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jungkoode · 2 days ago

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𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 24

⋆｡°✩ mirrors ✩°｡⋆

"When you're dealing with Jason, who talks about literature like it matters and opens car doors, the friendship bracelet feels like something from a different version of you. One that's messier, pettier, still half-formed."

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⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 8k

content: coffee dates with intelectual men (jason derulooooo), friendship bracelet anxiety, protective!yoongi, mia aftermath discussions, tessa planning

✧ author's note ✧

Okay. Before you all start side-eyeing Jason for breathing, let's set something straight—you're biased. And you're totally valid for that.

This is a Jungkook x Reader fanfic. Obviously, we're all rooting for the emotionally constipated trauma boy who talks with his eyes and stores all his feelings behind gym towels and granola bars. I get it. I'm rooting for him too. But Jason is not here to steal your man. He's here to teach. To nudge. To trigger reflection. He's not necessarily here to stay—but he is important. For Y/N. For her growth. For us to see what it looks like when she's treated decently on surface level, so we can question what actually feels good, and what merely feels safe.

Jason, like every man I write, is not perfect. (You'd think I'd spare at least one of them but alas, I'm God here and a mean one.) Y/N is looking at him through rose-colored glasses—yes, that's intentional. But this is not your cue to dissect him like a frog and declare "something about him rubs me wrong, Kiki please kill him." Let's calm down, Hannibal. Not every man who isn't Jungkook is a villain in this story.

And speaking of bias—let's talk about Y/N. I want to gently remind you all: this story is told through her perspective. That means the narration is not omniscient. It's filtered through a lens of impulsivity, self-sabotage, and defense mechanisms. She's in her 20s and emotionally immature in ways that mirror her environment, her upbringing, her trauma. So yes—you'll read lines where she praises Jason and drags Jungkook through the mud like he owes her money. That's part of her architecture. Not mine. I don't write self-insert. I write character. And Y/N is doing what a lot of us do—projecting simplicity onto what's new and shiny, and demonizing what's familiar and complicated.

Because when you're operating from trauma, you fixate on the flaws that allow you to detach. On the safe narrative. Jungkook is socks on the couch. Jungkook is dumb. Jungkook is the roommate who yells too loudly when he's playing CoD. Not Jungkook who didn't burst into his bedroom during her panic attack because he knew she wouldn't want to be seen. Not Jungkook who's messy, perhaps not attentive when it comes to mugs in the sink—but attentive in the things that matter.

So yes. Y/N is unfair toward Jungkook in this chapter. And Jungkook is unfair toward her, too. And they will keep on being unfair and you'll want to scream and you'll say 'they're stupid' and yes they are. That's the point. That's humanity. That's how we cope—through flawed logic and messy defenses. It's ugly and real and mine.

Tessa. Let's go there. I've said it before, but I'll reiterate it loud enough for the back rows: Tessa is not the villain. She's not here to be the hot girl we all collectively throw into a fictional toilet. She's kind. She's respectful. She shares common interests with Jungkook. She's doing her thing. And that's exactly why she throws Y/N off. Because it would be easier to hate her if she were rude. If she were smug. But she's not. And that's the dissonance. That's the discomfort. Tessa would probably be a friend if the circumstances were different. But she's not. She's interested in Jungkook. And Y/N is sleeping with Jungkook. So while jealousy isn't the correct word, there's still that… gut feeling. That primal "mine" that you don't have to be in love to feel. Especially when someone's the only person who's ever made you feel wanted and safe in your body. (She did say he knows where the clit is. Let's not forget that.)

And Jungkook—again, for all his confusion and emotional hoarding—does not make fun of her for liking things. He forces her to confront her wants, to allow herself to enjoy things without guilt. Encourages them. Creates space for them. And she doesn't consciously realize that. But subconsciously? It's why she's defensive. Why she's scared of losing it.

Last thing I'll touch on: Yoongi. Because I love the way he shows up here—not loud, not meddling, but present. I made a point of explaining his schedule (beyond just plot convenience lmao) because I think it's important to portray him realistically. He's a producer. He's constantly working. And yet, when he is home, he doesn't overstep. He doesn't offer gossip. He doesn't reveal Jungkook's mess. He respects Jungkook's boundaries. He gives Y/N a branch. A little nudge. And if you know Yoongi, you know that's massive. That's someone who sees pain but respects the privacy of it. That's how love shows up in quiet friendships.

So yeah. That's Chapter 24. Not a love story. Not yet. It's a story about mirrors. About coping. About not knowing what you want until someone else tries to hand it to you, and you flinch.

Enjoy Jason while he's here. He's the first of some.

Now go read. Come back messy.

Love, Kiki (who writes enemies-to-lovers and then gets mad when they don't like each other yet) (ಥ﹏ಥ)

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

Turns out seventy-something grandmothers also read vampire and werewolf books.

Sunday shifts at Barnes & Noble are usually dead—just you, the books, and the occasional lost tourist looking for the bathroom.

But today feels off-kilter, like everything's been shifted two inches to the left.

You keep catching yourself touching the bracelet on your wrist, the beads spelling "ROGUE" pressed against your skin, a constant reminder of last night's decisions.

You still haven't taken it off. Haven't even considered it, really, which is weird because it's just a stupid tacky bracelet. Wearing it shouldn't mean anything. It's not like you and Jungkook are actually friends.

Are you?

…No. Definitely not. Just roommates who occasionally don't want to murder each other. Roommates who sometimes have really good sex. Roommates who made matching bracelets in a moment of insanity.

Fuck, that does sound like friendship.

"Excuse me, dear?"

The voice pulls you from your spiral, and you realize you've been staring at the same page of inventory for at least two minutes.

The woman standing at your register is tiny, maybe five feet tall on a good day, with perfectly coiffed silver hair and pearl earrings that are definitely not fake.

"Sorry," you mutter, quickly scanning the five hardcover books she's placed on the counter. The entire Twilight saga, special edition with gold-edged pages. "Did you find everything okay?"

"Oh yes, thank you," she says, pulling out a wallet that looks expensive in that understated way rich people prefer. "My book club is doing a throwback month. We're revisiting our guilty pleasures."

You nod absently, focusing on bagging the books without making eye contact. Just get through this transaction and then you can go back to questioning your life choices in peace.

"So," she says as you process her credit card, "Team Edward or Team Jacob?"

Your head snaps up, certain you've misheard.

"I'm sorry?"

"The eternal question," she says with a wink. "Which supernatural suitor would you choose? The brooding vampire or the hot-headed werewolf?"

Is this happening? Is this actually happening right now?

You stare at her, completely dumbfounded.

She's got to be at least seventy, wearing a cashmere cardigan and sensible heels, asking you about fictional teen heart-throbs like you're at a middle school sleepover.

You open your mouth to give some non-committal answer, but then you remember Dora from the laundry room. How quickly you'd dismissed her as a cranky old lady, only to discover she was just a widow feeling lonely.

Maybe this woman is the same—just looking for a moment of connection in her day.

"I'm honestly Team Alice," you say, surprising yourself with the genuine smile that forms. "She was probably a better choice than either of those two drama queens."

The woman's face lights up with delight.

"Oh! Bold choice. I like that." She leans in conspiratorially, lowering her voice. "I'm Team Edward, myself. I guess I like old men after all."

A startled laugh escapes before you can stop it. "He is like a hundred years old in a teenager's body. Very problematic."

"Precisely why it's a guilty pleasure, my dear," she says, accepting the bag you hand her. "The best kind of fiction lets us enjoy things we'd find appalling in real life."

There's something weirdly profound about that statement coming from a pearl-wearing grandmother buying vampire romance novels on a Sunday afternoon.

"Enjoy your book club," you say, meaning it.

"I will. And you enjoy whatever team you're on," she replies with a wink, nodding toward your wrist where the friendship bracelet sits.

Before you can respond, she's walking away, her heels clicking rhythmically against the floor.

You stare after her, feeling like you've just had some kind of surreal encounter with a Twilight-loving fairy godmother.

The rest of your shift passes in a blur of restocking shelves and helping lost customers find the bathroom.

By the time you clock out, the Twilight grandma feels like a fever dream—something your brain made up to break the monotony. But the conversation stays with you, an unexpected bright spot in an otherwise tedious day.

You're still thinking about it when you unlock the apartment door three hours later.

"Hello?" you call out, dropping your keys on the entry table with a clatter.

Nothing.

The apartment is empty, the silence confirming what you already knew—you've got the place to yourself.

No Yoongi with his silent judgment. No Griffin with his judgmental silence. And no Jungkook with his...

…

Whatever.

You check your phone.

An hour and a half until you're supposed to meet Jason for coffee.

Plenty of time to shower away the retail grime and maybe even put on something that doesn't scream ‘I've been folding books for eight hours.’

As if sensing your thoughts, your phone pings with a text.

𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧: 𝚂𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 4? 𝚆𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚞𝚙?

You bite back a smile.

He's offering to pick you up? So he remembers where he dropped you off that one time after class?

That's... actually kind of sweet. A guy who actually pays attention to details.

It's refreshing after dealing with Jungkook, who once put an empty milk carton back in the fridge and claimed he ‘didn't notice’ it was empty. Like someone just happened to drink all the milk and then carefully put the empty container back exactly where they found it.

Idiot.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚜! 𝚂𝚎𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚝 𝟺 ❤️

You don’t know why you’re using proper caps now, or why you add the heart emoji. It’s all without thinking, and you stare at it for a solid five seconds wondering if it's too much.

But it's already sent, and honestly, it's just an emoji. Not like you're proposing marriage.

As you scroll back through your messages, another unread text catches your eye. From last night. When your phone pinged during the bracelet exchange with Jungkook.

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚑𝚎𝚢! 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚝𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝! 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞! 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚠𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚋 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎? 𝚒'𝚖 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚓𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚔𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚎! 🥰

Oh.

Oh right.

Tessa from last night. The literal goddess with perfect hair who wanted your advice about dating Jungkook. The girl you told to go for it because, why not? He could do a lot worse than someone genuinely nice and put-together.

You stare at the text for a long moment, trying to figure out what to say to that. Because it’s weird. It feels weird.

No, the weird feeling is probably just that you're not sure you want to get involved in Jungkook's love life. It's one thing to suggest Tessa make a move, but playing matchmaker? Giving ongoing advice? That's crossing into territory that feels uncomfortably personal.

Plus, you're kind of sleeping with him. Would be weird to help another girl date your fuck buddy. Not because you care who else he sleeps with—you don't. Obviously. But it would just be... awkward.

And what would you even say? ‘Hey Tessa, here's how to seduce my roommate: play hard to get, argue with him constantly, then jump his bones when he least expects it. Works for me!’

Yeah, no.

You set your phone down without replying. You'll deal with Tessa later. After your coffee with Jason. After you've had a shower and maybe some time to think about how to navigate this bizarre social situation you've somehow landed in.

As you head to the bathroom, you catch your reflection in the hallway mirror. You look tired, a little rumpled from your shift, but not terrible. Your eyes drift down to the colorful beads circling your wrist. ROGUE, spelled out in childish letter beads.

You could take it off. Probably should, honestly. It's not like you're twelve, wearing friendship bracelets with your BFF.

But your fingers don't move toward the clasp.

Instead, you just turn away from the mirror and continue toward the bathroom.

It's just a bracelet. It doesn't mean anything.

You'll take it off tomorrow.

Funny how a look can make you remember what it’s like to feel beautiful.

Jason’s car is clean. Not serial killer clean, but neat in a way that feels vaguely impressive for a guy who’s in grad school and not living off a diet of ramen and emotional repression.

When you slide into the passenger seat, your dress rides up just a little, and you catch him glance—brief, polite, but definitely there.

You don’t blame him. You look good.

Hair curled. Lip gloss strawberry-slick. Earrings you almost forgot you owned. The black dress is simple but it fits just right, hugging the curve of your waist like it was designed to hold you together when you forget how.

You’d like to pretend you don’t care what Jason thinks, but you shaved above the knee and sprayed perfume behind your knees, so.

He smiles when he sees you, soft and almost surprised. “Hey. Wow.”

‘Wow’. Not ‘you look nice’, not ‘I like your dress’.

Just wow, like he wasn’t prepared for this version of you.

Like he’s seeing you, not the outfit.

You kind of love that.

“Hey yourself.”

You buckle in and feel the nerves pull tighter in your chest. You’re not used to being nervous anymore. You’ve fucked your way through worse situations than this.

But this isn’t sex. This is coffee.

Somehow infinitely more exposing.

The drive is short, music low—Jason puts on some indie playlist that’s equal parts folky and hipster, and you catch lyrics about moons and bones and the way someone smells in spring. He doesn’t talk much on the way, but it’s not awkward. Just quiet. Thoughtful. There’s a kind of comfort in that, in not having to fill every second with chatter.

When you arrive, you wonder if you’ve accidentally agreed to a second location with a man who might bankrupt you.

Because this coffee shop? It is sleek and minimalist, all marble tables and matte-black finishes, the kind of place where the baristas wear aprons and pour water like they’re performing surgery.

And holy shit, it smells amazing. Not in the burnt hazelnut way you’re used to from campus cafés, but rich, deep—vanilla and cinnamon and fresh grounds that probably cost more per ounce than your soul.

Jason holds the door open for you. Doesn’t make a big deal of it. Just does it like it’s second nature. And okay, fine, you notice that. You’re not made of stone.

You order the strawberry latte on a whim, mostly because the flavor name makes you smile—‘blushberry blossom’ (c’mon that’s such a cute name)—and partly because the idea of something pink and ridiculous feels like rebellion in a place this serious. Jason, for his part, gets a cortado.

You sit by the window, where light slants in gold and sharp across the marble, catching on the rim of your cup and your collarbone.

Here, the world outside feels very far away—no Griffin knocking shit over, no roommates stomping around the apartment like emotional hurricanes. Just soft jazz and clinking spoons and the man across from you who keeps doing this thing where he leans in slightly when you talk, like he doesn’t want to miss anything you say.

“You really think that about Bishop?” he asks, eyebrows up.

You nod. “Yeah. I mean, it’s not that I think she hated women, but there’s definitely an internalized thing going on in the way she writes about domesticity. Like she’s performing detachment because that’s the only way to survive inside it.”

Jason exhales, a quiet sound of admiration. “That’s really smart.”

You shrug, suddenly a little too warm.

Compliments on your appearance are easy to swat away.

This kind—the you’re actually intelligent and I’m listening to you kind—sticks in your chest like static.

Your latte arrives, delicate as hell. Pale pink with foamy swirls and a single edible flower floating on top. Instagram bait. You take a sip, expecting something syrupy and fake, but it’s…

Huh.

You pause. Purse your lips. The taste is sweet, but not in a candy way. More like… too smooth. Like it’s missing bitterness. But it’s fine. Just—off, somehow.

Not bad, just… not what you were expecting.

You take another sip.

Still weird. Still fine.

You say nothing. Just keep talking, keep leaning into the conversation, because Jason’s eyes are lit up and he’s asking you questions like he actually cares about the answers.

You talk about poetry, about undergrad nonsense, about that one professor who only teaches in metaphors and might actually be a tree in disguise. Jason laughs at your jokes and adds his own and it’s easy. Like, actually easy. Like your brain isn’t doing somersaults trying to predict the next emotional landmine.

Halfway through the drink, he glances down at your wrist and tilts his head.

“Is that… a friendship bracelet?”

You glance at it before you remember it’s there.

Your hand had been resting on the table, fingers curled lightly around your cup, the ROGUE beads facing up like they want to be seen.

Shit.

You forgot you were still wearing it. In fact, haven’t you been wearing it all day? All shift. Through your shower. Through putting on perfume. Through curling your hair. Through walking out the door knowing someone might see it.

You pull your wrist back instinctively. Not fast enough to be defensive, just enough to make it clear you hadn’t meant for it to be a conversation piece.

Jason doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t tease. Just raises his eyebrows, curious but not unkind.

“Oh,” you say, pretending it’s nothing. “Yeah. It’s—stupid. A joke, kind of.”

Jason’s brow furrows. “No, it’s cool. I mean, it’s cute. Just wasn’t expecting that from you.”

You laugh, a little too fast. “Yeah, me neither.”

“It’s not a bad look,” he offers. “Very… I don’t know. Vintage, maybe?”

He says it in the tone of someone trying to offer reassurance, not judgment.

And that’s the thing, because he hasn’t said anything bad about it.

It’s you.

You feel it. That quiet little itch of self-consciousness blooming under your skin.

And suddenly you are twelve years old, and someone just caught you doodling hearts in your notebook.

You feel… silly.

Not because it’s a dumb bracelet��it is—but because it’s on your wrist in this place, with this person.

With Jason, who talks about literature like it matters, who picked you up on time, who smells like sandalwood and books, who looks at you like he’s trying to memorize your mouth.

The bracelet feels like something from a different version of you. One that’s messier, pettier, still half-formed. The version that knocks Jungkook’s protein powder off the counter just to watch him flinch. The one who keeps secrets in locked journals under the bed.

You press your wrist lightly against your thigh under the table, hiding it without really hiding it. Jason doesn’t press. He just sips his coffee and asks what you think about Rainer Maria Rilke.

You tell him. You talk about how Letters to a Young Poet changed the way you understood loneliness. About how writing doesn’t have to be for anyone else. About how maybe there’s something holy about solitude when it’s chosen.

He listens like the world’s on mute.

And maybe, just maybe, you start to believe the things you’re saying. Maybe you start to feel like someone worth listening to.

“You should read this essay by Gilbert and Gubar,” he says, pulling out his phone to make a note. “I’ll send you the link. It’s about the madwoman in the attic as a feminist symbol. Might give you some interesting perspectives.”

“That would be great,” you say, soft smile tugging at your lips.

It’s been ages since you’ve had a conversation like this—someone who not only gets your academic interests but actively engages with them.

“You’re really smart, you know that?” he says suddenly, setting down his mug. “Like, genuinely insightful. You should consider applying to graduate programs.”

The compliment catches you off guard, warmth spreading through your chest.

“I’ve thought about it,” you admit. “But it’s competitive. And expensive.”

“True,” he nods. “But there are fellowships. And based on what I’ve heard from you in class and now, I think you’d have a shot.”

You take another sip of your too-sweet latte to hide how pleased you are. It’s not that you need validation, but… okay, maybe you do, a little. Who doesn’t?

“I could help you look into programs, if you want,” he offers. “No pressure, just… I know the landscape pretty well.”

“That would be amazing, actually,” you say, meaning it.

By the time you’ve both finished your drinks, the afternoon light has shifted. You’ve been talking for over two hours, and it’s only when you check your phone that you realize how much time has passed.

“I should probably get you home,” Jason says, checking his watch reluctantly. “I’ve got a stack of papers to grade before tomorrow.”

“Right,” you nod, equally reluctant to end the afternoon. “Teaching assistant duties call.”

“Unfortunately,” he sighs, then brightens. “But I’d love to do this again. Maybe dinner next time?”

“I’d like that,” you say, and you really would.

After 10 minutes in his car, you think he’s turning toward your apartment.

You’re wrong.

Jason’s blinker flicks left instead of right, merging smoothly into traffic like this isn’t a diversion. Like it’s part of the plan.

You glance over, raising an eyebrow. “Um. Home’s the other way.”

He smiles, eyes still on the road. “I know. I wanted to show you something first.”

Your chest flutters—nothing dramatic, just a soft little hum, like the opening notes of a song you don’t recognize but already like. You sink back into the seat and let yourself be curious.

The drive winds west, toward the river, buildings falling away into stretches of old brick warehouses and glass condo towers that look like they belong in an entirely different version of your life. One where you probably own a milk frother and know what saffron tastes like.

Jason doesn’t say much, just tunes the radio to some local jazz station and hums softly along. The golden hour light cuts sideways through the windshield, warm and syrupy, painting the world in blush and amber.

He pulls over near a quiet overlook, where the road widens into a shoulder and the guardrail curls just enough to frame the view. The Hudson stretches wide in front of you, molasses-slow and glittering under a sky that’s all pinks and orange melt, the kind of sunset you always say you’ll watch more often but never do.

He doesn’t make it a thing. Just kills the engine, unbuckles his seatbelt, and nods toward the passenger side.

“Come on.”

You follow, caught in that half-stunned, half-swoony state that makes your steps feel floaty.

The air outside is cooler than you expect, touched with that river dampness that curls around your ankles and lifts the hair on your arms. The water looks like glass, rippling only when the wind brushes across it.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, stepping closer to the edge.

The view is stupid. Like, actually unfair. The sky’s a cliché in real time—cotton candy pink and tangerine and just the faintest smear of lavender toward the edges.

You pull out your phone without thinking, framing the scene like muscle memory.

One shot.

Then another.

Then one with your shoulder in the corner, just to prove you were here.

Jason stands a little off to the side, hands in the pockets of his coat.

He’s not watching the view—he’s watching you look at the view, which somehow makes it feel even more unreal.

“I didn’t want the date to end in a parking lot,” he says quietly.

You smile down at your phone, thumbs already moving. You pick the best one, swipe through a filter, drop the saturation just a little. Caption: this sky is a lie and I’m letting it.

You post without thinking. It’s just a sunset. It’s just a moment. But it feels worth remembering.

A notification pops up a few seconds later. Like.

Then another.

Then—

35mmghost liked your photo.

You blink.

Snort.

Okay. What?

You don’t say anything, just stare at the name for a beat longer than necessary.

35mmghost.

That is… not what you expected Jason’s Instagram handle to be. If it is Jason’s. Which would be hilarious. And weirdly endearing.

You flick a glance toward him. He’s smiling to you, with his phone between his fingers. Like you just caught him.

He just pockets it and gazes out at the river like he’s trying to memorize it.

You file it away. Not important. Probably. Just… cute.

Jason, apparently, has a secret artsy side.

And a dramatic username.

Ghost, really?

You like it. Quietly. Silently. The same way he let you have the view.

He doesn’t know you noticed. Doesn’t try to impress you with it.

And for once, you don’t overanalyze. You just let yourself stand there, cheeks a little pink from the wind and the compliment still buzzing somewhere behind your ribs, watching the sky slide into dusk like it’s not even trying to be beautiful.

Like it just is.

When he finally drives you home, you find yourself feeling lighter than you have in weeks.

There’s something refreshingly straightforward about Jason.

No games, no cryptic comments, no emotional whiplash.

Just a smart, mature guy who seems genuinely interested in you.

When he pulls up to your building, he gets out to open your door again—which still feels like something from a movie rather than real life.

“Thanks for today,” you say, standing awkwardly on the sidewalk.

Is this the part where you kiss? You’re not sure what the protocol is here.

Jason solves the dilemma with a warm smile and a slight step back—respecting your space in that careful way that somehow makes him even more attractive.

"Thank you for making my Sunday exponentially better," he says.

It's such a nerdy, earnest thing to say that you can't help but smile.

"Exponentially, huh?"

"At least by a factor of ten," he confirms with a grin. "I'll text you about dinner?"

"Sounds good."

You watch him drive away, a pleasant buzz of anticipation tingling in your chest about seeing him again.

For once, your love life seems straightforward and uncomplicated.

A mature guy who's exactly what he appears to be. What a fucking novelty.

When you finally make it upstairs, the apartment is still quiet. Still empty.

You kick your shoes off at the door and shrug off your coat, fingers catching on the thin leather strap of your bag. You leave it on the couch and walk straight to your room, not bothering to turn on any lights.

There’s enough spill from the windows to see by—blue-gray and soft, the city humming faint in the background like a lullaby that never really ends.

You catch your reflection in the mirror again.

Dress still hugging you right, lip gloss faded but not completely gone. Your cheeks are flushed in that way that feels natural, earned.

You look good. You feel good.

But your gaze drifts. Down to your wrist.

There it is. Bright and stupid and clunky against the sleek black of your dress.

ROGUE.

It looks even more ridiculous now than it did in the café. Like a tacky souvenir trying to pass in a room full of doctoral candidates.

You sigh.

It’s not that you’re ashamed of it, exactly.

Just… aware of it.

In a way you weren’t before.

Aware of what it signals—about you, about the you that exists in here, in this apartment.

The one who fights over fridge space and burns frozen pizza and still hides snacks under the bed like you’re prepping for an apocalypse Jungkook might eat through.

Jason didn’t make you feel bad about it. Not at all.

But there was that little jolt of being seen in a way you didn’t mean to be. Like wearing pajamas to class by mistake.

You run your thumb over the beads. They’re slightly warm from your skin, the elastic stretched just enough to make a faint indent on your wrist.

It’s silly.

So fucking silly.

You shouldn’t have even worn it out. It doesn’t belong in cafés with marble tables and edible flowers. Doesn’t belong with guys who talk about Rilke and open your door and make you feel like your brain is the most interesting thing about you.

It belongs here. Inside these walls. In the shared chaos of mismatched mugs and territorial coffee wars and Griffin sleeping on your face.

It belongs in the version of you that forgets to do laundry and screams at reality TV and gets off with your roommate like it’s just another way to burn through stress.

Maybe it’s time to choose. Or at least… edit.

You slide the bracelet off. Slowly. Carefully. Set it down on your dresser, next to the copy of The Bell Jar you’ve been meaning to reread and a half-burnt candle that smells like peaches and something faintly smoky.

You’ll still wear it sometimes. Just not… when you go out with Jason. Not when you want to feel sleek and composed and like maybe, just maybe, you’re building something a little more deliberate than chaos.

Maybe that’s okay.

You leave it where it is.

And you don’t stop to think whether Jungkook is even wearing it at all.

“You’re alive?”

The words slip out before you can stop them, a bit too loud for a quiet apartment and a bit too sarcastic for someone who just walked through the front door.

But it’s Yoongi. You’re pretty sure he came out of the womb with a glare and noise-cancelling headphones.

He gives you a flat look, keys jingling as he kicks the door shut behind him.

No hello, no how was your day, just a flick of his eyes from your face to your bare legs stretched across the coffee table, one foot propped up like you’re posing for a toenail polish ad no one asked for.

“Didn’t expect you home,” you add, waving your freshly painted big toe in his direction. “Figured you were off ghosting the apartment all weekend like usual.”

He drops his messenger bag by the door with a soft thud, shrugs like the weight of being perceived is too much.

“Didn’t have that much work today,” he says, deadpan, already halfway to the kitchen. “Been overworking all week. Even I get tired of being productive.”

You blink. “Wait—you work on Sundays?”

“I work always,” he calls back, grabbing a mug from the cabinet like it personally offended him. “What’s your point?”

You roll your eyes, adjusting your foot on the arm of the couch so the polish doesn’t smudge.

“My point is, maybe stop pretending you’re not a person and do something degenerate for once. Watch trash TV. Go outside.”

“I went outside,” he mutters, reaching for the coffee grounds. “Regret it.”

“You’re making coffee now?” You glance at the clock. “You’ll be awake all night.”

“Mm,” Yoongi says, which is less a response and more a vibe. “Not like I’ve slept properly in a week anyway.”

“That sounds healthy,” you sing, flicking the cap back onto the nail polish bottle.

You don’t know when this stopped being weird—talking to him like this.

It’s not friendship, exactly, but it’s not not that either.

Comfortable-ish. Low maintenance. The kind of dynamic that doesn’t need checking in.

Griffin trots out from wherever he was napping, tail flicking with that ‘where the fuck is my dinner, peasants’ energy.

You lean over and scratch behind his ear. “Still no sign of your boy?”.

Yoongi shrugs —his primary form of communication—then cups his hands around his mouth and yells, “JUNGKOOK!”

The silence that follows is answer enough.

“Nah, he’s not home,” Yoongi confirms unnecessarily.

You roll your eyes, screwing the cap back on your nail polish. “Thanks for the thorough investigation.”

You go back to focusing on your second foot, tongue poking out slightly as you try not to smear the top coat.

Then—

“Hey,” he says, casual but not. “By the way…”

You pause, brush hovering mid-air.

“…I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

Your stomach drops.

Those words never precede anything good.

Is he kicking you out? Did you do something wrong? Is the rent going up? Did he find your secret stash of chocolate-covered pretzels hidden behind the rice?

“Okay…” you say cautiously, sitting up straighter. “What’s up?”

Yoongi takes a sip of his coffee, still not meeting your eyes. The silence stretches just long enough to make your anxiety spike before he finally speaks.

“It’s about Jungkook.”

Oh.

Oh no.

Did Jungkook complain about you? Is Yoongi about to give you some weird roommate intervention? Does he know about the… arrangement you and Jungkook have?

God, that would be mortifying.

“What about him?” you ask, aiming for casual but landing somewhere closer to defensive.

Yoongi presses his lips together like he’s trying to decide if speaking is worth the effort. Spoiler: it usually isn’t.

Then—quiet, low:

“Back at the karaoke place… you met Mia, right?”

You freeze mid-swipe, the brush hovering just above your toenail. There’s a split second where your brain tries to play dumb. Pretend you didn’t. Pretend you forgot. But your body answers before your mouth does—shoulders tensing, breath pulling tight behind your ribs.

“Yeah,” you say slowly. “I remember.”

And you do. Perfectly. Chanel and Louboutins and weaponized perfume. Voice like saccharine venom and teeth too white to be trustworthy.

You remember the grip on your arm. The way Jungkook looked—vacant, off, like someone unplugged him at the base of the spine.

Yoongi nods once, eyes fixed on his coffee like it might offer divine clarity.

“I need to know what happened.”

His voice isn’t demanding, not exactly. Just… steady. Firm in a way you’ve never heard from him before.

“What did she say to him?”

You shift on the couch, pulling your knees up to make room for Griffin, who hops beside you with zero regard for the wet polish on your toes.

You don’t answer right away. Not because you’re trying to avoid it—it’s just that you’re not sure how to answer.

Yoongi doesn’t push. Just waits.

You glance toward the kitchen, then back at him.

“I didn’t hear everything,” you start. “She was already talking to him when I found them. I didn’t even know who she was at first, just thought—some random girl, y’know?”

He nods once. Still waiting.

“She was dressed like she had three bodyguards waiting outside,” you add, because you can’t help yourself. “Total Upper East Side vibes. Like she was slumming it for the night.”

That earns a dry little huff from Yoongi. Almost a laugh. Almost.

Your fingers twitch against your thigh.

“She knew it was his birthday,” you say, softer now. “Said it all sweet but—like. Fake sweet, you know? Like she was performing nice but wanted him to feel like shit for not inviting her.”

Yoongi’s jaw ticks as he listens. He’s still holding the coffee mug, but you can tell he’s not really drinking anymore. Just holding it like a prop.

“She said…” Your voice trails off. You swallow. “She said, ‘Try not to have too much fun without me.’ And something about his dad. I didn’t catch all of it. But her tone—it was like… she wanted to rattle him.”

Now Yoongi finally looks at you. Not full on, not probing, but enough to catch your face in his periphery.

“She mentioned his dad?”

“Yeah.” You nod. “Just—like, she knew it’d hit a nerve. She said something about ‘not replacing her’ or whatever. I don’t know the full context, but... whatever it was, it fucked with him. He looked—”

You pause.

The image flashes in your head: Jungkook standing in the hallway, motionless. His face locked down, shoulders tight. Like something inside him had short-circuited.

“He looked small,” you say quietly. “Scared. Not like himself.”

Yoongi takes that in. Doesn’t react right away. He just huffs out a breath through his nose and leans back against the edge of the kitchen counter.

Another pause.

Then: “She’s good at that.”

He says it flatly. No inflection. No explanation.

You tilt your head. “You know her?”

“Not much. But I know exactly what he looked like after her.”

You’re quiet, sensing the line. The invisible perimeter Yoongi keeps between what’s his to share and what isn’t.

“I’m not asking for his secrets,” you say, meaning it.

“Good,” he replies instantly. “Because they’re not mine to give.”

That makes you like him more. Irritatingly so.

You don’t push. But your gaze stays on him, curious.

Yoongi shrugs, finally setting his mug down on the counter. “I’ve only known him for a year and a half, so I wasn’t around back then. Not for most of it. But she left damage.”

You stay quiet.

“She knows his pressure points. Knows when to act like she’s joking and when to twist the knife.” He rubs the back of his neck like he hates even saying this out loud. “Jungkook’s got a... hard time with boundaries. Especially when it comes to people he used to love.”

Used to. Interesting phrasing.

Your lips part slightly, but Yoongi’s already waving a hand like he regrets going this far. “Anyway. Not my drama. Just wanted to know what she said. He didn’t tell us much.”

“Us?”

Yoongi shrugs again, folding his arms. “Me, Taehyung, Hobi. The ones that showed up when she blew everything up.”

You blink. “Blew everything up?”

He gives you a look. Not mean. Not angry. Just—measured. Like he’s deciding how much to trust you.

“I said too much already,” he mutters. “But yeah. That hallway thing? That wasn’t nothing. I just needed to hear it from someone who saw it up close.”

You nod slowly. “Makes sense.”

Silence again. Not uncomfortable exactly. But heavy.

Yoongi runs a hand through his hair and glances down at Griffin, who’s now making biscuits into a throw pillow like he pays rent.

“He didn’t tell you anything, huh?”

“No.” The word comes out before you can stop it. Then, quieter: “He just said he needed air.”

Yoongi exhales. “Figures.”

You want to ask more. About Mia. About Jungkook. About what the hell happened that’s got Yoongi this protective over someone he’s known for less than two years. But something in his expression makes you hold your tongue.

So you just nod, brushing your fingers lightly over Griffin’s back.

After a beat, you say, “Thanks for telling me. Even if it was just a little.”

Yoongi lifts his coffee mug in a half-toast. “Don’t read into it. You were there. I needed intel. That’s all.”

You smirk. “Sure.”

But you both know that’s not all.

Not even close.

"Wait," you call out just as Yoongi's about to disappear completely.

You're not sure why you feel compelled to say this—it's not like you owe Tessa anything—but after everything you've just learned about Mia, it feels important somehow.

Yoongi pauses, hand on his doorknob, eyebrows raised in silent question.

"That girl at the birthday party," you say, the words tumbling out before you can overthink them. "Tessa? I think she genuinely likes him. Like, in a normal way."

You don't know why you're telling him this.

Maybe because after hearing about Mia's toxicity, the idea of someone simple and sweet being interested in Jungkook feels like information worth sharing.

Yoongi tilts his head slightly. "The ginger one? Sat next to him?"

"Yeah," you nod, surprised he noticed. "She asked for my advice, actually. About him. She wants to get coffee with me to talk about it."

"Huh." Yoongi leans against his doorframe, considering this. "She seemed... nice."

The way he says ‘nice’ makes it sound like he's describing an alien species he's only read about in textbooks.

"She is nice," you confirm. "Like, genuinely nice. Soft. Girly. Probably doesn't have any emotional baggage or toxic exes lurking around corners."

You're babbling now, but you can't seem to stop.

Because you feel guilty.

Because you told this nice beautiful girl to go for an emotionally stunted dude who apparently has way too much baggage.

Because maybe Jungkook is not even ready for any of this.

"I told her to go for it. With Jungkook, I mean. Before I knew about... all this Mia stuff."

Yoongi's expression shifts subtly—a slight narrowing of the eyes. "You're playing matchmaker now?"

There's no judgment in his voice, just curiosity, but you feel defensive anyway.

"Not matchmaking," you clarify. "Just... I don't know. Being supportive? She asked, I answered. It's not a big deal."

"Right," Yoongi says, in a tone that suggests he thinks it might actually be a big deal. "And how does Jungkook feel about Tessa?"

You shrug, suddenly realizing you have no idea. "I don't know. They're in some classes together I think. He hasn't mentioned her."

"Jungkook doesn't mention a lot of things," Yoongi points out.

"True." You fiddle with the cap of your nail polish, avoiding his gaze. "I just thought... she’s nice. And so pretty. I just thought… maybe it could do him some good—before I even knew about this, I mean.”

Yoongi makes a noncommittal sound. "Maybe."

"You don't think so?"

He shrugs. "It's not about what I think. It's about whether Jungkook's ready for someone new. Especially someone... nice."

The way he says it makes you wonder if ‘nice’ is a liability in Jungkook's world.

If after someone like Mia, ‘nice’ feels too foreign, too simple.

"Well, I already told her to go for it," you say, feeling suddenly uncertain. "Should I... un-tell her?"

Yoongi actually smiles at that—a small, fleeting thing, but definitely a smile. "No. Let it play out. Who knows? Maybe you're right. Maybe nice is exactly what he needs."

He doesn't sound convinced, but he doesn't sound dismissive either.

"Okay," you say, relieved. "I just... wanted you to know. Since we're apparently on Team Jungkook now."

Yoongi snorts. "I've always been on Team Jungkook. You're the new recruit."

"I didn't exactly volunteer," you point out.

"And yet here you are," he says, "worrying about his love life."

You open your mouth to protest, then close it again.

He's not wrong.

"Anyway," Yoongi continues, "thanks for telling me about Tessa. And about what happened with Mia."

You nod, feeling like you've passed some kind of test you didn't know you were taking.

Yoongi gives you one last unreadable look before finally retreating into his room, the door clicking shut behind him.

You sit there for a moment, processing the entire bizarre conversation.

In the span of fifteen minutes, you've gone from painting your toenails in peaceful solitude to being drafted into some kind of Protect Jungkook squad with Yoongi, of all people.

Life in Apartment 6B just keeps getting weirder.

Thirty-seven minutes later, you're sprawled on your bed, hair still damp from the shower, staring at Tessa's unanswered text like it's a bomb you need to defuse.

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚑𝚎𝚢! 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚢𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚍𝚊𝚢? 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚋 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎? 🙂

You’re second-guessing everything after that conversation with Yoongi.

Should you really be encouraging Tessa to pursue Jungkook when you know he's still dealing with Mia-shaped emotional shrapnel? Is it fair to either of them?

But then again, who are you to play gatekeeper to Jungkook's love life? Maybe Tessa is exactly what he needs—someone sweet and uncomplicated. Someone who doesn't have the baggage of a toxic ex or whatever the hell happened with his father.

You groan and flop back against your pillows.

Why do you even care?

It's not like you and Jungkook are anything to each other. You're just roommates who occasionally fuck.

You’re barely even… friends.

The word acquires a weird shape in your mind.

You pick up your phone again, determined to respond to Tessa without overthinking it.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚑𝚎𝚢𝚊! 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚢. 𝚌𝚊𝚗’𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚝 2 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎. 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚠𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝?

You hit send before you can change your mind.

It's just coffee. It's not like you're arranging a marriage.

Truth is, next week’s already packed—Yeji’s gallery prep, that shift you picked up for someone who ‘owes you one’ but never actually pays up, and whatever Jungkook’s been muttering about needing help with but refusing to ask.

It’s easier to just skip ahead. Two weeks. Feels safer. Less chance of Tessa becoming something to manage short-term.

Her response comes almost immediately.

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚊𝚑𝚑𝚑 𝚢𝚊𝚢𝚢𝚢 🥰! 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎’𝚜 𝚊 𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚂𝚢𝚛𝚞𝚙 𝚘𝚗 𝙴. 𝟷𝚜𝚝 𝚂𝚝. 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚏𝚊𝚛, 𝚠𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞!

You know Syrup—it's one of those Instagram-bait cafés with latte art and avocado toast that costs more than your hourly wage. Not exactly your usual haunt, but it's not too far from campus.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚜𝚢𝚛𝚞𝚙 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚜! 𝚒’𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚝 2 💕

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝! 𝚒’𝚖 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚘 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚞𝚙!

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚕 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜!!!

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚:𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚓𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚔𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠? 🤗

You stare at the message, a knot forming in your stomach.

Because you don't ‘get’ Jungkook. Not really.

You didn't know about his dad, or the full extent of the Mia situation, or why he disappeared to the rooftop that night.

You know he likes John Mayer and makes good coffee and his favorite position is cowgirl.

You know he smells like rain and his hands are always warm and he secretly carries cat treats around.

But those are just details, not understanding.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚒 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚒 ’𝚐𝚎𝚝’ 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚎 𝚛 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚒𝚏 𝚒 𝚌𝚊𝚗 :)

That feels safer.

Better to lower her expectations now than have her think you're some Jungkook whisperer with all the answers.

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚊𝚑, 𝚝𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢!

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚒 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠? 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚢, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗'𝚝 ��𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕, 𝚒 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚕!!

Intimidated by Jungkook?

The idea is almost laughable.

How could you be intimidated by someone who once spent twenty minutes trying to coax Griffin out from under the couch with a piece of string cheese?

But then you remember how other people see him—the sharp jawline, the tattoos, the way he carries himself like he’s not actually dumb as hell.

You can see how someone like Tessa might find him intimidating.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚙𝚏𝚏𝚏𝚏𝚏

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚜 𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚍𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚡, 𝚜𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚖

You hesitate, then add:

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚘 𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠

It feels important to add that caveat, even if you're not sure why.

Maybe because of what Yoongi told you.

Maybe because you've seen glimpses of that complication yourself.

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚑𝚊𝚑𝚊𝚑𝚊 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠!!

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚢𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜, 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗, 𝚋𝚞𝚛 𝚒 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝?

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎, 𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚞𝚢

You frown at the screen. There's something about her response that doesn't sit right with you. Like she's romanticizing the very things that make Jungkook difficult—the walls he puts up, the emotional distance, the complications Yoongi hinted at.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝… 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚐𝚘 𝚒𝚗 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚌𝚘𝚖 𝚢𝚔? 𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚊 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚘𝚕

You hit send, then immediately regret your tone. That came off way harsher than you meant it to. You're about to type a follow-up when Tessa's reply appears.

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚘𝚑 𝚐𝚘𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 🙈 𝚒'𝚖 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎 𝚛𝚗

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚒 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚒'𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚞𝚜𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚜

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝... 𝚠𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗-𝚠𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚖𝚜? 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚋𝚘𝚢 😣

Oh. That's actually... kind of sweet. Seems like Jungkook really does have a thing for Korean cinema.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚗𝚘 𝚗𝚘 𝚒 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝! 𝚒 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎... 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚢𝚔?

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑 𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚖. 𝚒 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚘!

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚒'𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚠/ 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚖 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚒 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎! 𝚖𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚔

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚙 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚕 🙈

Your heart softens a little. There's something vulnerable about the way she just shared that personal detail, then immediately apologized for it.

It reminds you of how you sometimes overshare when you're nervous, then backpedal frantically.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚗𝚘 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚒𝚣𝚎! 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚕 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚊𝚍. 𝚒'𝚖 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚘 :(

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚜 💕 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚘. 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚒'𝚖 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚖!

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚒 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚒 𝚍𝚘? 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚞𝚜𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚜 😔

That actually makes a lot of sense. You can see why she'd be drawn to Jungkook if they share this interest.

And you know from experience how rare it is to find someone who genuinely cares about the things you're passionate about.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚘𝚗!

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒 𝚝𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚜𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 🙄

𝐓𝐞��𝐬𝐚: 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝?? 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚔𝚊𝚛-𝚠𝚊𝚒 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚕

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚓𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚔𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚒 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚘𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖?

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎 🥺

You can't help but smile a little. She’s clearly excited she is to have found someone who shares her interests. You remember feeling that way with Jason today, when he actually engaged with your thoughts on literature instead of just nodding along.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎!

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚋𝚝𝚠 𝚒 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚛. 𝚒 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚛𝚗

Tessa takes a moment to reply, the ellipses blinking thoughtfully.

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚘𝚑 :( 𝚒 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚝

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚘 💕

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚎!! 𝚒'𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚑𝚞𝚜𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚑𝚊𝚑𝚊 𝚒 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛? 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚠𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚏𝚏?

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒 𝚝𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚜 𝚞𝚙!! 𝚒'𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚕 🤞

Okay, that feels reasonable. She's acknowledging your concern without getting defensive, and clarifying her own expectations.

Maybe she's more level-headed than you initially gave her credit for.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚘𝚔𝚊𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍!! 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 <3

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚒'𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚜𝚘 𝚒'𝚖 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚞𝚝 😴

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚌 𝚞 𝚝𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚢𝚛𝚞𝚙! :)

Time to bow out before you accidentally become her relationship coach.

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕!! 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐!! 🥺✨

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊ｙ!! 💖

You put your phone down, feeling a sense of closure on that front, at least for tonight.

Tessa seems sweet, if a little naive about the potential complications involved with Jungkook.

But she's also genuinely interested in him for reasons that make sense, and she seems aware enough to proceed with caution.

You roll over, pulling the covers tighter.

It's weird, offering dating advice about your roommate who you're also sleeping with to a girl you barely know.

Weirder still that you actually kind of... like her? And want things to work out okay for her?

Maybe you're growing up. Or maybe you're just tired.

Either way, Tuesday is going to be interesting.

goal: 750 notes

if you liked this chapter, please consider buying me a coffee!! ♡'･ᴗ･'♡ https://ko-fi.com/jungkoode

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mullermilkshake · 2 days ago

Text

Diary of a Yandere! Dad to be

Part 21 <- Part 22 -> Part 23

I’m not going to write through the entire pregnancy, so I’ll write some head cannons instead :D

Yandere!Jinwoo Sung x Fem Hunter!Reader Tags - Heavily pregnant reader, pregnancy, twin babies, breast play, lactation kink, Breast play, Vaginal fingering, Squirting, Pregnancy sex

<<< For more Dark/Yandere content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

<<< Or back to this fic's Master list. >>>

Just a little thing before the main event and soon we'll know more about the twins 🥰

I have only watched the anime and haven't gotten round to reading the manhwa yet. Please refrain from spoilers.

TAG LIST CLOSED

Yandere! Dad to be!Jinwoo doesn’t settle in completely, he watches the doctor during your other scans and takes note of anything out of the ordinary. Since their talk, nothing appears to be out of place. Good. Still, he can’t afford to be complacent, though Hae-in is better now she’s home with Jong-in and the other hunter he knocked up has moved back with her mother. Jong-in is far too busy with Hae-in to notice you, which is exactly how it should be.

Yandere! Dad to be!Jinwoo secretly keeps track of the size of the twins on his phone, counting day by day as your baby bump gets bigger and more pronounced. At twenty four weeks currently, they are the size of an eggplant. They respond to your and Jinwoo’s voices when you talk to each other and even more so when you sing in the kitchen when making dinner.

Yandere! Dad to be!Jinwoo can’t help but place his hand on your stomach whenever the babies kick, it’s become second nature to him now, placing his hand there as some sort of comfort. Much to your dismay at first when your belly grows bigger, feeling self conscious, you’ve grown to let him rub your belly as though getting as close to the babies as possible.

Yandere! Dad to be!Jinwoo grows more and more attracted to you each day, he encourages you to wear more fitting clothes plus those gorgeous summer dresses. Seeing your baby bump makes his heart swell with joy, you shouldn’t hide it. He wants you to be proud of the two little people you’re growing inside you.

Yandere! Dad to be!Jinwoo knows body is adjusting perfectly and just like he predicted, your breasts have started to swell and engorge to the point you cannot wear the bras you once did. These new bras are only there to aid your comfort when Yandere! Dad to be!Jinwoo isn’t taking them off to push his face in between them. He is a breast man for sure, but something stirs inside him to experience how they react to his touch when full of milk. Curious.

Yandere! Dad to be!Jinwoo loves how the pregnancy hormones have made you constantly horny, like pouncing on him whenever you can just to get his fingers inside you. It excites him, hearing you mewl his name in his ear at the wet sounds of Yandere! Dad to be!Jinwoo fingering you until you squirt all over his hand. All over his lap, you’re straddled over him on the sofa while quite smooth music plays in the background to relax you as per the doctor’s orders.

Plenty of sex, just cautiously. You need Yandere! Dad to be!Jinwoo more than ever now, as the babies continue to grow and send your body into a slew of challenges. One challenge being the how big the babies are getting. Just to aid in your comfort, Yandere! Dad to be!Jinwoo sits behind you and holds your belly to keep the pressure off of your back after a day on your feet. He kisses your neck and sucks the skin on top of your spine at your relief. The twins kick about and press their feet against your tummy to get comfy.

Either that, or they're telling Yandere! Dad to be!Jinwoo to get the hell off so that they can rule the roost before coming into the world and crying the place down with double trouble.

Another challenge is Yandere! Dad to be!Jinwoo has taken notice of is your constant need to be near him, holding hands and resting your head gently on his shoulder when watching a movie. You have your moments when you reach for his hand to feel the babies move and kick, though still reserved in your decision after the birth. You’re terrified, but Yandere! Dad to be!Jinwoo aims to change that and has plans put in place to secure the family he’s been dreaming of.

Yandere! Dad to be!Jinwoo keeps an updated ultrasound of his babies in his wallet and kisses their picture before every dungeon raid. He also keeps a candid photo of you heavily pregnant as you reach thirty weeks, you have no idea about it which he looks at from time to time when he leaves the apartment. The babies are the size of a large cabbage and makes sucking faces on the 3d scan and reach for each other constantly.

Yandere! Dad to be!Jinwoo keeps searching for the right gift to give his children despite knowing it best to wait and see them, but even though they continue to grow strong, nothing seems right when he holds loot up to inspect it after a dungeon.

It has to be perfect, just like you. Only the best for his little family.

Yandere! Dad to be!Jinwoo thinks of you all the time. When is the next time he can see you? He beats S-Rank dungeons all by himself to level up, but also to finish as soon as possible just to get back to you. The babies have drained your mana completely, you can’t even see the shadows anymore, being unable to use your abilities and do much of anything causes you to be frustrated. Beru is almost inconsolable that he can’t watch his show with you, but sits on the sofa next to you anyway just to feel involved.

Yandere! Dad to be!Jinwoo loves you when you’re sexually frustrated, more so than the hormones just making you horny. You’re on him in a flash as soon as he enters through the front door, pulling his shirt close to kiss him and whispering sweet everythings into his ear. His relationship with you is developing exactly how he likes, you say yes to his little demands and positions he wants to put you in. You’re his. If you weren’t pregnant, you’d let him fuck you in the hallway right beside the front door until he had you begging him to stop out of oversensitivity.

Yandere! Dad to be!Jinwoo hides his excitement when you’re riding his cock one day, your breasts more swollen than ever. He massages your breasts and your nipples start to leak and sprayed on his face and lips. You tried to hide your chest with embarrassment, trying to pull yourself off of him mid thrist though when Yandere! Dad to be!Jinwoo licks his lips and gets a taste of your milk, it awakens something inside him, something that gets his cock harder than ever. He wants to taste you properly.

You pull away again with distrust, still hiding away and fighting against his reassuring grip to let your breasts hang as they do. He tells you that it’s okay, that he loves your swollen breasts just as much as your swollen belly. Your breasts are beautiful, stunning and deserve to sit in Jinwoo’s mouth where they belong.

It’s not long before you allow Yandere! Dad to be!Jinwoo to push your leaking nipple past his lips, and suck from them to ease the pain of full milk. You’re producing enough for two babies, it’s only logical that he helps you, guides you and supports you in your journey of motherhood. After all, it’s his duty to do anything and everything he can to make you comfortable.

Yandere! Dad to be!Jinwoo loves you, he thinks about marrying you all the time. He wants to push the prospect of the wedding forward and do it now instead of after the twins are born if it wasn’t so stressful for you. Soon enough, you’ll have his children in your arms and then, he will take care of all the little details to push the wedding forward.

Yandere! Dad to be!Jinwoo hasn’t forgotten about Jong-in, though while he has remained silent and out of the picture for most of your pregnancy now, he has been cleared and encouraged to get yet another Hunter pregnant. As per Chairman Go’s wishes. Jong-in’s expression has fallen lower in recent days despite how much of a mask he puts on for the public.

Yandere! Dad to be!Jinwoo keeps anything to do with Jong-in to a minimum and controls the way the conversation goes, it can evolve into a disagreement sometimes when he takes you home, but it nearly always ends in fantastic pregnancy sex.

You heart aches for what Jong-in is going through and the duties that have been forced on him and that drives Yandere! Dad to be!Jinwoo insane. You shouldn’t be thinking about another man when he’s the man you let fuck you, he’s the man who you let suck your tits dry to make you more comfortable, he’s the man you got you pregnant in the first place. You’re carrying his two children, his babies, you shouldn’t be thinking of Jong-in at all.

So, Yandere! Dad to be!Jinwoo changes the subject and gets your mind on Hae-in, who too has remained very much out of the way in recent months, silent in her own little bubble and has soon stopped ranting about the association and the facility. You worry for her, there are opportunities to visit her and you take them when you can, though Jinwoo is keeping you busy for your own peace of mind. Your due date is closely tied with Hae-in’s despite the month difference. Twins never carry to full term.

Yandere! Dad to be!Jinwoo wants to knock you up all over again just so that this journey never ends. But he respects you too much to put you through more stress than you already are going through.

Yandere! Dad to be!Jinwoo loves you.

He loves you.

Part 21 <- Part 22 -> Part 23

Thank you for reading and all of the support on this fic! ❤️ Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated and I appreciate you all! See you next time 🤗

Might be a few days before I post again, but I'll try, I hope you enjoyed! Thank you for reading this far!

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DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime or manhwa. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

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danidrabbles · 3 days ago

Text

I'm such a sucker for a good neighbours to lovers story....

I love how it opens. The "Something shifts in him, like a switch flips and suddenly he’s not Robby, your neighbor, but Dr. Robby." line is so good because it feels like that too when he's tending to her wounds - the fact that he has a suture kit at home, prepared for anything... But then there's also the banter that you know from him (“Did you mistake your hand for it instead?” made me giggle, like I can just see the expression accompanying that). She's so sweet in her way of repaying him. I loved how she was immediately worried he was gluten free when she noticed his demeanour.

It was so lovely to read about how easily they fall into a routine. That it kind of creeps up on them and suddenly they're having these trusting moments, and deep conversations. It's nice for Robby to have someone he can talk about his day with and who will sit with him when he can't speak about it. Was this 🤏 close to squealing when he stayed the night when she was sick and they were all snuggled up together 🥺

I LOVE it when romantic stories have this oh moment when one character realizes they have feelings for the other, and I love that this story had that; showing up at her door, giving her that big kiss... so good. One of my favourite moments in the smut was when she was getting overwhelmed, and that she didn't feel ready for the release and had to switch positions; that just felt so grounded in reality.

This was so sweet, and sexy, and great. Thank you for writing and sharing!

STITCHED TOGETHER

PAIRING: michael “robby” robinavitch x female reader

RATING: explicit

WORD COUNT: 6.1k

SUMMARY:

after accidentally cutting your hand, you seek out your neighbor for help. a favor becomes a friendship and a friendship becomes something more.

TAGS/WARNINGS:

no use of y/n, dual pov, mentions of blood/wounds, mentions of domestic/child abuse (a case at the hospital), hurt/comfort, neighbors to lovers, baked goods as a flirting mechanism, explicit sexual content (18+ mdni), vaginal fingering, edging, oral - f receiving, light choking, praise kink, dirty talk, kissing, begging, p in v, multiple positions - missionary and cowgirl, a sprinkle of domesticity

Your hand pulses with pain. The dish towel you’ve wrapped tightly around your palm is now stained with blood. You raise your fist to knock on your neighbor’s door, hoping that he’s home. You don’t know much about Robby, but you know he works long shifts at the ER, always leaving the apartment with a thermos of coffee and coming home late with shadows under his eyes.

There’s no answer to your knock, no sounds of movement from behind the door, and you mumble a curse beneath your breath. You lift the towel from your palm to check the wound, the fabric sticking slightly to your skin and making you wince. It’s still just as deep as it felt and you’re pretty sure you need stitches but—

“Everything okay?”

You look up. Robby is standing at the end of the hall, the door to the stairwell closing behind him. He must have just finished at work since he’s still dressed in a pair of wrinkled scrubs, exhaustion dragging his shoulders down. You suddenly feel very guilty for bothering him.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you reply, aiming for nonchalant. His eyes catch on your hand where you have it cradled close to your body. Something shifts in him, like a switch flips and suddenly he’s not Robby, your neighbor, but Dr. Robby.

“Did you hurt yourself?” He asks, long strides carrying him down the hall. He drops the backpack on his shoulder to the floor, all his attention zeroed in on your hand. “Let me see.”

You hold your hand out. He carefully unwraps the towel.

“It’s fine, really, I was just going to ask if you think I need stitches—“

“You do.”

“Oh, okay. Well, I guess I better—“

“I can do it.”

“No, no, that’s okay, I can just —“ Robby looks up at you, still holding your hand, and you feel your heart lurch at the sharp edge in his eye. The rest of your words fade away.

“Come on, I’ve got a suture kit under the sink,” he says, grabbing his bag and digging his keys from the front pocket. He unlocks the door to his apartment, leaving it open behind him in a clear invitation. After a second of hesitation, you follow him, shutting the door behind you.

Robby’s apartment is a mirror image of yours. Open concept, with the living room blending into a dining area that opens up to the kitchen. There’s not much in the way of decoration, but it’s clearly lived in — a stack of magazines on a low coffee table, a comfortable looking leather couch with a blanket draped over the back, and a small collection of empty coffee cups on the counter by the sink.

“Sorry for the mess,” he says, crouching down to fetch the aforementioned suture kit. “Bring your hand over the sink for me.”

You do as you’re asked, unwrapping the towel and setting it on the counter. Robby washes his hands and dries them with a paper towel before pulling on some blue gloves, his motions steadfast and efficient. He picks up a squeeze bottle with a long, curved tip and holds out a hand for yours.

He squeezes the contents of the bottle over your wound, using it to wash away some of the dried blood. When it’s clean, he sets the bottle down.

“Good news is that you didn’t manage to hit any tendons,” he says. “Bad news is that hand injuries hurt like a bitch.” He picks up a syringe, uncapping it and sticking it into a vial of clear fluid. “Some lidocaine will help while I stitch you up. When it wears off, you’ll need some Tylenol. You got any at your place?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

He sticks the needle into your palm and you resist the urge to flinch. Each time he repositions it, you hold your breath.

“You gotta breathe for me. I know it hurts, but when it kicks in you’ll feel a lot better.”

You take a deep breath, the exhale shaky. Finally, he finishes with the needle. The pain has eased considerably as the anesthetic begins to do its job.

“Have a seat at the table for me,” Robby says, tilting his head toward the dining area. You settle into one of the chairs and he drags another close to you, setting a sterile bag on the table before taking a seat.

Peeling the bag open, he methodically removes the contents. First the blue sheet that he unfolds and lays on the table, followed by the tray of utensils. He pats the sheet and you set your hand, palm up, on it.

“So, you gonna tell me how you did this?” He asks, opening a swab stained with brown liquid that he runs over the edges of your wound.

“You’re going to think I’m an idiot,” you reply, heat rising to your cheeks. The corner of his mouth tilts up in a little smile.

“I’ve seen some stupid stuff. Promise this won’t even phase me.”

You sigh. “I was cutting an avocado.”

“Did you mistake your hand for it instead?”

“Hey!”

“Sorry.” He rips open a small package, pulling out a curved needle with a length of string already attached. “Finish the story.”

“I was holding it and sliced a little too deep. Went straight through the avocado skin and right into mine.”

“I wasn’t too far off. First stitch,” he says, sticking the needle through the edge of the cut. “Good thing I got home when I did.”

“I would have just gone to the ER if you didn’t.”

“Yeah, and you would have been waiting a few hours to get seen.”

“I feel bad. You’re off the clock. I’m sure you had things you wanted to do.”

“Had a hot date with my shower and some pizza rolls. I think they’ll forgive me for being late.”

You laugh and his eyes flick up, watching you for a brief moment before returning to the task at hand. A comfortable silence settles between you and you take the opportunity to really look at Robby.

He’s older than you by a few years if the grey in his beard is anything to go by. His dark hair looks like it’s grown out a bit from a shorter style and is a little messy, like maybe he’s run his fingers through it a few times. There are faint wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that grow deeper when his lips curl up in a smile. He’s handsome, you’ve thought as much since introducing yourself when you moved in, but up close and hunched over your hand, helping you with a gentle touch, he’s nearly devastating.

“Done,” he announces, reaching for the surgical scissors on the tray and snipping the end of the suture. “These are meant to fall out as the wound heals, so unless you notice any signs of infection, you shouldn’t need any follow up.”

“That was fast,” you say, looking over the neat row of stitches appreciatively.

“Years of practice.” He wraps a roll of gauze around your palm. “Keep the bandage on for at least twenty-four hours. After that, you can take it off but keep the area clean. Don’t soak it in anything. Try not to move your hand too much so they don’t pop. Alternate between Tylenol and Motrin for the pain.”

“I really can’t thank you enough,” you tell him. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“I try to be.”

Though he’s trying to make a joke, his tone sounds despondent. He clears his throat and busies himself with cleaning up the table, avoiding your gaze. You decide not to press him for an explanation. He hardly owes you one.

Later, back in your apartment and lying in your bed, you replay every moment of your interaction with Robby. The way he gently held your hand to check the wound, the confidence with which he moved, the sadness in his voice. You decide that you have to repay him for his help and you know just the way to do it.

Robby is half asleep on the couch when there’s a knock at the door. He checks his watch and frowns. It’s just after eight, the sky dark outside the window, and he’d taken an unexpected nap after his shift. His stomach grumbles, the aching hunger he’d felt when falling asleep returning with a vengeance.

He stands and stretches, rubbing the back of his neck as it cracks and shuffling down the hall to open the door. You’re standing across the threshold with a plate in your hands and a bright smile on your face.

“Hey! I hope I’m not bothering you,” you say, smile faltering as you take him in. “Did I just wake you up?”

“Just from a nap,” he replies, willing himself to look less grumpy. Based on the way your smile dips into a frown, he’s probably not doing a great job. “It’s fine, I promise.”

“I brought cookies. As a thank you. For fixing my hand.” You hold the plate out toward him and he takes it. The bottom is warm. “Chocolate chip.”

The scent reaches him and he nearly groans. “Thank you, but I can’t take these.”

“Are you gluten free? Shit, I should have asked before making something.”

“No, I just mean you don’t need to thank me.”

“Of course I do!”

At that moment, his stomach betrays him, audibly announcing his hunger. You raise an eyebrow at him, hands on your hips, and he knows he’s lost this argument.

“Fine. If you’ll come in and eat one, too,” he says. He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, turning to head toward his kitchen and hoping you’ll follow. When the door shuts and the soft sound of footsteps grows louder, he fights back a victorious smile.

He sets the plate on the counter and pulls off the aluminum foil on top. A small pile of golden brown chocolate chip cookies sits on the ceramic. You stand on the other side of the island, watching him. He picks one of the cookies up and takes a bite, groaning at how delicious it is.

“Christ, that’s good,” he says, punctuating the compliment with another bite. “You made these?”

“Yep. Even used the good chocolate. The real secret is a sprinkle of fancy sea salt.” You reach across the counter and pluck one of the cookies from the pile for yourself.

“How’s your hand doing?” Robby asks. You hold the hand in question out towards him. It’s been a little over a week and some of the stitches have started to dissolve, two of them still hanging on near the deeper part of your wound. “Looks good.”

“Thanks to a good doctor,” you say. He snorts, the sound self-deprecating even to his own ears. You frown, but don’t try to dig, which is nice. He’s so used to being around people who want him to be an open book when he’d rather sit quietly on a shelf, handling things on his own.

“I need to order dinner.” He turns his back to you, rifling through his junk drawer for the menu of the Chinese place down the street.

“I’ll just—“

“You wanna stay?” He asks, cutting you off. Your eyes go wide with surprise and he begins to internally berate himself when your expression shifts, going soft and warm.

“Sure. What are we ordering?”

It becomes a thing.

The first batch of cookies was a thank you. The second batch was a recipe test. Your excuse for the third batch was that you just made too many and would he want some?

He never turns you away, even if he looks dead on his feet from a long shift. He perks up when he spots the plate in your hands and invites you inside, singing your praises as he tries the recipe of the week. At the rate you’re going through sugar and butter and flour, you’ll need a membership to one of those bulk stores by the end of the month.

Robby doesn’t knock on your door, never seeks you out himself, but he does ask you to stay whenever you stop by. Over dinner, he’ll ask you about your week and listen as you talk about your job or the plans you made with your friends. He doesn’t talk about his own work much, not unless he’s got a funny story to share. You have a feeling he keeps the difficulty of his job close to his chest, shouldering the concern on his own.

That changes on a Friday night.

It’s late, nearly midnight, and you’re reading in bed, a half drunk glass of wine on your nightstand. A sound breaks through your concentration and you pause your reading, listening for it again.

It’s a knock. Soft, so soft you can barely hear it, three taps against your door, followed by silence. You scramble from your bed, nearly tripping on the duvet in the process, and rush down the hall.

When you open the door, Robby is there. He doesn’t say anything, just looks at you, and you know without asking that he’s had a tough night. It’s in the set of his shoulders and the tension in his jaw, the way he’s staring at you without really seeing.

“Come inside,” you tell him. He nods and walks past you, pausing in your living room. Compared to his apartment, yours exudes personality. Mismatched furniture and bookshelves full of memories, photographs and art on the walls.

He takes it in while you head to the kitchen, pulling together a sandwich from the contents of your fridge and filling a glass with water. You bring the plate of food and the glass to the living room, placing both on the coffee table and settling yourself on the couch, legs crossed under you. When he doesn’t move, you pat the cushion next to you.

“Eat,” you command.

Robby does as you ask and starts with the water. He drains the glass in a few desperate gulps and you refill it for him while he starts on the sandwich. You turn the TV on to fill the silence, putting on a nature documentary. You watch the show, your attention half on the eating habits of pangolins and half on the man beside you, concern creeping up your spine.

He still hasn’t said anything.

When the plate and glass are both empty, you start to get up to clear them away, but a warm hand on your wrist holds you in place. Your gaze locked with Robby’s, you slowly sit back down. He releases your wrist and you bring your hand up, settling it on the back of his neck and gently tugging him towards you, urging him to lie down. His head is on your lap, pillowed on your bare thighs, and he brings his knees close to his chest to fit the rest of his body on the couch.

You run your hands through his hair, fingernails scratching lightly against his scalp. The tension eases from his body, like a balloon slowly losing air. His eyelids flutter and his lips part on a contented sigh.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask.

“Not really.”

“Because you don’t want to or because you think I wouldn’t want to hear about it?”

He sighs. “You don't want to hear this shit. Trust me.”

“We’re friends, Robby. You can talk to me.”

“Friends, huh?”

“Yeah. Friends,” you reply, despite the sudden dryness of your mouth and the racing of your pulse. He’s quiet for a long moment and you think maybe he still won’t open up but then he takes a deep breath and clears his throat.

“Lost a patient today. A teenager who got between his mom and his piece of shit dad that was wailing on her. The guy pulled a gun on his own son and ran.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He turns, lying more on his back. His eyes are wet with tears that have gathered but refuse to fall. “We did everything we could do. I know that. But I had to look that mom in the eyes that her husband bruised and tell her that her baby was gone.”

There’s nothing you could say to take the pain away, so you don’t. But, you sit through it with him.

Sometimes, that can be enough.

Robby paces the length of his apartment from the door to the kitchen. It’s been a week since that night in your apartment and he can’t get it out of his head.

First he was stuck on the way you took care of him, how you knew what he needed without having to say anything. You were the calm to the storm in his head, the one that raged despite every strong command given to his team in an effort to save the boy’s life that day. He tends to shoulder the responsibility and, subsequently, the guilt on his own but it had been surprisingly helpful to let someone else in, someone who wanted to be there for him without a shared trauma bond. He felt lighter when he returned to his apartment that night.

Over the last couple days, however, the fixation shifted to the way your hands felt on him. The memory of your fingers dragging through his hair, though soothing in the moment, has morphed into something more. It’s no longer a gentle caress in his mind, but a sharp tug while he’s got his face between your thighs, tongue diving deep and desperate.

Despite these thoughts, he’s hesitant to reach out again, especially with these new ideas for how to spend his time with you in his head. But you also hadn’t come over in a week and he worries that maybe you view him differently now that he’s let the wall down a little, he probably should have just—

“Achoo!”

Robby pauses, his attention gripped by the sudden sound that came from the direction of your apartment. He drifts closer to his living room wall.

“Achoo!”

Another sneeze, followed by a pained groan. Are you…sick? Is that why you haven’t come around yet? Before he can overthink it, he’s leaving his apartment and knocking on your door.

When you answer with a blanket held tight around you and a tissue clenched in your hand, he feels a conflicting rush of relief and concern. You sniffle loudly.

“Robby? What are you doing here?”

“I heard you sneeze.” You blink at him, wobbling a bit on the spot. He reaches out to steady you, hands on your shoulders. Gently, he urges you back inside your apartment. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

He leads you to your room, the same as his but infinitely more comfortable. While he furnished his apartment, he didn’t take care to really make it a home, not when he spends so many hours at work. He didn’t see the point. Stepping into your room, it’s the opposite, facets of your personality in every corner.

He sits you down on the edge of the bed. A pile of tissues has taken up residence on your nightstand and he gathers them up while you make a feeble attempt to stop him.

“That’s gross, don’t touch those,” you whine. “I can clean them up.”

“Lie down,” he commands.

“Bossy, bossy.”

Robby hides his smile by leaving the room to throw the tissues in the trash. While in the kitchen, he finds your cabinet of mismatched cups and fills one with water. Rummaging through the pantry, he finds an open box of crackers that he brings back to your room.

“Where’s your medicine?” He asks. You gesture towards the bathroom and he digs through the cabinets until he finds a bottle of Tylenol. He shakes out a few into his palm and brings them back to you. “Take these.”

“If I had a nickel for every time you told me to take Tylenol, I’d have two nickels.”

He laughs as he watches you swallow down the medicine and drink half of the glass of water. He hands you a sleeve of crackers.

“Eat a couple of those so that you don’t end up with an upset stomach.”

When you’ve finished, you set the remaining crackers on your nightstand and wiggle down the bed, bringing your blanket up to your chin. Robby sets a palm on your forehead and you watch him with an expression he can’t name.

“Am I gonna be alright, doc?” You ask. He smiles.

“Yeah, I think you’ll pull through.”

“Will you stay with me?”

Rather than respond, he walks around your bed to the other side and toes off his sneakers. He gets on the bed, staying on top of your blankets as he makes himself comfortable. You turn on your side to look at him.

“Thanks for coming,” you whisper.

“That’s what friends do.”

You wake to a heavy weight around your waist and warmth at your back. At first you’re confused until the memory of asking Robby to stay with you comes into focus. You remember him getting in bed with you, keeping himself on top of the covers while you snuggled underneath to fight off the constant chill your fever brought on.

You turn over slowly, careful not to disturb him. He’s still on top of the covers but he’s curled himself around you, his head nearly on your pillow in an effort to get closer. His chest rises and falls with deep, even breaths and his features are soft with sleep.

The shrill beep of an alarm breaks the silence and Robby wakes with a sharp inhale. You quickly close your eyes, pretending to be asleep as he moves around, presumably trying to get his phone out to shut off the alarm. The noise abruptly cuts off and you hear him let out a deep breath.

He shifts beside you. A palm is pressed to your forehead and his touch lingers for a moment, his fingers tracing your cheek as he pulls away. You fight to keep your breathing slow and even despite the fierce pounding of your heart against your ribs.

Robby gets up from the bed, the mattress creaking as his weight lifts from it. You hear his light footsteps around the room, followed by the quiet click of your door being shut. With him gone, you turn onto your back and stare up at the ceiling.

You know he had to leave, he probably had to get ready for work, but you wish he didn’t. A fantasy plays out in your head, one where he gets to sleep in and you wake up before him, sneaking into the kitchen to make coffee. He wakes up while you’re waiting for it to finish brewing, strong arms wrapping around your waist and his beard tickling your neck when he kisses your neck. The image fades as sleep catches up to your exhausted body, pulling you back into its embrace for the rest of the morning.

“Dr. Robby?”

Robby shakes his head free of his thoughts and looks to his left. Mel’s got a clipboard in her hands and a question in her eyes.

“Are you okay?” She asks in that blunt but empathetic way of hers.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He asks in return. She blinks.

“Oh, uh, it’s just…you seem distracted?”

He is distracted. There’s been a restless fire in his veins ever since he woke up beside you, holding you close. He hasn’t seen you in a couple days now, giving you the space to get over your cold, and it has him growing a bit desperate, though he would never admit as much out loud and especially not to one of the med students.

“Everything is fine, Dr. King. Whatcha got for me?”

Mel launches into a presentation on a twenty-three year old female that was triaged for abdominal pain. Robby listens attentively and joins her at the patient’s bedside as she delivers a diagnosis and describes the treatment plan. One patient turns into…somewhere around thirty, he thinks. He lost count.

Finally, he finishes his shift and heads out into the night. Back in his apartment, he showers, changes his clothes, and brushes his teeth for good measure. He’s rushing through the after work motions, an energy in him that he only feels when he’s making a split second call that could mean life or death in the ER.

Basic needs met, he gets his shoes on and leaves his apartment. Five quick steps have him knocking at your door. His pulse kicks into high gear when he hears your footsteps on the other side.

You open the door and your smile lights up your face when you see him and he knows you’re saying something but his focus is entirely zeroed in on your lips and how he desperately needs to feel them against his. He reaches out, framing your face between his palms. There’s a flash of surprise in your eyes but then he’s kissing you.

Finally.

“Hey! I was just about—“

Your words are cut off by Robby kissing you.

Robby is kissing you.

With his hands on your jaw, he urges you back inside your apartment and kicks the door shut behind him. One large palm moves cradles the back of your head, cushioning the blow when your back hits the wall and he presses his body close to yours, chest to chest and a thigh between your legs.

You’re in sensory overload, overwhelmed by the feel of his broad shoulders beneath your hands, the smell of his shampoo, and the faint taste of mint when his tongue tangles with yours. His hand settles on the side of your neck and you wonder if he can feel the way he makes your heart race beneath his palm.

When he pulls back, he traces a thumb over your lips, open admiration in his gaze. He presses down on your lower lip and you obey the silent command to open up, let him in, give him more. His breath stutters when you close your lips around his thumb and suck. He pulls it free with a lewd pop, dragging his hand down your neck, squeezing lightly at the base of your throat. Before you can react, his touch ventures lower and you gasp when he roughly palms your breast. Your hips flex against his thigh in a bid for friction.

All of a sudden, Robby steps back, taking your hand in his and leading you down the hall to your bedroom.

“Get on the bed,” he says, voice low and rough. You hurry to comply, crawling up the mattress and lying back on the pillows, anticipation and the hungry look on his face making the ache between your thighs nearly unbearable.

He joins you on the bed, on his knees between your legs, and runs his hands over your thighs and beneath the fabric of your shorts. You arch your back when his thumbs dig into the crease of your thigh, so close to where you want him, but not close enough. A whine escapes you.

“What do you want, baby?” He asks.

“Want you to fuck me,” you tell him, lifting your hips.

“Can’t do that yet.”

You frown. “Why not?”

Robby’s fingers curl into the elastic of your shorts, pulling the fabric down. You lift your hips again so that he can pull them off and toss them to the floor, leaving you in your underwear. His hand presses one of your thighs to the mattress, keeping you spread open for him as he drags his thumb over your pussy, starting at the damp spot near your entrance until he reaches your clit.

“You have to cum on my fingers,” he presses down against your clit, “and my mouth first. Think you can do that?”

When you don’t respond to his question, the deep pressure of his thumb is replaced by a light smack of his fingers. You gasp at the sharp contrast in sensation and try to close your legs instinctively, only to be blocked by his body and the firm grip of the hand still on your thigh.

“Answer me,” he demands, removing his hands from you and raising an expectant eyebrow.

“Yes,” you tell him. You’re pretty sure you would do anything this man asks as long as he touches you again. The corner of his mouth tilts up in a smirk.

“Good girl.”

Those two little words are like a bolt of lightning straight to your core and he knows it, his knowing gaze making you feel hot and flustered. He removes your underwear and with the last barrier gone, he drops to his stomach and brings his face mere inches from your soaked pussy.

His breath fans across your heated skin and that’s the only warm up you get before his mouth is on you, his tongue circling your clit and lapping at your entrance. Your hands are drawn to his hair, fingers gripping the short strands. He looks up at you as he sucks your clit between his lips and groans when you pull sharply on his hair in response.

If you thought Robby would finish this quickly to get on to the main event, you were incredibly mistaken. The man between your legs brings you to the brink of release before dragging you back from the edge more times than you can count, to the point where tears gather in the corners of your eyes and you let out a pained groan of frustration.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” He asks, lifting his head but keeping up steady circles of his thumb against your clit. Not fast enough to bring you off, just enough to keep your need simmering at the surface. You glare at him.

“Let me come already,” you say through gritted teeth. He laughs.

“You could try asking nicely. Say please.”

You stare at him, mouth opening and closing around words that won’t form. He brings his mouth back to your abused bundle of nerves, licking with broad circles that have you seeing stars. You’re so close, just a little more—

He starts to pull back. The pressure of his tongue grows lighter. You drop your head to the mattress and one of those trapped tears finally escapes, rolling down your temple. You’ve never begged a man for anything before but there’s a first time for everything.

“Please, please, please,” you gasp. “Robby, please.”

Two fingers press against your entrance and slide inside, the sudden stretch making you gasp. He curls them against your inner walls with each drag of his hand from your body. The pressure and speed of his tongue on your clit increases. Your thighs start to shake as the thread of tension in your core tightens until it finally snaps and you come with a strangled shout of his name.

Robby doesn’t stop touching you. He keeps his fingers buried in your cunt and his mouth busy by gently licking you through the waves of your orgasm. Finally, he sits up. You watch as he takes off his shirt and stands up quickly to remove his shoes and sweatpants. His cock bobs free and your mouth practically waters at the sight of it. Not excessively long but he is thick and if you thought his fingers were a stretch, his cock might just split you in half. A bead of precum has gathered at the slit and you watch him smooth his thumb through it before dragging his fist over his length with a groan.

“Condoms?” He asks.

“Top drawer.”

He grabs a foil packet and tosses it on the bed before crawling over you, settling his body over yours. He kisses you, deep and slow, grinding his hips into yours and dragging his cock through the mess he’s made of you. His lips deliver the taste of you to your tongue, earthy and erotic. You moan into the kiss when he drags against your clit.

Keeping himself balanced with one elbow on the bed beside your head, he uses his free hand to hitch your leg over his hip, opening you wider and bringing you closer. His lips find your neck, lavishing your sensitive skin with kisses and nips of his teeth. You need this man inside of you now.

“Robby, please.”

He nods against your neck, sitting up only long enough to roll the condom down his length before his weight is back on you, pressing you into the mattress. He flexes his hips against you but this time, the thick head of his cock catches against your entrance and he starts to ease inside, achingly slow. His eyes stay fixed to yours as he does.

“You feel so fucking good,” Robby says, face buried against your neck. You clench around him in response and he chokes on a groan. “Don’t do that, I’m trying not to embarrass myself here.”

You do it again for good measure.

He lifts his head, eyes narrowed at you, and pulls his hips back, his cock dragging against the same spot that made you come on his fingers. He thrusts forward with a sharp snap of his hips that punches the air from your lungs.

He sets a pace that has you seeing stars and moaning his name like a prayer. Your orgasm builds, coiling tight in your center, but you’re not ready for the release. You push against Robby’s shoulder and his expression grows concerned, a deep crease forming between his brows as he pulls back, allowing you room to sit up.

“Did I hurt you?” He asks.

“No, no,” you assure him. “I just…can I get on top?”

A boyish grin chases the worry from his face and he flops onto his back in the empty space on the mattress. You laugh as you straddle his hips though it turns into moan when you sink down onto his cock. The angle is deeper and there’s an added friction to your clit with every roll of your hips. Robby’s hands are everywhere, squeezing your ass roughly or pinching a tight nipple between his fingers.

“That’s it, baby,” he groans, head pressed back into the pillow, the long line of his neck on display. “Just like that.”

You place your hands on his chest for balance, the dusting of coarse hair tickling your palms. When you lean forward, he meets you in a kiss that’s mostly shared breath. Your pace slows and Robby takes over, his feet planted on the mattress to thrust up into you.

“Come for me,” he says against your lips. “I need it, sweetheart, come on.”

You drop your head against his neck, licking at the sweat damp skin as your orgasm returns, no longer a slow building wave but a tsunami that floods your nerves and leaves you drowning in sensation. Your walls tighten around his cock and he groans, dragging you down onto his lap and holding you there as he pulses inside of you.

Sweat cools on your skin. Your breathing slows. His hands trail up and down your back, the gentle touch and cold air of your room making your skin prickle. You lift your head and press your forehead against his.

“Jesus Christ,” you mumble.

“Just Robby is fine,” he says.

You lift your head so that he can see you roll your eyes before slowly getting up, a satisfying ache in your muscles and between your legs. You go to the bathroom and Robby comes in as you’re washing your hands, tossing the condom in the trash and washing his hands as well.

You return to bed, crawling beneath the blankets. Robby joins you, lying on his back so that you can rest your head on his chest, your eyelids already heavy with exhaustion.

“Will you stay with me?”

“You don’t even have to ask.”

Robby wakes to sunlight and the smell of coffee. He stretches before finally rolling out of bed and finding his sweatpants on the floor, pulling them on to follow the scent of dark roast straight to the kitchen.

He finds you at the counter, your hips swaying to a song that plays at a low volume from a bluetooth speaker on your dining table. A pan sizzles on the stove and you pour the contents of a bowl into it. He steps up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing a kiss to your neck. You turn in his hold and kiss him, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He could get used to mornings like this.

When you turn back around, you pick up a knife and reach for the basket of fruit on the counter, plucking something from the pile.

“I hope that’s not an avocado.”

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or commenting 💕

Masterlists

#also your ''baked goods as a flirting mechanism'' tag made me laugh i love how you worded that #fic rec #michael robinavitch #x reader #f!reader

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wayeasier · 11 hours ago

Text

COUNT TO TWENTY-TWO — part six

⋆˙⟡ robert (bob) reynolds x reader (thunderbolts*)

summary: There's a stolen white van filled with trained assassins with no clear plan on how to take down Valentina and save Bob. But Valentina, on the other hand, has a plan up her sleeve. Unveiling her new weapon, The Sentry. Golden and powerful. Maybe too powerful with Void lurking beneath the surface.

warnings: canon-typical violence, swearing, thunderbolts* spoilers (obviously)

author's note: english is not my native language, so i apologize for all grammatical errors / mistakes in my writing (if there are any!)

You don't have a plan. None of you have a plan. But you're here to save Bob and stop Valentina from doing anything more harmful than she has done already.

You are sitting more upright than before, spine stiff against the cold wall of the rattling white van. Across from you, Yelena is adjusting her handgun, securing the magazine. Then she checks her Window-Bites strapped on her wrists, checking if they're working correctly. Then, Ava is next to her, sitting calmly and swinging her arms over her bent legs. Lazily back and forth. Looking quite bored. John, on the other hand, was also checking his guns and had his helmet on already. He slid the magazine into his handgun and then checked it from the sides. Once from the left and once from the right. His shield was already strapped to his arm, prepared for any fight to happen outside the van, or maybe even inside the van.

You wondered if this was the right path. Storming into the late Avengers tower. Where the first heroes stood, names like Stark, Rogers, or Romanoff. But now it's gonna be visited by a group of psycho warriors that try to play as good heroes. A mismatched group of strangers. Most of you don't even fit the title of hero. You were not exactly sure who you were in this moment. Or who you were pretending to be in this moment. You were not a savior, you weren't even a good person. You tried to be one, but you're not a good person if you kill people. Especially for work. You save some, but you also kill some.

You weren't even sure if Bob wanted to be saved. Did he want you all to find him? To save him, to help him? Maybe he was too far, too gone. Being someone new, someone else. Maybe he wanted to be lost, to be not saved.

But.

Everyone needs saving.

No matter what anyone says, no matter how they act and play. There is always something deep inside of them that's still bleeding. Waiting for someone to reach in. And help. Buried underneath layers of confusion, despondency, and dread. And many more other layers. The ones that fold easily and the ones that are hard to fold. The ones that tell the truth and the ones that lie, it's all deep inside of every single living being even if they don't want to believe in it. It's themselves. It's you.

"We are arriving at your destination! Hold tight!" Bucky's voice rang out from the front of the van, from behind the steering wheel. The van then suddenly kicked forward, forcefully accelerating. The van lurched. You then felt the shift in the gravity, and the van was then lifted off the ground. Its wheels no longer touching the ground, then they fell back down and you hear a loud noise. Glass shattering suddenly. The entire van jolted forward as you then hit the wall, probably inside the building that you crashed through. John's shoulder knocked into you, the shield's edge grazing the side of you as well.

You heard the front door open and that was your cue to stand up. You were quick to jump to your feet and pull out the gun from your thigh holster. Then all the others in the back of the van got up to their feet, all ready to fight whoever was waiting for you all outside. You heard gun shots as well, there was not just a one security guard.

John shoved the van's doors upwards, getting it open. The doors slammed back up and gunfire creaked towards them in a span of a second.

John leapt out first, shield raised high in front of him, hiding. Bullets flickering off it. He charged forward behind it towards her nearest armed guard. John was the first to move, slamming into him. The shield knocked the rifle from the armored guard's hands and then it hit the man full in the chest, the edge of it right into the middle of his front. The force of it sent the guard flying backward.

The blonde shorter woman, Yelena, was next to jump from the white van's back. She bolted out of the van and rounded the side of the white wrecked vehicle, disappearing from your sight. She had a plan in her mind.

Ava was next to jump down. She landed hard against the building's floor, close to where one guard was. He was already raising his gun towards the new addition. Ava closed the distance between them in an instant with a one strong punch landed to his jaw. Then came more. She hit another to his ribs, then to his chest, and then another one and another one. She then kicked off the gun from his grasp and punched him again, stronger now. The man fell to his back and slid away on the floor.

You were the last to jump out.

The moment your boots hit the floor, you didn’t wait. Your hand moved the second you were touching the ground, reaching up to where the blades were tucked at your belt. You sent two of them flying before you could even process where you were standing. Both of the blades struck the nearest guard. Sinking into the skin of his shoulder. The guard staggered backward, grunting in pain, his rifle clattering to the floor as his arm let go of the firearm became of the blades stuck in his shoulder. You didn’t give him a second to recover and get his gun. You lunged forward and caught the ends of the blades, gripping both with tight fists like they belonged to them. Then you yanked them downward, hard and quick. The blades ripped clean through the fabric and the armor beneath. Carving a ragged fine line from the top of his shoulder to just above his chest. His scream pitched higher underneath his helmet and mask, his knees buckling under him as he dropped to the ground in pain. Collapsing down. You didn't need to look at him again as you were already turning and moving away from the body on the ground.

You didn't see the guard on your right, a shot rang out but flew just beside your arm.

“Twenty-Two!” John’s voice cut through the chaos from somewhere on your left. You were quick to turn towards the sound to catch a sound and view of a metal object flying towards you. You grabbed the edge of the shield, twisting your body to plant it between yourself and the shooter on your left. Blocking all upcoming bullets hammering towards you.

The guard let out a few more rounds of shots towards you, who was hiding behind the shield. Then, when the fire eased for a brief second, you hurled the shield with full force. It hit him square in the front of his helmet-covered head, but he went down instantly. His body crumpling down onto the floor. The shield flew back, hitting your arm like it was yours.

You caught it instantly.

John was beside you a moment later, reaching for the shield, which was now in your arm. He ripped it from your arm with a verdy familiar pull and flashed you down a cocky smirk, "you're not bad with the shield. You sure you weren’t asked to be Captain America before me?”

He didn’t wait for your response and was already jogging away towards another guard near him, slamming his boot into the man’s chest like it was just another normal day for him. You smirked at his words with a small chuckle leaving your lips, then you turned towards another guard near you, who was busy aiming his rifle at Ava who was phasing away between other officers.

You leapt towards him and brought your legs up high. Your boots slammed into the guard’s face. He stumbled backward like he didn't know how to walk and in the air you drove your knees forward, ramming them straight into his chest. The force sent him skidding across the floor towards the wall behind him. He was left to lay there.

You took off, already having your eyes on another fight ahead of you. Bucky was in front of you, surrounded by three more armed guards. You jumped onto the nearest one, the one who was aiming his gun right at Bucky's back. Then you wrapped your arm around the back of his throat, yanking it downward and back while he tried to catch his breath. You slammed your knee into the backs of his legs, kicking him down to the floor hard. He fell onto the ground onto his back with a noise of pain escaping him. You stepped over him, raised your boot, and brought it slamming down onto his face. He laid then unconscious, knocked out.

Beside you, Bucky kicked another guard’s knees, sending him staggering down onto the floor. He turned towards you briefly, "nice one!” he shouted at you and you smiled at him back, nodding at him.

The metal-armed man turned back in time to catch the third guard by the neck, his fingers wrapping around the guard's neck under his jaw, holding him off the floor, his feet not touching the ground.

Suddenly, a loud noise of a beep sounded out through the chaos happening at the reception of the building. Everyone froze. Bucky's grip around the guard's neck did not falter and he kept him up off the ground. Your eyes shot up at the ceiling where the sound echoed from. The sound of the beep from the speakers eased and a very familiar voice spoke out.

"Jesus, you guys. I've literally just got that drywall in! I've left the door unlocked, so you can come up," the voice of Valentina Allegra de Fontaine sounded from the speakers.

You didn’t even notice the guard beside you until the faint sound of dragging against the floor caught your ear. The one Bucky had knocked out earlier was dragging himself away on the floor very slowly. He slid slightly, just enough to reach for the weapon he had dropped when Bucky kicked him onto the floor. You turned sharply and kicked it away from the guard, sending it across the floor somewhere into a distant corner. He groaned, curling in on himself again. Shielding himself like a little turtle.

Bucky glanced at the guard still squirming in his grip, holding his neck. Then slammed his forehead forward into a headbutt at the guard. The guard fell onto the ground with a pained sound.

Around you, the others from your little hero group left their guards alone as well. All of the guards are coughing, wheezing, or pulling away in pain that you all caused to them. Apparently for no reason. Everyone moved, stepping over groaning or unconscious bodies. All of you followed Bucky who was walking towards the elevator to get to the main room where Valentina most likely is.

"Come up? I don't like this—" you muttered to Ava on your side, who just phased right next to you. She made her mask disappear and she looked at you with the same expression as you currently had on your face.

"It's definitely a trap," the dark-haired woman muttered to you as the two of you stopped just in front of the elevator, waiting for it to come down, "Valentina has something up her sleeve. I'm telling you that."

The elevator then made a sound. It had arrived down to your floor. Bucky stood much more straighter in the front at the sound, preparing for whoever may be on the other side. Not moving. Behind him, John shifted as well. The shield strapped to his arm raising just a little bit higher than before. Just in case. The doors then slid open with a very common mechanical sound of a ding. All of you stopped in front of it, now staring at an empty elevator. There was nobody inside.

Bucky stepped closer first, chest rising slowly as he peered inside. Then he gave a nod and stepped inside first. Going right at the back of it and then turning around, leaning his back against the wall. John peered inside and then walked right after the metal-armed man, adjusting the shield on his arm. He stopped just by Bucky's left, right at the elevator's corner. Ava stepped closer to you, letting Yelena walk in before the two of you. She was quick to stand right in front of the two super soldiers. She raised her eyebrows, still unsure about this whole situation.

"Come on," you nudged your shoulder with hers. She looked at you and nodded, going in before you, right beside Bucky on his right. You stopped just in front of her and then Alexei was the last one to go in, standing just beside you.

The doors then slid shut. The descent began nearly immediately as the doors closed. No one touched anything. No buttons were touched or pushed. It was programmed for you to only get where Valentina wanted you all to be at.

No one in the elevator spoke. You did not know what to talk about. You didn't want to make any assumptions or theories about what will happen on the floor you are going to. What will welcome you there, or who will welcome you there? You could feel your muscles twitch in your legs, and there was still feeling inside you. You were not scared. It wasn't fear. You just did not know what to expect. After all, that woman has the only power to kill you. The only thing in the world that lays you to a complete sleep. The one where you never wake up. The never-ending darkness.

The elevator kept going. Higher and higher. The floors are going by. The elevator continued its very silent ascent. The panel just above the door flickered every time you passed another floor. The numbers are climbing nearly endlessly to whatever is waiting at the summit. Each floor brought you even much closer to the woman who was the main character in this play. Who knew everything about this, about you, about everyone. She has it all planned and always has had it planned.

The elevator chimed once again with the very common mechanical sound of a ding

It settled with a sound and for a moment the doors didn't open, as if they were frightened of what was behind them as well. Then the doors started to slide open. The numbers above stopped at the last one out of them all.

The blonde woman was the first one to move. Stepping out with confidence holding over her. Her head turned from one side to the other one, taking in the newly shown room in front of her. Her eyes catalogued every detail of it.

Her father followed just behind his daughter. His shoulders squared upward when he stepped out, preparing for anyone or any fight. The helmet clipped onto his head. Then Bucky moved. He didn’t look to the sides, didn't look at the details of the room. He said nothing and just moved behind the two Russians, Yelena and Alexei. Then the rest of you spilled out. You, Ava, and John follow close behind. Both of them are on your side like protective shields.

The room itself was breathtaking. It was nothing close to where you had lived before. Nothing similar to the small apartments you had back when you lived in Europe. When you travelled from one country to another one. This room had floor-to-ceiling windows. Glass was stretching wide and into the height, revealing the beautiful unobstructed view of the skyline of New York City sprawling endlessly below. Skyscrapers reached towards the windows like they wanted to take a look inside as well. From this height, the city looked nearly peaceful.

"How crazy is it to think of all the monumental fights that happened exactly here where you're standing?" the familiar voice spoke out and you finally caught the sight of the woman who said it. She was standing by the kitchen table and just popped out a bottle of champagne or a bottle of wine. Now pouring herself a glass of it.

"I... I don't really care," she said almost immediately after, sipping the drink from her glass, moving away from the table, "I mean the place wasn't cheap, but... it's got the optics."

"Well. It's over, Valentina," Bucky's voice broke through, cutting off Valentina's useless and uninteresting speaking, "this ends today."

"Oh, Congressman Barnes. Oh, wow," Valentina turned towards the metal-armed man who stopped just a few steps away from her. Soft, but sarcastically with a breath of mockery, "you know, I never really thought of you'd have a promising political career, but... Last than half a term? Yikes..."

"We're taking you in, Val," John spoke out instead of the other super soldier. His voice was low, but strong with words.

Valentina let out a little fake laugh from between her lips, raising one of her eyebrows at the super soldier, "I don't think so... Junior Varsity Captain America."

That was the final push of words for John. John's mind snapped and so did his steps. His hand darted for the gun strapped at his thigh, his fingers wrapping around it. But before he could take another step, a sharp voice of the other super soldier with longer hair rang out, "Walker!"

It was a single word, but it froze the other super soldier from doing anything harmful to the woman. The room went still again.

"Oh, nice to see you, Ava," the woman now turned towards the dark-haired woman on your right who made a few small steps towards the woman with a drink in her hands. Her voice laced with fake, mockery sweetness.

Valentina then did a double-take when she noticed the blonde woman, "Yelena..." she made a grimace at her, blinking a few times, "you look awful."

Yelena blinked at her and gave her a wide sarcastic smile that stretched on her face. Then it fell back down as fast as it came on.

"You're sure you're really ready for that public-facing goal that you asked me now?" Valentina tilted her head and looked at the blonde woman through her lashes. Smiling at her. The blonde woman started to slowly walk up the steps on the small platform of the kitchen that Valentina was standing on. Yelena then snapped at her, "eat shit, Valentina. Let's go."

"Okay... You are all so adorable. Just think, I've sent you down there to kill each other and instead you make nice and you form a team—" Valentina smiled at Yelena and then looked around the other suited up people until her eyes fell onto you. She stopped, her mouth falling open slightly. Her expression faltering. Her mouth dropped, brows pulling tighter as if her eyes did not work properly over seeing you standing there before her.

"You're—How are you alive?" she asked, her lips parted and eyebrows furrowing. Her eyes travelling over your figure as if you were not real in her eyes.

You didn't move at first, "you are not as clever as you think you are, Valentina," you said, a small bit of anger threading through your facial expression, brows furrowing on your face. Valentina's fake smile returned back onto her face in that same moment after you closed your mouth.

"I knew it wouldn’t be that easy to use. But I will figure it out. Don’t worry," she said with that fake voice of hers. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she spoke her bitter words, "you’ll no longer be called Twenty-Two. Rather… a Zero, huh?”

You held your ground, forcing your mouth to stay shut, teeth clenched tight to keep from saying anything that you wanted to come out. To tell her. Or from pulling out the gun strapped to your thigh. You held yourself back from doing anything. Just as your eyes moved, in your peripheral vision, you caught a slight movement. It was John.

He stepped forward gradually. You noticed that his hand hovered near the grip of his weapon which was tucked at his gun holster on his thigh, but his fingers didn’t close around it. He didn’t act. Not yet. He wanted to, though. You didn't look at him, but the gesture meant something to you. You were grateful somewhere deep in your soul. It spoke loudly.

"Anyway—" she turned her head away from you and her gaze fell upon the red-suited man on her right who was leaning himself with his arm against the table, "and who's this old Santa?"

"I'm Alexei Shostakov," the Russian super soldier spoke his name. That made Valentina even more confused and she tilted her head at him. The man leaned closer and spoke louder than he did before, "the Red Guardian."

"What?" Valentina grimaced with confusion on her face. She did not recognize this man from anywhere and he did not look like that he belonged here.

"Where is Mel?" Bucky spoke out and stepped closer to the woman with the drink in her hand.

"Mel? ...Ohh, Mel, yeah!" she said with a fake voice of hers, thinking about the mentioned name for a second, "Mel is having a little loyalty issue, but I'm just so grateful that she stayed long enough to lure you all in!" As she spoke, Bucky reached forward and took the glass of champagne or wine from her hand. She didn’t stop him at all. Bucky placed the glass drink gently on the countertable behind her.

Then, the metal-armed man reached forward with his right hand. His hand rose towards Valentina. Right at her neck, or her jaw, or face. But just as his fingers came within a small distance between his hand and her face, the hand suddenly stopped moving.

His entire arm froze.

His wrist started trembling. As if a weird force stopped him. The limb wavered oddly in the air in front of Valentina's sly face, glitching like it was in the wrong dimension. There was no physical barrier, but something else was there, holding him from moving any further. Any closer to the woman. Something invisible. Holding him and his arm in place.

Keeping Valentina safe and untouched.

Valentina didn’t flinch at his hand. She simply looked at him, unfazed, "I'm not alone..."

"Robert."

Your heart dropped. Your chest tightened like it had been touched with a cold hand, squeezing it. You took a step forward, eyes wide, mouth parting. A short hesitant and unbelieving step forward. Your mind flipped as the name left her lips. That name. It was Bob.

But then you heard it. Someone's footsteps. They were heavy and loud. Sounding out as they came down the steps behind Valentina. You froze, staring at the appearing figure at the top of the stairs. Everyone else stilled too. Staring frozen at where the sound of footsteps was coming from. Boots appeared first, dark black leather ones, stepping over the stairs down.

And then he stepped fully into your view.

It was him.

But it wasn’t.

It wasn't just Bob. The one you knew. But it was the one from the papers Yelena handed to you when you were back in Utah's desert. Project Sentry. The person in front of you did not resemble Bob, it was Valentina's impression of the golden guardian, Sentry.

"Oh my god," Yelena let out as she took in the appearance of the figure in front of her. Stepping backward, her eyes wide. You kept your eyes on him, following each step the figure took down the stairs. Your stomach twisted.

The figure that stepped down the steps had the face of someone you know. The rest of him looked different, almost unfamiliar. Like it wasn't even him under all that. A different person with the same face. This was not the Bob that you were looking for. This was someone else.

His suit was yellow and gold, with black stripes like veins going down his sides. On his back, was flowing blue cape. The suit stretched tight over his frame like it was part of his skin. Almost sticking to him. Sleek and form to him. The texture was something between an armor and a cloth, not at all similar to the hospital pajamas he was wearing when you had met him in the vault in Utah. On his hips hung a belt with a symbol. The familiar symbol with the letter S that you had seen on the papers that Yelena gave you. Then, just below his throat, was a circular indent in the suit. His hair was different too. Gone were the familiar soft brown locks that you remembered that he had. The small strands of hair that fell over his eyes in some moments. Now, it was blond. Almost unrecognizable. It was slicked back, away from his face. Keeping his face seen for the people.

It was all fitting like it was drawn and shown in the papers. She had made him what she had wanted him to be.

The Golden Guardian of Good.

Sentry.

Not Bob.

She hadn't just enhanced the man. But she had changed him, designed him. It wasn't Bob. Not anymore. He was exactly what Valentina wanted. Just like in the pictures. A living, breathing weapon of hers that she will use.

"That's Bob?" Bucky asked out loud, moving away from Valentina and holding his wrist. It caused him slight tolerable pain at that spot.

"Yeah, he's changed a little bit," Ava muttered, squinting her eyes at the approaching gold and yellow-suited figure with a flowing blue cape.

"It is my great honor to introduce you... The Sentry," Valentina held her hand up at the man who stopped to stand just next to her. A smile stretched on her lips.

The man with now blond hair turned his head towards where you all stood, nodding a few times. Then he spoke out, "hey, guys..."

"Wow. That's a cool name," Aelexei said from underneath his bushy beard, staring at the man in gold. You couldn't tear your eyes off Bob. Or now Sentry. You were wondering if Bob was still there, the Bob that you had met. You were looking for something else. Or rather someone else. Was that quiet-spoken, nervous, but brave man that you had met still buried underneath all that armour and power?

"All powerful, invincible, stronger than all the Avengers rolled into one. Soon to be known as the Earth's mightiest hero," Valentina started to describe the man beside her and his power. The words rolling off her tongue like she was reading an encyclopedia about gods. Ava and John looked back at Alexei who complimented the name, their expressions furrowed. Then they looked back at the golden figure in front of them.

You kept staring. Your eyes were glued. You couldn't move. You were frozen, glued, unmoving. Then, just that moment, the man in gold's eyes moved and fell upon you. Your gazes meeting together. His gaze didn't waver away, it stayed on you. You just stared back at him, eyes wide, chest tightening slightly. But not in fear. It was in hope. Hope that he was still there. Your lips parted very slightly and a whisper almost left your parted mouth. His name. But your voice was stuck. You were completely stuck.

"Have you dyed your hair?" Ava suddenly quipped in, tilting her head as she stared at the different colour hair on his head.

"Um. Y-Yeah, um—" the figure in gold answered the dark-haired woman. The speaking was just like Bob. You knew it was him deep inside, maybe even outside. It was Bob. You felt it, in your whole body and soul. He is there, in front of you. Alive but still different.

"Yeah. It was my idea! People love classic heroes," Valentina smiled at the woman and then at the figure in gold next to her who looked down at her as if he expected her to speak for him.

"Okay, I'll bite. What's the plan?" Bucky stepped forward, his eyes trained on the woman in front of him. Staring daggers at her from his place.

"Haven't you figured it out yet, Bucky?" Valentina tilted her head and her smile dropped very slightly, her eyes on the longer-haired man with a metal arm, "well, at least you're somehow cute..."

"You're not going to hurt people," Alexei spoke out with his thick Russian accent lacing his words that left his mouth.

"Oh, no..." Valentina said with her voice dropping lower, "no! I'm not gonna hurt people. I'm gonna hurt you," Valentina sharpened her tone, "you see, the press is on their way here now and they're going ot witness the awesome power of the Sentry as he takes down this ruthless group of rogue agents," she widens her smile at you, her white teeth visible, "and that's the beginning of new era, in which I decide how to keep the American people safe. Answering to noone..." her eyes glistening with pride and determination. Then her voice turns lower again, sharp, "I will be unimpeachable."

Beside her stood the golden Sentry. Bob stood beside her. The golden figure stood still, moving slightly on his feet like he didn't know what to do with his body. But he didn’t move any forward. Didn’t speak. But his eyes once again found yours again. A gaze that lingered on you for a moment too long. Something flickering in them, lonely deep inside his orbs. Reaching, looking for something outside.

And then his eyes moved quickly away when another person spoke again.

"That's... never gonna happen," the metal-armed man drawled at her. Mocking smile tugging at his lips.

"Sentry... your first mission is to take down these criminals," Valentina turned her head slightly to the side, changing her tone to the golden man beside her.

You instinctively stepped back, your posture straightening. You knew this could end badly if Valentina is the one controlling Bob. The dark-haired woman close to you, Ava, got her mask back on her head, standing more alarmed than before. Bucky rolled his shoulders and stepped more straighter and prepared as well. The other super soldier, John, stepped forward too, raising his shield slightly higher than before. Trying to stay prepared for whatever could come at him.

Bob, or the Sentry now, gulped and looked at you all right in front of him. His eyes were searching for something to reach out to. He breathed out, "I don't wanna hurt you guys..." he let a small awkward smile glide onto his lips, "why don't you just... turn yourselves in?"

"You don't wanna do this, Bobby," John shook his head. The call of the nickname for Bob made the golden man turn his head, his eye twitching slightly. Something moving within him, deep inside. Like it was being pushed.

"You can call me the Sentry," the man in gold said with a such a different from tone that you had ever heard him use. You narrowed your eyes at him, pleading for him silently to look at you. He has a choice, he needs to know that.

"Please, don't do this. You do not need to listen to her," Yelena stepped forward, her eyes snapping to the man in a cape beside Valentina. Her voice was full of urgency and emotion. The man in gold didn’t respond. He just looked at her. Not knowing what to say, but Valentina was quick to make up her own story to push him.

"Robert. They don't think you're good enough," Valentina tilted her head up at the man in gold. She didn't raise her voice, she didn't really need to. Her words hit like it was a yell in Bob's mind, turning all the thoughts against him. But Yelena was quick to defend her own words and not make Bob believe the other woman beside him. The manipulative one.

"That's not true, remember? You can trust me. I know you," she stepped forward, her eyes softening. Trying to defend herself from the manipulative woman's lying words. Her eyes did not leave Bob's.

"I don't think that you do," he replies coldly, his demeanor cracking into something else than he really was. His words were cold coming from his mouth. His shoulders were then set harder, and his face stiffened. He looked different from what he looked like before.

Yelena’s face crumpled, fell down. Her breath caught in her throat, words not leaving her mouth anymore. As if the language failed her, she didn't know what words to say to save the man. He was too far, too gone from the truth and saving.

The short moment of silence was cut off by loud yelling of the Russian super soldiers behind the group, "enough talking!"

"No one messes with the West Chesapeake Valley... Thunderbolts!" the man yelled out, growling loudly at the woman and the man in a cape standing opposite him. Then he launched himself off to run towards them, Yelena and Bucky jumping away to not get bulldozed by the bigger man in a red suit.

Valentina furrowed her face and moved herself behind the caped man, "Thunderbolts?"

Before Alexei could throw any punch or kick, he only neared close to the golden man before being absolutely thrown away. By a single punch to the stomach from the man in the cape. He was thrown into the wall behind him and then he fell back down when he made contact with it. Bob didn't even look like he used any force. A single small punch to the stomach made a man like Alexei be thrown across the room like he was a small feather.

"How did—" you started to say, moving away to the side as well. Bucky was quick to pull out both of his guns and aim them at the man with the cape. Yelena quickly jumped in front of Bucky to stop him from shooting at the now-blonde man. Standing just in front of the metal-armed man's target, blocking his path of shooting.

John threw his shield at the blonde man, and it spun in the air, moving fast towards the man with the cape. But he was quick to raise his arm in front of himself. Almost with such a simplicity. The shield flew back to John's arm. Bouncing from the Bob's arm to the super soldier. Then came Ava's turn. She phased just behind the man in gold and punched him, which didn't make him even flinch. Her fist hit him but it didn't have any chance of him being hurt or even touched by it. It did absolutely nothing. Not even a flinch, a sway of his body from the impact. He just simply turned his head at her. His expression remained stoic and unreadable. John then came jumping at Bob, his shield raised up in the air. He was quickly caught by the hit of Bob's arm against the shield. Yelena tried to run up to him. Surging forward, but before she could reach him, she was quickly stopped.

A sudden force, just when Bob lifted and stretched his arms beside his body up, everyone around him flew to the sides like they were pushed by strong wind. An invisible wave of force pushing against the bodies and making them go further away. Yelena was hurled backward, dropping to the ground hard. Ava crashed down in a roll, phasing out at the last second to avoid smashing directly at the table beside. John's shield flew from his arm as he was thrown away, landing just beside the long wide windows.

Bucky once again had both his handguns pointed at the man with the cape, already shooting at him. You let out a louder sound as the bullets flew straight towards the blonde man. Bob then just stretched his arms beside in front of himself, his palm facing the upcoming bullets coming his way. They were stopped just in front of his palm. He tilted his head at where the bullets had stopped, almost not believing the sight in front of him either. Then he pulled his hand back and made a motion to send the bullets flying back from where they came from, changing the direction of their journey. They were then straight tossed at Bucky. The man didn't even process the flying bullets towards him until the another super soldier with a shield jumped right in front of him. The shield was pulled high to stop the bullets from getting to either of them. They both then hit the wall behind them, just where Alexei had hit it a few moments before.

You didn't know what to do. You didn't want to hurt the man, but the way he was hurting others was not a nice way to go. You did not want to fight him. You didn't know if you should join the fight and let yourself be drowned in the sea of disappointment and embarrassment of being downed by the once-hospital-pajama-clothed man and Valentina. A bitter shame pressing into you from above.

"Alexei, wait!" Yelena rasped out loudly when her father came running towards the blonde man. With a small hand knife. The father did not slow, he was already off running like a beast.

He raised his hand to stab the man, but was once again stopped by the invisible force that Bob was using when he put his palm facing him and the knife. The Russian then pushed the arm away and huddled around the man to wrap his arms around Bob's stomach, trying to push him off his balance. He was pulling against him like he was a toy. Not moving at all. Alexei then continued to try stabbing the man anywhere on the yellow-gold suited covered body. The stabbing was not causing any damage as it was being held by an invisible force or a shield around him. Even when he tried to stab his face, nothing happened. Not even a scratch, not even touching his body with the tip of the knife. Nothing. Not even a step being taken or a flicker of damage on him. He didn't budge at all. Like the air had become solid, he couldn't make the knife touch the blonde man.

Alexei muttered something under his breath and raised his other hand to punch him. Bob was quick to respond to him by stretching his arms towards him, the invisible force pushing Alexei through the window, breaking it, and leaving him hanging and flying above hundreds of metres above the ground. For a one short horrific moment, he was levitating above New York's streets. Then he was pulled back, yanked, and thrown against the kitchen cabinets. Alexei didn't even have time to scream out. He was thrown hard back. The glass of the cabinets broke when his body hit it. Cracking and collapsing around him.

Ava phased just again next to Bob, but he was quick to fly, or rather teleport, away. Ava was not even being so fast to acknowledge it before she was punched in her chest by him, throwing her away. John then came running at him too, hitting him square in his jaw with the shield. The blonde man didn't even flinch, the shield not causing any damage to his face. Bob turned around, his fingers wrapping around the edge of the shield before he turned it around, his other hand also wrapping around the other edge of the shield. Then, he pulled his hand forward. Bending the shield. Bending it right around John's arm like it was nothing, like a piece of rubber. Not a metal. Like it was nothing to Bob. He then punched him and pushed him away.

Just when John's body fell on the ground close by you, you knew you had to join. You couldn't stand there any longer, not helping and just staring. Without a second thought, you launched yourself off the floor, sprinting towards him. Towards Bob. You had to try, anything would help now. You jumped at the last moment when you were near him, throwing a kick at his knees to make him try to lose his balance. A desperate attempt at something. But he didn’t even flinch. Didn't even buckle or move. It was like kicking a statue. Like a rock. Without a second attempt at kicking him in his knees, you wrapped your arms around his shoulder, your hands gripping the top of his golden suit, just where his cape came to be connected.

You were breathless. Your face close to his as you shouted at him, "Bob! What are you doing? This isn't right!"

He didn't respond to your question, his eyes didn’t even meet yours. They slid to the side, down to where your hands clung to him at his shoulders. Like he didn't believe your hands were on him. Then his head tilted and he looked up at you. His eyes were different, "how do you know what is right?” he snapped at you.

Then his arm moved up. His hand shot up and closed around yours which was on his shoulder, his fingers wrapping tightly around yours. Pain is spreading through your fingers. His grip crushed your fingers inside his palm. You let out a choked, ragged noise as your hand twisted unnaturally in his. It hurt, your fingers bending in his palm into different directions than they were supposed to be. He was squeezing them so hard. Your fingers twisting beneath the pressure of his hand.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, his eyes staring down at you. He leaned closer, "especially you."

Then his other hand rose. The other one was still crushing your fingers so badly in his palm that you were expecting him to break all your fingers one by one. The invisible force suddenly hit you too. It slammed against you and hurled you across the room. You flew across the room, and then your back collided with the wall. You then slid down, your knees falling against the floor, your other hand scrambling to hold the one that was being crushed by Bob's a few seconds before. It stung and hurt.

Your good hand cradled the one that was in Bob's grasp. The pain was terrible. Your fingers throbbed in pain, definitely slowly swelling. You looked up and cradled them close to your chest. You caught sight of a movement in front of you. It was Bucky. He stood up and unzipped his leather jacket that he was wearing, pulling it right off and throwing it to the side somewhere behind him. Now his arms are free, a blank black shirt clinging to him.

He stalked forward and jumped just as he was in front of the golden man. He hit a strong punch with his metal arm across Bob's jaw.

But Bob, he didn't even move.

No recoil, flinch, or stagger. He stayed still like a statue. Not a single twitch of pain across his face. His eyes gazed at the metal-armed man who was trying to hurt him in any way.

His face did not show an expression of any pain or discomfort. Bucky threw another two punches across Bob's face, but he stood still. Bucky was determined. Bob's facial expression was not changing as he stared down at the metal-armed man who was throwing punches at him. The metal-armed man was driving punches into him like he was a punching bag in a gym. Bucky threw another round of punches at his stomach, then again at his face and jaw. Bob stood completely unfazed, utterly unaffected by this whole stunt. Then Bucky tried one last punch at the man with the cape, but his arm was stopped by a hand wrapping around his fist. Bucky never got a chance. Stopping him in the middle of his punch.

Bob’s eyes dropped to the metal arm in his hand. Bucky’s vibranium arm then somehow started shimmering. An orange soft glow was creeping along the inside of the vibranium metal gear. The metal began to turn glowing crimson, as if heat was blooming beneath the surface of the metal arm. Bob's fingers were digging into the metal, making Bucky's metal arm tremble. His eyes went wide as she took in his other arm. Bob was looking amused, smirk slightly showing on his lips.

And then, he ripped the metal arm off Bucky's shoulder.

Bob then didn't even look at the new addition in his hand before he swung it at the other man. The vibranium arm collided with Bucky and made him be thrown away. Bucky was then launched backwards, his body completely lifted off the ground. He flew through the air of the room and then crashed down just near the others. Yelena, Ava, John, and Alexei are near him. You were on the opposite side, alone with your hand cradled to your chest as you watched the scene in front of you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a flicker of movement. Just near the nearly gone, shattered remains of the kitchen. Your eyes snapped to it. You saw a chance, only one. So, you didn't think and took it. You ran. Scrambling to your feet, your eyes on the figure by the kitchen.

Valentina was standing there. Slowly moving around the destroyed remains of the kitchen. But you were quick to catch her.

You threw yourself at her with everything you had left in you. Every single power you held. The both of you then crashed to the floor in a tangled heap, your body landing hard against hers. Right on top of her. She grunted out, surprised by the sudden fall. Your hands found her throat and squeezed. Hard and as much as you could. Your knee drove itself right into her stomach, which made her let out a pained gasp. Then she let out a strangled and aheezing sound like a groan. Her hand flew up, her nails scraping against your wrists, clawing at your grip.

She parted her lips and tried to call for any help, "Robert—help!" she rasped out.

You didn't let go. You were determined. You tightened your grip, digging your fingers into her neck, pressing down harder than you ever could. Her eyes widened. Her legs kicked against the floor and her other hand then suddenly went low, just where her skirt ended, where a pocket laid on her skirt. Her fingers went in, but you kept squeezing your fingers across her neck, your knee pushing against her stomach. Pressure building.

Then, a pain erupted inside your body.

It was everywhere. Every nerve lit up at once, and your whole body felt it. Your chest, your head. Literally everything. Every single part of your body. It was like your muscles were folding themselves. The air fled from your lungs almost immediately, like it wasn't even there before. It felt like your whole body was being torn apart. It was unbearable. It was indescribable.

It was just any pain.

It was death.

Your grip faltered just as your vision went dark. It was just a void. The darkness consumed you. This time, you were not sure if there would be any return for you. If there was a return. You might not wake up. The pain had vanished. But it had only vanished because you did too. The silence was not peaceful, it wasn't peace. It was a void, an absence. It wasn't cold, nor warm. It was nothing. It was absolutely nothing. And it welcomed you like an old friend, like it knows you. Like it may keep you there this time.

Forever.

John yelled out your name the moment your body collapsed on top of Valentina. Your limbs falling limp like you were a marionette doll. But you didn't hear the call of the number. You were not there anymore. Your form laid utterly still on top of the now gasping woman. There wasn’t a twitch. Not a breath. Just that terrifying stillness. Your body is completely still once again. John had seen it before, but this time it was different. Your body was not disappearing.

Ava was already moving, scrambling to her feet. She grabbed the metal arm in front of her that laid on the floor, Bucky's metal arm. Yelena was already opening the elevator and was quick to jump inside, Ava following just behind. Bucky was quickly thrown over Alexei's shoulder with the help of John. The three super soldiers scrambled away from the scene, away from Valentina and Sentry. All of them were inside the elevator, apart from the one super soldier. John followed last, but hesitated at the doors. He couldn’t move. He didn't know if he should. He couldn’t tear his eyes from your body. You still hadn’t disappeared, you were not reappearing. There wasn't any rewinding. Your body was still there. You were lying on top of Valentina, who was trying to push you off.

John wondered if this was the actual time. The one where there would be no coming back. No twenty-two before regeneration. Just death claiming you like an old friend that could finally stay.

John's eyes couldn't leave you, but he turned slowly away. His eyes landed on the golden-suited man standing still. Bob was still watching you. His face was now quite readable. He was frozen. His hands were limp at his sides, but his fingers were twitching, almost trembling. His chest rose and fell, like he was trying breathing exercises. His lips were parted, just slightly. And his eyes... His eyes were wide, flickering with something. A faint golden glow had begun to shine around his orbs. It was flickering like a fire.

"Walker!" Ava yelled out and Alexei's hand grabbed his wrist, pulling him inside the elevator room before the doors closed shut. Shutting you all away.

Valentina finally shoved your body off her, grunting as she pushed herself upright back. She coughed out, but sat up straight. She stood up and slowly, very slowly, walked towards the man in the cape. She stopped just beside him, massaging her throat from the pain you caused her from the grip on her neck.

"Finish the job, Robert,” she said to him, tilting her head up at him. Staring as the elevator doors sealed the three of you from others. Your body lay there by the kitchen. Utterly still and quiet. Dead.

Bob didn’t move. Not at first. His fingers trembled at his sides. His eyes stayed locked on you.

“…Finish the job?” he repeated in a whisper, turning his head to the side towards Valentina who stopped just beside him. But his eyes did not leave your body.

"What did you do?" his voice deepened, his fingers trembling at his sides even more than before. The words were laced with venom. He slightly turned his head again, his eyes finally snapping to the woman beside him, "what did you do?"

"You need to do what I say, Robert," Valentina responded without answering his question, a smile stretching on her lips.

He looked down at her, his eyes twitching a small bit of an unbelievable, awkward smile getting onto his lips, "why?"

"...Why?" she echoed back, squinting at him. She was starting to get a bit mad, maybe even anxious. He wasn't listening to her and she knew that could end badly for the both of them.

"How did you kill Twenty-Two?" he stepped forward towards Valentina. She simply took a step back, staring up at his twitching face. She kept her chin up, staring up at him. His voice dangerously dropped at the question.

"I have my ways," she said with a simple voice and a curling smile. That made the man in gold look at her like a beast.

"No. You can't do that," he said lowly, his head bending down almost scarily. His face twisting. He looked feral, like he was about to crack through the surface of his own body. He looked almost inhuman.

"I can and I did... Robert, listen. All of them are just a manipulative, lying group of criminals. You cannot possibly think that Twenty-Two or either of them cared about you," the woman swallowed down all the fear and stepped forward to the man. Standing straight like a ruler with squared shoulders. She was trying to stay confident in the presence of nearly a god himself.

"You're lying—" he muttered quietly, his brows furrowing. Uncertainty flashed across him. He looked nearly hurt, but still stood his ground. Believing his truth.

"Robert," she pressed with his government name, her voice firm, "they are now free. You had a mission to to take them down—"

"But..." he started to say, lifting his head up, something twinkling in his eyes like a flame. He stepped forward, lifting his head with his chin. Towering above the woman.

"Why would a god take orders from anyone at all?"

Valentina's face changed, a small flicker of fear drawing shapes on her face, "I think you're throwing around the word god a bit loosely there..."

"No, no... Cause you said I was all powerful and invincible. Stronger than the whole team of Avengers, which includes at least one god. So..." he started walking around her, nervously scratching his hands. His eyes flickered to your body a few steps away from him, his heart hammering in his chest. His breath ragged at the sight, but then he rather pulled his eyes away. He didn't know what to do. His pacing was slow, restless, and confused. Almost anxious.

"So, I'm starting to think maybe... you don't know what I am..." he stepped forward again, closing himself onto the woman. He stopped his anxious pacing, blocking her path. Stepped in closer.

"Oh, goddamn it..." she whispered, or rather hissed, under her breath. Her hand sneaked behind her back, right pulling out something from her skirt pocket.

"Or what I'm capable of..." he slowly inched closer to the woman, taking long but slow strides right towards her.

"Maybe, I need to show you," he stopped just in front of the woman, his head lowered and staring down at the woman. She had her hand behind her back, hiding something. But he noticed it, he felt it. He felt her fear. He felt everything.

"This is so... irritating," she gritted her teeth together, her finger resting against the small button of the device which she was hiding behind her back. Her last level of control. Control over the golden man in front of her. She still thought she could win at this point. But she thought wrong.

Bob, or rather Sentry, moved faster than Valentina could even process.

His body surged forward, his cape flying behind him. His arm snapped upward and his hand clamped around the woman's already bruised throat. His fingers curled into the exact same bruised flesh where your hands had been gripping at the same flesh just moments before. It was like the man was retracing your own art and act. His fingertips pressed into the growing purple marks that slowly bloomed on her skin. Fingers holding her neck with precision like he wanted to completely break her. Her breath caught in a strangled gasp when his fingers wrapped around her neck, her eyes bulging out. His boots then left to floor and so did her heels. Then, together they rose in the speed of light, floating and him holding her by the neck like she weighed nothing. Then he surged and flew forward, backward for Valentina.

He slammed her into the tall pillar just between the wide and long windows which showed off New York's skyline. The back of her head slammed against the wall and then recoiled back. The device that she planned on using against the golden man laying somewhere behind them on the floor, loosely fallen from the woman's fingers.

"You were going to turn on me... Just like the rest of them," he scowled down at her, his grip tightening around the woman's neck. She desperately grabbed at his wrist, her throat bruised already from your hands. His fingers digging into your left marks like they were drawn there to fit for his own fingers.

"You hurt the people I care about. You hurt someone I care about... This was not what you promised me," he snarled at her through clenched teeth. His thoughts wander to you. To the body laying somewhere behind him. He couldn't even think about it. He didn't turn around to look at you again. He couldn’t. If he looked at you, he might then just shatter. He needed you back.

"I'm not afraid of you, Robert," she gasped through her mouth, her hands wrapped around the man's wrist that was under her chin. Trying to pry his hand off her.

The blonde man just smiled and let out a small noise of amusement, a quiet breath, "that's not Rob you need to be afraid of."

His brows then knit together tightly, his expression deepening. His jaw was clenched. He tightened his grip. His fingers dug into the flesh of her throat. Her head jerked slightly as her body trembled. She was about to pass out, a gasp of breath leaving her lips. A choking gasp escaped her throat again. He didn't move, just his hand did.

Then, suddenly, an electric sound cracked through the air. The grip around Valentina’s neck faltered and then snapped open. The hand that was holding her was falling away from her throat. Her body sagged against the wall, sliding down and falling against the floor, her back against the wall.

The golden figure before her dropped to the floor.

He collapsed sideways onto the floor. His eyes, which were before glowing like pieces of the sun, were now utterly covered in darkness. He didn't even blink, his eyes lost the entire color in them. Her gaze locked on the body in front of her, on the man who’d nearly ended her life without hesitation, wrapping his hands just where yours were. Then her gaze wavered upward, noticing a woman's figure standing there.

It was Mel.

She held the black device in her hands, holding it upward and pointing at the man before her. The now lifeless one. She met Valentina’s gaze, her eyes wide open.

"Good girl," Valentina said, staring at the woman who helped her. She smiled at her and pointed at her, "you came to your senses!"

"Come here. Help me up!" Valentina said, trying to push herself up. Her body was hurting as she tried to push herself up from the floor. Mel was quick to come to her on her heels and walk around the lifeless laying body of the Sentry. Pulling up the woman with her hand.

"I want a raise," she said without turning her head, already turning away and walking off. She stood long enough to only help the woman, wanting to be away from the scene of what had happened in the room. Moving away from the woman and the golden-suited body. Her heels clicked as she walked.

"Totally fine. Get a clean up on that body..." she muttured and nodded towards the golden man, "also the other one... There... And tell Holt that's finally time to go lethal on these losers," she said as she followed Mel into the elevator, then turned her head slightly, her eyes ctaching the two lifeless bodies of Sentry and Twenty-Two. Leaving the two of you, two lifeless bodies laying on the floor of the late Avengers' penthouse. Both of them were sent to their death by a single device.

The elevator closed behind the two women. The room was now dead silent. Nobody alive was inside, just two broken bodies laying apart from each other, both suffering the arms of death welcoming them.

Then it started. It looked like a spilled ink, seeping through the floor towards the laying man. It crawled its way towards him, oozing and going like a dark black oil, going underneath Sentry's lifeless body. It seeped through his legs first. Then it consumed him whole. The golden glistening colour of his suit now dulled into a nearly complete black darkness.

Like a shadow. His face was the last to disappear under the shadow. There was no light on him anymore. It looked almost like his body didn't even have a texture. Like he was a piece of a shadow. Shape of a darkness.

A void.

It wasn't Bob who opened his eyes. It wasn't Sentry either. The warmth that had once lingered in Bob was gone. Gone completely. Two small dots of white stared out from the darkness where his sky blue eyes had been. They weren’t lights. They didn't look like the light you came to look for when you were in the darkness. They were hollow, almost terrifying as the darkness was. The kind of lights you saw in nightmares. Not quite real. Something that does not bring comfort. It ruins the comfort that lives around it.

The figure laid for a moment, the small light pinpricks staring ahead at the skyline of New York. Then the figure rose up. It was like the shadow itself had awoken and become a living creature. He rose like a shadow peeling itself off the floor. He stood from where the Sentry had fallen, now back on his feet.

Alive.

Two white dots burned faintly in the center of the black of his face, where his eyes should’ve been. Small but they were there. He hunched as he walked. Like a predator nearing its prey. Each step was slow, deliberate. Like he planned out each of them. His head slightly tilted to the side, the small white lights fixed directly at the lifeless body laying near him. He was studying you, observing you. The white eyes didn’t move any away as he crouched right beside you. For a while, he just stared at you, the lifeless body laying there.

All alone.

Like he was.

Then, his hand, the dark shape of void and darkness extended. His fingers brushed across your face. From your nose, where the fingers first touched, to down beneath your eyes, the fingers slowly dragging over your face like it was remembering its path. Then to your cheek, it stayed there. He was almost gentle. He was curious. He was curious about you, he looked like he was unsure if you were real.

His shadow-like palm then slowly opened and he pressed it flat against your cheek. And then, the darkness finally spoke.

“What did they do to you?”

The words were deep. Bob's voice sounded like it had been morphed with a touch of a nightmare. He stayed there, crouching beside your body with his hand on your cheek. His head bowed down to you and the white dots in his face glowed a little brighter now. Like he had found something that belonged to him.

"He should have protected you. You were the only light I didn't want to extinguish. The one thing that stilled the noise in our head..." his head lowered more, until the darkness of his face nearly touched yours.

"I will bring you back."

Then he leaned forward. His hand slipped from your cheek and slipped right under your shoulder by your neck and the other curled beneath your back. He let himself fall hunched over you, holding you close to the darkness. He folded over you, his head bowed, his brow nearly pressed to yours. His arms tightened and the shadows that clothed him began to move. Achingly slowly they then reached for you.

The shadow began to spread. The blackness crawled like spilled oil, slipping over your legs, your chest, then your arms, and then it consumed you whole. It took you in. A shadow born from the pain of others. You laid there lifeless in his arms and draped in the same void that wrapped around him like a second skin. A vow shaped in the darkness.

"Follow your fears," the darkness whispered, the dark forehead now pressed against yours. Resting against your own. His palm spread on your back, holding you to him like you were a myth. His shadowed arms closed tighter around your body, cradling you.

Then, you slipped from his arms. Shadow to shadow. As if you truly became a shadow itself. You slipped through his dark fingers, like you were just a piece of his imagination. Dripping away. It was as if you had never existed in this space. It was empty, no sight of a lifeless body laying there or the dark shadow-like outline of your body that was there a mere moment before.

The dark silhouette of the man remained kneeling a moment longer, staring at the empty place that his arms had full before. The white lights that resembled his before blue wells twitched once, then he closed them and lifted his head, his chin up. Like he was praying. Slowly, he then rose back up to his feet. His figure stretched up, black and tall. The shadows clinging to him. He then opened the small white lights he called his eyes and turned his head.

The broken window stared at him. The Void stepped forward, tilting his head with an idea springing in his mind. He saw a path laid in his mind. He knew what he had to do.

He had to make them fear.

With a final lingering glance at the empty space where you had vanished from his arms, the shadowed figure stepped from the broken space where the window sat before. His feet not touching the floor anymore, he rose into the air. The dark outline in the daylight.

Carve shame deep into their soul. Feel the cold, aching pain of loss again. The seeping pain was going through their old, nearly forgotten wounds. To remind them of their every whispered nightmare.

How it hurt them and how it will hurt them again.

hooe you liked this! if yes, comments and feedback are very appreciated! <3

the scene with void kneeling, crouching over twenty-two was inspired by those linked two paintings and a sculpture;

ivan the terrible and his son ivan (painting)

lovers in the small boat (painting)

sculpture by stephan abel sinding (sculpture)

imagine bob (currently void) just draped over twenty-two like from some old gorgeous painting... i'm using my imagination too much for writing lol sorraaaay

TAGLIST: @qardasngan , @one17 , @ren-ni , @werewolfgirl1995 , @mysticdelusionengineer , @lauryn2theelectricboogaloo , @mewmew222 , @badbishsblog , @lovely-foxes-exe , @funkyfable , @melvin333 , @sunflower-0180 , @witch-of-letters

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prettycalla · 2 days ago

Text

|| lesson learned ||

Pairing: Johnny Storm/Reader

Summary: You make the mistake of letting Johnny borrow your phone. You really should have closed your tabs.

Word count: 3k

Tags and warnings: Established relationship, smut with very little plot (oral sex), Johnny’s a menace (affectionate), modern!Johnny if the film’s set before now (I know it’s 60s-inspired, at least), reader is she/her, no use of Y/N. 18+!! Minors, please do not interact!!

(It’s been a very long time since I’ve written for Marvel, and I know the film isn’t out yet and I’m working with very little with regards to this version of Johnny, but my partner and friends have given me some amazing ideas and I couldn’t wait to give writing him a go! Please be kind - my fic’s just pixels on a screen, after all.)

Fic Masterlist || Taglist

It’s not often you get time together like this. To be domestic, as Johnny calls it. You used to cling to it every chance you got, scared that this time would be the last. It’s hard not to worry when your boyfriend’s a literal superhero.

It had taken you a while to admit it to him, and now he makes sure he sets aside time wherever he can, for the two of you to just exist in each other’s company.

It’s nice.

Of course, it’d be a lot nicer if Johnny would shut up for five minutes.

You’re curled up on the couch together, with Johnny taking up most of the room as usual, and you tucked comfortably between his legs with your head resting against his chest. He’s watching a movie while you read a book, his arms draped loosely around your waist.

So far. he’s spent more time arguing with the TV than he has actually watching it.

“That song was ‘87,” you hear him mutter to himself. “This movie was what, ‘83?”

You roll your eyes. It’s not the first time Johnny’s had an argument like this with himself, and you know it won’t be the last.

You feel him move suddenly behind you, and you tighten your grip on your book before it ends up on the floor.

“Do you mind?” you ask, mildly annoyed. “What are you doing?”

He stops wriggling around.

“Right. Phone’s on the charge,” he says.” Can I borrow yours? This is gonna drive me crazy.”

You dig your phone out of your pocket, unlocking it and passing it to him without thinking, hoping it’ll keep him quiet long enough so you can actually focus on your book. It’s getting to a really good part, and you’re invested now.

He presses a quick kiss to your cheek as a thank you, settling himself back against the couch cushions again.

Finally. Some peace and quiet.

You’re about to turn the page, when you hear it. A low laugh from behind you.

“Well?” you ask absentmindedly. “Were you right?”

He laughs again, and you feel it rumble in his chest against your back.

“Huh? Oh, no, I, uh, I got distracted for a sec,” he says, and you don’t like how he says that.

It’s too casual, almost teasing - the tone he uses when he knows something you don’t.

You’re about to ask why, when he reaches over your shoulder, holding the phone out in front of you.

Your eyes widen.

You’d forgotten to close your last tab.

You immediately scramble to grab the phone from his hand, but he’s too fast, pulling his arm back out of your reach.

“Johnny! Give me back my phone!” you insist.

Your face feels like it’s on fire right now, and you try to turn around to face him. He moves his legs so they're now on top of yours, trapping you in place. The best you can do now is blindly reach behind you and hope for the best.

“It was a joke, okay? A friend sent it to me, thinking it’d be funny-“ you try to explain, still struggling.

Johnny laughs again, grabbing one of your wrists before you end up accidentally breaking his nose in your panic.

You collapse against him in momentary defeat, very aware of how breathless you now are.

“A friend sent you this, huh?” he asks, his tone suspiciously light. “I have to say, they’ve got good taste. If that’s true. But uh, I don’t think it is.

You can feel your heart hammering wildly against your ribcage.

“Nah, see, there’s another tab open right next to it,” he continues.

Can the floor just open up and swallow you already?

“And there’s my name, and- Wow, that’s a lot of results,” he says with a whistle. “Oh, there’s a filter system, that’s clever. And you can choose what content you want. I see. Very organised.”

You hear him mock-gasp.

“Baby,” he practically purrs in your ear. “I had no idea you felt that way about me.”

Your mouth’s gone dry. You can’t remember what damn tags you’d picked. You’d been reading it last night before bed.

It had started out of curiosity, really it had. It's not exactly lost on you how popular Johnny is - you’ve seen some of the fan mail he receives on a daily basis. And you're more than aware of the comments about him online. So, one thing led to another, and here you were, looking at Johnny Storm fanfiction. You had fully intended to just read one or two, see how bad they were, then send them to Johnny as a joke. Not that his ego really needs any more stroking, but you knew he’d get a kick out of it.

But here’s the problem - they were good. Too good, actually. And before you knew it, an hour had passed, and you were still reading. You were hooked. There was no way you could tell him now.

Not without admitting how they made you feel. How they were putting ideas into your head.

“Johnny,” you start slowly, wincing at how unsteady your voice sounds. “Just give me back my phone.”

“Why should I?” he asks. “I’m thoroughly enjoying myself right now.”

You let out a frustrated huff, gently knocking your head back against his chest.

“Oh, right, where are my manners?” he says, as he dramatically clears his throat. "Johnny looked at you from across the room, blue eyes alight - ha, very clever - with an emotion you couldn’t quite place-"

With an embarrassed yelp, you make another attempt to wrestle your phone back from him.

“Honey, come on, it was a joke,” you tell him. “It’s not that big a deal-“

You’re floundering. It’s a weak lie, and he knows it.

“You think I’m stupid, doll?” he asks, his voice low.

Oh, he knows, alright.

You feel your stomach flip and you give up, letting yourself drop into his hold.

“If there’s something you want…” he starts, one hand gently tracing patterns against your hip.

You suck in a breath.

“…you just gotta ask,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck.

That hand starts wandering lower, and you’re in trouble.

“But if you’d rather get off on this…” he says lightly, “…Well then, I’ll just leave you to it.”

He drops the phone in your lap, nudging you forward to climb out from behind you. You immediately clutch at his forearms without even thinking.

Oh, you’re in so much trouble.

“Johnny, wait,” you say softly. “It’s just-“

“Yeah?” he prompts.

He sits back down.

“I’m listening.”

You sigh, your eyes squeezed shut.

“Can we?” you whisper, mortified.

Johnny leans closer to you.

“Sorry, doll, what was that?” he asks, his tone patronising.

He’s the most infuriating man you’ve ever met. But you can’t help but love him anyway.

"Can we...Can we try one of the...things I read?" you ask, struggling through every single word.

Johnny reaches for your phone again, and you don't bother to try and stop him. The damage has been done. Or so you think, at least.

"Sure, baby, we can do whatever you'd like," he replies sweetly.

Too sweetly.

"In fact, why don't we go through your browser history and see which one you liked best, huh?" he suggests, and when you turn to look at him, he's grinning at you like a goddamn shark.

You manage to wrench the phone from his grasp, but this time, he doesn't put up much of a fight.

"We don't have to do that," you reply, a little too quickly, if Johnny's widening smile is any indication. "We can just..."

You sigh heavily.

Fuck it. No going back now.

You point your phone in his direction, making sure he can at least read the tags and summary. You don't need him trying to give you the audiobook version again.

"This one," you mutter, looking everywhere but at him.

Johnny takes a minute, before turning his attention back to you.

"Where have you been hiding this side of yourself, huh?" he asks.

He's sliding off the couch and onto the floor before you even have a chance to think of an answer. Your breath catches in your throat at just the sight of him as he is right now, on his knees in front of you.

You rarely get to see him like this. It's not that he doesn't take care of your needs, of course he does. It's just that he's usually a whirlwind of "I gotta have you, and I gotta have you now", especially after one of his ever-frequent life-or-death situations. It's not often that the two of you are able to take it slow like this.

He hooks his hands around your knees, dragging you towards him until you're slumped against the cushions. You gasp at the sudden movement, and he laughs, giving you a little squeeze as he does.

"No more thinking, okay?" he asks.

He knows you too well at this point. You sometimes wonder if he also has the ability to read minds and he just conveniently forgot to tell you about it. Honestly, you wouldn't be surprised.

Still, as much as you loathe to admit it, he's right. A little break from thinking would be good for you, and you decide to tell him as much - in a way he'll understand.

"Why don't you make me?" you ask in turn, raising an eyebrow as you tilt your head to one side.

His eyes widen at that, as if wondering where this confidence is coming from. You're wondering that yourself.

Not one to back down from a challenge, Johnny moves closer, hands gently pushing your knees apart to allow him better access. You just had to wear a skirt today of all days, you think to yourself.

You bring a hand up to your face, immediately self-conscious at just the thought of him seeing you like this before he's even done anything. He's quick off the mark, grabbing your wrist and pulling it away.

"Nuh-uh," he says gently. "No hiding, okay? Wanna see you."

You manage a little nod, and that seems to be enough to satisfy him. He lets go of you, refocusing his attention. His hands slide up along your thighs, calloused fingers scratching lightly at your skin.

He's hardly touched you, and yet already you can feel that fluttering feeling growing in the pit of your stomach. A little shiver runs through you, and Johnny catches your eye with a lop-sided smile.

"I haven't even started with you yet," he teases, tracing delicate little lines along your innermost thighs.

It's a sensitive stretch of skin, and you involuntarily tell him as much, squirming under his hands.

He laughs then, soft and low, in the way that always makes a rush of warmth run through you.

"Y'know, if it's too much, I can just..." he starts, trailing off as he slowly drags his hands away.

Without even thinking, you instinctively reach for him, grabbing his hands and pulling them back.

"Wow, didn't realise you were that desperate for me," he says under his breath, trying to bite back another laugh.

You could kick him. You really could.

But then his hands are back on you, and all thoughts of violence are quickly pushed to the side - for now, at least.

His fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear, giving them a quick little tug that leaves you jolting against him.

"As pretty as these are, they're kinda in my way," he says, his fingers pulling ever so slightly. "Up."

You lift your hips up a little, giving him enough room to pull them down over your legs, before he tosses them carelessly on the floor behind him.

"Good girl," he murmurs.

You don't think you can take much more of his teasing at this rate, and he's barely even touched you.

Thankfully, you both seem to be on the same page on that one, because he certainly doesn't waste any time in getting to work. He slides his hands under your thighs, before he leans in and drags his tongue in one slow, long motion against you.

The shaky moan that erupts from you is downright obscene, and you've never been more grateful for the fact that you don't have neighbours.

He does it again, his breath hot against you, blunt nails scratching at your thighs, and it takes everything in you not to squeeze your legs around him to keep him there. Not that he'll be moving anytime soon, from the looks of it. He seems like he's thoroughly enjoying turning you into a quivering mess.

The problem with Johnny is that he might be confident, but it's not for nothing. You hate to admit it, but he's fucking good at this.

You drag your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly. He groans against you, and you let your head fall back against the cushions with a shaky sigh. He's very quickly found his rhythm, and it's only now you realise that your legs are trembling.

You can feel yourself beginning to unravel, and if he keeps this up, it won't be long until you're falling apart at his touch.

He pulls back suddenly, and automatically, you're trying to drag him back. You were very happy with where he was, thank you very much. He moves out of your reach, standing up.

"Wha- Where are you going?" you ask.

You'll deny the whine in your voice until your dying day.

"Don't get me wrong, this is good...but I think it could be better," he replies cryptically.

Before you can question him, he's hauling you to your feet. You yelp, trying to tug your skirt down to cover yourself. Johnny all but throws himself down on the couch in your place, beckoning you with a wave of his hand.

"C'mere, I'm not done with you yet," he murmurs with a sly smile.

You feel your thighs clench at that. You move to sit yourself in his lap, when he shakes his head.

"You're a little too far down, doll," he says.

"What are you- Oh," you say in a rush of air, as it dawns on you.

It's not like you haven't thought about doing this before, it's just it seems so intimate that you've always felt too nervous to even suggest it. And now you don't have to.

"You're always saying you'd love to shut me up, so here's your chance," he says lowly.

How can he say things like that and still look so smug?

"You know, you're right," you reply, with a sudden little surge of confidence. "It would be nice to get five minutes of peace and quiet."

"That's the spirit," he says, smiling up at you as he lightly slaps your thighs.

Slowly, you lower yourself down, until you can feel his breath against you. Your legs are already trembling badly, but Johnny's hands are quick to hold you steady, warm and strong against the backs of your thighs. He pulls you down closer, and you brace yourself. You feel yourself lurch forward as his tongue presses against you, and you hear him laugh softly.

Bastard.

You lower yourself down a little further, and that finally shuts him up. You fist one hand in his hair, the other holding onto the back of the couch for dear life. It's not long before he's picking up where he so rudely left you stranded before, and you're not sure how much more of this you can take. He feels so good against you, and he knows exactly how to take you apart, piece by piece. It's not fair.

You try to tell him as much, to warn him, but all that does is encourage him to redouble his efforts. His tongue is going to be the death of you.

"Johnny-" is all you manage to grit out, before he's pushing you right over the edge, and it takes every last bit of strength you have to not let yourself drop down on him entirely.

You desperately cling to the couch cushions as he coaxes every last bit from you, your hips grinding against his tongue as you ride out your orgasm.

You're exhausted by the time he's done. If there's one thing you know about Johnny, it's that he's thorough. He doesn't like to half-ass anything.

You slap lightly at his hands to make him stop. You know he'll have you there all night otherwise, and it's starting to edge into too much. He lets go of you, and you awkwardly shuffle down to the other end of the couch, suddenly very self-conscious.

Johnny props himself up on his elbows, his face so smug as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Well? What d'you think?" he asks. "Was I better than your little story?"

In spite of the state he's left you in, you can't help but roll your eyes fondly.

"I don't wanna give you the satisfaction of admitting it, but...yeah, you were," you reply, pretending as though you're uninterested.

Johnny smiles widely at that, so self-assured.

And well-earned, you think to yourself.

"And uh, my little bit of improv?" he asks. "How was that?"

You lightly kick at his leg.

"Yes, you were amazing, best I've ever had," you reply in a deadpan tone, but you're smiling. "Are you happy now?"

"Oh, very much so," he replies, his gaze wandering.

Before you even register what he's doing, your phone somehow ends up in his hands again.

"Come on, aren't you done with this already?" you ask incredulously.

Johnny shakes his head.

"Not quite," he replies, clearly engrossed in scrolling. "Maybe I wanna find one where you return the favour."

Your eyes widen. He's an absolute menace.

You manage to pull yourself upright, taking your phone and sliding it out of the way.

"I think I can figure out how to return the favour without needing to be prompted, thank you," you tell him, leaning in close to him to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

And by the time you're finished with him, he's very much in agreement with you.

Taglist: @iitsmandii @glassbxttless @getaapologist @fandom-princess-forevermore @keaganz @keeryhours @robinbuckleywife @samslvrgirl

(You can join the taglist here! If you wish to be removed, please let me know!)

#as someone who is practically allergic to writing smut i did my best!!#fanfiction is supposed to be fun i tell myself for the 800th time #the biggest thank you to the discord girlies for listening to my constant yapping and giving me such amazing ideas!!#you truly saved me from throwing this whole thing in the bin #also very tentatively tagging this #johnny storm x reader #angie writes #prettycalla writes #also i used a bad image first time round but it’s been fixed!!

129 notes · View notes

mediumgayitalian · 3 days ago

Text

Will thinks night jogs are underrated. Probably because they're stupid, and, statistically, what is going to kill him one day. Soon.

But sprinting from the harpies is kind of a high, and the woods are cool at night. And he always feels safe under the moon, even though he knows that's a dweeby thing to say.

He slows down as he is swallowed by the shadowy forest, angry bird-lady screeches fading behind him. He manages not to smirk as he has filled his hubris quota for the day. (It is a close thing though.) He notes the sound of his slowing footsteps echoing, enjoying the sound bounce off the trees, relishing in the night so still that everything seems louder, wholler. It is hard to hear in camp, where every sound seems to compete, and fall through his ear like loose netting. Here, though, under the light of the stars, he can hear his own breathing, and owls, somewhere to his left, and monsters, growling, pacing, but keeping distant pace of him. Feeling the green smoke tingling at his fingertips, maybe, wary of the shameless pound of his heels.

Will gives in and smirks, a little. It feels good to make others nervous, for a change.

He's not here for that, though. He has been, before -- there have been nights of seething rage and stomping feet, of grass dying under his toes, of plants shriveling in his path, in his wake -- but tonight the air is sweet, and the leftover vestiges of daylight warm him nicely. Today he woke up slowly, and there was pineapple -- his favorite -- at breakfast, and Nico was up early enough to join them. Today he bit his lip and ditched his shift at the infirmary, because he dreamed it would be quiet, and spent his afternoon hiding in his secret spot in the Big House, dicking around on his guitar. Today was good.

He missed his mom, a little. A lot. He kept thinking, as he made up random bullshit in between chords, that his own voice sounded lonely, and writing songs was not as fun without the four pencils always stuck in her curls near poking him in the eye, or the constant tap of her shoes against the wall. She's touring, now. Busy. Happy. Not plagued by constant monsters who won't leave them alone.

Will sighs, and kicks a rock. Sometimes being a demigod sucks major ass.

...But other times.

He spies a shimmer of liquid silver light up ahead, and picks up speed; cracking his knuckles to light his trekking way as he weaves through stray branches and tripping roots, hops over long-forgotten armor and veers to avoid stepping on plants and bushes. In no time at all he stumbles across the moonlace patch, tiny little sprouts rustling in the slight breeze, glowing like little spots of glittering mirrors. Will grins.

Sometimes being a demigod is cool.

He stoops low, careful not to step on anything. He doesn't need many -- a little goes a long way, and the leaves are potent when dried and ground up -- and is careful to leave enough stem and root on each plant he takes from so that they will regrow the following night, and the night after. He gathers them carefully and tucks them, rolled into one another, in the specially lined pouch he has with him, sitting loosely in his medbag. The milky secretion from the stems stings, slightly, as it leaks onto his bare hands, but his skin is so scarred already that it does not make much of a difference. It will take a lot more for him to flinch.

Another demigod benefit, he supposed. Kinda.

He wipes his hands on his shorts, as he stands, ignoring how the worn fabric smokes, slightly, and begins to burn away. His hands start to sting a little more so he frowns at them, put out, and mutters a hymn under his breath -- he should not be using his powers on himself, not really, but the acid burns are so minor and he is feeling good enough today that he is only a little bit woozy afterwards. He is well enough to walk, anyway, if not jog, and enjoy the trek back to camp, bag thumping against his thigh with every step.

The walk is nice on the way back, too.

It's a little different hearing the swelling sounds of camp get louder. Even at witching hour, there's noise -- Will can hear the harpies, of course, and the sound of Hermes children shrieking as they are chased and attacked. (That will be a problem for future him. He's not handling that now. They need to learn. If they're going to sneak around at night, they need to be better at it Christ alive.) He can hear the sound of pacing and quiet, murmuring arguing in the nocturnal Athena cabin, of muffled piglet oinking at Hecate -- gods, he doesn't want to know about that, either. He slows down, as he approaches, hesitating at the border of the woods. Glancing backwards, at the inviting darkness.

He could, like...disappear.

He's pretty good at finding ways to feed himself, honestly. He knows the local flora like the back of his hand, memorizing the book that has been passed down from head counsellor to head counsellor, and that he worked on with Cass, and then Lee, and then Michael, for generation of Apollo children, with medicinal as well as edible plants stretching back as far as medieval England, parchment and ink faded to dust in the spine. His grandpa taught him, years ago, how to set a snare with the gnarled wire wrapped around the ring on his middle finger. He's a good climber, and is chatty enough with the dryads to be allowed to spend his nights among their branches, away from predators. He could do it. Honest.

He smiles, slightly, rolling his eyes at himself. As if. He peeks over either shoulder and steps forward when it's clear, sticking to shadows between cabins, behind trees. Pausing every time he hears a feathery screech, holding the leather strap of his bag tight to his chest, so the bottles of pine sap he gathered don't clink as he breathes.

He couldn't leave camp behind for all the peace in the world. Not really.

Yes, it's noisy. And annoying. And needy, more than anything, and one of these days Will really is going to go on strike, and then what. What're they going to do. Have a little less attitude when he orders them to a cot, maybe. Or at least the good grace to keep the attitude to themselves where he can't hear it. He's a very busy person. He does not have time to entertain whining and complaining. Even if it's funny, and arguing gives him something to do. And he wins, usually. He's actually quite good at the bossing-people-around part, but that doesn't have anything to do with anything. Camp is irritating and he is the poor soul inflicted with its ridiculousness.

He grins, pushing open the long-broken window latch in the back of Cabin Seven, tumbling in head-first, somersaulting across the creaking floorboards. Yeah. Totally. Completely above it, he is. Because he is an angel. A poor lone angel in a sea of miscreants. That's him.

He stashes his med bag in the hidden slot under his bed, and wraps up in the covers. Sometimes being a demigod is a pain in the ass. Sometimes he is up to three in the morning sewing individual fingers back onto hands, because fools don't have the impulse control to keep their limbs out of hellhound mouths.

And sometimes he is up to three in the morning gathering an entire supply of a mild neurotoxin, special for the way it makes you moony and dream-giggly, to sell to Cecil for five hundred dollars worth of Twizzlers and good Mountain Dew from Tennessee.

He burrows into his blankets, cheeks aching with the force of his smirk. Sometimes being a demigod rocks.

-- -- --

@willsolaceweek day one: will, by himself

#so this is ridiculous lol #but i need to write myself out of a funk so #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #heroes of olympus #hoo #pjo hoo toa #will solace #will solace week #menace will solace #i love u menace will solace #my writing #fic #longpost

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streamsofmoon · 1 day ago

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vi x f!reader

synopsis: when you wake up next to him in the middle of the night/when you think about me all of those years ago...

a/n: i said i wanted to write something based on good luck babe by chappell roan and here we are :)

When you wake up in the middle of the night, it's with a gasp. A gasp so harsh that it leaves your throat sore for a second. Your heart's a thundering drum in your chest, and you try to calm it down—try to breathe in and out.

It almost doesn’t work until you feel your muscles start to relax. Until you're able to rest against the headboard with a heavy sigh, your soul weary as you look around the dark room.

Beside you, your husband sleeps peacefully. Unknown to the troubles that plague your mind and the woes that sit heavy on your spirit.

He makes you happy; he does everything for you—goes above and beyond for you. Out of all the men that have tried to capture your attention, he succeeded with his kind and soft nature. He is, what many would call, a dream.

But it's horrifying to find out when you don't love someone like that. When you don't love someone who is so startlingly right for you. Because love is a funny thing; it's unbalanced and unpredictable and inconsiderate with how it behaves. It's an awful thing to experience, especially when it refuses to go where you need it to.

Your wedding ring is oddly cold against the warmth of your finger. It's chilling when you rub your thumb against it; it provides a reason for you to take it off. There are other reasons, but those aren't ones you're able to conquer just yet.

Because love is the defining factor once more.

You're happy.

You should be—

"So you’re going to marry him?" Vi asks you on your wedding day. She's gorgeous in a two-piece suit that fits her like a glove. It's hard to take your eyes off her, especially with the way she's looking at you.

"I am," you tell her, fixing the necklace around your neck. It was a gift from your future husband, golden and covered in diamonds. "Isn't that what people do when they're in love? Get married?"

Vi scoffs and murmurs, "oh please," beneath her breath, loud enough for you to hear. Loud enough to have your hands still as you stare at her in the mirror, eyebrows furrowed.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" You question, a bit of anger injected in your tone. "And don't tell me nothing, we both know you're not shy with your feelings."

"Okay," Vi says, sliding her hands into her pant pockets. "You wanna know what I think? You don't love him."

Your heart drops a little despite knowing where this conversation is heading. "Not this again," you say softly, turning around so you can look at Vi. "Vi, you can't keep doing this. You can't keep dictating how I feel." You point towards the dressing room door, the one that leads out to where you'll say your vows. "I love him and I am going to get married to him and you need to—"

Your next sentence is cut off by Vi's fast approach, and her lips smashing against yours. You gasp in surprise, fighting back weakly for a mere second before you're succumbing to her kiss. Your mouth opens eagerly to welcome her tongue, moaning as she kisses you deeply. Her arms around your waist feel like home and the way she makes you feel with a single kiss...

Your future husband has never been able to achieve what this feels like.

And you doubt he ever will.

When Vi pulls back, it's reluctant, and she kisses you gently one more time, like she can't help herself. Then she's resting her forehead against yours, breathing you in as you clutch at the lapels of her suit jacket.

The moment stretches on for almost too long until Vi asks, one more time, "You're going to marry him?"

No, you want to yell. No, I'm not going to marry him. I'm going to run away with you and be happy with you.

But you don't say that.

Because you can't.

You aren't allowed to.

"...I am," is what you say, voice weak and thin with your pain. "I have to."

Vi doesn't reply, but the way her arms tighten around you says more than words can.

Her lips are light when she kisses your forehead, soft and lingering, before she's walking out of the room and she's...gone.

And you haven't seen her since.

You wish you could cry, but the numbness won't let you. It only offers you the hellish sanctuary of loud thoughts that shake you mercilessly, leaving your head ringing.

Your husband shifts beside you, the sheets shifting with him, and your heart breaks a little more.

And as you stare off into space, you can't help but wonder.

#vi arcane #vi x reader #vi x you #the moon rambles 🌙#me while writing this: GOOD LUCK BABE WELL GOOD LUCK BABE

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ysrjune · 1 day ago

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OK GOING OFF THE SCOTT BEING TAKEN TO MY HORIZON

(I’m rlly sad rn)

Anyways, could you do something where like it’s like idk a “visitation day” where like some family members can come and visit a few months in… and like yk his gf comes 🥺🥺

〃 VISITING DAY ” ☆

a/n: Elaine isn't in this, so it's just his mom

“You excited?” Auggie asks Scott. “Yeah, but im more nervous than anything.” The blond sighs. “I haven't seen her in so long. What if she gets here and tells me that she found another guy, you know? A normal one.”

Auggie laughs and shakes his head. “Dude, you're paranoid, chill. You've been together for what? Two years and a half? She ain't gonna leave you, man.” Scott looks over at Auggie. “You don't know that. Seriously, even when I was back at school and people knew about us, guys would still try and get at her. Now that im gone, who knows what has happened.”

“Sounds like you've got some serious trust issues.” Auggie shrugs his shoulders and leans back into his chair. “Even if she leaves you, ya got Jules and Shelby.”

Scott glares. “Hell no. Jules is annoying and Shelby... she's not my type.” He kisses his teeth and starts bouncing his leg. “Yeah, but they're there if you-”

“Shut up.” Scott cuts him off.

Moments later, you and his parents walk into the room. Scott stands up quickly and waits for you all to walk up to him. “Oh, Scott. We've missed you!” His mom says and hugs Scott right away. “I missed you too, mom.”

“Dad.” He nods at Martin. Then, when his mom let go of him, he fixated his eyes on you with a shy smile. “Hey..”

“Don't just stand there. Do something.” You smile, and right away, he pulls you into an embrace. “I've missed you so so much.” He kisses all over your face. “Its been hell not being able to see you.” He cups your face. “Same here.” You giggle and boop his nose. “I cant believe this is real.”

Scott sighs and rests his forehead against yours. “You smell good.” He mutters. “Well, I'm wearing the perfume you like. And even better, I brought it so that you can keep it while you're here. So you dont miss me too much.”

Scott rolls his eyes with a playful smirk. “How thoughtful.”

ᯓᡣ𐭩 —

His parents took you two to dinner. There was lots of chatting, laughter, and overall just good vibes.

On the car ride back, Scott was all over you.. sort of. It needed to be appropriate since his parents were in the front. “I dont want you to go. Can't you just pick up a really bad addiction and get sent here with me?” He nuzzles into your shoulder.

“I'll try my best.” You smile and run your fingers through his hair. “I'd recommend cocaine or heroin.”

“Scott.” His mother looks back from the front, and he laughs. “Gotta do what ya gotta do, mom. ”

“All for some hanky panky.” His father snickers.

“Dad, dont call it that. That's gross.” Scott rolls his eyes. True or not—Scott mostly only wanted you there because he missed you in general. Your laughter, stupid jokes, weird attitude—all of it. He missed your presence.

“Promise you'll keep writing? And that you'll come back..” He whispers to you as you say goodbye outside of the entrance.

“Yes, I'll l keep writing, and ill try to come back. I had to do some serious begging with that Peter guy.” You say.

“Great.” He kisses you one last time and the speaks up. “Im spraying your perfume over my pillows and sheets, by the way.”

“Grand.” You tap his cheek. “I love you, Scott.”

“I love you more.” He says with a small frown and you leave to the car with his parents. He misses you already.

“Seriously, pick up a drug addition.” He groans and heads inside.

@bxbyysstuff @anakinstwinklebunny @lovethestarrs @valloos @anisangeldust @xo-yaaaaaasxo @anakinca @dollfilmz @gothams-sweetheart @sockiess @sythethecarrot @speaknow-sw @loveamira @alealuvshayden @mvst4far @prettiestmini @amiratheangel @blckberrie @literally-izzyy @litt1e-misssunsh1ne @chanellyvstvd

#asks!#moots 💕#scott barringer x reader #scott barringer imagine #scott barringer higher ground #scott higher ground #scott barringer fluff #hayden higher ground #higher ground au #hayden christensen higher ground #haydenchristensen #hayden christensen #hayden christensen x you #hayden christensen x reader #ysrjune #scott barringer

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simplysable · 3 days ago

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Could I request the four lord's with a combat hardened s/o (maybe they were a ex-hunter for some extra spice 👀) who just becomes soft and loving in their hands. Probably tries to spoil them with affection on a daily basis

YES!! Absolutely!! I love when tough characters turn soft, and you gave me the perfect opportunity to write something for it!

The Resident Evil Lords With a Tough-as-Nails S/O Who Turns to Putty in Their Hands

Alcina Dimitrescu

She heard the whispers of the people in the town about a new resident, but she didn’t think that her daughters would talk to her about you

It was spring, so she wasn’t angry about her daughters going outside

“I’m telling you Mother, it’s like they’re made out of stone! They didn’t care that we had blood on our faces either!”

“They said they had seen blood too, so they didn’t care.”

“They polished our sickles because they said we ‘didn’t do it right.’”

Her daughters were never this talkative, but you made them chatterboxes

She invited you over, but only to appease her daughter’s never ending curiosity

Oh dear. They're attractive.

Here you were, tough as nails, smiling as her daughters fawned over you and asked you how many weapons you knew how to use (and if you were afraid of bugs)

When you looked at her, all she got was a curt nod and you went right back to talking (listening, really) to her daughters

She was fascinated by you

Clearly you weren’t local, and from your sense of style you looked homeless, so she insisted you lived at the castle

Uh, a little salty at the homeless comment, you denied, but she insisted

It was a good thing you liked the girls or you would be way harder to convince

You stay at the castle, trying to stay away from her, but she always seems to find you

You talk, and you learn about her while she learns about you

She learns that you were an ex-FBI agent (she didn’t know what that was- you explained) that was primarily out in the field as a bounty hunter

Alcina did know what that was, which explained your scars, your weapons know-how, and your reluctance to be open to her

She ultimately decided that you deserved to pampered after what you’ve been through

Fancy clothes

Elaborate meals

Expensive gifts

Lots of compliments

“You look fantastic today, my love. Be sure to take care of your scars!”

“The way that you punched Heisenberg was absolutely artistic. Wonderful form, darling.”

Even after the homeless comment, you continue to get more comfortable with her and eventually melt in her hands

She loves how soft you’ve become, and you love her as well

Donna Beneviento

Having your silence is somewhat comforting, but also a bit unsettling

You had explained that you were in the village to research the lycans and possible mold samples that have been sighted

You heard that she was knowledgeable on the local wildlife, so you went to her

You were somewhat startling to her

Silent, strong, good with weapons and with communication (and riddled with scars)

She was extremely anxious and quiet while she talked about her plants

She became even more anxious when you just listened in absolute silence, not giving her any information on what you were thinking

In actuality you were just very relaxed by her voice

It was calm, quiet, and her plants were interesting to listen to

To her absolute mortification, you started to shut your eyes and drift off because of what she thought was boredom

After reassuring her that that was most certainly the opposite of what was going on, Angie voiced Donna’s little boost in confidence

“So the big, bad researcher likes to listen to the plant lady talk? Hah! That’s the best thing I’ve heard in a while!”

Donna was confused and a little flattered that you could fall asleep to her voice and feel relaxed enough in her home to shut your eyes

While talking some more, many of her dolls started to flock around you and gently touch your hands and face while whispering little compliments into your ear

“Lovely eyes, lovely eyes…”

“Such soft hands! Gardeners hands, seamster’s hands, warm hands.”

“Paying attention to Donna, to us? So good.”

You were preening under their attention after the initial panic when dolls started to pet you

Donna was more quiet as they worked around you, letting her dolls voice her own thoughts instead of herself

Angie was the one that whispered into your ear that it was really Donna talking and not completely sentient dolls

You blushed and looked at her, asking her if it was true

She nodded hesitantly

That is not what you were expecting but you were not complaining

You beamed and sank further into your chair, letting the dolls fawn over you some more while you smiled at Donna

Your cold exterior melted away, Donna and her dolls waiting no time in praising and pampering you

Donna very much enjoyed watching you relax because of her, and she (Angie) told you as much

She hoped that you would stay so she could continue to talk to you and flatter you

Salvatore Moreau

At first, Moreau was terrified of you

This battle-hardened person with scars and weapons was wandering around his pond in modern black clothes and boots

He stayed away from you

You were a stranger that was in his village and wandering around in his home with a look in your eye tough enough to kill

He was forced to talk to you when you showed up in his house holding a crystallized lycan skull and asked him where the Duke was

Moreau was not thrilled that you were in his house and he was going to throw you out until you looked into his room, saw what was on his TV, and sat right down beside him

Oh. Uh, okay.

He couldn't kick you out, that would be rude! You just got comfortable next to a pungent monster like him and were watching I Love Lucy with him

"Hey. You're Moreau, right? Sorry I've been creeping around. The townspeople had a bounty on a lycan that was eating their socks and I thought I would track it down. Cool place you've got here."

That started your friendship

He very excitedly told you about the flora and fauna in his lake and even got to telling you about what other television shows he liked to watch

When he said he didn't know what Sienfeld was, you stared at him, offended

After reassuring him that he didn't insult you and that you weren't suddenly figuring out how monstrous he was, you told him it was just a show you thought he would like

Oh.

You thought about something? For him? That was nicer than what he deserved

You and Salvatore talked well into the night, the light of the TV screen and the flashlight from your phone providing more than enough light

He learned about you. He learned that you were a retired bounty hunter that heard about the trouble in the village and decided to stay and help

He also learned that you actually liked hearing him talk

This started a tradition of you and Sal talking and eating, and your friendship grew into something more

You like him. You like him.

He's spoiling you. Praise, gifts, food, everything.

"Y-you look great today, love. Sorry about the mucus on your boots."

"For you! It's chocolate. The Duke says it should be okay to eat. Should chocolate be green? Oh, sorry..."

You light up under his words, grinning from ear to ear every time he talked to you

It was odd to see you go from "bounty hunter mode" to "happy idiot" so fast, but he loved it

He was just happy he had someone to love. A very scary someone, but someone nonetheless.

Karl Heisenberg

He had no idea what the fuck all the fuss was all about. Someone from the government came to the village to investigate and see if everyone was still alive and outbreak of the megamycete was contained.

Whatever, it happens once a year

Normally it's some stuck-up priss in a suit or a satin dress that got ruined they stepped into this cesspool of a village

You were not that

Heisenberg was starting to understand why people were taking about you and not just watching the inspection from their houses like they usually do

He wasn't going to lie, you looked like one tough son of a bitch

Cold eyes, calloused hands, combat boots and a gun strapped to your thigh

He was a little surprised when you asked to inspect his factory considering no other inspector had done that before, but it looks like the government sent someone competent to do the job this time

He watched you inspect, staying no more than five feet away from you for the entirety of your visit

You fascinated him

You made no disgusted or terrified remarks when seeing his creations, instead viewing them with almost alarming indifference and… fascination

“Is that a plane propeller on that thing? Where did you get it? Can it spin? Can it fly? Is it supposed to be walking into a wall?”

He had to admit, it was nice having someone curious about his experiments

When he absentmindedly moved a large sheet of metal with his mind to clear the way, he didn’t miss the glee in your eyes

You visited with increasing frequency after that, calling them “work trips”

In reality, it was just an excuse to spend more time with Heisenberg

And see his very cool powers

Heisenberg lived the attention, and he teased you constantly

“The tough agent, reduced to a kid in a candy store after seeing my metal junk!”

He knew a thing or two about building walls around yourself, so he was happy to see you relax around him

He didn’t know what you did before, but with the amount of scars you had he knew it was more than just “government work”

Heisenberg made sure to leave you little trinkets he made, giving out the occasional compliment

“Hey, you don’t look like a stuck-up modern asshole today! Congratulations.”

“I made this bird out of spoons. I was bored and it’s worthless to me so, here.”

You love it, you love him, and he knows it

You still looked a little scary sometimes, though

This is for my two remaining followers and for whatever stinky garbage children still scrounge around for RE8 scraps.

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arcadekitten · 2 days ago

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If the Semiaquatic Circus characters were in Here For Sweethearts, would they be class clowns? ;:) But seriously, what would they be like?

Class clowns...hehe. clever...

Capella: I imagine she has almost a komi-san dynamic going on. Everyone thinks she's really pretty and mysterious but really she's just a bit shy and socially awkward and doesn't really know how to interact with her classmates but wants to befriend them. Does moderately well in classes, but feels a lot of pressure to get high marks. Is exempt from participating in gym class from a request from her parents.

Pogo Gogo: Actual class clown. I think she may have a bit of a Susie-Deltarune dynamic going on where she intimidates her classmates but she's really just a big goofball who likes to have stupid fun once you get to know her. Also helps protect some of the younger kids from bullying.

Yoyo: A fine student, but also a bit of a smartass who thinks he knows better than his teachers sometimes. Like if his teachers tell him to follow a certain format for writing a paper he'll sometimes just write in whatever way he wants to because it suits the paper better to him. The kind of kid to say "If the teacher isn't here in 15 minutes we're legally allowed to leave, you know."

Savannah: Overachiever student, which often results in a lot of burnout for her. It doesn't help that she also tries to join clubs and keep up a good social life--so in any down time she has she's probably too tired to do anything but nap or just play on her phone. Most likely a cheerleader, and she's very good at it!

Clyde: Alright student. Struggles in a few classes but isn't really bothered by grades as long as they're at least around a C. Does football to try and keep active. Often writes letters home to his family as I imagine they're a bit traditional and don't do phone stuff very often.

Esmond: Fairly good student, and is very sociable and friendly with his classmates. Teachers regard him as a sweetheart who's always trying to be helpful. Part of dance club and art club--he likes to make pieces with a lot of glitter.

Darwin: To no one's surprise a really quiet student. Doesn't have many friends, but seems to be seen hanging out with Esmond a lot. Many think he joined the dance club and art club for Esmond. He does very well in dance, but in art it usually seems like he doesn't put much effort into his pieces. Or maybe he's just...abstract?

Vis: Has difficulty making friends outside of their siblings, but seems to be trying to be more open to it. They really enjoy music class and have recently joined the music club in hopes of making new friends and learning how to play an instrument!

Nana: A student who seems to have an interest in art and literature!! She can usually be found reading books in the library when not in class. She seems to have a thing for short, spooky stories. Her and Mary would probably get along well if they were able to meet in HFSH.

Bonus!:

Furnando: Incredibly shady student. Does well in grades but staff doesn't trust him, he always seems to be up to something. He's probably a bit of a "black market dealer" for the school in a way, selling things to his fellow classmates like test answer keys or cigarettes or other generally-not-allowed-on-school-premises items. Flirts with the people who have a problem with him

#semiaquatic circus #here for sweethearts #hfsh #capella #pogo gogo #yoyo #savannah #clyde #esmond #darwin #vis #nana #furnando #ask

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mrcaffeinatedisopod · 3 days ago

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I am SO interested in learning about mad scientist Donnie. Do you plan on writing for him? Like his slow decent into madness after Timothy mutates? 👀👀👀

Oh mi gosh! I can't believe someone is interested in my AU stuff. Thanks for asking!!

Okay, so I will try to make this semi coherent—

*Puts on Yapping glasses*

Mad Scientist Donatello

I thought of Mad Scientist Donatello as I was planning out the arcs for my very self-indulgent OC, Maxine Santos, and the fanfic I'm writing for her. Since I don’t think there is much interest in OC x Cannon, I will likely not post the actual writing— unless I make a drabble just for him— but I can tell you more about him!

More info under the cut, line thingy?

Okay, so one thing that I feel is never properly addressed in the show is the whole Pulverizer/Timothy/Mutagen Man arc. While those 3 episodes are executed masterfully in my opinion and fulfill their narrative purpose, afterward, it's just... abandoned by the show? Everybody just forgets about poor Timothy's existence.

I always thought that was odd and that Timothy's mutation should have a heavier narrative weight on the story, especially on Donatello, since he feels personally responsible for the kid ending up as a blob of acidic mutant goo, so I really like imagining different scenarios for how this would affect Donatello.

The idea is that after some time traveling shenanigans from the Kraang and the turtle's interference, they accidentally create several "bad ending" style timelines for the turtles, each with a different twist, zombie apocalypse, Kraang empire, Footclan!Leonardo, and so on. Since my OC, Maxine, was the one to get caught in the crossfire, Renet— the time master assistant— is the one who requests her help to save those timelines before they become "fixed" and cannot be changed anymore.

In this specific timeline, Timothy actually becomes the second human ally for the turtles— the first being April, of course— because even though they think he is a massive dork, he keeps getting himself into trouble and the turtles have to save his butt every time. But!! Eventually, they create a friendship of sorts, they find out more about Timothy's life, and there's some angst, I haven't decided exactly what yet, but it explains why Timothy is trying to live in fantasy land and play vigilante.

So they have this sorta awkward friendship, and Timothy eventually does start to help out in missions, not physically, but he helps the turtles investigate things that they can't, such as gather intel from other humans, investigate weird stuff happening at the local high-school, and he is a very good gamer, so he controls metalhead before Donnie creates his AI— and he's pretty good at it!

Things are going pretty well for a while until Donatello gets kidnapped by the foot clan, and they're planning on dunking him in a vat of mutagen because evil ninja clan shenanigans.

Despite the other brother's warnings, Timothy follows them because he wants to help Don, things happen, and instead of Donnie getting mutated, Timothy does.

Donatello is overcome with guilt because he is the closest to Timothy, and that's what lays out the groundwork for his madness. He starts obsessing with finding the retromutagen, and every new bad thing that happens keeps pilling up on that until it breaks the cammel's back.

Then Kirby O'Neil gets mutated and April is much meaner about it in this timeline, then they find out Karai is their sister and right after that she gets mutated and tries to kill all of them, she mutates earlier in this timeline, too, btw.

And as if that's not enough pressure on our poor boy Donatello to find the retromutagen no matter what happens, the turtles fail on a mission where the Kraang were trying to use some kind of mutagen infusor on the crust of the earth, and it gets a big part of the city mutated. Leo gets double mutated and goes insane, Master Splinter ends up extremely injured after fighting a mutated Shredder, and April and Raphael are missing. April has been kidnapped by the Kraang, and Raphael has been brainwashed by the foot clan with the brainworm.

SO, at this point, Donatello absolutely loses his shit.

He starts to experiment on Timothy, himself, and his brothers and Master Splinter, because of it, trying to find the retromutagen, but because he doesn't have April's DNA, it's a fruitless task.

Donnie is so far gone down the rabbit hole that he spends long hours down in his lab ranting to Tim about his efforts to find the retromutagen, how he's the only one who can find a cure, his crush on April becomes 10x worse because he's grasping at straws to keep going, Master Splinter has been in a coma ever since his fight with the Shredder and is in no condition to fight even if he woke up, and Leo and Mikey are constantly being experimented on, and can't do anything to save Don from himself. :(

Don is constantly hallucinating April and Tim. His hallucinations for April range from weird self-indulgent and delusional romantic scenarios to her mocking and insulting him for being a mutant, and he believes that if he finds the retromutagen then everything will be alright. His hallucinations for Tim are mostly geared towards friendly banter, with the occasional lashing out when Donatello is going through a particularly bad episode.

Don gets frequent headaches from not eating right, not sleeping right, and the constant experimentation and stress and it's just generally very angsty because I love to put this man through massive amounts of physical and psychological torture :D

Anyways, that's it— thank you so much for asking!!

#tmnt #tmnt au #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2012 #tmnt donatello #tmnt donatello au #tmnt donnie #donatello hamato #mad scientist donatello #mad scientist #ask #caffeinated thoughts #my au #please always feel free to send more asks if you wanna know more!#not apriltello #I decided to update this post with a doodle of Mad Scientist Don #my art

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kiame-sama · 9 hours ago

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(I'm about to write an essay, please feel free to ignore it)

Just binged your 'humans are extinct' TWST AU and. Wow. Where do I start? I've never seen something like this so fleshed out on this site? I've never seen such a long, serious series that treats all the characters with proper respect and stays pretty faithful to their canon personality and actions/reactions given what's been changed? I've never read long series on this site with the whole cast that has pretty much been fair with 'screen time' for each individual member? I've rarely seen something well though out and interconnecting with some seemingly trivial tidbits that turn into important details later on?

I absolutely adore what you wrote. I'm thankful you deigned to write down and share the story running through your brain for others to enjoy. The characters feel real and thee dimensional. The narrative is cohesive. The new additions don't feel out of place. The works.

Starting off with our MC. Poor girl! She's doing a lot better than I would have if I was in her place. Having to juggle almost 30 boys vying for her hand, plus a new adoptive child, plus poachers, PLUS being in an entirely new world where there's magic and she's the only human left with meltdowns happening almost every week and still staying (at least partially) sane and on goal? She has my respect. I love how she's not "a strong woman who don't need no man," nor is she "the poor damsel in distress who can't do anything on her own." She's in a bad situation: basically a sitting duck without the protection of the boys at NRC, and yeah, near the beginning, she kind of got dragged around like a doll. That makes sense though, and as she started getting familiar with the new world and her new guardians, she also started setting boundaries and enforcing them.

She won't let the boys walk all over her, but she's also generally respectful, kind, and pleasant to them as well. She's under no illusions and knows that even though they've got an unhealthy attachment to her, she still needs them to keep her safe. Beyond that though, even before she started absorbing blot and seeing memories, she was sensitive and able to see beyond their surface level flaws. I don't think she ever really thought Leona was a bad guy, even noting the dissonance between his threatening words and (sad? Resigned?) expression when first meeting him. She was willing to feed Ruggie regularly after finding out he was basically starving. She let Cater stay at Ramshackle and fought for him to get him back into the dorms at Heartslabyul even though she was still (rightfully) furious at him for basically putting her in potential danger for the rest of her stay in Twisted Wonderland because she felt his punishment was too severe given his crime.

That being said she also isn't one of those protagonists who forgive and forget all wrongs which is appreciated. She doesn't forgive murder attempts with a "Tee-hee it's alright anyone can change!" mentality. She also doesn't care much about those outside NRC if they don't first give her a reason to care about them. It makes her feel human.

I appreciate the way you wrote the conflicts as well. Most individuals here aren't one dimensional villains. They have reasons for doing what they do besides being a mustache twirling caricature written just to make MC suffer. Does it justify their actions? Ha! No. MC realizes this too, which I appreciate. If the current problem-child is a student, MC is good at helping them fix/find the root of their problem while still making sure they know their actions were out of line.

Moving on to the boys and the staff. Love them and their characterization. They're not perfect. They make mistakes. They're trying to get better. Character arcs and evolution. We love to see it. I mean this in the best way possible, but sometimes I read what a boy says or is about to do and just go "Bro .... Seriously?!" It's totally in line with their normal characterization, and the addictiveness of the human helps explain why they're going to certain extremes, but man, it's like watching a train wreck in slow motion.

I like how you basically inverted the typical "who's safest to be around" scale due to the yandere instincts. Those who were already dangerous know how to keep those dark tendencies in check while those who weren't are now getting hit full force and don't know how to cope. It changes up the typical day to day cast so other characters get more of a chance to shine than the typical ones.

I feel like most boys so far have gotten a fair amount of time in the spotlight. The ones we've heard the least from are the Octavinelle and Scarabia boys as well as Epel. It makes sense for the Octavinelle and Scarabia boys since they haven't really had their mini arcs yet (and we've seen some of the Octa boys in action when it came to the Spelldrive incident + The first poachers incident). Epel also makes sense because Vil had his little episode outside of Pomefiore guarding hours ... But I hope to see him a little more in the future. No rush though!

I already have the adoption papers ready for Crewel and Trein. Vargas and Sam have cool uncle/older brother privilege. Crowley.... Exists.... Glad to see he's actually trying though. Papa Hades is a cool addition. He seems like a guy we could call at four in the morning to vent about our worries to without fear of judgement or our words reaching unintended ears. Mr. Bounty hunter is cool too, but I'm still on the fence about making him official family.

Malleus. I have so many thoughts about Malleus. Not many of them are nice. I like how you characterized him and I think it makes sense. Honestly his behavior seems at least somewhat in line with normal Malleus.... Just cranked up to eleven. That being said, I am about ready to smack him upside the head. I understand where he's coming from, I really do! But he's going about it wrong and his possessive behavior is really making me not like him. I'm glad he at least cares enough about MC that he's not going to marry/mate with her against her will, but also even what we've negotiated with him isn't enough. I personally would be so annoyed that we're basically his emotional support human. Like, Buddy. I don't want to be in close contact with you 24/7 or have to make deals to see you every other day so you don't get huffy and cause a storm. Please. Also the whole, "I'm gonna extend your life to match mine without telling you so we can be together forever" business? Yeah no, huge breach of trust. If I didn't know he'd likely overblot and kill me in a crime of passion, I'd ban him from seeing me for a year for that.

The Undying Ursas! There's still quite a bit we don't know about them, but they feel like an overarching plot detail that ties the story together nicely that's starting to get more notice that we're starting to settle into this world. Perhaps they'll have a key to help us get home?

Grim. I think your Grim is the least annoying version I've seen this far. Childish? Yes. But reading about him here doesn't make me want to bash my head into a wall and I've actually grown somewhat attached to the furball. I appreciate the bond MC has with him, and it's honestly quite sweet watching the two interact.

Small-ish head canon: I've noticed that Rielle got turned from an RSA student into Ariel just being a dude and I had an idea regarding him. What if Rielle was still an RSA student, but the twin/cousin to our prince Mahi-Mahi (hopefully soon to be sashimi) Erikir. He's interested in archeology/maritime and very introverted. He's been spoiled sweet (like Charlotte La Bouff from the Princess and the Frog) and is happy to please. Unlike Floyd and Jade who present outwardly as good twin and evil twin (secretly they're both 'evil') these two both present as 'good twins' but it's only true for Rielle. Outwardly, the two are nice to each other, but Eirkir secretly thinks Rielle is a pushover and weak minded. Erikir kept him away from the human by presenting the opportunity to guard the human as a burden, and offering to put in a word to let Rielle go out on a field trip to an excavation site during the Spelldrive tournament because Rielle isn't really that much of a sports guy. Maybe the two look alike, or maybe Rielle looks more like Prince Erik in a bit of dramatic irony. Regardless, there is a family resemblance in the way that those not close to them may get the two mixed up... It would be rather unfortunate if the human saw him and mistook him for Erikir.

Personalizing the story: It would be over so quick for me probably. I'd see the polite, (seemingly) mild-mannered Moray with his mushrooms on day two and fall head over heels. I'm unfortunately bad at hiding things and blunt as can be, so Malleus would probably go bonkers and kill me (and him) in a crime of passion. I don't think that a week one Malleus would be okay with, "I want to date this guy and probably eventually marry him though I'm fine with being your possession/family or whatever. Also I'm not interested in dating/marrying anyone else." I feel as though if you managed to survive to the end of the story, you'd get a fairytale ending... The issue is getting there.

Overall: Amazing. Love your work. Keep it up (no rush though). I will feast on whatever you write regarding this AU like Ruggie. Compliments to the Chef.

Genuinely, though, I DEEPLY appreciate the essay level of praise, it does mean a lot to me. I have quite the intense Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, so praise makes my nervous little heart full and happy. I am glad you are enjoying it, and I hope I don't disappoint!

On the topic of Rielle, when I first started writing the HAE AU, the only RSA students I knew of were Neige, Neige's seven Fae friends, Ambrose, and Che'nya. I made Erikír before I knew Rielle was a thing. But I like that idea of Rielle being Erikír's twin (the actual good twin). I already have Erikír's punishment planned out, but I can absolutely work in Rielle being genuinely good when the story eventually gets to Erikír's trial.

#kiame-sama #my lovies #lovies for all #lovie asks

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nereidprinc3ss · 3 days ago

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know your fics !!!

ai fics are usually out of character, and while most of the quality depends on the prompt, usually you'll find less description or like narration of what is going on, and more one liner dialogue type stuff that feels soulless, OR, endlessly descriptive, unnecessary writing, that's got you thinking get to the point, jan.

you can pry em-dashes from my cold dead hands, but you will notice if it's used too much in a fic, because some of these em-dashes could be commas, and most times in regular fics the usage of em-dashes is either toned done by the author itself on purpose, or it's done by like Grammarly or something. AI fics, shit ton of em-dashes, and how you know it's ai is if you replace an em-dash with a comma, it's literally the same sentence.

longer ai fics could show plot inconsistencies. they're suddenly some place they weren't before. his hands are in her hair, her waist, her back— how many hands does she have? shit like that. oh, and also depending on which gen ai engine you use, cuss words will give it away. popular models cannot use cuss words, political stuff, or write smut, unless you like pay for premium which i doubt anyone is.

here's an ai generated spencer dialogue (i just said give me something spencer reid would say in a conversation with reader who he has a crush) :

"My emotional processing subroutines appear to be malfunctioning due to the elevated oxytocin levels you’ve instigated," He says, blinking slowly like a confused Roomba.

it physically pained me to generate and read that. fishes died. it called my man a roomba. jesus h fuck. anyways.

here's something i wrote, same context, spencer talking to reader who he has a crush on, just to like drive the point home:

"Yeah, Okay, so, like I was saying, the Maquech beetle is regarded as a symbol of eternal love. In ancient Maya tradition, a princess’s murdered lover was transformed into a beetle so she could wear him on a pin close to her heart night and day," he explains, walking with you towards the bullpen, mug of coffee in his hand, just how he liked it. He had been explaining the significance of symbolism in different lost or forgotten cultures and civilisations. You were in the Quantico kitchen with him, making coffee per usual, listening to his passionate interpretation of Guatemalan huipiles and butterflies, when you handed him a mug of coffee, made exactly how he takes it, when he promptly lost his train of thought. "Uh—I, wh—" he stammered, like he had forgotten every single word of every single language he knew. "I, sorry, I just— uh," "Take the coffee, Spence." "Right. Yes. Coffee." And that brings us to the present with the beetles. He continues. "So that's why, in the Mayan culture, wearing the symbol of the Beetle remains a constant reminder of a true and eternal love." You hum, thoughtful, lips quirking as you glance sideways at him. “Guess I’ll have to start wearing beetles then. You know. As a declaration of my undying love for you.” Spencer chokes out a breath of a laugh, something between a scoff and a stunned exhale, and fumbles with his mug like it’s suddenly the most interesting object on earth. “That, uh— I,” He clears his throat. “That would be… highly symbolic.” He doesn’t look at you, but you catch the faintest blush creeping up his neck, blooming like a secret. You hope he doesn’t notice yours.

is this any good? no. in fact, i think it's ass, actually. i wrote it in like 20 minutes. but it's not soulless ai sludge, and for just that reason alone, it's immediately better to me.

in order to write a good fic, you need not just know the, like, source material, you need to pour your feelings for that particular story into the fic. that's what makes it special.

authors, friends, art is only art if it comes from within. writing takes time. it's frustrating sometimes. most times, actually. we write not because we need to churn out shit and meet deadlines. we write because we love it. it is who we are. and it's okay if your writing style is different. it's okay if you take way too long to write. there's no too long with art. they don't say 'you can't rush art' for nothing.

if you're insecure about the quality of your work, know that it's something all authors feel. the only way to get over it is by actually writing more. by yourself. because if you just generate fics and go to sleep, who is it even for? your writing skill won't improve, the fics don't feel as personal, actual authors who put work into their fics go unnoticed, and no matter how you justify it, you won't feel good about yourself.

we live in a time where we need to remind authors that they need to actually write to call themselves one. it's okay if you think your work is not up to mark. post that lame ass fic. make that fugly edit. draw that misshapen nightmare. do it bad. do it ugly. do it extremely awful. but do it. do it yourself. it's the only way to start.

ai "artists", consider this a psa: you can become an actual artist if you take the time thinking of the right prompts to use, and put that into honing the craft. tumblr is a safe (ish) place. ask questions. learn from artists. be free, dear birds. fly high. fuck ai.

- ironically, someone studying to be an ai engineer (don't worry i am aware of the moral ramifications, i am going to end up a data scientist, i can feel it in my bones, wish me luck!)

Yes yes yes!!!! To all of it!!! This is great and so helpful ty!!!

Also do NOT downplay your talent that little snippet was amazing and I hope u r posting ur fics!! We need as much original content as we can possibly get!

Thank u for taking the time to write all this out, very extremely useful and I appreciate u so much<3

#asks #ramblings

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bronzieinthedas · 2 days ago

Text

Nice Little Things - Tag Game

tagged by @pixiedurango and @seaglassmelody, thank you so much! I loved reading about what Cara and Sabi keep in their rooms:)

Rules: Choose 10 objects that you will place in the room of your Rooks on the places intended for customization. These should be small objects that can be placed in the following places: 2 on the tables by the doors, 2 on the tables by the aquarium, 4 on the bookcases and 2 on the walls. Attach a photo of these objects and give a short description of why your Rooks chose them.

Qatesh's nice little things might be a little boring in this regard, but here goes..!

Tables by the Door:

Sewing Kit

Used to wearing hand-me-down tunics, Qatesh is super mindful of keeping her clothes in good condition, which means darning and mending everything- both for her and her team. She won't leave the house without her sewing kit!

Jar of Vitaar

Part of her outside persona, and how she covers up some of her scars. She prefers the water-soluble cake type that won't dry out as quickly, for when she's out and about. She chose dark blue and silver as "her" colours: Silver sky for the swallows she loves so much, and dark blue sea because that's where the Lords found her. It also matches her eyes.

Tables by the Aquarium:

Cross spindle and wool

After finding a spinning wheel in one of the Lighthouse's storage rooms, Qatesh decided she wants to reconnect with her past, because spinning is a very good way of calming her down. To save on space and have something portable for when they're out adventuring, Taash got her a Rivaini-style cross-arm spindle with colourful rolags to work on, which will hopefully soon be transformed into...

Half-knitted sock

Lucanis is teaching her how to knit! It's a long hard road because Qatesh was never taught anything else than spinning, so she gets easily frustrated. But it's a great way of connecting with the team and hey, you get a sock, too! :)

Bookshelf:

Stuffed Sheep Plush

A present for her by Danya Laidir when she found out little Qatesh never had a plushie growing up. By now the little sheep has turned grey and is is all matted and scruffy, but when she can't sleep, Qatesh will reach over and hug it tight.

Inkle-loom hair band

Also a gift from her "Ma" Laidir who hoped Qatesh could maybe use it to play around and experiment a bit to find her own style. Spoiler: it didn't happen. As the hairband was the prettiest thing Qatesh ever possessed, she didn't dare use it. She does take it out from time to time to remember her Ma. And she vowed to wear the hairband one day, woven into a braid, if ever she got invited to a party.

Notebook and quill pen

Qatesh is barely literate. With the first gold she got from the Lords, she went to the market and bought herself a beautiful quill pen and a notebook, telling herself she'd properly learn to write and read now. Obviously it never happened, but hope persists.

Beauty and Haircare Kit

Ever since she was little, it was drummed into her that she needs to keep her hair long and in perfect condition (not of her own volition, but here we are). Since becoming part of the Lords, some of her income always goes into either hair- or skincare supplies such as lotions, scented oils and soaps. Now that the worst days of her cystic acne are over, she tries to make sure her skin is always well cared for.

Walls:

Swallow Tapestry

Qatesh found a little tapestry in a market during her travels with Varric and Harding. Of course the swallow from Seheron needed something cute that reminded her of how far she'd come!

Embroidered lace chemise

Another thing she got "for later" she never got around to wearing or using. Although Qatesh feels she isn't the type for lacy clothes, she couldn't resist this one. The chemise usually sits at the bottom of her pack, carefully folded, but at the Lighthouse, Qatesh decided to hang it on a peg on the wall so she could look at it and dream about a fitting situation when she could finally wear it.

#tag games #nice little things #oc: qatesh laidir #qatesh laidir #gods she really needs someone who takes her shopping for fancy clothes #thanks again for the tag this was super cool to think about :D

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stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale · 7 months ago

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Y'know, it's unfortunate more people don't compare Louis and Violet in good faith.

Like, when I do see people compare them, it's usually through the lens of one is good, and the other bad. One is more canon than the other, and here's why. One is objectively better for Clementine, and the other is less impactful, worse written, didn't have chemistry with her, insert several insults here, etc.

I don't think it's inherently bad to express why you might not like one of them, or why you prefer one over the other. That's fine, that's a matter of opinion. It only gets to me when it becomes hostile, or passive aggressive... but even then, I've learned to just roll my eyes and move on. Some people make it very clear that they're not worth having a discussion with.

However, I wish I could read more nuanced comparisons of the two that didn't default to the "and that's why this one is better." At least some are kind enough to tack on a "for my Clementine" at the end.

You know how it goes: Louis is cute and he makes Clementine laugh, whereas Violet's boring, her love is shallow, she's still not over Minerva and she's using Clementine as a rebound. Violentine's a bad ship because Violet's actually a traitor, and they're practically the same person and that's bad.

Violet's loyal and reliable, whereas Louis is annoying, he never takes anything serious, he's a traitor for his vote, and he's nothing but a distraction. Clouis is a bad ship because how could any Clementine possibly like him after he voted her and AJ out? That's bad!

That's always the conclusion, right? One good, one bad.

This is incredibly limiting and it drives me nuts.

They're foils. They contrast one another, highlight each other's strengths and flaws, in such an interesting way that it makes Clementine's choice between them all the more meaningful.

One is not good and the other bad, they're different, and I think that's worth exploring.

Let's start with a common argument: Violet is the more impactful option due to her connection to Minerva.

Now, to be fair, I can understand why someone on Team Violet would believe this. Yes, it's true that the confrontation with Minerva is more impactful for a violentine shipper who has more investment in Violet as a character. Louis doesn't have as strong of a connection to her.

However, what they're failing to recognize is that Minerva isn't the only ghost to haunt this narrative. Violet may have Minerva, yes, but Louis has Marlon... and that doesn't just go away once Marlon's dead.

Violet's route has Minerva as her ex-girlfriend, and her bond with Tenn that all comes to a head on the bridge. Louis' route has Marlon's death and how that specifically impacts his relationship with AJ and Clementine, and the slow burn of forgiveness on all sides.

Marlon and Minerva are also reflective of Clementine's worst outcomes.

Clementine and Marlon were tied together through Brody's blood splattered on their hands and faces. They both killed a part of Brody, but only one of them lies about who killed her first.

After Marlon dies, Clementine gradually replaces him throughout the game; Rosie is her dog now, she uses his bow [which Louis gave her], she becomes the leader. Clementine gets them to fight back, and when three of her people are captured, she doesn't cut her losses. She does what Marlon couldn't; "we're getting them back."

When she chooses Louis, he does for her what he never did for Marlon: he steps up.

Clementine proves she won't become Marlon just as she proves she won't become Minerva.

After getting James to agree to help them, Clementine and AJ talk about what to do if she ever gets bit. AJ says he'd want her to bite him, too. He repeats this sentiment after she's actually bitten, telling her he wants to stay and they could turn together, peacefully.

When Minerva confronts them on the bridge, she's dying... and she wants Tenn to die with her. She doesn't care who she has to kill in the process. She's more monster than human at this point, and most times, she succeeds.

They're both bitten. Clementine could've become a monster like Minerva in the end. She could've killed AJ, and they could've become walkers together. But she didn't. Minerva wanted Tenn to die for her, and Clementine wanted AJ to live for her.

Also, I should mention she has Minerva's axe. She carries the key weapons associated with Marlon and Minerva throughout different points in the game, further solidifying these connections. She uses Marlon's bow to save her friends, and she uses Minerva's axe to save AJ, who in turn uses it to save her.

What's also so interesting about this is how Marlon's alive in episode one, and Minerva is thought to be dead. Louis has his best friend, and Violet's lost hers. But, at the end of the episode, Marlon's dead and Minerva's revealed to be alive.

Marlon becomes the ghost, and Minerva becomes the monster. Clementine becomes to Louis and Violet what Marlon and Minerva never could... how does that not drive anyone else insane?

So, no. One is not objectively better, or more impactful, because of a connection to Marlon or Minerva. They're different. It just depends on which storyline you personally find more compelling.

Actually, let's talk about that a little more.

In my opinion, the most intriguing point of comparison between Louis and Violet stems from their perceptions of survival, and how that impacts Clementine.

An argument I see made against violentine is that Violet's boring because she and Clementine are too similar. This usually comes from clouis shippers who prefer the "opposites attract" dynamic Clementine and Louis have.

On the flip side, there's the counter argument that Louis is reckless, that he doesn't take survival as seriously as he should and Clementine wouldn't want him because of that.

These are interesting to me because I get where they're coming from... but they ultimately miss the point.

The other day, I replayed TFS. Except this time, I did something a little bit differently. I played my usual clouis route, but then I had the violentine route pulled up on my laptop so that I could watch these scenes, comparing them side by side… and something occurred to me.

Louis is about challenging Clementine's perception of survival, and Violet is about validating it.

Louis challenges Clementine from the very moment we meet him—he’s playing music. His initial philosophy on survival butts heads with Clementine’s. The fact that hunting with him and Aasim challenges your perception of “your choices have consequences.” These games have conditioned the player to think along the lines of, “Yeah, Louis is more fun… but if I don’t hunt with Aasim, we won’t have any food.”

Except that’s just it. I hate to say it, Aasim, but in the grand scheme of things… hunting with you doesn’t matter. It's actually less rewarding. You know why? Because in the next section, we get food from the train station. It would’ve been more beneficial to spend time with Louis over hunting, hence how he challenges you.

This then primes you for the choice between choosing to follow Louis or follow Violet. I know people complain about how this is presented with Violet doing something productive [checking the walls] and Louis playing piano… but that’s the point. If you’re going through with Louis’ full route, you need to meet him at his level, and in turn, he will meet you at yours. You need to accept the challenge, the idea that Clementine isn’t entirely right about the way she’s gone about survival.

Oh, and do I even need to mention the vote? The debate over Louis’ vote is exhausting. Often times, people tell on themselves in how they talk about it. It’s not actually about the fact that he voted against them. If it was, these people would have a bigger bone with pick with Mitch, Willy, Ruby, and Omar… and yet Louis is the one who takes all the blame as if he’s the only one personally kicking them out.

Louis is reacting to the death of his best friend, and the complicated feelings that come with it being caused by AJ. He wants accountability, even if he knows something's wrong. You can either agree with him that it was murder, and set AJ on the path of atonement… or, you can double down and tell him to fuck off, AJ was justified.

But here’s the thing… the vote adds to the appeal of Louis’ route. To someone who hates him, or at the very least is critical of his vote, that sounds mad or delusional.

Except it’s really not.

Ever heard of a thing called tension? Because there’s a lot of it in ep2 between clouis + AJ and it’s fantastic.

Yes, Louis voting them out is problematic because we need a problem to solve. We need something to feed the tension between him and Clementine. He stepped in front of a gun held by his best friend in order to protect her, forever changing their relationship… only for that to seemingly be taken away from us the moment AJ shoots Marlon.

Yes, Louis’ route is about being challenged, but it’s also about challenging him. That he’s able to forgive them, that he’s able to question his own survival philosophy and understand theirs, that he’s able to apologize and actually change for the better… that right there is what makes clouis so damn good.

He becomes hardened whereas Clementine softens. By the end of the game, they’re on a similar level now without neglecting their differences, and they can move forward together.

That’s what makes Louis’ route appealing… and it’s also what makes it unappealing to people who prefer Violet.

By contrast, Violet’s already on Clementine’s level when it comes to this perception of survival. She validates that Clementine’s on the right path.

They have other similarities in the way that they’re both female, queer, they both have a kid they look after, they’re not always great with other people, etc.

People who prefer Louis might consider this boring, but I think to Team Violet, it’s comforting. It’s comforting to have a partner who takes this as seriously as you do, who wants to get shit done. They’re playing Clementine with a similar attitude, and don’t believe it needs to be challenged. It’s comforting to feel validated on something you already firmly believe in.

We also see this if we compare the hunting and fishing scenes. You have to make an effort to choose Louis by choosing to neglect hunting, but the game makes you fish with Violet no matter what.

Violet’s prioritizing fishing because they need food. That’s what they’ve set out to do, so let’s do it. The game is letting you know that’s the case, and if you value that, continue pursuing her.

While fishing, they discuss why things are weird with her and Brody. Violet doesn’t take well to Clementine’s blunt, “Because you make it weird. Brody tries and you just make fun of her."

That’s understandable because I think she already kind of knows why and is looking to have her feelings validated. She prefers it when Clementine suggests that it’s because Brody never said sorry for what happened to the twins.

There’s also comfort and validation in the way Violet sides with Clementine and AJ after Marlon’s death. She votes for them to stay, vocalizing how much she disapproves of the results. There’s this feeling that I recognize from a lot of the sapphic romance I read; “it’s you and me against the world, I’ll always have your back, even if you’re in the wrong, I’ll fight for you.”

In our case, it’s violentine + AJ against the rest of Ericson, save Tenn and Aasim. Violet validates that AJ was justified because Marlon was a liar and murderer, claiming that AJ and Clementine did nothing wrong. Violet fights to keep them.

The tension between violentine in ep2 is different because instead of one pushing the other away, they’re being forced apart by the vote and there’s nothing they can do about it. That tension is somewhat released when Clementine comes back and they’re reunited, working out a plan to best defend the school.

It’s also why Violet’s presented as doing something productive when you follow her instead of Louis, and why she asks if you want to hang out after checking the defenses.

All that being said, allow me to reiterate that one is not good and the other bad, they're different. These concepts of challenge and change/validation and comfort exist on a neutral road as diverging paths. It’s up to the player to pick what path they prefer, but that doesn’t mean the other path isn’t worth acknowledging or analyzing.

I should also mention that they’re not exclusive; there is overlap with validation being present in Louis’ route and challenges in Violet’s. They’re just more present in episodes 3 and 4 after we’ve made our decision.

There are several more examples of how this all fits together, buuuuut–

Ya’ll wanna compare some allegories?

Those familiar with my content might already know where I’m going with this as I’ve made a post about Louis and the piano in the past.

You see, I believe that there are allegories for Louis and Violet’s hearts present in their routes: Louis’ piano, and Violet’s pin.

I already have a thorough, in-depth analysis of Louis and the piano that you can read, so all I’ll say about it is that on the night of the raid, he asked Clementine to carve a piece of herself into his heart so that no matter what, their initials will be immortalized together in its wood…

And that makes me fucking feral.

But I'm also so normal about it.

As for Violet, her heart is the star gazing pin she gives to Clementine. She gives it to her so she’ll always remember that night… but she doesn’t give it to her until after Clementine’s saved her, and that fascinates me in the context of it being allegory.

Louis asks Clementine to carve herself into his heart right before the raid, cementing that from that moment on, he is utterly devoted to her. I believe this is part of the reason why Louis is still happy to see her if he’s the one who’s captured. Yes, yes, he’s also incredibly traumatized from having his tongue cut out and he’d be happy to see anyone, yada yada… but listen, if you romance Louis and he’s captured, his heart remains with her—that piano with their intitals is on full display. When he sees her, he’s still so devoted to her that he refuses to accept that it’s at all her fault. Even when she says it is, he shakes his head... and he so easily accepts her when they’re together in the end. From the moment Clementine puts knife to wood, he’s hers.

Now, look… you might think I’m going somewhere not great with this but hear me out.

I think after Clementine’s gone star gazing with her, Violet is fully ready to give her heart to her. Y’know, give her the pin. But, think about what Violet said about how people have left, but Clementine came back. Plus, with the impending raid to think about, maybe Violet should keep the pin until the right moment.

I believe a key difference between her and Louis is that Violet needs one last thing to solidify that Clementine’s the one.

Louis gives her his heart prior to the raid because of everything that’s already gone down between them following Marlon’s death. Violet needs to know that Clementine’s willing to fight for her the way she fought before. When Clementine saves her from the raiders, it’s solidified. Even after she sees Minerva again, it changes nothing.

It’s also worth noting that the pin is something Clementine wears. Like the piano carving, it’s a piece on display for everyone to see, to let them know whose heart Clementine has.

Violet literally handed Clementine her heart as a means of saying, “I’m yours. I’m devoted to you.”

This is why romanced/captured Violet is devastating, and is why she behaves the way she does in the cells. She was so ready to give her heart away and then nope, sorry, Vi! You get knocked unconscious by raiders instead!

If anything, you kind of deserve to be told to fuck off if you romanced her and then let her get captured. Just sayin’.

Look, I have a lot of complicated feelings about the captured violentine route, mostly with Violet being as forgiving as she is after her eyes are burned—yes, yes, I know, her eyes are burned and Minerva messed with her head so of course now she’s not hostile, yada, yada.

But I think it’s rather telling that you don’t get the pin in this route. Sure, Violet’s willing to forgive and possibly pursue this romance in the future… but she’s not ready to hand over her heart, not truly. Not after everything that’s happened.

And if you want to get extra angsty about it, imagine that Violet made the pin right after they parted ways, but before the raiders came. Meaning that if she’s captured, it’s possibly still sitting somewhere, abandoned.

Mmhmmm, very normal about this. I feel normal. My normalness about this continues... normally. I'm not losing my shit thinking about that. Nope. Why would I? I wouldn't! So normal.

Okay just let me talk about their reactions to Tenn's death and then I'll shut up.

This makes me want to gnaw my own foot off, I can barely handle it.

AJ shoots Tenn on the bridge because Clementine trusted him to make the hard calls. This saves Louis or Violet's life.

When Louis jumps across, he's completely silent as he watches Tenn die... and then he's pissed; "What the fuck?! How could you just shoot him like that?!"

AJ explains himself, that he did it for him, and Louis is so upset that he forces AJ to look at what he's done, to watch the walkers eat Tenn; "Tenn's dead. He's dead! Do you realize that?! Look! [...] He's... he's gone, because of you. Just fucking gone."

If Clementine says AJ saved his life, Louis says, "So what, we just cut him loose? Gun him down like he was nothing?"

If Clementine says nothing, Louis says, "Tenn was just a little boy!"

The reason Louis responds this way is because in this moment, he just relived Marlon's death all over again, but worse. So, SO much worse!

When Violet jumps across, she breaks down, begging, "Oh, my God! Oh, my God! No, no! No, no, no..." as she watches Tenn die... and then says to AJ, "No! What the fuck?! How could you do that?!"

AJ explains himself, that he did it for her, and Violet is faaaar from okay; "For me? I can't... Tenn is gone! That soft little boy who liked to draw, he's gone, because of you!"

If Clementine says AJ saved her life, Violet says, "You think that's okay?! Just gunning down one of our own?!"

And there it is.

Louis is hardened in this situation because he already went through this... Violet hasn't, not with AJ. She softened up throughout her route due to her relationships to him and Clementine... but this is the moment where she realizes that maybe AJ wasn't as justified as she believed, and this is the consequence.

This leads us to the ending where AJ asks if they're still mad about him killing Tenn, and I just... I'm biting my foot right now because the script has flipped.

Louis is forgiving and understanding. He's soft, he's sympathetic, he shakes AJ's hand to let him know that all is forgiven and they're okay; "I... AJ, I guess it's like... You saw something I didn't. About the situation, I mean. Minnie and the walkers and Tenn, it's just all this chaos in my head when I think back on it. [...] Clem says you saved my life? Well, then, that's exactly what you did. And how can I stay mad at anyone for doing that?"

Or, alternatively, "He was your friend, AJ. I know you are hurting just as much as I am."

As for Violet? She's understanding, too... but she's not quite ready to forgive yet; "The thing you said on the bridge...that he was messing up all the time. It wasn't something new, you know. Tenn got himself or other people into trouble all the time, long before you guys got here. He was always so lost. He lived in a world that just...isn't there, you know? And that's why I tried to look after him. But when I was pulling him away from the walkers, and Minnie, I could also see...he just wasn't there anymore."

"So you're mad, but sad."

"Can I be that for a while?"

And it's completely understandable that she's hurting and struggling with how she feels about AJ moving forward! She wants to be okay, she wants to forgive him, she just needs time.

Now, because I'm forever bitter, but I'm gonna mention this as well: whenever I see someone point at Violet's scene and say, "See!? This is how LOUIS should've acted in ep2!" like... they're telling on themselves again. Not just that they don't understand Louis as a character or his route, but that they don't fully grasp Violet's part in this either. Or time frames, for that matter.

Let me put it to you in simple terms... they react the same.

After Marlon and Tenn die, they're upset. They're pissed. They blame AJ and yell at him. After they've had time to process what happened [Louis after the two week time skip, Violet after time passes between the bridge and the ending] they share the same, "I'm still upset about Marlon/Tenn. Can I be that for a while and still be your friend?" sentiment.

The difference is that Louis is treated poorly for it because of the vote, and because we feel it first hand for longer... Violet got to grieve off screen and come back after she's sorted herself out.

It's a disservice to both of their characters because it's rooted in that same mentality that I criticized at the beginning: "This is why one is better than the other."

Do I need to say it again? I'm gonna say it again.

One is not good and the other bad. They're different.

There are so many fun discussions that could come from putting Louis and Violet side by side, and examining them. I haven't even covered the different ways they're introduced, or compared their ep3 dates to see what it says about them and the overall narratives! What about the cell scenes!? How they react when Dorian's about the cut off their fingers! The way they approach James upon meeting him!

That last one in particular is especially funny! They're all under stress about blending in with a herd of walkers to infiltrate a boat to save their friends, and yet Louis easily saunters up to the guy wearing walker skins with a smile, and makes him laugh by saying, "Functional and fashionable. I'll take two."

Violet approaches James like he's an injured wild animal that's going to bite her, and bless her heart, she tries with, "I, uh… hey. Hey there, James. Sorry about Willy." Then James gives her this judgmental side-eye, like buddy? She's not the weirdo here.

There is so much potential to dissect here, and I want to see people do it... but I want them to do it fairly, in good faith.

I want to get away from the idea of comparing them to "prove" which is better because there is no objective better. There isn't! That's a waste of time!

I'm so done with The Debate™; it's unhelpful, it's annoying, and it's boring as shit. I've heard it all before, and you probably have, too.

I want to put Louis and Violet under a microscope and study them with the thought process of, "one does this and the other does that... what does it mean!? what does it say about the narrative!? Oh my god, they have the same opinion on this thing, WRITE THAT DOWN!"

So yeah, that's my ramble for the night.

I'm gonna go replay TFS for further research.

#twdg #twdg clementine #twdg louis #twdg violet #twdg aj #twdg tenn #twdg marlon #twdg minerva #twdg clouis #twdg violentine #clouis #violentine #i'll be real honest with you--i had a larger essay planned on this topic #that expanded on these ideas i've put forth here; especially the challenge vs validation thing and the allegories #but there were some parts where i could feel my personal bias slipping in too much...#like i had more to say about clouis than violentine at points because i'm more familiar with it #but then it didn't feel fair y'know? that's why i wish more people would talk about them like this #so that i could get different perspectives without having to deal with terrible 'one good one bad' arguments like they're so UNHELPFUL #i don't wanna hear about how much of a bitch you think vi is because she's angry in her cell scene #and i don't wanna hear about how 'well ACTUALLY it doesn't make sense that ANY clementine would romance louis because of the vote' STOP #to be fair tumblr isn't as bad with this. i'm mostly referring to fandom spaces outside of tumblr like reddit insta youtube etc #though tumblr certainly has had its moments #i dunno i'm just gonna throw this out there and then continue to work on the essay i want to and am able to fully write #and if people want to engage with it then fantastic can't wait to see what y'all have to say

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