersweet chuckle. “I just like singing about love… because I’ve never really experienced it.”

His confession catches you off guard. You blink, taken aback, his words echoing in your mind. Never experienced love? How could someone like him—a man who seems to pour so much longing and devotion into his music—have never truly felt the very thing he sings about?

“But what about…?” you begin hesitantly, the words fumbling on your tongue as you glance at Hwa-Young. You don’t know how to frame the question, don’t know how much Jimin has shared with his daughter about her mother. You don’t want to tread on sacred ground, but the curiosity burns too brightly within you.

Jimin tilts his head slightly, watching you with a knowing look, as if he can read every thought racing through your mind. The room feels smaller now, quieter, as you wait for his response.

“Oh. Jiwoo and I were never in love,” Jimin says softly, his words gentle but sure, carrying the weight of a truth long settled. “She was just my best friend.” His tone holds no bitterness, only the quiet grace of someone who has long made peace with the past.

Before you can respond, Hwa-Young slides down from the couch, her laughter light and airy as she runs to her father. Jimin sets the guitar carefully on the floor, opening his arms just in time for her to leap onto his lap. She settles there with the ease of someone who knows she’s always welcome, her joy radiating as he threads his fingers tenderly through her chestnut hair. She giggles at his touch, her laugh as pure as a bell.

The sight pulls at your heart, a bittersweet ache blooming in your chest. There’s something about the way Jimin looks at her, his entire being devoted to this moment, that makes it hard to look away. You feel a small smile tugging at your lips, your eyes prickling with tears you can’t explain.

“So…” you venture, your voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the delicate warmth in the room. “You’re looking for love?”

Jimin glances up at you, a flicker of amusement in his gaze. “Kind of, yeah,” he admits with a soft chuckle, and then grins, teasingly adding, “But love songs also make me a lot of money.”

Before you can react, Hwa-Young chimes in, flashing a proud smile. “We’re rich!” she declares, her enthusiasm unfiltered and unapologetic.

Jimin bursts into laughter, his shoulders shaking as he looks at his daughter. “Hwa-Young,” he says with gentle patience, “we’ve talked about this. We don’t go around saying we’re rich.” He leans down slightly, catching her gaze. “Yes, we have money. But we’re just like everyone else.”

Hwa-Young’s cheeks flush pink as she looks down, sheepishly nodding. “Oh, sorry, I forgot.”

“It’s okay,” Jimin says, brushing off her embarrassment with a warm smile. He tousles her hair affectionately, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, which draws another giggle from her.

The scene before you is almost too much—too warm, too full of love, too foreign to your own experience—and yet you can’t bring yourself to look away. Instead, you sit there, taking it all in, the ache in your chest mingling with a kind of longing you don’t quite know how to name.

This bond Jimin has with his daughter—this easy, overflowing love—reminds you of something you once had, something you still miss deeply. It’s the kind of connection you shared with your dad, back when his hugs felt like a shield from the world and his laughter made everything seem lighter. Warm and unconditional.

You swallow hard, suddenly aware of how rare this feeling is in your life now. Men have always seemed distant, their affections guarded or transactional. Whatever Jimin has in his heart, it’s something entirely different—something you haven’t found in romance and can’t help but yearn for.

And as you sit there, watching him whisper something to Hwa-Young that sends her into another fit of giggles, you wonder—not for the first time—if you’ve spent too long searching in the wrong places.

Days have blurred into weeks, a gentle rhythm forming in your life. Most evenings, you find yourself at Jimin’s house, Hwa-Young nestled comfortably in your lap, her laughter ringing out like wind chimes as Jimin’s fingers dance over guitar strings. His voice fills the room, tender and haunting, and you let it wrap around you like a warm blanket after a long day. On the weekends, when you’re not exhausted from work, you sit there longer, hours slipping away in a haze of quiet conversations, soft melodies, and the kind of peace you haven’t felt in years.

You wouldn’t call it romantic—at least not yet. But there’s something about being near him, hearing his voice, watching the way he interacts with his daughter, that makes your chest feel a little lighter, your smile a little wider. It’s enough for now, and that alone feels like a gift.

Today is a rare day off, a pause in the steady hum of life. Bundled up against the cold, you step outside to toss your trash, the crisp winter air nipping at your cheeks. As you near the bins, you notice Jimin on the same errand. His silhouette is soft against the gray sky, breath rising in small, fleeting clouds. When he spots you, his expression brightens, and he lifts a hand to wave before crossing the short distance to you.

“Not working today?” he asks, his voice warm against the chill as he offers you one of those soft, heart-stopping smiles that always seem to linger on his pink lips.

You shake your head, a grin tugging at your own mouth. “Nope. I’m on vacation until after New Year’s.”

“Lucky you,” he says, tucking his hands into his jeans pockets. “Did you have a good Christmas?”

“I did,” you say with a nod, the memory bringing a flicker of warmth to your face. “What about you guys?”

“We had a great time,” he replies, his smile widening. “Hwa-Young’s grandparents came over, along with my parents and grandparents. It was nice.”

He pauses, tilting his head slightly as his eyes sweep over you. “Are you freezing?”

You laugh softly, though your chattering teeth betray you. “A little,” you admit, bouncing slightly on your feet in an attempt to ward off the biting cold.

Jimin chuckles, the sound low and warm, and then his expression shifts, thoughtful. “You know,” he begins, “you’ve never shown me your place. Mind if I come over and see it?”

His question catches you off guard, and your cheeks flush a shade of red that has nothing to do with the temperature. You fumble for a response, nodding quickly, your breath misting in the air as you manage to mumble, “Sure.”

“Great,” he says, and you swear his smile softens even further as he falls into step beside you, his presence as easy and natural as the falling snow.

As you lead him toward your door, you can’t help but feel a flutter of nerves mix with excitement. For weeks now, you’ve been a guest in his home, soaking in the warmth and love that radiates there. And now, for the first time, he’s stepping into your space, a piece of your world.

You let Jimin step inside, his presence filling the quiet space like a comforting hum. You’ve never known someone who could so effortlessly invite themselves over without it feeling awkward, but somehow, with him, it’s different—endearing, even. Maybe it’s the way he carries himself, or the subtle confidence in his smile. Still, you can’t help but wonder what could possibly interest him about your small, modest home.

“I love what you’ve done with the place,” he says as his gaze drifts over your living room, and something about his tone makes you pause. You realize he must have known the people who lived here before.

“Oh, um, thanks,” you murmur, shifting your weight slightly before offering, “Would you like some tea?”

He nods, his smile softening as he walks to your sofa and settles onto it, as if he belongs there. “Yes, thank you,” he says warmly, his voice carrying the quiet ease of familiarity.

You move to the kitchen, the gentle clinking of mugs and the quiet hiss of boiling water filling the air as you prepare the tea. When it’s ready, you return, the cups warm in your hands, and you sit down beside him. It’s only then, as you hand him his mug and feel the heat from his arm so close to yours, that it hits you—this is the first time you’ve been alone with Jimin. Without Hwa-Young’s cheerful chatter filling the air, the room feels heavier, more intimate.

“Where’s Hwa-Young?” you ask, the question escaping your lips before you can stop yourself.

Jimin’s smile deepens, his expression softening in that way it always does when he talks about his daughter. “She’s at school. They’re offering extra classes today.”

You nod, sipping your tea, the delicate warmth spreading through your chest. The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s charged in a way you can’t quite explain. It lingers, stretching like the glow of sunset before nightfall, until Jimin shifts slightly, turning toward you.

“I actually wanted to thank you,” he says, his voice low, sincere, and when you glance at him, your brows furrow in confusion. He chuckles at the look, shaking his head slightly before continuing, “For being so kind to Hwa-Young.”

His words catch you off guard, and your heart twists as you see the gratitude in his eyes. You can’t help but smile back, warmth blooming in your chest. “Of course! She’s so sweet and cute—it’s impossible not to love her,” you say, the image of her bright smile flashing in your mind.

Jimin chuckles softly, but there’s something else in his expression—something wistful. He takes another sip of tea, his gaze drifting for a moment before he murmurs, “Not everyone finds her sweet.”

His words are quiet, almost as if spoken to himself, but they linger in the air, heavy with meaning. You blink, surprised, your curiosity bubbling to the surface before you can stop it. “Why?”

The single word slips out, unguarded, and as soon as you say it, you feel your cheeks flush. But Jimin doesn’t seem to mind. He sets his mug down gently on the table, his fingers brushing against the handle, and his gaze meets yours.

Jimin’s lips part, and you know he’s about to say something—something that feels heavy and important—but before the words can form, the faint scrape of metal against metal cuts through the moment. A key slides into the lock, followed by the soft click of the door swinging open. The chill of winter slips in, brushing against your skin and swirling into the warmth of the room. You instinctively turn your head toward the entrance, your breath hitching as your brother, Yoongi, steps inside.

You recognize him immediately—not just by sight, but by the familiar rhythm of his grumbling and the huff of annoyance that escapes his lips as he wrestles with an armful of grocery bags. Only Yoongi, you think, would crash into your life unannounced and utterly unapologetic. After all, it’s only him and Namjoon who have a spare key to your place. But still—why now? Why does it have to be now of all times?

Yoongi’s presence is as it always is: sharp-edged, protective, and oddly comforting. For a man who once told you to “be a grown-ass adult,” he sure as hell has a habit of showing up with groceries and cooking dinner for you like it’s a duty he’s assigned himself. You’ve long since stopped questioning it. This is how Yoongi loves—through the quiet, practical acts of care that speak volumes even when his words don’t.

He steps into the living room, his boots leaving faint marks of melted snow on your floor. But then he stops, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the sight of you and Jimin sitting side by side on the sofa. His gaze flits between the two of you, sharp and assessing, and his lips press into a line.

“Hi,” he says at last, his voice low and raspier than usual, the single word carrying more weight than it should.

“Hi,” you reply flatly, trying to mask the unease creeping into your chest. From the corner of your eye, you notice Jimin glance at you, his brow furrowing in quiet curiosity. He doesn’t say anything, but the unspoken question hangs in the air.

You wave a dismissive hand toward your brother. “Just put it in the kitchen,” you say, gesturing at the bags he’s still holding. Anything to break the tension, to redirect the moment back to something mundane. But as Yoongi moves toward the kitchen, the clatter of grocery bags and the hum of the fridge door opening do little to quiet the storm of thoughts brewing in your head.

What had Jimin been about to say? Would he pick up the thread again, or was the moment already gone?

When Yoongi finishes unpacking, he saunters back into the living room with the slow, deliberate gait of someone who knows how to make their presence known. His gaze flicks between you and Jimin once more, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Aren’t you going to say thank you?” he asks, his voice light but tinged with mock annoyance.

It’s such a Yoongi thing to say—half-serious, half-teasing, his version of poking at you just to see how you’ll react. You sigh, rolling your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitch upward despite yourself.

You huff, crossing your arms as you fix your brother with an exasperated glare. “Yeah, yeah, thank you so much,” you mutter, waving him off with a flick of your hand. But Yoongi doesn’t head back to the kitchen. Instead, his eyes widen, darting between you and the man sitting beside you.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, his voice low but loaded with incredulity. His gaze locks onto Jimin like he’s just uncovered a secret scandal. “Is that… is that Park Jimin?”

You groan, rolling your eyes so hard you’re surprised they don’t stay stuck. “Yeah,” you reply, deadpan. “He’s my neighbor.”

Yoongi’s mouth opens slightly, as if he’s struggling to process this groundbreaking revelation. “You never told me that,” he accuses, his tone dripping with disbelief, as though withholding this information is some heinous crime.

Jimin, to his credit, sits there gracefully, his eyes flitting between you and Yoongi, an amused smile tugging at his lips. He shifts slightly in his seat, clearly unsure whether to be flattered or just let the moment pass.

You sigh, feeling heat creep into your cheeks. “This is my big brother, Yoongi,” you say, gesturing toward him with the weariness of someone who knows this interaction is going to get worse before it gets better.

Jimin tilts his head in greeting, his posture as warm and composed as ever, and then extends his hand, palm steady and inviting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says, his voice velvet-smooth.

Yoongi, of course, isn’t one to miss a beat. He grins, flashing his signature gummy smile as he takes Jimin’s hand in his own. “The pleasure’s all mine. My wife is obsessed with you.”

And there it is—that word. Obsessed. You cringe, the flush in your cheeks deepening until it feels like your face could rival the color of the setting sun. You sink slightly into the sofa cushions, wishing they’d just swallow you whole. Who isn’t in love with Jimin? you think, casting a side glance at the man in question.

Jimin chuckles softly, a sound that feels like the crackle of a cozy fireplace, and you catch a faint blush rising up his neck, settling on his cheeks. It’s subtle, but it’s there—proof that even someone as seemingly untouchable as him can get flustered. He doesn’t say anything to Yoongi’s comment, just offers a polite smile and a quiet laugh.

Yoongi, oblivious—or maybe purposefully oblivious—plops himself into the armchair directly across from the two of you. The chair creaks slightly under his weight, and he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as if settling in for a long interrogation.

“So…” Yoongi begins, his tone annoyingly casual. “What were you two talking about?”

You clench your teeth, trying to stave off the irritation rising in your chest. Yoongi might as well have brought a flashing neon sign reading “Third Wheel” and planted it in your living room. Couldn’t he see that he was interrupting? Couldn’t he feel the delicate atmosphere he’d just shattered?

You shoot him a pointed look, silently willing him to disappear back into the kitchen—or, better yet, back to wherever he came from with those damn groceries. But Yoongi doesn’t budge. He sits there, grinning, blissfully ignorant—or perhaps intentionally obtuse—as if his mere presence isn’t practically cockblocking you.

You glance at Jimin, wondering if he feels the shift, the way the air between you had been light and full of possibility just moments ago, only to be deflated by your brother’s untimely arrival. But Jimin doesn’t seem annoyed. Instead, he looks… entertained. Like this is some private little comedy show unfolding before him.

You can’t decide if that makes it better or worse.

You don’t say anything. The words sit heavy on your tongue, tangled in hesitation, because continuing this conversation feels too personal—too vulnerable—especially with your brother sitting there like an uninvited witness. Jimin, perceptive as ever, is quick to steer the moment in another direction. His voice is a balm, smooth and unhurried.

“I was just asking your sister if she’d like to come see me perform at my concert in May,” he says, his eyes shifting toward you, warm and expectant.

Your head snaps up, and you gape at him, blinking as if you’ve misheard. Does he mean his sold-out stadium tour? Your heart stumbles over itself, and beside you, Yoongi looks just as stunned, his jaw slack. You can practically see the wheels turning in his head—probably imagining being in your shoes just so he could make his wife’s wildest dreams come true.

“Ehm… yeah, if you want me there?” you manage to stammer, the words slipping out in a breathless, uncertain tumble. You can’t tell if it’s a question or an answer. You’re too taken aback to know.

“Of course,” Jimin replies, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips, his gaze lingering on you in a way that feels both casual and intimate. “You’ve helped me so much these past weeks. It’s the least I can do.” His hand brushes against your thigh—light, fleeting, but electric.

For a moment, your entire world narrows to the warmth of his touch, the gentle cadence of his voice. The blood rushes to your face, heat pooling in your cheeks, and you feel like you might combust right there on the sofa. If only Yoongi weren’t sitting directly across from you, his hawk-like gaze taking in every detail, his brow furrowed as if mentally cataloging the scene to interrogate you later.

“Backstage pass, too,” Jimin adds casually, as though he hasn’t just turned your world upside down.

You barely nod, unable to form a coherent thought. Yoongi, however, stares at you, his expression flitting between disbelief and muted jealousy. You avoid his gaze, knowing full well what’s going through his mind: Why didn’t you tell me Park Jimin was your neighbor? His wife would combust on the spot if she ever found out.

Moments later, Jimin rises, his presence still lingering even as he moves toward the door. “I should head back,” he says, his voice warm, though you can sense his reluctance to leave.

You trail behind him to the door, your heart pounding. “Thank you,” you manage softly as he slips on his shoes.

He turns back, his smile lighting the space between you. “I’ll see you soon, then?”

You nod, unable to do much else as the door clicks shut behind him, and the room plunges into a momentary stillness.

But the peace doesn’t last.

The second the door closes, Yoongi’s voice cuts through the quiet like a crack of thunder. “Why didn’t you tell me Park Jimin is your neighbor?” His tone is sharp, his eyes narrowing at you with all the intensity of an older brother who feels personally wronged.

You sigh, crossing your arms in a gesture of defiance. “Because I don’t want you telling your wife,” you shoot back, leveling him with a pointed look. “The man deserves some privacy, and I know exactly what would happen if you let her find out. She’d be at my place every day trying to ‘bump into him.’ No, thank you.”

Yoongi scoffs, clearly unimpressed with your reasoning. “You act like I’d tell her on purpose,” he grumbles, though his tone betrays his guilt.

“You would tell her,” you counter, your voice firm. “Maybe not on purpose, but you wouldn’t be able to keep it to yourself. One glass of wine at dinner and it’d slip out.”

Yoongi opens his mouth to argue, then seems to think better of it. Instead, he leans back in the chair with a resigned huff. “Fine,” he mutters. “But if you end up dating the guy, you have to let me and my wife meet him.”

You roll your eyes, exhaling in frustration as you grab one of the throw pillows and hurl it at him. “Get out of my business, Yoongi.”

But even as you say it, you can’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips. Because for all his meddling, Yoongi is still your brother—and no matter how annoyed you feel in the moment, there’s comfort in knowing he’ll always be there, grocery bags in hand, ready to pry into your life whether you like it or not.

Still, as you glance at the empty spot where Jimin had been sitting just minutes ago, you can’t help but feel the shift in the air—the quiet sense of something new blooming, fragile and undefined, but full of possibility.

It’s New Year’s Eve, and the world outside hums with the anticipation of fireworks and fleeting resolutions, but you’ve chosen solitude. For once, you’ve turned down your friends’ lively invitations and decided against more time with family—Christmas was enough. Tonight, it’s just you, the quiet of your home, and the comforting glow of your playlist.

Jimin’s voice drifts through the room, one of his songs filling the air like a soft embrace. You sway to the rhythm, your body moving without thought, the melody wrapping around you until it feels like a conversation—a secret shared between the two of you.

Then comes the knock, sharp and unexpected. It cuts through the moment like a thread snapping, and you pause the music, your feet hesitating as you move toward the door.

When you open it, your heart clenches at the sight before you. Hwa-Young stands there, her small frame trembling, her tiny face scrunched with worry. Her lower lip quivers, and her breath fogs in the cold air.

“Daddy’s crying,” she says, her voice cracking, a heartbreaking sniffle escaping her. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

The ache in your chest tightens, but there’s no time to think. Grabbing your keys and slipping on your shoes, you pull her into a quick hug before locking the door behind you. The icy air bites at your skin as you walk her back to her house, your heart thundering in your chest.

Jimin’s crying? The thought pounds in your mind, relentless. The man who seems to hold everything together, even when the edges fray—what could make him cry? The worry claws at you as you follow Hwa-Young inside, her tiny hand gripping yours like a lifeline.

As soon as the door closes behind you, you hear it—soft, raw, unguarded. The sound of Jimin crying seeps into the air, low and melodic in a way that only he could make heartbreak sound beautiful. But it’s a beauty that twists your stomach into knots.

Hwa-Young leads you toward his studio, her steps hesitant but trusting. And there he is, seated on the floor amidst a sea of scattered paper, his shoulders hunched, his head bowed. A pen trembles in his hand, a few smudged lines of ink staining the page beneath it. Tears drip from his cheeks, dotting the paper like the punctuation of sorrow.

You step forward, slowly, carefully, as if approaching a wounded animal. Sitting down beside him on the floor, you glance back at Hwa-Young, who hovers in the doorway, her wide eyes fixed on her father.

“What’s wrong?” you ask softly, your voice a whisper meant to break through the fragile moment without shattering it. You want to reach out, to touch him, to offer some piece of comfort, but you hold back. This is his pain, his space—you can’t rush into it uninvited.

Jimin lifts his head slightly, sniffling as he swipes at his tear-streaked face with the back of his hand. “Oh,” he breathes, his voice hoarse but still laced with that quiet magic that lingers even in his brokenness. “I’m just trying to write a song.”

His words catch you off guard, simple yet heavy, as if they carry more weight than he’s letting on. You glance down at the scattered papers and see fragments of lyrics—lines crossed out, others rewritten, the ink blurred where his tears have fallen.

Your chest tightens as you realize the depth of his struggle. Writing isn’t just an act for him—it’s a pouring out of his soul, and tonight, it seems that soul is heavier than it can bear.

“Jimin…” you murmur, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, a wish to ease the ache you see in him. He doesn’t meet your gaze, his eyes fixed on the paper as if searching for answers in the empty spaces between the lines.

He lifts his gaze to meet yours, his eyes still rimmed with a faint redness, and then looks past you to his daughter. “Ah, did you get worried, Hwa-Young?” His voice is gentle, like a melody subdued by sadness, a softness meant only for her.

She nods, her small fists rubbing at her tear-streaked cheeks. “Yeah,” she sniffs, her voice trembling. “I don’t want to see daddy cry.”

Before you can react, she runs to him, her tiny arms flinging themselves around his neck with such force that he nearly topples backward. He catches her in his embrace, holding her tightly, like she’s the anchor keeping him grounded. He presses a kiss to her temple, his lips lingering there as though drawing strength from her. “I’m okay,” he murmurs against her hair, his voice low but steady. “Sometimes writing hurts a little. But it’s a good kind of pain.”

“But I’m good, I promise,” he says, pulling back just enough to cup her cheek. His thumb brushes away the lingering tears as his expression softens, the corners of his lips curling into a faint smile. She studies him for a moment, her worried eyes searching his face for any cracks in the truth, but she seems to believe him—or at least want to.

“Okay,” she whispers, her shoulders relaxing.

You take her calming presence as your cue. Shifting slightly on the floor, you ask gently, “Do you want to talk about the lyrics?”

His lips press together, and you notice the way he chews on the inside of his bottom lip, hesitant. But after a moment, he nods, the vulnerability in his expression clear. “Yeah, okay.”

Hwa-Young slides off his lap, still watching him protectively, and retreats to the couch with a little bounce, her legs swinging off the edge. She doesn’t go far—close enough to keep him in her line of sight but distant enough to give you space. You and Jimin remain seated on the floor, papers sprawled around you like autumn leaves scattered by a restless wind.

“Alright,” he says softly, picking up a page and smoothing out the creases with his fingertips. He pauses for a moment, gathering himself, and then reads aloud, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. 

“Even if you try to make believable excuses again, even if you try to close your eyes and turn away, you know that it’s already broken, that it can’t be reversed.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and unyielding, like the ache of something lost. You sit with them for a moment, letting their weight settle over you, your chest tightening at the raw beauty of his sorrow.

“Do you really think some things can’t be reversed?” you ask finally, your voice barely above a whisper, afraid of breaking the spell.

He shrugs one shoulder, a small, almost self-deprecating smile ghosting across his lips. “I think... maybe some things can. But not everything. There are cracks too deep, things shattered too completely. Sometimes, you just... can’t put it back together.”

His gaze shifts downward, his fingers toying with the edge of the paper, as though the lyrics themselves hold the answers he’s searching for. There’s a quiet sadness in his words, an acceptance of something unspoken, and you can’t help but wonder what he’s alluding to.

You nod slowly, the truth of his words sinking in, even if you don’t fully understand what’s behind them. “Your lyrics...” you pause, searching for the right way to describe them, “they’re painfully beautiful. They feel like they come from somewhere deep.”

His eyes flicker back to you, and for a moment, you see a flash of gratitude—or perhaps relief—in his expression. “Thanks,” he murmurs, the word simple but heartfelt. “It’s... complicated, you know?”

You glance at the chaotic scrawl on the page, the ink etched like unspoken confessions. “Do you have more?” you ask softly, your voice barely breaking the stillness.

Jimin’s gaze lowers, his lips parting as though the words might resist leaving him. But then, they pour out, raw and unguarded. 

“When falling asleep, drunk,And being unable to remember anything,I thought about it, “what am I doing now?”Why am I the only one like this—no, everyone is like this.The me who pretends to be okay every time,I find him pathetic.” 

His voice wavers, each word heavy with the ghosts of emotions too painful to name.

The weight of his words hits you like a wave, swelling in your chest, rising to your throat. You feel your eyes sting, and you blink hard against the tears threatening to spill. Is that really how he feels? Or how he has felt? The thought aches, cutting deep into you.

“It’s not really how I feel right now,” he murmurs, but his voice cracks under the strain, a betrayal of the truth that lingers beneath. “But these are feelings I’ve had before, and...” His voice falters, choked by the weight of what he’s carrying.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, your own voice thick with emotion. Without hesitation, you slide closer to him, wrapping him in a hug that feels both fragile and firm. Your hand finds his, trembling slightly, and you trace soft circles on his skin, hoping to ground him, to offer something—anything—that might soothe him.

At first, he doesn’t move, his breath shuddering as if holding back. But then, he crumbles, his head falling against your shoulder as his tears come freely. The sound of his crying is quiet but heart-wrenching, and all you can do is hold him, cradling his pain as though it were your own.

After a moment, he pulls back slightly, his face still streaked with tears but his voice steadier now. “I’ve written more,” he says, sliding another paper across the floor toward you. His fingers tremble as they release it.

You pick up the page, your eyes scanning the ink smudges that seem almost like tear stains. You take a breath and begin to read aloud, your voice catching as the words unravel before you. 

“The same day all over,goes by, yet again. How long should I endure through this? To be able to return...”

The words linger in the air, heavy and sharp as glass, and your voice falters, the ache in his handwriting so palpable it feels as if it’s cut into you too. You set the paper down carefully, as though it’s something precious and breakable, and look at him, your heart twisting.

“Oh, Jimin,” you breathe, your voice barely audible. It’s all you can say. Words feel too small for the depth of what you’re witnessing. You pull him into another hug, tighter this time, as if trying to physically piece him back together, though you know that’s impossible.

His head rests against yours, and you hear his breath hitch, feel the faint tremor that still runs through him. In this moment, you realize that being here, holding him, is the only thing you can do. You can’t rewrite his past, can’t undo the pain that shaped these lyrics, but maybe—just maybe—your presence is enough to remind him that he doesn’t have to carry it alone.

“Thank you,” he says softly, his voice catching on the edges of his words as he looks up at you, his eyes glistening with lingering emotion. “Sometimes writing can be... exhausting. Emotionally, mostly. It’s like digging up the past, uncovering feelings I thought I’d buried, things I’ve been trying to ignore. But turning them into music—it helps. It’s like breathing life into the pain, giving it purpose.”

You nod, feeling the weight of his confession settle into the quiet space between you. “I get that,” you murmur. “I’m just glad I can help, even if it’s only a little.”

His gaze softens, gratitude radiating from his tired but sincere expression. “Thank you for listening,” he says, his voice almost a whisper before he leans forward to hug you. The embrace feels tender, fleeting, but carries a warmth that lingers even as he pulls away. He wipes a stray tear from his cheek with the back of his hand and pauses, his eyes scanning the scattered pages on the floor. “Do you think it’s any good?” he asks, gathering the papers with a careful, almost reverent touch.

You glance at the crumpled sheets in his hands, the raw emotion woven into each line. “I think it’s painfully good,” you say, the words heavy with sincerity. “It moves you in a way that sticks—it’s the kind of raw honesty that people can’t help but relate to.”

A faint smile tugs at his lips, bittersweet and beautiful. “Sharing the pain... it makes it feel lighter somehow,” he admits, setting the papers down on the desk as though releasing a burden. The vulnerability in his voice tugs at something deep inside you, and when he turns back, sitting beside you, his presence feels closer than ever—like the warmth of sunlight just brushing your skin.

You’re acutely aware of the space between you, or rather, the lack of it. The heat of his thigh grazing yours is magnetic, grounding and electrifying all at once. You turn your head, your gaze finding his profile—delicate, yet so undeniably strong. There’s a quiet grace about him, a dainty elegance in the way he carries himself, even when baring his soul. His honesty, his unfiltered emotions, they pull at you like a tide, drawing you closer without permission.

You don’t know what this is—this invisible thread between you, taut and shimmering in the quiet. Is it just you? Are you the only one feeling this pull? Or does he feel it too, this gentle but unrelenting gravity between you? Is he always this open, this raw, with everyone? Or is this... something else?

The questions swirl in your mind, but you don’t dare voice them. Instead, you sit there, your thoughts tangled, the warmth of him beside you keeping the world at bay, if only for this fleeting moment.

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv @mikrokookiex

→ Series taglist: @13-manggaetteok @mima795 @hnnnjm @flaneuseonthestreets @miniesjams32 @graydolan12

→ Author’s endnote: okay, confession time: I might have totally ugly cried while writing this chapter, and… wow, it hit hard. I’ve poured a lot of myself into Jimin’s character—like, not exactly me, but in the way his lyrics carry that raw, emotional depth (which honestly feels like the whole of Bangtan, let’s be real 😭). Anyway! I need to know—what did you think of this chapter? And more importantly, what pain do you think Jimin is hiding? 👀 Spill your theories, because my brain is doing the little ‘evil laugh writer’ thing right now 🤔✨

© @/kingofbodyrolls 2024 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰

[str4ngr]

was it worth it? [ sae itoshi ]

cw: not proofread, angst, foul language, break up, kinda sae focused, regret, desperate ex. notes: i might... key word might, make this a mini series bc i lowkey love this angst. pt. one

paparazzi was so damn annoying. his brows furrowed as more lights flickered across his face, clicking echoing through the night street like an open symphony as he rushed to his car, men in black forcing a path.

the cameras didn't stop even after the loud sound of the door shutting, the engine rolling as his driver took off to his apartment. within moments, the clicks faded into squabbling and shouting, before it became only the turn signal of the car. it was quiet again.

it was always quiet.

when you first left the apartment, the struggle against your sadness evident on your face, it was quiet. for the first time in a long time. there was only one set of shoes at the door. well, it's been like that for about a month now. he wondered if you've been tying your shoes. guilt tripped in his hear as he quickly shook his head, brushing away the softening memory.

when he stepped past the entry way, the quietness was piercing. he missed the noise of someone else in his kitchen, humming a song without a melody. he missed the buzz of the t.v., playing a show he wasn't particularly a fan of though you were.

sae's hands balled into fists at his sides, flat eyes glaring down at the navy couch in his living room. it was an l-shaped couch with plush, soft cushions and plenty of throw pillows. the seat in the corner was a bit less round, dipped and worn. it must've been a comfortable spot.

feeling as though he was acknowledging too much, sae's mind shut off, mechanically moving through his kitchen, dumping the pre-prepped dinner from his fridge into the pan. as heat sizzled through the thawing rice, his mind began to wander again.

"i don't need your luck."

he did. his stomach churned, and suddenly he wasn't hungry anymore, a strange lump in his throat, an unshakeable tremble in his hand, a burning in the waterline of his eyes. his jaw fell open, saliva pooling on his tongue, desperate to utter your name,

"i needed it. i needed your luck."

sae was speaking to no one and he knew it. his voice an echo in the hollow apartment, absent of you. the dip in the couch, too much space on the entry landing, no random recipes to welcome him home. regret swallowed him like a whale, unable to consume him, yet not pushing him far enough away to do anything but get swallowed up again.

a bitter scent filled the air, and sae scrambled to stir the fried rice around in the too-hot pan, huffing in irritation. he tried to play off his symptoms of sadness, though there was no reason anyone would struggle to diagnose him. his brows furrowed as he stared at the rice, mindlessly mixing the grain and finally lowering the heat.

his gaze flattened again, focused on what wasnt there. sae was curious, he hadnt used instagram in a long time. turning off the heat after learning from his previous mistake, his grabs his phone, pressing his finger to the lock and opening up the app he usually allowed his managers to-as their job entails-manage. the first thing he noticed was the absolutely abysmal amount of comments that arrived in the notification tab. he didnt bother opening it. instead, he opened his chats, and didnt find what he was looking for.

it made sae smile that you didnt message him, maybe you remembered how he always said he doesnt use his instagram. sae's expression falls at the next thought: maybe its because you hurt you too badly that night.

he searches through his following, heart sinking to see that he's no longer following you. stupid managers. "shit," he huffs, wanting to snap the brick of metal, instead angrily scrolling through his followers to find, "...still?"

sae scoffed, furious. angry for you, because why did you still follow him? why did you still look at all his posts? like all his posts? did- "what was that fucking doing for you?" sae walked away from what was supposed to be his dinner, huffing again as he sat on the couch. why couldn't you have unfollowed him? now, his finger trembled over your account, fighting with himself on whether he presses it or not.

air balls up into a lump in his throat. he remembered all the times you posted him, stupid little dates or when he won a game. he remembered the post for your first anniversary the most. you were so beautiful, so happy, your cheeks flushed with blood as the two of you sat in the restaurant that was also your first date. he remembered how he fought--and lost--when he tried not to be so boisterous that night, failing to resist your charm as the two of you laughed together on the couch, surrounded by each others warmth. cheesy. he smiled to himself at the word, trying not to acknowledge the way his eyes began to burn again, or how his lungs felt like they were sinking, or how hard it felt to breathe.

slamming his phone on the coffee table, sae keels over, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, palms digging into his eyes. it hurts. oh it fucking hurts. he feels his shoulders shake with each breath, his palms sweating, his eyes burning, his ears ringing, his pulse in his skull. he messed up. he messed up so much.

he needed your luck. he needed you.

notes: pt.3?

[luciferanalyzestar]

Viv definitely not planned out things because she has habit of arbitrarily change plots and characters because of one thing that she gets interested in (Vaggie being an angel? That was just a popular fan theory about her which Viv made canon, Vaggie was originally intended to be a sinner who was a prostitute that died in 2014, Did you know that Cherri Bomb is australian just because Viv listened to australian music? Or how Nifty is made to be japanese just because her pilot va can speak japanese fluently? Or how stolas x blitzo came to be just because she saw a piece of fanart where young stolas and blitzo meet each other)

Vaggie being a prostitute would be better if Viv did not create her. Naming a sex worker after genitals is misogynistic. End of story!

Her backstory is similar to the hundreds of cases of serial killers targeting sex workers because they knew the sex work is stigmatized and no one will notice that they went missing. There have been times where a woman survived her attempted murder, but no one believed her due to her status of being a sex worker.

Vaggie's name not being changed is also childish on Viv's part. She is the only Sapphic character in Hazbin and that is her name?? Just learned that Vaggie is not a WLW/Lesbian, she labeled as 'Queer' on her fandom wiki page, I don't know how to feel about this info.

Viv will never beat the misogynist allegations.

Back to the show, Vaggie being an angel makes Charlie and Vaggie's relationship to similar to Lucifer and Lilith's. I think Charlie/Vaggie's relationship would have been stronger if Vaggie stayed a Sinner.

Imagine in episode five when Lucifer said that Sinners are all awful people and Charlie claps back and uses Vaggie as an example of how some Sinners are kind people that got screwed over or done certain 'sinful' things to protect themselves?

If Viv wanted Vaggie being an angel to have more weight to it, remove all the Alastor bullshit, have a moment where Lucifer would have taken Vaggie aside while Charlie distracted. He confronts her saying that he knows she is an angel and asks Vaggie how she rounded up in Hell. Vaggie does not explain her full backstory, but she was once an exorcist, and that Charlie does not know.

"Post-pilot dialogue recording, Vivziepop decided that she wanted Cherri to be Australian, after becoming inspired by Australian folk music. Though the dialogue could not be re-recorded, Vivziepop has expressed interest in making Cherri Australian for future episodes and projects featuring the character."

Oh, my goodness. It does not help that Cherri's voice is annoying and forced. Americans cannot do an Australian accent without it sounding unrealistic. Anyway, if Viv founds something to be "cool", she just adds it to a character. When Cherri gets her own song, will the instrumentals be inspired by Australian folk music?

"Vivziepop said that, although she had yet to lock down all of the characters' races and ethnicities, she had been writing Niffty with a mind to her being Japanese. This was originally due to Niffty's pilot voice actress being able to speak Japanese fluently."

No wonder they changed Niffy's skin tone from the plot to the show. Saying that a character is now Japanese while their skin tone is yellow is unfortunate.

Do you know how surprised fans are when finding Niffty is Japanese? I find it 'funny' that Cherri has an accent, but Niffty does not one? Her VA is from Japanese descent. I would have been neat if Niffty said certain words in Japanese when speaking like how Vaggie does but with Spanish.

I remember seeing a post about the child Stolas/Blitz fanart, but I cannot find it for the life of me. They actually showed what the fanart looked like. I FOUND IT!! This was shared by an alleged ex-Spindlehorse employee. They said that another crew member drew it, not a random fan.

Blitz and Stolas being "childhood friends to lovers" is corny! I have no issue with the trope, but Blitz was sold to Paimon to play with Stolas for the day. That is dark which would have been fine if the show portrays it has dark and how twisted the Ars Goetia are and not "AWWWWWW! <3 THE ARE SO CUTE AND DESERVE TO BE TOGETHER!!!!!!!!" Them knowing each other as child is never bought up again in season two either so what was the point?

Viv not her own stories planned out is obvious. There nothing wrong with changing a plot detail or characterization. Do not do it last minute where episodes are in production and lines are being recorded.

[kingofthewilderwest]

I know tumblr isn't the largest space for TwoSet fandom, but in case anyone wanted a summary of last night's livestream:

The livestream was cozy, comfortable, and lowkey. We started it by ordering bubble tea. They were in their old, beloved Brisbane location.

They will restore all the videos, probably sometime today or tomorrow.

They will also try to reinstate the Instagram posts, though asked for patience because they're not sure how to do that.

They hid the videos because of an underestimation of fan sentiment. They didn't think people watched those old videos anymore, so they figured curate the chaff and just leave a few they were proud of for people to dig into and interact with.

They were receptive to this being the wrong choice, apologized, and talked about how in retrospect they could've done this better and communicated faster. They seemed in the know about different fan theories that popped up during the 50 days of silence.

B2TSM was definitely a passion project and it was a ton of work over the course of a year. They said they paid mid-six figures for these music videos and will be losing money off them.

They are closing down their store and once the latest round of merch for their music videos is gone, there will be no more merch.

They will not quit touring. There is now an official interest sign-up for a 2025-2026 World Tour on their website.

Their immediate plan is to take a break. They got as exhausted as they were during the kickstarter days when they were busking 24/7 on the streets.

After that... they don't know. They admit it's scary. But they want to keep forging new ground and finding new ways to advance classical music. Their mission to keep promoting classical music is ongoing.

Their last video (released today) is meant to speak to how they've felt about the last eleven years. They spoke positively and said they will never forget this chapter of their lives.

They are done-done making videos. Not to say it's impossible another won't happen (ex: TwoSet Talks), but it's best and most accurate to just say they're done-done.

TwoSet Academy is still being talked about in a vague fashion, though they did mention they have interest in promoting classical music education. So feel free to still sign up for that. Frankly it sounds like they're still figuring out what it'll entail.

They have multiple ideas of what to do next, but it'll take time for those to be honed into something good.

You can sign up for a newsletter for project and life updates to hear when they get around to it.

Since everyone was asking about health, again, they did get exhausted, but both are healthy. Brett's mysterious medical condition from 2020-2021 that people were concerned was an ongoing life thing sounds more like it was a one-time deal that exploded out from stress. He told us it was life-threatening, though, which was.... information. Relieved all over again that he got better.

They honestly but respectfully went through all the major controversies that have happened in the last year because fans asked about them. They tried to avoid going into drama or ripping into privacy, but acknowledged when something had already played its course, so answers were now okay to say. There were a few times where I think they didn't know both sides of a situation, but that's the normal and inescapable experience of being human, and insofar as everything they knew, they came off authentically and honestly in how they handled each scenario.

Controversies they went through included: the workplace allegations on reddit from 2023, the falling out with Jordan He after Fantasia, their distanced relationship with Ray Chen, and issues with content creators being inauthentic and chasing measurements like views and subscribers.

They seem like genuinely good and authentic guys. My respect to them, and I feel at peace with the whole situation.

Whole livestream just felt healing. If you want to go and hang out with Brett and Eddy, go do it there.

If you stumble into them on the streets, please go up and still say "hi."

[crimeronan]

Okay, catching up on your posts, about that snippet you posted with devins first kill- I think what's so haunting about it to me is how kind the old lady seems. Being genuinely helpful and willing to assist at first, having kind mannerisms and genuinely giving off the impression that she's really sweet. As the piece went on I started to believe when Devin said she wasn't in danger, because why would she be? She's a sweet old lady eager to help. And Devin, in turn, genuinely appreciates her kindness. She's lying a lot in the convo but her appreciation of her kindness towards her seems startling sincere. They're both being pleasant and nice- and Devin continues to be so even when the ruse is up, calm and collected and kind to her, not at all angry and vengeful like I would imagine. Its... unsettling. That this old woman was kind to her and it wasn't a ruse, it wasn't a lie, it was just genuine kindness. Even though, if I'm reading the implications right, she caused the deaths of countless children. This is not a monster; this is a kind old lady who's first instinct is to help, not to manipulate, but just to help. And yet she is also a monster. And Devin... she knows this. She knew this from the start. She is weighing the value of her life the whole time they speak, the whole time she's pleasant to her. And her appreciation for her kindness also isn't a lie; her thoughts make that clear. She considers calmly whether to let her go. She acknowledges that killing her serves no purpose; she's already retired, so she's no longer hurting anyone, there's no justice or honor in killing her. There's no reason to, except that it might make her feel better. And she's so calm when weighing it all. Weighing her life. She appreciated her kindness genuinely, she thought of letting her go, but... she killed her anyway. I'm new to your oc posts so sorry if I got anything wrong (am especially nervous on whether I got Devins pronouns right, but you refer to her as she, right? Sorry if I'm wrong about that), but that snippet was genuinely unsettling and haunting. Somehow... the most scary part of it was the kindness. The startling reminder that monsters are human, too—that they can be kind, and it not be a lie, kind to a stranger for no other reason except wanting to help. That's terrifying to me.

MMMMMM, YEAH. YEAH YEAH YEAH.

(and yes on devin's pronouns! devin uses she/they/he in order of preference. "he" isn't exactly Wrong, but as i've written her more, it's become more and more the kind of answer that's only correct on a technicality.)

the only correction i'd make is that maddie wasn't Directly responsible for countless child deaths..... she was, however, responsible for countless cases of child slavery. proponents of the system would argue it's not slavery, because the children are provided for and have their needs met and just have to work for the light temples until they die or get rich enough to buy out, with basically no legal recourse in cases of abuse. "how is that NOT slavery" because slavery sounds icky :( don't be mean it makes the government feel bad :(

in many ways, though, moira Was a child sacrifice. that's why maddie responds so strongly to her name. maddie truly can't remember every kid whose life she ruined, but moira was different!

one of the biggest driving forces and themes for me in this project is exactly what you said: that people can be both monsters and very kind at the same time. a lot of power fantasy vengeance media reduces its villains to two-dimensional strawmen that are disposable. they're easy to kill. the audience doesn't have any complicated feelings about their deaths.

and people just. aren't like that in real life. they can be selfish and cruel and manipulative, they can be abusive, they can commit atrocities, and at the end of the day, they still have things they love. i'm sure the united healthcare CEO loved and doted on his kids, which is why the media keeps calling him a "father of two" to try to stir up empathy. someone who loves his kids can't be bad, right?

or there's a throwaway bit in an episode of succession where some rich people are making jokes about the impending collapse of society, and a little girl asks about it, and one of them tells her, don't worry, you'll get to live in my bunker :) it's not your problem :)

(or something to that effect.)

maddie loves her grandkids. devin implies she's casually racist (and is probably right), but maddie is still sweet and kind to her. she's not a hateful woman! she loves birds and her rooftop garden and her family. she loves doing nice things for her neighborhood and making people happy. she'll go out of her way to help devin pull records to find a lost family member. she's probably already DONE that for the family or friends of other children she trafficked.

she doesn't see anything wrong with what she did. the government said it was okay, and she was keeping kids from dying impoverished on the streets! she was giving them another chance at life! "would you want that life for your grandkids??" is an irrelevant question, because she worked to save enough money for her grandkids so they'd never be in such a situation, so she doesn't have to think about it. she's kind! she's trusting! she's never even committed a crime!

"people are largely well-intentioned at heart" and "people can be unspeakably selfish and evil IF you promise them it's not selfish or evil" are two things that coexist, imo. it's something you have to get comfortable with if you do irl activism of any kind, too. particularly with any Undesirable marginalized group.

living in portland in america is very interesting sometimes. the people here consider themselves MUCH more politically leftist than the average american -- and indeed, they tend to oppose war, imperialism, racism, homophobia, and transphobia. at least when they're talking about their beliefs. people here are nicer than any other place i've ever visited in america!

they are also willing to unperson thousands of unhoused people and Fervently wish unimaginable cruelty, violence, brutality, and horror upon them. not only willing to WISH it, but also to Passionately Advocate For It in government meetings and in court. desiring this cruelty is socially acceptable & so the people who do so will never consider themselves monstrous. they will be hurt and sad and angry if you tell them it's monstrous.

maddie was a good mom and a good grandma. maddie bore no ill will toward the kids she sold. in fact, maddie's trustworthy demeanor and kindness might be why she was so successful at her job in the first place. because kids who were hurt and scared and alone were told she could rescue them, and they believed her.

monsters don't look like monsters. people have always been people. if we told the truth about what monstrosity is really like, we'd have to admit how many of our friends and neighbors and families and we ourselves are monstrous.

apathy is a political stance.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

YOUR L*ONISMS IN THE MALLEUS POST BYE 😭😭 I tend to try to avoid talking about him precisely bc I fear I'll sound like Leona too lmao. or bc I'm scared ppl will say "ah you only dislike him bc you like Leona"- when that's not the case at all (although I also share some of his views about the lizard) Similarly to you, I just don't get the hype- basically everything you say. my feelings for him fluctuate from "🙄 ok." to "you're okay? I guess?"

which is weird, bc I really like dragons and non-human characters learning about humans. but that's what makes it worse for me bc man all the talk about him made me want to rlly like him and then I saw him in canon and I was like uh... okay? kind of disappointed + a bit annoyed at some stuff. I do like how he talks about gargoyles or things he finds interesting tho— I'll praise you that much, Draconia.

[Referencing this post!]

***PLEASE NOTE: Everything I express in this post is my own opinion and is in no way meant to disparage Malleus enjoyers.***

Leona and Rollo is right about Malleus and he should speak his truth 😔

To reflect a little on my own character arc with Malleus, I felt very neutral about him from the prologue to about book 2ish. This was simply because I hadn't interacted with the guy yet so I held off on judging him prematurely. The brief encounter we actually had with Malleus in book 2 wasn't meaty enough for me to get a sense for his character, so I brushed him off.

I thought it was interesting that book 2's narrative invites comparisons between Leona and Malleus, with Leona being a parallel to Scar, Malleus being a parallel to Mufasa, and the world holding Malleus up as the "superior" king. Lilia states as much in 2-26: "Would that the lion king of the savanna could witness this absolute farce. No, if you ask me, the collar suits you far better than a crown ever could. You may bemoan the fact that you're not higher in line to be king. But with that sensitive ego of yours? That so quickly directs all your petty anger at your retainers... Well, the idea of you ever contending with a REAL king like our Malleus—is absolutely laughable. Even if you COULD defeat Malleus, so long as that's how you choose to conduct yourself? You would never be fit to rule!"

And at the time, yeah, Lilia's right because Leona is very much losing his grip on his emotions and acts irrationally in an attempt to triumph over Malleus. HOWEVER... The longer the main story went on, the more I found myself disagreeing with Lilia's judgment of Malleus and his character. Now, that doesn't mean that I think Leona was in the right for the actions he took in book 2 (they are still and always will be wrong). Rather, I think Lilia gave a somewhat biased take on Malleus and his preparedness for the throne. Many of the things Lilia accuses Leona of also ended up being very true of his own liege. Malleus has a sensitive ego (he has attempted to strike down peers and faceless, magicless NPCs on more than one occasion; ie Halloween events). Malleus has directed his anger at his retainers (as a child, he froze many servants; in book 7, he attacks Sebek and Silver for attempting to wake up their peers and tries to return Lilia to sleep against his wishes). Malleus has scarcely led anyone in anything. Leona and Malleus are far more similar to one another than either of them would like to admit, but Lilia is just assuming that Malleus will be a great leader anyway because of... what? Because of birthright and lineage? Yeah, no wonder why Leona is pissed and has a bone to pick with the lizard (attempt to harm Malleus aside).

Book 3 and onwards is what I started to develop my current dislike for Malleus. (And to be clear, he has good points too! I'm not saying that he has nothing going for him at all; however, this post is focusing on my own critiques of his character so that is what I will be speaking about.) I started to notice things that annoyed me on a personal level: how he lacks to consider others' perspectives and actively violates their autonomy, how he never gets any repercussions for his actions, how he's aware of his power and status and yet fails to avoid lording it over others, how he has been given so many opportunities to learn and change as a person but refuses those opportunities, etc. And yes, I understand that he acts in these ways for particular reasons. I'm not saying that his behaviors don't make sense, I am only stating that these are behaviors that I personally don't find appealing. (For more extensive explanations of why I don't like Malleus, please see the FAQ section in my pinned post.) All of this in spite of how little of him we actually get to see and interact with, especially in the main story. It baffled me that he was undoubtably the most popular character in EN circles. There's so much chatter about Malleus Draconia, you can't really get away from it. People are legitimately shocked when you tell them you actively dislike Malleus or when they learn that he's not even a top contender for best boy in the JP fandom. The default is assuming that you do like Malleus, which ironically happens to be the same thing that Draconians (Malleus stans in-universe) do. It feels like there's sometimes an unspoken pressure to like the guy. I also started to notice peculiar behaviors (?) which, in a vacuum, aren't necessarily bad--I would just like to comment on them because I find it interesting. With Malleus being as popular of a character as he is, there's of course going to be a lot of online discussion about him, especially from his fans. Now, I don't know if it's only me noticing this, but I've frequently observed Malleus fans going out of their way to "wring as much content" out of the least Malleus-related content possible. For example, there may be a screenshot of some other character posted and then a fan would come in and make a comment like, "I wonder how Malleus would feel about this". A more concrete example would be from the more recent JP Lost in the Book with Nightmare Before Christmas event; in it, the event character takes the back of all the characters' hands and kisses them (including Yuu). Automatically posts that showed this kissing were inundated with comments about how "Malleus would be so angry about this", even though Malleus himself shows no such reaction. Similar comments dropped when Yuu is kidnapped in the event even though, again, Malleus shows no such anger about the incident. Halloween events such as this contain half the main NRC cast, yet I saw no fans of the other 10 characters claiming those characters reacting jealously. This occurs VERY often in regards to Malleus; even in events or scenes where he doesn't react or doesn't even appear, zealous fans will insert him into the situation or make the situation suddenly about him, whether it's in someone's own posts or on other people's posts.

I wonder if this is a result of Malleus being kept so mysterious for two full years...? Without much of his character to go off of, it left a huge negative space for fans to headcanon, project, and hyperfixate on what he is like or what he could be. And maybe now those behaviors persist in an effort to fill in that void because honestly Malleus isn't getting much screen time within book 7 either 💀

I believe this has contributed to the discrepancy (that this asker brought up) between how the English-speaking Twst fandom speaks about Malleus versus what Malleus is actually like and how he is portrayed in game. The fandom version of him is pretty much always hyped up or sensationalized (sometimes simply for his mere existence), similar to how his own fans in-universe might put him on a pedestal. But then you play the game for yourself and you're exposed to so little of him and what little you do see of him is much more... reserved, somber, and sometimes even petulant, depending on the situation.

Anyway, my point is that anyone that dislikes Malleus (or any other character) should be allowed to dislike him, regardless of what anyone else says or if you feel pressured into silence🤷‍♀️

[mrslaflour]

📸 cheese babe.

pairing — taehyun x reader

warnings — noncon filming, restraints, reader is drugged tf out, taehyun totally just cum shotted all over reader, somnophilia things but no sex scene, didn’t proof read shit, all lowercase

notes — VERY QUICK DRABBLE. yes, yes i did post this before grape party kai. this is a tiny drabble to hold you over that i just scribbled down basically :p.

you feel numb. tingles spreading throughout your whole body but you can’t move a single muscle. your eyes can only part slightly, everything else remaining blurry. god, how late is it? was this just another late night nap? you hear a click and then a bright flash come through your eyes causing you to groan.

“you’re awake?”

another voice. in your room? you live alone. you go to speak up but nothing comes out. nothing can come out. it’s like your tongue is just dead and your lips refuse to fully part. you go to sit up but even that task isn’t possible. your arms are stuck behind your back, you finally notice that. but still. you should be able to lift your chest. now you’re worried and your breathing becomes heavier and more strained. it wasn’t until you felt a cold hand press against your chest that you realized you probably were naked. you say probably considering that fact that you can’t move your head to look and you can barely see out of your eyes in the first place.

“you’re my muse for the night. you’re drugged the fuck out though, so if you’re freaking out due to the sensory issues, there’s your answer.”

a man’s voice. that’s all you could get out of what he just said. well, other than the fact that he definitely either kidnapped you or has you out in the back of an alley, once again, you’re literally in the dark. it’s starting to even become difficult to think straight. he moves his hand from your chest and brushes a hair behind your ear.

“i’ll show you the pictures when i’m done and well, when you’re not so out of it.”

he moves away and you hear a few more clicks and see a few more flashes. your eyes shut, and you decide to keep them like that. you feel him push you onto your back and spread your legs open. feeling an extremely cold breeze against your sex. you hear him mumble a few things, but you can’t make them out.

“can you smile?”

it’s silent. you can’t respond and he just laughs. you feel what feels like a giant weight on top of you and two fingers prodding at the corners of your mouth pushing it into a smile and the click of his camera again. that noise was gonna drive you crazy. you feel his arms move lower and start rubbing your sides and gliding through your collarbone.

“i could really have my way with you right now. don’t have to worry about you bitching, screaming for me to stop, pushing me away…”

he pauses.

“but that would be too easy. a struggle is always fun.”

he slaps you and tilts his head to the side with a questioning look on his face.

“could you feel that? are you still there?”

you slightly open your eyes and the tiniest tear pokes out. he hums in content.

“assuming you can hear me, just know you shouldn’t piss me off. i’m not afraid to kill you. it’s not hard for me to find someone new.”

he stands up off of you and you close your eyes again once the camera flash blinds you again. you feel him go to mess with your wrists and the slightest bit of tension seems to be released. he has a hold on one of your wrists and moves it over to your crotch and your other hand to your breast. moving you around like a doll.

“say cheese…”

another click. another flash.

“you look like a fucked out drunk little bimbo. i should live stream this and have people tell me what i should do to you. would give me some more ideas of what positions to put you in for my photos.”

you’re passed out. well…not completely. you can feel everything he’s doing, hear everything, but you can’t think anymore, and you can’t even open your eyes anymore. more tingles bouncing throughout your body.

the sound of a different button can be heard as well as the sound of the camera being placed on the floor. you hear his footsteps come closer to you and the sound of a zipper.

“i know i said it’d be too easy but i have plenty of chances to let you play hard to get after this.”

you hear him groan a couple times before you feel something cold dripping on your stomach and slowly moving up to your face.

“what a shot. can you say cheese for the video?”

he leans down and you feel his hand touch your face before he moves your face on its side. presumably so you can face said camera. you then feel full all the sudden. a sense of splitting in you and you groan. the feeling starts to become painful.

“sh, just lay there and look pretty and let me do all the work.”

he goes deeper in you as he moves up more so he can put his finger on the corner of your lips and moves it up into a smile again.

“say cheese!”

[lottluvs]

PLEASE give us your lottie x reader headcanons if reader was the one to draw the queen card!!! 🗣️ bonus points if you add fluff please please 🙏🙏🙏

i assume this is in the view of lottie and reader being the closest two on the team for a bit, therefore i will be going off of that ! ( this has been rotting in my drafts for about a month im so sorry anon ! 😭 )

a / n : sorry for the spam posting ! trying to post all my drafts and asks so i can write more for the newer ones !

Drawing the Card

‣ The moment your hand hovers over the deck, Lottie feels it in her chest. It’s a quiet pang of dread, as though the wilderness has already decided.

‣ When the Queen is revealed, her breath leaves her, but she doesn’t say a word. Her eyes lock onto yours—wide, searching, conflicted.

‣ She doesn’t argue outwardly. She has always taught herself to accept what comes, but the flicker of fear and regret in her expression says otherwise.

‣ Lottie can’t bring herself to look at the others, not when she feels like they’re already circling you in their minds.

‣ She knows she should be calm, a leader, but her body is stiff, her fingers twitching. It feels personal now, too personal.

The Hunt

‣ Lottie lingers behind the group as preparations begin, her movements slower, more hesitant than usual. Her usual conviction isn’t there.

‣ When the others chant and the hunt starts, she doesn’t join in. Instead, she watches you run, her expression distant and unreadable.

‣ She feels her stomach churn when she hears the first sounds of pursuit—footsteps crashing through the snow, branches snapping in the distance.

‣ Her instincts pull her in two directions: the leader in her says to follow the ritual; the human in her says to run after you and never let them touch you.

‣ She stays back as long as she can, but the further the hunt goes, the more restless she becomes.

‣ When she hears the scuffle—the sharp intake of breath, the sound of you hitting the ground—Lottie’s legs move before her brain can process it.

‣ She breaks through the trees to see you surrounded, their weapons raised, and something in her snaps.

‣ “No,” she says, her voice sharp, cutting through the chaos. She steps between you and the others, her arms outstretched like a shield.

‣ Her voice doesn’t waver as she addresses the group. “This isn’t what the wilderness wants. Stop.” It’s not a request—it’s a command.

‣ When someone protests, her mask slips. “If you want to shed blood so badly, take mine,” she snaps, her voice taut with anger and fear. “But you will not touch them.”

After the Hunt

‣ Once the group reluctantly backs down, Lottie doesn’t speak. She kneels in the snow next to you, her hands hovering like she doesn’t know what to do.

‣ “Are you okay?” she finally asks, her voice low, almost detached. She won’t meet your eyes right away.

‣ Back at the cabin, Lottie doesn’t let anyone near you. Her body language is closed off, protective—an unspoken warning to the others to keep their distance.

‣ She doesn’t say much as she tends to your wounds, her hands methodical but shaky. You can feel the tension radiating off her in waves.

‣ Later, when the cabin is quiet, she sits next to you, her knees pulled to her chest. “I didn’t know if I could stop it,” she admits after a long silence. “I don’t think I could’ve lived with myself if I didn’t.”

‣ From then on, her presence around you changes. She doesn’t hover, but she watches more carefully, keeps closer, more attuned to any shifts in the group’s dynamic.

‣ I also like to think she makes you sleep next to her.. or maybe even in the same cot, hands always right there.

[trailblazing-through]

“Hey there, Central City! Or, y’know, whoever’s reading this. Name’s Trailblazer. You’ve probably never heard of me—and that’s fine, I prefer it that way. I'm a speedster i guess? But I’m not here to save the world or anything (seriously, the Justice League and other heroes has that covered). I’ll help out if I feel like it… or if I feel bad enough to guilt-trip myself into it.”

hit me up with whatever—questions, comments, bad jokes. I’m bored, so go wild. :D

[OOC + Mun speaking!] Hey! This is a roleplay blog for my DC OC. It's kinda my first time running a rp blog, so I’m still figuring things out. And If I did something wrong or upset you, please let me know kindly. <3 (mun is 17 btw:D)

“Anyway, here’s some info about me. Keep it to yourself, yeah? No snitching.”

Base credit :D

Name: Cassian Grant

Alias: Trailblazer

Ethnicity: Half-Indonesian (Mother's side), and whatever his dad is

Age: 19

D.O.B: April 12

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Bisexual

Height: 5'9"

Families: A dad who’s more into science than parenting; mom’s... gone.

Resident: Central City, living alone

Occupation: Part-time odd jobs worker (when bored), professional speedster-by-accident

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

MBTI: ENTP

Voice claim: Keith Akira Kogane from Voltron

Likes:

-Sketchy street food that’s probably bad for him and junk foods

-Spicy noodles (the hotter, the better)

-Free stuff (because, duh)

-Music loud enough to drown out the voices

Dislike:

-Being told what to do

-The smell of hospitals or labs (for obvious reasons)

-Questions that start with “why didn’t you…” (I don’t know, I just didn’t)

-Slow walkers

-Loud squeaking sounds

-Alarms (all kinds: alarm clocks, school bells, fire alarms, car alarms—they all suck)

Habits:

-Talking way too fast when he’s nervous (to the point no one understands him)

-Zoning out mid-conversation

-Repainting his nails every weekend

-Taps his fingers in rapid rhythms when bored

Abilities: Speedster things, obviously—running fast, healing fast, screwing up fast. (Occasionally) limited time manipulation and limited control over kinetic energy.

Background: Took a dumb dare to explore a supposedly haunted house, got caught in an explosion from a mad (ex-STAR labs) scientist’s botched experiment (involving something about 'Speed Force', idk) and trapped in a time loop, aged about a thousand mental years in a split second. Now, he’s got powers he didn’t ask for, a lifetime’s worth of trauma, and a sense of time that’s just a little broken.

Notes:

-The orange streaks in his hair weren’t his choice (suddenly appears post-Speed Force accident), but they’ve grown on him.

-He’s oddly great at karaoke, despite saying he’s "terrible at singing."

-Often struggles with maintaining focus due to his hyper-active nature.

-His costume is “Permanently borrowed” from an oblivious superhero; modified and recolored.

“Alright, that’s all for now. Catch you later—Trailblazer out.”

[slimybeth69]

Que Será, Será: Part 6

Rating: Explicit- Smut, violence, drinking/drug use. MDNI!! Summary: It's almost twenty years after some weird outbreak almost happened but the CDC took care of that...Now you're living in Austin, Texas as an adult.What happens when you meet Joel Miller who hasn't been hardened and ruined by twenty years of murder and loss?

Warnings/Tags: DaddyDom!Joel/ you. no use of y/n. No physical description of the reader besides one tattoo. Reader has a background story. Drinking/drug use. Slow burn. Smut. Angst. Cheating. Graphic depictions of violence. Eventual loss of virginity. Use of nicknames/pet names (lil girl, baby girl.) DD/lg dynamics. BDSM play. Unbeta'ed. WIP. Cross-posting from my Ao3. chapter warnings/ tags: embarrassing situations, porn, thigh fucking, teasing, Joel snoring.

“Hey! I’m so fuckin’ sorry! Jeeeeesus, I feel like such an asshole.” Joel is speaking fast and with apologies all tethered to his words. “I’m real sorry. I left my phone n’ keys in my brothers truck after he dropped me off from the bar last night. Feel like a dick. Didn’t get my shit back ‘till just now when he dropped ‘em off t’me.” Joel sighs loudly. “I’m sorry. Hope yer’ not mad at me.” He sounds fretful. Worried.

“No. Not at all. I get it. Shit like that happens.” That does come out of you very casually. 

“I got worried as hell when you didn’t text or call. Nothin’. I thought fer’ sure you were gonna think the worst, block my number. Never talk t’me again.” Joel chuckles nervously. 

“Nah. I was hanging out–”

“Readin’ yer’ spooky stories?” Joel asks before you can finish and now… you might be in love with him. Fuck. 

“Yeah… I was actually.” You smirk against the phone like an idiot. 

“You wanna… come read ‘em here? I just watch football on Sunday… but, I wouldn’t be mad if you wanted to just come, I dunno, sit in my lap and hang out. Could smoke, drink a lil.” Joel speaks quietly and almost bashfully. You dunno.

You’ve done worse things in your life behind the wheel of a car, okay? You’re not even drunk. Not even a little. Nope. Feel bad for driving under the influence? Absolutely. But, you’re fine. You took your time packing your lil spend the night bag with your stuff for work tomorrow because he said you should stay the night. Okay. You’re calm and cool. Not overly excited. You brought your laptop so you could comfortably read your ‘spooky stories’ aka real life murders that have taken place. Joel is so cute. Fuck.

When you get to Joel’s house it’s almost two in the afternoon. You guys still have most of the day to spend together and hang out before you have to really go to bed. No more all nighters. Neither of you were children. He’s sitting on his front porch in one of those nice wooden rocking chairs. He has two of them. They’re big and sturdy and look kinda cozy, actually. He is at your door, opening it for you before the truck is even off. He doesn’t let you get out, he runs his hands along your thighs as you turn to face him in an attempt to jump down. 

“Sorry.” Joel smiles up at you apologetically and continues moving his hands up and down your legs softly. 

“Should be.” You tease him but lean in and give him a small, fast kiss. He hums happily in response and holds his hand out. You go to put your hand in his but he pulls it away with a sucking noise on his teeth. You pinch your brows together at him and he holds his hand out again, saying nothing. You look and he wants the two bags you have in your hand. 

“Lemme carry ‘em.” He says after a second you you hesitating. You eye him up and down. 

“Why?” You’re not suspicious or anything. You know he’s being a gentleman… you just… dunno. It’s weird. 

“Y’serious? Really?” Joel grabs the bags and the gentleman leaves him as he abandons you in the truck and starts towards the house. You roll your eyes and follow him inside. He’s walking upstairs already and you’re chasing him up, touching the backs for his thighs and his ass and he’s swatting your hands away. 

“S’no fun, is it?” You tease him and squeeze his ass playfully through his jeans. He jumps and glares at you over his shoulder. 

“S’fun when I do it to you.” he grins as you get to the top of the stairs. “Real fun.” 

“Oh, I bet it is.” You grin back at him as he walks into his bedroom. He sets your bags on his bed and turns to you. 

“Football’s on. Wanna come sit n’ smoke with me while I don’t pay attention?” He asks, chuckling softly. 

“Why wouldn’t you be payin’ attention?” You bat your eyelashes at him and smirk. 

“‘Cause my team sucks— what do you mean?” Joel gives you his goofy, dumb smile and wraps an arm around your waist. “I am real sorry. Feel bad y’probably waited up fer’ me n’ I didn’t call. I sat here all night just feelin’ bad.” Joel whispers before he kisses you softly. “Don’t wanna make y’sad.” 

“I wasn’t sad.” You lie. You lie so hard because you’re not gonna let him know you were sad. You don’t get sad over boys. You already cried once because you thought he went home after he ate you out. No. He won’t know it. 

“Well good. I’m glad y’weren’t cryin’ in bed. I don’t want ya doin’ that over me.” He kisses you again softly. You kiss him back but are thinking about a casual way to ask if he’s interested in marrying you really quick. You just wanna know what it feels like to be married to him and then everything can just, go back to normal. 

“I was a lil disappointed but, I didn’t let it ruin my night.” You lie again.  Joel smiles and kisses your forehead now. 

“Good.” Is all he says. “Get yer’ spooky stories n’ lets go smoke n’ I have a bottle of somethin’ downstairs.” He smirks as he walks towards the door but he waits for you. You grab your laptop and follow him down into the living room. He has a nice big, brown suede couch and a matching recliner. An ottoman to put your feet on. A table on either side of the couch. You set your laptop down and follow him into the kitchen just so happy to be here and be with him. You weren’t expecting to see him ever again. So, this is exciting. You’re not trying to hide that. You want him to know you’re happy to see him. 

“Did you have a good day yesterday after you dropped me off?” You ask as he grabs a cup and a decently priced bottle of whiskey and sets them next to each other. 

“I did. Groceries n’ normal bullshit. Had to get my laundry from the cleaners.” He explains. 

“You don’t do your own laundry?” You are slightly entertained by this for some reason. 

“Hell no.” Joel shakes his head and grabs ice from the freezer. “Haven’t done laundry since Sarah moved out.” He’s chuckling now as he puts the ice in the glass. 

“Did you… make her do your laundry before that?” You squint your eyes at him. 

“Hell no.” Joel says again but he laughs now. “I did mine n’ she did her own when she got old enough.” He laughs and pours whiskey into your glass half way and looks at you with a raised eyebrow. “Do you need… a coke or somethin’?” He says it with a wrinkled nose. You laugh at him. 

“Are you a whiskey snob? If y’are… I got a good story for ya… it’ll piss ya right off.” You smirk and lean against his counter. “I do want a coke.” You grin. Joel groans loudly and goes back to the fridge. 

“Let’s hear this good story, lil girl.” Joel rolls his eyes and doesn’t sound amused already. 

“You ever heard of The Reach—” You start but Mr. Miller finishes. 

“81? I sure have. Why? Y’know ‘bout it?” He pulls his head back from the fridge and stares at you with heightened eyebrows. 

“I do. Have you ever had it?” You ask curiously. Joel shakes his head no but stays quiet. “There is some back at my house– Cody is a huuuuuuge whiskey guy. I had no idea. None. Just thought it was like… expensive, ya know?” You nod at him and he nods back and then frowns before you can finish. 

“You put that into a Coke?!” Joel is so upset with you. So hurt, and so disappointed. 

“I didn’t know how much it cost!!” You exclaim.

“Almost more than my house!!” Joel almost shouts at you but it’s funny. “Jeeeeesus.” He shakes his head in disappoint again and pours Coke into his semi-expenisve whiskey and groans. 

“Oh god. Guys and their shitting on things girls like.” You sip your drink as he rolls his eyes. 

“I’d shit on anyone who did that.” Joel grumbles at you but is pulling you into the living room. He sits right beside you on the couch and hands you your laptop. “Let’s see these scary stories you’re talkin’ ‘bout.” He sighs and puts his feet up on the couch. He says it like you ran in here trying to show him this blog. So excited about it. You smirk and open the laptop. 

As the screen resumes the last internet browser page you were on… you snap the computer shut and do absolutely nothing else. Nothing. You freeze but you know what he saw. You were looking right at it… with him. So. You both know what you saw. He’s silent. It’s just very quiet minus the TV in the background. Finally, after so long of no talking and not even looking at him or moving, even… the man speaks. 

“What…what was that?” He asks very curiously. You’d be curious too, if you were him. You are dead on this couch. The first person to ever die of real embarrassment, honestly. You forgot what you did before you cried yourself to sleep in bed last night. What you used this computer for… You’re going to pass away right now. This is…not happening. No. Can’t be. 

There is no way that the last browser you had open on your computer was a fucking porn website. And… porn is so normal, Joel probably would have laughed about it with you but what you had in the search bar… and what you had pulled up on the screen wasn’t alarming or even unnatural. No, not at all. So natural. Two natural bodies. A man and a woman… 

The man… might look like Joel… a little bit. And the girl… might look like you… a little bit. The search bar definitely didn’t have the words ‘hot gray fifties man younger girl’ in there. No. It fucking can’t. You are trembling. He’s not going to see the search bar. No. Only you know what you typed in last night but the resemblance between those two actors and yourself and Joel are… uncanny. Honestly. You were… so excited when you found it– kind of nervous because for two seconds you thought Joel made a porn with you while you were sleeping. The two people were not you guys. Looked a lot like you guys though. Just enough differences and also too many fucking similarities for it to not do what you wanted it to do. So, that’s even more annoying. It didn’t even work. You were too upset about being not ghosted. So. You’re dumb and embarrassed. 

“Hey, what was that?” Joel asks after what feels like an hour of you just looking at your closed laptop. 

“N–”

“Don’t say nothin’.” Joel barely lets you even start. So. He knows. 

“What did it look like?” You ask, snapping your head to him now. He has the smallest smile on his face, leaned in trying to see the screen you snapped shut. You wonder right now if Cody would buy you a new laptop if you smashed this one. No. He wouldn’t. He’ll buy himself $125,000 scotch though. So. Cool. You swallow hard.

“Uh… it kinda looked like me?” Joel flicks his eyes between your closed computer and your almost tearful eyes. You’re not crying. Just haven’t blinked in eight minutes. 

“That’s crazy you think that.” Is all you can come up with because you’re stunned that this is happening to you right now. Joel shakes his head in bewilderment. 

“I know what I saw.” He points to the computer. “Open it.” 

“No.” 

It’s a standoff… a staring contest… a who can hold their breath the longest competition. You lose and blink first and when you do— Joel takes the computer from you, so quickly. You didn’t think that’s what he was going to do. You freeze and Joel freezes too, his hands are about to open it. 

“Do y’wanna show me yer’self or… do I need t’look?” Joel is smirking over at you. It might be less worse if the computer is in his lap and not right in front of you. You can at least not look then, feeling less shame for a moment until he shames you himself. 

“Do it.” You whisper, shielding your eyes from the monstrosity that is about to unfold. Nothing bad is going to happen. Nothing. You know this. It’s just going to fucking make him way to happy. Way too happy. Like when you told him your sex toys didn’t do what he did to you. UGH. 

“Y’sure?” Joel raises one brow at you. 

“I’ll… never open that computer myself.” You speak with no emotion because he’s already doing it. It takes three seconds for the screen to come to life. 

There it is. Joel’s fucking body double… railing some fucking twenty five year old. Hard. You turn away. You can’t look and see what he thinks of this. It’s too much. You hear the computer keys click and then the video starts to fucking play. Loudly. It’s…porn sounds. Moaning and skin slapping together. This guy is talking dirty. The girl is calling him daddy… You feel like you could throw up. 

“Damn.” Joel whistles after. “I don’t really watch porn but…this is good.” He speaks to the computer, apparently, because you’re facing the complete opposite direction now. You’re thinking about putting your hands over your ears, but Joel wraps his arm around your waist and pulls your back into his chest a little. “Watch it with me.” He whisper.

“I’m too embarrassed to be turned on.” You groan and close your eyes. 

“So… we’re not gon’ do nothin’ today. I have self-control. I can teach y’some if y’need me to.” Joel isn’t teasing when he says this. He’s so serious. It for some reasons calms your nerves and also offends you a little bit. 

“I have self control.” You roll your eyes but lean into him and put your head on his shoulder and reluctantly watch the screen of your laptop with him. 

“Ok.” Joel snorts at you but holds you against him when you try and move away. “Tell me what you like ‘bout the way he fucks her.” Joel whispers into your ear quietly. You snap your head up to him with wide, questioning eyes. “I know why y’picked it… wanna know why y’kept watchin’...” Joel whispers again and his breath in your ear gives you goosebumps. You swallow hard again and watch the screen. 

Joel’s twin has your look-a-like on her knees with her chest pressed into the mattress. Her back is arched so dramatically that it looks like it might hurt, regardless, the guy in the video is…hammering into her and she is begging him to make her come and he keeps telling her no. He’s spanking her with some fucking sex thing. You dunno. It honestly looks like something that would come on the handle of a child’s bike. Buncha lil tassles! But!!! This one is leather and all black and he is… spanking her. 

“I like all of it.” You shrug your shoulders not wanting to say thing specific because you don’t wanna sound silly or inexperienced. Your answer isn’t enough for him. 

“You like how she’s layin’ on the bed?” He asks, holding his hand up to her like you cannot see. 

“Yeah, sure.” You nod and shrug your shoulder closest to him. He respires through his nose quickly and then points to how he’s holding on to her hips and slamming into her from behind. 

“Do you like that?” He sounds so curious to know if you really did like it, and almost like he knows you didn’t. But you did. 

“Yeah. He’s really givin’ it to her.” You whisper this now, because saying it in a regular volume feels dirty. When Joel speaks, he also whispers. 

“Do you like how he’s tellin’ her not t’ come?” Joel isn’t looking at the computer anymore, he’s looking right at you and you’re trying not to look at him. You shrug your shoulders and say nothing because that sounds horrible. Being denied a come??? No thanks. You’re good with coming freely whenever you want. “Why dontchya know, lil girl, tell me?” He coos to you softly and sweetly. 

“I dunno. Do you like being told not to come?” You do look up at him now and he’s already nodding.”

“Yeah.” Joel smirks a little. “Not always n’ not forever… but yeah.” He speaks in his normal tone again and looks back at the screen. He points with his finger to what the porn star has in his hand. “Do you like that ?” Joel looks back at you now. Emotionless. He doesn’t want you to know if he likes it or not. What a fucking ass. 

“I dunno. I’ve never… been spanked befo—” You’re casually explaining your inexperience to him when he cuts you off. 

“No one’s ever spanked you? Not even foolin’ around or nothin’?” Joel sounds shocked. You shake your head. 

“No, I just… I dunno.” You avoid his eyes. 

“S’wrong?” He closes the laptop and suddenly this has turned into a serious conversation. 

“Nothin’.” You’re just being shy. This is weird. You hate that he’s probably slept with thousands of women and you… are you. So. You’re feeling intimidated. 

“Tell me.” Joel pushes but not angrily or aggressively. He’s trying to figure you out. 

“I don’t even know what’s wrong! I’m just embarrassed.” You sink into his couch and rest your head back on his shoulder. 

“Of what!?” Joel points to the computer “That? Don’t be. That’s fuckin’ normal. Hot. Guy kinda looked like me, huh?” He says this like it’s supposed to comfort you. “You watch that last night? Missin’ me?” Joel whispers now and still speaks too comfortingly…almost condescendingly, but not quite there. It’s making your lower stomach flutter though. You nod silently. “Awhh ain’t the lil girl real sweet, you come?” He is grinning but whispering and still talking so nice.

“No.” You whisper. 

“S’how you wanna get fucked? Or y’watchin’ it ‘cause I told ya I liked it like that?” He asks softly, turning to speak against your forehead. 

“Lil of both.” You mewl quietly. Joel lets his head fall back against the couch and he sighs softly. “What’s wrong?” You pull your head off his shoulder and look at him. 

“Not one single fuckin’ thing.” Joel chirps happily and pulls you into him tighter. “Go n’ read yer’ scary st— or finish yer’ lil video if ya want.” Joel lifts his head and is grinning at you playfully. “Dirty Bird.” He pinches your side, puts your laptop on the couch beside him and stands up. 

“Where ya going?” You watch as he walks towards the kitchen. He holds up his empty beer bottle and then disappears. 

Holy fucking shit. You open your laptop and close out of that shit so quickly and open your blog. Oh god. That wasn’t too bad though. Pretty good actually. Kinda hot. You wonder if that’s a normal thing to do. Watch porn with the guy you wanna fuck. You don’t really want him looking at another naked woman… so… you dunno. Might not do it again.

Joel comes back with a joint behind his ear. He’s so fucking hot. Fuck. His jeans and his t-shirt. Shit. He said nothing’s happening tonight… why? You don’t ask. No. Enjoy this. Live in the moment. He sits down practically on top of you and looks at your laptop to see what you’re doing. 

“Okay… these are the spooky stories..” He nods his head and reads a couple words and then pulls his head back and looks at you. “That’s– uh.. That’s not spooky, babe. That’s a graphic description of someone bein’ murdered… it looks like.” Joel checks the screen again and then looks back at you. “Yeah.”

“It’s a true crime thing.” You explain. “It tells you al the horrible details of crimes that they normally leave out of the podcasts…” You nod sadly.  “I like reading though…so it’s not too bad.” You shrug. Joel is blinking at you. 

“Y’wanna know all this shit? It doesn’t make y’sad?” He is confused.

“I mean… sometimes ‘cause, yeah it is sad. It happened though– I dunno if that’s disrespectful but the lady who does this blog is always real nice. There are certain cases she won’t talk about ‘cause the families had said they don’t like when people do stuff like that.” You explain but Joel isn’t swayed. 

“Yeah… that’s kinda weird t’exploit someone’s murder.” Joel shrugs his shoulder. 

“She doesn’t make money. Those weird podcasters do. Not her though– at least I don’t thin. She’s never gotten a red cent from me. Never asks.” You shrug. 

“Eh, I don’t give a shit enough to argue with you ‘bout it.” He shrugs, kisses your cheek and watches the TV. You have to sit with that statement for about three minutes before you decide you also do not give a shit enough to care and don’t fight with him. 

Football is… fun? You dunno. Not a real fan. Some of the guys on his TV though are CUTE! What!? Jeeeesus and they’re just running around hitting each other? 

“Why don’t they do that all the time?” You ask, holding your hand to the TV. He doesn’t look away from the screen when he answers you. 

“Do what?” He is interested in the game. His team must be doing good or something. 

“Uhh– the sounds— the player sounds.” You nod and look over at him, ripping your eyes away from those men on the screen. 

“What’re y’talkin’ ‘bout? He still doesn’t look at you. 

“Okay, so they’re always talking. Blah blah blah– like we aren’t watching the fuckin’ game they’re talking about!? Stupid. Tony Romo’s voice is fucking annoying. I’d rather hear the players!!” You exclaim. 

“The players aren’t sayin’ nothing. They’re just gruntin’ n’ talkin’ shi-”Joel stops and looks over at your innocent face. 

“It’s better!! Better than Tony fucking Romo. Jesus.” You roll your eyes and go back to your blog. 

What a great time for Matt or as you put him in your phone as ‘matt cat cute tattoos’ decided to go ahead and text you. The message– as well as his name– pop up in the corner of your computer and you get a notification ding, a loud one. 

Looked cute yesterday. Wyd today?

As soon as you get it, Joel’s entire body stiffens besides you but he says nothing, doesn’t move. Nothing. You don’t know what to do. Bringing this computer into Joel’s home has been nothing but bad— just bad. It was bad at first..then kinda good again…now so bad. So, so bad again. Shit. Joel still doesn’t speak and you don’t know what to say so you just exit out of it– and then sit there. 

You watch the TV and the clock on the screen was at fifteen minutes when you looked and it stops so many times. So many times that clock stops and starts and they add time to it again once. It’s not until there are only two minutes left in the quarter that Joel speaks. 

“So… who is Matt?” He asks so casually. 

“Just a guy from the cat shelter.” You explain innocently. 

“Oh, gotchya.” He nods his yeah slowly, you can see him nodding out of the corner of your eye. “He that cute?” 

“Oh god.” you put your head in your hands. “I gave him my number yesterday after you dropped me off because I didn’t know if you like– really wanted anything to do with me.. Like actually? Ya know.” You don’t look at Joel because you are too scared.  “Kinda the same reason you liked Ava’s picture before we hung out that night.” 

“Yeah…I see what yer’ sayin’...” Joel sighs but he sounds like he has more to say. He does. “We had hung out though…” Joel is not looking at you either. You both are just speaking facing the TV on the wall in front of you. 

“I know…” You’re shaking and you wonder if he can feel your trembling body literally touching his. 

“Did you go see him last night?” Joel asks emotionless and now you turn to look at him because no you didn’t. Didn’t even think to text him because you had already forgotten about Matt. If you had even fucking remembered in your sadness… you might have gone to see him. 

“No. I didn’t.” You say so confidently and now he looks at you. “I swear I didn’t.” Your eyes scan all across his face and he stays emotionless, doesn’t smile…nothing. 

“Why?” He is still so calm. 

“What do you mean?” You’re stunned to say the least. What the fuck? Did he want you to? Is this a trick? You’re so confused and wanna know what the fuck is going on. 

“Why didn’t you go see him? I blew you off last night n’ you still didn’t go see him?” Joel asks, now a little curious.

“Blew me off?” You wrinkle your brow at him and he panics for half a second in his eyes and then goes back to being calm. 

“Didn’t call or text you.” He defines being blown off to you like you don’t know what the fuck it meant. 

“No. I know that… but I don’t think that’s what you meant to say. What happened last night?” You turn it around on him and wait for his response. 

“Tell me why you didn’t go see that guy and I will.” He pulls away from you a little and you do it too at the same time and read his face. You dunno. It’s just handsome Fucker. 

“No. Did you really forget your keys and phone in your brothers truck last night?” You ask quietly and Joel groans.  

Doesn’t matter. You’re off the couch and running up the stairs to get your stuff. He lied to you. Lied right to your fucking face and then continued to fucking lie. Are you kidding!? He’s chasing you, faster and with more desperation this time. You’re flying up the stairs and into his room. You cannot slam the door in his face because its his house and his bedroom so you run in and grab your stuff off the bed but he’s in the doorway when you turn around. Panting. 

“Move.” You snap at him but he shakes his head. “Then I think I’m officially being kidnapped or being held hostage and I will fight you off. I will fight you so hard.” You point at him but you will not fight him. He could kidnap you and you’d be fine with it. Unless he was with Ava. Then you’ll just kill him. Skip the fighting part. 

“No.” Joel shakes his head again. “Not fuckin’ kidnappin’ you. Grow up.” he snaps at you and is still panting. You roll your eyes. 

“Old!” You snap back at him. “Fuckin’--- just old! Fuck!” You are so pissed and do not know what you’re saying. 

“Stop it.” Joel waves his hand at you and pinches his brows together. 

“No. Tell me what happened.” You bobble your head from side to side and cross your arms over your chest with your bags still in your hand. You purse your lips together tightly. 

“Got more drunk at the bar with Tommy than I usually do, n’ he dropped me off. I just fell asleep ‘fore I could call you. Got in bed and had the phone right there in my hand…just passed out.” He sounds ashamed of himself. 

"That's same shit excuses the thirty year old's I stopped talking to would use. Awesome.” You roll your eyes and think about what Patti said. You’re not asking him shit and don’t care anymore. 

“We had just’ finished a big job the day before– bunch’a guys from work were there.” He shrugs his shoulders. 

“Why not just tell me that?” You press your lips together again. 

“‘Cause of what you just said. I don’t want you thinkin’ that’s the kinda guy I am.” Joel sighs. "We were just celebratin'. Made good money on that job. Drank more than normal."

“Well… now I think you’re a liar. So, that sucks. You could have just said that to me last night when we were texting. Could have just sent me 'At Bar'... I would have figured it out." You sigh loudly and work up the courage to try and leave even though you don't really wanna. You're gonna though. You’re leaving. Lyin’ aint your flavor baby! You don’t play that shit. No. You can deal with emotionally unavailable. You can deal with distant– love that apparently… but you won’t be lied to. 

“I’m not a liar– look.” Joel pulls his phone out and shows you the screen after he pulls up some bullshit. It’s a picture of him and his brother at the bar. Cool. Who cares. 

“Okay, I dunno that you came right here after. You were so quick to lie to me.. Which is what I have the real problem with– not you getting drunk. I don’t give a shit about that. I’m not dumb and naive.” You go to push past him through the door but he doesn’t budge. 

“C’moon.” He sounds sad but you don’t care. 

“No. You’re willing to fuckin’ lie to cover that shit up…something soooo stupid and meaningless.  Something I would have been mad about? Yeah I would have. But would have gotten over--- in a couple days! ‘Cause ya were honest with me. Not lying to get me to your house. Ugh. Fuckin’ gross.” You scoff. 

“You wanna go home?” Joel asks now in a very firm tone. You don’t. You were having so much fun before stupid Matt. Having fun pretending to watch football and snuggle with him!!

“Not really!! I was having fun!!” You exclaim in frustration.

“So stay!” Joel exclaims in matched frustration. “I just didn’t want you fuckin’ bitchin’ at me ‘bout my drinkin’ with my brother! Sorry!” He is still frustrated. 

“Um. No. That sounds stupid.” You roll your eyes at him. "Lie to me to keep me from being upset with you about something?"

“You really think Imma liar?” Joel sounds so hurt now and you see in his eyes that he actually is a little hurt by this. 

“Welp, seeing as you lied. Kinda.” You huff angrily. Joel rolls his eyes. That’s the straw on the camel's back right there. “Fuck you. How are you going to be annoyed? I told you the truth!” You snap at him. 

“Fuck you, too!” Joel snaps back for… no reason. Just said it to say it. It’s kind of cute but also incredibly annoying. “How do I know yer’ not lyin’ ‘bout going to see that guy. You lied to me about being a virgin that first night... told me ya weren't... why?” Joel flicks his eyebrows up to you. 

“BECAUSE I WAS ASHAMED!!?? DIDN'T THINK YOU'D WANNA SEE ME AGAIN IF I TOLD YOU!!??” You shout. Joel's shouting is much different from yours. Very loud. Much louder and deeper and bellowing. 

“SO WAS I!! SAME REASON!!” Joel shakes clenches his jaw tight. "I’m fuckin’ ashamed I got that drunk." Joel exclaims at you in frustration-- much softer now though. but then he just groans before he speaks again. "Fuuuuck. I hate this shit. Stupid shit.” Joel throws his hands up in the air and huffs. “I’m goin’ to watch football.” And then he marches his stupid ass right downstairs. You flick him off for two full minutes now that he is out of sight. He is kinda right. Sonofabitch. You hate when men are right. Hate it. You don’t even wanna go back downstairs. But you do. Joel is sitting where he had been before and doesn’t look at you when you come down– with no bags. You feel so uncomfortable. 

“Do you want me to stay?” You grumble. Joel snorts. 

“Do you want to?” He scoffs at you softly still looking at the TV.

“If you’re going to talk to me like that, no.” You roll your eyes. Joel flicks his head to you now, with soft eyes and small smirk... and pats his lap. “What?” You're confused. 

“C’moon.” Joel nods you over to him.

“You want me to come…sit on your lap?” You raise one eyebrow at him suspiciously. He silently nods. Then he beckons you again with another patting of his muscular thigh with his fucking big, strong, stupid hands. You say nothing and don’t even look at him as you shuffle to him. He holds your waist and sits you down on to him. The back of your thighs is right on top of his and you’re more on the couch than in his lap. He looks down at you and smirks. 

“I won’t lie t’ya anymore. I’m real sorry. Didn’t wanna look like n’ ass. N’ I did anyway.” He runs strong hand across your legs softly and scans your face. “N’ I believe y’didn’t go see that Matt fucker.” He grumbles his name and makes you chuckle. “Why’d ya think I wouldn’t want nothin’ t’do withya?” He’s somehow leaned in and now only inches from your face. How did this happen?

“I dunno– you’re kind of established n’ I’m not.” You whisper softly. “N’ I thought maybe all you wanted was... the only thing I got to offer.” You chuckle but there are other emotions brewing inside you. Shit. You’re not gonna cry. No. You will not. 

“Stupid.” Joel leans in and kisses you softly, his tongue flicks across your bottom lip but doesn’t enter your mouth or do anything else. You whine softly when he pulls away. “Football.” He nods his head to the TV. 

Fuck. He does have self control.

Joel leads you upstairs for bed later after locking all the doors and windows, checking the thermostat and making sure all the blinds were shut. You cant help but wonder if he does it ever night as a cute lil routine and now you are in love with him. No you’re not. Stop doing that. No. He’s a man and just regular. You keep telling yourself that as he walks you into his bedroom and pulls his shirt off over his head and tosses it in the hamper. 

“You got pjs or do you need something?” he asks, knowing you have a bag of clothes… he carried it in. 

“I have —” You’re trying so hard not to smile at him for no reason as he grabs a t-shirt from his dresser and tosses it on to the bed near where you’re standing. 

“You could use that if you wanted.” He’s being so serious. If he’s being cute and flirting he isn’t showing it as he works on his belt. Your body jolts into gear when you become fully aware that you’re just standing there staring at him. You pull your own shirt off and unclasp your bra around the back and let it slide down your shoulders and arms. You half expect Joel to be staring at you stupidly like an idiot, but he just walks behind you, brings his rough, strong calloused hand to your waist, squeezes softly and walks into the bathroom. 

You throw on his t-shirt and pull your shorts off and walk into the bathroom with your toothbrush feeling…so silly for some reason. You shouldn’t!! He wants you here. Gave you the stupid shirt without you asking. He knew you wanted it. Or he wanted you to have it… which was even cuter and made you even more nervous and feel even sillier. 

Joel hands you toothpaste as you stand in front of the vanity mirror. It’s a good mirror. You’re thinking about how good it would be to sit on the sink and pick at your face in this fucking thing while you brush your teeth. You might if you ever get an opportunity. You brush real good and follow Joel back into the bedroom, he waits for you at the door of the bathroom and extends his hand to you. To walk to his bed. Six feet away. You do not give one single fucking shit. He could hold your hand into the zombie apocalypse if he wanted. You’d let him lead you right into that shit. Fuck.

He pulls the sheets back for you and walks around the bed as you crawl in. 

“Hey.” He growls once he’s in bed. You’re so far away from him. There could be three more people in here. 

“Hi.” You have to speak with your real talking voice to make him hear you. 

“You could come closer.” He chuckles softly. 

“Why is it so big!?” You smirk at him as you have to take several hands and knees over to him. 

“I’m a big guy.” Joel shrugs. 

“Not this big!” You snuggle right up into him and now there is… still an entire queen sized bed left over where you had just crawled from. You giggle excitedly and wiggle around beside him. He is warm and perfect and smells like Joel and this is exciting. You're so happy to be here.

“What’re you wormin’ around fer?” Joel looks down at you, smirking. 

“I dunno. Just happy to be here, I think. Got the sillies or something.” You giggle up to him. “Do you not get in bed and get all excited to be in bed n’ snuggly next to someone??” You look up and him and suddenly feel kinda dumb but he doesn’t let you for long as he wriggles down beside you and wraps you up in his arms. 

“ Shiiit… no. I’m a grown man.” He sounds offended that you’d ask him that. “But you can squirm n’ worm all around next to me whenever ya’ want..” Joel chuckles and kisses the top of your head. 

“I got a cat yesterday. S’why I was at the cat shelter.” You whisper up to him. “Her name is Agatha Christie.” You add quickly after a second of silence. Joel tries and fails to stifle his laughter. 

“What!? Did you pick that name out? Poor cat.” He’s still laughing and jostling your whole body around as he laughs heartily. “Why’d ya get a cat?” 

“I’ve wanted one for a while.” You snap at him. “And her name is good!! I like spooky stuff… Agatha Christie wrote creepy detective books!! Death on the Nile!! So good!” You’re semi offended. Joel rubs his hand all along your back and shoulders. You're running your hand all across his soft n' smooth stomach except for a lil trail of hair that leads down into his boxers. He's so soft n' pudgy but firm and tight at the same time. You wanna run your tongue all along him. Shit. Talking about cats. Fuck. Okay.

“Issa good name fer’ you. Yeah, yer’ right.” Joel is still chuckling. 

“I didn’t even name her that!” You poke him in the sides and he grabs your wrist gently. 

“I’ll spank you into next week. Don’t.” He growls it. 

“Next week? For a poke? Seems excessive…” You roll your eyes at him but, you want him to. Want to poke his soft and pudgy and perfect tummy. It's calling for you.

“Don’t…” Joel is warning you. 

“Are you super ticklish?” You’re not going to tickle him…because you don’t like being tickled. Hate it even though it...tickles and makes you laugh.

“Just don’t.” He sighs loudly and lets your wrist go. It was never tight to begin with. You just like him holding onto you.

“Fine.” You feign annoyance as you kiss his shoulder softly. He sighs softer now and rubs your back gently again. 

“Roll over.” Joel whispers quietly. You do exactly as he says and might never question him ever again. He molds himself into your back and ass and his legs are pressed into yours. He is engulfing you. His mouth is right beside your ear now. “Glad you stayed.” He murmurs softly. 

“Me too.” You breathe out softly. 

“I’m gon’ tease both of us a lil now, don’t get too worked up, ‘kay Cricket?” He snickers so softly in your ear as he pushes his groin into your ass softly. “Love teasin’...” He keeps speaking as he grinds against you. “Feels fuckin’ good, don’t it?” His voice is so soft and if his cock wasn’t getting hard against you, you’d fall asleep he’s so calm and soothing. 

“Yeah…” You sigh because it’s all you can do. His hand is moving all across your stomach and down between your legs for… milliseconds. It makes you groan and him chuckle each time. His strong fingers pinch and tug at your nipples softer than the first time he touched them. 

“You like this? Want me t’stop?” He kisses behind you ear gently and then breathes out against you as he works his cock into the V between your closed legs and pussy. “Shit.” Joel chokes it back and pushes into you harder. You can feel his searing hot length against the skin of your inner thighs and through the fabric of your panties. “I gotta stop.” He chuckles but does not. 

“Keep going.” You whisper to him and pause for a moment. “Please?” You really want him to keep going…you’re not really sure why. It doesn’t feel like much of anything to you other than something hot and hard between your legs. “Don’t stop… Mr. Miller.” You bite your bottom lip and cringe and how awkward you are and then Joel reacts to this.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He spits the words out and pulls you back against him even tighter, his forearm between your breasts and now his hand is around your neck softly, he’s breathing into your ear. “What did you say?” He whispers but there is force behind this whisper. 

“Please don’t stop, Mr. Miller.” You whimper softly as his hand tightens around your throat. “I’m sorry?" You’re kinda scared because this giant man has his hand around your throat… but is still doing whatever it is he’s doing between your legs. Fucking your thighs? Dunno. He’s still doing that but faster now. And choking you moderately. 

“Fuckin’ naughty, lil girl.” His voice is so deep, fuck. Okay. Is he mad? 

“Do you really like that?” You ask nervously but his body is already telling you that he does… his voice is saying.. Maybe? His hand leaves your throat and his body stops moving against yours. 

“What’d I do?” he holds his hands up and freezes. You look at him over your shoulder and he’s panting, sweating a little, but looking at you fearfully. “M’sorry fer’ whatever it was…” 

“What? You didn’t do anything..” You blink at him. He blinks back at you. 

“Huh? Then what’re you talkin’ ‘bout ‘cause I love all that.” Joel sighs softly and relaxes. 

“Me calling you Mr. Miller?” You raise your eyebrow at him. Joel snorts and lays back in bed. 

“Uh…yeah. I fuckin’ do.” Joel shakes his head. “S’fuckin’... I dunno. I dunno why I like it. Yer’ the first woman t’ever call me that in bed...damn... I liked it though fer' some reason.” Joel sighs loudly. “Sorry. I ain’t mean fer’ it t’go that far. I snuck right outta my boxers.” He rubs the sweat off his forehead and looks over at you. “Y’like all that?” 

“You weren’t mad at me?” You’re still blinking a little. Joel looks like he’s replaying the last four minutes in his head to think if you did something to make him mad.

“No.” He says after a moment and then looks over at you. “What’d I do t’make y’think that?” 

“Uh… choked me? Sounded real mad?” You gawk at him. 

“Didn’t like bein’ choked?” 

“Well now that I know you’re not mad at me… I think I did? I dunno. Let’s do it again.” You suggest eagerly but he just laughs. 

“Nah, ‘cause then it wouldn’t be teasin’.” Joel shrugs his shoulders. 

“That is terrible.” You groan. “Don’t like teasing.” You whine and then face the other way again, annoyed. 

“Lose yer’ attitude, lil Bird.” Joel spanks your ass softly over the blankets. “T’cute to be all ‘tudinal.” 

“I thought you liked a bratty lil girl.” You mock him gently and smirk, getting comfortable in the bed next to him.

He chuckles beside you and rubs the fat of your ass over the blankets now. “Yeah… I do.” Joel sighs loudly and rolls back over to be behind you again. “Goin’ t’sleep now, really.” Joel kisses behind your ear and the the back of your shoulder and the top of your head. His arm drapes over your side and then it’s quiet. 

You’re too excited to sleep!? What!? Why did you not feel this way the last two times? You slept fine. Mr. Miller!! This sonofabitch gets you all horny for thigh fucking and then is sleeping behind you first? Unfair. Not cool. Okay….without that real loud fan from your place…his snoring is kinda loud. Real loud. Right in your ear loud. Is he being so fucking for real right now? This has to be a joke. 

No. 

He is so fucking for real. And the man…sleeps like he might be dead. If it wasn’t for the snoring…you’d think he was how he reacted to literally nothing you did. He had to be faking and pretending. You eventually weasel your way back across this football field sized bed and…the snoring isn’t too bad over here. Still kinda loud. You’ll be fine. You’ve slept through worse. Fighting parents (screaming dad) all night sometimes. This is nothin’. 

It was not nothing.

tag list: @immyowndefender @korikolove @untamedheart81 @fanficlover1414 (i'll add or take you off, just let me know!)

[leadendeath]

FOUND IT

does anyone have the I SEEN IT WITH MY EYEBALLS death grips audio post which includes a really fuckered up lookin dog picture... it'll sound less wtf when i find it i promise

[bunny-jpeg]

not to sound like a bitch or anything but,

one: please don't call me girl, sis, ma'am, or any kind of feminine language or pronouns. my pronouns are in my navigation page and my bio. - it's he & they. i know people don't do it intentionally to harm or anything, but i am a guy. so yeah...

two: please remember that i am actually a very sick individual with pretty bad health problems and sometimes i hit walls with my writing, even if it is fan fic writing. i feel like i am constantly in a situation where i feel like people are mad at me because i'm not writing their prompts or i'm writing a different fandom. and in some ways writing fan fiction has stopped being fun. and my fear is that people are going to get mad at me or make back-handed snide comments because i haven't done x,y & z. i do this for free, this is free content i am making every day and sometimes it feels like i am working a job. there have been times i have prioritized uploading fan fics to writing my novel or going to my job. yeah, you're on anon in my inbox, but i can read it. i'm glad i can make content that makes people happy, but please realize that most fan fic writers do not post daily. i used to post weekly before the influx of prompt submissions.

so yeah.....

EDIT: i think the conclusion i've reached is that i need a more manageable schedule. while that means getting through prompts & requests a lot slower. it does mean that passion for writing will still be there. i've loved what i've been able to do and the people i've met.

the schedule is now posting fridays thru sundays it may pick up if i really get a good flow going or i have some time here and there. but going forward it's going to be posting friday - sunday with a minimum for two fics a day. <3