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weretheones · 2 years ago

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All You Got | Part 6

Part 6: If You Must

Series Summary: Daryl Dixon hadn’t known much beyond anger and loneliness his whole life, until he found family at the end of the world. Everything he grew to care about was ripped away the day the prison fell; so when he recognized you, an enforcer of his loss, hiding in that cabin, he almost pulled the trigger. But after you end up saving his life, he couldn’t find the indifference to leave you for dead, even if you’d been on the Governor’s side. (Mid-Late Season 4)

Series Masterlist | AO3 Version

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader Word Count: 5.7k Warnings: references to abuse, blood, injury, shock, vomit. A/N: eek I am very excited for you guys to read this one!! pls let me know ur thoughts <3

“House is clean.”

Run-down, old, and dirty. The only thing the single-story home was clean of was decomposing bodies, walking or not. Though, that was all that mattered, anyway.

The living room was quiet. A breeze of early autumn air blew through the open window just behind Daryl’s head. The couch cushioned him, neck stretched out as he leaned back. With whatever energy he had left, he still held the pad of a pillow casing against his left shoulder. But his eyes were low, his skin dull.

You hurried back to his side, taking a kneel beside his sprawled-out legs.

“Still bleeding?”

“Think it's stoppin’.”

“Good,” you sighed. You dug through the bag. “We still have some clean water and bandages.”

That was luck. The only bag you’d made it out of that station with— your bag— had most of the medical supplies, on account of your frequent use and all. Problem was, his bag had most of the food. Inside yours, the provisions weren’t much: a few protein bars, a snack-sized bag of chips, and two cans of food.

You pulled one of the cans out. He’d need it soon.

“How are you feeling?”

“Bout as good as I look,” he groaned.

You held out two ibuprofen. “Take these.”

Daryl’s eyes snapped between you and the pills, and he shook his head.

“Save ‘em.”

“You were shot. Take them.”

He was stubborn, but he didn’t seem so intimidating with that pale look.

“Daryl.”

He gave in with a sigh of his own. Took a swig of that half-full water bottle and popped them in his mouth.

You placed the bottle back down, then straightened yourself up.

“I gotta check it out.”

Daryl’s teeth dug into his cheek, timid eyes glancing over your easy expression, which seemed to counter him in every way. Hesitation took root. Daryl couldn’t stop it. Even after all these years, he’d never figured out how.

You hadn’t let it do the same to you. You were relatively calm, if not a bit tense about the prospect of digging a bullet out of him, but that anxiety hadn’t solidified in you as it had for him.

Something about your composure slowed the growth of those anxious roots, though. And after a noticeable moment of consideration, he nodded.

A moment that had you wondering how deep his pride went; oblivious of any other reason for his apprehension.

You unwrapped your sweater from his shoulder, then reached beyond the frayed edges of his shirt sleeves, where he’d ripped them off, it looked like. The second your fingers touched him, his muscles ignited and flinched.

Oddly, you flinched too, as if you could almost feel your skin burn him. Though your reaction was slight enough that maybe it could’ve been blamed it on nerves, if needed.

It wasn’t like this was the first time you’d touched Daryl. No, the two of you broke that boundary the first day you met him and continued to break it every time he grabbed your hand running from the dead or helped wrap your leg. You were sure you afforded him the same gentle touch he’d done for you inside that pharmacy a week ago, and yet, he tensed as if you were about to dig your finger into his wound.

Sure you hadn’t touched like this, with you patching him up, but that didn’t seem to explain his uneasiness, either.

Slowly, you reached out again, and this time he managed to stay still long enough for you to peek underneath the sleeve of his shirt, trying to find the entry point of that bullet between the streams of red. A small, circular wound sat just below his collarbone, red and purple wrapped around it like a ring. Even from this admittedly awkward angle, it looked like the streaks of blood that had been dripping down his arm and side were dry. Relief swept over you at the sight of the wound, no longer leaking a fresh stream of crimson.

Daryl could read it on your face, but he seemed distracted; it didn’t do much to soothe him.

“I need to check for an exit wound.”

The brush of your fingers seemed to instruct him; he repositioned himself so that his back was better visible, even if hunched over, slightly. You climbed onto the couch and sat by his side to get a proper look at the back of his shoulder. The afternoon sunlight pouring in from the window behind guided you, a glimmer of gold landing on freshly bruised skin. It hit his back like a beacon, the warm beat of the sun seemed to make his discomfort double. Which made your brow furrow— you figured once you got through the initial flinch, he would calm, but the more of him you explored, the worse his trepidation got.

Your fingers reached out, even slower than before as you began to become downright distracted by his behaviour. Concern shifted into suspicion. This didn’t feel like a pride issue, not some holdout that he was fine and didn’t need your damn help. No, it felt like he was hiding something, you realized, as a pit deepened in your gut; what didn’t he want you to see?

Whatever it was, it wasn’t at the exit wound itself. He let you peel the edge of his shirt back barely an inch, just enough to see it. This hole was bigger than the first, with bits of frayed skin— like his shirt— from where the bullet had ripped through him. It couldn’t have been any bigger than a nine millimetre, Thank God.

“Looks like it went clean through.”

The bandages and water bottle sat next to you, ready to use.

“I’ll clean and wrap it as best as I can.” You dashed some water on a clean pad of gauze, and tried not to sound strained when you instructed, unsure of his reaction, “You gotta take off your shirt.”

Despite facing his back, you could see the stiffness take hold. His shoulders, even hunched and weak, tightened. Long hair hung in his face, hiding whatever expression he had, but his sudden shift in frame was enough to reveal his restraint.

“I just need this shoulder free. If you need help I can—“

“’S fine.”

You paused, swallowing down that lump of anxiety in your throat. You leaned forward an inch, taking a peek behind that curtain of dark chestnut bangs to glance across his face, wondering if you’d find anger or fear hidden beyond.

As if he could feel your eyes dig into him, his head snapped back.

“Can do it myself.”

Your expression softened, even if his was hard again; defensive, like he’d been all those days ago. The days that felt so much farther than they really were, that made you find comfort in a man you once thought hated you. Days that had encompassed so much that even when faced with that same look, almost as mean as that first day, you only felt concerned.

His hand reached out for the bandages.

“You can’t bandage it yourself, Daryl. You won’t be able to reach.”

For a moment, he seemed to ignore you. That, or he couldn’t even bare himself to look at you. His eyes narrowed on the damp pad of gauze in your hand and nothing else.

Your chin lowered, forcing him to catch your eye despite his tunnel vision. It wasn’t a shock to find his jaw sewn tight, or the taut line of his lips. Though, you hadn’t been expecting to find a glimpse of vulnerability hidden in the cracks of his rigid demeanour. He didn’t seem angry, and the fear across his features was only second to the humiliation staining dark blue eyes.

He was ashamed, not mad.

Softened into a whisper, you pleaded with him, “I just want to help.”

He turned away and nodded. Slow, barely there. It was a quick and silent crumble of his attitude; his intimidating glare slipped off you, right-hand lifting to undo the top buttons of his shirt, one by one.

You took the hesitant permission, nonetheless, gently pulling the fabric off. The shoulder of his shirt fell loose, and there was blood trailing down the side of his back, but that wasn’t what made you freeze.

Daryl had scars. Even in that relatively small expanse of his bare skin, only the upper left corner of his back, little ones were scattered. Thin white lines, some pink, marking different patterns. You couldn’t even guess what those were from— cuts that never fully healed? Then there were the big ones, the ones you didn’t even want to guess anything about.

It felt wrong.

Every inch of Daryl’s resistance made sense then. And hell, he deserved that. Not to be exposed raw to a woman he barely knew because it was either that or a nasty infection. Not to have her sat behind him, gawking at the thick, raised ridges across his shoulder.

So you didn’t— wouldn’t let yourself, even if you’d never seen that shade of reddish purple look so cruel before. You managed to hold back the gasp that was caught in your throat. Made sure that every breath you took was quiet, and not stark against the otherwise silent air. There was no certainty that any of it was the right thing to do, but it felt the least wrong.

A drop of blood was still wet, catching in the sunlight. You clenched your jaw and got to work cleaning the back of his shoulder.

And you didn’t say a word.

The silence that followed was tense. Only broken with the occasional gust of wind and Daryl’s small whimpers when you got too close to the wound, and he couldn’t bite his tongue anymore without taking the thing off.

Ten minutes later he was still pale. Maybe even more so than before. You grabbed a roll of gauze and started to wrap his shoulder. Since you’d cleared the house, your thoughts had been anything but subtle. Trying to think of something to say, something to do. But everything felt misguided; every ‘I’m sorry this happened to you’ or ‘are you okay?’ that came to mind felt disingenuous, like it was meant to make you comfortable, rather than him.

He was chewing on his thumb now, elbow propped on his knee as he sat still and let you work. He seemed okay, at first glance, but you were starting to understand that the mindless gnawing, whether it be at his thumb or cheek, meant he was falling deeper and deeper in thought.

That seemed to push you to speak; even if you still weren’t sure if it was the right thing to do, it seemed a better choice than letting Daryl spiral further.

“You’re not scared of your own blood, are you?”

Daryl was silent for a moment, then seemed to choke out, “Jus’ tired.”

You nodded.

His voice got stronger and started to sound more like him, again. “Seen enough’a it to not be scared.”

It made sense, considering the scars.

But you wouldn’t bring that up.

“You get shot a lot?” you asked, instead.

“Only once ‘fore.”

“And hopefully not again.”

Daryl huffed at the quip. It was a sweet relief to that tension lingering over you two.

“Used to sell blood when I was a kid, though.”

“Why’d you do that?”

“Merle made me.”

Your brow furrowed. “Who’s Merle?”

“My brother.”

Jesus. He did sound like an asshole.

You bit your tongue, again.

“Merle and Daryl…” you hummed.

Daryl filled in the blank, “Dixon.”

You paused.

“Daryl Dixon,” you repeated. “Suits you.”

He huffed at that, and sensing he didn’t want you to pry into anything related to his brother, or whatever other blood family he’d had, you asked another question.

“How’d you get shot the first time?”

“Accident.”

“And you got shot?”

“One’a our group thought I was a walker.”

You glanced down at him, realizing that he wasn’t joking when that serious expression didn’t slip. In fact, he had a small smirk on his lips, like he could read your mind.

A laugh bubbled up.

“Sorry,” you chuckled, “It’s just, had they ever seen a walker?”

He scoffed, “I wasn’t, uh, in the best’a shape when it happened.”

You gave him a questioning look.

“Had an arrow to the side, blood runnin’ down my chin, covered in mud. Dead man walking wasn’t too big’a leap.”

“What the hell happened to you?”

“’S a long story.”

You continued to bandage his shoulder. It was better from him to stay awake and talking, so you shrugged. “We got time.”

Daryl went quiet. It was only then you realized that was another nerve.

“Unless you don’t want to—“

“It ain’t a happy story, neither,” he muttered your name at the end as if to soften the blow.

You gave him an understanding smile. “I got some of those too.”

Of course, he knew that. His eyes fell to the specs of blood on your cheek, uncertain if it was his or theirs.

A soft tension drifted into the room. It settled over that old couch; Daryl’s figure and you kneeling by his side. It smelt like that soap he’d given you this morning, if it’d been mixed with a hint of iron.

“Hey. I wanna thank ya for wha' ya did,” he mumbled. “It couldn’t’a been easy.”

It was a lot easier than you thought it’d be.

You looked down at your hands, vision foggy from the sudden swarm of guilt.

“It wasn’t hard, either.”

You remembered the first time you killed someone. That woman in the woods. The one who tried to kill you first. That was hard. Mitch and the others were different. You knew them. Knew the bad ran deep.

Irredeemable.

Sometimes, when you fell deep into that pit, you worried you might’ve been the same.

“Some of them were always bad. I get that now.”

“Still,” he mumbled, “shouldn’t’a had to do tha’.”

“I’ve done worse.”

He didn’t hesitate.

“Don’t make it right.”

That shut you up quickly. Halted amongst thoughts of guilt and regret. It was a fine line trying to keep yourself from slipping into that pit of self-doubt, and lately, it felt like you were losing grip of the edge.

Daryl’s unfiltered stare, heavy eyelids dropping low as he scanned your expression— the way you mindlessly bit your lip, the gloss of your eyes— seemed to narrow in on your cracks. That quiet look slipped through, just barely, but enough that it felt like there was a soft blanket wrapped around you. A slow, cautious warmth lifting you just an inch.

Just an inch.

Your eyes were still glass, thoughts still mean. Daryl could see through it, too.

He grumbled, “Ya gotta stop that.”

Your eyes focused again.

“Stop what?”

“Gettin' in your head. Spiralling. Don't do nothin’ but make ya upset.”

That warmth caught flame, it felt like. A slow burn of cynicism in your chest.

“You think you know my head?”

You were a damn hypocrite, scolding him like that.

“I know tha' look on your face,” he said. “I know ya beat yourself up ‘bout it every chance ya get.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

He blinked. You knew he would.

See? Hypocrite.

“When we were back in the station and they offered to take me in after they were gonna kill you…” dejected words paused, mouth still parted in thought. It was only when you finally looked away from the blood smeared across your fingers and met Daryl’s eye that you regained your voice. “What did you think was going to happen?”

“Wasn’t sure.”

You exhaled a heavy breath, asking the real question plaguing you.

“Do you trust me?”

He swallowed. Nonchalant in the lazy shrug he gave, but his eyes had a lingering tendency to betray his true feelings.

“You’re patching me up, ain’t ya?”

If it wasn’t for that look in his eye, a subtle hint of empathy lighting up those baby blues, you would’ve asked for a direct answer. But the vague proclamation was surprisingly satisfying; warmth bloomed inside you, though it wasn’t anything like that flicker of anger that caught, earlier.

“Did you think I was going to go with them?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He shook his head, lips drawn in a tight line. “Ya didn’t.”

The last spark of that bitter flame seemed to simmer out, then.

“You’re right ‘ere.”

Reduced to ashes.

Maybe absentminded wasn’t the word. No, but something had shifted in your eyes. Made Daryl feel like you were looking at him with more appreciation than ever— and he’d saved your life before.

The way your hand reached up was careful enough that he managed to hold back the worse of his flinch. The soft pads of your fingers brushed along his forehead, collecting his bangs to the side. If it wasn’t for the way he blinked, awkward and a bit too quick, like something caught in his eye, you might’ve not even noticed what you were doing. Once you did, though, you paused, touch lingering before you had the wits to let your hand fall to your lap again. A blush crept up your neck, pooling at your cheeks, even after your timid eyes had fallen to your lap, too.

“How’s your head?” you excused, weakly.

“’S fine,” he cleared his throat. “Pills are helpin’.”

“Good. Let’s hope you don’t get a concussion.”

Daryl offered a small nod.

“Do you need me to check out your ribs or…?”

“‘M fine. Doesn’t feel like he broke anythin’.”

You gave a small smile, hoped that he wouldn't notice the way you wiped your suddenly sweaty palms along your jeans, then stood up.

“I’m gonna make you something to eat. You alright if I—?”

“Mhm.”

Without the worry of Daryl bleeding out, you took your time scavenging the house. Checking every drawer and cupboard you could find, paying special attention to the kitchen’s supply. The sole bag you had left was relatively empty of provisions— it put you on edge, especially since you had no idea how long it would take for Daryl’s wound to heal. With your hunter out of commission and every store you’d come across in this town raided to hell and back, this kitchen was the only hope between you and starvation.

You found a couple cans of tuna, corn, and a quarter-full bag of rice. Of course, you didn’t have much water to cook it in, so the tuna and corn had to make do, for the time being. You found two bowls in the cabinet, wiped them of dust, and split an unappetizing mixture of the two between them. One bowl was substantially fuller than the other.

It was something, but not nearly enough to settle that uneasy feeling in your gut. What you needed was Daryl’s bag, probably still sitting in the backlot of the gas station you’d fled just an hour ago.

“Here.”

He took the bowl you offered. Of course, it was the one piled high.

“How much ya havin’?”

You shrugged. “I’m fine. Not too hungry.”

Lie.

His glare flickered up to you, drawn in by that raise in your tone.

“Weren’t you the one tha’ insisted on sharin’?” He raised a brow.

You rolled your eyes, then curled into the far corner of the couch. “I said I’m fine.”

“I know wha’ ya sound like when ya lie.”

Your expression fell. So did his. He felt bad— you could tell now that the blood loss drained him of whatever energy he needed to keep up his typical facade.

“Gimme your bowl.”

He tossed some more into yours, and you bit back your protests.

It was as if he could hear them, anyway.

“Ya gotta eat, too,” he reasoned while he spilt the portions evenly.

That and the rumble in your stomach were convincing, enough.

Distracted by his injury, Daryl hadn’t had the chance to even think about food, water, or anything else. His tone lowered after he took a much-needed bite.

“How much we got left?”

“Not enough.”

You took a bite too.

“I might go back tomorrow. See if I can find your bag—“

“— No.”

You swallowed. “It’s not far.”

His stern gaze settled on you.

“It ain’t worth it, neither.”

“The herd could’ve moved on.”

“Don’t matter. They’d still be close.”

You held your breath. Daryl was solid in his position, not even your voice of reason was able to budge him.

“’S too risky.”

“Alright,” you muttered, but weren’t convinced.

—

Getting Daryl to the single bedroom on the opposite side of the home was manageable now. He followed you, even if his steps were a bit heavier than usual, and collapsed on the bed. It was old, probably as old as the floral curtains covering the window. Springs squeaked underneath his weight, but he found a spot that was comfortable for both his bruised body and wounded shoulder.

Not long after, he was finally sleeping, with a soft glow of evening light cascading through the windows. There was maybe an hour before sunset, you estimated. Standing by the doorway, keeping an eye on him, you stared at the slow rise and fall of his chest.

The seconds ticked by, then minutes, and you started to feel like you were invading on his rest. Disturbing his privacy for the second time, today. With quiet steps, you walked down that thin hallway back to the living room.

The house was locked up tight, windows sturdy enough, and curtains drawn. It was safe.

Something still gnawed at you, though.

Your eyes flickered to the already dwindling supplies piled beside the couch— your bed for the night.

The anxious feeling in your gut laid even heavier at the sight, and that was just about all you could take, anymore.

Screw it.

You stuffed that pistol with four bullets left into your back pocket, then slipped out the front door. The walk wasn’t too long anyway. Even though you’d been in the thick of panic when you'd first approached the home, the curve of the road was memorable. You were able to sneak your way back to the gas station without coming across a single walker— biter— whatever.

The herd had moved on, it seemed. Bloody footprints scattered the road, painting a trail from where the dead had come from and where they’d gone, after a feast. Birdsong caught in the breeze, the early autumn air carrying a new chill to it; the third winter of this world was approaching, which meant this probably wouldn’t be the last time you’d have to scour a dangerous spot for supplies.

If you were lucky, you wouldn't have to do it alone, though.

You walked across the road, quiet steps landing on those dark stains. The front door was still open, a brighter trail of red drops leading out, like a warning sign. The thought of Emily and Ross’ cold bodies lying inside, likely half-eaten, made your stomach turn.

There wasn��t much to grab in the store, anyway. Neither of them had bags on their backs, and the station had already been scavenged by you and Daryl. You stuck to the brick wall, instead, jogging down the side of the building until the backlot was visible again.

A scan of the area was supposed to settle that quickening pace of your heart; confirm that the herd had moved on, their attack a moment of the past.

The sight of no stray biters wasn’t a relief when the backside of the building was painted in dried blood and guts. Right in the centre of the massacre lay a body, or what was left of it. Back lying in a pool of dark red, left arm practically chewed off at the elbow, ribs cracked open and picked to the damn bone.

A chunk of his cheek was missing, but you knew those empty eyes.

You blinked once— twice— then stepped out into the empty lot.

Daryl’s bag sat where you’d left it. You slid it over your shoulders and tried not to think about Lee’s corpse behind you. The smell of early decomposition. His wide-eyed stare burning into your back.

It worked— for about ten steps, but then you were folded over and vomiting. Tuna and corn, mixed with whatever else you ate for dinner yesterday. You couldn't even remember, it felt like weeks ago. Burning bile lingered in your mouth even after you’d managed to catch your breath and stand up again.

A fresh amber coloured the sky. Clouds were smudged with mellow pinks and dark blues as the sun inched closer and closer to the horizon.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your sleeve and took another step. You got farther that time, though the journey back was muddled with the taste of vomit and that bright glow of orange ahead. It felt like a daze, like you weren’t even in control of your body. Steps just happened, one after the other, without a thought to guide them. You hadn’t registered that you’d been following that same irregular stone path back until your glazed eyes landed on Daryl.

You could see him through the window, pacing the room in a huff.

At first, he didn’t see you.

Though, when you moved onto the porch, he seemed to hear the creek of old wood underneath those dreamlike steps of yours. When you opened the front door, he was already in the hallway, bow hanging from his right hand.

Your eyes narrowed on it. You mumbled, “What the hell are you doing?”

“Where the hell were ya?” he snapped.

You ignored him. Not on purpose, at least you didn’t think so. But that bow was all you could pay attention to right now, how lifting it would strain him further, maybe make him bleed again. It wasn’t like you’d had the supplies to stitch him up properly— you weren't a doctor, just a girl with a roll of gauze and some wishful thinking.

“It’s too heavy, you’ll hurt yourself again.” You stepped forward and grabbed the bow from his grip.

He let you take it, but didn’t seem to calm down, either.

“You hearin’ me?” he huffed. “I thought I told ya to stay!”

You blinked, his aggression clearing a bit of the fog. The crossbow propped up against the wall, you turned to face him and shook your head.

“We needed the food,” you said matter of fact as the bag slipped off your shoulders.

Daryl’s narrow glare met your vacant eyes, in the brief moment you let it. The hollow look on your face seemed to worry him, and his demeanour shifted just as you turned into the kitchen.

He followed.

“What’s wrong with ya?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re shakin’.”

You inhaled a slow breath as if it’d help stop the trembling of your fingers. They felt cold, almost numb. It was nothing more than an annoyance, you convinced yourself, as you started to unpack the bag.

That stare of his burned into you, sizzling at the cool sheet of sweat coating your skin. He watched you fill the counter with one can, then another, then a bottle of water, and so on. A feeling of dread weighed in Daryl’s gut, spreading through him as every second ticked by, even lodging in his throat.

“Did ya get bit?” he rasped.

That made you pause. You placed the last can down and looked up at him with a tired, displeased expression.

“No.”

“Scratched?”

“The herd was gone.”

Remnants of the fog started to burn then, prickling at the corner of your eyes. You turned your back to Daryl, heading back into the living room where all you wanted to do was collapse on that old couch and sleep for the next day.

He wouldn’t afford you the luxury; a heavy hand landed on your shoulder, turning you to face him again. The first thing he noticed were the tears in your eyes— and really, once he’d seen them, it was hard to notice anything else. You were crying— he didn’t even know why, and yet that dreadful feeling in his stomach twisted into guilt. Maybe he should’ve left well enough alone, maybe then his heart wouldn’t be pounding against his ribs; it was a good thing he wasn’t still bleeding because it’d be pumping out of him even faster now.

But you’d shown him care and understanding every step of the way, so maybe he couldn’t let it rest, anyway. He owed you. Even if you didn’t seem to know it, he did.

Daryl had never been one for comfort, though.

“You’re cryin’,” he said pointlessly.

You took a step back, shaking his lingering hand off your shoulder. Your lips parted, eyes narrowed. A page from his book, it seemed.

“You asked me how many people I killed, right?” You drawled. Slow and calculated, like even the effort to speak was too much.

“It's five now.”

His expression fell.

“I have killed more people today than I did in the last two years. I’m tired, Daryl. I’m hungry and you’re hurt and—“

You closed your eyes, sucking in a deep breath.

“Fuck. I’m sorry, I—“ you practically whimpered, “I just need to sleep.”

You did. Floorboards creaking under your exhausted steps, until you reached the couch.

His eyes lingered on the wooden cabinets behind where you’d been standing, long after you had left.

—

For all the fuss of the night before, morning came smoothly. The sun’s rays were lazy as they reached the trees surrounding the porch. One was brave enough to reach your foot, warming the bare patch of skin between your sock and jean cuff.

The porch swing was creaky, but you kind of liked the noise. A soft squeak amongst quiet birdsong carried in the breeze. It was better than whatever odd silence Daryl had fallen into. And the sight of the desolate gravel road, in all its eeriness, was better than those sympathetic looks he’d been giving you all morning.

You could feel his concern, even if he wasn’t saying it outright. Whether he wasn’t willing or able, you weren’t sure, but your bet was on the latter; Daryl’s comforts were often awkward and blunt, like how he’d been in the pharmacy, or when you talked about your brother. It didn’t seem to matter to him that his apprehension made his words, somehow, more endearing when you could tell he was stewing about what to say— the right thing. That, when he finally did speak, you didn't care matter much how it came out, not when he tended to them with that much care and consideration.

Knowing all that, dwelling on it between dreamless sleep during a long night on the couch, only made that guilt inside of you fester.

So when you felt that stare dig into you again, all you wanted to do was apologize.

Those two words hung in the air, I’m sorry, between you and Daryl. He was lingering by the front door, leaning on the opposite end of the porch railing with his left foot crossed in front of the other. His good arm reached back to grab the rail.

He shook his head, “‘S fine. Shouldn’t’a pushed ya.”

“You were worried.”

He gave you a shy smile, perking up just the corner of his mouth.

“I’m alright,” you said.

“Alright.”

“I am,” you reiterated, feeling that hesitant look he had stain you.

He nodded again, and your mask almost slipped away. Why was it so hard to put on that false bravado around him? You’d practiced your whole life, after all.

There was something about the way his stare burned into you that just felt raw, not necessarily in a negative way. It was just an innate knowledge that he saw past you, and could pick out every bit of you, good or bad.

Maybe it had something to do with that first day he found you, broken at your lowest point. It’d exposed you to him, bare, and no matter how hard you tried to hold that confidence, he already knew what was lying beneath.

You looked back to the road.

“I found Lee’s body.”

The porch creaked underneath his shifting weight.

“That’s why I— why I came back the way I was.”

You clenched your jaw and composed yourself.

“When Bri— the Governor said we had to attack, they were the first to volunteer. Emily, Mitch, Ross." You swallowed. "Lee… he was hardened, but I thought he could be kind. He tried to help me.”

“Wha’d ya mean?”

“He understood why I didn’t want to fight. The others always thought I didn’t know how.” You shook your head. “But he used to tell me how I could be tougher. Brave.”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed.

“Tha’s bullshit.”

He stood up straight, lifting off the rail to take a step closer to you.

“Helluva lot harder to ask questions first.” He shook his head. “Tha’ ain’t weak at all.”

A breeze shifted by as you met his eye. He had his colour back, most of it at least, and seemed to be growing back into his typical self. Surly, strong, sweet.

“I was a dumbass before,” he muttered, with a soft, almost shy look about him. “Thought if I didn’t throw the first punch I’d already lost. Sure as hell didn’t think I needed anyone.”

His eyes flickered over your tepid expression, then fell to his hands in front of him, intertwined.

“Till I realized it was jus’ a buncha bullshit Merle taught me.”

The swing creaked when you stood up. Rusted hinges whining as you stepped in front of Daryl and carefully wrapped your arms around him. His muscles turned to stone under your touch, no matter how gentle it was, but he didn’t pull away, either.

You took a deep breath. Daryl smelt like the forest, sweet and earthy.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, cheek pressed to his chest.

He shrugged softly before you felt the rumble of his voice. The tickle of his breath in your hair.

“Jus’ the truth.”

-> part 7

A/N: I love this part sm and I hope u did too! the next few should be interesting-- I have soooo many ideas and plans but, as always, I'll see where the story takes me. were getting into the thick of it now mwahahah

if you’re reading this, thank you! I hope you enjoyed this fic. please feel free to leave feedback, it helps so much and I love to read it. have a lovely day <3

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #the walking dead #norman reedus #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon / reader #daryl / reader #daryl / you #daryl x you #Daryl Dixon / you #Daryl Dixon x you #twd #twd fanfiction #Daryl Dixon series #all you got

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skyloftian-nutcase · 10 months ago

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So any advice to stay focused on basic tasks? I have currently untreated ADHD and as a result, have a lot of trouble focusing and remembering things. Not only is this really a pain for school (I forget any work I have to do or sometimes where my class is) but sometimes I will literally forget to eat or drink water (sometimes forgetting water for up to a day and a half and food for up to 3 days). I am looking to try medication to see if it helps soon but I keep forgetting to start the whole process so Anya device for how to remember stuff and stay focused?

I don't know how helpful I'll be, but I've been told I have ADHD so here's the ways I've managed over the years when I was in school:

I too forget due dates all the time, so I write them down. In a planner, on my phone, in a different planner, on a calendar, highlight them on the syllabus which is then placed in a pocket for the folder dedicated for that subject specifically. I used to carry a teacher's planner in my backpack, and since I took that backpack everywhere I went, I always had it with me. Put reminders on your phone. When you first get the syllabus, write down the important dates and put reminders on your phone immediately.

I used to keep boxes of protein bars and ramen and instant mac cups on a shelf in visible sight. Since I lived in a dorm that was essentially a closet, I could always see the food as a reminder. I would keep my water bottle on my desk, which was the only piece of furniture in the place where I could sit and do anything since all the furniture I had was a shelf, desk, bed, and dresser in one room. If you live in a bigger space, put snacks everywhere you usually hang out. My mom has a trick where she puts reading glasses in every single place of the house where she might be, so I recommend doing that with food and maybe even cups to remind you to drink. Also, you can set alarms on your phone! Like a daily reminder: Eat and hydrate!

As for the actual act of hunkering down and studying and being able to focus, I don't have a foolproof way, but what worked for me was this: I set up environments that were dynamic enough to keep me hyperfocused. What I mean by that is I get antsy sitting still for too long, so I would put on a playlist or a video game and just use the location ambience to help me feel like I was somewhere else. Whenever I would start getting antsy, I would move locations in the game or go to the next ambience video. And then boom! You've moved. Different setting, new environment, let's settle back in and study again. I also had multiple, multiple documents and tricks to motivate myself. When I was in grade school, it was Harry Potter. I would assigned Hogwarts houses to subjects and create a competition, and whichever subject I did the most work in won. I can go into more detail if you want, I'm about to do something similar tonight to get some work around the house and studying done. We can study together tonight if you want! :)

Lovelies who have ADHD, care to pitch in? Anon, make sure to read any reblogs/comments!

#you ask skye answers #lovely anon

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crescentblossom66 · 1 year ago

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Bond of the Beasts Chapter 7

After being scolded by Cookie for her reckless behavior, that Hattie even agree was her fault, both her and Bow were brought in- and out of school by the red-haired woman until they could be certain that the hunters were no longer looking for them. And had assumed that they had left. It took two whole weeks for the hunters to leave the school area alone, two whole weeks in which neither Hattie nor Bow even got a glimpse at Timmy. They were worried for him, but there was nothing they could do.

“Do you think that the hunters...managed to capture Timmy?” Bow hesitantly asked Hattie as they walked back to their rooms after dinner. The forlorn expression and the slumping of the shoulders of her sister already told Bow all she needed to know, it caused her skin to turn a shade of blue.

“I want to say that he's fine, but...I don't know.” As the two girls headed to their rooms to rest, there was a slight argument downstairs.

“Stop making such a fuss, old man, you don't even need that painkiller.” The vampire held up the small box of medication with a wide grin, taking delight in the anger that he was eliciting from the wereowl that was in utter pain.

The shorter man growled and shivered in both rage and a considerable amount of agony as he got off from his seat in an attempt to retrieve it. “Trust me, laddie, I'd snap yer wee, thin spine in two if I wasnae achin'!” The strain in the voice of the wereowl was only causing a sinister sounding chuckle from the vampire.

“Do your ancient bones ache due to it being a full moon today? Well, too bad! You should have thought about that BEFORE you took that last blood pack out of the lower part of the fridge.”

The old man growled and balled his hands to fists. “Do you honestly thing that I'd take one of those filthy, disgusting packs?! I'm a wereowl, not a complete savage like you, bloodsuckers!”

“You're aware that your kind is the epitome of savage, right? I mean my kind doesn't go out there killing and eating the flesh of every innocent animal they find, if that isn't savage, I think you live in a different reality from mine.” The Conductor tried his hardest to reach the bottle of painkillers, the pain was starting to get to the point that it caused his eyes to water. It happened every single month, that excruciating pain that caused him to get even more irritated than usual whenever it happened. A day before his transformation and subsequent day, he would ache terribly as his bones and whole body would distort into a feral mix of human and owl. Of course that procedure would put a huge strain on him and cause him to be in pain akin to breaking all his bones before they'd fix themselves again. “Maybe if you ask reeeal nicely, I'll consider giving it back to you.”

The blonde man's first thought was to be defiant and tell him to shove the blood packs and the painkillers so far up his rectum that it would come out his mouth again, but his words got caught in his throat as he only let out a small yelp of pain he couldn't suppress. A wave of pure agony spread throughout his whole spine and lower back as one of the vertebrae cracked and shifted. “Please...just give me the damn thing...” The purple-haired man chuckled and tossed him the bottle which the other almost dropped out of surprise.

“Leave my things alone next time, I won't be so benevolent if it happens again.” With that the vampire went back to up the stairs to the attic, leaving the wereowl alone in the living room.

The Conductor glared after the the purple-haired man for a moment longer before he popped open the bottle and took three pills which he swallowed without even a sip of water. He went past Cookie who looked down the hallway at him, peeking her head out from the kitchen. “Can you go a day without-...” She noticed how agitated the man was, even his palms bleed as his sharp nails dug into his hand when he turned it into a shaking fist, she had forgotten what day it was.

“Not now, Cookie...” The contempt in the voice of the man send chills down Cookie's back who approached him slowly with a potion she had made earlier. She was aware that he was in great pain, that's why she had spent the last months trying to learn how to make a potion that could make the transformation and the discomfort in the days that lead up to it less painful and harsh.

“I'm sorry, sweetie, I forgot what day it was...this month was pretty tumultuous. I'm sorry I yelled at you.” She'd have a word with Snatcher later, the vampire was just as aware as her that the wereowl was in pain, yet he showed no compassion at all.

The tension left his shoulders a bit and he took a deep breath to calm himself down again with moderate success. His instincts that were getting stronger again with the full moon being the next night, told him to either back away or attack the witch that still moved closer and closer with every step, holding out a strange smelling potion. It wasn't as pungent and intense as the one she had given the young girl around half a month ago, however it still made him recoil from it. Cookie noticed his eyes narrowing and focusing on her while his hands twitched, the few feathers that she couldn't see as his clothes hid them, were starting to raise as well. “I told ye to stay away!” The Conductor stopped himself at the last second from adding that he was worried about her getting hurt by him...He even hissed a bit, hoping that she'd get the idea which seemed to be the case as she put the liquid down on the little chest in the hallway. His feathers lowered and hands stopped twitching when she slowly backed away again.

“Please drink it, Conductor, it will help you, I promise.” The red-haired woman gave him a gentle smile which caused him to look away again to hide the embarrassment he felt at her care. He was grateful when she turned back around and headed back to the kitchen. The liquid tasted just as bad as it smelled, and he had to fight hard against the urge to gag, but it certainly did what Cookie promised it would do. The terrible pain he was in became a lot more bearable, maybe he'd even be allowed so sleep tonight. Regularly it was tough for him to even catch a wink of sleep a day before a full moon, not only due to the pain, but it made a particularly haunting nightmare resurface month after month. He shuddered at the mere thought of that dream returning to plague him once again. The Conductor wasn't one to cry easily, pain never bothered him much. He had survived more gunshots when he could count from those that hunted werebeasts out of sport or for their unique fur coats or feathers. He had fought and bled often enough before Cookie had helped him a few years ago, several scars littered his body, some that could easily be overlooked like the tiny scar under his eye, while others were deep and unsightly like the large cut on his chest. Physical pain wasn't the issue, but the mental pain he dragged around since that fateful night Cookie found him, did.

The short man decided to turn in for the night and attempt to get some rest, he thanked the stars that he just missed the DJ leaving the house, he'd likely have punched him if he so much as uttered a simple hello at this point. He looked at the small cactus placed on his window sill that, even though the DJ had given it to him to partly mock him after telling him that any plant in the house would die after the basilisk had asked him to take care of the young monstera, and he had been so busy that he had forgotten to water it and it died. The cactus, however, was still green. The wereowl growled when he remembered the comment from the man, saying that the golden ball cactus reminded him of the prickly and abrasive personality of the Conductor. He had no idea why he kept that rather mean-spirited gift around, maybe he should throw the cactus away, he didn't enjoy having greenery in his room anyway.

The moment he laid down he fell asleep immediately, the hard workday and his body aching horribly, that and the effects of the potion Cookie had so thoughtfully provided him with, caused him to drift into a rather easy and pleasant sleep. The nightmare that haunted him so frequently didn't appear and he awoke the next morning feeling rather well given the circumstances. He prepared himself for his day, took a shower, ate toast, and got himself a nice coffee, as no one else was up yet. He left the house a bit earlier than normal as today was the day to inspect the the train. When he was about to leave, he noticed that Bow came down the stairs to head to the bathroom. Her tired, half-closed eyes met his for a moment before she darted behind a corner out of sight. With a sigh and a slightly guilty expression, he left the house, he would have loved to patch up the issue that the young girl had with him, but unfortunately it had to wait, as he was already running a bit late.

The sun was slowly starting to rise in the distance and it blinded him on his walk to the station, he noticed that the days were getting shorter again and that the temperature was dropping bit by bit each day, soon it would be autumn and the trees would change their their leaves and fall. The nature around him dying always brought a strange sense of melancholy to him, it reminded him of what he had lost around three years ago. He shook the thoughts out of his mind for the second time and focused his hearing on the birds that were slowly starting to begin singing and waking up from their slumber. It cheered him up a bit and he soon reached his destination, the train station.

It had been truly fortunate that the railway company needed a train operator, and that his father, who had been a train conductor for many years, taught him the ropes when he was still young...that had been around 40 years ago, a distant memory, but he still recalled it vividly and in detail. Due to his skill and experience he had been hired, but due to reasons, he could only ever take the day shift, being a wereowl truly made things difficult, he was lucky that the company accommodated his request.

He deactivated the security and felt oddly at peace the moment he entered the vehicle and started his inspection, starting by the wheels which he checked for damage one by one. The Conductor enjoyed the quiet before he'd start the train and it would be filled with noise and chatter again as people entered and exited at their stops, sometimes he just preferred to be alone, it helped him organize his thoughts. After the wheels, he made sure that the carts were linked together correctly, and to make sure no rust or wear was visible on the metal. The wereowl was happy once he checked the engine and could note that the train was in tip top shape, he proceeded to start it and listen if it sounded like it should, his exceptional hearing helping him greatly in that task.

His day went like it normally always did, a long track along the rails from dawn 'til dusk with several stops down the line. What his passengers thankfully didn't see was the slight amount of pain of growing feathers on his skin which his clothes thankfully hid, and by the time that he stopped the train in the evening, the passengers would have left and he'd be alone again. The potion that Cookie had given him the night prior at least made his pain more bearable this time and he didn't have to suppress groans of pain and discomfort or hide his blood-shot eyes from view, his cap really helped him with that task. If he moved quickly and kept his head low, no one would suspect that something was off. The Conductor stopped the train for the night and did the small amount of paperwork that he had to do for the company, status reports, a small report on the condition of the train and the railway, passenger count and such like. It took him only around ten minutes to complete, by the time he did, he could hear the footsteps of the man that would take the train to go and to the night shift.

With haste, he ran off as fast as his rather short legs allowed and made his way down the street in a rushed, but not frantic manner as to not draw attention to himself. He could feel his instincts kicking in more and more as the sun set and the moon started to show and bathe him in its silvery light. The intense strain on his body as it started to shift caused him to slump over against a tree as he was just about to enter the forest, his breath came in short bursts and his eyes went blurry and when his vision turned sharp and crystal clear. He needed to hurry!

The blonde-haired man forced his shaking body to enter the forest, to get away from civilization as far as he could, people would freak out of they saw him grow in size while his hands shifted into sharp claws that could tear a man to shreds within seconds. He sighed in relief when he reached a clearing, by that point his mind was being consumed, made to play second fiddle to the instincts that were starting to grow intense. All he wanted to do now was hunt, hunt creatures that his sharp talons could easily tear apart and that his arms, now feathered, could carry into the trees to eat. His clothes tore at the seams as he grew in size significantly, the once small train conductor would now tower over even the tallest man as his body reached two and a half meters (8'2 feet) in height. His conscience was kept in a state of half awareness, he could feel, hear, and see and touch, but it was like his body was being controlled not by him, but by an invisible force. The night went on until he heard the sound of gunshots while he was feasting on a deer that he had killed just moments earlier. His instincts of course made him avoid getting closer to where the shots and the commotion came from, he instead climbed trees and glided from thick branch to thick branch further and further away from the smell of gunpowder and the smoke of lit torches.

All of this changed in an instant when his exceptional hearing picked up a sharp yelp of pain from another werecreature, a pretty young one at that. The noise was reminiscent of a very similar noise that he heard around three years ago, one that haunted him in his worst nightmares, it brought his subdued mind back to the surface and made him stop and turn back around as he forced his body back into obedience. It was exhausting to fight against the owl in him that tried to make him turn tail and run, but he wouldn't falter, not when the sound so clearly came from a young werebeast in pain!

#ahit bond of the beasts #ahit monster au #ahit fanfic #ahit conductor #ahit cooking cat #ahit snatcher

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acefms · 1 year ago

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MEET WESLEY!

if you’re hearing STARTED FROM THE BOTTOM by DRAKE playing, you have to know WESLEY ‘WES’ CARTER ( HE/HIM; CIS MALE) is near by! the 40 year old RETIRED NBA BASKETBALL PLAYER has been in denver for, like, 3 YEARS. they’re known to be quite UNYIELDING, but being DAUNTLESS seems to balance that out. or maybe it’s the fact that they resemble JESSE WILLIAMS. personally, i’d love to know more about them seeing as how they’ve got those A LUCKY WRISTBAND, DRINKING BURBON IN A DULLY LIT BAR, RUNNING RAIN OR SHINE, LIGHTNING STRIKES TWICE, NEVER FORGET WHERE YOU CAME FROM vibes. and maybe i’ll get my chance if i hang out around the WASHINGTON PARK long enough!

NAME: wesley ‘wes’ carter

AGE: forty

HOMETOWN: Detroit, Michigan

BIRTHDAY: april 11th

ZODIAC: aries

GENDER: male he/him

SEXUALITY: bisexual

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: single

OCCUPATION: former star basketball player in the nba / bar owner

[ tw: poverty, car accident, severe injury/paralysis & death.]

• Wesley grew up in a loving household with two parents still together and four other siblings. Wesley is the second eldest, with one older sister, one younger sister and two younger brothers all aging from 25-45. His mother was a stay at home mom and his father worked as a basketball coach for the local team. However, a car accident would leave Wesley’s father with serious injury causing him to be paralyzed from the waist down. It didn’t take long for the family to feel the strain of their fathers new reality. Wesley was in the car with his father but very luckily escaped with only a broken collarbone and several bumps and bruises.

• With seven mouths to feed, Wesley’s mother had to take on any jobs that she could, and each of the children did whatever they could to help, but nothing ever really seemed to help. Most days they’d all share a small amount of food, but despite their conditions, and many disagreements, there was only love at the core.

• Of all the siblings, Wesley showed the most promise from a very young age, taking after his father with his own love of basketball. During his younger years it was the only thing he truly could focus on to escape his reality. Star of his high school team, he was accepted into college on a full sports scholarship and did everything that he could to succeed.

• Despite a setback with his own injury during his senior year, after finishing college he was one of the top draft picks for the Detroit p.istons and soon found his career taking off. Since then, he’s played for a number of different teams and brought each one a certain level of success. At the age of thirty-seven several injuries forced him to retire, and he’s still trying to figure out who he is when he’s not playing the game he spent his entire life loving. The game that saved him, in many ways.

• His career has allowed him to give his family a better life, and no matter how much success he has, he has never and will never forget where he came from and the fight he had to put in to get to where he is today. He took every no and turned it into a yes, never once accepting defeat.

• His mother would end up passing away in her sleep 5 years ago of a suspected brain aneurysm. This was very hard for him to take, but being the sibling who always ‘fixed’ things, Wes bottled up his grief and made sure everyone else was ok. His father moved in with him, and Wes made sure he had the best medical care possible. It is also not unusual for his siblings to stay with him for long periods of time, either. But he doesn’t mind. His success is theirs as he wouldn’t have been able to do it without them.

HEADCANNONS

• He hates not being able to fix things for the people he cares about. He’s such a fixer?? Your problems come first, his can wait. Which of course makes them 100x worse but it’s cool.

• Romantic with someone? You are getting beyond spoiled.

• So competitive it’s unreal. Like no, he’s not even gonna let you win to be cute. It’s just the way he is wired to fight to be the best ? He’s sorry he doesn’t mean to be an ass about it, it was just programmed into him to show no mercy in that sense.

• Needs quiet moments to simply get through the day? His home and job are always so loud, he needs the quiet for at least five minutes or he will explode honestly.

more tba.

#chq;intro #intro | wesley.#poverty tw #car accident tw #injury tw #paralysis tw #death tw

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sugarcult · 2 years ago

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So I learned the part about fucking up your liver the hard way. From the ages of 7-18, I had no healthcare. Literally none. My dad took me to the doctor and paid out of pocket for my vaccines so I could go to school twice, but I never went to the doctor unless there was something very seriously wrong with me. I had the swine flu when I was ten and remember being so sick I legitimately was afraid I was going to die, and I never went to the doctor even once during that time, because my dad couldn’t afford to take me. Because of this, about a year after I started menstruating, my periods became debilitatingly painful, but my dad couldn’t afford take me to the doctor, much less to see a specialist. So I survived from the ages of 11-16 entirely on willpower, ibuprofen, and occasionally Midol. (Not sure if it’s available in other countries, but Midol is an over-the-counter medicine created specifically to address symptoms of periods.) I regularly bought 250 count bottles of ibuprofen and would go through them in about 2 months, then buy more to continue to function.

Between the ages of 15-16, my periods became painful enough twice that I had to leave work in the middle of a shift (could not afford to miss work) and have my dad take me to the ER. The first time, we sat in the waiting room for five hours without being seen, and I eventually started feeling a little better so I asked my dad to just take me home and I spent the next day in bed. The second time, I was seen within about an hour.

Over the course of the day, since I had been working and trying to tough it out until the end of my shift, I had started taking Advil (ibuprofen) and Midol early in the day and increasingly more frequently as time went on, because I was so desperate for relief. You are supposed to take an absolute maximum of 8 Advil per day. By the time I went to the hospital, I had taken 15 Advil and a handful of Midol (maybe 4-6, because Midol had never been very effective for me so I did not rely on it as much).

So anyway, I was at the ER. They took some of my blood, and I waited in a room for like two hours hooked up to an IV. (No idea what they were doing that whole time, because nobody came back to check on me until immediately before I was discharged. I imagine they were severely understaffed.) A doctor I’ve never seen before comes into my room while my dad is outside smoking and tells me they couldn’t find anything wrong with me and that they’re going to send me home. Then he launched into a lecture about how taking that much over the counter pain reliever was going to kill me because it would cause my liver to shut down. I was already aware that I risked damaging my liver, but I didn’t realize it was to a severe enough extent that I could die. Regardless, I was incredibly angry at the doctor’s response and told him that I could either rely on OTC pain reliever or I could starve to death from missing work and not being able to afford food. He did not take this very well, I think because he thought I wasn’t taking him seriously. I was taking him seriously, just explaining the nature of my situation.

I tried to cut back on pain reliever or at least switch ibuprofen and acetaminophen to minimize damage to any particular organ. At the age of 20, I was diagnosed with a chronic pain disorder. Shortly after, my periods became less painful. No idea why, possibly because of the medication I started taking, but even unmedicated, I haven’t experienced those issues again to that degree. However, I was in regular enough pain elsewhere that I was still taking pain reliever nearly every single day.

Six months later, my GP told me I had liver damage. I had Fatty Liver Disease, which can be a precursor to cirrhosis of the liver, something that killed my grandfather about 6 months before I was born. I stopped taking pain reliever altogether aside from my prescription, and I still don’t take it except on very rare occasions (maybe 2x per year). Thankfully, my liver healed over the course of about a year and my Fatty Liver Disease has not come back, which is great!

But, it is important to me to be transparent and add that the only reason my liver disease was caught is because I had had access to healthcare for only two years since being a kid, and that I had a serious enough health problem that I had to go to the doctor regularly. And it’s also important for me to add that, while my liver issues have cleared up, my chronic pain is so debilitating that I have had to leave 3 jobs in two years due to the pain of doing various tasks and I am currently unemployed. I don’t know if this is because my chronic pain is objectively worse or if it just feels worse because my pain is not medicated. But I do know that I am not capable of “toughing out” the pain anymore and thus can’t reliably work.

This is why so many Americans buy ibuprofen in massive quantities. It’s because a lot of us do use them that regularly, even knowingly at our own expense. Because for a lot of us, we can go to the doctor and go into immense debt, or we can manage our pain without a professional’s help and work long and hard enough to maybe afford to go to the doctor one day when we “really need it.” And probably not even then.

wait americans can just. buy massive bottles of ibuprofen what the fuck

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ecstilson-blog · 1 year ago

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Throughout my life, I’ve written letters, addressed them to God, and dropped them off at the post office. I did this when my first son died, when I got divorced, and when I finally attained my bachelor’s degree after being a single mom. I never included a return address or a clue to my identity. This was just my message in a bottle, so I felt like Heaven heard me…

Today, I thought about this at the pharmacy. Mike had tried getting my prescription, but there are national shortages on many medications—and mine are some of them. “They ran out,” Mike said, coming back to the car. “Sorry that took forever; there’s a huge line.”

“But… my oncologist called yesterday. They have just enough for 18 days.” And then I did something I rarely do in front of Mike; I cried.

We walked back into the pharmacy to see six people in line, and as we stood there, my right leg began to shake. “You should go sit down.”

“It’s okay,” I told Mike. “I don’t wanna miss when it’s our turn.” They hadn’t listened to him. Maybe they would listen to me.

At different points, each person in front of us glanced back. They all seemed around my age (40) or younger, healthy, probably doing some Christmas shopping. Then, I had the audacity to think, “Why don’t they offer to let us go ahead? Mike was just in here. And I can barely stand this long.”

One man in line called his mother and complained while we waited. “Hi, Mom.” He paused. “Yes. Just at the pharmacy. There’s a huge line.” Another pause as he glanced back, listening to her reply. “Right?! He said he can’t even face his friends unless he gets a new gaming system this year.” He exhaled with such force that I clocked it at 50 mph. “Oh! And you know I take Nicki on a shopping spree every year? It just never seems to be enough. I hate this time of year. Are all women that needy? No wonder men joke about marriage.”

Mike looked at me and smirked. I plastered a smile onto my face, but it felt subpar. I thought of this woman, “Nicki.” Meanwhile I’m just praying for another week, another day, another moment with my family.

After a bit longer, they called us up and my leg shook so badly that I held the counter in a death grip. “I have terminal cancer,” I said, my eyes pleading with the pharmacist and my knuckles turning Porcelain 10.

“It’s for Magagna, right?” He looked at Mike, remembering him from earlier.

“My oncologist called yesterday and said you have enough for 18 days,” I begged.

“But like I told your husband, we can’t fill this for the full 30 days. We don’t have enough for this prescription.”

“My doctors’ office is closed for the weekend, and I’ll be out of this tomorrow. If it’s not too much to ask, can I please have the 18 days?”

He typed something into the computer, and my breath stopped. He practically held my life in his hands. “This’ll take about 15 minutes. I’ll come get you when it’s ready? You can take a seat over there.”

I noticed then how stressed the pharmacist looked. “I’m sorry about the line,” I suddenly said. “This must be a stressful day for you too. Thank you for your help.”

His peered at me and Mike, his eyes widening with disbelief. “What you're both going through is so much worse. I’m sorry you have cancer.”

“Well, let’s just say I didn’t ask for it.” I tried to laugh, but it came out like a hiccup. Then I turned away.

Mike decided to shop for some ice melt, and as I walked toward the chairs, I fought falling into the throes of irony. A private corner seat, behind a display of reading glasses, seemed ideal. I felt secluded as I mulled my thoughts. Why had this hit me so hard? Then it came to me, the thing I’d said to the pharmacist: “Let’s just say I didn’t ask for it.”

One of the hardest things about cancer is knowing it can affect anyone. I’d gone from participating in marathons to barely being able to walk to my mailbox. I faced the pharmacy’s northwestern wall and tears flooded my cheeks. I have terminal cancer. And there’s no denying it. Every moment in pain is a reminder.

God, not this! Not here. Wiping my face with my scarf, I dug a medical bill from my purse and flipped it over. “Dear God,” I wrote, hoping to calm down.

Dear God,

I didn’t choose this situation, and right now that’s hard. I don’t want to have terminal cancer anymore. I want a day where I don’t feel sick at all. Even ONE day. Just to remember what that was like. I’ll appreciate it so much. God. I feel trapped in my own dying body.

I hate knowing that without certain medicine I’ll die. I hate that these are my fears while some man’s wife is upset that she won’t get as much STUFF as she did last Christmas. Seriously?! I need strength. Strength to stop judging people.

Strength to keep getting cancer treatments. Strength to not complain and let this turn me into a bitter person with a curdled soul. No one can uncurdle milk! (Well, I guess YOU can.) But anyway…

Another person called last week and said I should quit getting treatments because I don’t have a quality of life. I laughed at first, but on my hardest days, I remember their words and it’s hard to keep going.

God… I’m sorry to be so judgmental. I really am. I’m working on it.

AND… if it’s not too much to ask, can you please give me strength? I know you’re gettin’ a lot of requests though, so if you can’t, I understand.

-Elisa

—

At that moment, I glanced toward the counter and spotted a woman who looked 10,000 times worse than me. She’d lost her hair and probably weighed 100 pounds—even with her walker. She could barely walk and hunched so badly; I wanted to pick her up in my arms and hold her tight. Why hadn’t I looked back when I was in line? Why hadn’t I offered to trade HER places? Screw my aching hips and shaking leg. Why hadn’t “I” done more? Then the answer came: Because I was too wrapped up in my own problems. And that’s exactly why other people hadn’t offered to help me…

Woah. Mind blown…

I suddenly felt sympathy for the man whose family always wants more. I felt bad for his wife who doesn’t know what really matters. I felt even more compassion for the pharmacist who’d just been yelled at and wiped sweat from his brow. And I felt a bit of strength come with every second that I stopped focusing on myself.

“You wanted to swing by the post office?” Mike asked as we walked out of the store.

I looked at the letter I’d written on a medical bill. It simply had my first and last name above all of the numbers. For the first time, I’d broken my one rule: to never write a letter to God that included personal information. “No, it’s all right. We can just go straight home,” I said.

With one hand, I crumpled the bill and threw it into a big garbage can at the front of the store. God had already answered my prayer. He’d given me strength AND empathy. I guess He really can hear us anywhere, even in a pharmacy in southeastern Idaho. Plus, He didn’t charge for same-day delivery or anythin’.

For more posts like this, please follow my page at https://m.facebook.com/realecstilson .

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anthrcpophagi · 1 year ago

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open to: m/f/nb ( not limited to mutuals ) ! plot: tlou/twd inspired; just a cannibal at the end of the world

It was hard to say if her life had become harder or easier since the virus took over. She had already lived her life like a vulture, picking on the leftovers of those more fortunate. Those who had a house and a home and a family that they took for granted. Maren didn't like killing, it wasn't something she was proud of. But she wasn’t ashamed to do what she had to do to survive, not like a lot of other people were. In some ways, her life as a vagrant had been helpful in preparing her for this sort of thing. If her life had continued on the trajectory it had, she might not have made it this far. She had no ties to any one spot, no family to feed, no home to protect nor obligations to uphold. She was a whisper in the wind and she liked it that way.

Eating had become more of a challenge, though, that was for sure. Before the pandemic took the world by storm, she’d gotten away with feeding off the weak, as terrible as it sounded. Sully said he could smell those inching close to death, a tangy aroma that Maren had learned to notice. Those who wouldn’t be missed, who were better off digested in her stomach than polluting the world and those around them. Never ones with families, never ones with lives to be ruined. It’d never been a mission statement or anything, but it was certainly harder to find the weak links nowadays. Or at least to find ones that wouldn’t turn her into a shambling bag of bones.

One of her favorite things were the books. Food scraps were nice. Medical supplies came in handy. New clothes were always a welcome surprise. But books were her lifeblood in a lonely life turned lonelier. In every new city she ventured through, every town she passed by, she always made a point to locate the resident bookstore or library with the hopes of scouring a new read. Perhaps it was trivial to others, but Maren found a solace in novels that nothing else could possibly bring her. And with the world serving as nothing more than a giant garage sale, she was glad to take whatever literary leftovers she could find. And that’s exactly what she was doing in this house.

After patrolling the streets, she’d failed to come across any accessible book stores or libraries. She did manage to find a pretty well-stocked house, though. Maren passed by the shelves of canned goods and water bottles, making mental note to stuff some in her bag on her way out. She strolled right past the medicine cabinet, left ajar by a single broken hinge. Her eyes were locked on the far wall of the main room, entirely covered in shelves filled with books. It was like a scene straight out of Beauty and the Beast, all that was missing was a squeaky ladder to bring her to the top shelves.

Her mind was thrumming with the possibilities. The house was nice and maybe there was a bed or sofa safe enough to crash on for the night, but she knew what she’d be doing until her eyelids grew too heavy to hold open. Or until the sun went down and she was forced to save her flashlight for emergencies.

Just as she reached for a dust-coated book, a creak in the floorboards made her freeze. She didn’t have a gun with her, only her knife and one of the batons she’d swiped from a dead crossing guard. If a horde of infected cornered her now, she’d be cannon fodder. Quickly, she darts to the side, hiding behind an old rocking chair, holding her breath. The things couldn’t see, she'd learned, so if she stayed quiet then maybe she could slip out the side door before it could sniff her out. But as she perked over the carved backing of the chair, an unexpected sight causes her knees to go weak and she wonders how much time she’d have to run before they could shoot her.

“I don’t want trouble.” Her voice quivered as she held up her hands in surrender. “I’m just looting.”

#this got unreasonably long so please don't feel like you have to match lengths!#indie horror rp #indie slasher rp #indie 80s rp #indie literature rp #indie tlou rp #indie twd rp #indie rp #indie apocalypse rp #( open ).

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verbo-s-e · 1 year ago

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july 22, 2023 9:39 pm

it happened again. i’m beginning to think you’re some kind of mix of beetlejuice or voldemort, where you say or think the name and then BAM. there you are.

i wish it was comical. it almost is. but i’m just not there yet. i don’t see any of it as funny where as normal me would. the before me, at least. we both know i’ve never been normal a day in my life and nothing between us has never been so, either.

this time, instead of an awkward wave off a steering wheel, i got a peace sign out the window. why does it enrage me so much? i’ll tell you why.

it feels like continued gaslighting. that, oh! let me just wave or peace sign it and it’s all ok! nothing changed! eh! wrong! convenient, that for you, nothings different. i should’ve known better. then and now and every single fucking time in between. you’d probably tell me as always, i’m overthinking things. and ya know? MAYBE I AM! but you don’t get to do that and you don’t get to fucking wave at me. b

i want to hate you. regret you. part of me does. i want to scream at you. i did, but you didn’t hear me. every time this happens, my blood instantly boils as if it’s in an electrical kettle set to HIGH and fills me with such a white hot rage i worry i might turn into the hulk herself. i don’t know who i am when this anger takes over and the more this happens, the less i trust myself to not self sabotage. of course, because naturally — i’m worried about self sabotage and you’re fine. fucking typical.

it took me an hour and a half, nearing two to calm down and i still haven’t settled into homeostasis and honestly? i don’t think i will for a while. it’s embarrassing. this whole fucking thing, this whole fucking time has been embarrassing. from loving you so boldly, writing all of this, to enabling your bad behavior. she says as she rattles an orange bottle. it’s pavlovian as it is embarrassing and speaking of! i had to get on meds just to fucking cope and i have to say: i much rather raw dog it. this new medication makes me feel like hot syrup that was put in the microwave too long. that doesn’t make any sense. but neither does the feelings that easy over me when i take it.

i already don’t recognize myself in the literal and figurative mirror. i’m not sleeping or sleeping too much and eating! oh forget about it. maybe one or one and a half meals a day if i remember. and don’t worry, although 85% of this can be attributed to us and our tailspin into molton lava, i can’t give you all the credit. we don’t need to talk about the other 15%. that’s not why we’re here. but i will say to that: this is me doing my very best.

it’s starting to feel scary in the sense that i’m losing whatever grip of reality i had. what’s real? what’s not? always a question i ask throughout my day, even when things were good between us. now, it’s a war torn battle field and i don’t know which way is up. do i need a permanent vacation? i don’t know and i don’t know how to fully answer that. but it does scare me.

you’ve broken me many times and i’ve put myself back together many times. but this time? this time the pieces are too small and i can grab them with my fingers after years of shattering on the hardwood floor.

i’m never going to know or feel peace as long as i’m here. you made me hate this city.

#verbo-s-e #verbo-s-e blog

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ramblerbean · 1 year ago

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I am tired of surviving. My entire life I have just survived. Survived medical neglect, survived physical abuse, survived emotional abuse, survived mental abuse. I survived being raped as a two year old. I survived my parents divorce, thinking it was my fault. I survived while raising my younger sibling. I survived when they decided that I was nothing to them anymore, less than a person. It hurt, but I survived. I survived cutting my mother off. I survived being homeless. I survived listening to someone I loved be raped and attacked over the phone, the threat of death in the air if I hung up. I survived not knowing enough about them to call the police. I survived him faking his death, and continued to survive when he accidentally revealed his lie. I survived when a boy I loved lied about loving me for half of our three year long relationship. I survived myself 24 times, even though I didn't want to. I survived every pill I swallowed, every shot of alcohol I took. I survived alcoholism before the age of eighteen. I survived therapy, learning everything that was wrong with me because I had survived. I survived codependency. I survived my delusions that made everything ok. I survived spending 5000 dollars as a teenager, my entire savings, I survived building it back up to 1000 dollars, just to have to spend it all again to keep surviving. I'm surviving on a single 150 dollar paycheck every two weeks as a financially independent individual that doesn't qualify for disability, or SNAPS. I'm surviving my body shutting down because it is so tired of having to aurvive. I am surviving even though I feel no joy for anything in my life. I am surviving even though my country is committing genocide, on people like me no less. I do not have it the worst in the world, but I'm still just surviving. Just. Surviving. And I am so tired. When I cut my fruit, my hands tighten on my knife, and I remind myself, you survived 24 times. I take my medications in the morning, and I pause holding the bottle a little too long. I remind myself, you survived 24 times. All this surviving, never really living. I believe it is my punishment. I had to have done something, in the before times, before my brain wiped away the memories as my life faded from me. Maybe I hurt people, a lot of people. Maybe I killed people, a lot of people. I had to have to deserve this. I have nothing to my name, and nothing that I want. A handful of failed relationships, the second choice among friendships. A story I wrote for class, a poem I wrote to someone I called the love of my life. Every time I survive I ask myself why. Why wasn't that the thing I didn't survive? Will it end? Is my suffering eternal for this body? Will I be happy? I know what it would take for me to be happy. What my life would have to look like. It's not frivolous. I wouldn't be vehemently wealthy. But I would have enough. I, as myself, would be enough for someone else. I would be making things that bring others joy, and that would bring me joy. But all I am right now is surviving. And I am tired. And it is hard. But that is the human condition. Surviving. Unless you are born into the few who can live

#ramblerbeanspeaks

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something-tofightfor · 3 years ago

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Locked Down Part 9: The Recovery

Word Count: 8,386

Rating: M. Illness. Vomit. Language. Hidden feelings. Domesticity. Mention of drugs. Vulnerable Dieter.

Summary: Dieter is in fact sick - as are half of the cast and crew ... and that means it’s time for you to do exactly what you promised and take care of him.

Does he let you? Does he trust you? And how do you manage to keep the fact that you’re quarantining together a secret when your options for assistance are so limited?

Author’s note:

And so we roll on. This chapter is a very, very important one for these two for a lot of reasons. You are all the absolute best. I love and appreciate every single one of you.

Catch up on the other parts here: Locked Down Masterlist

Dieter slept fitfully for the next six hours, the man tossing and turning in the bed and wrapping himself completely in the comforter. Despite the medicine he’d taken, you felt that his skin was feverish - and he had the chills to go along with it. You didn’t know what to do for him, because you wanted to let him sleep - wanted to let his body rest, hopefully working overtime to rid him of the virus as quickly as possible.

So you rested next to him, dozing off only to be startled awake when he moved, the man groaning in his sleep as his limbs flexed. When it was time to give him another dose of medication, you left the bed, walking into the bathroom and bringing the bottle with you back into the main room. Instead of turning the light on, you used the flashlight on your phone, pointing it upward so that it was easier to see what was happening - and for you to gaze at the man’s face, pale and peeking out from the blanket cocoon he’d wrapped himself into. “Dieter.” You murmured his name, pressing your lips to his temple. “It’s time to wake up and take more medicine.”

He didn’t react immediately and so you repeated yourself, running your fingers through his still-damp hair. That got to him, his eyes blinking open as he searched for you, deep lines appearing between his brows when he realized what was happening. “I feel like shit.”

“I’ll be honest with you, Dieter. You look like shit right now, too.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes, and you reached over, grabbing the medicine bottle and tipping the right amount into the cap. “You need to sit up to take this, because I don’t want to waste it. Your next dose is the good stuff. Robitussin, and it’ll knock you out for hours, but I want you to eat something later, and -” “Stay with me, please?” He took the little cup from you, his hand shaking slightly. “I kept waking up and you were here, and… it helped.” He was nearly pleading with you, his eyes focused on your face. I wouldn’t dream of leaving you.

“You’re in my room, Dieter. I’m not going anywhere.” You felt the relief at your words, the man lifting the small cup of orange liquid to his lips and tilting his head back to swallow, spluttering at the harsh taste. “Tastes like garbage, but it’ll help.”

“It better.” Settling back onto the pillows, he held his hand out to you, dropping the plastic into your waiting palm. “Do I need to tell someone I’m sick? Email them? Send a text? Are they going to make me -” “We can email someone from your phone, Dieter.” Wetting your lips, you took a deep breath. “It’s pretty safe to say you have the flu like everyone else, so I don’t think you’ll need to test, but if you do…” You trailed off, trying to figure out how you could keep anyone from finding out that you were in the room together. If he’s sick, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is … “I’m going to call the front desk and see if they can send up some soup and crackers for you later. Maybe some ginger ale, too. It’ll be good for you.” As you spoke, he moved closer, the man lifting his head and then settling his cheek against your thigh, one arm sneaking out from under the blanket to wrap around your legs.

“My phone’s password is 106051.” He coughed, turning his head toward your leg and groaning. “You -” “Dieter, you…” You were stunned that he’d given you that information, the man trusting you with the entire contents of his phone instead of doing it himself. “Ok. I’ll wait a few minutes and then email. Do you want me to go into your room and get you more clothes, or pull something out of your bag?”

“You’re wearing my clothes.” He mumbled into your leg, tightening his arm. “M’robe.” You paused for a few moments, trying to decipher the tone of his voice, fingers combing through his hair. He sounds… happy about that.

“Only because you grabbed mine.” He laughed, but you heard the sigh at the end of it and knew he was fading again, his breathing lengthening. “Go back to sleep, Dieter. Next time you wake up, you’ll feel better.”

There was no reply from the man, and only a few minutes later, you heard his soft snores, Dieter once again sound asleep on your lap.

—

When the man rolled away from you an hour or so later, you knew it was time to act. Carefully climbing out of the bed without disturbing him, you made your way to the table, unzipping the man’s bag and rooting through it for his phone. With shaking fingers, you unlocked it, smiling at the sight of his lock screen - a picture of what you assumed was the California coastline, complete with vibrant green palm trees. Bet he misses that. That done, your eyes scanned over his home screens and the slew of freestanding apps - not a folder in sight. We’re gonna have to talk about this lack of app organization, aren’t we.

You didn’t open anything you weren’t supposed to, but weren’t surprised to see a few dating apps - including Raya - on the man’s phone, along with a staggering number of unread messages and Instagram alerts and a few of the same games you played.

Finally, after scrolling back and forth a few times, you found his mail app tucked between Seamless and Whole Foods, clicking on it. There were multiple unread messages on a few different accounts there, too, and you tapped over to what you assumed was his professional account, quickly scanning for the updated illness email that you’d gotten that morning. It was close to the top, but before you got to it, you also saw another one - unread - from his agent, titled RE: Self tape audition - Cowboy (Universal) (Script) - and felt yourself gasp. Oh that would be…

With another glance at the man sleeping on the bed, you clicked on the Cliff Beasts email, writing out a short message that explained Dieter’s symptoms and requested that if they needed a test for confirmation, they should call his room because that phone was more likely to wake him. Once that was done, you pushed your curiosity to the side and immediately darkened the screen, putting the phone back into Dieter’s bag and reaching for your own to send Jenna an update. Dieter’s sick. Got him on meds and in my room. Emailed production. I’m fine, so if you need him, you can text or call me and I’ll make sure he sees it.

You didn’t know if it was the right call, but you figured that the woman had to be feeling better, meaning that she would likely be back to work in at least a limited capacity - and could handle the majority of tasks if necessary. She replied a few minutes later, the surprised, wide-eyed emoji accompanying a short message: Oh, you’re in for it. Good luck. You didn’t know what that meant, but instead of worrying, you set your phone down, too, and then quietly rifled through your clothes, taking a new pair of pajamas into the bathroom to change - but still wearing his robe over your clothes after.

You managed to sleep again next to Dieter, waking up only because your stomach was rumbling. Since he was completely out of it, still, you decided that you could chance leaving to go get food instead of ordering it, prolonging the need to figure out how to explain that you needed his meal delivered to your room along with yours.

Sliding your feet into shoes and grabbing a hoodie and your mask, you left the room, riding the elevator down and then walking quickly to the dining room, eyeing the open space for someone that worked in the hotel. You didn’t see anyone at first, and so you busied yourself with boxing up dinner for yourself and Dieter, thankful that there was soup on the menu. The only thing missing was the ginger ale, but before you could get too upset about it, you realized that if anywhere had it, it would be the bar. If they’re open.

They weren’t. For the first time since you’d arrived, the restaurant’s typically open doors were closed, the lights all turned off. Shit. Rubbing the hand that wasn’t holding the bag with your dinner in it over your forehead, you took a deep breath, trying to remember if you’d seen a vending machine anywhere. I don’t think so. I don’t… “Can I help you with something?”

Luckily for you, when you turned around, you saw the male concierge - Ronjon - staring at you, his head tilted to the side. “Yes. You can, actually.” Adjusting your mask, you continued. “I’m looking for a couple of cans or bottles of ginger ale if you have them. Turns out Dieter’s sick, and so I’m going to take dinner to him since he can’t -” “Of course.” He didn’t hesitate, gesturing to the door. “You can come with me. How many do you need?” Immensely thankful that it wasn’t the blonde that had found you, you followed him through the doors and into the darkened bar.

—

Dieter managed to eat most of the soup, some of the crackers, and drink some of a bottle of ginger ale before he pushed the remainder of the food away, groaning. “No more. Just medicine. Just sleep. I…” He sighed, shaking his head. “Thank you for getting this, but -”

“Ok. That’s fine.” You were finishing your own food, sitting at the small table to eat. “The Robitussin is on the bathroom counter. Figured you’d need to go in there before you go back to bed, so I left it for you with a pair of pajamas. That way you’re not sleeping all tangled in my robe.” He looked at you like you had two heads, the man’s stare blank, but still he got up, making his way slowly across the room and into the bathroom, the door closing behind him.

You knew the worst was still coming, that the first day of sickness was usually just the symptoms presenting themselves. Part of you hoped that you’d curbed it with the medication, that Dieter’s flu wouldn’t transition into the bad flu, that the fever and the fatigue would be the worst of it. We couldn’t be that lucky, though.

As you cleaned up, you grabbed Dieter’s phone from his bag, carrying it over to the nightstand and plugging it in to charge, noting that there were no missed messages or calls. “Production emailed back.” He was standing in the bathroom doorway, his chest visible between the sides of your robe, even though it was tied tightly at his waist. Guess he decided not to change. “No test. Just have to keep them updated on when I don’t feel like shit anymore.” He coughed, head shaking back and forth as he shivered violently. “Fuck I hope it’s soon.”

“Do you mind if I keep the TV on while you sleep? I’m still awake, so -” “No. Not at all.” He stepped closer, though he kept his distance, watching you through narrowed eyes. “Noise helps me sleep.” He chewed on his lip for a few seconds, his expression changing slowly. “How do you feel? Are you alright?” “Still feel OK, Dieter.” You shrugged. “Might take a little while, but I’m sure I’ll get it, too.” His face fell and you stepped forward, reaching out for him and settling a hand on his shoulder. “No, don’t do that. It’s fine. We’ve already got the time off, so … if I get sick, I get sick.” Squeezing his arm, you jerked your head toward the bed. “Lay back down. Get comfortable. I’ll put on a shitty movie, and we can both fall asleep.”

He didn’t argue, and a few minutes later, the man was snoring again, curled up into a ball but facing away from you.

—

The sound of him getting sick in the bathroom woke you up in the middle of the night and you felt your stomach sink as you realized exactly what the noise was - and what it meant. Here we go. Sitting up, you set your hand down onto Dieter’s side of the bed for balance, immediately pulling it away when your palm touched something wet. “What the fuck?” Flipping the light on, you expected the worst - but were relieved to find that it was only sweat, the sheet discolored in the vague shape of the man. If the bed’s wet, then it means the blanket probably is, too.

You leapt out of the bed and moved toward the bathroom door, stumbling over the comforter that he’d discarded in the middle of the floor. That’s all I need … to break a damn ankle. Taking deep breaths, you waited for a pause in the sound from behind it before you knocked. “Go away.” He sounded weak and hoarse, the man fighting to get the words out. “I’m sick.”

“I know you are, Dieter, I’m just letting you know I’m here.” He started retching again, and you rubbed your hand over your face, groaning. “I’m going to come in, alright?” There was no reply, and so you turned the knob, pushing the door open a crack and assessing the situation. “Oh, Dieter.” He took the robe off.

He was huddled on the floor in front of the toilet, arms wrapped around the porcelain with his cheek resting against the rim beneath the raised seat. “Don’t. Don’t look at me.” He groaned, then, barely cracking his eyes open. Reaching over, you flipped the switch off, enough light from the room coming in to illuminate what you needed to see - and, you hoped, what he needed to see.

“You’ve got some clothes on, that’s a good start.” Dropping to your knees, you reached out, settling one of your hands at the center of his back. That was bare, but he’d managed to get a pair of striped pajama pants on, the material settled low on his waist. “You decided to sweat right through the robe, hmm?”

“I did.” He sounded miserable, peering at you with one eye. “How am I fucking freezing and hot at the same time?” You began to move your hand in slow circles, inching closer. “Stop touching me. I’m gonna -” He gagged, moving to open his mouth over the toilet bowl, but you didn’t remove your hand, though you did stop the motion, simply keeping it there to assure him that you weren’t leaving. “Fuck this.”

“We all get sick. It’s a part of life, Dieter.” When he collapsed again, a low moan leaving his mouth, you finally stood, moving over to the sink and filling a small cup with cool water before going back to him. “Can you try to take a sip of this, though? You need something in your stomach, just in case -” He took it from you with one shaky hand, and a few cautious sips later, the cup was back in your hands. “Good.” You set it on the floor and then leaned in again, planting your lips against the back of one shoulder and closing your eyes as you let them linger there. “We’ll sit here for a few more minutes, yeah? And if you don’t get sick again, I’ll get the medicine and -” “Why’re you doing this?” He cleared his throat. “You barely know me. I treat you like shit in public, and -” “You don’t. It’s different than it is when we’re alone, but it’s not like shit, Dieter.” Still rubbing his back, you took a long breath. “And I’m doing this because I want to. Because I care about you.” It was the closest you’d ever come to admitting actual feelings for the man, and you had no idea whether or not he’d even remember it when he felt better. But it’s the truth. “And…” You leaned in, mouth behind his ear. “Because if I didn’t, I know you’d just be in here feeling sorry for yourself and calling for me to come in after a while anyway.”

He managed a weak laugh at that, raising one hand to listlessly wave it in the air, but before too long he was coughing again, the sound weaker than before - and almost nothing coming up except for the few mouthfuls of water he’d managed to swallow. That was longer this time. That’s good. “Medicine, please.” He was begging, the man’s eyes still closed and you stood right away, opening the drawer and pulling out the bottle. It was only three quarters full, but you figured that would last the duration of his illness, and you made a mental note to order more for yourself, just in case.

“Sit up.” It was a command but your tone was soft, voice low. “Look at me.”

“I like it better when I’m the one saying that.” The joke relieved you. If he felt well enough to tease you, things could have been worse. “I can do-” “Your hands are shaking, Dieter. You’re shivering.” Shaking your head back and forth, you held up the small cup. “Open your mouth.” He didn’t argue, and you slowly tipped the liquid between his lips and into his waiting mouth, the man swallowing twice and once again shuddering. You switched that cup out for the water and he took another sip to rinse the taste away, finishing what was left. “Once we know that that’s gonna stay down, I’m going to help you into your room. This bed’s soaked from you sweating on one side, and I’m not gonna make you sleep on that.” He frowned but agreed, closing his eyes.

“Can’t I just stay here? On the floor? It’s cold but it feels -” He coughed twice, turning his head, but a few moments later, he looked at you again, eyes wide. “Shit this sucks.”

“Sometimes when I’m sick, I’ll sleep in my bathtub.” You wrinkled your nose, hand still moving in a slowly widening circle over his back. “Stays cold. And if I puke, then I can just rinse it down for the most part.” You watched as his gaze moved over to your bathtub and then back to you, his lips pushed out into a pout. “If you want to sleep in yours, that’s fine with me, but I think you…we should go into your room. That way you have clean sheets, and I can have them come clean this one up tomorrow.” He was dozing off to the sound of your voice, and you realized that if you didn’t get him up before the medicine kicked in, you never would. “Hey, I need you to stand. I need you to help me, alright?” He mumbled a reply but you felt him move, the man rearranging his limbs for support as he unsteadily rose to his feet.

The two of you made it back to a standing position, Dieter wrapping an arm around you for support. “I’m sorry I smell. I’m sorry I -”

“Don’t apologize. Need to get your room key. I’ll get you settled and come back and get your stuff.” He agreed again, and after turning back into your room to get his key from his bag, you made your way into the hallway, Dieter’s tiny steps slow but steady next to yours. He had to lean against the frame while you opened the door with the key, but as soon as you were inside, he moved on autopilot, pulling away from you and walking into the darkened space - and straight into the bathroom.

You thought that he was going to get sick again, but instead, you heard the telltale sounds of him climbing into his bathtub, followed by a few quiet thuds as he laid down. Blanket and pillow. He needs … You grabbed the extras from the closet, following him into the small room and kneeling down next to him, reaching in with one hand to lift his head and sliding a pillow beneath it with the other. He sighed when his cheek made contact with the cool surface, turning onto his side and drawing his knees closer to his chest.

The blanket was next, folded twice and then laid atop his body, covering as much as you could. “Gonna go back and get your stuff now, Dieter. I’ll only be gone a few minutes.” The man mumbled a reply that you couldn’t decipher, his eyes still closed, and so you stood, tucking the key into the bathrobe’s pocket and pulling the door partially shut behind you.

You made quick work of packing up things from your room - his stuff thrown back into the bag he’d brought over, along with the medicine that you knew he’d need, your phone and charger - and your laptop - in a separate bag, the remaining ginger ale following. Dropping those off by the door, you pulled everything off of the bed and grabbed the comforter off of the floor, shoving it into the laundry bag provided by the hotel and dragging it behind you.

You’d leave that in the hallway for them to collect in the morning along with your trash, and everything would be fine. Dirty, but fine. The last thing you did was hang the tag on your doorknob that requested your room to be cleaned that day - and then you turned toward his door.

He was sound asleep by the time you got back into his room, and you busied yourself unpacking what you needed by the light of the bedside lamp, arranging your things on one side of his bed. That done, you sent Jenna another message, explaining everything - and where the two of you were, telling her that if she wanted to order him something to eat in the morning, she could have it delivered to his room and you’d take care of everything else.

She replied back twenty minutes later - at 3:48 am - and told you she would, which was a relief. Solves one problem, at least. You plugged your phone in, and then decided to check on Dieter one more time before you laid back down, tip-toeing into the bathroom and dropping down onto one knee next to the tub, resting the back of your hand on his forehead. He was still too warm, the state of his messy, damp hair confirming that little had changed. His symptoms were worse than yours had been with COVID, and you wished that there was more that you could do for him. But I can’t. This is all… everything I can do. Slowly stroking your knuckles over his temple and down, you sighed, keeping your eyes on his sleeping form.

Before you could pull your hand away, Dieter’s head moved, the man nuzzling into your touch, his lips finding the side of your wrist, and what could have been your name barely audible in the silence of the bathroom. It’s just because I’m here. Just because he knows it’s me. But that didn’t help - and it didn’t change the sudden tightening of your chest or the flood of emotion that surged through you at the second pucker of his lips before he went limp.

Deciding that you needed to get up, you used the tub for support and stood, carefully organizing the medication - and one of the bottles of ginger ale - on the edge of the sink so that he’d see them when he opened his eyes. From there, you moved back into the main portion of the room, flipping the TV on but muting the volume as you got into bed, turning onto your side and covering yourself with one of the blankets before you closed your eyes.

You couldn’t sleep, though, tossing and turning on the empty bed for nearly an hour, your eyes opening every few minutes and focusing on the partially closed bathroom door. This is stupid. He’s fine. He’s sleeping. Just go to bed. You contemplated taking a blanket into the bathroom and sleeping on the floor next to him, but talked yourself out of it, convincing yourself that it wasn’t the right thing to do - that it would look too clingy, that Dieter would think it was ridiculous when he finally woke up. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d think it was nice of me.

It took until after 5 am for you to fall asleep - and even then, you only managed after you’d pulled the man’s pillow into your arms, burying your nose in it.

—

A knock on the door woke you, and you sat up straight, terror taking over as you thought that you’d overslept. No, it’s probably just breakfast. Or Jenna. Or Jenna bringing breakfast. Sighing, you headed for the door, glancing into the bathroom and finding that Dieter was still in the tub, chest rising and falling smoothly. That’s a good sign.

Without looking through the peephole, you undid the lock on the inside of the door, pulling it open and finding Anika standing there, a tray in her hands and a mask covering the lower half of her face. Fuck. Her eyes widened at the sight of you but you stood your ground, hoping that she could see the fatigue on your face - and would just assume that you were there because Jenna was still feeling under the weather and you were closer to his room. “You are in Mr. Bravo’s room.” The blonde blinked at you, her grip on the tray tightening. “And you’re wearing his -” Oh, fuck. You hadn’t even thought about the fact that you were still in his bathrobe, plush material hanging loosely from your body and the belt discarded somewhere. Oh, this looks bad.

“I am.” Using one hand to gesture to the bathroom, you let out a sigh. “He’s not doing so great, Anika. And I feel fine so -” Dieter called your name out then, the sound weakly coming from your right. “So I’m helping.” She looked like she wanted to say something else but chose not to, instead thrusting the tray into your hands and taking a step back. You saw the look in her eyes and recognized it immediately - she was hurt, the discovery of you in Dieter’s room not at all what she’d been expecting that morning. But that’s not my fault. I can’t feel bad.

And you didn’t. Dieter made his own choices, decided who he wanted to spend time with, took the people of his choosing to bed - and he’d chosen you. For now, at least. “Does he need a doctor?” Her voice was thin, but you heard the professionalism in it - the woman trying to keep it together. “He does not sound well.”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged. “I don’t think so? He hasn’t gotten sick in a few hours, so I think he slept through the night, but …” You glanced sideways, getting a peek of Dieter sitting up in the tub, the blanket wrapped around his bare shoulders and his hair messier than usual. “I think we’ll know more after he tries to eat breakfast.” She nodded once, telling you to call the front desk if anything changed, and then the woman walked away, heading in the direction of the elevator. That’s two people now. Two people that … Anika knowing wasn’t the pressing issue, though, and once the main door closed behind you, you paused in front of the bathroom door. “Can you come and eat, Dieter?”

“M… maybe.” He cleared his throat, squeezing his eyes shut. “I need a few minutes.” Telling him that that was fine, you went back into main room, setting the tray down at his table. You had no idea what was under the domed cover, and after you heard the bathroom door click shut, you removed the lid, staring down at the food. Jenna had ordered breakfast - nothing fancy, just oatmeal, a small jar of honey, toast, and one large portion of scrambled eggs - but there was also a carton of orange juice, which you knew would be too harsh on the man’s stomach and planned on drinking yourself. “I feel like absolute fucking garbage.”

Dieter was back in the room with you, still shirtless, still with messy hair, and still looking unwell, the man’s gait unsteady as he crossed the space to where you stood. He’d washed his face, though, and you could smell mint, meaning that he’d either brushed his teeth or used mouthwash. “You look a little bit better. Less sweaty, at least.”

“I’m not cold anymore.” He paused. “Or, I guess I’m not as cold.” Without thinking, you turned toward him and leaned in, raising your hand to press the back of it against his forehead - like you’d done the night before. “What do you think?”

“Still warm.” Frowning, you lowered that hand back to your side. “But maybe not as bad.” He bit his lip, staying quiet. “Do you think you can eat? I know it’s not much, but -” “Took medicine a little while ago, and it stayed down. I can try.” Good. That’s good.

While he sat down and began to pick at the oatmeal, you went back into the bathroom and got the plastic bottle of soda, unscrewing the cap and setting it down in front of him. “This will help.” Sighing as you rounded the man and headed toward the other side of the table to sit, you trailed your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck - the gesture automatic and completely domestic, your eyes going wide as you realized what you’d done. Oh, shit. “I’m sorry, Dieter, I -” “Don’t apologize. Felt good.” He stared at you as you sat, the anxiety about your action receding under his gaze. “I like it when …” But he trailed off without finishing, returning to his food. You began to eat, too, downing the orange juice and starting on some of the eggs, scooping them up with the toast. When Dieter pushed the bowl away a few minutes later, he met your eyes again. “I’m going to lay back down.”

The man was still pale, the circles under his eyes prominent, and you figured that there was a 50/50 chance he was going to lose his breakfast. But he got up. And he did it on his own. “Are you going back to the bathtub?” He glared at you, though the expression had no venom behind it - and then that look changed into a weak smile, the man scoffing and lowering his head.

“No, I thought I’d try the bed, if that’s alright with you.” He sighed, clearing his throat. “My, uh, back kind of hurts. Tub might have been alright ten years ago, but…” But not anymore. “It helped, though, so thank you for suggesting it.” The longer he spoke, the raspier his voice became, all of the coughing and throwing up he’d done over the previous day catching up to him.

“Alright. Get into bed, then. I’ll clean everything up and get you your blanket and pillow, and -”

“You don’t have to do any of this.” He reached for you, fingers closing around your wrist. His hand’s cold. “I can do it.”

“I know you can, but you don’t need to. You don’t feel good, Dieter. Let me take care of you.” You stood, finishing the last of the juice after pulling your hand from his hold. “I said I would, and I meant it.” He didn’t argue with you, just stared up with his wide, dark eyes and then nodded, the fight completely leaving him. “I might sit out on the balcony for a while while you sleep, though. I’m not that tired, maybe I’ll read.”

“You can read my scripts?” He stood, too, swaying back and forth once before catching his balance. “I don’t know if you’ve seen the whole one for this movie, but there’s another one. Just got it yesterday, and I haven’t had a chance to go through it yet.” The cowboy movie? “My iPad password’s the same as my phone, just open the email.”

“Dieter, that seems… Am I allowed?”

“You gonna tell anyone?” He was climbing into the bed as he spoke, the muscles in his back flexing before he laid down. “My agent thinks I should take it, but it’d mean finishing here and going straight to Montana or Utah or some shit.” He groaned as he rolled onto his stomach, head turning to face you. “I have to decide soon.” Without replying, you turned away and went into the bathroom, grabbing the blanket from inside the tub and carrying it back to him, shaking it out, and then letting it fall over his body.

“I’ll read it, Dieter.” You murmured the words, pausing and then kissing the man’s temple. “And I’ll read the Cliff Beasts script, too. I’m dying to know how this one ends.” He snorted, lips twitching, but you could tell he was already falling back asleep - his eyes didn’t even open at your words.

“M’lines are highlighted.” He was mumbling, voice quiet. “Come to bed when you’re done.” What? If he’d been awake, you would have asked him to repeat himself, but Dieter was out, the man’s soft snores and even breathing the only sound in the room. Oh, holy shit. Staring down at him for a few seconds to give yourself a chance to recover, you pressed your lips together. You’d made no promises to each other, but the more time you spent with the man, the more that lines were being crossed - by both of you. We’ll have to deal with that when he’s better.

It only took you a few minutes to clean up from your meal, gathering the trash and setting it - and the tray - out in the hallway, before you walked back through his room, tidying things up as quietly as you could. His tablet was resting on his nightstand, almost mocking you, and when you couldn’t put it off any longer, you grabbed it - along with the thick sheaf of papers next to it that made up the current script - and headed out onto the balcony, dropping into one of his chairs.

It was a warm day, and even though you were anxious about the new script, you decided to start with your movie first. And then no matter how bad the cowboy one is, it won’t be as cheesy. Flipping the pages until you got to the beginning of the story, you bit back a smile as you saw Dieter’s handwritten notes in the margins, eyes scanning over the scrawl before you began to read the actual script. So he does care a little.

With the birds chirping and the sun’s rays warming your skin, you once again immersed yourself in the world of the Cliff Beasts.

—

By the time you finished both of the scripts, it was getting dark - and you were getting hungry. You’d skipped lunch, though you’d paused between the two stories to go inside and get something to drink, and you were regretting the lapse in your meals.

The ending of the script for Cliff Beasts 6 was just as bad as the material you’d already seen filmed.

You were working on the movie, and you were still unsure about whether or not you’d even watch the whole thing when it was complete. Cliff Beasts 6 was a cash grab, pure and simple, and you had no idea how the franchise had pulled in so many big name actors when it was clear that the project was beneath them. That was doubly true based on the edits that had been made regarding the fate of Dieter’s character. You wondered what the first version of the story had been - and if he’d still died in that one, too. I’ll have to ask.

But the second script, the one for the cowboy movie? That was one that you would have gladly paid money to watch on the big screen. It had nothing to do with the fact that Dieter was being tapped for one of the leads - and it wasn’t the villain. You hadn’t been able to put the iPad down, eyes hungrily scanning the pages as you tapped through them. That story was good, compelling - the significance of the dialogue and settings clear even without any additions or notes in the margins, the character motivations well established. If Dieter took that role, you were almost positive that it would mean - at the very least - more awards show buzz, and quite possibly another win of some sort. I guess it depends on his costars, but…

Your stomach rumbled again, and so you finally stood, stretching, and then headed back inside. Once there, you were surprised to see the bed empty and the bathroom door shut, the sound of the shower coming from behind it. Oh, that’s interesting. Taking a look in the mirror, you grimaced at your messy hair, wrinkled clothes and fatigued appearance, though you still didn’t feel sick. With one more look at the closed bathroom door, you set the iPad down, shrugged the robe off and draped it over the back of a chair, and sprinted to the balcony. I can change real quick, and brush my teeth, and…

You did those things in record time, returning to Dieter’s room before the man had even left the bathroom, and when he emerged, you were pleased to see that he looked better, the man wearing a clean pair of pants and a thin white t shirt, his hair damp - but clean. “Hey.”

“Hi.” You looked over your shoulder as you plugged the tablet in, wanting it to be ready for him when he needed it next. “Shower feel good?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Steam helped. So did the hot water. I feel … alright.” He sounded better, too, and when you straightened up, meeting his eyes, you were pleased to see that his description of recovery didn’t seem to be false. Good. A 36 hour flu isn’t terrible. “Did you read the -” “I did.” You held your hands out. “And I’d love to talk to you about both of them, but I need to eat something. And I’m sure you’re hungry, too, Your stomach has to be growling.”

“I ordered food before I got in the shower. It’ll be here in…” He glanced at the clock. “About thirty minutes. Kitchen’s backed up because so many people are sick, so it took longer.” He stepped closer, crossing his arms. “Got you mac and cheese and a salad. Some fruit. Couple drink options.” You ordered me dinner? It was your turn to close the distance between you, reaching out with both hands to draw the man into a hug. “Don’t, you might -” “Just don’t breathe into my mouth, Bravo.” You mumbled against his chest, feeling as he encircled you with his arms. And even if you do, I don’t care. “You still feel warm? Did you take more medicine?” “Sort of. And yes. Dayquil, though. And some Tylenol.” Pulling back, you lifted your hand and pressed the back of it to his forehead, smiling at the fact that it did feel cooler, even though he’d just gotten out of the shower. “Liked it better when you were using your lips to check and see how hot I was.” It was a challenge and you knew it, so you reached up with both hands, cupping his chin and urging him to duck down.

The press of your lips to his skin confirmed that he wasn’t anywhere near as warm as he had been, which pleased you. Means he’ll be fine tomorrow. But as you realized what he’d said - that more food was being delivered - the memory of the morning delivery came back to you. “Anika knows I’m… spending time with you, Dieter. She brought breakfast and -” “And you answered the door wearing my robe.” He coughed, turning away from you and covering his mouth with one hand. “I sort of remember that.” Yeah. “We weren’t gonna be able to keep it hidden forever, right?” No, but I thought we’d make it through the rest of the shoot without anyone figuring it out. He sat on the edge of the bed, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m not mad about it, so I hope you aren’t either.”

“Nothing to be mad about, right? It’s not like she walked in on us.” You sat next to him, leaning back against the headboard. “At least you didn’t burst through the door and try to kiss her like you did with Jenna.” He laughed at that, reaching over to take your hand. “As long as you’re not upset that two people have some idea that you and I are … doing this, it’s fine with me.” He kept quiet for long moments, eyes on your face, and you stared back, trying to figure out what he was thinking. “She’s not going to be any nicer to me now, though.”

“Yeah, you’re right about that.” You didn’t know how to respond, and as the silence stretched wider, you desperately tried to think of something to say. The scripts.

“So… about Gio’s death scene.” Grimacing, you gestured to the script on the table. “Why? It’s not necessary. I feel like that death was supposed to be someone else’s, and they just changed it to you to make it -” “Darren said it was just because he wanted to eliminate a threat for the main trio before the end of the movie. He wanted the focus to be on the beasts. And you’re right. It was supposed to be Howie’s character that died then, but…” He shrugged. “My main filming dates end right before the holiday break, and then -” The holiday break? That’s so soon. “So does that mean you’re leaving in a couple weeks?” You felt the panic rising, the thought of the man leaving before the end of the shoot threatening to send you over the edge. That’s irrational. I’m not here for him, I’m here to -

“No. The way we’re filming, I have to stay. There’s some time near the end where we’re doing all of the pre-release promo stuff, and I have to be here for that and for any reshoots, so I’m here until it’s over. But if I take that other movie, I might have to fly out and do some initial stuff for that, like chemistry tests. It would be a lot more quarantining, though, so… I don’t know yet. They’re still figuring it out.” That calmed you slightly and it gave you the chance to pivot to the new topic.

“You should take that other role, Dieter. The story is amazing. I looked up rumors about the casting, and some of the names in contention for the project are ridiculously exciting.” Taking a long breath and holding it, you locked eyes with him. “And if I’m being completely honest with you, you’re going to need a strong project after this one, because -” “Because this movie is horseshit?” He rolled his eyes. “I know. And I also know that I need to book something now, otherwise … it might get a little harder.” You snorted at that, reaching up to cover your mouth as you yawned. “I want to take it. They want me to self tape another scene and send it back, but my agent thinks it’s a done deal, and if I want it, it’s mine.”

“You deserve it.” Wetting your lips, you nodded. “And if they cast the right woman opposite you?” You blew out a breath, closing your eyes. “There’s a scene by a campfire that I’m almost positive would be unbelievably -” He cut you off by saying your name, the man’s hand resting on your leg. “Yeah?”

“Why were you so worried about me leaving in a couple weeks?” He was watching you with a curious look on his face, and you could tell that he was trying to keep his tone even, no accusation in it. “The way you -”

“Because you’re my closest friend here, and we spend a lot of time together.” You went with the direct answer, though it wasn’t the only answer that you could have given him. “And you leaving means Jenna leaves, too. I’d go nuts here without the two of you.” You frowned then, a realization hitting you. “But even if you don’t leave, if you’re not needed on set, that means you won’t be on set, right?”

“I won’t have to be in character, but …” He shrugged, smirking. “I have a habit of showing up places I’m not supposed to be.” And would you do that? Just show up? Even if you could just stay here and fuck off for weeks by yourself? “Don’t worry. If I’d known that they were just gonna kill me off like that, I probably wouldn’t have taken the role, even though it meant going back to work… so I’m gonna make my downtime everyone’s problem.”

You couldn’t help laughing at that, covering your face with both hands as your shoulders shook. “I don’t doubt that, Dieter.” Good. That means I’ll still get to see him. “You really do look a lot better.”

“I feel a lot better. I haven’t been sick like that in years. Puked a couple times when I was real high, but those were one off, and …” He shuddered. “Hasn’t happened in a while.” You didn’t know what to say in response, but thankfully a knock at the door saved you. “I got it.” He stood, making his way to the door after grabbing a mask and hastily covering his mouth and nose with it, and you closed your eyes, listening.

It wasn’t the blonde - it was a man, and you heard the two of them conversing for a few seconds, the unseen employee telling Dieter that he hoped he felt better before the doors closed. You and me both.

The food smelled amazing, as had everything that you’d eaten since your sense of taste and smell had come back, and Dieter couldn’t get the cart over to you fast enough. “I’m going to inhale this food, so I hope you don’t think any less of me for it.”

“Never.” He sat across from you at the table, eyes on the food as the two of you divvied it up. “I love a girl that isn’t afraid to eat.” Raising an eyebrow, you stared pointedly at him. Sure, because the last women you were linked to tell me exactly that. “I told you, none of those were real relationships, so it never mattered to me what they were eating.”

“That sounds kind of sad, Dieter.” You chewed and swallowed, watching as he did the same - though a little more slowly. And his food’s bland. Grilled chicken. Mashed potatoes. Gravy. “And there’s so much good food in LA, too.”

“There is.” He took another bite and then set his fork down, running one hand through his hair. “And it is.” He was quiet for a few minutes, both of you continuing to eat, and then Dieter spoke again, eyes on you. “Are you ever on the West Coast?”

“No. Not … not a lot. I’ve been there a couple times for work, but my offices and the production team’s are based in Atlanta, so my place is near there.” You swallowed another bite, trying to figure out where he was going with his line of questioning, and Dieter - as always - kept you from remaining in the dark.

“When this is all over and they lift all the COVID restrictions, you should come visit. I’ll show you the LA that most people never get to see.” Is he inviting me… to come and … You blinked quickly, but Dieter beat you to speaking again, leaning in closer. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

“I’d like that.” Finishing your food, you pushed your plate away, taking a drink out of the Coke can in front of you. “A lot.” It was pushing it - and you knew it - but if he’d invited you, you certainly weren’t going to say no. “But we need to get through this first, Dieter. Filming and getting home and you possibly going on to play the cowboy of every woman’s dreams, and -” “I bet there’s shit to do in the desert, too.” He leaned back, grinning. “Bet we could find it.” You laughed at that, agreeing. Oh, he’s going to find a lot of things up there, I’m sure. “I’m serious, though. Come visit after this.” You assured him that you would - and that seemed to be enough for him, the man standing and stretching, twisting from side to side and then staring at you again. “I know I’ve slept for the last two days, and I shouldn’t be tired but I am. I think I’m gonna put on a movie and lay back down, if that’s alright with you.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” You stood, too, clearing your throat. “You’re not 100% better yet, you still need a couple days, so -” “Any idea what you wanna watch?” He moved closer, arms hanging by his sides. “Since there’s no chance of me making a move on you tonight, we can pick something that we actually want to see.” He grinned at you then, and even though it wasn’t up to his usually strength, the smile was still genuine - and a little regretful. Nothing to regret here, Dieter. This is perfectly fine with me.

Something had shifted between the two of you in the hours you’d spent with him while he was sick, and since Dieter didn’t seem to want to explicitly say anything about it, you decided not to, either. Why ruin a good thing? Whatever’s happening is happening … I’m not going to question it. “I don’t care, Dieter. You pick.”

The smile he gave you in return was radiant, the man’s eyes filled with affection - and you realized that he was just as happy to spend quality time with you as you were with him. Yeah … something definitely changed.

—

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x female reader #pedrostories #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #the bubble #the bubble au #dieter bravo: locked down #pedro pascal is dieter bravo #dieter bravo masterlist #pedro pascal masterlist #locked down masterlist

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bratkook · 4 years ago

Text

right now. (m) jjk.

not yet, almost , right now

pairing. jungkook x reader genre. fluff, smut, idiots to lovers!! word count. 14.8k warnings. two mega fucking idiots<33, miscommunication/dumb assumptions, smut in forms of: fingering, oral sex (f.), orgasm denial, spanking, some spit bc duh, unprotected sex, super sweet & lovey!! also jungkook is a sweetheart pls love him summary. coming to terms with your feelings after getting off to the idea of your close friend is a little harder than you thought, but how long can you take before jungkook decides its time to move on? note. did jlin forget how to write for a few weeks? yes, yes she did....i know this took a long time but life is rough man so forgive me... but anyways lol the final part to the not yet!verse is hereeeee! thank you to @kithtaehyung for reading this over for me ily!! thank you guys for enjoying this mini series, the response was really unexpected but im sososo happy over every comment/ask i’ve gotten for this story. once again, tysm for your love and let me know what you think<3

The evening sun illuminates Jungkook’s apartment, golden hour bouncing off every reflective surface and straight into his eyes the second he walks in, immediately squinting as he makes a beeline to shut the blinds. His head was already throbbing from the hangover that decided to peak around noon, a mean case of nausea putting a damper on his work day. So as much as he loved soaking in some vitamin D today was not the day.

“Are you joking?” he huffs as he brings down the blinds, hand yanking at the flimsy string in an attempt to get it unstuck. “How stup—you’d think with the amount I pay every month in rent the blinds would work!”

Alright, so maybe he was a little grumpy today, choosing to take it out on an inanimate object and blame it purely on the bad decisions made last night—definitely had nothing to do with the residual moping of you going on a date. This could be fixed, easily.

The first order of business? Texting you to see if you’d be interested in devouring greasy food from your favorite place down the street. He’d get to see you and finally put something in his stomach, it’s the best of both worlds really.

Jungkook forgets about the blinds, leaving them stuck in the awkward position as he walks away entirely, fishing his phone out of his pocket while he enters his room. It’s the same text he always sends when he’s hangry: If I don’t get food in the next 15 mins I'm burning this place down and taking you with me.

He knows the response he’ll get, either that meme of the child in front of a burning house or an equally hangry paragraph. The phone gets tossed onto his bed as he changes out of his work clothes, needing to dispose of the business casual attire that was suffocating him, his old college hoodie giving him the comfort he needs.

By the time he’s finally slipping on his sneakers he’s expecting you to come knocking on his door, your impatient attitude always putting a smile on his face. Half of the time your neighbors thought you were having arguments from the way you’d pound onto the slab of wood, saying his name with just enough annoyance laced into each syllable it would fool anyone into thinking you were actually upset instead of being a brat. But when that never comes, he reaches for his phone again.

A few notifications fill up his screen, some instagram direct message previews, his group chat that he never responded to, and a few emails coming through, but you had yet to respond. Maybe it’s a little creepy, but Jungkook knows you’re home because he passed by your parked car on his way in. So his mind jumps to two extremes: you were either face down, drowning in your bathtub, or that yellow shades wearing wannabe version of himself was at your place.

Not an ounce of shame sits within him as he speedwalks to the side his bed was on, placing both palms onto the wall before his ear was pressed against the cold drywall. Jungkook’s not really sure what would make him feel good, hearing you and Jung Hoseok together, or hearing nothing at all. His ears strain to hear anything, but the only sound he gets is his own blood pumping.

With a small pout he pulls back, deciding he’d play the annoying neighbor role today and pound on your door instead. It’s a role he doesn’t take lightly, knuckles banging on the wood loud enough for you to hear wherever you were in your apartment. It takes a few minutes before any sign of life is shown, your door creaking open, and Jungkook is thankful because he was about to head to the maintenance office to ask for a key in case you actually were drowning in your bathtub.

“C’mon, let’s get food,” he declares instantly, a charming smile on his face as he stands with his hands stuffed into his jean pockets. The smile slowly falls off when he gets a good look at you, hair looking like a mess on your head and your fluffy blanket draped around you as you give out a weak cough. “Are you sick?”

“I think so,” you rasp out, leaning against your door frame and tugging the blanket tighter around you.

“Did that fucker give you mono?” Jungkook looks irritated, brows pinched together in a grimace—something you’re definitely not accustomed to seeing so you almost don’t catch his accusation.

“Jungkook, no! It’s nothing serious.”

He doesn’t look fully convinced, but he shrugs anyways, positive you weren’t interested in getting interrogated when you were feeling under the weather. “Alright, let me know if you need me to drive you to the doctor if it becomes something serious.”

With a roll of your eyes and a small smile, you wave him off, slowly shutting the door behind you. Your eye immediately peeks through your peephole, not relaxing until he makes his way down the hall and enters the elevator, still on his quest for greasy food.

“God, how old are you?” you grumble to yourself, yanking the blanket off your body and onto the floor with a huff. Pretending to be sick to avoid your friend was a new low, especially after the post-orgasm epiphany you had last night. A sane person would come to terms with their feelings and confess to them, uncertainty and possible rejection be damned! But you? No, you have to fake a cold like the giant coward you are.

The guilt only deepens when a knock comes from your door an hour later, a quick peek through your peephole allowing you to see Jungkook setting two plastic bags on the floor before stepping back and walking to his apartment next door. You don’t come out until you hear his door shut, seeing the logo of your favorite diner down the street. No doubt would your comfort meal be inside the takeaway container.

It takes all you have to not rush over to his place and say you were lying when you see he had also gone ahead and got you cold medication, a few different bottles because he surely didn’t know which was best, along with teas and some cough drops.

You’re a dirty liar. A horrible friend too.

That doesn’t stop you from devouring the meal in the takeout box as you’re hunched over your breakfast bar like a little gremlin. “This is just for today,” you mumble out to yourself as you set the plastic fork down and chug some of the leftover alcohol you had in your fridge. It’s your own version of a pity party, except the food feels heavy in your stomach, knowing the man you were avoiding was the one who bought it—bring on the guilt.

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

You’re a dirty liar and horrible friend 2.0. Why this time? Because tomorrow stretched out a few more days than planned. It wasn’t entirely intentional at first, getting stuck at work longer than usual and missing the weekly hangout at your place where you got your remote covered in cheeto dust as you argued over what to watch. But it trickled down onto shorter replies to his texts, or you scrambling out of your apartment and into the elevator so fast in order to not run into him, your mind still trying to list all the pros and cons to this potential relationship before you even had the guts to confess to your feelings.

Jungkook didn’t know thats what was occupying your mind, no he was currently thinking the worst. He notices the change instantly, recognizing it because this was the exact way you had acted while you were with Hajoon, right before you broke the news to him that you needed to keep some distance while you focused on your relationship. So Jungkook automatically assumes that your sudden change in behavior after going on a single date with Jung Hoseok, was because you wanted to make your relationship with this man work.

His assumption stings—a lot actually—and soon enough he stops initiating conversations altogether. He didn’t want to hear you tell him you had to distance yourself again, he’s not sure his heart could handle that a second time, so he decides to get ahead of the curb and take a massive step away from you. It hurts him to know you’re right next door, and just like before, it’s like you’re back to being total strangers.

Safe to say Jungkook was currently going on his own downward spiral.

You could text him like nothing had happened and he’d accept it with open arms, but instead you text your best friend an SOS text, begging her to meet you at your place. She calls you dramatic at first, but once you say it’s about Jungkook she shows up at your place in record time.

“Did you finally fuck him?” Is her greeting of choice, spoken shamelessly from the hallway with no worry about her volume. She cackles when you yank the bottle of wine from her grasp and tug her into your apartment, letting the door slam behind her.

“You’re lucky he’s not home you bitch.” An eye roll is her only response, yanking the bottle back and making her way into your kitchen to grab the opener.

“So you didn’t fuck him?” The cork pops at her question, a curious glance staring you down as she pours the red liquid into an oversized cup.

“No Seulgi, I didn’t fuck him. But I did...something.” It makes your face warm up as you remember it, gratefully grabbing the cup she hands your way because you definitely need some liquid courage before confessing to your sins.

She hums in thought as she raids your pantry for something to munch on, settling on a bag of mini pretzels before leading you to your couch, needing to know the gossip that led to your sos text. “Okay, did you accidentally send him a nude then?”

“No, that wouldn’t be so bad I think?” Sending him an accidental nude would be laughable, probably resolved by a few screaming texts and dumb jokes before moving on. But new feelings seeing the light of day seemed so much worse. “But I sort of kissed him at a club a few weeks ago to get back at Hajoon—long story,” you cut in when you see her ready to fire off questions.

“And then I went on that failed Tinder date I told you about, and when I got home I sort of heard him, you know,”— you mimic a jerking off motion with your hand and ignore her lewd gasp, “and then I…” you trail off shamefully.

“No!” she gasps even louder, hand pressed to her mouth and eyes wide.

“Yes! And the fucking orgasm opened my eyes and made me realize that maybe that tiny crush you guys always joke about him having is real, and maybe I have a tiny crush on him too.”

“Does he know?”

“That I like him?”

“No, that you rubbed one out while listening to him you dirty slut!” Oh she’s loving this, leaning back into your cushions with a handful of pretzels resting on her boobs, a sly smile on her lips as she takes a sip of her wine. She’s the one who planted the seed in your mind, playfully joking about Jungkook any chance she got, saying he had the hots for you because she enjoyed the flustered look on your face. No doubt would she text the group chat with the news the second you finish this cry for help.

“Do you think I told him? I can barely come to terms with the fact that I like him. Like what am I supposed to do?”

She sighs dramatically, munching on the final pretzel on her tits before sitting up and dusting off the crumbs from her shirt. “Look, I know you’re just realizing that he likes you so this is still new and fresh for you, but we’ve noticed it for years. It’s fine that you didn’t see it, you had other things occupying your mind.”

You frown as you stare at the rug beneath your feet, remembering how life was when you first moved into this complex. Getting out of a previous relationship weeks prior, when you had met Jungkook your mind was not interested in pursuing anything with him regardless of how cute you thought he was. It made it easier for you to form a friendship, not worried about trying to impress him, or flirt with him, allowing him to see you for who you truly are.

Jungkook had his fair share of girlfriends during the years, none of which were entirely serious but by the time he was completely single you had met Hajoon, and he had accepted the fact that maybe you were better off as friends and he would just admire you from afar. That is, until you decided to plant one on him. So technically this is your fault.

“Jungkook likes you okay, and I’m sure if you just marched next door and told him you like him too he’ll drop on one knee and marry you.”

“Shut up,” you snort, shoving her shoulder with a smile.

“As a matter of fact, go over there right now!” She stands up from her spot, yanking your arms to haul you up with her.

“I told you, he’s not home. But, I’ll tell him. I have to.”

Seulgi crosses her arms over her chest as she stares at you, clearly displeased that she wouldn’t be witness to this love story unfolding in real time. “You better. You never know what sneaky little bitch is trying to get him to get over you.”

The sneaky little bitch in question is Park Jimin, currently sitting directly across from Jungkook, guzzling down beer like his life depends on it. It's impressive really, how quickly he empties the cup, eyes shut looking as content as could be even in the dim lighting. Jungkook can only watch with a grimace as his friend sets the glass down and wipes at his mouth with no sense of table manners.

“What?” he burps, proceeding to pour more of the golden liquid into his cup from the pitcher in the middle of the table.

“I always forget how absolutely disgusting you are. How do you do it?” Jimin just frowns at the question, not entirely understanding so Jungkook continues. “What switch do you flip to go from sipping champagne to chugging beer like a fucking biker.”

“It’s a talent, I know.” He smiles wide, reaching forward to grip Jungkook’s hand and force him to grab his own cup. Condensation was pooling around the bottom from sitting there untouched, and that just wouldn’t do on Jimin’s watch. “C’mon, drink it!”

“Fine,” Jungkook grumbles, raising the glass and allowing Jimin to clank the cups together before taking a big gulp. He doesn’t clear the cup like his friend did seconds prior but it's enough to appease him. It tastes absolutely bitter the whole way down, settling into his stomach uncomfortably, and the look on his face as he pushes the glass away from him is very telling.

Boisterous shouts fill the sports bar they were in, huddles of people surrounding the tables and booths as they watched the current soccer match playing on the televisions lining the walls. Jungkook honestly feels like a debby downer now, moping in his seat instead of enjoying the atmosphere with his friend like they normally did. The current game was definitely not the reason Jungkook had texted Jimin to grab drinks, no he needed an outlet to talk about you—preferably in a space that didn’t have walls as thin as his apartment.

When he barely acknowledges the plate of wings set in front of him Jimin huffs, resisting the urge to dig in because he knew once he did he wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else. “Are you gonna be like this the entire time?”

“Like what?” Jungkook has the gall to ask, acting as if he wasn’t looking like a wounded animal.

“Like you just discovered your wife of ten years is having an affair with your sister.”

He sits up straighter at that, eyes wide in disbelief. “Jesus.“

Jimin knew the jist of what was happening through the texts he had received the past week, but it seems like Jungkook didn’t want to jump into the topic of it at all now that they were sitting across from each other. He just sighs before deciding to be honest, wasting no time beating around the bush to hopefully be the voice of reason Jungkook needs. “You’ve been simping over her for years JK, and I get it, you think she could be the one. But what about you huh? It’s not fair for you to have your heart wrung out each time she gets a man and decides to put the friendship on pause—“

“That happened once!” He defends, brows pinched on his forehead as he shakes his head, ready to explain your situation because he wasn’t a fan of hearing his friend say anything about you when he didn’t truly know what happened. “The dude was a piece of shit and basically told her it was him or me. I’m not gonna crucify her for wanting a long term relationship to work.”

“Right, so she’s not icing you out again because she got a new man? That’s literally what you told me, it’s why I bought you this sympathy pitcher of beer!”

“Fuck you, you bought this pitcher for yourself.” Jimin had chugged two giant glasses of beer already, and was steadily working on his third, whereas Jungkook’s watered down cup remained relatively untouched. “Besides, I was just...spiraling and assumed when I sent you that desperate text. But I haven’t heard anything.”

Jimin can only stare blankly at the table as he processes what was just said before locking eyes with his friend once more, “Sorry, what? You haven’t heard anything? The hell kind of riddle is that.”

Jungkook sinks into the booth with a look of shame, not wanting to admit to occasionally laying in his bed at night in complete and total silence just to see if he could hear you and the hypothetical version of Jung Hoseok doing literally anything. It’s not one of his proudest moments, feeling like a bit of a creeper as he laid stiff on his bed, too scared to make a sound. “Nothing, forget about it. Point is, I haven’t seen the fucker come in or out of her place, so what does that mean?”

A deep sigh comes from Jimin, hand reaching forward to push the beer closer to Jungkook, desperately trying to get him to drink and ease up. “It means you pay far too much attention to her. When was the last time you got any action?”

Two weeks ago. From his hand and filthy imagination.

“A few months,” he grumbles, remembering his last hook up that happened a few days before he discovered you got dumped.

“Get outta here.” Jimin rolls his eyes as he points to the door. “Literally, go stand at the corner outside, show some thighs or a tattooed titty and take your pick of the swarm of girls that will surely follow you.”

Jungkook thinks he’s joking, but when his friend doesn’t drop his hand and narrows his eyes threateningly he knows he’s being serious. “My tits aren’t even tattooed,”—his large palms press against his shirt covered chest as if to prove a point— “And you sound like a douchebag talking like this.”

“What? She went on a tinder date and definitely got laid, so you need to even out the playing field. Also, it might help you chill the hell out.”

“Oh my god, you’re not helping.” Jungkook really didn’t need that visual again, it had flashed in his mind too often the night of his pity party and now it was once again at the front of his brain.

“Alright, okay. I’m throwing out my safe word right now.” Jimin leans closer, arms resting on the table with a confused look on his face. “What do you need from me here? Like, do I play the role of a supportive friend who wants you to get over her, or do I play the role of a friend who wants you to confess? Because you’re giving me some mixed signals Jeon.”

A groan escapes Jungkook, fingers rubbing at his eyes before dragging down his face as he sinks even further into his seat. “I don’t know.”

It’s the truth. Jungkook had no idea what he wanted his friend to do to help him. He knew that although his feelings for you have weighed heavy on his chest for what seems like years, you technically had no idea, so he feels a little guilty over his frustration for the whole situation. You were newly single again and determined to go through this self proclaimed wild phase so Jungkook isn’t dumb enough to think you can’t go out and do whatever you want, even if that means being with someone who isn’t him.

“Look,” Jimin sighs, pulling him out of his thoughts. “You only have two choices here, tell her how you feel and accept whatever comes with it, or make peace with the idea of just being friends. Either way, I think you need to loosen up and have fun tonight.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Jungkook sits himself up, wrapping his fingers around the cup in an effort to at least look like he wanted to be here. He couldn’t sit here and mope about a problem like this when he hadn’t attempted to come out and tell you how he feels.

One night of loosening up to get you off his mind wouldn’t hurt, if anything it might help him come to his senses. At least that’s what Jimin was currently whispering with a mischievous smile on his lips. “It’ll be fine, I’ll make sure you don’t black out and get home safe. Who knows, you might get plastered enough to drunk text your confession.”

Jungkook glares at his friend, not liking the goofy look on his face as he starts to laugh. “I swear to god, you better not let me get to that point. Take my phone away from me.”

Jimin obviously wants to see the world burn, or at least he enjoys it when Jungkook somehow digs himself into his own grave. That's exactly why he responds with a million laughing emojis when Jungkook texts him asking why the hell he hadn’t taken his phone last night.

He did a good job hiding his shock when a knock came from his front door, half expecting it to be you, keeping a smile on his face as he allowed the person who was very clearly not you in before swiftly entering his bathroom. Jungkook wants to stay locked here forever, holed up while he sits on his toilet and not in the living room with company. It wasn’t like it was bad company either, his drunken ass going through his contact list and sending an invitation to hangout the following day to the last person he spoke to, Aillie.

The girl is sweet, someone he had a casual fling with for months, someone who was used to his random texts so she doesn’t think twice before agreeing. The only silver lining to this was that he hadn’t sent you a typo-filled drunken confession, which is what Jimin responds with before telling him to suck it up and leave his bathroom.

Jungkook accepts his fate, as well as accepting that he is partially responsible for this. He shoves his device back into his pockets before standing up and flushing the toilet for show, washing his hands just to stall. One good glance at his reflection makes him cringe, stained shirt and sweats combo leaves him looking like the unprepared mess he is. Another detour through his room to change was a must before he has no choice but to step back out.

“You’re totally hung over aren’t you?” Aillie jokes from her spot on the couch, comfortable enough in his apartment from the time spent here. She locks her phone as she stands up, taking her time to really look Jungkook over. He was not dressed like someone who was expecting a guest, and despite having seen Jungkook at his sloppiest, his previous attire of oversized shirt and slightly stained sweatpants didn’t look like someone who was expecting a fuck buddy to pop over. Even with his new outfit looking more put together, it was obvious Jungkook was caught off guard by her showing up.

“What?” Jungkook dumbly asks, trying to come up with some lame excuse to justify his earlier appearance but he falls short. His fingers gently rake through his hair, a grimace falling on his face as he looks back up at her. “Actually, a little. Sorry, I got drunk last night when I text you so sober me was not really prepared.”

“Yeah I figured, you sent me some blurry selfies right after. But we can just hang, we don’t have to do anything,” she trails off, a soft smile on her lips. The only time they ever hung out was to hook up, having ten minute conversations before and after the fact. “Or I can leave too if it's weird that I’m here.”

Jungkook is shaking his head before she can even finish, already feeling bad enough after texting her to come over. How shitty would he be if he immediately kicked her out. This was fine, a nice distraction from it all, decent middle ground that would help him get his mind off you without having to take Jimin’s douchebag advice.

“No, we can watch a movie or something. It’s not like I have other plans.” Had this been two weeks ago it would be a totally different story. Jungkook would typically be waiting in his apartment as he stared at the slowly ticking clock, just waiting for it to strike 7:30 because that's when you usually got home. Then he’d either get a text from you to come over with snacks or you’d show up at his door and invite yourself over for the weekly game night.

It didn’t happen last week, or the week prior, so Jungkook is very confident that it would not be happening today either. It’s that same sense of confidence—and saltiness—that allows him to get comfortable with Aillie, blissfully unaware that you had just pulled into the parking garage a few stories below.

“I swear to god if you don’t go straight to his door the minute you get off the elevator I will never let you live it down.” Seulgi’s voice fills your car through the speakers, fading out as you shut the car off and bring your phone to your ear to continue the conversation.

“Dude, I just got off work. I need to make myself look decent.” Plastic bags rustle together as you grab the snacks you had picked up on your way home, all full of yours and Jungkook's favorite treats. It was definitely a guilt fueled purchase, hoping the items were enough to distract him from the fact that you were kind of a bitch for ghosting him recently, or at least butter him up into accepting your apology easier.

“You think Jungkook cares if you’re a little sweaty from work? He’s a grown man, that’s not gonna stop him from going do—“

“Okay, goodbye!” You hastily cut her off as you press the elevator button, hearing her rambling off about being interrupted. “I’m about to get on the elevator, I’ll tell you how it goes.”

With a small sigh you hang up and stuff the device into your purse, stepping onto the lift as the doors open up and pressing the number for your floor. Your hands are clammy as you grip the plastic bag, uncharacteristically nervous about seeing Jungkook again after so long.

The main obstacle for you to get over was apologizing for being a crappy friend, and if that went well you were going to suck it up and just come out and confess, the odds of him saying no were slim. And even if he did, you’re perfectly content with staying friends, as long as you could keep him close.

It’s that same optimistic mentality that allows you to calm down as you enter your place and decide to give yourself a minute to mentally prepare. His favorite ice cream gets put into the freezer for later before you decide to shower and give yourself a pep talk the entire time.

This pep talk of yours is filled with best case scenarios: Jungkook accepting the confession with open arms, finally being able to kiss him properly, everything falling into place the way it should have a long time ago. And as you head over, totally sober, freshly washed, looking and smelling your best, you really can’t picture this going any other way.

With a deep breath you’re knocking on his front door, quickly pulling back your hand and wiping it onto your pants as you step back. Jungkook hears the knock clearly from his spot on the couch, his gaze tearing away from the television to stare at his front door with a small frown. He hadn’t ordered any food and Aillie had just excused herself to use his bathroom so his brain is having a hard time wondering who it could be.

He curses under his breath, not putting it past himself to have texted a second person last night with an invitation to hang out. Why was Jungkook a friendly drunk?

As he presses his eye against the peephole and spots you standing there, he thinks he’s imagining things. It had seemed like so long since he had last seen you in person, and the warped fish-eyed version of you has him stepping back and rubbing his eyes before taking another glance. He suddenly feels like throwing up, and he can’t blame his earlier hangover on it.

For a brief second he contemplates pretending he hadn’t heard you, but the guilt of doing so makes his heart twist, so he musters up the courage to open the door. It’s barely a crack really, just enough for you to see him while still concealing his apartment, something you definitely found strange because you’re usually flinging the door open and strutting right in, but you suppose his reaction is warranted considering your previous behavior.

“Y/N, hey. Are you alright?”

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine!” Your fingers tangle together in front of you, not entirely sure what to do with your nerves and Jungkook spots it easily. His own nerves sky rocket when he hears the sound of running water coming from his bathroom a few feet away, knowing Aillie would most likely pop out any second now, and he’s not sure why it feels like a dirty secret that he has another girl over.

“Did you need something?”

“Yeah, I was actually wanting to talk to you about something kind of important.” Your smile is hopeful, despite the nerves swirling in your eyes. The nervous skip of your heart is felt in your throat, not remembering the last time you had felt this way about telling someone how you felt about them romantically.

“Right now?” he wonders, fingers gripping the door handle tighter when he hears his bathroom door unlock, the sound of footsteps rounding the corner before stepping into the living room, a few feet away from the door and in perfect view of the wedge Jungkook had opened.

When your eyes flicker over his shoulder, spotting the auburn haired girl giving you a curious glance, you feel all your confidence slip away. Seulgi had definitely been right about needing to confess soon, Jungkook was a catch and just because you hadn’t realized it sooner didn’t mean the rest of the world was blind to it.

“Yeah, right now...but you’re busy, so it’s fine!” You want to scramble away from there, feeling dumb the longer you stand there. Jungkook wants to say he’s not busy, kick the girl out of his place and invite you in but that wouldn’t be fair to her, for all he knew your important conversation would be a repeat of the conversation you had over Hajoon, and he really didn't want to get friendship dumped while this girl was in his apartment. He’s pretty sure his Yelp rating would drop a bit if he cried on the couch about you to his old hook up.

He starts to speak but you cut him off before he can, “Don’t worry about it! I’ll see you later.” You force a smile before walking away, not allowing him to get a word in as you quickly step into your apartment and move to the furthest room away from your bedroom.

You can feel the cold of your kitchen floor as you sit on your butt, back against your cabinets, the small twinge of defeat spreading within you. “This is fine. Maybe she’s just a friend. I can always tell him tomorrow,” you whisper out. But your fingers seem to think otherwise as they type out a message to Seulgi, informing her that the mission was unsuccessful and you’d be putting on The Notebook like you always did. It was basically protocol to do so when things went south in your life.

She doesn’t even know how to console you, knowing she can’t tell you it was his loss or that he wasn’t worth it because she knows that’d be a lie and you wouldn’t believe it for a second. The only thing she can offer is coming over, but you’re quick to turn her down, deciding that being alone in the comfort of your bed as you inhaled the ice cream you bought for Jungkook would be best.

Is being in your room the wisest choice when you know you share a wall with Jungkook—and he has a cute girl over? No. Probably not. But you figure if you hear anything explicit it’s just your dose of karma, so you accept it, turning up the volume of the movie a few levels just to soften the blow.

However, Jungkook would definitely not be hooking up with her in his bedroom, or anywhere in his apartment for that matter. Luckily Aillie is blessed with the gift of reading the damn room and can easily spot the shift in Jungkook’s mood the second he shuts the door. She’s sitting on the edge of the couch now, hands gently placed on her knees as she gives him a sympathetic smile.

“I get the vibe that somethings off.”

He looks up at her then, slowing his pace until he’s awkwardly standing in the middle of the room with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “My friend—my neighbor just wanted to talk about something. But everything’s fine.”

The lie tastes bitter on his tongue, and Aillie doesn’t believe him in the slightest. A small sigh fills the air as she stands up, collecting her bag and approaching him. “Look, I know deep talks really aren’t our thing so I’m not going to even try to dive into this, but you should go talk to your friend.”

A comforting hand is placed on his shoulder before she makes her way to the door to leave, Jungkook already following closely behind her. “No, you don’t have to go. You came all this way because I texted you with way too much tequila in my system.”

“Jungkook,” she laughs, opening the door with a smile. “You’re way too sweet for your own good. It was nice seeing you though.” Her eyes slowly move over to your front door before looking back at him, head cocking to the side in a very clear indication that he better go over. He can only nod in understanding, waving her goodbye and shutting the door once she heads down to the elevator.

The action sounds of the movie they were watching continues to fill his apartment, whatever chaos was going on only making his brain whirl so he’s quick to grab the remote and shut it off entirely. Now he’s just stuck in complete silence, wondering if he should quickly make his way over to yours or play it calm and collected.

The total silence allows him to hear the muffled mumbling of a movie he knew all too well. It draws him in, lures him into his bedroom until he’s kneeling on the mattress with his ear pressed against the wall to properly make it out. You were watching the Notebook, at a concerning volume, which could mean a number of things. Jungkook knew none of them were good, usually rooted in issues you had with your ex, or a tough day at work, or any particular day where you just felt like crying.

With a deep breath, he’s slowly knocking along his wall, almost experimentally, hoping it's enough to grab your attention through the current scene playing. For a second he thinks maybe you’ve fallen asleep while watching the film, but then the room falls silent as you pause it entirely.

Your hearts racing now, ears straining to hear anything else and hoping this wasn’t how the beginning of the explicit noises would start, but then another knock comes from behind you. It makes you gasp, like you’ve just been caught being the nosey neighbor you are, hearing the soft scrape of his hand sliding down the wall. The ice cream gets put onto your nightstand as you sit up properly, forcing yourself out of the mountain of pillows you were practically suffocating in and turning around to knock back.

Jungkook’s palm presses back onto the wall, smiling at your response before fishing his phone out of his pocket. His fingers find your thread of messages, further down the list than he was used to, and as he opens them up and sees the string of unanswered texts dating back to two weeks ago, it stings just like it did before. He pushes his pride aside though, knowing you had wanted to talk today in person, so he proceeds to quadruple text you.

Jungkook 8:44pm : are you seriously watching the notebook again?

You’re unlocking your phone the second it buzzes, smiling at the dimly lit screen before typing out a response.

Y/N 8:45pm : shut up, it’s my comfort movie

Y/N 8:45pm : do you wanna watch it with me? for old times sake

The device is locked and placed face down onto your sheets the second you hit send, sinking into the pillows once again as you try not to scream at yourself because you know he’ll hear you. Why would you invite him over when he clearly has company? You had seen her with your own eyes, had seen how cute she is, had seen how cute Jungkook is, it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.

Jungkook is quick though, texting back in agreement and heading over instantly. If you were watching your comfort movie then Jungkook wanted to make sure you were okay. Putting the past two weeks behind him, knowing you’d most likely have a good enough explanation—an explanation he would definitely be needing before the night was over—he’s knocking on your door before you can even check your messages.

It takes you a minute to untangle your limbs from your covers as you hastily try to get to your door, sock clad feet sliding along your wooden floors when you finally yank the door open. Jungkook wears a soft smile as he stares down at you, taking note that you had switched your outfit to your usual sad movie binge attire of baggy shirt and lounge shorts. His eyes zero in on your lips when he notices there's something lingering at the corner of them.

“So, are you gonna share whatever the hell that is?” His finger points at it smugly, laughing when your tongue peeks out to wipe it away.

“It was actually meant to be for you.” Stepping aside, you let him enter your place. Jungkook almost feels a little strange being here after the weird few weeks, but he pushes it aside, just wanting things to feel normal.

“Does that mean there’s no more left?” His eyes playfully narrow at you as you step closer, moving on to stare at the kitchen table, and the coffee table in search of the tub of ice cream that supposedly had his name on it. The earlier nerves you felt slowly fade away when you realize he’s not visibly upset about what happened, but it only makes your guilt deepen that despite your ability to be a crummy friend, Jungkook would still try his best to come through for you.

“There’s about half of it left, it’s probably a little soft now though.” You side step him to enter the kitchen, grabbing an extra spoon and handing it over as a peace treaty, smiling when he gratefully accepts it. “C’mon, I paused the movie.”

Jungkook is not a stranger to your bedroom, especially when sappy movies were playing, finding his spot easily on the right side where he typically handed you tissues whenever you cried. The tissues were missing this time, in place of them being the bag of snacks you had bought, his ice cream on the other nightstand.

“What part are you on?” he asks, settling onto the bed after fluffing up the pillows, waving his hands so you could pass the tub of ice cream his way.

“It just started raining on the boat.” Jungkook hums, scooping out some of the chocolate ice cream and into his mouth. He knew this scene very well, and when you press play, he mentally repeats all of the lines. Just as Noah declares he wrote her 365 letters, you awkwardly clear your throat, your own spoon slowly sneaking over to his side to steal some ice cream for yourself.

“I’m sorry if I made things awkward with your date.” Your voice sounds timid, something he’s not used to hearing from you at all, so he chuckles, laughing harder when you swat at his arm. “I’m serious, I should have texted you before just showing up.”

“Really? When have you ever done that before?” The two of you never notified the other when they wanted to show up, Jungkook had even given you the code to his place once when he was at work and you were desperate for some fruity pebbles—you used that code to your advantage and Jungkook never hated it. But all things considered, it's fair why you think you would have to give him a heads up.

“You didn’t make it awkward though.” It’s not the complete truth, you coming over is what had made Aillie decide to leave, but Jungkook had to take most of the credit for it. “I kinda made it awkward from the beginning.”

“Why, what happened?”

“I went out last night with Jimin“ —you immediately hum in understanding, knowing very well how convincing Jimin could be with alcohol— “and apparently I texted her to hang out today, had no recollection, so when she showed up I was definitely not ready.”

“Damn, this is how I know you’re a better person than I am. If that happened to me, the second I checked my peephole and saw someone I didn’t remember inviting over, I’m gonna pretend I’m not home.”

“Yeah well, she lives like an hour away so I’d feel like an ass if I did that. Don’t think I’ll be talking to her again any time soon though.” He sighs in thought, gently tapping his spoon on the surface of the softening ice cream. There was one thing weighing heavy on his mind, needing to know what important thing you had to talk to him about, wondering if you were actually going to friendship dump him earlier and he had just made it worse by coming over and hanging out like old times.

He doesn’t want to come right out and ask it though, not wanting to set himself up for an awkward conversation in case that wasn’t what you wanted to talk about, so he settles for something safe enough that would allow him to get a glimpse.

“So how are things with Hoseok?” Yeah, that’s a good start.

“Huh?” Your spoon freezes in its spot, face clearly looking confused in the dim glow of the television, the movie long forgotten now that you were speaking.

“Tinder guy? Yellow sunglasses guy that gave you mono?”

It suddenly clicks again, having forgotten all about Jung Hoseok the second you had gotten home from the failed date and came to terms with your feelings. Your lie of having a cold must have been believable enough for Jungkook to genuinely think he had given you something like mono.

“He didn’t give me mono!” Jungkook rolls his eyes with a playful smile, humming along like he totally believes you. “But I didn’t tell you?”

He frowns as he stares at you, not entirely sure how to take your tone. “Tell me what? That you’re engaged and the wedding is in June?”

“No way,” you laugh, swatting his spoon away with a clank as you grab some ice cream before shoving it in your mouth, fighting against the brain freeze to continue speaking. “Our date was a bust.”

“How? Was it that bad?” He desperately wanted to know, having convinced himself the date had gone spectacularly well and you were now an exclusive item. The small twinge of guilt is felt when he realizes he’s a little too happy that the date had been a failure, but he allows himself to have this small, tiny victory.

“Mm, it was so good it was bad.” He looks utterly confused, and you don’t blame him, so you elaborate. “He was this perfect gentleman who just wanted to play games, like to the point where he had a notebook where he was tallying our points, and then he walked me to my car and kissed my cheek goodbye.”

“Oh the horror!” Jungkook gasps, setting his spoon down to clutch his heart in dramatics. “How dare he try to romance you with a game night.”

“Jungkook, shut up!” you laugh, finally feeling like everything was right again, sitting in bed with your closest friend as you teased each other. “Look, I’ll give him some credit. The date was nice, he was not the sleazy douchebag his profile made him out to be, and I’m sure he’ll find the perfect girl for him on Tinder. But he clearly wanted something serious and—“

“And you don’t want that right now. It’s fair.” Of course you would turn him down, you had just decided to embark on this new adventure in the single world. It was kind of dumb for Jungkook to assume one date with Tinder Boy would be enough for you to give up your short lived dream.

You take a steady breath at his words before taking another scoop of ice cream, lips wrapped around the spoon as you slowly pull it out of your mouth. The nerves are trickling back in, making your heart skip and your eyes bounce around. If you don’t come out and say it now, you know you never will.

Your spoon joins his in the tub of ice cream before you decide to move it back to the nightstand, forcing yourself to look back at him, seeing him turned away as he rummages through the plastic bag full of snacks. “I don’t want that with him.”

Jungkook freezes, the rustling of plastic ceases as his hands come back to his sides and he turns back around. With him. He was the king of jumping to worse case scenarios so his brain has no issues coming to this very horrible conclusion.

“Have you been talking to Hajoon again?”

“No, Jungkook I haven’t.”

“Are you sure? I’m saying this now, but if you get back with him I will not hesitate to pop him in the face if I run into him in the halls. It’s fair game out there, neutral territory for him to get his ass beat—“

“It’s you.”

His brain short circuits at that, mini versions of himself currently running around and screaming in his head as he tries to make sense of this. The first instinct he has is to crack a joke, to say that he hadn’t been talking to Hajoon again, and laugh it off. But you look a little too vulnerable right now, eyes nervously looking at him and then looking away at his lingering silence.

“Wait, what?” It’s the only thing he can sputter out, caught off guard by your words, not wanting to say anything else in case the world was cruel enough for him to have completely misheard you.

“I don’t want that with Tinder Boy or Hajoon, I want it with you.” It gets a little easier saying it a second time, but his reaction is hard to gauge. You had been expecting him to reciprocate the confession instantly, but the longer he looked shocked only made you think that you and Seulgi had been seriously wrong about his supposed crush.

Jungkook is having a difficult time trying to go from you ghosting him to you suddenly admitting to liking him, the change in emotions not allowing him to say anything he had practiced in the mirror for so long. He can’t come out and give you a speech about how he thinks you’re the one, how you’re obviously a good match together, brain too focused on other details. “How long have you known this?”

“For the past two weeks, but deep down I know it’s been longer.”

His wide eyes glance over at you now, everything slowly clicking into place. “Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“Yes,” you mumble, embarrassed over the way you had acted. The last time you had avoided someone was in elementary school, having a best friend go ask your crush if he likes you while you hid in the bathroom, scared of the answer. “I like you Jungkook and I knew I wouldn’t be able to play it cool. I was scared to say something and have you not feel the same and then have our friendship be weird.”

Jungkook smiles in that adorable way you love, nose scrunching up cutely as he leans closer, large palms coming to cup your cheeks. He has wanted to hear this for so long, and sure, maybe it wasn’t some super romantic confession over a candlelit dinner like he had occasionally dreamed of, but this felt right.

“You’re so stupid,” he whispers out, thumb softly caressing your cheek as he chuckles, feeling the way your lips turn into a frown at his harmless insult.

“Jungkook, I’m being serious,” you whine, heart still pounding in your chest. Your hands come up to gently wrap around his wrists, allowing him to continue to squish your cheeks with that endearing look on his face.

“I’m being serious too Y/N. Did you really think I wouldn’t feel the same?” Jungkook did everything he did with you out of pure friendliness, never expecting to get something in return from it, but there was a small sprinkling of a crush in every one of his actions. “I like you too, and I have for a really long time.”

The relief you feel comes instantly, lips slowly pulling into a smile when you finally have the confidence to look directly into his eyes again. If this is how light you feel after the two weeks spent freaking out, you can only imagine how Jungkook feels. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Now, can I please kiss you?” You’re nodding the second the question leaves his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as his hands glide down to cup your jaw, soft lips slowly pressing against yours. It’s a gentle smack of skin as he pulls back, a smirk on his lips when he opens his eyes, softly rubbing his nose against yours.

“Wait,” he breathes out, chuckling softly. “Is he still looking?” He has the nerve to repeat the same question that had been the root of your guilt, and when your eyes shoot open and glare at him, he can’t stop the laughter that bubbles out.

“I hate you,” you mutter out, not an ounce of truth behind it.

“Mm, no you don’t.”

His lips find yours again, falling into a steady rhythm, softer and less rushed than the first kiss you had shared at the club. There’s no pounding bass in the background, or the taste of liquor on your lips, but Jungkook prefers it this way. He likes the low hum of the movie continuing to play in the background, the sweetness of the ice cream lingering on your lips when his tongue gently swipes at the seam of them, the way your hands slowly slide around his neck as he deepens each kiss.

With each shared breath, you slide further down your bed, pulling Jungkook down with you until he’s hovering directly above you. His knees dig into the sheets, one hand pressed beside your head to keep himself stable as you urge him even closer to you. The delicate golden chain he wears kisses your skin, pendant settling onto your chest, the cool sensation is almost enough to distract you as his tongue slowly slips into your mouth. Jungkook groans when you let out a small gasp, your fingers slipping into his hair and tugging gently at the strands by the nape of his neck.

He wants to remember this kiss instead of the one from the club, embed every gasp you let out into his brain, the way your chest pushes up to feel more of him, how your hands slide down his back, leaving a fiery trail in their path that makes Jungkook shiver. And when you slide your thighs further apart for him, innocently at first, he can’t help it when his lips freeze on yours as you slowly roll your hips upwards. It gives him the same automatic reaction he had gotten at the club, all the blood rushing to his cock instantly, except this time he doesn’t feel the shame he had felt before. There was no ulterior motive to what you were doing, sincerity shown in your confession, shared within each kiss, so Jungkook allows himself to bask in the want he feels for you.

“Y/N,” he groans out when you repeat the action, pulling away from your swollen lips to stare at you through hooded eyes. You’re licking your lips over as your eyes slowly open, a small glimmer evident in them as you tilt your head and pretend to not know what you’re doing.

“What?” you question, leaning up to kiss the edge of his mouth, giggling when he attempts to chase your lips as you pull back, choosing to kiss down his jaw instead. As your tongue gently trails along the side of his neck, you feel the harsh gulp he takes, his fingers bunching up in the sheets beside your head. His neck has always been a weak point for him, turning him into a puddle in seconds, you knew this from the unfiltered conversations you’ve had and it was something you were definitely going to be using to your advantage.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he grunts, eyes fluttering shut as you nip at his skin, a visible shiver racking through him.

“Of course I am,” you hum, letting your hands roam his back, sliding around his front until you’re sneaking past the white fabric of his shirt. When your cool hands meet his skin, he tenses, the muscles on his stomach tightening up as your fingertips trail up his body. You’ve known Jungkook was well defined, lean and toned in all the best places, having seen him shirtless a few times. But being able to touch him like this, feel each stuttered breath and jump of his skin reacting to your touch fueled you.

Jungkook knows you can feel the racing of his heart now, your palms flat on his chest, each thrum revealing his emotions despite the cool and calm exterior he was trying to have. His hips lower towards yours, resisting the urge to rut into you as you start to suck on his skin. The low hum you let out vibrates against his neck, mixed in with the feeling of your wet lips, and he knows he’s done for. The final blow comes in the form of you swiping your tongue at the blossomed hickey, sweet voice pulling him back to earth as you look at him once more. “I want you Jungkook.”

Oh god, he couldn’t do this. His face pulls into a grimace, begging himself to not instantly cum in his pants at what you just said. How many times has he fantasized about this? Hoped you’d beg him for anything in that same exact voice, dreamed of you kissing and sucking on his skin like you currently were. Jungkook isn’t sure any amount of mental preparation would be enough for this.

“Say that again please.”

You giggle, finger pushing back a strand of his hair as it falls over his face, tucking it behind his ear. The normal doe eyed look you were accustomed to is nowhere to be found, pupils blown out in lust as he stares at you. Being on the receiving end of this stare fills your stomach with butterflies, the flapping of their wings intensifying as he nudges his nose into yours.

“I want you.” It’s breathless, spoken so softly through the background noise like a personal secret just for him. Jungkook doesn’t think he’ll ever grow tired of hearing you say it, that much is proven true when you repeat it in between kisses, trailing back up his neck in the same path you had taken until you're speaking the words directly against his lips. He swallows them down greedily, groaning into your mouth when his tongue tangles with yours once more.

“Fuck, you can have me baby.” He chuckles against your mouth when you start to tug at his shirt, yanking the thin material until he has to pull back and slip the tee off himself. The balled fabric gets tossed aside without a care, dark swirls of ink on his arm fully revealed now, each tattoo reminding you of how long you’ve known him, remembering the two pieces that he had when you first met. When he leans back over you, taking his time trailing kisses down your neck, onto your chest until his own hands are slowly tugging your shirt off of you, you decide there’s other things to focus on besides his glorious tattoos.

“Ah, Jungkook,” you sigh, fingers tangling into his hair when he kisses the swells of your breast, warm tongue sliding over your nipple before his lips are wrapping around it. His large palm gropes the other, thumb flicking over the pebbled bud, smirking when you push your chest further out for him.

“What baby?” He pulls back to blow a gust of cool air on your nipple, the wetness of his saliva making your skin break out into goosebumps.

“No teasing.”

Jungkook’s laughing now, eyes peering up at you through his lashes. “Oh, you think I’m not gonna tease you after what you did?” He tsks in disapproval as he continues to kiss down your torso, letting his hands trail down your sides, not stopping until he reaches the hem of your shorts. A kiss is placed above your navel as he pulls the shorts down your legs, toying with the waistband of your black underwear. “I’m gonna take my time with you.”

The build up before pleasure will always be your favorite part. The way his hands grip your thighs after tugging your underwear off, fingertips trailing up until his palm is pressing them further apart. It’s impossible to look at him now, the visual of his long hair framing his face as he starts to press wet kisses on your skin is too much to handle. You can feel the warm huff of air when he laughs as your head drops back onto the pillow once more, eyes slipping shut while you wait with anticipation.

Jungkook wants to comment over how wet you are already, boost his own ego about being able to rile you up with just kissing, but he can see the way you’re already on edge, and he decides he can tease you some more later with what he has in store. Instead, he gives you what you’re mentally pleading him for. Finally pressing his soft lips to your folds, the short gasp you release as his tongue glides up before gently flicking across your clit has him shutting his own eyes, reveling in the way you react to his touch.

His long fingers spread out your folds before he’s messily spitting onto them, watching the way the glob of saliva trickles down before he’s diving in, falling into the perfect pace with ease. It has your hips rutting up instantly, your hand uncurling its grip from your sheets to travel down your body and find its place tangled in his hair. Jungkook groans against your clit when your fingers grip tightly, yanking the dark strands as the prettiest moan flows out of you.

“J-just like that, fuck,” you whimper, finally lifting your head up to stare down at him when he latches his lips around your clit and sucks. It sends a spark down your spine, stomach tensing at his rhythm, fully intent to have you fall apart.

Jungkook wants to push you over the edge, knows he’s talented enough to get you there in record time—he was cocky in the best way—and the way your thighs tremble as he slowly sinks his finger into you proves his point. The slick coating your entrance allows a second finger to slip through with little resistance, a shuddering breath filling the air as he begins to spread his fingers apart, stretching you out in the most delicious way.

It’s not until his fingers curl up, rubbing along the sweet patch inside of you and you moan out his name, that he realizes he has you right where he wants you. He can’t get himself to look up at you, to see the way your jaw drops as you plead for more. Jungkook knows if his eyes lock with yours too soon he’ll be too weak to be as cruel as he wants to be.

The pleasure blooms inside you, hips rolling up into his in a way he welcomes, smirk spreading onto his lips when your moans get breathier. He eats you out with determination set in his brows, not satisfied until you’re tightening around his fingers, thighs threatening to close in on either side of his head. The messy way he slurps against you sends you reeling, rutting up into him with need, the wet thump of his fingers blending in with your moans of his name.

“God, Jungkook, I’m gonna cum.” He believes you, eyes finally opening up to stare at you. The visual is enough to make his cock throb in his pants, your glassy eyed stare locked onto his, chest rising and falling in time with each choked breath. When he playfully winks at you, your walls pulse around him, seconds away from being pushed over the edge, and that’s when he pulls away.

The warm glow of your orgasm approaching, just about to crest, gets ripped away from you instantly. It makes you gasp, thighs twitching as your hips attempt to push up back towards his mouth, but he’s having none of that. His shiny lips smile up at you innocently, head tilted to slowly kiss your trembling thighs, chuckling at the small cry of frustration you let out.

“You taste good baby,” he hums, smooching the skin at the juncture of your thighs, circling around your clit without relieving the pressure you felt. The dull ache has your fingers releasing his hair in defeat, a frown etched onto your lips.

“Jungkook, that’s mean,” you pant, sitting up and resting on your elbows to properly stare at him.

“A little, but you deserved it don’t you think?” Jungkook didn’t want to tease you too much, he just wanted to get even for the past two weeks. “You could have had me between your thighs every single night if you would’ve said something soon, so I think you can be patient.”

A firm kiss is pressed to your swollen clit and it makes your whole body shudder, your head dropping back as you take a deep breath to control yourself. “I can’t be patient Kook,” you whine, head leveling back out to give him the most convincing stare you can muster. There's that crease between your brows that he likes when you pinch them together, hands gently raking through his hair, teeth pillowing out your lower lip as you bite down onto it.

“Please, you can torture me later if you want but not now.” Your words have him cocking up his brow, hands once again gripping the meat of your thighs before he crawls back up your body. The feeling of his chain dragging up your skin has you shivering, breath catching in your throat when he hovers inches above you once more.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth before his hand slips between your thighs again. A groan reaches his ears as his fingers circle your clit, covered in your arousal and his saliva, gliding with ease as he works you back to your ruined orgasm.

His lips find yours, swallowing down the moan you let out when he quickens his pace. You can taste yourself on his tongue, tangling with yours with more urgency than before, messy and desperate in a way that had more arousal gushing out of you. The earlier pleasure reignites inside you, your hands sliding around his neck to keep him close, kissing him with fervor, quiet moans and whimpers slipping past between each smack of your lips.

“Jungkook,” you barely manage to squeal, a few more flicks needed to finally push you over the edge. Your lips are slick with spit as you pull back, jaw slack as you lose yourself in the feeling, and Jungkook easily bookmarks this into his brain to go back to and daydream of whenever he’s bored at work. Your eyes are squeezed shut as the feeling flows through you, not able to see how Jungkook stares at you in awe.

“Holy shit,” he whispers, slowly pulling his hand away when you keen at the sensitivity, thighs twitching on the sheets as the pleasure rolls through you in waves. You’re looking up just in time to see him slip his messy fingers into his mouth, tongue licking them clean and savoring the taste of you. Just as he slides them back out, your fingers wrap around his wrist and lead them directly into your mouth, sinking onto them with your eyes locked on his own.

Jungkook’s cock jumps in its confines when you suck, tip of your tongue circling his fingertips before popping them back out with a smirk. There’s a brief moment of shock on his features before he’s jumping into action, quickly unbuttoning his jeans in haste that left you giggling on your sheets.

“What happened to patience?” you tease, laughing harder when he pauses with one foot stuck in the hole of his jeans, a playful glare thrown your way.

“Oh, now you want patience?” He kicks his pants the rest of the way off, slowly shuffling towards you as he stands beside the bed in just his boxers. Your hands make grabby motions for him, reaching for the waistband of his underwear to tug them down, licking your lips over as his cock springs out. It bobs in the air for a second, thick and heavy, precum collecting at the tip with the prettiest veins on the underside of it. Of course Jungkook and his pretty privilege would have a dick worthy of leaving you speechless.

Jungkook allows you to ogle at him, confidently wrapping his palm around the base of his cock, hissing slightly at the sensation as he looks down at it, allowing spit to accumulate behind his lips before a string of it escapes and lands right onto his length to help the glide of his palm. Your eyes widen at the sight, hand replacing his as he guides your motions, giving an experimental squeeze and enjoying how his abs tense up.

“I’ve been patient for a long time Y/N. You said you want me right?” You’re nodding instantly, eyes looking away from his shiny length to stare up at him. “How do you want me?”

“Jungkook, just get over here.” He doesn’t resist when you let go of his cock, hands gripping his arm to yank him back onto the bed in a clumsy heap. His legs are a tangled mess, nearly ramming his forehead with yours from the force, shared laughter filling the air as you situate yourself. Jungkook had pictured this a thousand times and this is exactly how he imagined it, full of soft kisses, hushed laughter and goofy smiles, playfulness mixed in with lust all coming together perfectly to make the two of you.

As he settles between your thighs, your sodden folds inches from his length, you can see the look on his face as his eyes glance in between both of your nightstands. Already knowing the question that was about to spill out, you beat him to the punch. “You don’t need one, if you don’t want to. I’m on birth control, and haven’t been with anyone since…” you trail off, not needing to specify.

Jungkook tries not to look too excited, really, but it’s hard. Every one of his lewd fantasies had involved being able to feel you entirely, and if your thoughts from that night were anything to go by, you definitely want the same. It takes him a second to speak, having to swallow properly to prevent himself from choking on his saliva and embarrassing himself in front of you. “I’m clean, I promise.”

“I trust you,” you smile, biting down onto your bottom lip as he fists his cock, slowly leading it to your dripping center. His free hand rests on your inner thigh, softly palming the skin as the head of his cock nudges against your entrance, pushing past the tight ring of muscles and into your heat. With his gaze locked down to where you connect, he sees inch by inch sink into you, finally bottoming out with a shared gasp.

Jungkook leans over you properly now, hand sliding up to lace with yours as the other rests beside your head, just taking a moment to enjoy the feeling of your velvety walls wrapped tightly around his cock. You welcome the stretch, the curve of his length inside you, how he cages you in with his body, eyes full of want staring directly at you, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze because he knows he can’t properly form a sentence right now.

“Fuck me, please.” With his hips pressed flush against yours, he’s slowly inching back, letting you get used to his size with each thrust. It doesn’t take long before he’s rearing back entirely, thrusting forward with a wet squelch, corner of his lips curling up into a smirk when you moan out his name. Your hand curls around his shoulder, fingers digging into his back to keep yourself steady from the force of his hips.

Each time the head of his cock would nudge against your bundle of nerves, your nails would sink into his skin, leaving half moon indents that left him groaning in pleasure. Jungkook hadn’t outright told you, but it had become increasingly obvious that he has a slight kink for pain, practically mewling above you as you scratch his back, fucking you with more determination than before.

“You feel so good,” he rasps, slotting his lips with yours in a messy kiss. The back of your headboard starts to rattle against the wall, bouncing back in time with his hips, and it brings you back to the filthy thoughts you had before. How often you’d hear the same sounds on the opposite side, mixing in with the sharpness of skin connecting together, and you want it. So badly.

“J-jungkook,” you breathe out, letting him pepper more kisses onto you, hips never slowing down. “Can you do something for me?” The tone you use, coated in sugar so sweet he couldn’t say no even if he wanted to.

“Anything.”

It’s hard to concentrate on anything else while his cock continues to fuck into you, turning your mind into mush each time he sunk all the way in. He can see the way you try to focus, eyes falling shut with the cutest pout on your kiss swollen lips, finally grabbing onto the reigns of your mind as you spit it out. “Wanna feel you—fuck—spank me, please.”

Only then do his hips slow down, cock throbbing inside of you, fighting the urge to cum before fulfilling your request. The only confirmation that he was agreeing, wholeheartedly, comes when he pulls out of you, moving too quickly for you to protest at the loss of contact. The room spins for a second as his hands grip onto your hips and flip you over with ease, palms gripping the globes of your ass and softly patting them with a chuckle.

“Of course baby,” he murmurs, hooking his arm underneath your stomach to haul you up onto your knees, allowing you to steady yourself before he’s sliding into you once again. The change in position has you keening, his cock sinking deeper than before, the wetness dripping out of you helping him maintain the earlier pace he had. Your hands fist the sheets beneath you, back arching in ecstasy as he hits your g-spot with precision, a tiny shriek of his name making him smile.

Jungkook keeps you on edge, strong hands gripping the skin of your hips tightly, mouth dropping open while he pants at the way you pulse around his cock, leaving it coated in your slick. His hand slides down to your ass, a gentle touch being your only warning before he’s pulling his hand back and delivering a swift slap to your skin. Your reaction is immediate, an unrestrained moan sounding like music to his ears. The sharp sting spreads directly to your core, your head bowing forward as you mentally beg him for more, your wish being granted seconds later when he repeats it on the other side.

If the wet sounds of his cock fucking you weren’t filthy enough, the added slap of his palm across your ass definitely topped it off. Jungkook had never seen you so needy, thighs coated in your arousal, gushing around him each time he spanked you until you were creaming his cock. The greedy way your walls suck him in, wanting him closer, deeper than ever, left him mesmerized.

His hand soothes the dull throb on your skin, a trembling breath reaching his ears as he leans over your back, lips kissing up your spine up until reaching your shoulder. Hot pants of breath hit your skin, making you shiver as his lips trail along the edge of your ear. “Feel good?”

“Y-yes,” you mewl, voice trembling from the pleasure, rutting your hips in time with his.

Jungkook’s way of love was a breath of fresh air for you, rough enough to exhilarate you, the force of his hips leaving you scrambling for purchase to prevent you from face planting onto the sheets, gripping onto your hair and tugging it back with enough force to make your body tingle. But it was intertwined with adoration, sweet praise whispered into your ear, lacing his fingers with yours to let you feel secure.

“You’re never getting rid of me baby,” he groans out. The low rasp in his voice makes you tremble, neck straining from his grip in your hair but the burn feels too good to pull away. His small confession has your heart skipping, eyes slipping shut to bask in the overwhelming feeling surrounding you.

“Good,” you manage to pant, “would never dream of it.” After four years of friendship, the beginning stages of getting to know each other, figuring out the right ways to flow with your different personalities, it's all out of the way now, so it’s incredibly easy for you to picture a steady future with him. The breakfast gossiping, shameless club outings, chaotic game nights with snacks thrown at each other, you want everything you already have with him and more. What you have, so rooted in sincerity, built off mutual respect for each other, blossoming into love so pure, you can’t imagine having this with anyone else.

“Y/N,” he gasps, the pulsing of your walls bringing him closer to his climax. “I’m close.”

You can only hum in agreement, burying your face into your pillow when he releases the grip he has in your hair, nipples rubbing against the sheets in time with his thrusts, the sensitivity sending sparks throughout you. Both his hands grip your hips again, dimpling the skin as he quickens his pace, the tantalizing roll of his hips intent to send you over before him. His eyes trail over the curve of your back, how you arch it further to feel more of him, sliding down to your ass, seeing the way it bounces back with each snap of his hips, how you weakly rut back onto him, pussy clamping around his length as your orgasm approached.

Jungkook slides his hand around you, trailing across your tummy before slipping between your thighs to the spot you needed him most. Even with your face buried in the sheets, the moan you let out is loud enough for Jungkook to hear perfectly, body shuddering as he flicks across your clit in tight circles.

“Kook, I’m cumming—fuck,” you shout out, white heat enveloping your body as you get sent over the edge. Your mind blanks for a minute, the intensity of your orgasm crashing over you so suddenly, making your limbs tense up while every nerve ending lights up. The only thing you can think of is him, chanting out your name while you pulse around him, sweet words coaxing you through your high, thumb rubbing along the skin of your hips as he never slows his pace.

As he fucks you through it, groaning out at how tight your walls are around him, you have to turn your head to gasp in a breath, face feeling hot from it all. You can feel how sweaty your skin has become, the back of your neck feeling sticky as your turn to get a glimpse of him, body still shuddering from the aftershocks.

Jungkook doesn’t have a care for his own volume now, moaning unabashedly as he pistons his hips into you with less grace than before. The soft mewls of overstimulation you let out just bring him closer to his release, thrusts getting sloppier as the pleasure takes over him.

“Fuck, baby-” he grunts out, mouth dropping open as he moans even louder, finally falling apart. He pushes further into you, head falling forward as his hips press flushed against your ass, warm spurts of his cum filling you up in a way that fulfills your dirtiest fantasies. A few more shallow thrusts has the two of you gasping, hearts pounding in your chests, coming down slowly as he finally stills.

A serene silence falls over you, the movie long turned off in the background, only the low glow of the television letting you know it was still on. With great hesitation, Jungkook finally pulls out of you, gulping when he sees the thick globs of cum spill from your core, dripping down your thighs before landing on the sheets in a sinful mess. Your sheets are well and truly ruined, Jungkook would honestly suggest tossing them in the trash judging by the damp spot directly beneath you.

With a small groan, you’re flopping fully onto your stomach, thighs no longer able to keep yourself up, the exhaustion creeping up on you. Jungkook chuckles when he hears you, soothing your back with a gentle massage. “You’re not sleeping in here babe.”

“Why not,” you slur, cheek pressed against your pillow, eyes already shut. All you wanted to do was lay here, preferably with his arms wrapped around you, but Jungkook clearly has other plans.

“Because it’s disgusting,” he laughs, giving you a few more seconds of rest before he’s moving around. The dip in the bed lets you know he’s gotten off, one eye peeking open to search for him, seeing him gathering his belongings from the floor.

“Where are you going?”

He shimmies back into his clothes with a grimace, gathering your own items before approaching you once more. “We are going next door and sleeping in my totally clean bed, c’mon.”

You only put up a fight for a second, secretly enjoying the way he helps you get dressed in your earlier clothes, heart swelling in your chest at how domestic it all feels. The mess in your room would have to be dealt with another day, the only important item being the ice cream that finds its way back into the freezer as you both head out of your apartment and swiftly enter his next door.

He’s just as delicate and careful in the shower, taking turns cleaning each other, large hands gripping your ass and giggling like a child when you wince at the small throb of pain you feel. Soft kisses are shared under the showerhead, warm water soothing your body as the room fogs up, sweet confessions scribbled on the glass in his messy writing, topped off with a heart. Jungkook stops you before you can wipe it away, shyly telling you that he’d like to see it reappear the next time he showers.

His bedroom was one you weren’t too familiar with, used to lounging in his living room the most, so as he settles into his bed after getting cozy in his pajamas, you wait for him to call you over before joining him. The coolness of his sheets has you sighing, snuggling into his side with a smile on your lips, one that Jungkook sees as he stares down at you before pressing a kiss to your forehead. Seeing you draped in his clothes, cuddled up beside him in a way you’ve never done before, makes him feel like a giddy teenager.

“Can I be honest?” he wonders, arm wrapping around you to pull you even closer to him. When you hum in confirmation, he laughs sheepishly. “I thought you were going to friendship dump me today.”

“What, why?”

Your head bobs up as he shrugs his shoulders. “The way you were acting reminded me of the last time you told me you wanted to focus on your relationship. I was just scared I was going to lose you again.”

The tone he uses makes your heart ache, the same guilt you felt these past few days coming back when you put yourself in his shoes. You had no idea that the way you were acting would affect him this way, never once imagining that he thought you would cut off this friendship while you were just coming to terms with the fact that you harbored strong feelings for him.

“Jungkook, I’m sorry,” you sigh, palm resting on his chest, feeling each beat of his heart, no longer racing like before, confident and steady in it’s pace because he knows you’re not going anywhere. “I’m stupid, and freaked out after what I did, and just needed to gather my thoughts before saying anything.”

He cranes his head away from you, a confused look on his face. “After what you did? What did you do?”

Fuck.

“Uhm,” you start with a strained laugh, refusing to look up at him out of embarrassment, but the truth has to come out so you power through it. “So, the night of the date, I sort of got home earlier than I told you I did.”

His eyes narrow at you, refusing to give anything away before he knew where this was going. “Okay, go on.”

“And I sort of heard you through the walls.” You look up at him now, your guilty stare spelling it out for him. His eyes widen before he can conceal his surprise, cheeks warming up instantly because oh boy, he knew exactly where this was going. “And then, I sort of...joined.”

“You lied to me!” he shouts, shocked smile on his face as he recalls the way you had replied to his texts, telling him you had just gotten home and going the extra mile to say you were in a totally different room when in reality, you were sprawled out in your bed after just getting off to the sound of him.

Filthy. And also kind of hot. Jungkook was definitely into that, something he’ll totally proposition you into doing again because why not.

“I know! I couldn’t help it, it was so hot, and I felt so guilty. But, you’re technically the reason why my orgasm gave me my epiphany and let me realize I really do like you. So, I think I did us both a favor by being a dirty liar.” He’s laughing instantly, fingers gripping your cheeks to turn your head up, planting a firm kiss onto your lips obnoxiously.

“Alright, you’re forgiven. Plus, consider us even because I have definitely heard you getting off on your own plenty of times too.” A squeal of surprise fills the air as you swat at his chest, burying your face into his shirt and feeling the rumble of his laughter. It really wasn’t ever intentional. The walls are thin, you weren’t exactly quiet, and he couldn’t just lay there and ignore it. So call him an opportunist, or a pervert, because you were one too.

Jungkook is cheeky though, knowing how to get under your skin in the best way, and you can already tell you’re in for a ride when he gets close to your ear and whispers, “You wanna show me how you did it?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you snort, peering up at him with mischief in your eyes.

“You did say I could torture you later.” He smiles innocently, fingers pinching your chin as he kisses you again. “It’s later.”

The sweet laughter that escapes you makes his heart skip a beat, still not able to come to terms that this was happening and wasn’t some dream of his that he’d wake up from. He kisses the tops of your cheeks first, then your nose, before reaching your lips, his hand gently caressing your skin. Jungkook had no intention of torturing you tonight, knowing how tired you typically were after work on a normal day, and after drawing two orgasms out of you that left you shaking, he knows how close you are to sleep with the way your eyes droop.

“Aren’t you glad you didn’t give up on crushes and love?” he mumbles against your lips, inching back to stare down at you.

“I’m glad I stopped looking for it in the wrong places.” Your hands wrap around his neck, toying with his hair before pulling him back to you, reattaching your lips because you just couldn’t seem to get enough of him.

Every single moment you shared, from moving in and awkwardly trying to get to know each other, the ups and downs of failed relationships, the push that started it all at the club, and every almost moment in between brought you full circle to right now. There probably won’t be a moment where you don’t wish you had done this sooner, worked past your worry of ruining a good friendship in fear of what could happen, but the past helped mold you into who you are, strengthening your relationship to be the way it is now.

Right now had you thinking of the future, and there was nothing more exciting than that.

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