#i posted these last time and they got labelled mature

[themetalheadhippy]

Please post some more nsfw pics queen. It's been a while.

Since you asked so nicely ✨🎇

[mi55delulu]

movie goers

pairing: jungkook x fem reader

synopsis: starting off on the wrong foot with your new neighbor was not on the top of your bucket list, yet you’ve made an enemy of jeon jungkook in less than 24 hours. unlucky for you, he’s not backing down either.

genre: enemies to friends to lovers (e2f2l)

wc: ~16.4k

cw: not so cute meet, slice of life, slight angst, fluff, mature language, mean jk and mean oc — they get better though, cheating (not main characters), fwb (not main characters), mutual pining, oc is lowkey a hopeless romantic, 18+ ONLY - MINORS DNI 🔞, smut, oral (f&m receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, love love love. if i got any rules/regulations wrong, i didnt. leave me alone, it’s fanfic 😇✨also written in lowercase bc that’s just how my phone setting is and i’m too lazy to go back to capitalize … ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

a/n: yuh … inspired by real life events. anyways, this is the first time i’ve posted a fic on this page. i’ve been an avid reader (still am) but i’ve been wanting to put something out too. so here’s my gift to close out 2024. also, i miss jk. I MISS BANGTAN. ;-; enjoy and lmk your thoughts!

—

if you had to describe your ideal neighbor in three words, it’d be: mindful, quiet, and kind. cause that’s what your neighbor, mrs. lee, was to you in the last three years you’ve lived in this apartment complex. she kept to herself, walked her small crusty (but cute) senior white dog, and brought you leftover cookies when she baked too much for her grandkids. you always had a feeling she made just the right amount with you in mind, but of course she’d never tell you.

so when she broke the news that she was going to move into her son’s home because they’ve been worried about her living alone, you were happy for her — happy that she’s going to get taken care of, but sad that you’ll be losing a great neighbor.

you tell her whoever moves in after her probably won’t be as good of a baker. she simply laughs and tells you to be nice.

three months pass and you hear footsteps outside your door one afternoon. when you try spying through your peephole to get a glimpse of the commotion, you see boxes stacked on the side of apt# 305.

finally, someone was moving in.

some of the boxes were spilling onto your welcome mat, but that didn’t really bother you. you were more curious about your new neighbor … er, perhaps neighbors. so any clue on whether it was going to be an individual or a family moving in would give you an idea of who you’ll be living next to.

unfortunately for you, all the boxes were neatly sealed off.

“dang it.” you mutter to yourself while squinting at the labels on the boxes. clothes, kitchen, shoes … workout? well, okay no indication of toys so you can safely assume there aren’t any kids … yet.

you look at your clock, it’s about time you head out to get your mail anyways. maybe you’ll bump into your new neighbor(s).

except, it wasn’t as easy to spot who exactly was going to be moving in with all the different movers. you sigh and sift through your mail as you walk up the stairs to your apartment. most of the boxes that were outside had already been moved inside the apartment by the time you returned from the mailroom.

as curious as you were of who your new neighbor could be, you had better things to do … like binge watch your kdramas before your shift starts. maybe if you’re feeling extra nice … you’ll say hi later. no one wants to start off on a bad foot with their neighbor. you fumble around your pockets for your keys and eventually hear your locks click open when you’ve successfully unlocked your door.

“hey, neighbor.”

you turn. now, in all your 28 glorious years of living, you can easily count the times you’ve been starstruck on one hand. seeing the northern lights by accident on your way home in 2024, meeting your favorite youtuber at a late night diner when you were 15 years old, and being noticed by one of the highest ranked players in maplestory’s world chat.

the person in front of you? a sight to behold. tall, killer smile, numerous piercings, and a forearm adorned in tattoos. yeah. you don’t think starstruck would fit for this occurrence, but what you do know is that they’ve gotten you tongue tied.

“welcome!” you blurt out and give a tight-lipped smile before barreling through your entryway. you don’t give yourself another second to study his expression once the door shuts behind you. were you lame to run away from your new neighbor? sure. will you regret this? well, the cringe is already seeping in. you’re probably branded as the weird girl now … whatever.

what’s done is done.

you don’t know if 305 is mindful, quiet, or kind.

but fuck, he’s hot.

—

305 was not quiet.

you know it’s a housewarming party with a couple of his friends. he didn’t have to tell you … you heard them loud and clear through the walls several times as they clinked their shot glasses for the 11th time that evening.

you’re texting your frustrations to dohwan, your boyfriend (?) er … someone you’ve been talking to (and fucking) these last 2 years. he hasn’t quite put a label on the relationship just yet and claimed that he is only seeing you. labels didn’t really matter to you but as time grew, you’ve come to like him a lot and wished for something more. he’s career-driven, great in bed, and knows how to whip up a good breakfast the morning after he stays for the night. he was supposed to come over tonight, but told you he got caught up with work. it’s times like these where you feel a level of uncertainty with dohwan. you spiral and don’t feel as secure as you want to be.

you shouldn’t feel hurt or disappointed … but you do, because hell, alright … maybe you didn’t just like him.

you love him.

you’re not embarrassed that you told him 9 months into seeing each other. has he said it back? no, but that’s okay! everyone has a different timeline when it comes to feelings. you could only hope he meets yours soon enough. why else would he stay for this long?

back to the situation at hand.

you’re not an irritable person, but the least 305 could’ve done was given you a heads up that he was going to have a celebration. you would’ve asked to stay over at dohwan’s in that case.

another round of laughter erupts through your walls and you grit your teeth in annoyance.

“fuckin’ hell,” you throw the covers off your body and march out of your apartment. you find yourself glaring at 305’s door — a juxtaposition from how you usually looked when mrs. lee used to reside here.

god, you missed her.

you knock on the door a few times, taking note how the chattering from the inside decreases and some footsteps grow close to the door.

again, you almost want to want to run back to your apartment when you’re face to face with 305’s handsome confused face.

realizing it’s you, 305 smiles, “oh, hey—“

“it’s nearly 12 a.m. do you mind?” you cut him off.

his smile drops and he leans one shoulder on his doorway.

“sorry,” he says, “we’ll wrap up soon.”

you’d usually drop something this trivial by now, but you’re in a foul mood. unfortunately for 305, this is will be his official first impression of you.

“how much longer is ‘soon?’ it’s been like this for 4 hours,” you really don’t mean for it to come out that way, but the damage is done.

little did you know, 305 wasn’t going to backdown either. he may be new to this complex, but he’s not privy to obnoxious neighbors. the only difference is that he thought you were going to be quiet and shy, much like the first meeting.

“don’t know.” he shrugs.

“i really don’t want to involve property management.” you cross your arms. it’s a half threat — you’ve never called because you never needed to … but you’ll flip through your 50 page rental agreement if you have to.

he mirrors your stance and looks out to your apartment’s door.

“well, sorry to burst your bubble, 307.” he says and you see red, “but management is aware of my get together. it’s not my fault they didn’t inform the other residents.”

“asshole.” you mutter under your breath.

he smiles again, a little less friendly and more condescending this time, “we’ll finish soon, 307. good night.” he shuts his door on you before you can formulate a sentence and you’re left outside in the dark.

—

“yo, jungkook … were we being too loud?” hoseok asks while popping a handful of m&m’s into his mouth.

“yeah, cause your laugh can be heard from all throughout korea,” jimin mocks, earning him a shove from hoseok.

“nah, don’t worry about it. just my neighbor saying hi.” jungkook plops down on the sofa with the rest of his friends.

“oh? should’ve invited them in. we have enough pizza to feed a village.” taehyung nudges his side.

jungkook laughs and shakes his head, “just scale down on the volume and we’ll be golden.”

jungkook loves good company, having lived with his friends for most of his college years, he was a bit reluctant to move out. it’s a little bittersweet, but all his friends are happy for him and his new journey in adulthood. he won’t have to deal with messy roommates and random guests … vice versa. as fun as it was to live in a house full of your best friends, at the end of the day, men will be men. gross, loud, and obnoxious.

not jungkook though, so he thinks.

“ha! called it,” jimin snorts, “you were being too loud, hyung.” this earns jimin a punch to the arm and hoseok’s booming laugh when jimin dramatically falls off the chair.

jungkook knew it was useless to request this of his friends, so he took it upon himself to give the property manager a heads up. lucky for him, the lady seemed more than happy to accommodate. she even left her business card with him after he signed the lease … something about calling her if there’s ever an issue with the apartment — any time of the day.

weird.

what’s weirder was his neighbor. from running away during the first meeting to demanding he end his housewarming on the spot. okay, to be fair, you didn’t, but you might as well have. it didn’t help that jungkook was hotheaded and gets a little irrational when something involved his friends.

so what if he thought you were pretty in your black pajama set? you called his friends loud, when in honesty, they could’ve been much worse. seriously. he knows jimin’s taunting held some truth. hoseok has been responsible for some noise complaints in the past. so this was considered manageable. plus, it’s not like he’ll be inviting them over every weekend.

but if it meant pissing you off, he might consider it.

alright, he wasn’t that cruel and he definitely doesn’t want to make living next to you unbearable. he’ll apologize first thing in the morning tomorrow, but for now, he just wants to enjoy his time with his best friends.

—

jungkook was going to murder you.

not literally, but he could if it wasn’t for the major hangover holding him back. he blinks twice, looks at the clock on his nightstand, reads 7:01am, and lets out a big sigh after another round of drilling vibrates against his wall.

fuckin’ hell.

it feels comical now that he’s in front of your apartment, face still swollen from sleep, but so visibly upset at being woken up at the ass crack of dawn.

“are you serious?” he asks, voice still laced with heavy sleep.

you, on the other hand, look put together and almost too happy this early in the day. jungkook can only rule you out as a psychopath — a pretty psychopath. your hair all in place, lashes kissing your cheeks when you smile at him, and not a single wrinkle on your clothing in sight.

“what’s up,” you peer outside your door just as he did last night, “305?”

he wants to let out a groan, but that’d give you too much power.

“drilling at 7 in the morning? that’s gotta be a violation.” his voice still laced with sleep, though, he’s sure to sound assertive.

“nope! here,” you smile and pull out your phone, the level of brightness makes jungkook squint, “county regulations allow work as early as 6:30am.”

“yeah, if there’s justification. there’s no reason for you to be drilling this early.” jungkook argues back.

you pout, evidently not sad at that revelation, “but my mental health. i was kept up all night by my neighbor and his friends … i need some wall decor to cheer me up. surely you could sympathize, right?”

you don’t allow him to formulate another thought as you’re shutting the door, “i’ll be done soon, have a good day!”

jungkook almost wants to laugh at how irritated he is, but all he can do now is try to get some shut eye before his shift starts. that is, if he can even go back to sleep.

should’ve asked his friends for some earplugs as a housewarming gift.

—

the drilling eventually came to a stop. only because you could not be bothered to wake up earlier than you had to and you think you made your point pretty clear to your neighbor — don’t fuck with me.

honestly, you’re not sure what came over you. you never liked causing issues for people and you’re also well liked by your work peers and friends, so this was out of character of you. it also didn’t help that your friends spurred you on and praised you for one upping him. as the rage dissipated from your system, you’ve come to the conclusion of why you acted out.

your new neighbor was a conventionally attractive man. he probably knows this too judging from the way he spoke to you — like you’d back down just because he said so. he probably was able to schmooze the lease manager into giving him a better rent deal and get pardoned for all the noise he made during his housewarming party. sucks for him; you’re not a fan of pretty privilege.

you had to set him straight, so drilling into a random piece of wood every morning right near his bedroom wall was the perfect revenge. you expected some backlash from him; surprisingly, he didn’t say a word to you after his first confrontation. so, you stopped the antics after the third day.

weeks later, you learned his name is jeon jungkook. not through a formal introduction … only because his mail got mixed in with yours and you tossed it onto his welcome mat. he eventually came to realize your name through the same way too.

though, he’ll always be 305 to you and you’ll always be 307 to him.

that’s fine.

you’ll scowl every time you see him and he’ll stick a middle finger up to you as well.

the feeling was mutual.

“so, are you still battling it out with your new neighbor?” dohwan asks one evening. his head was actually between your legs at the moment. you like having random conversations during sex, but talking about your annoying neighbor wasn’t on the top of your list.

“mm, yeah,” you moan lowly when he flicks his tongue on your clit. “well n-no, not anymore.” you correct yourself, “oh fuck, keep going.”

“good, i’m tired of hearing about him,” he chuckles against you and continues his ministrations between your folds. if you were caught off guard by his comment, you weren’t anymore. the pleasure coursing through your body is enough to make your head spin.

he moves away from your body once you’ve come by his mouth. without warning, he slips inside you and you hiss from the overstimulation, still sensitive from your previous orgasm.

“gonna fuck you so well.”he’s thrusting relentlessly, “it’s what you need, huh princess?”

you nod, too overcome by the power of his thrusts hitting all the right spots. dohwan is a little more vocal tonight — it makes you feel special but you’re also a little self conscious about your nextdoor neighbor hearing things. you’ve always kept it down even when mrs. lee lived next door, jungkook would be no exception.

people fuck, it doesn’t mean you can’t be courteous. you sure as hell don’t want to hear your neighbor fucking given that you’ve seen him bring back several different girls to the apartment these couple of weeks.

one thing you’ll commend jungkook for is not being a loud fucker in the bed.

“baby,” you whine as he pauses a little to listen to what you have to say, “we should keep it down.”

he tilts his head, reaches in between your bodies and circles slowly on your clit with his thumb while he resumes rocking into you. you keen and almost let out a moan.

“why? let the asshole hear.” he grunts when he picks up the pace again. dohwan kisses down your neck and leaves a red hickey on your collarbone. you let out a pretty sigh and wrap your legs around his waist.

“y-you,” he moans particularly louder and it throws you off slightly, “saw the way he looked at me today, right?”

you didn’t, but you definitely saw the way dohwan glared at jungkook and tightened his hold on your waist before entering your apartment. meanwhile jungkook had just come back from his evening run — at least that’s what you assumed since he was wiping away his sweaty hair from his flushed face coming up the stairs.

“baby, are you really going to talk to me about another man while we’re fucking?” you laugh and cup his face in your hands. he huffs in frustration but his eyes soften, it’s opposite to the brutal pace he’s set on your pussy.

“sorry,” he continues fucking into you and the room is filled with wet noises and his panting once again. even though he apologized, he does nothing to lower his volume.

knock-knock. the sound definitely did not come from the frontdoor, it was far too close to hear.

another series of knocks come and you realize it’s your bedroom wall. dohwan pays no attention to those sounds and is far into chasing his own high, but you move your hands over his mouth to muffle his grunts.

jeon jungkook is knocking on your wall.

he knows you’re having sex and you’ve become that obnoxious neighbor. if that wasn’t enough of an instant mood killer, you hear him blasting one of akon’s featured hits “i just had sex” to mock you and dohwan.

yeah, sexy time is over. you push dohwan off you and head into the bathroom to nurse your embarrassment.

shortly that night, dohwan leaves and it’s the first time you’ve gotten into an argument with him where you think he’s in the wrong.

—

people find it daunting to go to the movies alone. you’d agree until you were forced to go alone after no one wanted to go watch twilight with you in high school. it was awkward at first, but once the light dimmed and the movie started, no one cared about their surroundings.

that’s why you liked going alone. no one will pay attention to how alone you were. everyone in there will be focused on the big screen in front — you included. there was always something liberating about doing things alone too. ‘like yeah, stick it … i don’t need anyone.’ kind of energy.

the only thing you wished was to have someone to discourse with after the movie ended. it’s not a dealbreaker though. you could have easily asked dohwan to come with you, but you’ve been ignoring him since last week after the loud sex fiasco.

regardless, you’re watching moana 2 today. you’re sure it’s going to be a full house given that it’s the opening week. you can only pray that you won’t be surrounded by snotty (literally) kids. nonetheless, you’re excited and the theater was getting filled up as more movie goers come in during the preview. your row was nearly full, saved for the single empty seats on your left and right side.

score, no seat partners or snotty kids. you’ve won this time around.

you’re texting your friends and telling them your luck—

“ahem.”

you look up and you see two people standing in front of you. you’re sure it’s for the seats on your left and right side cause you double checked your ticket before sitting down and everyone else in your row has been seated for quite some time.

“can you move?” one person asks. weirdly enough, the voice is familiar.

even though the lights are low in the theater, you can see that it’s a man and a woman. and when you squint a little more at their figure, that’s when something catches your eyes. a tiger lily tattoo, the same one that your neighbor has.

no fucking way.

“hello?? can you move?” he asks again a little more aggressively. there’s no way he can’t recognize it’s you being that the movie screen is bright enough to shine a light on you. doesn’t matter. you weren’t going to move before and you definitely aren’t going to move now. hell, you’ve been asked plenty of times to move by both families and couples in the past — the difference was that they asked nicely. some were generous enough to offer you snacks when you did move for them.

jungkook? nah. no thank you. you’ll stay right where you are.

“nope.” you hold out your ticket to show your seat number and refocus back on the previews playing.

the girl behind him grabs his arm and gently asks him what seat numbers he got.

“k11 and 13.” he mumbles.

yeah, cause you had bought k12.

“oh, um, it’s okay! we wouldn’t even be talking during the movies anyways,” she reassures with a kind smile. “let’s sit so that we’re not blocking anyone?”

jungkook gives her a tight lipped smile and plops down on k11 while the girl takes k13.

“you’re fucking annoying for that.” he says only loud enough for you to hear. he’s angrily eating his popcorn and it makes you want to laugh mockingly. he’s dressed in all black with a silver chain dangling loosely around his neck. his hair is neatly styled and he smells nice. perfect for a first date … minus you being the factor to ruin it.

“i’m not the one that booked shit last minute. do better.” you shrug.

the previews are still playing and you look over at the girl. she’s so pretty and probably too sweet for jungkook’s good based on how she handled the seating situation.

you feel a little guilty, but that feeling leaves you the moment jungkook hands over the popcorn to the girl, spilling a couple on your lap. you glare, he smirks, and the girl unknowingly takes the bucket from him.

well, two can play that game.

“your nails are so cute, where’d you get them done?” you ask.

she beams and shows you her set, “a little shop called banger nails down myeong-dong! they’re great.”

“oh, your nails are so pretty though. where do you get it done?”

truth be told, you haven’t had your nails filled in over 3 weeks … you know they look rough, but you assume she’s just trying to maintain a conversation being that her actual date was a seat away.

you tell her your shop and she tells you she’ll definitely try out that location when she has the chance. she offers you some popcorn and you unashamedly take some, making sure jungkook sees.

he clenches his jaw and rolls his eyes, but makes no move to turn to your direction.

“oh, how rude of me. what’s your name?” you reach out to shake her hands.

“nayeon,” she answers and takes your hand in hers, “you?”

you tell her your name and she nods with a sweet smile. yeah, she’s definitely too good for jungkook.

the movie starts and you’re whispering commentaries and giggling with nayeon. you both held hands during the intense scenes and teared up at the ending. it felt really nice to connect with someone like this right off the bat. she was kind and funny throughout the entirety of the movie too.

you can’t say the same for jungkook. he had his arms crossed with a deep frown stamped on his face for two whole hours.

when the movie credit rolls, jungkook stands up and holds out his hand to help nayeon up. huh, chivalry isn’t dead you suppose. nayeon stands up and waves at you.

“it was so nice meeting you! we should definitely hang out. here, let’s follow each other on instagram!” she fumbles through her purse for her phone and you notice how jungkook closes his eyes in frustration behind her.

you and nayeon exchange contacts and as you’re reclining your seat upright, you hear jungkook ask her, “would you wanna get some froyo? my treat for messing up on the tickets.”

“aw, it all worked out though! i met a new friend,” she gestures over to you. jungkook doesn’t really acknowledge nor claim he has already met you.

why would he?

“i’m glad,” he replies, “still though, i feel bad that we didn’t really hang out. still up for that sweet treat?”

nayeon nods and looks back at you, “would you like to join us?”

unbeknownst to nayeon, jungkook looks at you in desperation this time and shakes his head pleadingly. you think you’ve tortured him enough this evening and you don’t want to subject yourself to hanging out with jungkook. seeing the couple link hands in front of you, you’re sorta missing dohwan a little now … so you’ll reach out to him and see what he’s doing.

“no, it’s okay. you both should enjoy that sweet treat together. i’ll text you on instagram!” you wave and jungkook lets out a breath of relief.

“let’s go?” now, what shocks you is his soft smile towards nayeon. it’s almost a 180 to the attitude you’ve experienced with him. then again, maybe it takes a special kind of person to bring that side out of you. nayeon can definitely do that.

she waves at you again and this time jungkook also waves at you (begrudgingly) too. it’s not a goodbye, but a ‘see you later … unfortunately.’ type of wave.

—

you come back from dohwan’s place a little after midnight.

nothing special happened, just hung out like normally. he didn’t bring up the argument and you didn’t feel like talking about jungkook either. this was a regular occurrence in your relationship with him. fights were always difficult, but the mend was easy … cause you guys tend to just sweep the issue under the rug.

clean slate.

“jesus christ!” you jump at the sight of a tall dark figure when you reach the top of your floor. your hand flies to your chest to hold down your hammering heart.

“relax, 307. just me.” jungkook says.

“scared the shit out of me.” you murmur to yourself. you proceed to open your door just as jungkook gets his keys out too.

“fitting for a piece of shit like yourself.”

“excuse me?” you raise your brows in question.

“you heard me,” he steps back out from his door, “loud for no reason, fuck like you’re the only one in the complex, and don’t even have the decency to move a seat over. it’s no wonder the previous resident moved away.”

you really want to argue back, but he read you for filth. you really have been an asshole, still, the comment about mrs. lee hurt. you’re not what jungkook makes you to be, but you’ve given him every reason to perceive you in this manner.

“look, i’ll apologize—“

“nah, save it. i’m tired of being nice too. have the night you deserve.” with that, he goes into his apartment and you’re left contemplating how you let things get this bad and awkward with your new neighbor.

there’s no point in trying to talk to your neighbor now. it’s late. you’ll process everything first and try talking to him tomorrow.

—

the talk never happened.

because for the next 27 days, you’ve been woken up by a blender at 5 a.m. you let that slide for the first 5 days thinking it was jungkook’s way of venting out his frustrations, but by the end of the week, you were back on hating your neighbor.

today marks day 28. you’ve had a long day at work and dohwan has been dodgy with you this week. you call him during lunch to ask him why he’s been so distant and he immediately goes off on you saying that he feels suffocated and that he likes his space. it hurts. because you thought that when you really like someone, all you want to do is fill your day with them.

it’s the evening after your shift and you barely make it up the top of the stairs before you sit down and cry into your hands. it’s so fucking embarrassing crying over a man, especially for one that you really like. majority of the time, he really does make you feel like you’re on top of the world, but then take you down to the pits of hell.

highest of highs, lowest of lows.

it fucking hurts, but you also don’t want to be more alone than how you are.

you hear footsteps come closer and you immediately wipe away your tears and look to the other side of the railing. the person coming up doesn’t stop and walks up past you.

you know them. you know it’s him. you can tell by his cologne and the black converse he fancies.

when you think he’s far enough and in his apartment, you let yourself cry some more.

little did you know, jungkook stands at the top of the stairs, contemplating on whether he should talk to you. he thinks you’re crying because of the blender. or maybe you’re crying because you have to go home to a shitty neighbor. feels bad and guilty. hates to see women cry or anyone cry for that matter …

you hear footsteps from behind and sniffle into your hands.

“uh, 307?”

“what?” your tone is biting but that’s understandable. you’ve been under a lot of stress.

he sighs, sits down right next to you on one of the steps. his legs are long so his knees fan out a little to brush yours. you scoot away and look at him with your bloodshot eyes.

ah, shit. he feels even worse.

“i know i’ve been a dick to you from the start.” he begins.

you scoff and look away.

“you didn’t make things easy either, okay?” he rolls his eyes, “but if you’re crying about the blender …”

“oh for fuck’s sake! no, this isn’t about the blender, 305.” you huff.

“ah.” he opens his mouth and closes it to think what to say next, “lemme guess … boy trouble?”

“shut the fuck up.”

he does so this time for a few minutes until you start talking.

“look, i’ve been meaning to say this but i’m sorry for being an asshole to you. you’re new here and i gave you a bad impression of me. i don’t want to continue making this a hostile living situation for the both of us.” you meant every word you said and whether jungkook accepts your apology, that’s for him to decide. at least you were the bigger person to apologize and take accountability.

“thanks. i’m sorry for being rude too. clean slate?” he reaches his hand out for you to shake. you look at his tattooed hand and a part of you feels relieved at the prospect of a resolution. you shake his hand in agreement. his hand was warm, a little calloused, but the hold was firm and promising.

“you’ll stop with the blender now?” you muse.

“aw man, i was getting used to the daily fresh green smoothies … but i think the blender is on its last leg. i’ll spare you for now and buy premade smoothies,” he grins and winks jokingly. his smile was friendly, similar to the one he gave to nayeon that one date. speaking of which, you’ll have to text her when you get home … she’ll definitely want to hear this update. you’ve been religiously in contact with her since the movie date and she’s been your person when it came to complaining about jungkook.

you and jungkook stare out at the sunset and breathe in the autumn air. it’s nice and just what you needed.

“hey, 307?” jungkook breaks the silence after a while and you hum in response, “for what it’s worth, he sounds like a dying gorilla when he fucks.”

it was the first time you laughed all day.

—

things have gone back to normal between you and dohwan surprisingly. he apologized to you the next day and said he acted out because work has been on him lately. you accepted his apology.

on top of that, you and jungkook are … getting along? he’s actually not that bad. he greets you every morning and makes small talk with you about the weather when you are both at the mailroom.

oh, and the blender at 5 a.m. have stopped completely. he does complain that he misses his green smoothie, to which you reply that he can still make it … just not when you’re still in deep sleep.

“no thanks, the prep is annoying.” he brushes it off.

so one morning after grocery shopping, you pick up a cup of green smoothie from your favorite shop and drop it off at his door before he’s back from his usual run.

‘drink up, 305. - your lovely, sweet, favorite neighbor 307 ♡’

to which, he dropped off a matcha pastry to you the next day after you mentioned how you’ve been craving it lately.

‘peace offering to the demon. ps. you’re my only neighbor LOL - 305’

needless to say, this started a ritual between you and him dropping off snacks and drinks to each other.

so yeah, things have been good.

tonight, dohwan is taking you out on a movie date to watch wicked. it’s not your first choice, but you love a classic so you’re open to see this modern-day remake. plus, he’s been extra sweet to you too.

you’re standing near the ticketing area waiting for dohwan to get snacks when you suddenly hear, “307?”

you turn your head and it’s jungkook with a girl you’ve never met before. he waves and asks what you’re watching.

you point at a nearby wicked movie poster and he nods.

“we’re seeing the same movie too. sorry, forgot to introduce you both — this is jinah,” he gestures at the girl next to him and she nods at you in acknowledgment, “and this is my neighbor.”

“ohhh the one that drilled for a week?” she marvels at you and you flush at her question.

“three days,” he corrects, “but felt like an eternity.” jungkook looks back at you like it’s an inside joke and you feel warm under his gaze.

“he’s exaggerating. eternity is waking up to a blender for almost a month.” you fire back casually and it earns a laugh from everyone.

“well, you’re here with someone this time right?” he teases since he notices your makeup is done extra nice tonight and you have on a shorter beige skirt that cuts right at the top of your thighs. you looked beautiful whether or not this was for an actual date.

anyways, it’s all said in pure jest and he knows you take no offense in it when you laugh. knows he can joke around with you now — you’ve both established a good rapport.

“mhm. you bought tickets right next to each other this time?” you retort and he snorts at your question.

jungkook stares off from a distance and his gaze changes. he takes hold of jinah’s hand in front of you.

“i’ll catch you later, 307. enjoy the movie, ‘kay?”

“oh, okay,” you stare at jungkook in confusion, “it was nice meeting you, jinah. hope you both enjoy the movie.”

they both turn and head to the the concessions first and you’re back waiting alone again, but not for long.

a hand touches your lower back and you know it belonged to dohwan.

“ready?” he hands over your drink and you both head to the screening auditorium.

there’s an unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach, but you push it away once you’ve found your seats.

—

jungkook feels sick.

he’s seated behind you and dohwan. that was fine — wasn’t the problem.

the issue was seeing him be overly affectionate to you once he took notice of jungkook outside the auditorium. he doesn’t want to assume, but that’s the energy he gets from dohwan. it’s too much. though perhaps that’s how he usually was to you — he should be doting to you as someone you’re romantically involved with.

jungkook has a bad feeling about him.

jungkook has been on multiple dates this year, nothing ever leading to more because there wasn’t a spark beyond physical attraction. he doesn’t want to waste anyone’s time or hurt someone in the process if he were to continue something he sees no future with. which brings him to wonder why you still entertain that man when he clearly comes and goes as he pleases.

the sex can’t be that good … based on what jungkook was forced to hear that one evening. plus, he made you cry. that man can’t be good.

well, what does he know about relationships? he’s the “serial dater” while you’ve been with the same person. obviously jungkook is doing something wrong. maybe jungkook was just projecting.

he lets out a sigh when dohwan slips his arm around your shoulders to pull you closer.

“you good?” jinah whispers.

“yeah, sorry. didn’t realize how long the movie was. ass is starting to go numb,” he smiles apologetically.

she nods and refocuses back to the big screen. jinah was nice, but a little too uptight for his liking … she would stare back blankly at him when he tells a joke and it makes him question his own humor. he’s sure he’s a funny guy — you always seemed to laugh at his remarks.

shit.

why was he thinking about his neighbor when he’s on a date with another person?

he shakes away those thoughts and zones in on the movie. just a couple more hours till he can go home and relax. a bitter part of him hopes he doesn’t have to see you and dohwan enter your place together tonight.

—

you and jungkook have this thing where you go on walks and get your mail at the same time on fridays. that’s the day you work from home and he’s off.

you never liked walks but jungkook called you out one day for walking extra stiff up the stairs. you can’t help it … sitting for long hours at a desk job wasn’t ideal for your body, but it got the bills paid. by the end of your shifts, you’re too burnt out to do anything. you’re not like him who goes on routine runs at the ass crack of dawn. not everyone was fortunate to have a … wait, you’re not sure what he really did for work.

“305.” you deadpan, trying to maintain your big steps to match his long strides.

“hm?” he takes notice of your walking form and slows down his pace so that you can catch up. his dimples are on full display when he looks at you and it nearly makes you forget what you were going to ask him.

“what do you do for work?”

“what’s it to you, 307?” his brows raise in question and he chuckles when you scowl.

“just wondering. you seem to have a good work-life balance.” you shrug. he has to be making some form of income to afford the cost of living in this part of the city, so if it’s not an office job like yours, you’re curious what his line of work could be in.

“currently a tattoo apprentice, but i do art commissions on the side.”

“oh?” it makes sense. he had this artistic aura to him … tattoo apprentice also made sense too with his sleeve of tattoos. you wonder how many of those he designed himself.

“that’s very cool,” you mean it. you wish you could draw but your art skills could only rival a preschooler at best.

“yeah?” he scratches his behind his head, a habit you’ve noticed he does when he gets a little shy or flustered. “parents were super against it up until they saw what i made on my first commission.”

“it’s always like that with parents, huh? if you’re not a doctor or lawyer, nothing is ever enough for them,” you shake your head. it’s a small revelation, but jungkook feels the weight of your words. he can relate.

“you like what you do?” he tries to change the topic.

“it’s okay, gets the bills paid but honestly i’m developing a shrimp back from sitting at the desk all day.” you confess.

“good thing we’re going on these walks, miss hunchback.” he quips and nudges your arm with his elbow.

you stick your tongue out at him and his smile widens. jungkook takes out his phone and shows you some of the tattoos he’s assisted with on some clients these past months. you zoom in and stare in awe — the line work and colors were beyond beautiful and clean.

“they’re amazing, jungkook.”

his nose crinkles when he smiles at your compliment and cheeks flush at the usage of his real name.

“whenever you’re free, you can come over to check out my commissions.” he offers.

“yeah? you promise this isn’t some secret invitation to get murdered?” you smile cheekily at him and he playfully rolls his eyes.

“no promises,” he says and grins when you dramatically stop in your tracks.

“come on, 307. your lunch break is almost over and i gotta get my mail.”

—

you and jungkook return from the mailroom with stacks of envelopes and coupon advertising from random companies.

he’s behind you looking through his stack. among his many bad habits, one is not having the patience to open his mail in the comforts of his own home. typically by the time you both get to your respective doors, he already has the majority of his envelopes torn open.

men.

you stick your key into your door and hear jungkook gasp.

“shit!” he lets out a string of curses and you glance over where he’s at in front of his door … absolutely decked out in glitter.

“what the hell is this?” he’s dusting himself off, but that only serves to worsen the damage.

all the lights in your head go off. fuck. you had forgotten about the glitter prank order you made during the time jungkook was being a little shit with his blender. you totally forgot to call the company to cancel it …

you feel bad, but you can’t help but let out a series of giggles.

“oh my … jungkook, i’m so sorry,” you say in between your fits of laughter.

he looks at you in confusion but it doesn’t take long for him to piece things together. he tips his head back and looks at you incredulously.

“you did this? 307 … this is too much. how the fuck am i gonna get rid of all this glitter?” he opens his arms out and it makes you laugh even more to see him in this state.

“‘m sorry, i …” you try to catch your breath, “forgot to cancel the request and you were being such a dickhead that time.”

“i fuckin’ look like edward cullen.” he groans, looking at you with a serious expression and that has you doubling over.

he eventually joins you in your laughter, hands clutching his stomach.

“h-here,” you say in between tears, “i’ll help you.”

you dust off some flecks of glitter on his shoulders and reach up to smear it over his cheeks. this has got to be the highlight of your week.

jungkook pulls away and laughs at your antics.

“you think this is funny, huh?” he opens his arms again and you nod while stifling away your giggles, but your demeanor changes when he smirks deviously.

his arms circle around you and presses your face into his hard chest. jungkook is cackling just as hard as you are. he’s rubbing his body on your frame and you’ve accepted your fate cause you’re no match for his strength. you’re both even now. all glittered up, laughing, and having so much fun with this “misfortune.”

you won’t admit you’re enjoying his embrace. you won’t admit you fancy his cologne and aftershave. you won’t admit how you feel so soft against the hard ridges of his torso.

you definitely won’t admit how starstruck you got when he finally lets up and stares at you cheekily, unknowing of his doings and how pretty the glitter flecks frame his cheekbones and nose bridge.

he really was perfection.

little did you know, jungkook was also completely enamored by the way your eyes sparkle despite the crazy amount of glitter now stuck on your face and body.

did time freeze? no one has said a word but you can hear and feel your hearts pounding against each other in this close proximity.

“what the fuck?” a voice pulls both you and jungkook out from that dream-like state.

you look and it’s dohwan. confusion and anger is etched and evident on his face. he’s holding a bag of takeout, for what you assume was going to be your lunch. he stalks over and grabs your wrist and yanks you away from jungkook.

“hey man, it’s not what it looks like.” jungkook says. jungkook’s expression is neutral with a hint of annoyance in his tone. dohwan pays no attention to him and looks at you instead.

“are you cheating on me?”

“the hell, dohwan?” you stare back in shock at his accusation.

realizing how awkward this situation was, you start pulling dohwan towards your apartment. you quickly turn to jungkook where he was still standing, he looks concerned for you, “sorry, jungkook. uh, i’ll catch you later.”

he nods and moves around you and dohwan to get to his apartment door.

when you and dohwan are finally in the privacy of your home, you turn and he’s setting down the takeout on your coffee table. you can tell he’s still upset because he makes no move to sit down — he leans against your wall with his arms crossed.

“well?”

“well, what? it really wasn’t what it looked like, dohwan.” you roll your eyes, making your way to your sink to wash off the glitter on your skin. glitter was a bitch to get rid of, but you’ll do just about anything to distract you of dohwan’s awful attitude. you have about 10 minutes till you have to get back to work and don’t have the time to be arguing.

“don’t fucking lie. you’re always raving about how nice he is to you now. and i’ve seen the way he looks at you. that’s not some ‘friendly neighbor’ shit,” dohwan raises his voice in frustration.

you toss the kitchen rag onto your counter and turn, “what’s so wrong about me talking about how someone is nice to me?! at least you know about the people in my life, but i don’t know jack-shit about yours. i don’t know what you’re insinuating, but you need to check yourself.”

“don’t try to spin this on me. whatever is going on with you and your neighbor, needs to stop.”

“literally nothing is happening between us??” you run your hand over your face, “i can pick and choose who stays in my life, dohwan. you can’t control that.” you try to level your breathing. you hated feeling like your partner laid claim on you as if you were some sort of property and had ownership.

don’t cry. don’t cry. don’t cry.

his eyes soften after realizing what he implied and he comes closer to you. he rubs your forearms and pulls you in for a hug. you let the tears fall now.

“i’m sorry. i didn’t mean it like that. it’s just … i was insecure.” he confesses.

you sniffle into his chest, “why?”

he chuckles, “my girl hanging around a good looking dude? who wouldn’t be insecure?”

his girl.

“wasn’t aware i was your girlfriend.” you pull away from his warmth and regret seeing the glitter you’ve transferred onto his clothing in the process.

“well … i mean, you’re technically not. who needs labels?” he brushes you off and sits on the couch now. you’re left standing there, another wave of uncertainty washes over you. 5 minutes till you need to start working … do you really want to open the can of worms right now?

fuck it.

“i don’t know. people who love each other?”

he snorts then rolls his eyes when he realizes you’re back in serious mode.

“here we go again. we’ve been through this plenty of times—“

“do you even like me?”

“yes, of course.” he answers quickly.

“do you love me?”

he’s silent.

“then what are we doing, dohwan?” the real question was … what were you doing? it’s hitting year three of this situationship and nothing more has progressed.

“hey, hey … i thought you enjoyed spending time with each other … we agreed that it was just me and you,” he comes close to you again, but you hold a hand out to keep some distance.

“i need to get back to work. can you give me some space?” you mumble, “thanks for the food.”

—

the fallout between you and dohwan was anything but amicable.

you both boiled it all down to two things: you want more. he wants things to remain the same.

you requested for space and a break in the meantime while you figure things out. during that time, you felt yourself distancing from jungkook too. he tried to greet you like normally after dohwan’s confrontation, yet every time you see him, you make a beeline into your apartment.

guess old habits die hard.

you took this time to focus on you. you spoke to a therapist, got in contact with some girlfriends, visited your family, and busied yourself with work. self improvement, if one could call it. your therapist recommended to decentralize men in your life for a while so that you can focus on yourself. which meant no dohwan.

… and no jungkook.

you’ve been keeping nayeon posted on your life and she calls you out for being inconsiderate to jungkook. funny, because she was on your side when he was being rude to you and immediately ghosted him after the movie date (you still haven’t told jungkook you’ve been in contact with nayeon because things have gotten a little crazy). you promised to her you’ll talk to him soon though. he was just unfortunately caught in the crossfire of your messy relationship.

honestly? you missed your neighbor — your friend. but you needed to get your head sorted out and you’d be terrible company either way.

jungkook didn’t deserve that.

the break between you and dohwan meant that you don’t talk to each other till you figured things out.

breaks meant for a reset.

he kept texting you and telling you how much he missed you.

you had to keep reminding him of the boundaries.

he eventually obliged.

thinking you were finally ready to talk weeks later, you went over to his place after work, only to find him in shock, hair disheveled, red scratch marks all over his chest and shoulders.

“oh, um, i—“ you panic, feel your heart drop to your stomach when the realization settles in after you hear another voice call out his name from behind.

dohwan took that break and fell into bed with another woman.

“w-wait, let me explain,” he follows you out his door and nearly topples over you when you turned abruptly to face him.

you feel betrayed — so much for ‘me and you.’ the anger bubbling in your chest has a way of migrating through your body. you tremble, tears threaten to fall from your eyes, and your teeth dig hard on your bottom lip … you can taste metallic.

“we’re on a break,” he says as if you weren’t aware of the terms you originally initiated.

“okay? so that means you go and fuck someone else?” your voice is shaky but you push on, “you cheated.”

“no! i mean, fuck, what did you expect me to do? we stopped talking and it was fucking lonely … i— you can’t put all the blame on me,” he stammers.

so, it was your fault?

“i didn’t make you sleep with someone else. a-all—,” you choke on a sob, “all i asked was for some space and time. you couldn’t even give me that.”

the thing is, dohwan hasn’t given you anything beyond what he was willing to get from you. he liked your company, thought you were a sweet and funny girl, and god were you good in bed. he didn’t feel ready to settle down in a relationship … felt that being with someone officially took the spark out, but he also wasn’t willing to let you go.

so he held out for as long as he could. as a result, you did too in hopes that he could find it in himself to change his feelings for you.

love is patient, love is kind.

you’ve been patient, you’ve been kind. if this is love, why does it break you down?

maybe this love wasn’t for you; but rather, he isn’t for you no matter how long you wait and the number of pennies you’ve thrown into the wishing well.

“goodbye, dohwan.”

—

jungkook hates overly loud sex.

it’s the reason why he takes the extra precaution to put socks on his bed frames to muffle any potential noises. if his partner was a huge moaner, he’d do what any sensible person would … stuff his fingers into their mouth. what? the girl usually doesn’t mind and it minimizes the noises. plus, it was hot.

win-win.

sex didn’t have to be over the top to show that you’re passionate. jungkook knows that very well.

it’s also why he originally lost a lot of respect for you when he overheard you and dohwan having sex that one time. well, mainly dohwan.

fuckin’ gorilla.

jungkook has been worried for you ever since that awkward glitter situation. he wanted to apologize and even talk to dohwan if it’d make things less stressful on your end.

you’ve ghosted him for weeks. no more walks, small talk, snack trades, or trips to the mailroom.

he has a feeling it has something to do with dohwan.

just like how he knows the sobs emitting through his walls tonight has something to do with him.

jungkook hates overly loud sex, but more than that, he hates the sounds of your cries.

—

‘cheer up, 307. you deserve some sweetness in your day. ps. i’m gonna make you run if you keep missing our walks. also? stop avoiding me, it’s annoying - jk’

you smile and sip the banana milk jungkook left outside your door.

he always had a way with cheering you up despite being a headache for some time in your life. your therapist recommended to decentralize men from your life for a while … sure, jungkook fits in that category, but he’s also your friend.

you slowly let him back in.

he’s been good to you. though, you can’t say the same for yourself. you’ve been a shitty neighbor and a shitty friend.

yet jungkook shrugs it off and treats you normally.

you’ve been mending a broken heart and jungkook has been a great company meanwhile.

“you really need to work on your conflict avoidance, 307.” jungkook says one evening. he’s sprawled out on your couch with a bag of chips in his hands. it’s movie night — a tradition he forced upon you because you’ve apparently never watched the movie trolls.

you peel your eyes from the screen and tilt your head, “what do you mean?”

“any time something gets tough, you run away. gotta stop that, say what’s on your mind and work it out.”

“hm.”

“what?” he presses.

“nothing.”

“see? you’re doing it again. just say what you wanna say,” jungkook rolls his eyes.

“fine,” you chew on your bottom lip, “i hate this movie.”

jungkook had picked trolls 2 and it was so much more awful in comparison to the first one you were forced to watch last weekend.

“fuckin knew it. you’ve been spacing out all night,” he laughs, “see, doesn’t it feel good to be honest bout your feelings?” he reaches for your remote to switch to another movie. you watch him. really take him in and almost want to laugh at how horrible your first couple of months was with him and now he’s in your apartment watching awful movies with you to nurse your brokenheart.

you really had read jungkook wrong. he wasn’t just some conventionally attractive man that used his pretty privilege to get his way. he was genuinely a good person.

which makes you think … why the fuck is he hanging around someone like you on a friday night? he could be hanging out with some friends or going on a blind date with a pretty girl. better yet, why isn’t he in a relationship with someone?

was he just like you?

his voice brings you out of your thoughts, “alright, spill it 307. you look like you have something else to say.”

you sigh.

“how are you still single? just … i know you’re always dating different people. it can’t be that bad for you right? i mean, if you’re struggling … i feel kind of hopeless for myself.”

jungkook looks at you, dimples on display as he contemplates on what he wants to say next. the thing about jungkook is that he looks like he belongs in your circle — fits perfectly, actually. has a way of making you feel safe and comfortable about asking hard questions. he may tease you, but he’ll never judge you.

he ruffles your hair.

“just haven’t found the right one. it takes time and i’m in no rush. you shouldn’t either.” you feel yourself soften from his remarks until, “or else you’ll end up with a gorilla again.”

—

jungkook is treading in dangerous territories.

aside from trying to potty train his new doberman puppy, bam, he’s faced with another issue.

he may have developed a small crush on his neighbor. he can’t pinpoint exactly when he started getting that fuzzy warm feeling around you. it was a telltale sign when he’d wake up and sleep to the thought of you.

you can’t really blame all of this on him though. you’ve been a little more open about hanging out with him since your breakup with dohwan. jungkook has gotten used to your presence as a result. some people would see it as using jungkook as a rebound, but he feels anything but that.

you’re a breath of fresh air to hang around after a long day of work. which is funny cause there was a period of time he considered hexing you. now? he longs to see you and fill in gaps of his day with you. when he doesn’t see you, he thinks of you.

that just might be his demise.

even bam has taken a liking to you and often refuses to let you go back home when you are over.

like dog, like owner.

“aw bammie,” you kneel down, “i’ll see you tomorrow.”

bam whines and follows you to the door.

“you can stay if you like, the guys won’t mind.” jungkook reasons. he’s having a small get together with some of his friends and extended the invite to you. you declined, telling him you don’t want to intrude and he should spend some quality time with them.

“just say that you want to be with me 24/7 and go,” you joke. jungkook won’t admit to you he does.

“nah, just need someone to watch bam while i have some bro time.” he teases back.

“hire a dog nanny then,” your hands automatically reaches down to scratch behind bam’s ear. there’s no need to hire one cause you’d willingly take care of bam for free. it’s all fun and jokes, jungkook knows this. he laughs and holds bam back from following you out the door.

“be on your best behavior tonight for your daddy, ‘kay?” you talk to bam like you’re his mom and jungkook’s stomach does flips at the mention of ‘daddy’ leaving your lips, “if it gets too much, you can sleep over at my place.”

bam has a sleeping mat at your place too. you’ve gotten it for him when jungkook comes over to watch movies — insisted that the pup should have a comfortable space in your home.

jungkook feels like he’s sharing custody with you. everything feels more domestic and it’s fucking with jungkook’s head and heart. which is why he asked you to dog sit bam while he goes on a date next weekend with some client’s friend he met at the tattoo parlor. thinks this date would be a good reset from you.

you wave goodbye to him, a playful grin adorning your lips, “have fun tonight, 305. if it gets too much, you can also come to my place too.”

he hates when you tease like this. makes him feel like he holds a space in your life more than he already should. knows you’re joking, but can tell there’s some truth in your statement. you’re attached to him just as much as he is to you.

“also, try not to be too loud tonight.”

“no promises,” he laughs, “hobi-hyung will be over.”

you giggle, you’ve met hoseok in the passing and also teased him too for causing a ruckus at the housewarming party. all his friends like you — it’s no surprise jungkook would eventually too.

so yeah, he’s treading in dangerous territories.

—

you’ve really been focused on yourself and your friendships. on your hardest days where you yearn for intimacy, you force yourself to be okay with the idea and concept of being alone. there’s a lot of bad days, but they get better.

it’s not always about being in isolation though.

it’s about not being dependent on someone to fill a void.

with dohwan, you realized you fell in the pattern of needing to be around him and when he wasn’t there, the world crumbled beneath your feet. over time, you realized he wasn’t good for you.

wrong person, wrong time.

because the right person will always make you feel safe and seen.

jungkook was right. it’ll take time to find that person — there’s no rush.

yet, you have this disquieting feeling when you see him rustling through his home to get ready for his date tonight. what do you do when you feel like the right person might be slipping away under your nose?

right person, wrong time, you suppose.

bam, his not so small puppy, lays his head on your lap and would occasionally lift it when jungkook walks close. if bam is doting with you, he’s completely devoted to jungkook.

doesn’t realize that his dad is gonna leave you both until he puts on his shoes at the door.

“ah-ah, bammie, stay,” you hold him and he whimpers for jungkook.

“well? how do i look?” jungkook does a quick 360 and you wanna poke fun at him, but you can tell he’s on edge for whatever reason. he has no reason to be. he’s charming, handsome, and knows exactly what to say or do to make someone’s heart skip a beat as he’s done so to you numerous times — you’d never admit it.

he’s your neighbor and most importantly, your friend. it’s a sacred relationship and boundary you’re hesitant to break. so you swallow down whatever you’re feeling and smile reassuringly to him, “you look great, jungkook.”

he beams and extends his hands out for a high-five, “thanks, wish me luck.”

your hands make contact with his and it feels electrifying.

“no luck needed, mr. 305 worldwide.” he absolutely hates the new nickname you’ve given him, doesn’t argue back though, simply scoffs and looks at the time on his phone.

“now go before you’re late and bam bolts out the door for you.” you shoo him out his own apartment.

he reaches down to pat bam on his head and give him some tender smooches.

“call me if there’s an emergency or if you’re bored.” he tells you with his hands shoved in his pockets and some of his bangs fall onto his forehead. there’s something so boyish about his mannerisms … you swallow thickly when you feel the knots tighten in your stomach. a part of you wonders if you tell him to bail on the date, would he? you’re not cruel enough to do that to him and his date. they could be soulmates for all you know.

“and what? you’ll come entertain me?” your eyes squint, “go enjoy your date, 305. we’ll be here.”

before you know it, he’s out the door and you’re left wondering what if.

—

jungkook didn’t realize how much of a disaster the date was going until his date seated across from him rolls her eyes.

“i’m sorry … am i boring you with my story?” he was telling her how he had to help you break into your own apartment because you forgot to bring your keys in the middle of the night.

“it just seems like you’re wasting both our times.” she says and places her drink down. her red manicured fingers circle the rim of her cup.

he’s confused. jungkook has been doing his best to keep the date afloat by talking and asking questions. he thought it’s been going well, minus the couple of times he checked his phone to see if he got any emergency texts from you about bam.

“i mean, why are you here when you clearly like someone else?”

“i don’t get—wait, what?”

“your neighbor 007 or whatever.” she says. it’s the wrong number and she knows it, but wants to see if jungkook reacts, “you’ve been talking about her all night.”

has he? he was just making light conversation … you’re a part of his life so slipping your name here and there feels natural.

“look, you seem like a nice guy. you’re obviously good looking too. if you’re not looking for anything serious, we can go back to my apartment right now for some fun. but long term? it feels like you have someone waiting at home for you.”

and the mood goes sour. jungkook is used to this. used to his dates objectifying him as a quick and good fuck — granted, he’s played this to his advantage when he was younger. now? it feels meaningless. he isn’t upset at that.

it’s the utter realization that he does have someone special to him and you’ve been right under his nose all this time. he’s always telling you to be honest with your feelings, yet he can’t even bring himself to uphold that advice for whatever reason.

jungkook apologizes to his date again, pays for the tab, and rushes home.

—

home can be a place, but for jungkook, it’s seeing you on his couch and greeting him with a sleepy smile.

bam jumps off your lap to nudge jungkook’s leg for attention.

“has he been good?” jungkook asks while scratching bam’s head, though he stops momentarily at the sight of you stretching and your shirt lifts a little to reveal the curves of your hips.

“mhm, an angel. how was the date?”

he contemplates on lying, but knows better. needs to practice what he preaches.

“bad.”

“oh? wanna talk about it?”

“uh, i kinda fucked it up,” jungkook toes off his shoes and avoids your eye contact.

“classic, first impressions have never been your strongest suit.” you put on your jacket and jungkook panics at the thought of you leaving early. he exhales a breath he’s been holding when you plop back down on his couch where he soon joins you.

“i’m not always that bad.” he mumbles.

“i know, i’m just teasing you.” you reach over to pinch his cheek.

when he doesn’t reply, it gets you a little worried. you didn’t mean to hurt his feelings.

“sorry—“

“i kept bringing you up during the date.” he cuts you off.

“oof, no girl wants to hear about another girl …” technically, you’re hoping jungkook doesn’t talk about this one … let alone his previous dates or exes.

“i know,” he murmurs, leans his head back, and sighs, “she … called me out on it.”

“good, as she should.”

jungkook hesitates with his next words, but pushes forward, “said it’s cause i liked you.”

you pause. you could hear a pin drop in the room, minus bam’s paws making contact with the hardwood floor.

“oh … um,” you’re not dumb, you understand what he’s implying. you just don’t know how you’re going to run away from this conversation.

“i know you’re already planning your escape, 307,” he chuckles. his laugh sounds a little melancholy and an instant flood of guilt rushes through you.

“what! no! i-i just don’t know what to say,” you nibble on your lips. you’re fucking scared for what’s to come.

“just hear me out, okay?”

you nod, listen to him clear his throat and exhale a shaky breath.

“i’ve really enjoyed spending time with you. maybe it’s cause i’m a creature of habit or whatever … well no, i don’t think it’s that. i like being around you and i’m thankful you’re in my life.” he looks and smiles at you fondly, as if he is preparing himself for the biggest rejection, “i like you … a lot. you don’t have to accept my feelings nor do anything with it. these feelings are mine and i just wanted to be honest with you. at the end of the day, i’d still like to remain friends as long as you’ll allow me.”

you want to fucking cry. he’s always been better at words and expressing himself. you see it in how he treats his friends, his dog, his profession and art … most importantly, you. you also want to be honest with him, but it already seems like he’s accepting the fate of nothing more.

you owe him the truth at least.

“jungkook … i—“ you begin, “i like you a lot too.”

jungkook lets out an exasperating grunt — he thinks you’re pitying him.

“please don’t feel the need to sugarcoat, 307. i just wanted to be—“

you press your lips to his. the kiss was too quick for anyone to process anything. you’ll remember though. you’ll remember his strawberry flavored chapstick, the cold lip piercing barrels, and the way he leans in slightly to chase after your lips when you pull away too soon. jungkook’s eyes widen at the realization that you just kissed him. all too short and he doesn’t think he can stop thinking about you after this anymore even if he tried.

“your feelings are yours,” you hold his hand, “but these are mine too.”

he whispers your name lowly and you shake your head.

“i’m no good with words,” you confess, “i just know that i like you too. but … i’m also a fucking mess, jungkook.”

“huh? no, you’re—“

“yeah, i am. i just got out of something long term … it wouldn’t be good for me to jump into another relationship. i don’t think it’s fair for you to deal with all my baggage when i haven’t sorted myself out.”

he nods, a little dejected but he understands what you mean.

right person, wrong time.

“okay,” he finally says, “nothing will change. friends?”

“friends,” you agree.

it’s a promise out of respect for you. will you regret this? possibly. though, everything feels normal when he walks you to your door later and wishes you a goodnight.

“don’t be fucking weird after tonight. if you avoid me, i’m making you run 10 laps every friday, 307.”

“rude,” you roll your eyes, “i should be saying that to you. don’t be fucking weird or else you’re getting another glitter bomb in the mail.”

“that shit was the worst to get off.”

“funny as hell though.”

“yeah, for you.”

everything feels so natural and safe with jungkook. how he looks at you, laughs at your jokes, eyes twinkle when you do the same for him. you don’t need the night sky when you got galaxies staring back at you.

—

“with all due respect, you’re being stupid.” nayeon says through the speaker.

“how? we both agreed that staying friends would be the best.” you reply a little louder over your sink. your kitchen was overdue for a cleaning and the weekends were the perfect time to catch up on chores.

you’re on the phone with nayeon and it’s a good distraction while you busy yourself with other things at the same time. though, you’re sort of regretting the call now with nayeon berating you for your decision to remain friends with jungkook a month ago.

“people can still date and work on themselves. it’s not a linear thing.”

“yeah, but—“

“you’re just scared. i know you.”

“nayeon …”

“jungkook and dohwan aren’t the same. anyone can get hurt in a relationship, but you shouldn’t deny yourself of something out of fear.”

“yes, but … i don’t think i’d be able to face jungkook if something bad does happen.” you’re serious. running away is your strong suit and you’d move out immediately if shit hits the fan.

“so you’d have no regrets staying like this?”

you don’t reply and that was an answer in itself.

“why are you so hellbent on me and jungkook? i thought you hated him …” it’s sort of funny to be talking to nayeon of all people about jungkook. hell, it’s thanks to jungkook’s mess up on their first tinder date that helped you land your friendship with nayeon.

everything happens for a reason.

“i only hated him cause you did. that’s what friends do, silly. also, if you’re feeling awkward because he and i dated … don’t. there wasn’t anything more. anyways, stop avoiding. you always do this.” she’s right. you’re the queen of avoiding hard conversations.

“i don’t want to lose a friend, nayeon.”

“you won’t. but you’ll lose your chance at experiencing something beautiful, sweetie,” she says, “you owe it to yourself. but hey, i gotta go to my pilates class. i’ll text you later, okay? i love you!”

“okay, love you too. i’m sorry for being difficult. don’t pull a muscle in class!”

“if i do, will you give me a massage?” she laughs, “and no, you’re never difficult. just you being you.”

the call ends and you’re left alone once again with your thoughts. things haven’t really changed between you and jungkook. he’s still his chipper self. you just yearn for more time with him these days. every subtle touch … whether it be his hand on your lower back guiding you upstairs, his fingers brushing yours during the walks, or when he massages your feet upon request sends you into a place where you feel yourself succumbing to your deepest desires.

you want more.

you can tell jungkook does too. he’s unashamed in his affections towards you but he’ll never pressure you or cross that boundary you’ve set.

you realize it hurts to deny yourself of wanting someone who wants you just as equally.

—

you’re at jungkook’s place again one evening. bam is all tuckered out from his walk and jungkook is fixing a bowl of popcorn to snack on while you search through netflix for something to watch.

it’s your pick tonight and you wanted to watch a crime documentary. ghost and thrillers don’t interest you, but crimes? yeah, full body chills because they’re real.

you turn to see jungkook in a big white t-shirt with grey sweats — he looks so comfortable. he’s seasoning the popcorn and catches you staring at him. he shakes his head and smiles back down bashfully at his bowl.

he looks like home … no, he feels like home.

fuck.

you really are torturing yourself.

when jungkook settles onto the couch and the documentary starts, you scoot closer to him. you don’t know if you’re making a fool of yourself, but jungkook pays no mind. his arm circle around you effortlessly and you nestle your cheek into his chest.

so warm — he smells so nice. jungkook sports on a lax expression, yet you can feel and hear the rapid thumps of his heart.

“you sure friends cuddle when they watch shit together?” he mumbles, eyes trained on the television.

“no,” you look up at him, “do you not want to?” you start to move away, but jungkook holds you in place.

he feels your smile through his shirt. yeah, you’re torturing him and he’s enjoying it.

as the documentary plays, jungkook gets immersed in the story. he looks a little silly with his big eyes and mouth slightly ajar as he soaks in all the crime details and backstory. his hand involuntarily moves to massage your scalp and you feel yourself lulled to sleep under his touch.

after a while, he calls your name and gently shakes you awake.

“hey sleepyhead. had a good nap?” he muses.

“mhm, sorry … was so tired from work. did i miss a lot?” you look at the dark television screen and feel guilty.

“just the entire documentary,” he teases, “it’s alright, you wouldn’t be traumatized like me now. i know i’m going to be having nightmares.”

“‘m sorry,” you snuggle closer to him and his breath hitches, “anything i can do to help?”

“hmm …” he holds his thinking pose, “i don’t know, maybe a kiss?”

“just kidding, 307. it’s late, so let’s get you hom—”

“yeah? think a kiss will make you feel better?” you press on.

you knew he was joking, but there’s a surge of confidence coursing in you when you push up on him and he swallows hard. he says your name in warning but he makes no effort to move or push you away. he wants this badly too. been thinking about you and your lips since you last kissed him — never stopped.

“don’t do something you’ll regret.” his hand cradles your cheek.

“i’m not,” your nose brush against his, “i wanna kiss you. please, will you let me?” you ask with pleading eyes and jungkook lets out a shuddering breath and nods.

you look down at his parted lips and back at his hooded eyes. you’re not sure who moved first — it doesn’t matter.

when your lips meet, it’s like heaven and hell collided and made earth — waves crashing onto land, blue horizons, and the smell of pinewood after rain. you don’t think you can let go of this feeling any time soon and when you finally do give into your longings, life feels a little more salvageable … freeing.

jungkook slots his lips between yours, pulling you up to straddle his lap. he moans when your hands tangle in his hair and pulls you in closer if that was even possible.

you lick into his parting mouth when he pants, indulge in the way he sounds as he’s kissing you back. the kiss is hard and passionate — so much more different than the first one you had. there’s a sense of urgency here … like there’s a time constraint or limitation to your affections. you wish you could reassure him; though the best you can do at this moment is to drink him in as much as he allows you to. his hands roam all over your body and you shiver in pleasure when one of his hand travels to the front of your throat possessively. there’s no pressure in his hold, but it’s telling you that you belong here with him.

when you finally do pull away, you plant dainty kisses on the corner of his lips and jaw. he giggles at the tickling feeling and brings your face back to his to give you a much gentler kiss. though you are no longer kissing, your foreheads stay connected in place.

“there, much better, right?” you say breathlessly.

“mhm,” he replies, “should’ve used the trauma card earlier if i knew i’d be getting free kisses.”

your brain is going a mile a second, but you’re sure of this.

“you don’t need to,” you say a little uncertain. jungkook straightens himself in his seated position when he realizes you’re about to say something serious.

“you can kiss me whenever you want … if you want! i know i said we should stay friends, but i think i like you too much to just stay that way. i want to see where things go and i’m fucking scared. i mean, fuck, am i making any sense? please say something,” you’re rambling and jungkook can only smile as you unravel through your confession.

of course he wants more with you.

“just say you want me and go, 307.” he laughs when you pull away cutely. he has no intentions of letting you go and you had no intentions of leaving. it’s too comfortable in his embrace.

“we’ll take things slow, okay?” he kisses your nose in reassurance.

“okay.”

—

fast forward three months, you and jungkook have been dating each other — slow and steady as promised. no official title (yet) but you know he’s exclusively seeing you. you’re enjoying his company and there’s no rush. when there’s something special and secure, it’s all smooth sailing and calm tides. you never have to guess with him.

he feels the same with you.

this marks the 13th weekend date with you and he’s going to do it. jungkook is going to ask you to be his girlfriend. he’s fucking nervous … has a whole date planned: dinner, movies, then back to his place where he’ll officially ask you.

part of him wants to wait for the next weekend because the number 13 was bad luck, but he’s felt nothing but luck with you. luck in the chances of meeting you in this apartment complex, luck in your friendship, and now luck with the prospect of love.

so when your door swings open to reveal you in a short black satin dress, hair done prettily, and your skin dewey and sparkly from your makeup, he knew was going to make 13 lucky no matter what.

“you look beautiful,” jungkook compliments and holds out his hand to walk you down the stairs.

“you don’t look half bad too,” you taunt, taking his warm hand. there’s no malice cause jungkook knows how you feel about him. notices how your eyes rake over his form, has caught you checking him out plenty of times before, felt the way your lips moved on his skin to praise how hot he looked one evening despite him coming back looking like a sweaty hog that’s been run over by a train.

if you’re curious … aside from making out and heavy petting paired with some dry humping sessions here and there, no, they haven’t had sex. probably for the better, it’s already hard enough to separate from each other after every hangout.

slow and steady. you are both fine with that.

“sooo, you gonna tell me where we’re going or is this where you murder me?” you check your lip gloss in the rear view mirror. jungkook’s right hand naturally find its way to your thighs while he drives.

“you’ll find out soon,” he gives you a little squeeze and it sends a little tingle to your core.

—

it’s going terribly.

traffic was absolutely ass for no reason, so they get to their first destination 45 minutes later than anticipated. the restaurant he had reservations for let him know that the kitchen caught on fire the moment he parked in the lot.

okay, fine. to the movies it is.

except, the movie stopped halfway through due to some technical difficulties. he was going to lose his mind, but you were a good sport through it all. jungkook still had one final trick up his sleeve for you.

when you both finally get back to his place with bags of takeout, jungkook lets out a wail of frustration.

“bam, no!”

all the balloons he blew up have been popped. you look past his shoulders to see a torn up sign with the words: wil u e my fren?

bam prances to you and jungkook with his wagging tail, unaware of jungkook’s inner anguish and turmoil. jungkook runs his hands over his face and freezes in place.

“aw baby,” you try comforting jungkook, “it was an accident. bam didn’t know.”

“i know, i just … fuck, gimme a minute.” jungkook stalks over to his bedroom and closes the door. you place the bags of food on the dining table and crouch down to pet bam.

“you really upset your dad, bammie. he worked really hard on this,” you know bam doesn’t understand a single word you’re saying, but you’re disappointed for jungkook too. jungkook really put in the effort and you’re touched by it all. he really wants you and you want nothing more than to be his.

you feed bam his dinner and set the takeout in the fridge, unsure of when you and jungkook will be ready to eat.

hesitantly, you knock on jungkook’s door. know you don’t need his permission to come in — you’ve slept over plenty of times, but still do it out of courtesy.

“can i come in, kook?”

a moment of silence ensues before you hear a little, “… yeah.”

jungkook was on his bed, feet still on the floor with his arms sprawled out. poor boy.

you climb onto bed next to him and lay your head on his shoulder.

he’s visibly upset — not at you of course. he just wanted to make this special.

“that was fucking cute. no one has ever done that for me before.” you say. the best you got from dohwan were a bouquet of roses sent to your workplace. jungkook’s efforts superseded your expectations.

“which part? no dinner, no movies, or the shit show of a sign?”

“all of it.”

“pff, don’t lie.” he sulks.

you throw your leg over his torso to straddle his waist.

“i’m not! you’re so fucking sweet,” you move down to kiss his cheek when he doesn’t look up at you.

“come on, don’t you want my answer?” you place his hands on your hips, wanting him to touch you somewhere.

he cocks his brow at you, a little smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“fine fine, i’ll be your ‘fren’ if that’s what you want.”

he covers his face in embarrassment, “ugh, that shit was so humiliating. bam isn’t getting any treats for the next three days.”

“hey! don’t punish my baby. it was an honest mistake.” you reassure him, “plus, i gave him an earful.” yeah, and his dinner right after. it’s no wonder bam likes you a lot more these days.

“okay, okay … i’m still sorry about today. nothing went accordingly.” jungkook sighs and rubs soothing circles on your hips with his thumbs.

“you’re not allowed to punish yourself either,” you say a matter of fact, “did you mean it though?” you look at him through your lashes.

“hm?”

“want me as your girlfriend?” when you finally say those words, it sets off a bundle of butterflies in your stomach.

jungkook quickly sits up, holding you securely so you don’t topple over, “of course, i do. just wanted to make it special for you.”

you felt fucking special.

so fucking special in how you said yes, saw how he beamed at your answer, kisses you silly, tongue running down your neck, the little bites on your collarbone — you’re on cloud 9.

he involuntarily drags your hips over his clothed length and you whimper upon contact.

“you hungry, baby? we didn’t have dinner yet,” jungkook asks innocently through his heavy breaths, but you’re too busy trying to unbutton his dress shirt. how could he possibly think about food at a time like this? then again, you have to remember he’s the biggest foodie known to earth. he’s caring of your wellbeing so of course he’d worry if you’re hungry.

he’s also your boyfriend now.

you shake your head. you don’t just want him — you need him.

you slide off of him and are on your knees in between his legs. he looks at you through his heavy lids when you clock your head to the side, waiting for the green light to take off his pants.

“you’ve been so good to me, planning this date … lemme show you how thankful i am.”

jungkook loves being praised and rewarded. he especially loves it even more coming from you. he lets out a moan when you run your hand down his clothed bulge. yes, jungkook has had sex before — honestly, don’t ask him about his body count … he’s not sure either. what he’s sure is that he loses all senses when you touch him — like a virgin touched for the very first time.

his pants are down and kicked off to the side, shirt unbuttoned haphazardly, and head thrown back when you settle between his legs to give his hard length a squeeze.

he’s so fucking big in your hand and your mouth nearly waters at the sight of his precum leaking from the slit of his cock. fuck, you don’t know how he’s going to fit in your mouth, but it doesn’t matter. you’re going to make him come undone one way or another.

“baby, i’m literally going to nut if you keep squeezing me like that.”

you laugh, “how long are you going to last inside me then?”

“fuck, you can’t say shit like that.”

“why not?” you press a small kiss on his hip bone and pump his cock with your hand. his eyes closes and mouth drops open at the change of movement.

“gonna nut even faster,” he chuckles.

jungkook hisses when you lick a long stripe underneath his shaft without warning. one of his hand reaches behind your head for support while the other one grips his bedsheets.

“oh god,” he lets out a small moan when you wrap your lips around the head of his cock and begin to bob your head at a pace that has him seeing stars.

his cock was lathered with your spit and his precum. the sounds you made while you sucked him off were nearly pornographic. his eyes almost rolled to the back of his head when his cock hits the back of your throat.

“shit, oh f-fuck,” his fingers are caught in your hair and your moans vibrate against him when he gently pushes your head down while he fucks up into your mouth.

if you keep going like this, he wasn’t going to last long and he really wants to … can’t bring himself to cum in your mouth just yet. he really wasn’t kidding when he said he was going to nut quick, so he pulls you away when he nearly cums. you breathe heavily through your swollen lips. jungkook runs his thumb on your cheeks where some mascara has smeared as a result of your doing.

you’re still so fucking perfect.

he lifts you from your kneeled position back onto his lap and kisses you slow and tenderly. jungkook whines into your mouth as he tastes himself on your tongue. your dress has ridden up on your waist, the the thin straps are loose and off your shoulders.

“i somehow fucked up the entire night and you still decided to give me the best head? must really like me or something,” jungkook looks at you endearingly and takes notice of how you’re rutting yourself onto his length.

“you know i do. my boyfriend deserves the best.” jungkook’s heart soars at hearing the word boyfriend leave your lips.

yes, he’s yours.

you shake in pleasure as you roll your hips deliciously slow on him. you’re practically soaked through your thin panties.

“did you get this wet just by sucking me off, baby?”

you nod and trail kisses on his cheeks and jaw, “all for you, kook. you always make me this wet.”

he takes so much pride in how he’s able to get you all worked up like this.

jungkook wasn’t expecting to have sex with you tonight, but it’s like you said … it’s special. the rest of your clothing join his in a pile on the ground. he rolls you onto your back and drinks in your naked form. you shy away from his stares and kiss up at him.

your hand reach between you both while he continues to kiss you and you position his still-hard cock in between your folds for that additional friction. the wet clicks mixes in with both your pantings and synchronized moans. every time the head of his cock slides and catches onto your swollen clit, you shudder and arch your back in pleasure.

“want you to fuck me,” you kiss his pouty lips and down his neck, “please?”

jungkook leans back a little, sits on the heels of his feet, and pushes your thighs close to your chest. the angle lets him move and slide your hips up and down his length even more. you gasp and call out his name in wanton.

he drops your legs down and closes the distance between you both again. his bare chest brushes against yours and he lines his cock at your entrance.

“you’re so perfect,” his breath fans over your face, “so lucky to have you.” jungkook swoops his arms under you in a tight embrace. you look at him through your glassy eyes and wrap your arms around his neck.

your heart swells at his words.

there’s little to no resistance when jungkook finally enters you.

it’s a mixture of sweet, nasty, loving, and primal desire how jungkook fucks you into his sheets. he hates loud sex, but he wants to hear all of you. the way you mewl, whimper, cry, and breathe — all of it.

and when you wrap your legs around him and coax him into cumming inside you while your fingers trace the planes of his back, he knows he’s done for.

you giggle, nudge your forehead on his, hold his hand, and kiss all over his face. the afterglow on you both is stunning.

“you’re right, you didn’t last long at all.” you hum. jungkook raises one of his eyebrows and smiles mischievously. it’s a fucking lie since jungkook knows he made you cum at least twice in the span of fucking you, but who would you be if you didn’t try challenging him a little?

he doesn’t have to say anything before slipping down your body and burying his face in between your legs. he licks up your slit tentatively, watches your brows furrow and mouth part, and moans into your heat when your hand travels to his head to push him down as he did to you.

“don’t worry, i’m not going anywhere,” jungkook means it both literally and figuratively. doesn’t understand how anyone could part from you. it’s their loss.

he continues lapping up your mixed essence, nipping at your inner thighs on occasion when your hips jerk away from the pleasure.

“kook, mmph- yes! just like that,” you encourage when he wraps his lips around your clit. he sucks, soothes, and makes out with your messy cunt. he wanted to draw out the night longer, toy and dangle your pleasure in front of you as a punishment for your teasing. knows he’s the reason you’re this wet, can’t bring himself to edge you on a special night like this — maybe another time when he’s feeling more mean. he has all the time in the world with you; there’s no rush.

tonight is all about you, his girlfriend — his.

“so close, baby,” you look down, hips stuttering under his hold as he doesn’t let up with his ministrations on your clit. he trails his fingers at your entrance, coating them with your juices before entering you slowly.

“yeah? won’t you give me another one? come on, i know you can do it,” he says between bated breaths. you shake and arch your back, mouth parts open but no sound comes out as you let the waves of pleasure ride over. the squelching sounds increase as his fingers fuck into you faster.

“i-i’m fucking cumming,” you cry out and jungkook nods in acknowledgement, moaning with you to draw out your orgasm. when you come for the third time that night, he wants to paint the image in his memory and revisit it on a rainy day. no promises that he won’t sport a hard on every time. the sight of you quivering, hands squeezing your chest and rolling your nipples between your fingers to prolong the pleasure, has his head spinning. jungkook trails kisses down your pussy, takes his fingers out and licks them clean before spreading you wider to clean you up with his tongue. he only part ways with your cunt when you whine for him.

he comes back up your body slowly, presses his lips on your tummy and giggles when you squirm from the sensation. however, when he is finally face to face with you again, jungkook has on this determined look.

he can’t seem to get enough of you and your body. addicted, he is.

“you’re not done with me, aren’t you?” you give him that pretty post-orgasmic smile.

never, he thinks.

jungkook was about to reply until the rumbles of your stomach cuts through the silence. it should be embarrassing but you feel close enough to jungkook that you both laugh at how unserious the situation is.

“come on baby, let’s go eat our dinner.” he pulls you up and puts you in one of his oversized t-shirts.

you still believe your ideal neighbor should be mindful, quiet, and kind. jungkook was certainly not mindful, quiet, or kind with how he entered into your life.

though, he wasn’t just someone who’d be your neighbor by the law of attraction and the cosmic pull of the universe.

love is patient, love is kind.

you know you’ve found your home — you just never expected it to be right next door.

fin.

—

a/n: tadaaaaaa. what’d you think? 😜

[briarlovesclara]

//mismag 2 spoilers

okay guys we did it. We're here. Behold, the official sequels (!) to my relationship chart. the one on the left is immediately after the finale, the one on the right is several years down the line. enjoy ❤️

(as always, details, alt id, and elaboration under cut.)

OKAY VERSION 1:

Sam and Evan: absolutely nothing has changed since the first post, but now they both know about it. Start an undefined relationship but they're both down bad.

Sam and K: I see the light and I apologize for my ignorance because they are BOTH incredibly down bad. They haven't figured it out yet because they're trying to figure EVERYTHING out but it's there.

Jammer and Evan: Jammer's feelings parallel my first post. What does that mean for him? It means locking his wings and coming over every month to see his people. Evan doesn't need to know what they have; he loves it. No notes from him.

K and Jammer: no labels! They are each other's. When someone asks, they respond "that's my K/Jammer". Nothing else needed.

Jammer and Sam: forgot to put the arrow back mutually to Jammer, but I feel like in the last episode they both sort of realized that they could be Something. At least for me, sometimes I meet or know a person and I suddenly think, "oh, I could definitely develop feelings for them". If you know you know and they're aware, but cautious about it.

K and Evan: controversial, but I think they're both down bad in the finale. They still hold that love so close to the surface. You will see where this goes with the next chart.

×××××

okay i was going to finish this last night but tumblr deleted a good chunk of my written out thoughts for the second chart so i got sad so let's do this again

×××××

VERSION 2:

Sam and Evan: pretty straightforward. They became partners of undefined type after the finale, and then one day they started saying "I'm in love with you", and then they both overthought it that night and came back in the morning like "we do need to talk about that" LMAO. probably get married eventually.

K and Sam: more complex. They're best friends who are also dating in the literal sense of they go on romantic dates. When K visits, they have dinners out and alone time at the house, but they just call it best friends (unless someone disturbs them out in public, in which case it's "leave my girl/boyfriend alone").

K and Evan: they're divorced in a romantic way. They make being exes romantic without actively dating. In 7 years they've kissed like 5 times. Their souls have a deep, old connection that is unshakeable and they are also very close friends. They're kinda funny with it too. They're hanging out and someone messes with one of them? "Hey that's my ex-boyfriend you're talking to." Confusion with style points. They love it and cherish what they had.

Sam and Jammer: they are comfortably friends who are in love with each other. Jammer probably has other romantic relationships and stuff, he's just in love with Sam, 1/5 platonically and 4/5 romantically. Same with Sam. She has her partner, her friend she's dating, and her friend Jammer she's mutually in love with.

Evan and Jammer: literal life partners. They will be together for the rest of their lives. They are each other's number ones, best friends, soulmates. In what way, you ask? What are you, a cop?

K and Jammer: more mature version of their version 1 relationship. Fully established and communicated QPR. Whereas most of the pilot program is vibes and unspoken and just love without labels, they are straight up in a QPR. Once they figure it out it's not a big deal, but when either approaches a new romance it's "by the way, I have a queer platonic partner. Here's the boundaries we have in our relationship."

TLDR: happy family :)

[itsfheang]

IRON & EMBER - Chapter 2

[ CH. 1 ][ PLAYLIST ] [ AO3 Link ]

RATING : Mature (Eventually) TAGS : Jayce x Viktor / Post Arcane / Fantasy AU / Mage!Viktor / Knight!Jayce / 7k words / Part 2 of ??

CHAPTER DESCRIPTION : Jayce fills Viktor in on the people they knew in their reality, and what they are up to in this one. They go on a shopping trip to get some clothes made for Viktor by local seamstress, Gwen, then tour the city before a realization hits Viktor like a ton of bricks. 

AUTHOR NOTES : While I do know a good deal of League of Legends lore, I do not claim to be an expert and for the sake of the story I am taking some creative liberties with characters that were not present in arcane. (additional author note at the end)

CHARACTERS : Jayce x Viktor (Arcane), Gwen (League of Legends), Mentions of other Arcane cast.

CHAPTER 2

Viktor awoke to the soft glow of morning filtering through the window. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, he sits up and finds Jayce’s blanket carefully draped over him. A small note on the nightstand catches his eye.

Scribbled in an all too familiar script, Gone to check in with the captain, back soon. Help yourself to anything you want. - J

A small smile tugs at Viktor’s lips as he sets the note aside. Rising to his feet, he stretches slightly before heading out to Jayce’s kitchen. His fingers absently trail along the wooden countertops as he checks the cupboards, finding the expected—plates, cups, and utensils. Opening another cabinet, he finds an assortment of neatly labeled jars filled with tea leaves. His lips quirk in approval as he continues to rummage for the rest of what he needs.

The fire in the hearth has begun to die down, but he spots a small stack of spare logs nearby. Kneeling, he carefully arranges a couple into the embers, prodding the fire back to life. Satisfied with his work, he sets the kettle on the hook above the flames, waiting for the water to boil.

As he waits, Viktor takes the opportunity to examine Jayce’s home in the daylight. It is a cozy abode, humbly decorated yet inviting. Plush rugs soften the wooden floors, and an array of plants are tucked into corners and along the windowsills. It seemed this world’s Jayce had an appreciation for greenery, and his Jayce had come to love it as well. 

Curiosity nudges him to explore further. He wanders down the hallway, noting the layout. Besides the guest room he had occupied, there is a spacious storage closet and a modest washroom. Another door leads to a double set of stairs, likely to an attic and basement. The last door is Jayce’s bedroom. He hesitates for a moment, tempted, but ultimately decides against intruding without permission.

A sudden whistle from the kettle draws him back to the kitchen. He swiftly moves to remove it from the fire, carefully pouring the steaming water over the infuser of tea leaves. The fragrant aroma fills the air as he retrieves the book he had been reading the night before. Wrapping Jayce’s blanket around his shoulders once more, he settles into the couch with his cup of tea, immersing himself in the pages while waiting for Jayce to return.

Viktor has lost track of time and how many cups of tea he's downed by the time he hears the door open and looks up to see Jayce enter. A boyish grin spreads across Jayce's face as he takes in the sight of Viktor, seemingly more relaxed today than he was the night prior.

"Ah, good, you're up! I got stuff for breakfast, and the Captain gave me the week to help you get...uh...readjusted, as I worded it to him."

"You didn’t need to do that, Jayce. Isn't that your income?" Viktor asks, frowning slightly.

Jayce waves away his concern. "Don't even worry about that. I could take a lot more time off than a week and be fine. Plus, you're more important right now." 

Viktor softens at his words, not used to being considered important, but not disliking the idea if it’s Jayce who thinks he is.

He heads to the kitchen with the sack of goods he purchased on his way home. Viktor watches as Jayce pulls out fresh eggs, thick slices of bacon, fruits, and fresh-baked bread, immediately setting to work preparing breakfast. He moves with an easy familiarity, appearing as comfortable in the kitchen as he was in the lab.

"Did you learn to cook here?" Viktor asks curiously, watching him work.

"No," Jayce chuckles. "It may surprise you to know that my mother taught me to cook when I was young. If you ever left the lab, maybe I could have cooked for you now and again," he adds teasingly as he effortlessly prepares the meal.

Viktor continues watching, a smile crossing his face. Seeing this more domestic side of Jayce gives him butterflies. He snaps out of it as Jayce slides a delicious-looking plate of food in front of him.

"Th-thank you," he says, feeling a blush creep up his neck. Hopefully, Jayce hadn’t caught him staring.

They fall back into casual conversation.

"So," Jayce asks, "I'm sure you have a ton of questions. Where do you want to start?"

Viktor wasn’t prepared. Jayce was right—he had so many questions. Start simple. Start simple, he tells himself, calming his sudden nerves.

"Well, you told me about what happened to you. What about those we knew? Mel, Heimerdinger..." He hesitates, remembering the terror he saw in her eyes as she turned to dust before him. "Sky?"

Jayce looks at him with regret. "I’m so sorry about Sky, V. We should have listened to Heimerdinger. But you’ll be pleased to know she is alive here, and doing quite well. She’s an alchemist at the Academy—one of their top healers, in fact."

Viktor’s eyes light up. At least in this world, he hopes she will lead the full and amazing life she deserves. "That does bring me some comfort."

"Most of the people we knew are here in some form. Cait is Knight General—basically in charge of the whole garrison. Vi is a fellow knight too. Powder never became Jinx. She and Vi are quite close. Powder and Ekko are exceedingly bright students at the Academy, from what I could dig up of their records." Jayce chuckles. "Though even in this world, she still has a knack for blowing things up. If anyone is going to push this Piltover forward, it will be those two. Zaun and Piltover have a much better relationship here, it’s not perfect, but those from Zaun have far more opportunities to do great things."

Viktor always knew Jinx—er, Powder—had the potential to do so much more. "And Mel? Heimerdinger?" he asks, wondering why Jayce hadn’t mentioned them first.

Jayce leans back, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mel… well, she’s here too, but she’s not exactly the same as we remember. Since magic is not as prominent here, she never was touched by the arcane. And Heimerdinger—he’s still at the Academy, of course. The old yordle’s a legend in every world, I suppose.” He chuckles, though there’s something contemplative in his expression.

Viktor watches him closely. “What else do you mean by Mel is not the same?”

Jayce sighs, drumming his fingers against the table. “She comes from a different background here. She’s still powerful, still influential, but since she never became an empath her mother had a much easier time molding her, she’s part of Piltover’s council but she is not the same woman we knew.”

“There is still a council in this world?” Viktor asks in surprise.

Jayce nods, leaning back in his chair. “Same council we knew long ago. Heimer, Mel, Salo, Cassandra... the gang’s all here, still running things.” A wry smirk tugs at his lips. “No Jinx to ruin their parade.”

Viktor considers the implications of this. The council had once wielded unchecked power, their decisions shaping the rise and fall of industries, lives. Their influence had been both a guiding force and a dangerous weapon. Would it be different in this world?

“Thankfully,” Jayce continues, “without things like airships and Hextech to capitalize on, they’re far less ruthless than the versions we knew.” He pauses before adding with a chuckle, “Well… besides Mel. She wants to turn Piltover into Noxus 2.0.”

Viktor raises a brow. “That does not sound pleasing.”

Jayce lets out a tired sigh. “Yeah. She's as ambitious as ever. The only difference is that now she supports Noxus' ambitions instead of Piltover’s.”

Viktor hums in thought, drumming his fingers against the rim of his cup. “And the rest of the council?”

Rubbing his jaw. “The dynamic hasn’t changed much. Heimerdinger still tries to be the moral compass, but he’s outnumbered. Cassandra plays politics, Salo and Torman are still opportunists. Shoola and Iridius are generally level headed if not overly cautious” He exhales slowly.

Viktor watches him closely. “And you? Where do you stand in all of this?”

He watches as Jayce rolls his shoulders, forcing an easy grin. “I keep my head down and do my job as a knight. No desire for a role on the council again.”

Viktor narrows his eyes. “That does not sound like the Jayce I knew.”

Jayce lets out a short laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. “Yeah, well… things changed. Priorities changed.” He reaches across the table, his fingers resting lightly on Viktor’s arm. “My focus became finding you. Piltover could burn if it meant I’d find my way to you again.”

Viktor feels warmth creeping up his neck again at Jayce’s touch and the confession. It’s not the first time since waking that Jayce has made it clear Viktor is his priority, and yet, Viktor finds he may never quite adjust to hearing it. He swallows, forcing his voice to remain steady. “Well, now that you found me, what is the priority now?”

Jayce hums in thought, his thumb absently brushing against Viktor’s arm. He still hasn’t moved his hand. Viktor pretends not to notice how much he likes the gentle gesture. “Well, we do need to stop at my tailor, and I’d like to give you a proper tour. But I guess, most importantly, making sure you’re okay.”

Viktor is caught off guard. “Wh-what do you mean? I’m alive. I’m okay, aren’t I?”

Jayce gives him a pointed look, one brow raised in skepticism. “Viktor. You thought you were dead. You woke up in a world that is almost your own but isn’t. The only person here who really knows you is the man who—" Jayce hesitates, but only briefly, "—who tried to kill you. And then thought he died with you after you turned into an arcane primal force that nearly tore the world apart.” He exhales slowly. “I’d say that’s a lot to cope with.”

Viktor looks down at his mug, unable to argue with any of that. His fingers tighten around the ceramic as he studies his own hands—the faint, shifting hues of purple and gold still lingering beneath his skin. Everything had changed so suddenly, so drastically. But what unsettled him most was what he hadn’t been able to put into words, the thing that had been gnawing at him from the moment he woke.

The arcane had not abandoned him.

It was weaker, fainter, but not gone. And it felt different—more untamed, unshaped by human hands. Something primal and raw.

He lifts his gaze back to Jayce, taking in the concern knitted between his brows. The trust in his eyes. The quiet devotion Viktor still wasn’t sure he deserved. Jayce had never needed a hammer to break him down—he was doing it now, brick by brick, just by being here.

“I—” Viktor hesitates, but then he feels the faintest squeeze on his arm, calming him.

“I still feel it,” he finally admits. “The arcane. It’s weaker, but… different. Not like what we created with the Hexcore. This feels…” He searches for the right word, rolling it over in his mind before settling on, “…ancient.”

Jayce's fingers twitch slightly against Viktor’s arm before he finally pulls his hand away, running it through his hair instead. He exhales sharply, his jaw tightening for a moment as if holding back whatever immediate thought crossed his mind.

“Ancient?” he repeats, voice measured but laced with concern. His brows knit together as he leans back slightly, studying Viktor like he’s trying to see beneath his skin, past the surface, to whatever it is Viktor feels. “How do you mean?”

Viktor flexes his fingers, “It is not the same as before. Not the refined energy we channeled into the Hex gemstones, nor the volatile force of the Hexcore.” He hesitates, weighing his words carefully. “This feels…as though it has been waiting.”

Jayce’s frown deepens. “Waiting for what?”

Viktor shakes his head. “I do not know.”

For a long moment, Jayce says nothing. He just watches Viktor, his fingers drumming absently against the table. Viktor knows that look—it’s the same one Jayce always got when working through a problem, when he was connecting dots that others hadn’t yet seen.

Then Jayce shifts in his seat, crossing his arms. “Does it hurt?”

The question catches Viktor off guard. His first instinct is to say no. But he stops himself before the lie can take shape. It does not hurt in the way the Hexcore once had—it is not a clawing, consuming force, not a hunger gnawing at his insides. But there is something else, something just beneath the surface.

“It… pulls,” he admits slowly. “Like a current in the ocean, always there, waiting for me to follow.”

Jayce looks troubled by that. His fingers drum once more against the wooden table before he abruptly pushes himself up from his chair. He paces a short path across the kitchen, running a hand over his jaw.

“That’s—” he stops, lets out a short breath, then turns back to Viktor. “That’s a lot. A lot for you, a lot for me to process.” He laughs, but it’s hollow. “Hell, V, you’ve been awake for barely a day and we’re already talking about ancient, primal magic?”

Viktor tilts his head. “Would you prefer we discuss the weather instead?”

Jayce huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “No. I just—” He exhales, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I don’t know what this means for you. Or what it means for Piltover.”

Viktor watches him closely. “You are afraid.”

Jayce sighs. “Not of you,” he says, firm and immediate. “Never of you.”

He leans forward again, bracing his hands on the table, close enough that Viktor can see the worry etched in his features. “But I am afraid of what they’ll do if they find out.”

Viktor doesn’t need to ask who he means. The Council. The same people who in their world had feared magic, feared the idea of Hextech, who tried to control it the moment they understood its power. If they learned that Viktor was connected to something older, something raw and untamed…

“They will want to study it,” Viktor murmurs.

Jayce nods grimly. “Or worse.”

The room falls into a heavy silence, the weight of unspoken possibilities pressing between them.

Then, softer, Jayce adds, “I’m glad I took the week off. It’s no longer just to help you adjust, Viktor. I need time to figure out how to keep you safe.”

Viktor looks at him, truly looks at him. Jayce, who had spent years trying to fix what was broken, who had lost nearly everything in his search for answers. And yet, his first instinct was still to protect.

The warmth from earlier creeps back into Viktor’s chest, unsettling in its own way. He looks away, back down at his hands. “I see.”

Jayce studies him for a moment longer, then claps his hands together with forced enthusiasm. “Right. Well, heavy conversations during breakfast can’t be good for digestion. Eat up. We have a city to explore, and you need new clothes before people start thinking I kidnapped you.”

Viktor huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. The conversation isn’t over—not by a long shot—but for now, he allows the shift, lets the tension ease.

There would be time to unravel the implications of his connection to the arcane and what he was possibly capable of. For now, he would let Jayce distract him. Just for a little while.

They finish their meal in content quiet. It turns out Jayce is actually a fantastic cook, and Viktor finds himself looking forward to more of his meals. He had never placed much thought into food before—so often, it had been an afterthought, something consumed in hurried bites between long hours in the lab. But here, with Jayce, it feels different. Something to savor.

When they finish, Viktor insists on helping clean up, despite Jayce’s protests that he’s a guest. They move easily around each other in the kitchen, Jayce washing the dishes while Viktor dries them, stacking them neatly back into the cupboards. It’s a simple, domestic routine, but Viktor finds a quiet satisfaction in it, it’s something tangible amidst the overwhelming strangeness of his new reality.

Afterward, Jayce sets about trying to find Viktor something more suitable to wear. The process is… less than smooth.

Jayce tosses him a sweater first, thick and warm, but the moment Viktor pulls it over his head, it nearly swallows him whole. The sleeves hang well past his hands, and the hem drapes nearly to his knees. He flaps his arms, the extra fabric flopping comically.

Jayce snorts, leaning against his dresser. “Okay, that might be a little big.”

“A little?” Viktor deadpans, staring at his own sleeve-covered hands. “Jayce, I look like a child wearing his father’s clothing.”

Jayce hums in thought. “You know, it’s kind of cute.”

Viktor pulls the sweater off with an exasperated sigh and throws it at Jayce’s face. “Find something else before I freeze to death.”

Jayce laughs as he peels the sweater off his head, tossing it aside before digging into the dresser again. He pulls out another shirt—this one a simple button-up. Viktor slides it on, relieved that at least the fit isn’t as disastrous. The sleeves are still too long, but rolling them up to his elbows fixes that well enough.

Jayce, ever the menace, nods in approval. “Okay, now you just look like you walked out of one of those novels you read.”

Viktor huffs, adjusting the cuffs. “Better than an orphaned waif, I suppose.”

Jayce grins. “I don’t know, the ‘tragic, windswept genius’ look works for you.”

Viktor rolls his eyes. “You are enjoying this far too much.”

“Can you blame me? It’s not every day I get to play dress-up with you.”

Viktor ignores that comment entirely and sets about wrapping the excess fabric into a sash Jayce provides, at least making the fit more manageable. 

Jayce steps back, crossing his arms as he surveys the finished look. “Not bad. You could almost pass as a respectable citizen.”

Viktor raises a skeptical brow. “Almost?”

Jayce smirks. “I mean, you still look like you’re about to deliver some ominous monologue about the dangers of unchecked ambition.”

Viktor places a hand over his chest in mock offense. “How dare you. My monologues are never ominous.”

Jayce just gives him a look.

Viktor sighs, finishing the last of his adjustments. “Are we done?”

“Just need shoes.” Jayce kneels, digging around until he finds something suitable. He holds up a pair of boots first, then eyes Viktor’s slim frame and shakes his head before swapping them out for a pair of slip-ons. “Try these.”

Viktor steps into them, relieved to find they fit well enough. Jayce stays crouched, resting his arms on his knees as he studies him again, something softer in his expression now.

“You look good,” he says, quieter this time.

Viktor feels warmth creep up his neck, suddenly very aware of how closely they’re standing. He clears his throat, brushing his hands over his sleeves. “Yes, well, considering the alternatives, I will take what I can get.”

Jayce grins but doesn’t argue. “Alright, let’s get going. We’ve got a whole city to explore.”

As they step out of the house, Viktor glances once more at the cozy space Jayce calls home. He hadn’t expected to feel comfortable anywhere in this world. And yet, somehow, he does.

Maybe it isn’t the place at all. Maybe it’s the person in it.

The streets of Piltover bustle with morning activity as Jayce and Viktor make their way through the city. It’s both familiar and unfamiliar—buildings in the same places but constructed differently, people dressed in styles reminiscent of what Viktor remembers but with subtle, unfamiliar details. The air is crisp, laced with the scent of fresh bread from a nearby bakery and the faint metallic tang of worked steel from the smithy down the street.

Jayce walks beside him with an easy confidence, offering a reassuring presence as Viktor navigates this strange-yet-familiar world. He catches a few people offering them polite nods or greetings, some even calling Jayce by name. It seems, much like before, Jayce is well-known here.

“You’re quite the local celebrity,” Viktor muses as they weave through the crowd.

Jayce chuckles. “Not really. I just do a lot of work around town. Engineering, repairs, that sort of thing. Helps getting to know people.”

“Mm. And here I thought you were simply charming your way through life.”

Jayce shoots him a grin. “That too.”

They arrive at the tailor’s shop, a quaint yet refined boutique tucked between a bookshop and an apothecary. The sign above the door reads Hallowed & Co. Fine Tailoring. The moment they step inside, the scent of linen, wool, and polished wood surrounds them. Bolts of rich fabric line the walls, neatly organized by color and material, and mannequins display expertly crafted coats and waistcoats.

A young woman emerges from behind a curtain, adjusting the lace cuffs of her blouse. She’s dressed in layers of ruffled fabric, her ensemble meticulously coordinated in deep blues and blacks, accented with delicate silver embroidery. Her long azure-blue hair is tied back with black ribbons, and when she sees them, her face lights up with a delighted smile.

“Jayce Talis! You’re in need of my services again?” she teases, resting a hand on her hip. “Did you already manage to get grease on the last outfit you ordered?”

Jayce lets out a good-natured laugh. “Not this time, Gwen. It’s actually Viktor who needs your help. We need to get him a full wardrobe.”

Gwen’s sharp eyes flick to Viktor, scanning him with an appraising gaze before clasping her hands together. “Oh, what a wonderful canvas to work with!” she exclaims. “And you’ve got the perfect frame for something refined. Tell me, Viktor, do you have a preference, or shall I simply dress you as I see fit?”

Viktor, mildly taken aback by her enthusiasm, clears his throat. “I prefer a structured, practical style? I think? I don’t really know fashion all that well.” 

Gwen beams. “Oh, that’s not a problem. We will figure out what works for you together.” She gestures toward a fitting area. “Come, let’s get your measurements.”

Jayce claps Viktor on the shoulder. “Have fun with that. I’ll be over here looking at fabrics.”

Viktor shoots him a flat look but steps forward as Gwen retrieves her measuring tape. She works quickly and efficiently, jotting down notes in a little leather book while occasionally humming to herself.

“You carry yourself like a man who prefers deep, understated tones,” she muses, glancing up at him. “Charcoal, navy, emerald, perhaps a rich aubergine?”

Viktor nods in approval. “I favor subtlety.”

Jayce, from across the shop, holds up a bright ruby fabric. “What about this? You’d look good in red.”

Viktor eyes it for a moment before shaking his head. “Too bold.”

Jayce snorts, muttering, “Still allergic to standing out, huh?”

Gwen grins. “A more classic palette it is.” She turns, sifting through a collection of swatches before pulling a few options. “This midnight blue with silver threading would make for a stunning waistcoat. Or, if you want something a little warmer, this forest green wool is both stylish and practical.”

Viktor considers them before selecting the navy. “This.”

Gwen nods approvingly. “Excellent choice.”

Jayce, meanwhile, has found his way to the sleepwear selection. He picks up a luxurious-looking robe, deep maroon with gold embroidery along the sleeves, and holds it up. “What about this? You could look regal while sipping your evening tea.”

Viktor barely spares it a glance. “I am not a prince, Jayce.”

Jayce smirks. “You could be.”

Gwen giggles.

Viktor huffs, but there’s a faint hint of amusement in his expression.

They move on to selecting casual wear—linen shirts with subtle detailing, lighter vests for layering, and well-fitted trousers that wouldn’t restrict movement. Gwen sketches quickly, making notes of embroidery details and fabric textures.

Finally, they reach the topic of shoes. Viktor selects a few pairs of finely crafted leather boots—one set for everyday wear, another more formal, and a simple pair for lounging at home.

By the time they are finished, Jayce is leaning lazily against the counter, arms crossed, watching with an easy grin. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

“I suppose not,” Viktor concedes. 

Jayce glances at Gwen, who is finalizing the order. “How long will the work take?”

“Given the urgency, I can have the essentials ready within three days. The more intricate pieces may take a week. But given your current predicament,” she gestures to his current attire. I have some premade outfits that should fit you better that I can send you with now if you’d like.”

Jayce nods. “Perfect. Just send the bill to me.”

Viktor frowns. “Jayce—”

“No arguments,” Jayce interrupts, giving Viktor a steady look. “Consider it a gift. You deserve to be comfortable here.”

Viktor exhales deeply, a mix of resignation and gratitude mingling in his chest. He realizes, with a sinking certainty, that he has no way to pay for the clothing himself. Instead, he watches as Jayce leans in to speak with Gwen, who is busily finalizing the details of the order.

Gwen nods curtly and disappears into the back of the shop. Minutes later, she reemerges carrying two carefully folded outfits. The stack is neat and precise—an ensemble that hints at Viktor’s refined taste—with a pair of leather boots. Gwen’s eyes sparkle with pride as she holds out the neatly stacked bundle. 

“There’s a changing room over there if you’d like to try them on, I can make any minor adjustments you might need.” She gestures to a door to their left. “These should hold you over until I can have the basics made to fit you perfectly,” she announces, her tone warm and confident.

Viktor runs his fingers lightly over the fabric as he accepts the clothing, feeling the texture promise both comfort and a touch of elegance he hadn’t appreciated before. The gesture, so unburdened by transaction or obligation, speaks volumes about Jayce’s care—and perhaps about the new life Viktor is slowly beginning to accept.

Jayce catches Viktor’s eye, his own smile softening. “You’ll look sharp, V. I don’t want you to feel out of place.”

Viktor manages a small nod, a silent acknowledgment of the gift—and of Jayce’s unwavering support. 

Viktor thanks Gwen with a nod and slips into the changing room, the door closing softly behind him. In the quiet space, he unfolds the neatly stacked bundle on a small table and examines the garments with a measured eye. One outfit, in particular, catches his attention. He runs his fingers over the fabric: a deep, elegant navy blue corset-style vest that promises a structured, dignified silhouette; beneath it, a deep maroon button-up shirt exudes warmth and subtle flair; paired with high waisted black trousers, the ensemble speaks of understated sophistication.

The maroon shirt slips on effortlessly, and as he pulls the trousers up, he is pleasantly surprised—they fit him perfectly without a need for adjustments. He carefully dons the vest, noticing immediately how it hugs his frame in all the right places. In the mirror, the reflection that meets him is both striking and refined—a man reborn in style, his features set with determination and a hint of vulnerability.

After a few moments of quiet self-reflection, Viktor steps out of the changing room. In the soft light of the boutique, he stands before Gwen and Jayce, who are waiting expectantly. Gwen offers an excited smile and a satisfied nod, her eyes gleaming with professional pride.

But it is Jayce's reaction that stops Viktor in his tracks. Jayce, usually so composed and confident, appears utterly entranced. His eyes widen as he takes in the sight of Viktor in the elegant attire. A blush tints Jayce’s cheeks, and he fumbles for a moment as if caught off guard by a revelation he hadn’t anticipated. For a heartbeat, the world seems to still, and Viktor senses an unfamiliar vulnerability in Jayce—a quiet bashfulness that softens the hard edges of his usual demeanor.

“You… you look remarkable,” Jayce stammers, his voice lower and more hesitant than usual. He avoids Viktor’s gaze for a moment before managing a small, sincere smile. “I—I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so…elegant.”

Viktor arches an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he studies Jayce’s reaction. “Thank you,” Viktor replies quietly, his voice carrying both gratitude and a touch of irony. “I suppose change isn’t so bad after all.”

Jayce’s bashful smile lingers as he steps closer, his hand resting on Viktor’s shoulder in an all too familiar manner. “No, not at all,” he murmurs. “In fact, I’m rather… excited…about the idea of change.”

Gwen breaks their momentary trance with a polite cough, drawing both Viktor and Jayce back to the present. Jayce flushes, quickly apologizing. “I’m sorry,” he says, glancing at Gwen with genuine gratitude. “Thank you again, Gwen.” He gathers the other outfit for Viktor, handing it over for her to wrap up.

Gwen smiles warmly as she safely packs the second outfit for Jayce. “Of course, Jayce. It was my pleasure.”

After saying farewell, Jayce and Viktor step back out onto the street. Jayce once again offers Viktor his arm. The gesture, while becoming as natural as breathing, causes Jayce to make a mental note to construct a new cane for Viktor—one that will perfectly match his new look. “Guess now I’m the one making you look bad,” he teases, his tone light as he grins.

Viktor raises an eyebrow in playful reproach. “I don’t think that could ever be possible,” he blurts before he realizes what he was saying, catching himself and looking away. Dressed in a form-fitted tunic and slacks, complemented by a dashing overcoat, the idea of Jayce making anyone look bad was unthinkable. 

Together, they meander through town at a leisurely pace. Jayce points out various places and sights—a bustling market square, a quiet garden tucked between cobbled streets, even a fountain whose waters catch the afternoon light just right.

Viktor can’t help but smile as he watches Jayce in this world. Here, in these streets filled with simple pleasures and genuine conversation, Jayce seems so undeniably happy—a stark contrast to the relentless urgency they once both carried. For a long time, they had been consumed by their efforts to harness magic, to reshape the world according to their ideals, and in the process, they’d clearly forgotten how magical the world already was.

They finally reach a beautiful park in the heart of the city—a lush oasis where a wide river meanders through the city, its gentle current sparkling under the afternoon sun. As they step onto the manicured lawns, Viktor’s eyes light up with a distant, bittersweet recognition. The park’s winding paths and the river’s steady flow remind him of his childhood: of afternoons spent near the water testing his mechanical boats, marveling at how the current danced around his creations.

For a moment, Viktor is lost in the reverie of those bygone days. Then, in a flash of sudden clarity, his eyes widen and he blurts out, “Rio!”

Jayce, startled by the unexpected outburst, jumps aside as Viktor whirls to face him. “Jayce, in the year that you were here, was there any trace of shimmer?”

Jayce furrows his brow in confusion. “Shimmer? N-no…actually, no. Shimmer never seems to have been invented here. Why?”

Viktor grins widely, a wild light in his eyes. Without thinking, he nearly leaps forward, throwing his arms around Jayce in a tight, exuberant embrace. “We need to go to Zaun. I need to find her—” He catches himself mid-hug, quickly disentangling his arms as he realizes the precariousness of his position.

Jayce, still visibly confused and now trying to steady his racing heart, “Zaun? I mean, that’s no problem, but who exactly are we looking for?”

Viktor’s grin grows even more determined as he steps back, his eyes shining with a child-like excitement and urgency. “Rio. A man named Singed used her in his creation of shimmer. If shimmer was never invented here, then she might still be alive, somewhere down in Zaun. I have to find her.”

For a long moment, the only sound is the gentle murmur of the river and the rustle of leaves in the breeze. The weight of Viktor’s realization hangs between them, charged with memories and possibilities. Jayce studies Viktor’s fervent expression, caught between confusion and adoration. The sight of Viktor so expressively happy makes him feel as though his knees might buckle beneath him. He doesn’t know who—or what—Rio is, but if she can make Viktor this happy, then he would turn the entire city upside down to find her for him.

Jayce clears his throat softly, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. “Viktor… you’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” His eyes search Viktor’s face for any sign of doubt, finding none—only the unyielding determination of a man set on a course he must follow.

Viktor nods, his gaze fixed on the shimmering water. “Absolutely. Rio isn’t just a piece of my past. She’s a part of me, she brought me joy as a child but Singed used her. Distorted her. Turned a creature of beauty into something twisted for his own gains.” His voice trembles with a mix of hope and anger as his memories of his time with Singed flooded his mind.

Jayce steps closer, his arm instinctively slipping around Viktor’s shoulder as they turn their attention back to the river before them. “Then we’ll find her,” he says, his tone firm yet gentle. “I’m with you every step of the way.”

For a moment, Viktor’s eyes glisten with unshed tears—an amalgamation of relief, gratitude, and a rekindled sense of purpose. He glances at Jayce, the unspoken feelings for him with every heartbeat. “Thank you, Jayce. I—I know this isn’t going to be easy, she’s a rare creature. But Singed had built his lab around her habitat, so it’s a place to start. I need to see her happy and free.”

Jayce’s smile is soft but resolute. “Tonight, we rest and gather what we need. Tomorrow we will start searching.” His words, though simple, resound with a sincere commitment that touches Viktor deeply.

As the river continues its quiet song and the park’s natural beauty wraps around them like a soothing embrace, Viktor and Jayce stand side by side. A journey into the depths of Zaun, into memories long buried. Shimmer had been the start of what had torn them apart and now, perhaps, finding Rio could be the start to bringing them fully back together.

In that moment, with the afternoon sun gilding the water and casting long shadows among the trees, Viktor glances down at his stained hands. He still feels the fear of the unknown, of not knowing what he is capable of, but with Jayce at his side again it doesn’t feel so all consuming. 

They continue their tour, Viktor buoyed by the newfound hope that Rio could be out there somewhere. His spirits are noticeably higher as the afternoon wanes. With the sun beginning its slow descent, Jayce suggests they head back to his home—but not before a detour to a quaint restaurant with a lovely outdoor patio.

The restaurant exudes a relaxed charm: warm, glowing lanterns, ivy creeping along the stone walls, and smaller lanterns casting a gentle glow over the tables. Seated under a pergola draped in flowering vines, they place their orders and settle into a comfortable conversation as they wait for dinner to arrive.

After a few moments of quiet conversation and the soft clink of cutlery in the background, Jayce turns to Viktor with genuine curiosity. “So, tell me more about Rio,” he says, his tone both inquisitive and supportive.

Viktor’s eyes light up as he begins to explain. “Rio is unlike anything I’ve ever encountered—she’s a rare mutation of a Waverider.” He leans in slightly, as if sharing a secret. “Waveriders are normally found around in the Guardian Sea, near Bilgewater. But somehow, Rio ended up in caves in the upper levels of Zaun, where the water from Piltover flows through.”

Jayce nods, listening intently as Viktor continues. “What makes her extraordinary is her regenerative abilities. She can heal herself at an astonishing rate. Singed saw that potential and exploited it in his relentless efforts to defy death. In his desperate bid to create something that would stave off death—he harnessed her regenerative power. That, in turn, gave birth to shimmer, and Rio’s unfortunate downfall.”

Jayce’s eyes widen in surprise, his mind racing with the implications of Viktor’s words. “So, shimmer…it’s tied to her, to this mutation?” he asks softly.

Viktor nods. “Exactly, and if shimmer never took hold here, that means Rio might still be out there, untouched by the ambitions of those who would misuse her gift.”

As their meals arrive, the rich aromas of freshly prepared food mingled with the evening air. Their conversation resumed as they broke into their second bottle of wine, the mellow notes of red filling the space between each sip. Between bites of their meals, Viktor leans forward, his eyes alight with determined speculation.

“Tracking her down,” he begins, “won’t be easy. Despite her large size, Rio’s a herbivore. I’m thinking if we can get the right fruits and vegetables—something irresistible—we might lure her out of hiding.” He gestures animatedly, nearly toppling his glass in his excitement.

Jayce nods thoughtfully, his gaze flickering between Viktor and his half-full glass. “So we’d set up a sort of… bait?” he asks. “Some kind of feeding station?”

“Exactly,” Viktor replies, warming to the idea. “It won’t be foolproof, but it might just work, if she managed to find her way into those caves in this world too, that is.”

As their conversation drifts between plans and theories, their laughter mingles with the soft murmur of the restaurant. Eventually, as the meal winds down, Jayce signals the waiter and settles the bill, thanking him with a courteous nod. Viktor, a bit more flushed from the wine than before, stands abruptly—and wobbles.

Jayce is quick to react, steadying Viktor with a firm hand on his lower back while chuckling. “Easy there, V. Don’t want you falling over.”

They leave the restaurant, both men it turns out are a bit unsteady on their feet, and they find themselves laughing at each other's missteps. When they finally reach Jayce’s home, the evening’s fatigue mingles with their lingering mirth. Jayce fumbles for the oil lamps, his fingers clumsy in the dim light, while Viktor struggles to haul fresh logs into the fireplace. After a few humorous stumbles and gentle teasing, Viktor manages to coax the fire back to life and finally collapses onto the couch with a contented sigh. A few moments later, Jayce joins him, stretching and releasing a long, weary sigh.

Now, with the sun nearly set and most of the illumination coming from the flickering oil lamps and the steady glow of the hearth, a chill begins to seep into the room. Even with the fire burning, Viktor shivers slightly. Jayce notices immediately, sliding his arm around Viktor and pulling him closer.

For a moment, Viktor tenses at the unexpected embrace, but then the warmth—both physical and emotional—slowly relaxes him. They settle into a comfortable silence together, watching as the sun sinks lower through the bay window. Outside, lamplighters begin their nightly rounds, and one by one, the street’s oil lamps flicker to life.

Perhaps it was the wine, or perhaps Viktor was simply feeling brave, but as he leaned into Jayce he took a chance at resting his head softly on his shoulder. He allowed himself to dream. He wished this quiet, tender moment could be his life every day, even if he knew there was still so much to unravel. Closing his eyes, he surrendered to the comfort of the present.

AUTHOR NOTE: I took a few creative liberties with Rio. In the show Singed claims to have “cultivated” her mutation, but in League Lore, Pixiemanders are a naturally occurring mutation of the Waverider species, so in this, Rio is a naturally mutated Pixiemander. I also interpreted the fact she was dying as something caused by Singed’s experiments, so no experiments, no dying Rio. I want a happy ending for our girl mkay? <3

[ask-the-badman]

RP/Ask blog for Johnny Slaughter/Sawyer from TCM the game.

Uh, first time doing a roleplay type blog, but figured it would be fun to mess around with. So ask BadManJohnny anything, and I do mean anything~

This will be an 18+ RP blog, it will deal with blood, gore, violence, drugs, alcohol, and sexual themes/content. All intended for a MATURE audience, much like the game and the movie(s) it is based on. Seems I need to emphasis on the 18+ part. If you are below this age please do not follow or leave asks, I'm not in any mood to be falsely labelled a P word just because you can't follow the rules. And yes, I will be checking profiles and blocking accordingly.

And with that, this RP Blog is for fun, so let's have fun and keep it drama free pretty please~♥

About Johnny Slaughter/Sawyer

Age: 25

Height: 6'2"

Weight: 200lbs

Year of Birth: 1948

Occupation: Farm Hand/Mechanic (self taught)

Setting: Early 70s, around '72/early '73, before the first movie

BadManJohnny can be both soft and sweet (to lure victims in) or sadistic and monstrous when he needs to be. Err on the side of caution when you ask him anything or you might end up in one of his fridges in the Cold Room. Or maybe sharing a cold one in his shack~ ♥

-Mood bar gone until I can get my art program back :(-

Currently: Feeling better now, Johnny ain't holed up in his shack on his couch anymore. Though achy from all the sneezing and coughing, he's back to his regular old self again.

(Update: So got my computer awhile back, just been too busy with the holiday season and work to remember to update on that. Oops.. But updating now, I lost my Clip Studio Paint Key so the mood bar is stuck where it is until I can get another one.. heck. Anyways, excited to see what the new year brings with this RP blog and just wanna say thanks again to all of you who have made this a fun journey of BADMAN Johnny RP. Hope you all had a wonderful new year ♥) Under the cut will have rps that are at least one month old, give or take, linking back to the last post with the name of who Johnny was with and a short snippet. Will also have 18+ warnings if they are NSFW.

RWJohnny/Bridgette - Rush Week Johnny hunting a Sorority Girl Johnny/Lee - Pec Petting

(If you feel like you need a break just say as much and I'll put it here for future use ♥)

[im-a-hoping-beetch]

Many people genuinely get confused when we, native people, get uncomfortable when Katara, a native character, is reduced to a mom and her canon relationships with characters are put down in favour for a boy who lived in a society that benefitted from her oppression, antagonised her and her friends for most of the series and was even racist at times. But because he's hot and had an episode with katara, everything should be forgiven, because god forbid a native girl gets with anyone who isn't from a group of people who aided the genocide of her people. God forbid two characters who experienced genocide have a relationship and connect over this shared trauma, in favour for boy who also has mom trauma

Look, while I can understand your feelings of discomfort towards the ship, I’d still like to put certain things into perspective.

Now, I don’t really know what you meant by her being “reduced” to a mom. Do you mean that her relationship with Zuko would confine her to such a role? Which, by the way, is absolutely laughable, since one of the main reasons why so many ppl ship these two is bcz unlike every member of the gaang (aside from Suki), Zuko is the only one with who she doesn’t have to act like a surrogate mother. Katara is allowed to be angry and be vulnerable with him. All things that we rarely see her be able to do with the rest of the bunch, let alone her own brother.

Actually, one of the main appeal of the two is bcz, both have the same level of of maturity and similar way of interacting with the members of the gaang. Which is why so many ppl label the two as “parents of the group”.

But, if you’re talking about how, we zutarians usually talk abt the intricacies that come with her being a motherly person, I’ve got some news for ya. Most of us, usually, never fail to highlight how much of a tragedy, her being pushed into a role of adulthood at such a young age is. Also, on how, ironically, her canonical partner (Aang) has never really helped with that phenomenon, actually he perpetuated it even further.

Besides, wanna talk abt canon relationships being put down for a boy, well, look no further than canon itself, anon. I’m guessing that you’ve probably read this post, due to the phrasing at the beginning of your ask. One thing I specifically touched on, was how much of Katara’s existence seems to revolve around Aang, the biggest example being, the comics. In them, we do see the creators ready to strain Katara’s established relationships with the gaang (aside from her brother) in order to shove kataang down our throats. Cuz if you think abt it, Toph and Katara’s interactions are heavily reduced, let alone meaningful ones and do not even get me started on Zuko or Suki.

Yes, Zuko lived in a society that benefited from her oppression. He has antagonized her and her friends. But Zuko is also made to recognize the harm his actions have caused. Additionally, at no point is he not faced with the consequences of what he has done towards the gaang. Every single member gets to express anger or/and resentment over what he’s done in the past, Katara is no exception. Actually, she’s the one who’s given the most leeway in terms of doing so. Even for things he had no control over such as her mother’s death and the fire nation raids. However, instead of whining about how he’s not responsible for all of this taking place, something he could’ve easily done, he makes it up to her. He helps her seek justice for her mother while her canonical future boyfriend is out here reducing her righteous anger to blindsided revenge.

I don’t know what you mean by “Because He’s hot and had an episode with her, everything should be forgiven.” To me, that last part owed to make me scratch all the dandruff off my braids. Language is a powerful tool, but often than not, people don’t really know how to use it nor seem to understand the ramifications of their use. When you say “everything should be forgiven”, you are framing forgiveness as something passive, when, here, it is active. Someone does the action of forgiving Zuko, Katara does. Katara forgives him, because he earned it.

Right now, I’m assuming that you thought you were in defence of Katara, but the truth is that you are actually perpetuating an habit that many have had when it comes to the Southern Raiders. Which is to perpetually strip any agency Katara has in an episode literally centered around her character!?!

Nobody forbid anyone from anything. If people don’t feel comfortable shipping these two, so be it. However, to act as if Zuko hasn’t actively fought against the system that has led to those atrocities being done or like he hasn’t used his position of power in order to make actual change or/and retributions, is simply disingenuous.

Aang and Katara did have a relationship, but have never connected over their shared trauma. More specifically, Aang failed to connect over their shared trauma, when he should have and instead used as a way to silence hers. @sokkastyles makes a very good point about it in this post.

[colorfulwastelandvoid]

Jayce Talis

Okay so here is an actual analysis on Jayce Talis. Sorry my initial post turned into something else.

Jayce Talis aka “The Golden Boy” is a man of love and sacrifice to his core. He is a genius inventor and great spokesperson. He understand himself well enough to know what he wants and won’t stop until he gets it, yet it is this determination that will be his ultimate undoing. Throughout season 1 we explore his love of magic, his genuine want to help people and his impulsivity. I always found it weird how quickly the fandom labeled him as dumb just because he is naive. First naive ≠ dumb and quite frankly he is not as naive as yall portray him as nor is he easily manipulated. An apt description would be foolhardy. Listen this may sound un-nuanced but that boy was doing what ever he wanted😭. We first see him basically tampering with illegal contraband which caused an explosion (it’s not his fault) like come on that could have killed someone (it did in the AU). He was literally the personification of ask for forgiveness not permission😂.People bring up the fact that baby Ekko scammed him and well yeah but also no. For one he probably wasn’t spending his own money, it was the Kirramans. Two given what he was trying to do what’s not to say that those items were still severely undervalued and he was getting the steal. Jayce does not care what he has to do, he’s gonna get what he needs. If Jayce believes in what he is doing then there is no stopping him. We see this hastiness when he is made a council member. The amount of times Mel or Heimerdinger told him one thing and he would do the opposite was actually kind of funny. The only thing Jayce listened to in the heat of the moment was his heart. I think it’s important to stress that I find Jayce is only really like this in high stress/stakes scenarios. When the show gives him a moment to think he will make a level headed decision. Now I’m not saying Jayce did not get manipulated, cause he did. Marcus got to him about that damn barricade, but again that was a high stress scenario don’t make it right but it should put stuff into context. Jayce throughout the show is giving impossible choices, that he must make the possible happen. He wants to help and will do his best to but doesn’t realize that sometimes the best thing he can do is listen and realize perhaps he can not be the one to save the day.

Love him or hate him, yall have got to recognize him first. He is the bright eyed idealist who must grapple with the reality that maybe not everything is possible. He fights with the fact in all the good in the world the ability to do bad must be taken into account. He is a person whose journey is not of finding himself but of maturing to understand who you are to others ( this one sounds sooo corny). He is the “Man of Progress”, “Defender of Tomorrow”, the extremes of idealized progress.

This is not the last Jayce Talis analysis post you’ll see on here but im tired and hate typing for too long. I’ll probably post more on him and where his character went in season 2 another time.

Ps I’m seeing online yall calling Jayce a people pleaser. From the explanations I’ve seen… yeah I’m a have to disagree with that one. Obviously I haven’t seen them all so I could be wrong.

[idesofrevolution]

Let’s talk honestly

So I just wanna share where I’m at these days with Tumblr, the community, and some concerning developments as of late. Firstly, I want to thank all 5k of you for supporting me for almost a decade on this platform. It has been a wild ride with ups and downs but this community has really given me an overall positive impact on my self image, bettered my writing skills, and helped to come to terms with who I am as a person and as a kinkster. So above all, I have so much gratitude for y’all, thank you.

Over the last couple of months, I have taken notice to some difficulties on behalf of Tumblr and their censorship efforts against queer erotic writing. I have had to fight more flags and community labels than ever before, and it has really affected my desire and motivation to publish more stories. If only certain folks with their mature censor turned off can read my posts, that fuckin sucks. But I admittedly got rather stoned last night and thought about why Tumblr is cracking down so viciously on our content. I think I’ve come to my own conclusion there.

I am and have been extremely alarmed by a number of tropes that have become relatively commonplace in recently posted tf prose. As I have mentioned countless times before, underage people have no business being in your sexual fantasy fiction whatsoever. The amount of writers I’ve seen recently posting stories focusing on 12-16 year of children being erotically transformed is disturbing to put it delicately. Especially those which maintain the children’s psychological age intact, but even without that trope it is inappropriate, unacceptable, and should not be platformed on Tumblr.

In addition, I’d like to touch on another trope: homophobic tf. Now I have no issue whatsoever with Gay to straight, as being straight is a valid expression of sexual orientation. There is nothing wrong with featuring characters from a wide array of identities. That being said, this new content of lib to con, MAGA tf, gay bashing tf… it’s disgusting. In the current world we live in, these types of archetypical characters do exist in the real world and are causing real significant harm to queer folks. These groups of people are actively, in their own words, trying to eradicate the LGBT community in America. These types of people exist all over the world as well, and queer identifying people live in legitimate, actual fear for their lives. I question why we fetishize individuals who seek a literal genocide of an entire peoples, and whether it is acceptable to do so. I point to the fetishization of Nazism as an apt comparison: a hypermasculinized group of people who sought eradication of a group of people based solely on concrete identities which could not be changed. I believe we as a community have rightly deplatformed such content, and I cannot fathom why this current iteration is in such a Renaissance.

These are just two examples of obvious reasoning as to why Tumblr might righteously suppress tf erotica on their platform. Can I blame them? No. Frankly, I understand completely. If the community refuses to monitor and moderate its on content, then Tumblr as the platform most certainly will.

I’m unsure as to what the future looks like for Ides, as this current trajectory is not something I’d like to participate in. I’m hoping like minded writers will be a bit more critical in choosing the tropes and prompts for their stories, but in all honesty, I have significant doubts. Rest assured, I will touch base with y’all before I do anything drastic. But in my opinion, the writing is on the wall.

[raayllum]

i'm literally sitting here trying to figure out what EVEN i can SAY about aspec rayllum here? i think about them and i want to combust into heart emojis. i watched the first season when it first came out and then only happened to catch up last year with my qpp, and in between i was like. so infuriated when i found out they'd made rayla and callum a thing bc i - naturally - latched onto the green and purple character as an aroace icon at 18 years old, and my partner was like "no no no no TRUST me you've got to watch it, you'll love it"

they weren't wrong and after bingeing the whole show i'm stuck thinking about rayllum a LOT. they're written so much like my own ideal relationship that i kind of want to explode from it sometimes. anyway, my absolute favorite thing about them is how much emphasis there is about their friendship - to the point that when i watched season four, I can't remember which episode specifically it was number wise but when rayla suggested splitting up and offered to go with callum and he turns her down, my first immediate heartbroken thought was "she misses her best friend..." i just love how they're in love but they're in love cos they're best friends....11/10 no notes i need more relationships like that in media

ANYWAY long rambley ask about my loves aside, my question is what are some of your favorite moments where rayllum are so clearly best friends/goofballs in love?

No like honest to god though — me and the Rayla to my Callum are also in a QPR + dash of romance relationship and like... arc 1 and arc 2 Rayllum are just so goddamn sweet??

I don't agree generally that arc 2 Rayllum is more Mature™ than arc 1 rayllum — Callum is more patient and Rayla is more open, so they've matured as individuals — but merely just that they're different flavours of aspec-ness. Like arc 1 is the craziness and rollercoaster of meeting a stranger and realizing they're Your Person, and arc 2 is the deepness after the fact of "I know you, and I know that we can get through everyone so long as we have each other" mostly cause I think the main reason people label arc 1 Rayllum as more immature is because s3 Rayllum gushes over each other, but that's bc people have a hard time conceptualizing having deep admiration for your partner(s) that isn't infatuation... even though like? It's totally normal and welcome, like any long term relationship is "my partner is the most amazing person ever and i'm also very aware of all their flaws simultaneously" and like, arc 1 Rayllum hits that balance perfectly imo

I just love all of their stages and sides to them so so much

But yeah! Some of my fave moments Rayllum wise for the Best Friends quality has to be when they help each other up in 3x05 (Callum after the soulfang chase and Rayla on the ambler) because things are Weird but they're still always going to help each other? The "I missed my best friend" quality in s4 with no one laughing at Callum's jokes / talking about magic with him (vs their first scene in 5x01 being him telling her all about the magic stuff he's reading) and Rayla keeping her disappointment at bay always hits hard and I loove 4x06 when she's beating herself up and he takes care of her because a Good Relationship isn't about how you treat each other when everything's fine, it's 100% about how treat each other when life is hard/stressful and/or you're upset with each other

But I love all the gentle teasing in early S5 and the fist bump lives in my head eternally rent free. The 2x03 hug also means a lot to me cause that was the turning point she went from being a friend to being family and I think in a lot of ways, that's their relationship's most important turning point alongside maybe 1x06 (trusting her anyway!) 4x09 (forgiveness) and 5x04 (her opening up).

5x02 post-inn and stargazing scene are also faves just because of how happy they are talking about Nothing and everything, and like — that's just so fucking real, y'know? When someone makes everything automatically better just by being there

As Callum says, "We've been through a lot, and a lot has changed. Well, some things have changed, but not everything," and this never will

[sinfulsachi]

Hiiii. How about some thigh fucking? It's knows that Shinichi loves Ran's legs, so it has got to happen. He can't stop staring and Ran shouldn't really feel this hot and bothered about the way he looks at her but she does. The make-out sessions are no longer enough now, they need more, so they go for it.

The timestamp of this ask is April 10, 2021 I am laughing as I type this. Please anon appreciate me, I tried after 3.5 years HAHAHA Couldn't get this request out of my head from the moment it entered my inbox three (3) years ago lmao. I labeled this post as mature, for obvious reasons :)

 絶対領域 || Absolute Territory (ShinRan)

.

.

Kudou Shinichi has a tendency of blaming the universe for things beyond his control.

It only happens rarely, for Kudou Shinichi doesn’t bow down to fate, fate bows down to Kudou Shinichi. He’ll carve a solution against all odds. How many times has he cheated death?

But at this very moment, he is resigned to the thought that the universe is to blame for everything that led to here.

He blames the universe for having been born Japanese, lived in the same neighborhood, entered the same kindergarten as this girl turned girlfriend a good twelve years later.

He blames the universe for the abnormal surge of cases in Tokyo that consequently robs the girlfriend’s father’s time in the apartment, leaving him and her alone ‘til sunset.

Blames the universe for spring, because flowy skirts.

Blames the universe for summer for limiting her wardrobe choice to nothing but shorts, shorts, and short shorts.

Blames the universe for autumn, because thigh-high stockings.

Blames the universe or whoever created it for creating teenage hormones so rebellious, so perilously out of his control especially when he gets so much a peek of her skin. Just skin, the fuck. How else if more than that.

All these and more run in his mind while the girlfriend nestles between his legs doing homework under the kotatsu.

Naturally, he blames the universe for this moment.

Winter is a bitch, sweaters and heater aren’t enough. Mouri Ran suggests huddling. Now he levels with her nape, long hair conveniently let on one side. She scribbles notes with no care in the world while he inwardly chants a prayer. This is it. This is his demise.

He blames the universe for the aching hard-on in his pants.

But he is Kudou Shinichi, and while he’ll flip the universe off, he'll make absolutely sure to do something about the situation he’s presented. Else, he dies.

There are many ways to deal with this without hurting anybody’s feelings. He can excuse himself and let the rage subside in the toilet. He can request they sit side by side instead. He can offer to get them a takeout snack from Poirot. Literally those ways.

But not pull her closer by the waist.

He really isn’t helping himself. It’s dumb, but at the same time it seems it’s all he can manage to do. He clears his throat, a harmless statement whispered in her ear, “Ran, can we please, uh. Take a break.”

Amidst the impatient rush of blood southwards, he maintains a safe distance, not too close she could hear the erratic beating in his chest, and not too far that when her head swivels sideways their noses brush. Distance still matters to him, lest this - whatever he's doing - startles her.

“Hm? But we just took one fifteen minutes ago.”

Ran catches Shinichi’s eyes drift to the direction of the bed and back. She can't read if that gesture intentionally hints on something, or just a slip of his guilty thoughts. His eyes are so near she catches the details of his blues, blended with a certain kind of struggle.

Her body becomes aware of a bulge against her lower back. Ran's pulse kicks up a step.

“Let’s keep warm over there, please,” Shinichi requests, a hint of mild desperation in his tone.

When it takes her a while to reply, he notices his mistake. So much for devising ways to deal with hormones without offending anyone's feelings. With his last sane braincell, he wills himself to scoot further back, "No worries if you don't wanna! Though I k-kinda need to lie down a bit, Ran, haha, so—"

The disentanglement is halted when she holds his arms firm around her waist. Ran refuses to budge under the kotatsu. Instead, she clings onto the cuffs of his sleeve, startling him.

"Shinichi, um. But we're already quite comfortable here, don't you think?"

Like hell it is. Shinichi needs to break away. He can already sense himself growing by the second, exponentially so with the way she tilts her chin to face him fully, something he hasn’t seen before dancing in her eyes. Half mast, dilated, cozy and— and almost bedroomy.

What! Is she doing!

Shinichi's hands slide down her hips involuntarily. They stay in the kotatsu, plane of her back resting against his pecs through the hoodie. Everything is dangerously still. He gives her hips a light squeeze, she doesn't protest. He inches close, she presses near. "The hell, Ran..." He skims the line of her shoulder with his lips.

What! Is he doing!

He's acting on pure impulse now, the set of sane braincells in his head overpowered by the braincells of another one. A total defeat. God he's such a man.

And it maddens him so because not one bit does Ran seem to mind, whispering a light ‘should be fine here, right?’ when they're eye to eye. Shinichi nods in complete obedience. He swallows his nerves away, then closes the distance between their lips in one swift motion.

Inside his brain, the little Shinichi with pitchforks rejoices.

Perhaps the liplock is too earnest that a few minutes in, Ran finds her hips moving on its own, attention brought once more to the press of that bulge against her back. They part only for Ran to surge in again, denying them a moment to breathe.

Her hand creeps up behind, feeling the stiffness. She squeezes lightly. Shinichi groans in her mouth. No words are said, yet they seem to understand exactly what the other wants to do. She tugs on the garter of his joggers. His hands travel down her skirt, up her thigh. Shinichi loses his mind.

I'm going to hell, he thinks, as he finds his fingers trailing to the most heated part of her body. This isn't the first time. That's why he desires to get away at the earliest opportunity the moment he feels about to succumb to the universe's temptations, certain the day will end with his fingers buried in her, and she gasping in his arms. Exactly right now. Him stroking her above cotton, before slipping past it and slowly sliding in.

It frustrates him to feel this good hearing her moan his name, and it's only ever third base.

Only ever third base.

Shinichi blames the universe that he isn't yet married to Mouri Ran. Dear god, how the universe knows he's dying to fu—

He freezes at the cold touch of her hand slinking inside his boxers. Something inside him stirred. This is a first time. His fingers pause, his breath gets heavy. Ran breaks the kiss to look him in the eye, panting as she pulls his garments further down, "let's do it?"

Fuck.

Surprisingly, it's Shinichi who comes to senses first. "Do what exactly?", genuine inquiry seemingly asked in jest following a heated french in response to her straightforward request. Though clearly aware of what she’s insinuating, he needs to be absolutely certain of what stage they are about to do. Instead of giving verbal confirmation however, Ran doesn't stop stroking him, and Shinichi feels himself about to short circuit, making it worse when she adjusts the way she's seated to give her hand - and his fingers - more working space.

They are about to do it under the kotatsu.

Shinichi should be thanking the heavens right now, yet a part of him screams to save the end for a later time when they're older, readier. The sane side of him awakens, like a dying star in its last bursts of energy before imploding in on itself, just enough seconds to remind himself that he intends to take this step by step. There must be a way they can do it without doing it.

Hoisting Ran by the waist, Shinichi deposits her body slightly below his torso and leans back a bit. "Maybe we can..." The slight shift in position allows Ran to perch snug above him, legs between his outstretched ones. "Like this."

Ran appears reluctant to let go of her grasp, but in the new adjustment, she feels him against the underside of her thighs, rock hard. It only occurs to her what she just requested, and she flushes, suddenly hyperaware of the wild drumbeat inside her chest, the zero personal space. Her skin sensitive to the squeeze of his hand on her hip underneath her hoodie. His twitch beneath when his other hand finds purchase on the area between her skirt and overknee socks and begs her to 'open up a bit' and he groans her name, "Ran."

Dazed, Ran creates an opening. Shinichi slides himself in. Ran tightens the grip of her thighs. Shinichi moves.

It's like all the air is robbed out of his lungs.

How does he describe this sensation? He feels like a present, she the wrapper. "Been wondering 'bout this for a long time," is what he doesn't say aloud, as he looks over at the way her knees linked close, her upper thighs clamp. There is something sacred in the place where he enters her, an absolute territory he's actually been waiting to explore beyond sight. He's only ever stared in loaded silence, when she walks ahead, or climbs the stairs, or gets a book atop the shelf on tiptoes and skirt hiking up. Thoughts spurring in his subconscious going, what does it feel like to be trapped in there.

Unbeknownst to Shinichi, it's the singular best place to ever be. An absolutely fucking addicting territory to be in.

Ran squirms in place, unable to stray her eyes away from the rise and fall happening beneath her skirt. She needs to confirm that this strange hot activity with Shinichi is real. With shaky hands she lifts the hem of her skirt up and sees him. Wet on the tip. Protruding then disappearing. Rhythm synchronizing with the labored breath by her nape.

Overwhelmed by the budding heat in that area they create friction, she begins rolling her hips, matching his timing.

They are doing it under the kotatsu.

It drives Shinichi crazier when Ran requests to rise up to a kneeling position, her palms flat on the tabletop. They stay connected below, allowing him a more comfortable grip, a more open view of him thrusting between her thighs. Ran tips her head back and breathes the cutest moan when he picks up the pace. If he closes his eyes, he may actually believe they're doing it from behind, the sensation perhaps nearly tantamount to fucking her. And he might really seriously get to fuck her. Except that what they're doing now is already so damn hot neither wants to stop.

"Ah. You're—" something wet oozes slowly over him as he continues sliding in and out her thighs. Understanding what it is and what it means for his girlfriend is about enough to give him a heart attack. His hands enclose hers atop the kotatsu, sheathing and unsheathing faster, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead as he croaks out, "fucking warm, Ran".

He hasn't hung out in her room intending to do anything of this sort with Ran. It's just suddenly happened. And now he's afraid that once he finishes, he'll end up wanting more. The heat in him builds up, ever concentrated at the nerve ends of his shaft, desperately looking for where he can possibly do the unloading in the most respectful way. On the table. The fabric of her skirt. Her socks. Her thighs. He grits his teeth and inwardly curses.

Whatever the case is, he'll make a mess of her.

He blames the universe for how badly that turns him on.

Closing in, he warns Ran by the ear. "S'll be a lot," he says, and Ran, tongue-tied and keening, nods frantically. In a split second, Shinichi makes a decision - spilling over the table will ruin Ran's notes. So the final blow he does, painting the back of Ran's thighs, dribbling down the seam of her socks as he spurts out more, and more, and more, then sliding back again between her thighs, calming himself down with one hand on her hip and the other squeezing her breasts beneath the hoodie.

For Shinichi, everything burns.

"Can I..." Ran speaks first, over quiet gasps of air, "Can I um, remove my socks, I'm..."

"Shit," Shinichi rasps, unable to even out his breathing. "Hold on." Still in a bit of a haze, he slowly releases his grip on Ran's breast, sliding down to join his other hand on her hips. Even in his high, he tries his best to hold her ever so gently. He tries his best, despite the wave of shame that has begun to wash over him.

"Sorry, I couldn't—"

Before Shinichi can finish, Ran turns her head to look at him, and Shinichi knows. The lines of sweat, the slow ragged breaths, the gentle stoke of fire in her eyes, all tell him that for Ran, everything burns, too.

They fall silent for a brief second, holding each other's gaze. Until Ran giggles first. 

It surprises him so because she’s giggling. She rolls the socks down one leg and Shinichi assists her in the other, thinking, if only he foresaw the positive feedback he'd get from this, he would’ve done this ages earlier.

“I think,” she begins, after she lets him clean her up with the dry portion of her discarded socks, the pair obviously going straight to the laundry. “That’s such a perverted thing to do.”

“Hey. Tha – !” Shinichi gives his retort a second thought, unable to control the red of his cheeks as he tucks himself inside his joggers. At least he accepts there is no use denying a fact.

“Don’t blame me,” he mutters, abashed, turning her around so she can see him pout. Maybe Shinichi will have to clean himself up too, later, alone, in the shower.

However, he notices that the fire in her eyes hasn’t disappeared.

“Whose fault is it then? Mine?” Ran asks, coy.

Fuck, not again.

Shinichi is supposedly mature enough to own up to his weakness, but until the end, even as he lays sprawled on the bedroom floor drowning in her kisses twice the intensity, even as he finds his hands roaming her backside to flip her so he comes on top, even as he lets her pull him free of his pants the second time that afternoon, the answer that leaves his smirking lips is, ‘definitely the universe’s.’

[outsidereveries]

Can you do skz current love reading? Thanks

stray kids, love life check! had to add content label, sorry

bang chan: the devil, the high priestess rx, 4 of wands rx

it's so obvious here. i see intimate relationships and in more detail. it's not at all appropriate to say what's going on right now since it's his personal life, but he would rather you know that his hormones are fine and he's got someone.. for those things.. to the point where she's crazy about him.. literally… i think that's enough.

lee know: queen of wands, ace of swords, 5 of swords

he's been single for a few months, things with his last girlfriend (this is just a guess) haven't been going well and he's decided to break up for good. the relationship wasn't toxic, it's just that over time the two of them started to drift apart and this is the best decision he could have made at the moment.. this also explains why i can't ask him about his ideal type :')

changbin: 5 of pentacles, 7 of swords rx, 3 of cups

he caught his ex cheating, and it's not like… well, it's not for here… if i say it, not only is it lewd, but they might delete my post… in short, it's a terrible situation.

hyunjin: death, 8 of pentacles, 4 of swords

he's just in love! they met during a work engagement, but he's more passive at the moment and doesn't know how to react and act because it happened out of nowhere.. and yeah. that's basically it

han: 3 of swords rx, 9 of pentacles, the moon

han is currently in a period of self-awareness. he is trying to figure out for himself what he wants in a person and how he should behave in front of them. it is difficult for him to learn from his own mistakes, because no one has taught him how to improve himself in one way or another. he is doing well at work, but personally he has no idea how to become a better person. he is trying and it is difficult for him, and no matter how much he knows that one day he will succeed, he is now wandering and does not know how to learn the conclusions that he needs to learn.

felix: the hermit, justice, the hierophant

felix just watches and observes. he doesn't care about anyone, he does his job and that's the situation. he seems to know that the person for him (probably a woman) will come alone, like cinderella came to her prince. the situation is similar.

seungmin: 3 of pentacles, 7 of wands, 6 of wands

he's trying to win someone over for his partner! that's cute, honestly. i can see him succeeding in that intention.

i.n.: 7 of pentacles, 9 of cups, page of wands

i can see him taking the next step in the relationship he's in right now, like moving in with his partner (regardless of gender) or buying a promise ring, something like that. the relationship he's in is serious and seems to have been going on for a while, maybe at least a year.

29.12.2024

note: sorry for the mature label... i tried to censor myself as much as posibble but nonetheless, i had to

[mejigay]

MEJIBRAY MiA is chewing on his ribcage bone

Keeping up with MEJIBRAY: The Series

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

Hello to my favorite bitches, long time no see! Ready for a classic mejigay gossip sesh?

If you were anything like me, you started a Tumblr blog about visual kei very young (I've posted about vk on this blog since I was 16) and now you're an adult. MEJIBRAY broke up around 6 years ago now I think right? I am now 24, have a masters degree and planning on moving to Japan in spring. Crazy how time flies right.

Let's refresh our minds a little bit okay? Now I'm assuming you remember everything from those 6-ish years ago. The MEJIBRAY label/contract issue with Tsuzuku and Koichi, Tsuzuku's borderline disorder, the refusal to do encores during the last tour, the charcoal face paint and the result of it all which was 8p-sb. If you want a recap on that specific semi-disbandment drama there's plenty of posts that I made about it while it was happening so feel free to check it out! (keep in mind I was like 18 and very dramatic writing those posts lol) There's also this great summary from a redditor in the comment section here

The same redditor even filled me in on stuff I felt out of the loop about in their reply to the OP. I know 8p-sb is gone and Koichi does Trembling Bambi solo stuff while Genki (Tsuzuku) is a vocal coach, is in the band 30 seconds certain victory, and revives VanessA occasionally. But this has also happened:

Yeah what the fuck Koichi? Now, I do remember starting that yakuza theory here on Tumblr back in the MEJIBRAY semi-disbanding days. I read it on tanuki and told y'all about it and got soooo much shit for it at the time lol. Looks like Koichi kind of confirmed the theory! (take that rude anons in my asks back then lmao). However, Koichi staying in the same industry he claims is rotten and run by the yakuza is definitely weird. Why talk all high and mighty while benefitting from it one may ask. Either way, for those wondering what Koichi is up to, there's your answer and an explanation to why he got backlash. About the VanessA stuff, one can conclude that our favorite duo, Genki and Koichi, doesn't seem to be that involved with each other anymore.

I would also like to take time to talk about Genki's well being, as some of you might know he has a youtube channel in Japanese. From my so-so Japanese skills I can still keep up with a lot of what he's saying. Good news, he's doing better now than the MEJIBRAY days from the looks of it. In this video he talked about how the photo from the MEJIBRAY days was him being unwell and the picture to the right is him feeling much better!

(TW for this paragraph: self harm) In another video he talked about various topics/gave advice such as about self harm/cutting and how it annoys him when people say he shouldn't hurt the body his parents gave to him. He thinks that's an incorrect way to tell someone to stop cutting and seems in general to be very open to talk about this topic while smiling and not getting angered. So he seemed very stable, mature and content to me.

What about Meto/Yutaro? Well, he seems to be a happy chef! As for MiA... I've seen him hang out with hosts like Roland and in general seems to live that bougie life. Roland is a top host who aims for the prince vibe just like MiA, and is open about his plastic surgeries just like MiA. Now let's get into a really recent topic about Mia!

Just like me, you might still follow our MEJIBRAY boys on various social medias. And just like me, you might have seen MiA's picture where he chews a bone. "Huh, weird" you might have thought as you scrolled past it. Well here I am, resurrecting this blog once again, just to tell you that the bone is MiA's fucking ribcage bone. I ain't posting that picture, find it yourself cause it's gross.

As MiA poses in the same costumes from his MEJIBRAY days and posts them on Instagram, you'd think his life and social media posts were a bit mundane. Then, a fucking picture of him chewing a thick ass bone pops up. The bone in question was taken out during a ribcage surgery, that MiA claims was done in order for him to create a custom guitar with his BONE INFUSED into it. Yeah I know. What???

In general you could either see it as him being a massive attention hungry person, or as unhinged and putting his life in danger. Bone surgeries are very harmful and anyone with two working eyes can see his shaved jawline bone already. So adding a removed ribcage bone to that... It's dangerous.

That's it for the gossip sesh! I'm thinking of making this "Keeping up with MEJIBRAY: The series" a thing whenever I think there needs to be a big gossip update like this.

To anyone still here in the MEJIBRAY Tumblr tags and to anyone following this blog, thanks for reading all of this and I hope we can laugh at this absurdity together! <3

xoxo mejigay

(feel free to read that sign off in the gossip girl voice lmao)

[galway-girlatwork]

Concert Charms.

Fandom: The Last of Us-AU-No outbreak-Young Joel. Meet Cute. Rock Concert.

Rating: Mature-There is angst. So much angst. And fluff.  

Central Characters: Joel, Sarah, Tommy, Ellie, Andrea AKA Andy (Original Female Character)

Central Relationship: Joel and Andy

Word Count: 3,037

AO3

Please do not copy my work. If you liked it, please re-blog and tag me. Please do not steal my mood board. I do not give permission to copy, translate, or post my work to any other platform.

Music inspiration: The One That Got Away by The Civil Wars. Don’t Stop Believing by Journey.

Written for @ justagalwhowrites Joel Miller Birthday Celebration.

SUMMARY:

What happens when you go to a rock concert? Confusion, angst at miscommunication, you begin to wonder if it’s worth getting involved with a stranger. But backyard BBQ’s leads to something more and who knows what can happen in twenty years.

Concert Charms.

Andy had always loved Journey, their music was the soundtrack of her youth, filled with dreams and possibilities. She’d been an 80’s kid, raised by parents who grew up in the 60’s so music had always been apart of her life in some way. Everything from The Doors to the heavy metal hair bands that dominated her childhood. So, when she heard, they were coming to town, it was a no brainer that she’d have to go, not caring that she was going alone.

The night of the concert found her jamming out in the parking lot, before she got out of her car, getting her even more hyped for the show. Once inside the venue, she browsed the merch table before buying three t-shirts, one for her, the other two for her parents. Making her way to her seat, beer in hand, she stood in the crowd, feeling the music pulse through her veins as the band started. She was lost in the moment, singing along to "Don't Stop Believin'," when she felt someone bump into her, cold beer spilling down her back. Turning around, to see a rugged man with dark hair, accompanied by a younger guy.

"Sorry about that!"

"No problem," Andy replied with a grin. "Great concert, huh?"

"The best," the older man agreed. "Name's Joel, and this here is my brother, Tommy."

"I'm Andrea, Andy for short," she said, shaking their hands. The three of them struck up a conversation, bonding over their shared love for the band and the thrill of the live performance. As the night went on, they found themselves laughing, singing, and dancing together.

By the time the concert ended, Andy felt like she'd known Joel and Tommy for years. They exchanged numbers, promised to keep in touch but on a whim, she asked if they wanted to find someplace to eat.

Tommy chimed in as he looked back and forth between the two of them, noticing that Joel hadn’t taken his eyes off of her. “Hell yea, know this diner bout twenty minutes from here. Know where Stars is off 35?”

“Yea I know that place. Great food and I’m bout starved to death. Meet you there?”

“Sure will.” Waving at her as she blended into the massive crowd exiting the arena. Smirking he glanced over at his older brother, trying to find her. “Pretty, ain’t she?”

“Don’t start Tommy. I don’t need the hang up from getting involved, sides’ I got Sarah.”

“Excuses bro, excuses.”

“Bet ya ten bucks she ain’t even there.” It was longer than twenty minutes before they pulled into the parking lot, traffic being backed up for miles outside the arena, not even knowing what kind of car she drove, he knew he was about to make easy money. However, when they walked in, he could see a riot mess of black curls, as she looked over the menu. Tommy chuckled as he held out his hand, looking for the ten. “Shut up.”

When she looked up, her smile set off a fire in his blood and a litany of images in his head. It took him a second to realize that Tommy had walked in front of him and was now sliding into the booth next to her. Asshole.

She didn’t mind that Tommy sat next to her, gave her a chance to stare at Joel. He was handsome, not cute like you would normally label someone. Maybe it was because he was older than some of the other guys she’d dated. Not by much, just two years but there was just something about him. It wasn’t until they were in the middle of eating that she found out he had a daughter, making it a point to be looking at her when he told her, her name, Sarah. It kind of felt like he was testing her, seeing how she’d react and that is when she shut down, turning her attention now to Tommy. Not because she thought of him in that way but because she didn’t like being put on the spot like that. People assuming, not giving her a chance. Once they had finished consuming about ten thousand calories, mostly made up french fries and milkshakes, she looked at her watch and groaned. “I gotta go. Work tomorrow.” Dropping twenty bucks on the table, Tommy let her slide out of the booth, giving him a wink and a smile. “Had a great time. Gimmie a call.” A quick look at Joel, smile faltering for a second. “Night Joel.”

Getting in the car, she locked the door, before pressing her head to the steering wheel for a minute or two before starting it and driving off. Why did men have to be such jerks?

It took Tommy less than twenty-four hours to call her, noticing she was out of breath when she answered. “Hey Andy, what’s goin on?”

“Oh, hey Tommy, just got home from work. What’s up with you?”

“Nothin much. Was wondering what you’re doing tomorrow? We’re havin a cook out at Joel’s, thought you might wanna join.”

“Uh yea sure. What time? Need me to bring anything?”

“Bout one. Can you bring potato salad and beer?”

“Sure. Um gimme the address.” Scribbling the address on a pad of paper near the phone, they talked for a few more minutes before hanging up.

“Tommy what the fuck are ya doin? Ya saw what happened at the diner. The minute I mentioned Sarah, it was like you could freeze ice in her lap.”  He noticed the way she changed when he had mentioned Sarah, like he was beneath her or not worthy of her attention. It burned a little but he had moved on, maybe.

“Well Jesus Joel, you shoulda seen the look on your face when ya said it, almost daring her to say something negative. And the way you said it? I woulda told you to fuck off. Look I like her, and not that way so stop lookin at me like ya wanna deck me. She’s cool, funny and pretty as hell. ‘Sides, I think she can put up with your stubborn ass. I’m gonna head to the store.”

She paused before she rang the doorbell, beer sitting at her feet, homemade potato salad in hand. Taking a deep breath, she didn’t think about how many times she’d changed before settling on the concert t-shirt she bought, jean cut off shorts with Converse high-tops. She wouldn’t think of how many times she’d touched her self, thinking of Joel. She would ignore that thought when she felt nipples harden against the fabric of the shirt. Fuck. But even before she could grow a spine and ring the bell, Tommy whipped open the door, the biggest grin on his face.

“Hey Andy. Come on in, here let me take the beer.” Oh, she was trouble and he knew Joel wouldn’t know what hit him. She was more than pretty and if he thought for one second, he had a chance, he’d take it but he’d seen the way they looked at each other. Like two idiots who had absolutely no clue what was about to happen to them.

“Hey Tommy,” she sighed, visibly more relaxed than if Joel had answered the door. Something told her Tommy would be her best friend. You know that guy friend you can call at two in the morning because you were too drunk to drive home. Stepping inside the small two story, she followed him into the kitchen, setting the potato salad on the counter. Just as Tommy handed her a beer, a little girl, no more than three or four came tearing through, screaming and laughing as Joel chased after her, stopping suddenly when he noticed her. “Hey Joel.” What the fuck was she doing here, noticing the look on his face, like he’d just stepped in something, and couldn’t wait to scrape off the bottom of his shoe. A small little hand tugged at the bottom of her shirt, giving her a small lil smile, squatting so she was eye level with her. “Hi. You’re Sarah right? Your dad told me all about you. I’m Andy.” She was handed the Barbie that was clutched in the other hand before she ran to Joel, watching as he scooped her up. Standing, she clutched the doll to her chest, giving a wink. “I’ll keep her safe til you’re ready to have her back.”

Tommy shook his head at the tension that was building in the kitchen, wondering if the windows would blow out when it was finally released. “Well, I’m gonna go start the grill, Joel grab the burgers and hot dogs from the fridge, will ya?”

“Yea I got it.”

A Conversed covered foot came up, scratching at the back of a knee as nervous fingers played with the fringe of a jean clad thigh, before she gave a small shake of her head, pushing away from the counter. “Guess I’ll go out back if that’s ok?”

“Yea I’ll be out in a sec.” As he watched her walk out to the backyard, fingers tightened on the handle of the fridge door, seeing the small sway of her hips, the way her shorts rode up just a little, baring her thighs. Clearing his throat, he grabbed a beer from the fridge, hearing Sarah yellin for him from the swing set, wanting to be pushed. This was going to be a really long afternoon.

Between the beer, food and Sarah wanting to play Barbies all afternoon, she was exhausted by the time Tommy called it a night. “Yea I think I’ll head out too.” But then she walked into the kitchen and saw the disaster the four of them had made and felt bad, not wanting to leave it all for Joel, who was upstairs getting Sarah ready for bed. “Tommy second thought, I think I’ll clean up the kitchen before I go. Call me tomorrow?”

“Sure, will beautiful.” A sly smile on his lips and a lazy wink given before he walked out the front door.

Rolling her eyes at him, she began throwing out all the trash, leaving it by the backdoor before she started on the dishes.

Finally asleep, he left Sarah’s room, the door open a crack, night light casting shadows on the pinkish purple walls, he smiled before going downstairs, hearing clink of dishes being set in the drying rack. Leaning against the wall, he again just watched her for a minute stepping up beside her. “You ain’t gotta do those. I can take care of them in the morning.”

“It’s no problem, almost done and then I’ll get out of your way.”

He could hear the tension in her voice, see the way she held her self, stiff, unyielding, like barbed wire wrapped around a brick wall. “You’re not in my way. So, Tommy…he’s taken a liken to ya.”

She almost dropped the glass she as holding between soapy hands when he mentioned Tommy, giggling a little before gaining composure. “Tommy’s a nice guy. I gotta feelin he’s gonna be a real good friend.” Silence fell between them as she finished, drying her hands on the dishtowel. “Well now all ya gotta do is take out the trash and you’re set.”

“Thanks Andy. Feels weird callin ya that. I like Andrea better.”

Eyes went wide as he used her full name, not the nick name she’d been settled with when she was five. “Um okay. Well guess I should head out. Tell Sarah I had fun today.”

Just as she reached to grab her purse from the counter, a hand came up, fingers wrapping around a bicep, spinning her round, pulling him against his chest. He heard the audible gasp come from between her lips before he kissed her. This was so outta character for him but it was something he’d wanted to do since the night of the concert. He just wanted to kiss her, for hours as he held her close. She looked so small and fragile, a contrast to the hard angles of himself. When she didn’t resist him, arms looping loosely around his neck, he picked her up and set her on the counter, feeling her wrap her legs around his waist, just as a hand cupped his cheek, thumb caressing the bone beneath. He ended it first, layin his forehead against her shoulder. “I’m sorry. Never should have done that.”

It was like someone had taken a pin to a balloon and instead of outright popping it, they made a small little nick, letting the air out slowly. She felt deflated and defeated. She didn’t believe in that whole bullshit of love at first sight but she did know she wanted him and he obviously wanted her so why, why would he say something like that. “I’m not sorry. Life’s too short to live with regrets Joel.” Pushing him away, she slid from the counter, grabbing purse and keys before walking out the door.

“Fuck.” He ran out the door after her, calling her name a couple of times before she stopped. “Andrea wait a god damn minute.”

“What? What? What do you want Joel? I thought we hit off and then you turn cold and now you kiss me fucking senseless and then say you’re sorry so what? I am not a game or a shiny toy you take for a spin around the block before you start regretting it.” Yea there was the temper that got her in trouble more times than she cared to count, including some suspensions from school and a slew of ex’s but truth be told, those bastards had it comin.

She was fire and brimstone, which shocked him but also excited him. She was one of those women and he wanted her. One that would fight, protect, heal, love until the end of days. “Can you just be quiet for one second. We did hit it off but when I told you about Sarah, you began acting like it was an issue…”

“Because of the way you said it and the way you were looking at me, like daring me to say something. It doesn’t matter if you have a daughter because she is apart of you and I would never ask any parent to choose anyone over their child. It’s wrong, on so many levels…” She couldn’t get another word out before his lips were on hers again. All thought of how confusing he was, went out of her head as fingers curled into the t-shirt he was wearing, legs widening just enough for him to settle between them.

He held onto her, arms around her waist, holding her to him, like he was drowning and she was the only thing holding him to shore. He didn’t know how long they stood in the driveway, kissing each other like it would be the last time. Finally letting her go, he could feel her clinging to him and while most would have pushed away, he only held her tighter. “Stay, just a lil while longer? We can talk, watch a movie.”

“I’d like that.” Little did they know, that night would change life forever.

Twenty years later, they sat in the backyard of their home. The warm summer evening, had a breeze which was shocking considering the humidity Texas could produce, the cicadas singing their own little concert, couldn’t drown out the girls, laughing and running through the house.   

Stepping out onto the porch, handing Andrea a beer, he sat down next to her, taking her hand, fingers absently playing with her wedding ring. "Happy anniversary, darlin," he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

"Happy anniversary," Andrea replied, smiling up at him. "Can you believe it's been twenty years since we met at that concert?"

Chuckling, giving a small shake of his head. "No. Feels like yesterday. Man, you had a temper but look at us now, two beautiful daughters and a life I wouldn't trade for anything." Ellie was a surprise they weren’t expecting. They’d tried to get pregnant for years after they got married but all the doctors told em it wouldn’t be possible. So they decided to adopt and got Ellie, who could be a hellion in her own right but with Sarah, it was a wonder the house was still standing.

Leaning her head against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body seeping into her skin, she sighed. "We've come a long way, haven't we? And I had a temper because you were actin like an ass. Admitted it as much the night of that cook out, so you can’t completely blame me.

“Sure can, but I wouldn’t trade this and I'm grateful for every moment of it."

Sarah and Ellie ran out onto the porch, each holding a small box. "Happy anniversary, Mom and Dad!" Sarah exclaimed, handing her box to Andrea.

Ellie did the same, grinning widely, handing her box to Joel. "We made these for you."

Glancing at each other before they opened the boxes finding homemade bracelets, each adorned with small charms that represented different moments from their life together. “Now I know why we had to go to Micheal’s twenty times this week. I love it. Thank you girls. They’re beautiful.”

Ellie sat in Andy’s lap, lookin over at Joel as shoved her bangs out of her face. “Dad, we know you can’t wear yours at work but figured you could leave it in the cup holder.”

Joel nodded, clearly touched clearing his throat before he spoke. "You two are the best."

In that moment, Andrea knew that their journey was far from over. With Joel, Sarah, Ellie, by her side, she was ready to face whatever the future held. She knew that no matter what, they would always have each other and the music that had brought them together all those years ago. What could she say, she was a music whore and her husband loved it.

After the girls were in bed and the house was locked up for the night, she hopped up on the kitchen counter, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt, lips brushing against his. "Love you."

[ryuichirou]

Replies

Not a lot of replies today… kind of a lazy day

tardigrade-misfit asked:

I guess that last RookVil post was a little too NSFW for tumblr to handle because they “hid it from public view” 😅

Let’s be honest, what could be more NSFW than two fully clothed characters posted with a Mature label. Should’ve posted real people porn w/o any warnings or labels so it stays here forever.

Whatever 🤷‍♂️ I’m glad those who got to see the drawing enjoyed it, esp people who voted for them in the first place. Having ~100 notes on my art on tumblr doesn’t really mean much to us as well.

thestarlightfae asked:

He's honestly less pink than I expected

(probably referring to Lilia in this comic)

Yeah, my first instinct was to colour him neon pink, but he is Crimson after all, so I figured this was his main colour… meaning, he just coloured his entire character red when he was designing him lol And also gave him a big-ass armor and made him buff. And then when he had to come up with the name for him, he just looked at them and went “Muscle Crimson”. Or maybe he came up with the name first (wanted something that sounds cool + his favourite colour) and designed the character afterwards?

Anyways, I myself am really bad at designing stuff… and the fact that I don’t play these kinds of games doesn’t help my case at all lol So they’re kind of lame and basic looking. Maybe if I draw Idia’s and Lilia’s online characters again I’ll think about it more and come up with something better… Although I wish they’d have canon designs, those would be better than mine anyway.

But since that comic was just a silly little joke, I think it works.

Sorry, you just commented on his colour, and I got carried away.

Anonymous asked:

How would normal Ace and Jack act with female Deuce?

The same for the most part, I think. Well.

Jack is more inclined to follow social norms and stuff, so he’d start considering Deuce as a potential partner sooner than with his original boy self, and considering how family-oriented Jack is, that would lead to a pretty traditional scenario I don’t really want to think about 😔 What I’ll say though is that he would recognise Deuce to be very good at running and he’ll be very excited to be around a girl who can run as fast as he does.

A bitch in me wants to say that Ace wouldn’t be into fem!Deuce because he isn’t into girls lol But let’s imagine that he is to leave every possibility open. He’d probably still act like they’re just buddies for a long time, maybe even joke about how he’d never catch feelings for Deuce because she doesn’t even feel like a girl to him (because Deuce gets mad when she hears that and it’s funny), but then it’ll become obvious that he is in fact into her… and then it becomes another scenario that don’t really want to think about.

Sorry, Anon. A lot of het dynamics really don’t work for me, not my cup of tea.

Anonymous asked:

I’m not sorry for sharing this: https://youtu.be/4tvYltsOySU?si=FyRF-XEqgeqeKN4y

And you shouldn’t be sorry.

In fact, I should be the one thanking you.

Thank you, Anon…

[tvchi]

Echoes of Intrigue: Prt 2

Villan

Lola

Melpomene mask

Disclaimers: DO NOT COPY OR REPOST MY WORK.

DO NOT TRAIN AI WITH MY WORK.

Warnings: Mature Audiences ONLY: SMUT, 18+, Minors DNI- Kidnapping, Bondage, Sensory deprivation, Fingering (F), Spanking, Gagging, Anal probing, Use of sex toys, Profanity.

Pairing: black male x black female

Word Count: 5706

A/N: So I'm fairly new to writing fan fiction and new to writing short stories. I began writing poetry and spoken word, then tried my hand at prose. I've been reading a lot of @megamindsecretlair 's stories as well as @thecapodomme 's story and I thought I'd try my hand. I have posted another short story that wasn't really fan fiction on my page before called The Challenge. I didnt cast it or anything this elaborate, but yea. I'm trying to get better at writing more stories and prompts really help. Casting my stories after writing them actually helps to keep me motivated so I thought this was a good marriage of the two forms. This story currently consists of two parts, this is the second. If this part gets positive feedback, then I'll force myself to develop the story even further and write the third and fourth part. Your feedback is greatly appreciated because I'm really trying to get better. So Like, Comment, and Reblog if the spirit moves you. ❤️❤️🥰

Tags: @thecapodomme @writers-of-tmblr @melaninpov @spaceslutsworld @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @mymusicbias @the-black-label @master-builder42 @miraculously-dumb-bitch @megamindsecretlair @hopefulromantic1 @tranquilfandomer @thadelightfulone @vivalaorgasm

PART 2

My body stiffens as I listen to her last words. Then I head back out of the room and into the surveillance office I set up. I peer at her through the computer screen as I sit on the leather swivel chair. I had always thought that this part would be easy. 

Following her after work and memorizing her routine had been tough. She was not the easiest to monitor as she often switched her routine and routes home. Waiting for the perfect time to take her was difficult because she always had people around her. This was not the first time this happened to her. That had been the thrilling part in the beginning. One day, I was tailing her from her favorite hangout spot with her girlfriends on Thursday nights. She looked breathtaking. Her doe eyes had the perfect golden-brown hue with inner corners that tipped downward, starting a trail to her perfect button nose. Her full lips were naturally outlined in a warm brown hue. Her skin was radiant and glowing as the sunset. Her hair was full and bouncy, riding just past her shoulders. Her body. Her body was the thing men go to war or jail over. I’ve seen pictures and video clips of her before. They were always after she was caught and released. She would look disheveled, tired, and angry, then sad. She never looked the way I saw her that day. 

When I originally signed up for this, it was the adrenaline rush of possibly getting caught by the police that got me. They were familiar with her and her case. Who doesn’t love the possibility of real danger? Forbidden fruit? The thrill, the race, the fear in someone’s eyes, hurried breaths, the racing of heartbeats. But the feeling I feel today is entirely different, and I am unsure where to place it. It’s not remorse, it’s not trepidation, no. It was more like… sympathy?  Rage? Disgust? Again, I wasn’t sure. Today, she is deflated. She has given up fighting and as she bleeds out for hours on end every day, getting weaker and weaker, she seems resigned to die. She jokes, but she acts like this may be her last time talking to someone. They assured me that she would be a fighter. But the more and more I discovered about the people who set this all up, the more doubts I had. The more I started delaying the process. The more I found myself feeling something for her.  My thoughts were interrupted by the phone buzzing in my pocket. If I didn’t call my girlfriend’s phone around the usual times, things would look suspicious and the key to this is to maintain routine. I scroll to her number on the screen and tap. It rings five times before going to voicemail. I wait a couple of minutes, then try her again. The same thing, it rings and then goes to voicemail. Just when I am about to try her for a third time, I get another call from a blocked number. I answer on the third ring.

“Hello,” I answer.

“Have you secured the asset yet?” a voice says.

“Yes, but we have a problem. She’s on her menstrual cycle and appears very weak. This isn’t what I paid for,” I reply.

“You paid for an experience. Each man pays for the hunt of an asset, secured lodging, and the option to hold the asset for four weeks barring any injuries or emergencies. As the asset is currently in your possession, our part of the contract has been fulfilled,” the voice retorts. 

“Yes, but I’m stuck taking care of her period instead of all the things that I had planned. That should be an emergency,” I say, trying not to raise my voice.

“If you are unsatisfied with your experience, you could release the asset and leave a complaint for management,” the voice says dryly. 

“Thank you,” I manage as I hang up the phone.

I walk into the back of a soon-to-be corner office of this construction site. I needed to pace and move. Something about this situation does not feel right and I need an exit strategy. They are watching me. That much I knew. I couldn’t help but think about how I wound up in this space. Therapy did not help and it wasn’t for lack of trying. I had bulldozed through thirty-five therapists varying in specialties from addiction to oppositional defiant disorder to all eight of the paraphilic disorders. All the exercises and techniques worked for a while until they stopped working. They finally decided that they had misdiagnosed me and I was addicted to thrill-seeking stemming from childhood trauma blah blah blah. I didn’t fear death but I knew I also didn’t care deeply for living. I was curious to see how others lived. I wanted to behave like other ordinary people navigated the world, but I had this constant itch. An itch to push the boundaries of the civilized societies, the limitations of my body, the expectations of what I think I’m capable of. I wanted to be fully present for all of it, which was the reason I never fully dove into drugs. It just seemed like after a while the drugs fed off of you rather than the other way around. So, I delved into sex, self-harm, weapons, crime, and all the cliche things daredevils try in their 20s and early 30s until they are expected to settle down and have a family. Even when I was in the throes of the women, the guns and knives, or even drag racing and boosting cars, none of that was ever enough. I needed more. I craved more. 

I received a black envelope at the end of last year at work. It was placed on my desk, and my name was typed in white ink on the front. On the back was a crest in white wax. It wasn’t a crest I’d never seen before. I even got one of my tech friends to scour the internet to see what entity the crest belonged to, but their search came up empty. It took me a few days to open the envelope. When I finally did, there was an invitation typed on parchment. I didn’t know that you could type on parchment. The two worlds didn’t belong together yet; they were mashed together to deliver a message I wasn’t sure I wanted to receive. 

“Dear Prospect, we would like to cordially invite you to our black-tie informational session on December 20th at 7:37 pm. We have been watching you and have it on good authority that you would be interested in our services. Given your record, we ensure we can curate the ultimate experience for your thrill-seeking pleasure. The address to the information session is noted down below. We look forward to meeting and partnering with you in this new endeavor. 

                                                Sincerely, TRG.”

I glanced at the address below, about four blocks from my office. I didn’t know who TRG was or were but I was curious. Usually, when people offer a thrilling experience, it is usually something I’ve already done years ago that regular people would usually piss themselves over. It took a lot to move me. Even the sex I was having with my casual friend was getting stale. It was taking me longer and longer to get off in the orgies I attended every other weekend. Lately, I’ve just been making a game out of how quickly I could make someone cum rather than getting pleased. Masochism was cool but I no longer came as hard as I used to. My usual drag spot had been crawling with cops, so I haven’t been in any races for weeks. While my hopes weren’t exceptionally high for this event, I was hoping that it would relieve some of the tension I was feeling before I had to hurt myself again. The words “We’ve been watching you” replayed in my mind on a loop. Why? How? What did they want from me to be watching me? Questions riddled my mind. I guess I’d get those when I went to the party. 

At eight pm a couple of days later, I had been almost entirely dressed in hopes of finding my new outlet. I saw and donned my favorite cufflinks, went to the island inside the walk-in closet where my fragrances were housed, and splashed myself with my signature scent. After one last glance in the mirror, I had to admit, I looked good. I had always known I did pretty well for myself in the looks department but I outdid myself with this custom jacquard suit. I reminded myself to thank my old man for teaching me how to pick and wear the hell out of a suit when I got the chance. I guess all those high society functions paid off every once in a while. I made my way over to the garage of the building and hopped on my motorcycle. Revving the engine to life, I took off and headed to the address I scoped out the day before. 

Once at the destination, I handed my keys to the valet, hoping one of them knew how to ride, they gave me a ticket, and I handed the greeter my invitation. She scanned it and passed me over to the l’ hôtesse who then handed me a mask and escorted me to my table. From what I could tell, there was a mix of men and women at my table. On the place cards were professions instead of names. I guess discretion was highly regarded at this organization. I tried to see if there were recognizable features on anyone I brushed past, but I didn’t think I knew anyone here. Suddenly, the room got dark, and three spotlights illuminated the stage. A man ascended from the stage floor and looked around before approaching the transparent podium. His mask was more elaborate than the rest of ours. It concealed the entire top half of his face and was beaded into an elaborate tribal symbol. He stood silently for a few seconds before he addressed us. 

“Good evening. I am very excited to see all of you tonight. You all look very elegant,'' a scrambled voice said. 

These people did not want to be known. To go as far as to conceal their voice suggested that maybe I was in for a treat after all. Maybe I will finally get the trill I’ve been searching for. 

“You all have long awaited this night and I’m sure you all have many questions. Let me start by saying that I am Grandmaster William St Clair of the Lodge Order of Scotts. In the order, we have a long history dating back to the seventeen hundreds and have been involved in regulating world order. We are a very clandestine organization and usually do not make ourselves known. However, as times change, so do our approaches to the free world and its market. All of you are the first to witness a Grandmaster make a public speech outside of order gatherings. Each of you has a unique piece to play in our newest venture. Before I reveal what you have so many questions about, I need you to turn over your placeholders and follow the simple instructions,” he stated.

I turned my placeholder over and a QR code was stamped just beyond the middle fold. I looked up and saw everyone around the table scanning their codes, so I followed suit. When I scanned my code, a website popped up with my name, age, and home address. They had indeed been watching me. Below my address was a silver ‘Enter’ button that was pulsating. I clicked it. There was a list of six questions. I looked around again and it seemed the entire room was immersed in what they were doing. They are probably trying to figure out what combination of answers would get them to the next step. The Grandmaster had long vacated the stage. Instead, I saw what appeared to be a woman wearing an onyx Melpomene mask, a body-hugging black gown with a long black cape draping her shoulders, and she held a scepter in her left hand.  She scanned the room with scrutinizing eyes. Her gaze finally landed on me. We stared at each other for a moment. I broke my gaze, retreating to my phone, and attempted to answer some questions. 

“Question #1: Do you think that the police force is here to protect and serve, or do you think they are here for another purpose entirely?” I wasn’t sure what to make of this question, so I skipped to the second one.

“Question #2: How would you deal with an intruder? A: Call the police. B: Attempt to subdue them on your own. C: Get to the highest point of your house, watch them take what they want, and leave. D: Escape and get to safety.” This one was a bit easier so I marked my answer. 

“Question #3: If you were caught in an object at sea and you knew you were going to drown, would you die fighting to get free, or would you allow the water to consume you?” I looked around once more. No one had put their phone down yet to ask what was the meaning of all this or if they were planning to kill us. I looked up at the stage and the Melpomene mask was gone.

The fourth question read, “When in bondage, whether it be physical or mental attempts to limit the ability to focus, how do you center your thinking? Only answer using a maximum of seven words.” 

The last two questions were like the abstract reasoning questions you tend to see when people are trying to test your aptitude. I started looking at the first question from the beginning again and scanned the second and third. By the time I got back down to the fourth question, I had decided that I was a grown man who graduated higher education almost five years ago, and if I wanted to be tested, I would rather have a conversation with our elderly receptionist, who is growing more senile by the day. I switched off my phone and headed for the door. I handed my ticket to the valet and tossed my mask. While waiting, I noticed a tall, slender figure appear to my right. She leaned against the outer wall of the building as she lit her cigarette. She took a long draw, inhaled, and a stream of smoke parted the dark air. She flipped her long dark hair to her left side. Hearing an engine pulling up, I broke my gaze and turned to the direction of the sound, hoping it was my bike. 

“Leaving so soon,” I heard. 

“This isn’t my scene, but it was entertaining,” I replied.

“Well, that’s odd. I thought everyone here loved a good thrill,” she said.

“Thrills, yes. Multiple choice tests, however, are not my idea of fun,” I said.

“So…what is your idea of fun,” she said as she approached me. 

The valet handed me my keys and I walked to my bike. 

“Hop on and I'll show you,” I grinned. 

She flashed a mischievous smile and said, “If I wanted a quick fuck, there’s a bathroom ten paces to the left of the entrance. I am more interested in why you left and what it would’ve taken to make you stay.”

Curiosity had my feet trapped in the spot it occupied. Why was she so interested in me staying at this party? What was her angle? Did she work for those weirdos? After a while, I offered my last thoughts before going home. 

“Listen, I’m not sure if you work for them, but offering people an exhilarating experience shouldn’t be so complicated. You either have the goods or you don’t. Eventually, everything you’ve planned there gets stale anyway. I’ve tried everything and I doubt whatever they’re offering warrants me sitting through an aptitude test,” I offered as I stepped one foot over my bike and settled. 

“How about I make you a deal? If I show you what’s under my skirt, you have to promise to take it for a test drive,” she offered. If you want to see, follow me.” She walked around to the driver’s side of the vehicle, which, I only then noticed, was parked directly behind me. She hopped in and drove off. 

“Fuck it,” I thought and I sped off behind her. 

We had been on the roads for a while. We finally arrived at a lofty gate in the middle of the woods. Once inside the gates, we drove to the base of a small summit and began heading up the windy roads. We drove into a hidden garage in the middle of the rock, cut the engines off, walked to a matte black elevator door, and punched in a code. Without saying a word, she stepped into the elevator. I trailed behind her. The grandeur of high ceilings immediately captivated me, enhancing the sense of space and airiness. Every corner whispered understated splendor, with matte black fixtures lending an air of mystery and intrigue. The walls, painted in rich, deep hues, provided a dramatic backdrop for the magical view hidden on the steep mountain's other side. Dark hardwood floors stretch beneath your feet, adding warmth and depth to the space. We walked past the living area, which housed plush velvet sofas in shades of charcoal and midnight black that invited you to sink into them. A sleek, minimalist coffee table rested at the center, its polished surface reflecting the soft glow of flickering candlelight. Against one wall stood a towering bookcase, its shelves lined with leather-bound tomes and antique curiosities. Gothic-inspired sculptures and art pieces commanded attention, their intricate details captivating the eye. A vintage gramophone sat nestled among the display, casting a nostalgic aura over the room. 

We stepped into a long corridor that led to several rooms. We stopped at the fourth room with a large matte black door. It was the only door painted matte black of all the doors along the corridor. She entered a code, the doorknob inverted, and the door shifted upwards, revealing deep crimson curtains hanging from the windows at the other end of the room. Moonlight filtered in,  giving a soft, moody glow. Velvet upholstery in shades of ebony and sapphire draped the furniture. A meticulously crafted desk stood dominating the space in one corner of the room. Its dark wood surface was adorned with antique inkwells and quills, adding a touch of old-world charm. A high-backed leather chair stood behind it and above the desk, an elaborate computer system commanding attention. The sleek monitors were framed by intricately carved Gothic arches, seamlessly blending modern technology with timeless designs. The keyboard and mouse were accented with metallic finishes. A built-in bookcase centered itself on the back wall. Its shelves were filled with leather-bound volumes and antique artifacts. Soft lighting illuminated the collection. She sank into the chair and started clicking away on the keys. I stood around admiring the vastness of the room. 

“Take a look at what’s under my skirt,” she said with a sultry smile.

It was the first time she had spoken since we got here. I walked around the desk and took a look at the screen. At first, I didn’t understand what I was watching. After a few seconds, I saw a man tying a woman up. She seemed to be yelling for help. Pleas that should've been audible to the surrounding neighbors. He threw her over his shoulder and started walking into a warehouse, but not before standing completely within my sight, smiling and winking into the camera. Was this real? Did he know we were watching? 

“What is this a movie or something?” I asked.

“Oh, quite the opposite. This is a live conquest,” she replied.

“Conquest?” I replied, confused.

“If you stuck around a little longer and completed the quiz, you would’ve been brought back to a secluded room in the building,” she said as she started unzipping her gown, “...it would’ve been explained to you that thrill seekers desire two things. Fear and rush. The real fear of getting caught and the rush you get when you get your hands on the forbidden. It is very simple. If you’re in, you get the opportunity to play an adult version of catch and release. You may even taste your catch if he or she agrees,” she finished.

“What? You mean these are real kidnappings orchestrated by you? Bullshit! How do you get past the cops? How do you get the girls to agree?” I questioned in disbelief.

“It’s quite simple. We own and operate many pleasure and tea houses in the district. Everyone gets a survey of the type of play they are into. We pool those results and filter those with the type of fantasy that aligns with yours. Being kidnapped seems to be very popular these days. Then we categorize those who want to hunt and those who want to be hunted. We gather further intel on the people in each group and give each pair a window of time to conduct their play. Everyone takes a course on ropes, zip ties, chains, belts, how to approach and apprehend your prey, what to avoid, etc. We also have an optional course on accessory devices to assist with capture. Once your time window is up, the “hunted” must be released. No names are exchanged and the face of the hunter is not revealed,” she finished, now in a satin dress that stopped in the middle of her sculpted thighs. 

“It can’t be that simple. So, you mean within a certain window of time, someone can be taken like a real kidnapping and then after they’re released, they don’t go to the cops? How would they know the difference between a real threat and this … arrangement?” I asked, my mind flooded with additional questions that my mouth was trying to keep up with.

“Yes,” she laughed, “it sounds like you are interested.”

“If you can assure me that I would walk out of this with a kidnapping charge, then I’ll be down for a good time,” I blurted. 

Should I have demanded that the rest of my questions be answered? Yes. Should I have asked even more questions? Yes. But, was this the most enticing game of manhunt I had ever encountered? Also, yes. 

“I’ll put you on the list then,” she said with a satisfied smug look. “Oh, but first, you must show me how well you can apprehend your target. She walked over and tapped what was a hidden drawer within the wall. I walked over to the drawer and an assortment of ropes, chains, ties, belts, and toys lay inside. 

“You’re serious? Right now?” I asked.

“Well, you missed the chance to perform a demonstration on the dummies we had at the back of the party. So, this will have to do. That is unless…... You don’t have anything to show me,” she said slowly as her eyes pierced into mine daringly. 

“Oh, I have a couple of things I can show you,” I boasted as I chose my materials. 

I took the ball gag out of the drawer. The undertone of doubt was laced in every sentence when she spoke to me. I didn’t like that, so now, she doesn’t get to talk. There were better uses for saliva. Far better uses for her soft lips. With the rest of my tools in one hand, I took her hand and led her back to the desk. I knocked all the desktops, monitors, laptops, and tablets off the table. 

“Lie down,” I commanded. 

She laid down with her back on the table, hands at her side and feet slightly spread. I blindfolded and gagged her. I didn’t mind her eyes, their soft almond shape, and the onyx of her irises. But they held such scrutiny and challenge. Almost like she was daring you to step out of line. I didn’t like too much defiance when I played, so they had to go. I went to the seat where I had dumped the ropes. I grabbed them and tied her hands to each leg of the desk with a figure-eight knot.

“Try to get yourself loose if you think you can. I’m very interested in what you think of my Boy Scout skills,” I teased.

She wiggled and pulled at the ropes on both ends until she was satisfied. She stopped when she discovered she couldn’t be freed until I let her loose. I walked back over to the hidden drawer and tapped it. There were other tools that would aid me in my demonstration, so I chose a couple more. I was going to test her reserve. I approached the table again, lowering myself to her left ear.

  “There are a couple of things that are going to happen here. The first was going to be me relieving you of your panties, but I can tell you are wearing any. I love a woman who’s prepared. Since you handled that, the first will now be the ground rules. You are not allowed to cum until I tell you to. The second is that there are consequences for disobedience. They get more severe the more you fail to follow directions. For your safety, I’ll give you this double-sided magnet. When you are ready to tap out, tap the magnet on the table. I’ll stop. If you understand, nod your head,” I instructed. 

She nodded slowly. 

“Good,” I replied. Third, even though you were meant to test me, this is still your experience, and I have to ask you a couple of questions. Can I touch you?” I started.

She nodded.

“Can I lick you?”

She nodded.

“Can I bite you?”

She nodded. 

“Good,” I whispered. 

I took the Velcro wrap and one of the vibrators I found in the draw and turned it on. I lifted her dress, exposing her mound, which revealed the finest landing strip I’ve seen thus far. I traced it with my free hand and circled her clit with my middle finger. I slid my fingers slowly down her flower and she moaned as her body shuttered. I secured the Velcro strap to her left inner thigh, attaching the vibrator to the strap and placing it right on her center.

“Mmmmm!” she moaned loudly. I guessed she liked that.

“Remember, you’re not allowed to cum until I tell you to, or else,” I reminded her, watching her squirm in place.

“mmMMMM” she moaned as she tossed her head from one side to the next.

I grabbed a pair of headphones and inserted them into my cell phone. I placed them in her ears and began to play “Pro” by Devon Culture. I always started with “Pro” as a source of encouragement. No one wants to play a game they know they can’t win. At least, no one that’s sane. I walked to her right side, bent down, and began to lick and kiss her neck. I retrieved the nipple clamps I placed in my left back pocket after my first trip to the drawer. I moved further south, leaving a trail of kisses from her neck down to her chest. I popped her right breast in my mouth, making sure to apply just enough pressure to her nipple with my teeth then soothing it with soft laps of my tongue. Her loud moans interrupted my focus as I heard the faint sounds of “The Mood” by Arin Ray ft D Smoke. I placed the first nipple clamp on the right breast as I turned my attention to her left side, my strong side. As gave her left breast the attention it needed, I increased the intensity of the vibrator.

“MMmMMMMM!!!” she yelped as she wriggled furiously. 

I looked at her and smirked knowingly. She was coming undone. She disobeyed my orders, and I knew I would enjoy what would happen next. I placed the left nipple clamp on and walked around to the other end of the table. I lifted her leg, bending it at the knees. She had indeed started to cream over the vibrator. I returned to the drawer and grabbed the paddle I had seen earlier. Walking back over to my prey, I removed the right headphone.

“I told you there would be consequences if you disobeyed me, didn’t I? I expected you to hold on a little longer since this was a test you requested. I must say, I’m a tad disappointed,” I started.

“Mmmmmmm,” she moaned in what I assumed was a protest. 

I headed over back to where her legs were wriggling and I lifted them over my right shoulder as I proceeded to spank her with the paddle in my left hand. 

“Five lashes for the first offense,” I said, and then I gave her the remaining three.

 They were slow, swift, yet hard. Her breathing paused, then quickened in anticipation of the next one. When she received her five, I gently placed her legs back on the table. I walked over to the desk chair where I had placed the internal vibrator. 

“OK, we are going to try this again. You can’t cum until I tell you to. Is that understood?” I asked.

She nodded vigorously. 

“I’m glad. Do you remember what to do if you want me to stop?” I asked.

I heard a loud tap of the magnet on the table. 

“Very good,” I said.

I reached over to replace the dislodged headphone in the corresponding ear. Upon hearing “W.E.T.” by Paloma Ford, I decided it was time to up the ante. I repositioned the now-soaked vibrator where it had been before, but only this time, I spread her swollen lips apart with my fingers and massaged her kitten until I felt her dew. I entered her slowly with my fingers one by one until three of them were exploring her depths. I took the internal vibrator with my free hand and inserted it into her. I licked my fingers clean and began to turn vibrator number two to the first setting. She would most certainly let me in after I was done with her. 

After setting number two had been pressed, I watched her squirm. A second ago she was the most confident, intimidating person someone could come across. Now she would probably do anything I say. I couldn’t help but wonder how high I could tell her to jump. I went from setting two to number three. An audible buzz was coming from in between her legs. She started bucking and fighting her restraints.

“MMMMMMMMM,” she shrilled. 

I smirked wider. She’s mine. I walked over to her right ear again. Dislodging the headphone in that ear I said, “Not yet,” as she moaned uncontrollably. I could now hear “Disgusting” by Sy Ari Da Kid playing. I watched as her stomach contracted, and then I whispered, “Now” as I turned vibrator one to the highest setting and vibrator number two to the fourth setting. I lubed up a silicone anal probe in just enough time to catch her orgasm and make her scream.

The sound she made could break all the glasses in the room. She came. Hard. And I had a front-row seat to the most incredible show. I slowly removed the vibrators one by one, her pussy still humming and pulsating. I walked over and removed both headphones, then I untied her hands. I left her blindfold on while I cleaned her up.

“Mmmmmm”, she cried. 

I removed her gag, and, finally, her blindfold. 

“Am I in?” I asked.

“Fuck me!” she said.

“I’ll take that as a ‘Yes’,” I chuckled. 

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

My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of construction boots walking in from the other end of the floor. I scan the monitors and notice that it is now 5:30 am. The next security shift is coming in, and I have lost track of time. I haven’t given her a sedative or gagged her and we need to move. I turned off all of the monitors and changed my shoes. I replaced my face mask with a black surgical one, gathered all the cell phones on the table, and walked swiftly to the other side of the floor and down the stairs. I’m losing my shit over this girl. Weeks of planning could go down the drain instantly, but I would be a liar if I said I didn’t feel alive. The blood pumping and my heart beating through my chest had not been what I used to lose sleep chasing after. That was until I found…I couldn't think about this now. I have to get her out undetected before someone does a perimeter check. I ran to her. I used my box cutter in my pocket to cut the zip ties on her wrists.

“What is happening? Where are you taking me?” she asked frantically.

“Hey, I found something to free your hands with. It’s not the sharpest but it may help,” I heard from behind me.

“Fuck!” I thought.

P/C: If you would like to be tagged in any of my stories, please feel free to let me know in the comments and I'll be happy to add you. I hoped y'all enjoyed this installment. If you haven’t, check out Part 1 below.

Part 1

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

Still beating

What - dealing with grief as the dust finally starts to settle. Dealing with grief regarding one specific character's death in particular. You know the one.

Genre - heavier, but we get devoted husband/father Daryl out of the mix. And we don't end the chapter on a bummer, never fear. This ain't a French movie, slowpokes

Relationships - wife Reader and husband Daryl as well as your baby. Familial affection with Rick, and that balance between friend and clergy for Father Gabriel.

Perspective - 3rd POV Daryl, and 2nd POV You

Pronouns - she/her

When - time jump! we've briefly hopped to post season 8, pre season 9 (but before The best kind of damn weird). This chapter takes place during the earlier phases of recovery and rebuilding after the war. The previous chapter, Scary as a sleepy kitten, took place during season 2.

TWs - grief, PTSD (including after SA), depression, self-loathing, and some cussing. This chapter is also kinda lengthy, friends, and had to have exposition. (Might should've sliced the chapter in half, but then we'd have another two-parter on our hands :P)

But how long though? - ...20 minutes or so?

Story references and Masterlist link? - under the cut

And is there a pic at the end as a prize for finishing? - yes :D

Have fun and happy reading!

References to other chapters - what we learned in The Interview. There is also grieving/anger as seen in The first Christmas 'without' Part 2 and its conclusion in I don't hate you, a happy reference to Happy 8th of July!, reference to those lovely tugging strings as found in Invisible Tugging Strings, Part 1 and Part 2 (Part 2 I reckon is still glitched and showing as labeled mature, the poor thing's been cleared about 7ish times via help ticket XD ).

There are a lot more details you might recognize, pop on by to the Official Masterlist here, or for those who prefer linear over non-linear, the Chronological Slowpoke Masterlist here

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

Still beating

She was doing real bad. The past few days had been especially bad. Grief has nasty ways of settling in and rearing its ugly head.

He didn’t know too much about what to do to help her, he’d never been good at that stuff. And there was no fixing all that happened, especially not when the last thing that happened was the worst thing that could’ve.

Just like if TJ or Judith died, it was the worst thing. And part of his wife died right alongside Carl.

Hell, she’d been the one to wait after Carl died, then turned, to pull the trigger.

Now, she felt dead, too.

Gabe had to suggest that she check her pulse when it got bad enough.

Just at that moment, as Daryl was worrying and worrying, TJ started to wriggle and hum in an attempt to root at Daryl's bicep, which pulled him out of his own head for a second.

Gently, he began to bounce to try and keep his baby lulled. He knows Y/N wanted to breastfeed only to get her production up (and so TJ’s suckle could get stronger after the surgery), but Y/N was finally asleep.

Beginning with when Denise was killed, Y/N hadn’t been making as much as she first had. Then, the Saviors stopped the RV and surrounded them, and Negan did what he did. Then Daryl himself got taken away, then there was all the fighting.

And then Carl died.

Getting her milk to come back had been proving damned hard.

A handful of not-very-good times, they’d supplemented what milk she did make with watered-down formula and/or watered-down goat's milk.

One very bad time, they’d used sugar water to fill the babies’ bellies until Jesus got back with goat's milk. Just the one time they had to use sugar water, everybody made damn sure of that.

For now, Daryl could crack into what was still left of the goat's milk in the cooler, right? The two women in the Kingdom who had little guys had sent over actual breast milk with Carol a few days ago, but it was used up yesterday. That stuff had been a God-send, he couldn’t thank the ladies enough.

Between the two babies in Alexandria, TJ and Gracie, everyone had to be smart about using what (non-expired) formula was left. And given that the power got cut, keeping the goat's milk fresh was another problem, hence the cooler. The panels and power were back on, but it was spotty and he didn't want to risk the milk spoiling.

There was still a shit ton of clean-up had since the Saviors nabbed Alexandria’s storage, then firebombed the town. To make things worse, those assholes had their own compound destroyed, and Hilltop and the Kingdom got screwed, too. Even the beach women took another beating. Hell, and them junkyard people were literally all fucking gone except their leader chick.

So, Y/N breastfed the two babies as much she was physically able, all while working as the only other doc left standing in all five communities; she was running herself into the ground.

And with Carl gone…

It ain’t fair that she couldn’t make enough — it was Negan’s goddamned fault.

Which leads to what just went on: so Mich had told him, Y/N’d lashed out at Negan and the new doctor kid with the facial hair, what was his name, Sidney?

Daryl hadn’t been at the infirmary when it happened, but, according to Mich, she’d had to pull her out of the room. Once out, Y/N asked her about TJ, Judith, and Gracie to make sure they were safe, then disappeared after Mich had turned around. Straight up and bolted.

Daryl had checked the escape-closet first, but she wasn’t in there or the attic it connected to, wasn't on the roof that lead to.

He’d then checked the burned church. She’d been there, he recognized her boot prints, but she'd moved on. From there, he was able to follow her sooty tracks in the direction of the place he should’ve known to check first.

Sure enough, Y/N'd been at Carl’s grave.

His wife could barely look at him when he approached. He'd simply kissed her on the head and quietly walked her back home. Once home, he'd cleaned and bandaged her hand while she, again, tried to pump enough for the little guys.

Mich had told Daryl she’d get Rick for her, so he’d be here soon.

Daryl wracked his brain, he even prayed to learn what do to try to help carry Y/N through this shit.

At first, Y/N’d been pacing around the room, crying but trying not to, arms wrapped around her picture frame with a photo of Carl in it as if it was the only thing keeping her afloat.

He'd been able to persuade her to lay down, and ended up laying in bed with her and holding her tight, their baby next to them in little bassinet.

Initially, him holding her and pressing kisses to her neck had made her feel worse. More guilty, that is. A handful of days ago, something got into her head that she needed to give him a damn "annulment."

Nah, for real, she’d even said (to Gabe) that the two of them not having ever done the deed yet was "grounds" to give him one. “Grounds to free him,” were her exact words. It was a whole thing, and the couple of failed attempts at trying to do the deed after getting hitched some months back probably made her feel guilty, as if not having sex yet would make him not love her, or?

Father Gabriel had Daryl's back the whole time during the conversation, though, decent dude.

And no, Daryl wasn’t angry or even real hurt that she’d thought she had to ‘free him’ and shit, he knows it was the grief and physical exhaustion that got her to that point. His woman had full-on blacked out and hurt herself that day, which is why he'd brought her to Gabe in the first place.

But the, um, the walls were thinner than Daryl had expected, which is how he overheard from the person that he was gonna love and stay with and stay faithful to until he dropped dead softly confess that she was “selfish” to keep him “stuck” with a “batshit m-mess” like her and “a baby that ain’t his.”

The fact that Y/N kept maintaining how much she loved him and how she didn’t want no annulment helped it hurt less when she’d sounded just about convinced that it was “loyalty to me ’cause we’re close, loyalty to Rick,” and because of “he’s got so much shame. He feels responsible for what the Claimers did,” that made him marry her those months ago. "He loves our ch—my child, and might love me, but it's not fair to him. He deserves better, h-he needs better, the man's been trapped all his life. I-I don't want him trapped, I want him happy!"

Gabe never played into her fears. He been no nonsense about all of it, told Y/N that she needed a damn rest, and asked her to tell him what she thought about it when she woke up.

The good thing was that after a 5 hour period of uninterrupted sleep (during which they used some of the goat's milk for TJ and Gracie), she woke up in a daze at why she’d thought an annulment was something Daryl needed or wanted.

The bad thing was, she was then socked in the gut with more unearned guilt for it, then with worry that she was too far gone, or crazy, all that.

Been a bad, bad few days.

Been a lot of Daryl showing her love that she felt not worth being shown. So that she fell asleep in his arms today was such a damn win!

After getting up to take a leak and finding that Y/N was miraculously still asleep, he thanked whoever was up there, then tried to figure out what else he could do to help her get through today…and right at that moment, TJ started to rouse, so he got his answer: keep their baby comforted. More shut-eye could only do his woman well.

Deftly lifting the little bundle into his arms, he'd kissed the scar above the baby’s upper lip and tiptoed out to the hall, where he was now.

Lightly he bounced, softly he shushed. He held TJ like a football and moved back and forth, back and forth. Babies smell so damn good, and make the cutest noises, goddamn.

After a couple minutes, through the open door, he peeked at his Y/N.

Shit. She was already sitting up and blinking off the sleep.

Whatever it was she did and said today, she felt low as hell about it, that much was clear. Without looking, she grabbed the now-broken picture frame and clutched it to her middle.

"You're supposed to be asleep, slowpoke," he tried to tease.

Her clothes had ashes from where it looked like she’d knelt down then sat down in the burned church. There was some dirt on them, too, from when she’d been at Carl’s grave. Daryl made a note to shake the sheets out later and pick the tissues up off the floor.

That's when the front door opened downstairs.

Was that Ri—good, that was Rick’s voice, he was finally there. There was a second voice, too, was that Father Gabriel’s? It was soft like Gabe's voice was.

Daryl looked downstairs.

Yup, it was Rick with the rev.

He waved them upstairs, but it must’ve been the clunking of the Gabriel’s new cane that got Y/N stumbling out of the room.

“Rev! I would’ve come to you, y-you need to be takin’ it easy.” She hugged the picture frame in one hand, gripped the banister in the other and started to go downstairs, asking Gabe how he felt, urging him to sit down, had his vision worsened, all that stuff.

“Y/N, more rest won’t stop me from losing sight in this eye,” Gabriel responded in his quiet way, remaining on the second step, not going up or down the stairs. He smiled. “You could say I’m the one making a house call to a patient this time."

She held back a sob and bowed her head. Then, she subtly slipped two fingers around the inside of her wrist…

Rick stepped the rest of the way up the stairs and put his hands on her shoulders. “What's going on, weirdo?”

“Ricky, I'm s-sorry."

He leaned closer and took her in for a hug. “Heart still beating?” he murmured.

Her inhale was shaky. “Mmhm. Yours?”

“Beating strong.”

TJ perked up and began to whimper upon hearing her voice. Y/N unzipped her hoodie to—she still had a gun on her?

Okay, that'd been stealth as fuck, it hadn't even been printing. It was the mini one she'd kept on her when they first got here, when Deanna insisted on keeping the weapons locked up. Still, he'd been literally holding her, how in the hell had he not noticed?

Daryl shared a glance with Gabe. Minus her screwdriver, she'd turned in her weapons after what happened the other day.

Y/N handed the small gun to Rick, who looked wary, but accepted it without question. She hesitated before reaching into her boot to hand over her screwdriver, too.

Daryl slid his hand around his wife’s waist to guide her back to the room. Without looking him in the eyes, she cupped his cheek and told him he was a good father. Then, frame still gripped under one arm, she took the baby into the other.

“Let’s try havin’ a snack before I go with Uncle Ricky awhile, okay, chickpea?” she murmured, then unbuttoned the top of her shirt.

Daryl took off his vest to give her some more coverage, then helped her with her top buttons. When he draped the vest around her, she'd turned her head to kiss his hand. He felt his cheeks warm when she did that.

Walking into the room again, she softly told Daryl that he and Rick could sit on the beds. First, she placed the picture frame on one of the mattresses. Next, with their baby latched on and suckling, she went to the end table at the window to sit down on the floor beside it. The way she sat, it was kinda as if she were using it as a shield.

“Rev, please take the chair,” she mumbled to Gabriel with a glance at the only piece of furniture in the room at the time, other than the bassinet, a nightstand, and the end table. Negan had specifically left the rocking chair as a 'gift' for her. The piece of shit...

Anyway, Daryl had got them their two twin mattresses back (hey, squish them together and you get a big-ass bed) the first trip to and from the Savior’s compound after the war ended, once the folk from Alexandria had begun to move back from the Hilltop. Only, no bed frames yet.

“And sweetheart, I’ll-I’ll take the pumps with me for while I’m in there. Wanna make sure you and Aaron have enough for them,” she said to him, voice still raw. Y/N turned to him and gave him a wobbly smile. “Sorry I used up so much of the tissue supply,” she tried making light, but got close to tears again, so stumbled through asking “Can I, um, Rick, m-might can I bring my pillow? Is that okay?”

Go with Rick where, and take the breast pumps and her pillow, why? He made eye contact with Gabriel, who looked just as puzzled. So, he turned to Rick.

Rick lowered his eyebrows as if he didn’t know what she meant, either. He squatted to sit down on the mattress beside Daryl, and looked at his sister. “Y/N, where are we headed?”

Glancing up from the baby to him then to Daryl, she adjusted TJ’s position on her breast while she figured out how to answer, by the looks of it. Another glance at her husband as if she were worried about his reaction...

“Rick, I thought you was here to…escort me?”

?

Daryl had no clear idea what she meant, it was the rev who understood first.

“No,” Father Gabriel told her gently. “Y/N, you aren’t under arrest.”

Under arrest? Daryl fought between the urge to get angry or dead-ass laugh. 'Under arrest??'

It was for real, though. His wife’s tears started flowing again as she turned her attention to Rick and began to stress, “There can’t be no special treatment—”

“—Is this why you handed me your weapons? Why would you be under arrest?” Rick cut her off to question.

She stared as if he’d grown antlers. “I s-struck a patient, and, and—”

“—And I slit his throat open, which is why that 'patient' is in there in the first place,” he cut her off again, firm.

Thankfully, TJ let out a wail the same time she wailed, “Ricky, y-you weren’t his medic!” pausing any further arguing.

Y/N gulped, pressed down on one breast, then the other. “I know there’s not much in ’em, Teddy-bear, but it-it’ll get better. It’ll come back,” she shushed, lifting him up and tucking herself back in. With a few kisses, she shushed, “You’ve gotten so much faster at drinkin', babycakes.”

Daryl got on the floor with her and took TJ back.

She avoided eye-contact again, and her lip wobbled again as she pulled the top of her shirt higher. That told him there’d been not much milk in there. And he could see all over her face that it was switching her on the legs with more false-ass, unearned guilt.

The familiar string in his chest suddenly tugged in her direction—next thing, he was resting his forehead on hers. “Hey. You’re makin’ more every day, angel,” he whispered in her ear. "And you're a damn good ma." Then, he started to help her button back up.

The way her expression softened and her body relaxed toward his felt better than fireworks going off on the Fourth 8th of July.

And as if he were back in that Georgia-in-July heat, Daryl just about melted right there on the floor when he saw his TJ, neck lifted high, making a face-scrunching, gummy smile at him. "Look how strong your neck is getting, ’lil badass, you’re rockin’ it!”

Shit, their kid was the best damn thing.

Y/N leaned against him and reached to lightly fluff their baby’s hair and rub their baby's teeny feet.

Gabriel sat in the rocking chair quietly, hands resting on his cane. He caught eyes with Daryl and nodded his head toward Y/N, glad to see her no longer convinced she needed to ‘free’ her husband.

Absorbed in the photo, Rick exhaled, then spoke up. “Y/N, how about we start from the beginning? What happened at the infirmary?”

She pressed tighter against Daryl as a pained noise left her throat. “Did you talk to Siddiq yet?” sounded very small.

“I want to talk to both of you.”

“And Michonne?”

He nodded. “She told me some.”

The big watch she’d kept from Dale tick-tick-ticked on her wrist. Then came the sound of light metallic clinking. Daryl didn’t have to look to see that she must’ve pulled out her brother’s necklace and was tugging on it.

“What I did ain’t excusable,” came out raspy and thick.

“It is," Rick answered.

“It’s not, especially not what I said to Sid—” a sob choked her response. She used Daryl's leather vest to hide her face before hugging it around herself like a blanket.

“Walk me through what happened first, kiddo, before you hit Negan with this?” Rick subtly gestured to the broken picture frame.

So she had smacked Negan in the face? Hot damn, Daryl was more in love with her already.

Y/N swallowed and shook her head. “They’d been lookin’ at it, the both of 'em.”

“At the picture?”

A tiny nod. “I’d left the room, and when I got back, they was looking at it. Siddiq brought it over to him. Tried to make like Negan was sad, too. Fuck that!”

TJ started rooting on his bicep again, but Daryl was on it. “Sorry, pipsqueak, I don’t got the right parts for that.” He started to massage the baby’s belly, and TJ quieted.

“It’s okay to let ’em cry a little, it-it helps restock these,” his wife tried joking, nodding down at her chest.

“Y/N.” Rick was delicate about coaxing her for more details. “You got back into the room, Siddiq and Negan were looking at the picture.”

“Negan’s filthy hands were on it,” she grit. "Lookin' at Carl and me, you with Shaney." The sounds of the pendant being pulled across the chain filled the room along with TJ’s soft cooing.

“Is that when you hit him with the frame?” Rick asked.

“No. I told him not to look at it again or touch it, and if he did, I’d hurt him.”

“Angel, slow your breathin’,” Daryl interjected at the same time that he figured out why those words sounded familiar: it was similar to how she'd warned the last Claimer fuckhead, the one who’d had Carl pinned down and was gon——Daryl shut down this brain for a sec, it was best not to think about that night.

He turned his head to see Rick, red-eyed, tracing his thumb along the photo of Carl, Y/N, Shane and him. Seems as if Rick had recognized her words, too.

“And when was it that you did hurt him?” Rick pressed on.

Y/N swallowed. “About half a minute later when he tried to act like it wasn’t his fault.”

Rick’s composure staggered and collapsed. His voice was hoarse when he managed to say, “It’s not his fault.”

But Y/N was fast to shut it down. “Don’t for one more second make like it’s yours, Ricky, you get that monkey off your back,” she comforted and somehow scolded both at once. “Negan was doing what Negan does when he, when he told you that. It was manipulation, nothin’ real. How C-Carl—” another choked-down sob, more tears.

Daryl noticed her press her fingertips to the spot under her chin, beside her jaw, checking her pulse to prove it was still beating.

“Negan had nothing to do with how Carl got bit,” Rick whispered. “You know it’s true, kiddo.”

“No—our boy wouldna ended up out there, w-with-with Siddiq, if it hadn’t been for Negan.” Her tone got louder and angry, her stress stutter became more noticeable, the way she tugged the necklace turned rougher. “He and his followers was why we weren’t able to trust no n-newcomers like Sid, which is why Sid was still out there alone, and, and, and why Carl went to him! It, it was because of Negan and his, and his, his-his cult!”

TJ seemed freaked out by the louder voice, the baby’s dark, blue-black eyes grown big.

Daryl spoke Y/N’s name to try and bring her back to herself, but she seemed to have very suddenly calmed.

She was blinking at her hand.

Daryl looked, and then saw the two halves of her brother Shane’s chain, broken.

“How many times did Carol warn me that this would happen when I tugged it,” she muttered to herself. "Good thing I didn't decide to tug on the rosary, huh?"

Inhaling, she leaned her head against the wall behind her, staring into space, fingers to her wrist to check her pulse again.

From beside her, he covered her hand in his. Then, pressing his lips to her fist, Daryl took the necklace from it. He could fix it.

“I lost my temper again, I’m sorry,” she spoke to all in the room, her hand cupping Daryl's cheek a moment. Then, more quietly, she looked at Rick. “How many days’ll I be in there?”

Which sent Daryl straight back to disbelief he was hearing those words, what absolute bullshit. “Y/N, you ain’t going nowhere.”

“You’re not going to a cell, Y/N,” Rick echoed.

“No special treatment,” she softly repeated. “If I were anybody else—”

Rick interrupted her “—It’s not about who you are.”

Father Gabriel had gotten up and was making his way to Y/N by then.

Y/N shook her head at the conversation, tired. “If I were anybody else or had any other role, and if he were anybody else,” she caught her breath, “there’d be reper-re-rep—” a few more tries, and she had to choose a different word, “consequences. Assault and battery on an un-unarmed person—a patient—from their medical provider, that’s serious.” Her hand was back to covering her face. She sat pressed against the wall, knees at her chest.

“You and Siddiq are the only doctors left. We couldn’t just put you in a cell even if you had earned it.”

“I ain't a doctor, at best, I’m a medic,” she grunted. “And I did earn it, just ask him and Michonne. As for my,” she made a shaky inhale, “my duties, I can be escorted out.”

“And TJ? Gracie?” Daryl put out there, hoping to guilt her out of insisting she get jail time, like, what the fuck. What kind of conversation was this?

Screw this, he couldn't even sit. He stood, shaking his head and pacing around the room, still holding TJ.

The expression on Y/N's face should’ve been enough to calm him down, along the defeated, quiet way she reasoned, “I’ll pump and y’all will visit. It’s—no, sweetheart—it’s only for a few days,” when he started to dead-ass leave. As if her being in there ‘only for a few days’ would help this bullshit make sense.

But that’s when he ended up snapping, “This is goddamn bullshit! You bopped a sick fuck on the nose with a picture frame, who in the hell will care? Rick, why you even entertainin' this shit?” and he regretted doing so as soon as he barked it out.

The old, invisible knee rammed him in the nards harder when Rick cautioned, "Brother," and Gabe finally opened his mouth, and louder than Daryl had ever heard him speak. “She cares, Daryl. So do I.”

And to make it all worse, their baby had given a start in fear when he’d shouted, and now the poor kid was screaming—and TJ doesn’t scream, shit, shit, he blew up while holding his child?

“M’sorry! M’sorry," he hushed to his baby, "I love you so much, kid, I’m so sorry I scared ya. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” With a kiss on TJ’s wild head of hair, he murmured, “Pipsqueak, your old man is an idiot.”

Y/N rushed over when TJ screamed, but she didn’t take the baby away from Daryl. Instead, she caressed her husband’s forearm and triceps and spoke to their child. “Your daddy’s got you safe,” she soothed.

He knew she was trying to look him in the eyes, but he couldn’t return it. He’d just scared an infant because he couldn’t check his temper. Their infant.

His wife’s quiet assurance cut through the rushing in his head. “Daryl? TJ ain’t hurt, sugar, and you’re not a bad father. Do some skin to skin, okay?” She pecked a kiss on his cheek. “And that's a dollar for cussing, pay up later.”

She then sat back down on the floor next to where the rev had made his new seat. Daryl took the now-empty rocking chair, unbuttoned his and TJ’s shirts, then nestled the kid on his chest.

Y/N then told the room the rest of what happened, how after Negan croaked out with what voice he had left, saying it 'wasn’t his fault Carl was dead', that she’d turned around and whacked him across the face with the frame.

Siddiq had reacted by grabbing her shoulders from behind to pull her away from Negan — so she had shoved back and kneed him in the dick plus rammed her head against his, dropping the frame in the process. The frame broke as a result—and when it broke, she'd lost her cool, said some shit, and threw some shit. Mich heard the hubbub and intervened, then Y/N hid herself away cause she 'knew' she was 'gone crazy.'

As far as Daryl was concerned, the new doc was lucky all he got was a shove, a knee to jewels, a clunk on the head, and some words and maybe a clipboard thrown at him, because Y/N could fight damned well. She'd had it drilled into her how and when to do it. Freely taught others moves, too.

When she’d showed Carol some techniques, way back, it was one of the things that sent him falling for her.

And…Y/N might’ve not said it out loud, but when she described how Siddiq grabbed her from behind to pull her away, everyone in that room got why it caused her to react strong.

What she described herself as doing would’ve been instinct.

Siddiq wouldn’t know why. Negan might, the fucker had watched the tape of her Deanna interview.

“See?” Y/N blew her nose again, sniffed, and stared at the floorboards. “It’s not right to Sid or the community to, to have what I did go unchecked. And what I said to Siddiq was so cruel. What’s worse is I meant it. Fuck, I still do.”

What she'd said was basically that she wished he’d gotten bit instead of Carl, and that it was just as much Siddiq's fault that the boy was dead as it was Negan’s. That 'he should be dead.'

She grimaced, then caressed the watch on her wrist. Must’ve been thinking of Dale. “Ain’t fair to…Negan, neither. If there’s anything Carl wanted us to understand, it’s that,” she whispered.

Rick lifted the frame to kiss his son’s picture, wiped a couple tears away. “When I talked with Sid, he was…alarmed. Worried. He thought it was off-character.”

Y/N went rigid where she sat. “Siddiq wasn’t there two years ago.”

Daryl lifted the baby higher on his chest and snuggled closer.

Rick shook his head. “You wishing someone dead, or, dead instead of another, is very off-character, it’s not you. No—don’t shake your head, Y/N.” Her brother maintained, “Even back then, after what happened, you didn’t wish me dead. You wished that Shane was still alive, not that I was dead instead. Even if you did say those things, it wouldn't have been the truth, just the hurt speaking.”

“I attacked you and told you I would kill you. And I-I meant it at the time, you know that.”

“And for a couple days, you left, because you didn’t actually want that. You knew it was wrong.”

“Which is why I need to get put away for a couple days. I decided to hurt a patient and his doctor, my own fr—” She wasn’t able to say what was probably the word ‘friend.’ Y/N bit her lip, and continued, “Then hurled words at him what nobody should get hurled at them.” She swallowed a cuss and grabbed another tissue.

“You’re exhausted, Siddiq knows that.” Rick pointed out. “We’re not ourselves when we’re—”

Y/N wasn’t having it. Probably too exhausted, to tell the truth.

“We’re all exhausted. C’mon, man, you just lost your son!” A sob left her and she tried to breathe through her nose. Checked her pulse again.

“You were also reacting to how he yanked you back, kiddo. That's not nothing.”

Daryl gave Rick a warning glance.

Rick saw, nodded, and held up a hand, which made Y/N turn to see what Daryl was doing. But Daryl simply kissed TJ on the head, not saying nothing.

She wasn’t fooled. When Y/N looked back at Rick after giving her husband a look of it’s okay, Daryl gave Rick another warning glare, then a nod.

“You didn’t react like that without reason, Y/N. There’s no shame to admit it was a trigger.”

She grumbled at the word. “Trauma ain’t an excuse to traumatize others.” After exhaling, she ran her hands over her face and took a moment. Hardly louder than a whisper, she challenged, “Ricky, not all my problems stem from the rapes. I’ve always been too hot-headed.”

At that moment, Daryl wanted to scoop her and TJ up and drive them away from everything, keep the two of them safe and unbothered for a month or two or four.

“Getting grabbed like that m-might, y’know, might could’ve reminded me of it—when they—" She ran a hand through her hair. "Okay, it did get me going. But, I,” she paused. “It wasn’t that I saw red or blacked out, I chose to keep goin’ once I’d started. I threw stuff because I was raging, I didn't want to stop because I thought he deserved it.”

Y/N fiddled with Dale’s watch, and turned to Father Gabriel beside her and almost smiled at him, close to the way she used to smile at Glenn, as if he were in on a joke. “Here I’d hoped I was re-domesticated by now.”

“Let us give thanks that you’re still housebroken,” he responded, taking Daryl by surprise. "You're...still housebroken, are you not?"

The way Y/N then cracked up and grinned woke up the butterflies in his stomach.

“Y/N, you’ve come miles since I first met you,” Gabriel told her softly, smiling back.

“All the way from Georgia,” she joked back, then grew more serious. “You’ve grown a whole lot, too.” She wiped her eyes, and Gabe closed his.

“And Y/N,” he shook his head. “You aren’t losing your humanity. I know you’re frightened of that, after what you told me happened to your other brother.”

It hadn’t even registered in Daryl’s mind that Shane’s memory would be scaring her. She loved her brother like hell, but she was always terrified of going down the same path he did.

He looked to Rick to see what his reaction was. His reaction was tear-rimmed eyes and a nod of his head toward TJ, silently asking if he could hold the baby awhile. Daryl nodded, Rick stood, and returned Y/N the frame as he walked by to pick up the little one.

Hands empty, Daryl took out his army knife and the broken chain from his pocket so he could fix his woman’s necklace. Wasn’t gonna be hard.

He heard Y/N whisper, “Hey, punk," to Carl in the photo. "Miss you. Miss you, too, loser,” she said to her brother's photo. He let his eyes travel to where she sat under the window, and watched her kiss the picture and well up. It was the old one of her and preschool-age Carl photo-bombing Rick and Shane, after one of them got some kind of cop award.

Clutching the frame once more to her belly, she and Father Gabriel then started to talk in low voices with one another.

“The red haze in your right sclera is so close to bein' clear. Did you talk to Rosie today? She’s been seeming less depressed.”

“I thought this was me visiting my patient, not the other way around,” Gabe gently hinted. “Y/N, please talk to me.”

Daryl heard her sniffle. “Rev, but I don’t want to have meant those words. I’ve been workin’ on it. It-it might be his fault, but I know he’s innocent, he’s humane—Sid even counts walkers like I do, man, yet still, I—” her breathing shuddered. “After whatever this mess is kicked in, every time I see him now, I hate him. Why do I hate a decent person?”

“Grief,” he offered simply. He gave her another shrug and small smile. “Keep doing what you have been. It will get easier every day, the same way your, um,” he was careful about his wording regarding her tits, “that you have more for the little ones every day.”

She huffed but didn’t raise her voice again, she stayed quiet as could be. “It don’t feel like none of that’s happening.”

“Our perception of things doesn’t always equal the truth, Y/N.” Gabe seemed to take a moment. Maybe he was praying.

Y/N’s fingers found her pulse again.

“We are all healing,” Gabriel next said, and smiled again. “Your heart is still beating, is it not?”

Y/N stared for a few moments, caught in the act. Eyes meeting Daryl’s for a moment, she removed her fingers from her neck, and inclined her head at the reverend. “What about yours?” she asked softly.

“Still beating. And that’s the proof,” he assured her just as softly. “Y/N, as for the way you understand your actions and your emotions toward him as not being right, I would like you to take it as a comforting sign. And, you just handed over a weapon you plainly wanted to keep concealed, you didn’t use said weapon to hurt Negan, either,” he pointed out, for which Daryl was grateful. “Perhaps, if you begin to make excuses, begin to feel no sense of having done wrong when you have, I will worry.”

Weirdly enough, he next grinned up at the ceiling. “But I am not, because you are simply broken and in need of healing. You’ll get there, as will I,” he held his hand out to the room. “As will your brother, your husband. All of us.” He sighed. “So long as our hearts are still beating.”

Daryl looked back at his wife in time to see her bit her wobbling lip and nod. Her gaze turned to Rick with the baby. He was kissing TJ’s scrawny little feet.

Her face softened seeing them, and as Daryl’s stomach fluttered again, she turned to look at him. His stomach full-on did a happy flip (and, yeah, he lost his grip on the necklace’s broken link and dropped it).

Y/N said to Rick, “Well, we still need to show ’em that Alexandria—that you—are accountable and fair. How many nights will do, you think?”

Rick shook his head. “Zero. But, because you have a point and won't take 'zero' as an answer,” he quickly added, “how about one?”

“For a piggy, you’re actin’ awful chicken.”

He was unmoved by the cop joke. “Bawk, bawk.”

And Y/N laughed, for what it was worth. And it was worth everything, hot damn was that laugh the best sound.

Daryl figured he might as well check, “What about bail, that still a thing?”

“Not with you owing a whole dollar. That’ll take weeks to pay off,” she said, back to doing her best to lighten up things. He loved her so fucking much, goddamn.

“Supervision when outside the cell,” she stated to Rick.

He shook his head again. “I have a better sentence in mind. When I saw you wearing Lori’s belt earlier today, it reminded me of it. See, and you left this at the infirmary.” He reached into his jacket pocket.

Recognition swept across her face when he held it out. “Do you think he’ll feel safe?”

“The headphone cord is too thin to choke him with, it’d snap.”

“Ricky, that joke was very dark,” she lightly chided.

He squinted, kissing TJ’s feet one more time first. “I hereby sentence you to one night—”

“—Three.”

“One in lock-up,” he spoke over her, then was fast to tack on, “with Daryl and this one as guards.” He motioned to the baby.

"Women shouldn't have male guards," she dryly droned.

"Overruled. You'll also get supervised outings for your duties tomorrow and the day after, including the trip to the Hilltop for Maggie’s prenatal visit. And,” he held up the music player, “you’ll need to listen to music with Siddiq on this. We know it works.” He cocked his head. “Let’s start with 20 minutes per day, like you and I had.”

Some tears slipped out even though she was smiling. She mouthed I love you to him, then asked out loud, “How many days?”

Rick squinted. “Fourteen.”

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

You

“You pick the songs. Whatever you like,” you told him, staring at the photo and rubbing the ‘22’ pendant over your lips. Daryl fixed the chain for you shortly after you’d broken it. You really love him.

Sid accepted the mp3 player out of your hand.

You and he each had one earbud in, one apple beside you, and Michonne sat nearby with Judith. Supervision was your stipulation, yet being proactive about ensuring it had done nothing for how humiliating it was.

Still, you took an objective look and figured Siddiq should know that his safety mattered, that your people were fair and held themselves to standards.

Just looking around the place, it looked as if standards were a given here. That Alexandria’s power grid and some panels were already repaired within two weeks of Negan’s razing was almost unbelievable.

Sucks for the Saviors that cult that the Alexandria community had been built to withstand up to magnitude 4.1 earthquakes and be fairly fire-safe as part of its self-sustaining (and for-politicians) model, so in the least, a good number of the homes were still standing.

Carl's gazebo was another story, as were other similar structures, like the church, but the ash had been washed off by the rain, and the communities' walls were back up.

Next to you, Siddiq asked you how to work the mp3, citing, “Carl had been the one to…”

Had been the one to work it when he borrowed it to visit you out there, in order to show you some kindness. Before he got himself bit because of you.

The words festered inside of you. Whatever. Let them fester, you felt dead anyway.

As you went to point to show him, the picture hung from your outstretched, bandaged hand. The pic you'd chosen this time was another older one from the before-times, not one of the newer polaroids. You'd been the one to take it, actually, using a disposable camera about five and a half, maybe six years ago.

It was blurry, Lori and Carl had been being silly and stopped posing, Rick was mid-comment. You loved this one.

It felt so unreal now, felt fake.

Felt dead.

You checked your pulse. Still beating.

“The, um, just use-use those two buttons there for up and down to search,” you mumbled, tucking the photograph into your shirt pocket. “That one is for back, that one for options. Press down on the middle to click.”

He went huh. “Here’s the Indian music playlist,” he chuckled. Appears he’d found the Desi Party! playlist. Carl told you he’d played it for him.

Before he’d gotten fucking bitten.

How could your heart rage and ache so much if you were dead?

“It’s got all sorts on it,” you replied blankly to Siddiq. Remembering your oldest sister who’d made all the playlists before handing her mp3 down to you, it felt like she was made up. All your siblings except Shane felt made up. Your own mother, the foster siblings over the years, they felt made up, too.

Felt like everyone before was made up.

Fake.

Dead.

“My mother was a big filmi fan,” Siddiq shared.

But you simply repeated, “Pick whatever you like, you’re in charge of the songs.”

There was no emotion in your voice. You didn’t want to chat with him, didn’t want to nerd out about Bollywood music, and also didn’t want to face him after saying such awful things to him early today.

Hating him felt right. It felt "deserved," which is a word you'd learned to not use, thanks to Dale.

Granted, hating Siddiq felt wrong, too, which invited shame to take a seat on your lap.

So, you followed the rev’s advice and took comfort in the shame because it meant your conscience was still ordered in a good direction. It meant you weren’t fully dead yet.

You checked your pulse again to remind yourself that it was still beating. Life was still going. You even have a child that fills you with such an intense, aching, healing love.

Father Gabriel also told you that feeling dead didn’t make you a bad mother or a bad wife or bad person, it simply meant you were broken and grieving.

“Y/N?”

“What?” you growled — and immediately wished it hadn’t come out that way. In your head, you told Carl you were sorry, you’d do better next time. Then, you prayed to stop hating the sight of Siddiq, the sound of his voice. Wished Dale or Hershel or Glenn or T-Dog or Deanna or Denise or Sasha were there for, for—advice, support, you don’t know…

And because the rev has enough on his plate and needs to rest, maybe later you’d risk everyone’s ire and sneak away to visit Mr. Jones at the junkyard. At least he wasn’t dead yet, too. Maybe visiting him would convince him to move back to Alexandria.

“I never apologized for pulling you backward like that,” Siddiq said to you, a little short. Couldn’t blame him.

In truth, you had done all you were going to do to Negan after smacking him the once, but Sid wouldn’t have known that. Wouldn’t have known how grabbing you like that would flip an alarm, either.

No use moping, if your positions were reversed, you’d have wrangled him back, too.

And yet, you just caught yourself licking your teeth and sneering in response to his apology.

But it wasn’t out of anger or hatred so much as…you still aren’t certain what the emotion was. Grief, depression, shame, all three. You supposed it didn’t make a difference. Didn’t feel like much of anything.

Briefly, you put two fingers to your neck to check your pulse again. Still beating. Still alive.

Alive, and needing to eat some crow, as it were.

“Don’t apologize, you were protectin’ our patient. What I did was wrong,” you recited. “I-I threatened a patient and then whacked him across the face.” Your conscience then prompted you to apologize again for what you’d said to him. “And, just—Siddiq, what I said to you was bullshit and lies and m'sorry I said it. Cruel bullshit, naught else. Don’t go believing a word of it.”

He wasn’t clicking through the playlists and songs anymore.

Appearing uncomfortable, he peeked at you before he put his attention back on the mp3. “Michonne said pulling you like that was a trigger, which is why you, um…I’m sorry,” he said again. “I didn’t know.”

First, you relaxed your jaw. “Ain’t your job to know. It’s mine to learn past it.” Next, you spackled on something of a smile and added quietly, “It’s good that you, that you stepped in. Thank you.” You did mean it, for what it was worth.

How many minutes until the twenty was up, you wondered, and tried to not be obvious about checking the time on your wrist. Eyeing Michonne, she seemed more preoccupied with Judith than with being punctual regarding your penance/sentence.

“PTSD is serious. That’s why I’m sorry, I, um,” Siddiq faltered. He went back to clicking through the music choices.

“We all have at least a little PTSD, bud.” With a light nudge to try and convey camaraderie or something, you attempted to tease, “C'mon, you chosen at least one song, yet?”

“Sorry, let me just, uh…” and with a few more clicks, the first song started. It was Bohemian Rhapsody.

“You chose the playlist ‘Songs Everyone Likes.’”

He chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah, figured I couldn’t go wrong with that one.”

The memory of belting out this song with Carl, Glenn, Beth, and Maggie before your group even found the prison whooshed back and you started to smile—until you remembered that Carl was gone now. He was dead.

You’d forgotten all of that for hot second, but your Carl was dead. So was Glenn. So was Beth. So was Lori, who'd joined, so was T-Dog, so was...

Maybe you were dead, too. You felt dead—so, you pressed your fingers to your neck to feel for a pulse.

Still beating.

The lyrics of the song began to register. You know, the early parts like ‘I don’t wanna die,’ and ‘carry on, as if nothing really matters.’ Sounded a little too personal, tell you the truth.

And just like that, the song was skipped. You glanced at Siddiq.

He shook his head. “Not the right mood for it.”

“Mm.”

The intro to the next song in the shuffle was very bouncy, and ‘Dance to the Music’ started to jive through the earbuds. You didn’t sway along like you naturally would have. No urge to.

The song played, finished.

“First time I heard this was in Shrek,” Siddiq made small talk while munching on his apple. “Love that movie.”

You might’ve hummed in acknowledgment, you aren’t sure. He handed your apple to you, you took it. Held it.

The next song started, ‘Young Hearts Run Free.’

The song played, finished.

Siddiq made more small talk. “I remember that one in Romeo + Juliet, the one with, um, Claire Danes? We watched that version in high school after we finished reading it.”

You hummed again. Pressed your fingers to your wrist, just in case. But no, your heart was still beating.

The next song started, ‘Jumpin’ Jack Flash.’

“A lot of oldies,” he commented once the singing began. He took the final nibble off his apple.

“But goodies,” you responded, willing yourself to sound less stiff and monotone. “Modern stuff is on this playlist, too, don’t worry.”

The song played. Finished.

The next song started. ‘Another One Bites the Dust.’ Siddiq promptly skipped it once the refrain started and the lyrics sank in.

“Good call,” you grunted.

The next song started. ‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.’

“Oh n—please skip this one, too." You loved that one, but you’d queued it up for Glenn at his and Maggie’s wedding, and it was not the time to go reminiscing. You swallowed the lump in your throat. Checked your pulse. Still beating. "Please skip 'Thunderstruck' if it comes on, too?”

The mp3 player clicked as Siddiq skipped the song. Next on the shuffle was ‘Under Pressure.’

He adjusted his seat and coughed. “This one fits.”

A combination sigh/groan was your contribution, because he was right. The two of you were the only doctors major medical personnel left standing.

The song played. Siddiq’s knees and wrists bounced to the rhythm where he sat beside you. You stared at your boots. Where’d all the soot and dirt on them and your clothes come from, you couldn’t remember…

…

It was when a strong gust of cold wind blew that you noticed that the music had stopped, your earbud was out, and the sky wasn’t as cloudy anymore.

When did that happen?

You sat up and blinked a few times, your apple still in one hand, Shane’s necklace in the other.

“Hey,” you heard Siddiq call.

What, why were your cheeks wet? “S-sorry, I,” you dropped the necklace, wiped your eyes with your sleeve, and put the apple down, “must’ve, um, checked out.”

“I’m not sure how long it was after it began when I noticed the change,” he let you know. “Is…this what happened earlier?”

You closed your eyes and shook your head. “Earlier was somethin’ else. This was just—” ‘Dissociation,’ was a misunderstood word, so Denise taught you. And you didn’t want to use the word for that reason.

You really wanted to keep a shred of dignity for yourself in the eyes of that guy. He didn’t even know that you’d hurt yourself when you’d ‘blacked out’ the other day…so, you decided upon a white lie highly euphemistic layman's term. “I spaced out.”

He nodded, but his brows sunk, as if he weren’t buying it.

And when he did that thing where someone slightly opens their mouth because they’ve put together a response, you changed the subject. “Listen to anythin’ good while I was in space?”

Siddiq wasn’t swayed. “Do you still feel detached?”

“A little,” you answered truthfully, inhaling deep and checking your watch to try gauging how long you’d been out. Except, you had no recollection of what time it had been earlier, so it was a bust. God save you, you were a mess.

“Sid. I’m sorry you’re trapped dealin’ with this shit, it ain’t fair to you. If, if you wanna bounce early, don’t feel obligated to stay, and, and—like, if you don’t wanna do this whole music thing, it’s fine. W-we don’t want you feelin’ unsafe.”

“Unsafe? Y/N, I…” he paused. “I forgive you for what you said earlier. And I’m not scared of you. Hitting Negan wasn’t okay, but…” another pause. “Compared to the way most others are baying for his blood and how you defended saving his life, I mean—you helped me save him, Y/N—” He lifted his hands, palms to the sky. “You’re my friend, we work together, it’s not like I can’t see that you’re drowning.”

Nothing prepared you to hear that.

He was calling you a friend and was still trying to be understanding, after all that…

You wanted to slam your head on a hard, rough surface and cry from the shame and simultaneous relief. You also didn’t want to accept it, and so pushed back: “You were alone out there too long. Friends d-don’t tell friends they wish they were dead.” And mean it, you did not confess.

But of all things, he merely raised one shoulder and snorted. “I’m a really good friend?”

Tears spilled at the same time that you almost laughed.

No, it's true, you almost laughed. Things felt a little unreal again, but in not a bad way. The most you could do right then was send up thanks for the mercy that came out of the mess. You pinched your wrist first, then felt for your pulse.

“Compared to a few minutes ago, do you feel more like yourself now?” Siddiq made sure.

Huh. You used to ask Shane a very similar question, when he was forgetting his goodness.

You kept feeling the small beats at your wrist, reminding you that you were indeed alive, therefore capable of healing and growth.

“Heart’s still beating,” you sniffled, making yourself smile at him. The hatred and disgust you’d felt earlier seemed to you less like a fact and more like a bad dream.

Then, from the far right of the oak tree, you heard Aaron’s voice saying, “Not yet, man, they’ve got four minutes left.”

Aaron and Daryl then came into view. They waved to you as they walked by with the babies, another reminder that you that you weren’t fully dead inside. Gracie was in a stroller, TJ was bundled in Daryl’s arms. Your husband lingered behind, eyes on you as he absently pecked a kiss to your baby’s covered head.

Something stirred, and your chest fluttered and tugged in their direction, reminding you again that your heart was still beating. So was Maggie’s, so was her and Glenn’s baby’s, so was Rick’s, so was Aaron’s. Life was still going. You had a child, a husband; lifelines. Their hearts were still beating, too.

The unexpected wink and the way Daryl’s gaze softened as he looked at you made you feel as if you’d been freezing and someone just handed you a cup of cocoa with mini marshmallows. The way he next moved his lips to pronounce ‘troublemaker,’ however, you ought to have seen coming a mile away.

The heaviness in your body eased a bit. A smile started prodding the corners of your mouth. Shyly, you returned the wave and mouthed ‘mangy hick,’ your wrist bumping against the photograph sticking from your shirt pocket.

Aaron noticed him acting like a dope lagging and gestured for him to keep up. “Four more minutes and we’ll come back to get her.”

Daryl called out "slowpoke," and waved your baby’s little arm to the two of you as they walked away. He kept peeking behind him, too, it warmed you. When they reached far enough, you once again took the photograph out from your pocket.

With a final peek at Carl’s picture, you sent up a prayer and reaffirmed the promise that you’d made to him. That you’d live for him, do him proud.

So long as your heart was still beating, you’d try to do him proud. “Seems you and I got four more minutes, Sid. What’ll we pick?”

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