#I have been reading some cool fics lately and I have not seen too much Amorra fanart

[chocolate-cringymuffin]

His mouth curves as he sees what he must do. "Fate is odd, Korra. I tried all my life to prove that I was stronger than the Avatar, and I had to wait until my death to do it." He stares intently into her watering eyes to make sure that she hears the words: "Forgive me."

…?

I am not fine and neither are you now :)

NO BUT SERIOUSLY GUYS I NEED YOU TO UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH PAIN THIS CAN MAKE YOU FEEL

Trigger warning for the tags in the fic

[awrkive]

NEIGHBOR BLUNDER, pt. 3 — JJK

in hindsight, you should have seen it coming. had always known your luck – or lack of it, thereof – and the universe's meticulous plan of your downfall made it easy for you to get tangled up in a series of unfortunate events, which presents itself as the neighbor that lives across from you, jeon jungkook.

PAIRING jungkook x (fem) reader

GENRE r18+ (fluff, angst, smut) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

CHAPTER WORD COUNT 18.7k

CHAPTER WARNINGS/MISC neighbor!jk, bsf!jimin, accountant!oc software engineer!jk, jk and jimin are chaebols lol, minjoon boyfriends <<<<3, mature language, lots of screaming into your pillow moments, litol bit of #domesticity, FLUFFY FLUFF FLUFFFFFFFFFFFFF, angst if you squint??????????, the x file spoiler lol, suits cameo (me inserting my niche interests into conversations), the biggest warning of this part is: naked jungkook 💀

NOTES sorry for being almost 3 hours late efhkjdhfd i overestimated my abilities a bit mb mb anyway, AGAIN, i want to thank you guys for the overwhelming support! i want to take this opportunity to announce that i'll be taking a break from nb for  around 2 weeks to work on my new jungkook one-shot fic that i will be posting for his birthday ❤️ if you are interested, i have posted the teaser on my tumblr page. LASTLY pls let me know your thoughts!! i LOVE LOOOVEEE reading every single one of your replies/reblogs/asks. i hope you enjoy this one and have a good weekend ahead!!!!!! 

NB!JK VISUALS | TAGLIST OPEN (REPLY IN THE COMMENT SECTION. PLS DO NOT SEND AN ASK ABOUT IT)

READ ON WATTPAD | AO3

PART ONE | TWO | THREE

You always wonder how a company this big seems to not have any budget lent for a copier that actually works – something that one doesn’t need to violently slap just for it to function perfectly.

You’ve been a victim not just once but five times to its inefficiency, the recent mishap being a month ago when the ink blots jumped right over the cuff of your shirt. 

With the way that you’ve been harassing the copier at the very moment, you’ll say it’s about to do you wrong for the sixth time and you absolutely can’t let it happen anymore – not when you’re currently wearing a white polo shirt that stupidly costs a little too much more than anything in your wardrobe (you decided to spend a little more than usual last New Year’s).

So, with a last unnecessary kick to the bottom of the machine (out of pure spite) you left the copier room of your floor and think, fuck it – go to the IT department and ask Taemu to back you up from his supervisor so you can use their copier instead – which is something you’re not so sure of. 

It’s embarrassing to go there just to ask him for help. Not with your history. But admittedly not that much of a history. After all, he seems to be cool with you and everything seems to be pretty chill. You can just go there; ask a little favor from a friend, and then hurry down to your floor.

There are some other options, though. Like, you can always ask the intern to do it for you. But the thing is, you kind of feel bad for those three. Your co-workers are doing a lot already; asking to fetch them things all around the building, buy them snacks, stuff like that. There’s another one but she’s way too quiet and didn’t really take shit from any of her seniors… which is kind of intimidating – but she's someone you wish you were when you were also an intern. You personally don’t want to help cultivate a somewhat toxic journey for the other three because you also started the same way as them. Beyond that, it would also be too rude to ask favors from Taemu indirectly.

You’re ultimately left with little and only one choice.

The elevator dings and the doors open after it does so. 

One of the people in it is a woman you’ve never met around before. Long, black hair; tailored suit, slender figure, and a posture that screams she’s never hunched her back in her entire life. 

Other people that entered at the same time as you start to bow their heads down slightly and greet a polite, “Good afternoon.” 

You mirror their gesture as well. 

As you step inside and settle on a spot, you wonder who she is. 

An executive, maybe? She looks very put-together, and there’s authority that hangs over her frame… but exceptionally young in the physical aspect. Jungkook is also young, though – and he’s an executive, so that’s entirely possible. Additionally, others seem to know her. Or they're just pretending to know her like you did. Did you miss a ceremony? A meeting? Or did you gloss over some HR email again? You’ll have to check later to find out if that’s the case. 

Anyway, your curiosity doesn’t last long when the elevator doors open once again, indicating the IT department floor. 

You already texted Taemu awhile ago that you were on your way so he should meet you on-time. 

As you walk down the hallway with your phone in your hand, your attention is caught by a familiar voice.

“Hey,”

You look up from your phone and see Taemu waving not too far away, heading towards your direction. It doesn’t take him long to get near you. When he does, you give him a smile.

“Taemu, hi.” You say as a small greeting. Taemu lifts his hand and you thought he was going for a high-five, so you lift your hand as well to meet the gesture. But then he leans in closer, one arm about to enclose your waist, and that’s when you realize he was actually gearing up for a hug.

Taemu seems to register that you weren’t exactly going for the same thing, so he steps back. He seems shy when you look at him in confusion.

“Oh, okay, sorry,” He offers his hand again, but just when you’re already thinking about hugging him because that was what he originally meant to do, he speaks just as you lean in closer to hug him. “I thought we were high-five-ing?” 

Embarrassed, your hands retreat to yourself.

“I thought... you wanted to hug?” You chuckle. 

“Okay, let’s just—” Taemu steps closer again and this time, it’s more than clear to you what he wants to do.

You reciprocate the hug he gives.

“This is so stupid.” You say, chuckling against his neck. The contact is quick as you two simultaneously break apart.

Taemu laughs at your remark, nodding his head. Then he gestures ahead, pointing to the direction of the copy room.

“Your copier not working again?” He asks as you walk down the hallway together. 

You heave a sigh. “Yeah, they really need to change that one. Anyway, have you told Mr. Lee?” You ask, referring to his supervisor. 

Teamu nods his head, opening the door to the copy room for you. 

“Yeah, it’s fine with him. Just sign the logbook and stuff.” 

“Thanks, Taemu.” You say, quickly getting to work, feeling slightly delighted at how their machine smoothly does its job and not like the one at all in your department. “Hey, I’m really sorry for bothering you with this.” You lament as you wait for the paper to slide out.

Taemu waves his hand, shaking his head at you. “It’s fine.” 

You purse your lips into a thin line, giving him a somewhat apprehensive smile. The paper comes out and you get your thing. After a quick scan to see if the copier got everything right, you look back at Taemu to say, “Thanks again, Taemu. I really appreciate this.” 

“No worries. Anytime.”

When you announce that you’re done, Taemu calls your name.

“Hm?” You hum, looking at him and wait for his next words.

He looks coy when he rubs a hand on the back of his head.

“Can I take you out for lunch?” He says, and you still in your position. Taemu seems like he surprised himself with his own words. You open your mouth to speak but then he beats you to it quickly, “It’s not a date. I phrased that as a date – but it’s not – ah, this is all coming out wrong,” Taemu chuckles, interrupting himself. With his hands in his slacks' pockets, he leans to a random table inside the room and looks at you with a more confident stance this time, as if he just gave himself a quick internal pep talk after jumbling his words. “What I meant to say is, if we can go out for lunch together today?” 

You chuckle. You were just about to say yes. Contrary to his assumption, you didn’t really take his first question as an invitation for a date. Besides, he helped you with the copier today.

Nodding your head, you offer him a grin as you say, “Yeah. I’ll go to lunch with you.” 

Taemu walks you to the elevator even though you said he doesn’t need to. He's insistent but you let it, anyway.

Taemu puts his hands on both sides of the door before it closes. The ride is pretty much empty except for yourself.

“When are you off?” He asks.

You think about it for a moment. “Is 12:15 okay?”

Taemu nods. “Sure. See you at 12:15?” 

“Yeah. Later.” 

The elevator closes and you laugh to yourself when you catch Taemu awkwardly waving his hand at you goodbye.

“No, you didn’t, I kicked your ass at mini golf!” You say, laughing as Taemu looks at you with squinted eyes, obviously saying that was absolutely not what happened on your date a few months ago.

“Uh, you disregarded all the rules.” 

You roll your eyes. “Okay, fine. Rules do not matter, though. It’s just some stick and a ball and… fake grass.” 

Taemu laughs, surrendering his hands to the air, nodding when he says, “Fair, fair.” 

You’re currently at a restaurant not too far away from your company building. It took Taemu and you about five minutes to get here; just a quick waiting time to cross the pedestrian lane to get from one street to the other.

Looking around, you can actually see some people inside wearing your company lace. The restaurant’s sort of like a famous spot around the company, though, so it doesn't necessarily surprise you. You’ve also had a few company dinners here some time ago. 

Safe to say, lunch with Taemu is going… okay so far.

No – actually, it’s way better than you thought it would be.

You could have never, ever predicted that you’ll be out with him alone again after… you know, ghosting him. Your whole assessment of his character has also changed a bit after the whole fiasco.

See, some guys start feeling entitled over your permission and consent when you entertain them even just for a bit. When you go on dates and you break it to them that it’s just not working out between you two, they start to act weird. Like you’ve hurt them. Or that you lead them on – even though it’s absolutely not the case. 

But Taemu’s proving himself to be different. You honestly expected him to act like that guy because he seems the type after your first date. But he surprises you by acting the total, complete opposite.

He’s so… nice. So casual. Like nothing happened. You feel bad because right now, you've officially confirmed to yourself that you totally misjudged him. 

You can’t believe you’ll say this, but Taemu is not an asshole. Like at all.

Even now, you’re recalling what happened to your date and laughing about some of the memories of it, and it feels so long ago you’re starting to remember it differently.

“Anyway, this milkshake’s really good,” you say, taking your glass and looking at it curiously. 

“Yeah? I told you,” Taemu grins, eating from his own plate. 

“You always come here?” You ask out of curiosity since he seems to be familiar with the menu. 

“Sort of? I mean, I try to take in the city as much as I can.” You nod, recalling what he told you before. He came from Daegu, and it’s his first time in Seoul.

Before you can say anything to that, the waiter comes to your table and gives you your bill. 

Taemu and you simultaneously take out your wallets. When he sees you do it, though, he’s quick to shake his head, gesturing for you to not bother.

“No, no, it’s fine. I got it.” 

“I got it, too,” You say, smiling at him, already picking out your card, ready to put it inside the check presenter.

“__,” Taemu says your name while chuckling. “I swear, it’s fine. I was the one who invited you for lunch.” 

“Taemu,” You call him, using the same tone he used. Taemu grins at that. “I think we should split the bill.”

It’s only fair, you think. You ate pretty much the same thing.

You hold what felt like a minute staring competition until Taemu gives in and lets you stack your card on top of his in the booklet.

You’re about to resume eating – pick up on the conversation you left a few minutes ago – when your phone dings on the table, a message popping out on the notification center.

When you read the contact name, your eyes widen but you relax your face real quick lest Taemu asks questions. 

“Sorry,” you say, pointing to your phone. Taemu nods, understanding. You pick the device in your hands, turn to your other side to not be rude, and read the text from Jungkook. 

Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:47pm]: hey I bought you lunch Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:48pm]: i was gonnna ask you to go with me earlier but I got busy with some papers 

Shoot.

You’ve done a pretty good job of not thinking about Jungkook at all for the entirety of the day. You woke up so early this morning that you waited for twenty whole minutes for your bus just so you can avoid seeing Jungkook because everytime his name pops up in your thoughts, you remember what you did the night before and it just messes with your head so much.

Listen, you aren’t embarrassed about trying to get yourself off. It’s just masturbation. It’s a carnal need and it’s totally normal. What you are not proud of is the way you thought about him – out of all people – and how it actually made you feel… a little more motivated to get yourself there. 

But it’s a slip-up. A big mistake. 

How are you supposed to look him in the eyes after that and act like you didn’t do what you did? Granted, you did stop before it escalated. But still, the point is that you thought about him while you were pleasuring yourself. Even if it was for a tiny bit second, it still counts!

Stupid fucking ovulation, you think to yourself with bitterness. You’re a much better person without it, you swear. You don’t go around thinking about men when you try to get yourself off, not at all! Personally, your head is mostly blank when you go through it.   

But Jungkook left two texts. And he’s probably seen the read tag on his end already. 

You [12:49pm]: I just got lunch ): thank you for buying me one tho that’s really nice ofu

You turn your phone off after sending your reply, placing it on the empty space of your table. When you look at Taemu, he’s eyeing something behind you. With furrowed brows, the question about what he’s looking at is on the tip of your tongue when he suddenly says,

“Isn’t that Mr. Jeon?” 

“W-what?” You stammer, not sure if you heard him right.

The knots on Taemu’s forehead fades, and then he nods to himself. “I’m pretty sure that’s Mr. Jeon. He’s going this way.” 

“Wha—”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jeon.” Taemu stands up from his seat and does a slight bow for greeting. 

Without thinking about it, you mirror Taemu’s action, bowing your head longer than necessary. 

“Good afternoon, M-mr. Jeon,”

It’s no use to avoid his gaze, though.

When you look at Jungkook, he seems pretty much just as surprised to see you. You look away, but your eyes fall to his hand, and you see that it carries a take-out paper bag from the restaurant. You think about his text. 

“Good afternoon.” Jungkook says with an easy-going smile. He goes from surprised to casual real quick and glosses over you as if he doesn’t know you. 

You don’t really know how that makes you feel. 

“I was just going, have fun with your lunch.” He says and politely bids his goodbye, going straight to the direction of the restaurant’s door. 

“He’s really cool, you know?” Taemu brings up when you both sit down again. 

“I— huh?”

“You must have heard about the new project they’re starting at the end of this month, right?” He asks curiously.

You sit there stunned. Stunned from earlier’s interaction with Jungkook but also because you don’t really know what the hell Taemu’s talking about.

“No… I didn’t get any memo…?” You say instead, trying not to act way too oblivious lest he thinks you’re lazy or something. Not that it matters! You’re not trying to impress him or anything. 

Taemu nods. “Well, you’ll probably know about it soon.”  

But your head's too far gone now, still stuck on what happened a minute ago.

You look over at your phone while Taemu speaks, hoping for it to light up with a new notification from the messaging app. 

A few minutes passed by and it doesn’t, even when you leave the restaurant.

You don’t really know why you’re here. 

It’s been three days since that night in Jungkook’s place where you tried to bake in his kitchen, so it’s also been three days since you started practicing during the nights after work to perfect your cookies. Tonight, it just so happens that the cookies finally taste edible and honestly, it’s more than okay. 

So, maybe that’s why you find yourself in front of Jungkook’s door with a plastic container in your hands, decently-baked cookies prettily arranged inside. 

Jungkook was with you when you made those pathetic excuses for cookies, so you thought it’s only fair for him to try these ones and tell you what he thinks. Brag a little. Maybe have a little chitchat if he’s free or whatever.

It’s also… sort of like a peace offering for something he doesn’t need to know about. You can’t tell him you’re sorry for thinking about him when you did the deed because that’s just plain weird. 

Speaking of weird, though, the interaction from yesterday left you feeling a little empty. There’s this gnawing feeling inside of you that something went wrong – but you can’t exactly point out why. Jungkook also hasn’t texted you after that – which isn’t out of the ordinary. You don’t text everyday and you don’t meet every single day, either – for the record. You’re both busy people. You can only imagine Jungkook’s schedule.

Anyway, if there’s anything that you learned about your friendship with Jungkook, it’s that you don’t need to lie to him. You just have to knock on his door and he’ll unintentionally clear your doubts by being the voice of reason because he’s nice like that. 

You do hope though that tonight clears any weird air between you. Maybe you’ll find out later on that there’s nothing weird going on at all and you’re just overthinking stuff as usual. 

You’re about to ring the doorbell twice when the door finally opens, showing you Jungkook still wearing his polo shirt. He looks like he’s just gotten home from work, red tie undone around his neckline and a few buttons popped open. 

“Hi.” You smile. 

“Hey,” Jungkook looks at you, obviously wondering what brought you to his door.

“I wanted to give you this,” you hand him the plastic container which he takes with a confused look. “Those are cookies. I baked them. I didn’t give you anything when I baked two nights ago because they were bad.”

“Ah,” Jungkook nods, looking down at the plastic. He smiles, then leans on his doorway. “So it’s good now?” 

You gesture a so-so with your hand. “Don’t set your expectations too high. It’s not exactly Poilâne. But it tastes like matcha cookies, I swear.” When Jungkook doesn’t say anything for a while, you decide to add, “You also won’t get food poisoning, if you’re worried about that.”

Jungkook gives you an amused look. “I wasn’t… worried about that.”

“It’s a simple disclaimer. Just in case, you know, you suddenly feel weird in the stomach…” Jungkook arches his brow while you trail off. You roll your eyes lightheartedly. “I’m kidding.” 

He lets out a chuckle and then stands upright. “Thank you for this.” 

“No worries,” you say. You shift your weight from one foot to another. “Uh, do you wanna grab dinner? Right now?” 

Jungkook looks at you apologetically.

“I really wish we could, but I have to finish something tonight. Work stuff.” 

“Oh,” You nod immediately. “Okay. Uhm, good luck with that.”

He smiles at you. Lifting the container up, he arches his brows, saying, “Thank you, again. It looks good.” 

“Yeah, I hope you like it,” You say. Realizing that there’s nothing more left to say, you turn on your heel ready to go. But before that, you look back at him one last time. “Bye.” 

Jungkook grins.

“I’ll text you what I think about them.” He says, pointing to the cookies. 

“Okay, Anton Ego.”  

You both laugh at that, and you enter your apartment with a small smile on your face.

You don’t want to admit it even to yourself, but you might have taken Jungkook’s words about reviewing your baked goods too seriously that you waited for it last night longer than necessary. Even when the night ended and you go to work the next day, which is today, none of his texts come, and you don’t think anything’s coming anytime soon. 

You try not to think about it too much because he did say he’s busy with work. You’re sure that’s the case, so you feel slightly bad for him. 

Right now, you’re looking for Ms. Seo to get her signature on a document. So you head to the elevator, rushing a bit to get inside the one that’s about to close. It’s a little urgent, so you cannot waste any more time.

As soon as you enter though, you notice who’s in it.

It’s Jungkook and the woman you saw in the elevator two days ago. 

You’re starting to think you need to start using the stairs from now on because your elevator trips are getting too ridiculous. 

It feels like you’re running on auto-pilot when you greet them both, walking to the side to make space for the other people entering. 

You wish you went beside the woman instead and not Jungkook’s side because you then have to try real hard not to look at him.

It proves to be an uneasy task when more people squeeze in as the elevator takes a few stops in between floors. You had to taut all the muscles in your body just to not get into any contact with Jungkook, but even with all the effort, it goes unsuccessful, as you brush his arm when you step back to move a little. 

Jungkook looks at you the same time you do.

“I’m sorry.” You utter, low enough to not cause any unnecessary attention.

A few do turn to stare, anyway. And you can’t help but notice the way the woman’s hand moves towards Jungkook’s to hold it as she takes a look at you. 

Jungkook, meanwhile, gives you that same professional smile he seems to have reserved for every employee that greets him around the building, warm voice saying, “It’s okay.” 

You’re thankful that the next floor is where your stop is.

As you go back to your cubicle, you wonder who the woman is. Again.

There's something about her that feels familiar. She looks familiar. Like you’ve seen her before. You can’t just figure out where exactly. 

“__,” Sol calls beside you. 

“Huh?”

“You’re not having lunch?” She asks.

“Oh…” Right. It’s currently your break time. “Are you guys going out?” You say, looking at Joonhwi who’s two cubicles away from you.

Sol shakes her head, taking her coat from the back of her chair. “No, just at the cafeteria.” 

You nod your head. “Okay, I’ll follow in a few minutes, just need to look over some stuff here,” You point to your computer. 

“Okay. Just text me.” 

You give Sol a smile and watch as she and Joonhwi head out of the office. 

Your gaze falls to the time on your computer.

12:10pm. 

Is Jungkook possibly having lunch right now? You remember him buying you one two days ago and feel a little sense of regret about not taking it even though it isn’t your fault and he should’ve told you first to give you a little heads-up.

You never really talked about it. You never really talked for the past three days.

But then again, he seems to be busy.

With a little hope in your heart, though, you pick up your phone and decide to send him a text. 

You [12:12pm]: hey do u want to go out for lunch? 

Or should you just buy him one like he did for you? It’s not like you’re trying to up him in a kindness competition. It can just be a small, thoughtful gesture from a friend to a friend. 

You receive a reply a few seconds after. 

Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:13pm]: hey __  I’d love to

Your lips curl down when you read the next one that comes in a second.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:13pm]: but I have a work meeting in 5mins

Oh. Okay. That tracks. 

You [12:14pm]: okii!! That’s totally cool! good luck with work 😊

You stand up from your chair and take out your wallet from your bag, going out of your office and sending a quick text to Sol that you’re coming to the cafeteria. 

When you get there, your peripheral vision catches a familiar figure. 

You look back, trying to see if it’s someone you know.

Turns out it is. Because it’s Jungkook.

You’ve seen him in the elevator this morning and he wore a grey pair of suit. You’d also recognize his stature anywhere, but just like how it was inside the elevator, he’s with the woman again; long hair down like it was yesterday, this time adorning a suit dress that hugs her figure really well, her stilettos making her legs look longer but somehow Jungkook still stands a little taller.

For the very brief moment that you laid your eyes on them, you saw how Jungkook had his hand placed on the low of her back, how she laughed at something he said, and how they looked good together from your point of view. It seemed like they were on their way somewhere.

You realize that was what Jungkook meant when he said he’s busy.

They say a silver lining comes in every worst situation possible, and you’re more of an optimist rather than a pessimist so usually, you believe in the concept of silver linings even though right now – it looks like it’s going to be winning the jackpot in the lottery or… free education for everybody across the world.

“The contractor estimates it would be a week-long repair.”

“One week?” Is your immediate response, disbelief coloring your tone. “I’m sorry—” You try to fix your tone, salvaging yourself from being seen as outright rude in front of your building manager. “You mean seven whole days?”

The building manager, Mr. Han, nods his head. He looks genuinely apologetic as he delivers the news, for the record.

“That’s… really long.” You say, albeit calmer now. But you still can’t imagine it.

“It’s just an estimate. Contractor said it might be faster than that, but they still need to do a full assessment of your unit tomorrow, together with the water damage restoration company. We’re doing all we can to respond to the situation. We’re also talking to your upstairs neighbor about the stipulation of his negligence.”

You nod along to his words.

Obviously, it’s his job to ensure everything’s taken care of, but still, you’re appreciative of the way they are going about the current situation. You’ve heard horror stories about tenants getting into arguments with their building managers or landlords when their apartments experience accidents.

“Can I ask about relocation?” You ask. You have to read your lease again to make sure.

“Unfortunately, it’s not indicated in your lease policy, but your renter’s insurance should cover it. You can also talk to your landlord about reducing your rent for this month due to the inconvenience.”

You nod, giving him a small smile. “Okay. Thank you.”

The plumber and some of the help the building manager employed to dry up your place from the accidental flood had already left a while ago, and soon, Mr. Han’s figure disappears entirely after a few seconds as you watch him walk down the flight of stairs and away from the building.

You can hear the loud whirring of the air movers placed inside your unit from where you stood on your porch. Your hair’s damp, including some spots on your work clothes from the water that trickled down your ceiling as you panicked earlier to pack some of your belongings in a medium-sized luggage you managed to grab in the timeframe.

It’s the state that Jungkook catches you in when you see him emerging from the stairs, looking like he also just got back from work.

“Hey, what happened?” Jungkook, with his brows furrowed, looks at you with worried eyes, sounding equally concerned.

You sigh. “Hey,” you greet weakly. “My apartment got flooded.”

“What?”

“It’s the upstairs neighbor. He apparently left his tub running while he went to work this afternoon,” You take a sharp breath, getting pissed again at the negligence. So goddamn stupid, really. “He flooded his own place and the water leaked to my ceiling, and when I got back home from work I was welcomed with two inches of water on my floor.”

“What the hell?” Jungkook says in disbelief. You nod at his reaction. That is exactly what you said when you heard the story from the property manager. “Are you okay?” He asks, and you appreciate it.

“Not sure about that.” You answer honestly.

Jungkook furrows his brows. “You called your landlord immediately?”

Letting out a sigh again, you nod and move to sit on your suitcase – the lonesome bag that you’re planning to bring with you to wherever the hell you’re going to stay tonight. You don’t even think you have enough clothes in it.

“My place is a complete wreck. Most of the water’s drained, though, and the building manager brought some help inside and they put air movers inside to dry the place right now.” You blow air to the strand of hair that escapes from your ponytail out of frustration. “It’s a shitshow, I know.”

“Good that they responded fast,” Jungkook comments, but concern is still etched on his face as he asks you, “Have you called your insurance company yet?”

“Yeah, we’re emailing right now.” You tell him, showing your phone. You hate sending email through such a small device but you left your laptop back at the office – which is kind of a good thing, now that you think about it – because it would’ve gotten flooded had you left it in your place.

“Did you document everything?”

Your response comes in a little curt.

“Yes, Jungkook. I did.” The onslaught questions just somehow seemed to prompt irritation in you, and you can’t help but add, “I know everything I have to do. I’m an adult.”

Predictably, you render Jungkook surprised.

“I— I didn’t mean it like that. I apologize.”

When you look up at him, you see his expression softening – and you feel bad for what you just did.

Chill, __. He’s just asking logical questions.

“No, I’m sorry,” You shake your head, feeling a little ashamed for bursting like that. You shouldn’t have talked to him like that, anyway. “I don’t know why I snapped, you’re just asking the important questions.”

Jungkook hesitantly hovers his hand on your shoulder, and the look he gives you seems to be asking for permission to touch you. You don’t even know if that’s his intention, but you give him a nod.

He smiles, tapping your shoulder for a brief second, saying, “It’s okay. You must be really stressed right now.”

“You think I can’t be calm in this situation?” You look at him with a blank expression. Jungkook’s taken aback and you witness the very split second his smile drops form his face, probably thinking he said something wrong. Then you can’t help it, you break. “I’m just fucking with you.”

Jungkook’s brows furrow as he sees you bursting into a gentle laugh, breaking your serious demeanor.

He shakes his head slowly, seemingly incredulous of the stunt you just pulled.

“You and your jokes…”

“You should’ve seen your face.”

“You got me.” Jungkook chuckles.

“I’m sorry… it’s just me trying to ignore the fact that my apartment literally got flooded and those loud and big ass fans they placed inside are about to tear my ears off.”

You see the way Jungkook’s face winces.

“Where are you staying for the night, then?” He asks.

“I don’t know,” you shrug, genuinely not sure about your options. “Probably gonna book a hotel or something.”

Of course you’ve thought about Jimin. He can probably easily help you find a place for the meantime but it’d probably be hard with him not being physically in the country just yet. Sol also crossed your mind, but you remember she has a roommate.

Getting a hotel to temporarily stay at is the most obvious option there is. It would be too much of a hassle, not to mention expensive, but—

“You can stay at mine for the night.”

You think you’re getting around to Jungkook offering you help without you even asking – but it doesn’t mean you still don’t get a little taken aback when he gives it so willingly and so quickly like this.

“No.” You shake your head.

“Seriously.” Jungkook stares at you.

You stare at him right back.

“I can’t.”

“Why?” He raised his brow.

“I can’t think of reasons right now.”

“You don’t need to think at all.”

You squint your eyes at him, he does the same.

Soon enough, Jungkook breaks first and laughs.

“Come on! You’re gonna freeze in here.”

Hesitantly, you say, “… Are you sure?”

“What are you worried about?” He cocks his head to the side, awaiting your response.

Well. There’s a lot to be worried about.

There’s the thing where you always just seem to be caught into some shit and then he catches you right exactly in it. It’s starting to get embarrassing.

But Jungkook just doesn’t really seem to mind it.

“Nothing, really.” Is what you weakly settled for.

“Okay…” He trails off, raising a brow, obviously a bit confused. “Then what’s the big deal? Do you really want to go through the hassle of picking out hotels and booking a room at this hour? You have to go to work tomorrow.”

You visibly wince at the mention of work.

He’s right and you kind of hate it.

“You’re right…” you say after a while.

“You’re staying at mine?” Jungkook asks again, in which you nod your head in confirmation.

You stand up from your suitcase and pull up the handle. Then you look at him sincerely to give him a smile. “Thank you. I think this is like the five hundredth time this kind of thing happened between you and I.”

“Not counting.” Jungkook shrugs. “Have you had dinner yet?”

You nod your head. “I went with a friend— a co-worker.”

Jungkook visibly stills.

“The guy from a few days ago at the restaurant around work?”

You perk up at that, surprised he still recalls that day.

“Yeah, that’s him. Taemu. From the IT dep.”

He nods. You don’t know if he’s interested or not.

You think it’s a bit random that he brought that up, though, but you shake the thoughts away and call his name.

Jungkook looks at you.

“Thank you.” You say, hoping he hears the sincerity in your voice.

He chuckles. “You’re welcome,” Jungkook then gestures to the luggage you’re holding. “Let me.”

Jungkook doesn’t wait for you to say yes before he takes the handle from you and carries the luggage with him to the direction of his place just across from yours.

You consciously try to make your steps lighter as you walk out of the shower box, making your way towards your suitcase to check on the clothes you packed.

When you open it, you thank the heavens that there are underwear – and a lot of them, for the record – but as you rummage around some more, you find that other than your work clothes, you only have nightwear inside. And when you say nightwear, not the comfortable cotton pajama kind but the nightie one – and that basically means the baby blue silky set of tiny camisole and shorts that can pass as a pair of panties.

I can’t possibly wear these, you think to yourself, hastily burying the pieces of clothing in the bottom of your luggage.

It shouldn’t mean anything – those are nightwear after all! But it was already embarrassing to ask Jungkook earlier if you could use his shower and his towel. You can’t come out of the bathroom wearing clothes that Jimin once tagged as “slutty pjs”. Not when you’re in Jungkook’s place.

“__?”

You look over to the door when you hear Jungkook’s voice, a knock following.

“Yes?” You answer.

“Do you have clothes in there?”

At the question, your gaze automatically falls to the suitcase where the thin strap of the camisole peeks out in between some other clothes that are completely useless for the night.

With hesitance, you say, “Uhm… do you possibly have a shirt I can borrow? I promise to clean it and return it to you tomorrow, ASAP.”

You hear him chuckle from the other side. “I brought you some. There’s also a pair of sweatpants but I’m not sure if they’ll fit you.”

It’s hard to not celebrate silently when Jungkook says that – but you might have jumped a little at his words.

When you walk towards the door and open it, you give Jungkook a huge smile as you tell him, “Thanks!”

He stops. And then you stop.

You realize you’re only in your towel – his towel, to be exact.

You feel the blood rushing to your cheeks the moment it registers.

Before you can do or say anything, Jungkook moves on quickly and stretches his arm, thrusting the clothes he’s mentioned into your way.

“There.” He says simply, smiling at you.

You take them from his hand, giving him a smile too, albeit a bit awkward.

“T-thanks.”

Jungkook turns on his heel to leave, and you lock the door to the bathroom as soon as he walks away.

You settle his clothes on top of the flat surface of the lavatory, physically shaking your head as you look at yourself in the mirror to shake your thoughts away.

Thoughts of his slightly parted lips when you opened the door while you’re only in a towel.

But it happened in such a split second that you’re not sure if it even happened.

When you take his white shirt, it feels soft to the touch and there’s a scent of fresh laundry that wafts through your nose when you wear it on yourself.

It’s loose on you, the sleeves almost covering your whole arms and the hem stopping mid-thigh. But because of that, it feels comfortable – like the oversized shirts you wear to bed that you, unfortunately, weren’t able to pack with you in the heap of panic.

But the pants show a different case. It’s so big that it drags on the floor as you wear it.

You made do, though; drawing the strings tightly and and knotting them together, pulling up the gartered hems up to your calf.

When you come out of the bathroom, Jungkook welcomes you with nothing but a towel wrapped around his lower half.

“H-hey,” You stammer, eyes meeting his own to avoid looking at his naked torso.

“I was just going in. You done?” He casually says, as if he doesn’t mind being naked in front of you.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m done. Thanks for the clothes.” You say, gesturing across your body.

“Looks good.” Jungkook comments before entering the bathroom.

You think your cheeks just got impossibly hotter.

The sound of water running is heard before you scramble to the living room.

Why was he naked?!

Okay, he wasn’t actually naked naked but still, he had no clothes on. Why did he have no clothes on? You’re trying to erase the image of his torso, the lines that draw an obvious four-pack, his firm-looking chest, and the way the tattoos over his right arm apparently go way above his shoulder. It’s obvious that he goes to the gym and works out from the way those polo sleeves of his always hug his biceps a little too tight – and with a body like that, you completely understand why he wouldn’t mind parading it around.

The AC in his unit is turned on, but it suddenly feels way too hot from where you currently sit on his couch.

Shut up. Ugh. You tell yourself internally.

Completely wanting out of that headspace, you decide to take out your iPad to get in contact with your insurance company to discuss your current situation, and it does a good job of keeping your mind off Jungkook for a while.

You’re so deep in the activity that you don’t even notice a few minutes has already gone by, and with that, you don’t notice Jungkook coming out of the shower.

When you see him in your periphery, he’s now thankfully dressed in a shirt and some basketball shorts. He’s drying his hair as he walks over to your direction in the living room.

You look at him in surprise when you notice the pillow and comforter he has in his hands.

“Sorry. You should’ve called me, I could’ve helped,” you say, standing up from the couch, ready to help him with it, assuming that you’ll be on the couch tonight.

Jungkook looks at you with furrowed brows. “I’m taking the couch.”

You stare at him, ready to hear him say he’s kidding or something but he doesn’t look like he’s joking.

You shake your head vigorously.

“No, that’s ridiculous.”

“What’s ridiculous about it?” Jungkook says, putting the pillows on the couch, starting to make it all the while looking at you through the process to engage.

“It’s your place.” You reason.

“And you’re my guest.” He says as a matter of fact.

“But—”

Jungkook cuts you off before you can even finish your sentence.

“__, it’s fine, really. You can take my bed. I insist.”

“Jungkook…” you trail off, sounding more like a whine.

He laughs and then looks at you with a playful smile. “Okay, should we compromise? Like, what, share the bed or the couch?”

You ignore the way your cheeks heat up at the suggestion.

You honestly don’t know why Jungkook says these kinds of things. You know it’s just his usual teasing, but he’s about to confuse you one of these days…

“God, no.” You respond with a shake of your head.

He chuckles. “Oh, is sleeping with me that repulsive to you?”

You push a little at his shoulder and roll your eyes.

When Jungkook’s done fixing the couch, he gestures to the door by the far end of the room. “Come on, I'll take you to the bedroom.”

You both walk towards that direction and as much as you’ve been over his place for more than once now, you’ve actually never seen his room – and for the record, why would you?

But it looks nice. Just like the rest of his apartment’s interior, his room is also almost the same. Kind of bare, but there are some sleek furniture that add character to the whole place.

“Too cold?” Jungkook asks, and you look at him to see him holding the remote of his AC.

“The temp’s fine.”

He hums and puts down the remote.

“Alright, then. Just call me if you need something.” Jungkook says, gesturing to the door. He’s about to leave when you call him again.

“Good night, Jungkook. Thank you for your bed.”

“Good night, __. Uh… sweet dreams?”

You roll your eyes. Jungkook laughs.

When he leaves, you sit on his mattress covered by black duvets and sheets. It’s soft, and you let yourself bounce on the fluffy surface, delighting at the feel.

It’s about the same size as yours, and when you lay on it, you smell that usual scent that Jungkook always emanates. Clean, crisp, a little sweet. Like fresh apples. Or fresh laundry. He just always smells so… clean.

You feel a little sense of strangeness at the different environment you’re in, but the bed is too soft that you feel like you’re almost floating – and maybe it’s because you are tired from work and drained from the whole fiasco at your apartment, but you fall asleep fast and heavy within just a few minutes.

You almost jump from the bed when you open your eyes and see a different type of bedding, only to realize that you’re actually not in your apartment and in Jungkook’s instead.

After processing that, you begin to do a little stretching, finding that you slept quite well. As you do so, your eyes catch the digital clock on the bedside table, and you read 4:30 am.

It’s a bit too early to start getting ready for work, but maybe if you start prepping now, you’ll be ready to go out just as when Jungkook is waking up.

When you stand from the bed, you discover the absence of pants around your waist, the cold air sending goosebumps over your bare legs – and as expected, you see the sweats getting caught in between the heaps of dark sheets on the bed.

You must have taken it off in the middle of the night. It’s why you usually forgo pants when you sleep.

You decide against wearing it again, though, assuming that Jungkook is still sound asleep by now so he can’t possibly see you walking around his place naked from the waist down. Besides, the shirt’s big and almost serves as a dress.

Carrying the pants with you, you silently open the door to his bedroom to tiptoe on your way to the bathroom.

“Hey,”

“Jesus christ!” You clutch your heart at the sudden sound of Jungkook’s voice booming across the unit.

When you look at him, he’s… working out. Apparently.

Jungkook takes out the airpods from his ears and drink from his tumbler.

“What are you tiptoeing for?” He asks, brows furrowed.

From where you stand, you see droplets of sweat on the side of his forehead, his chest heaving from the push-ups you catch him doing a few seconds ago on the mat that he laid on the floor. There are small weights on the side, and Jungkook is still wearing his clothes from last night.

Did he possibly just… wake up and then choose to exercise? Is this his everyday routine?

“I didn’t want to wake you,” you make up an excuse that’s kind of partly true. He slept on the couch in the living room, after all. And from the sala, everything is pretty much visible to the eye as the unit has an open layout. So one single noise could’ve awakened him.

“Too late for that,” Jungkook chuckles. He looks at you longer than a second and you’re just about to get conscious when he asks, “You get ready for work at four?”

You purse your lips into a thin line. “Sort of. I also have to check my place.” Jungkook nods, understanding. “Uh, Jungkook?” He hums to acknowledge you. “Can I use your shower? Again?”

He laughs at the way you smile at him awkwardly. “Sure. Your towel’s just over the rack.”

“Thanks.” You smile at him and go straight to the bathroom.

You make quick work of washing yourself, and the shower, just like last night, isn’t your usual routine because of course, most of your stuff are still over at your place. Though Jungkook is kind enough to lend you some of his unused products – even giving you a spare toothbrush which now sits beside his own on the bathroom sink.

When you finish showering, you wear his shirt and his pants once again. As you go out of the bathroom, the sound of oil popping from the kitchen doesn’t escape your ears.

“I made breakfast.” Jungkook says as you make your way towards the kitchen island. He’s a few steps away, working around the stove, frying up some sausage. He takes some eggs and then turns to you. “How do you like your eggs?”

You’re sure he doesn’t mean anything by that, but then you both laugh at the realization anyway.

“Sunny side up.” You say after a while, seating yourself on one of the high stools. “Can I help you?”

“It’s okay, just sit there.”

You put your elbow on the island as you watch him work. “Wow, do you really treat all your guests like this?” You tease, deciding to poke a joke.

Jungkook laughs as he starts breaking eggs into the frying pan.

“You’re the first one.” He raises a brow your way, lips tilted into a playful smile.

“Awe.” You pretend to curtsy which makes Jungkook laugh.

It doesn’t take long before Jungkook serves you a plate of sausage and perfectly-made sunny side up. You say a delighted “thank you!” in which Jungkook returns an adorable smile for.

You thought he was going to eat with you, but he only ate the sausage and began to work on cutting up some bananas while you continued to eat.

“What did they say about your apartment? How long is the repair?” Jungkook asks while he takes out a mixer.

“Week-long,” He visibly winces at your answer. You purse your lips. “I’m trying to look for a place to stay for the remaining days.”

Jungkook furrows his brows. “Lease doesn’t cover relocation?”

“Talked to the building manager and the landlord last night and they said it doesn’t. I also read the policy again myself last night, though, just to be sure. Anyway, landlord’s cutting my rent this month for up to thirty, so that’s something.”

“Okay… how about your stuff?”

As you watch Jungkook during the whole conversation, you realize that he’s apparently making a protein shake, and when he finishes shaking the bottle, he gestures it towards you, silently asking if you want to try it.

You shake your head, also answering his question. “I already filed a claim on it with my insurance company, so they’re handling it for me. They’re probably going to seek reimbursement from my upstairs neighbor’s insurance if he has one,” You shrug. “And I’m also gonna have to ask him to pay for the deductible.”

Jungkook nods, consuming his drink. You watch as he leans back on the kitchen sink, putting his protein shake down and crossing his arms, looking right at you.

“Why don’t you stay here for a while?”

You look right back at him weird.

“You’re not serious.”

“When am I not serious?”

You hold a staring competition after that, but Jungkook’s eyes are way too intense so you break away first.

“I just can’t.” You say, interrupting the silence.

“It’s friend to a friend. I bet you’d do this for me too.” Jungkook shrugs.

He doesn’t understand, though. Staying at his place for the remaining six days would mean that you’d be both living under the same roof together, and while it’s true that you would probably do this for him if he was in your shoes, it’s just not the same.

But you don’t want to get into all that. It’s too complicated to explain, even to yourself.

So you decide to joke a little.

“Probably not.” You tease.

Jungkook chuckles. “Mean.” He comments, shaking his head at you and playfully clicking his tongue.

“I’m joking,” you smile apologetically. “It’s just for six more days, though. The manager told me it might take faster.”

“Where do plan to stay, anyway? A hotel would be really inconvenient. The nearest one around here is too far from work, not to mention it’d be expensive as well.”

“There’s loss of use coverage,” You say, even though you know the stipulation, and your apartment flooding because of your neighbor’s negligence might probably not be in the clauses.

It’s just to reason with Jungkook, but he’s quick to present another point.

“It’s gonna take a long while, no?”

You pout. Sighing, you say, “You’re right.”

“Okay, so why not stay here?” Jungkook asks curiously. “You know I don’t mind. I won’t mind.” He says and it sounds so convincing and genuine.

You decide to deflect a little because you feel like giving in any seconds now.

“You say that but wait until you find that I’m not very likeable as a roommate.”

Jungkook raises a brow. “Shoot. Hit me.”

Pursing your lips into a thin line, you try to think of your bad habits.

“I…” you trail off, but it stretches into seconds way longer than necessary.

Jungkook chuckles. “See, you can’t even list one.”

“I don’t cook.” You point out.

“I already know that.”

You frown. “So we can’t take turns cooking while I stay here.”

Jungkook only shrugs. “There’s take-out.”

“You’re gonna eat take-out for a week?”

“I can cook.” He chuckles.

“Okay… but sometimes, I get super cranky.”

He nods. “I’ll be out of your way, then. You won’t even notice I’m here.”

You sigh, out of reasons now.

“I’ll try to be helpful with you in the kitchen for the next six days. And I’ll also be nice.”

Jungkook’s brows perk up. “You’re saying you want to stay here?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “But… I wan to pay you.”

“__, the whole reason why I’m offering is because a hotel is gonna cost you,” Jungkook laughs.

That prompts you to put a frown on your face.

“Fair point. But I’m going to take your couch the entire time, okay? And that’s final.”

It takes a little longer for Jungkook to agree to that. But he nods his head, anyway, saying, “Sure.”

It sounds so non-committal. You think he's going to still try insisting taking the couch.

“Okay.” You say, ignoring that thought, smiling at him. “Thank you.”

“You know you’re always welcome, right?” Jungkook says.

You’re thankful he turns around after he says that to tend to the stuff he used a while ago in the sink, giving you a perfect leeway to avoid his gaze lest he takes notice of the way you can’t help a big smile.

“I’m gonna take a shower. Finish your breakfast.” He says, pointing to your unfinished plate. 

You give him a small salute.

Before he goes to the direction of the bathroom, Jungkook turns around to ask. "Do you want to go to work together?" He raises a brow, but then a second after his question, he puts a hand up, effectively stopping you from answering. "You're gonna say no. But I insist. Say yes, I made you breakfast." 

You laugh at his squinted eyes. 

"I was going to say yes, anyway."

"No, you weren't." Jungkook fires back. 

You shoo him away playfully before he finally leave for the shower.

All you can think about is that maybe silver linings are indeed true.

Sharing a space with somebody has always felt… weird.

You had a roommate back in college for the whole four years, and while it wasn’t the worst thing that ever happened to you – it was just an experience that didn’t really strike you as something memorable or fun. Min Heeji was a Bio major who was an extreme introvert, and past the casual hi’s and hello’s, you both just never hit it off.

After moving out of your dorm, you rented around Itaewon. You found the unit through a listing you saw on Facebook – some woman who was finding a roommate to split the rent with. You found out later that the reason why the previous people before you left was because she was quite an interesting lady… let’s just say – she was a person who dabbled on the arts of illegal drug trading. Jimin jokingly told you he wondered about how her weed tasted like. Sometimes, you want to smack him on the head.

You pretty much decided on being against roommates for the entirety of your life after that.

But Jeon Jungkook is thankfully not a total hermit, nor does he sell weed.

It’s been long since you lived with somebody, and being under the same roof as him is different – the good kind of different, to be clear.

He’s somewhat a clean freak so it’s almost embarrassing to do anything in his place because it’s always so spot clean.

One thing that you learned though is that he’s a busy man. You had an idea about a packed schedule and non-existent free time for an executive person like him – but the idea feels more real now that you’ve witnessed it.

On the first day of your stay, after your apartment got flooded, he drove you both to work just like he offered. During the night, though, he seemed to have come home late. You slept at around 10pm and never saw him entering the door, and when you woke up the next day, he’s gone, only a note on the fridge telling you that he’s prepared some breakfast you can heat up to eat.

Nonetheless, you feel into quite an easy routine with him.

After a great deal of insistence from your side, Jungkook is rightfully assigned in his bedroom while you lay on the couch. It’s a bit bigger than the one you have on your own, so there’s space for moving around. Even when you wake up with shitty back pains in the mornings, sleeping on his couch is better than sleeping in your current wreck of an apartment as the contractor is already repairing your place.

As of the third day since the incident, they’ve already changed your ceiling, the flooring coming next. It was starting to look good as per your visit.

That made it clearer to you, though, that you’re indeed staying at Jungkook’s for another four days.

Jungkook was so busy that he even worked on a Saturday – told you that it was a hectic week for his team over a shared dinner that you thought will happen only once during your stay with his packed schedule. On Sunday, you kind of assumed that Jungkook will still be at the office, but he surprised you when he came barging in the bathroom while you were in it.

You had your leg propped on the edge of the bathtub, squeezing the bottle of lotion in your palm and spreading the cream over the skin of your shin, adjusting the towel up your thighs so you can cover your entire leg with the product.

You did so mindlessly, part of your usual after-shower routine, completely unassuming of the sound of the doorknob clicking and Jungkook suddenly barging inside the room with a hamper in his hand.

Frozen in your position, your eyes locked into his own as he stepped a foot forward on the tiled floor. You realized the hamper is his laundry.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were here,” Jungkook apologized, and he looked genuinely bashful.

“I thought you were at work.” you said, adjusting the towel on the top of your head.

Jungkook raised a brow, but there’s a smile on his lips. “On a Sunday?”

You narrowed your eyes at him which prompted him to laugh. A beat of silence, and then you noticed Jungkook’s gaze. You felt his eyes to the direction of your raised leg on the porcelain tub – and if your own sight didn’t deceive you, you could’ve sworn he’d made a quick glance-over to the expanse of your bare leg before he snapped right back into looking at your face.

“Anyway, I was just gonna do my laundry,” Jungkook twisted himself away from the bathroom’s door. “I’ll wait for you to finish, though. I’m sorry again for barging in.”

At that, you quickly shook your head and planted both your feet on the tiles, standing upright.

“No, it’s fine. I’m done, anyway. Are you in a hurry? I just need to change into some… clothes.” You said, glancing at the heap of some pajama pants and a t-shirt on the bathroom sink.

“Not in a hurry. You can change here.” Jungkook gave you a small smile.

You nodded your head. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I’ll be super quick.”

Your lips curled into an apologetic smile, but Jungkook waved you off.

He took one last look at you before he locked the door – one thing that you forgot to do in the very first place.

You blamed it on your habit of not really being mindful about it since you were used to living alone.

The day after that – one fateful Monday – Jungkook once again was MIA at his own place. You woke around 6 am, and as you got ready for work, you noticed a note on his fridge that he went to work earlier than usual that day, and he’d also be working late so you should lock up at night.

At the company, you did not even catch a single glimpse of him.

You bought some food on your way to his place later that day, thinking that maybe you could share a meal together – nevermind the fact that he had told you he was going to be home late. But you did not expect his “late” would exceed past 11 pm, and since you were also pretty much tired from your own activities for that day, you fell asleep on the couch without making it, lying on the surface with no pillows and comforter over your body.

In your dreams that night, you felt like you were floating.

Somebody has tucked their arms under your knees and neck, taking you off the previous surface you were lying on. The unfamiliar man cradles your body against his, carrying you somewhere and putting you on a much softer place. A mattress. A big, soft, mattress. And you noted that the man smelled of green apples and laundry. An almost familiar scent.

Needless to say, your dream was quite vivid that night.

When you woke up the next morning, you were welcomed with the familiar grey paint of the walls – the white ceiling, and the dark sheets and pillows that surrounded you. A waft of fresh laundry smell. The Iron Man figurine on the top shelf of the cabinet in the corner of the room. The black slippers on the side of the door that are way too big to be yours.

Jungkook.

The strange man in your dreams was Jungkook. And it wasn’t a dream at all.

It was Jeon Jungkook who carried you all the way to his bedroom from the sofa so you could sleep comfortably on it.

When you went out of his room that morning, ready to thank him and tell him he didn’t have to do what he did, feeling bad at the thought of him sleeping on his couch at his own place, Jungkook was nowhere to be found.

But as if it was becoming tradition, there was a note on his fridge that told you: I hope you don’t mind that I brought you to my room. I found you uncomfortable on the couch last night. Didn’t cook us breakfast because I have to go to work early again today, but I’ll have food delivered at around 7. Good morning, __ :)

     — Jungkook.

That night, though, Jungkook miraculously came home early.

He arrived an hour after you, just in time as you finished doing the prep for the bibimbap you were planning to eat on your own, assuming Jungkook was going to be late again. When you saw him entering the door, you decided to make the portions of the ingredients bigger, thinking that it was the perfect opportunity to say thank you for the other night.

And you did not forget to say that either.

“Thank you for last night. You didn’t have to…” you trailed off, giving him a sheepish smile across the dining table as you both ate.

Jungkook, with his mouth full of rice – seemingly (thankfully) enjoying the meal you prepared for him – munched on it before he said, “You looked real tired. And uncomfortable, which reminds me, you should sleep in the bedroom as well tonight.”

You shook your head. “It’s fine, Jungkook. Last night was just – uh, I was waiting for you to come home because I didn’t want to just lounge around your living room while you aren’t around, but then I guessed you arrived a little late.”

Out of all the things you’d said, it seemed Jungkook only remembered one thing.

“You were waiting for me to come home?” He said, his hand reaching for the side dish pausing mid-air, eyes trained to you. Curious, his brow piqued in what seemed like genuine intrigue.

You stopped. You went over your words, not realizing those came out of your mouth.

Obviously, you didn’t mean for that to slip out.

So, you shook your head slowly. Hesitantly, you reasoned, “It’s just you’re always in your room first before I fix the couch for bedtime. So.” You shrugged, knowing your explanation didn’t suffice.

Jungkook gave you a nod with small a smile on his lips.

“I’m sorry for making you wait, then. It’s just extra busy at the company these days.”

Your brows furrowed in curiosity, “Yeah, I heard about the collaboration with Kang Tech.”

You found out about it at work that day. It’s in the accounts payable you’ve worked on the past few days, and when you asked Joonhwi and Sol about it, they confirmed the recent moves the company is recently making.

You also realized then that the reason why the mystery woman in the elevator was familiar to you was because you’ve seen pictures of her before.

Of course you’d know her. She’s the woman Jimin’s parents are trying to set him up with. The one and only Kang Heesu. She took over as CEO just very recently at Kang Tech.

Apparently, Blue Nexus and Kang Tech are collaborating on a product that will be announced later during the month – which explains her being at the company oftentimes, Jungkook being busy, drowned with work stuff – them working closely together.

Whatever you felt on that day you saw them together – you’d like to dismiss that as just a blip in the system. Your system, to be exact.

It isn’t any of your business whoever gets around with Jungkook. Whether he’s close with Kang Heesu outside work or not (like what you’ve pondered about ever since finding out about the information of their collaboration) – that’s their thing.

“Yeah, the team’s been working overtime because of it.” Jungkook added to your words from earlier.

“So, you’re more tired than I am,” You pointed out, noting the obvious. He went to work at the ass-crack of dawn, went home late, and whenever he was home – all he faced was his laptop.

You even doubt he was getting enough sleep. There were bags under his eyes that weren’t there the past month you first met him – and even though he carried them with a certain grace, you could still see that some of the shine in his eyes was becoming absent.

You were glad you were able to prepare something for him. Did something for him. You didn’t have to – but you did. Because you wanted to be a helpful roommate.

“Does it show?” Jungkook chuckled, leaning back on the chair, a bashful expression on his face.

You shook your head. “Nope. But yeah, you don’t need to give up your bedroom tonight. I’ll be fine here.”

“I actually bought something. Wait a minute,” Jungkook suddenly said. Your brows furrowed when you watched him saunter over the living room and in towards his bedroom. When he came back to the dining area, he was carrying a huge paper bag. You looked at him, visibly confused. Jungkook cleared his throat as he sat back down on his seat. “I was thinking you could use this. It’s a foldable cushion or whatever so you can sleep more comfortably on the couch.”

You gawked at the paper bag, and then at him.

“What?”

“I went to the mall yesterday and the lady told me this is one of their best sellers… I don’t know. Do you want to have a look at it?” Jungkook said, worry seeping in his tone.

“That’s a… cushion? For the couch?”

He nodded.

“Oh.” Was the only thing you could utter. You didn’t really know what to say. “I… this is really thoughtful. You didn’t have to, you know that, right?”

Jungkook shook his head and gave you a small smile.

“Thank you, Jungkook.” You told him sincerely.

“It’s nothing.” He waved you off. “I got that dry-cleaned already, by the way, so you can use it tonight if you really insist on sleeping on the couch.” Jungkook said with a teasing smile.

“That,” you point to the paper bag, “will single-handedly get me to want to live here for another three months.”

Jungkook raised his brow. “Really?”

You chuckled, leaving the conversation up on the air.

When you both finished your meal, you offered to do the dishes yourself, but Jungkook was insistent to do it, saying you’ve already done a lot for the day. You begged to differ, but you relented, anyway.

After you showered and made the couch, geeking internally at how soft the cushion he bought was, you couldn’t sleep right away, your mind finding it hard to focus on the lull of the crickets. So, at around 11 pm, you opened your laptop to pull up an X-Files episode, thinking it could condition you into being sleepy.

You promised yourself you were just going to finish one more episode, but the next episode button was too tempting and you found yourself binging the show into the wee hours of the night.

“__?” A voice coming from the far end of the room called, followed by the clicking sound of the lights turning on. With that, you found Jungkook standing on his door with his eyes half-lidded, hands rubbing his chest, seemingly having just woken up from his sleep.

“Jungkook,” you acknowledged him, straying your attention from your show. Jungkook started to trot towards the direction of the kitchen, and your eyes followed him as he stopped in front of his fridge, taking some water out and pouring it into a glass.

After he drank it, he looked at you to ask, “Can’t sleep?” You nodded your head. He made his way towards the couch, pointing at it. “Would you mind?”

“No, do you want to?” You adjusted the duvet you put all over your back to make room for him, and Jungkook placed himself beside you, peering over the screen on your laptop.

“What are you watching?” He asked, voice a little groggy.

“The X-Files. You know the show?”

“Heard about it a few times. Never gotten around to watch it, though,” Jungkook said, leaning on the back of the couch, eyes still glued to your laptop.

You smiled. “Maybe you can start it now.”

“What’s it about?”

“Uh… aliens,” you started off, feeling a little silly about it. Gauging his reaction, you waited for him to give you a judgmental look but he seemed to be intrigued when he looked at you, asking for more details. You perked up that, feeling suddenly excited. “Okay, so, the guy here – his name’s Mulder. He’s an FBI agent who’s tasked on cases that have, you know, unexplainable nature. Basically, he believes in aliens, all that ET stuff,” you explained. Right on time, Gillian Anderson appears on frame. Pointing at her, you looked at Jungkook as you introduced her to him, “And the woman – she’s so pretty – that’s Scully. She’s a skeptic. She’s an FBI agent who’s also a scientist and was assigned to be with him to debunk his work.”

“So, they investigate cases together?” Jungkook added.

You nodded your head. “Yeah, and it’s different for each episode. There’s the alien storyline which is like, the main plot of the show, but there’s the fun filler episodes. Monster of the week, they call it. I’m rewatching one of those right now ‘cause they’re fun and don’t have a backstory.”

“It sounds good,” Jungkook looked impressed, training his eyes back on the show.

You weren’t sure if he was just trying to make a conversation, but he seemed genuinely interested as you both watched the show, which tickled your excitement more. You’ve tried to get Jimin into it but he wasn’t really an avid fan of watching long shows, so you’ve given up on trying to convince him to be as obsessive of the show as you.

“Do they kiss?” Jungkook suddenly asked mid-episode, brows furrowed as he watched Mulder wiped something off the side of Scully’s lips. It’s the episode when Scully just got back from being abducted.

Amused, you looked at him and let out a chuckle. Jungkook turned to look at you, confused at the reaction.

“Hm?”

You shook your head. “No, it’s just funny. So, there’s a thing in this show, right? Scully and Mulder are not supposed to be a couple, but they act like one.”

Jungkook let out a seemingly enlightened, “Ah.” Then he looked at your screen again, “I’m watching it right now out of context and I’m assuming they’re a couple.”

“Right? They have such insane chemistry. It’s why I love this show so much.”

“Wait. They never get together? Or kiss, romantically?” Jungkook asked curiously.

“They kiss on the seventh season. We’re on the second one.”

“Wow,” He breathed, genuinely surprised. “That’s a long wait.”

“I know,” you chuckled.

You both sat beside each other as the episode finished. Jungkook would have some questions, and you happily answered each one. It was also fun to share some lore about the show – and you didn’t know if you were coming off too geeky about it – you were just unbelievably excited that he seemed to genuinely like it.

Time passed without you both noticing, and it was 2:23 am when you became hesitant on clicking the next episode button.

“Do you still want to watch another one or…” You trailed off, eyes glued to the screen, waiting to hear Jungkook’s response. But then a few seconds passed, and you didn’t receive one. Turning your head to the side, your eyes widened when you see the state Jungkook was in.

He was leaning far back on the couch with his head resting on the backrest, arms crossed over his chest, lips slightly parted with his eyes shut closed. You could see his chest rising and falling from the way he breathed in and out of sleep, looking quite peaceful regardless of his seemingly uncomfortable position.

You shut your mouth and closed your laptop quietly, trying to be careful with your movements so as to not disturb him and accidentally wake him up. Stretching your back to lean down, your breath hitched as you tried to set the laptop down on the coffee table, not daring to graze any part of Jungkook’s body, especially when his thigh was so closed to your own.

When you successfully put away the device, you went back to sitting beside him, contemplating on your next move.

You ended up staring at him, noting the way his biceps are bulging out of the sleeves of his white shirt with a thin material from their crossed position. Your eyes trailed down to the veins on his forearms, and naturally, you focused in on the one with the swirls of ink around it. It was a body of art on the first look – but looking at it at that moment – close up and free, you took time to identify the drawings on his skin.

There was that snake that trailed down close to his hand, the skeletal rock n’ roll hand, and the script that says “rather be dead than cool”. It was a shame that you couldn’t see from your current view the flower tattoo you were always curious about, nevertheless, the entirety of his inked arm was just… breathtaking, to say the least.

You wanted to ask him what they meant – or if they even meant something. You knew by now he only got them in college – when he moved to the US – and you were just curious about how he decided to get them; about the backstory, anything… Would love to trace down your fingers on his skin as he tells you the exact moment.

And then you realized what you were doing and suddenly looked away.

You felt like a creep. What were you doing, staring at him while he was unaware, unconscious in his sleep? It was not right, and you were supposed to scoot over to the edge to give him plenty of space all for himself.

But as you looked at him again, your eyes stopped at his face, and you couldn’t help but stare at it.

Again.

His nose was something you weirdly have a liking to, and there’s a scar on his cheek that once again bubbled up another layer of curiosity within you.

“Stop it.” You mumbled out loud – not loud enough for Jungkook to hear – but just enough to snap yourself out of the trance you were in.

It was stupid. So stupid. To stare at a sleeping man and have those thoughts inside your head. Jungkook would never do anything like this to you, and at that sentiment, you stood up from the couch to get away.

You caught a sight of the duvet that you used a while ago. As you looked at Jungkook, he seemed to be in dire need of one, so you made quiet steps to put it over him, stopping your breathing in case you did it too loud and he wakes up.

As you carefully laid out the blanket on top of his body, Jungkook stirred, and your breath hitched as you stopped on your tracks.

He mumbled something incoherent, his neck craning to lay on his cheek. Regardless, he stayed on his position, arms still crossed, seemingly going back to his deep sleep instantly.

You stepped out in front of him, letting out a breath of relief.

Standing there for a few seconds, you wondered about where you were going to stay. Jungkook was on the couch and unlike him – you could not carry him to his room without him noticing.

Looking at the direction of said room, you thought about staying there for the night, but decide against it. You didn’t get his permission to do so, it’d be rude—

But the couch is only one, though. And you could feel a yawn ready to come out of your own mouth, sleep lurking at the back of your head.

You could try to wake Jungkook up to tell him to go to his room so he could sleep more comfortably, but you couldn’t do it. The past few days, he had been so busy with work and seemed like he wasn’t getting enough rest. What if you woke him up and he couldn’t go back to sleep anymore? That would just make you feel bad.

Getting the pillow strewn over the edge, you walked towards the direction and fixed it against the arm rest, sitting on the spot and making yourself comfortable on it. Of course, it wasn’t – you were craning your neck too far to the side to try to lay your head, and your body was sprawled in a weird sitting and lying position.

It was fine, though. Jungkook was about two feet away from you, and you felt like you could sleep in the state.

But it was a few long minutes before it completely overtook you.

There’s a feeling of a hard plane against your back when you feel yourself waking up.

You’re in a curled position, hands tucked under your cheeks. As much as you’re starting to slowly feel conscious, you’re still not a hundred percent aware of your surroundings just yet. It’s why you ignore the blow of hot air against the crook of your neck.

When you blearily open your eyes, you’re welcomed with the sight of the back of the grey couch you’ve accustomed yourself with over the past few days. The white foldable cushion you’re lying on. The familiar scent of Jungkook’s apartment.

It’s another usual morning, as far as you’re concerned.

So, you stretch an arm up as well as your leg, groggily mumbling something as you go back to closing your eyes again to hopefully sneak in a few more minutes of sleep.

“Hmm…”

At the sudden sound, your eyes snap open, surprised at the embodied voice that came out somewhere that’s definitely not from your own mouth. It was close, though – something close to your neck; you felt it so – and at that realization, your eyes trail down to your waist, and your breath catches in your throat when you see an arm wrapped around it.

Under your head is another arm that adorns a familiar sleeve tattoo.

When you crane your neck to look behind you, you’re welcomed by Jungkook’s locks of black and messy hair, his face apparently buried in the crook of your neck.

He must’ve felt you move because he stirs in his position, mumbling something, arm tightening around you.

You feel your heart starting to beat faster than usual as you feel the tips of Jungkook’s fingers resting on the bare skin of your stomach due to your camisole riding up, and your eyes continue to widen when you saw that the shirt he’s worn last night is now lying haphazardly across the coffee table where your laptop is.

When Jungkook pushes himself against you closer, that’s when you feel something hard against the cleft of your ass.

“Oh my god!”

“What the fuck!”

“I’m so sorry!” You immediately say, retreating your hands that just pushed him off the couch once everything registered in your head.

You just… slept with each other! You woke up with Jungkook spooning you! The hard plane against your back that you felt earlier was his chest and the hot air blowing in your ear was his breath! You both fell asleep together on the couch!

Jungkook – the poor man – visibly winces as he cradles the back of his head, adjusting himself on the floor after you forcefully yeeted him off the couch.

He didn’t expect that, of course he didn’t! He still looks like he’s half asleep when you kneel on the floor in front of him, grabbing his shoulders and craning your neck to check if you’ve done damage to his head.

“What the hell was that for?” Jungkook asks, still lost about what just happened.

You grimace as you hesitantly put your palm over the back of his head and rub to soothe the pain you’ve caused him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you. I was just surprised and shocked when I–”

You stopped speaking when you notice that Jungkook is looking up at you, eyes half-lidded from sleep. Stopping your ministration on the back of his head, you retreat your hands to yourself and look away.

“We slept together.”

“What?” Jungkook asks, his tone incredulous, but more like confused. When you train your eyes to him again, you see him looking down on his body and then yours.

Your cheeks heat up when you realize what you just said.

“Oh my god, no! Not slept slept with each other! I mean, we slept together. Like, literally.” You say, looking at him in panic.

Jungkook furrows his brows. And then after a beat of silence, he lets out a low, “Oh.”

“Oh?” You parrot back.

“Yeah, oh,” He says drily. Jungkook rubs his eyes with his fists and then looks at you again. “I’m sorry, I feel disoriented. I just woke up.”

You wince at that, feeling bad for pushing him again.

It was just a reflex thing, okay! Especially when you felt that certain something in your ass.

When Jungkook stands up from the floor, you notice the strings of his grey shorts getting undone, and your eyes betray you as they pay a look at the noticeable bulge on his crotch.

Jesus H. Fucking Christ.

You stand up quickly, following after him, feeling your heart hammer in your chest.

Okay, boo-fucking-hoo! Men get boners in the mornings. What’s the big deal about it?

“What time is it?” Jungkook asks, brushing his hair back, and you have to physically look away and try to busy yourself by looking for your phone so you can ignore his naked chest on display and his abs and stupid big arms.

You spot your phone nearby and turn it on.

“Six thirty.”

“Shit.” Jungkook hisses.

You’ve never heard him let out so many curses before.

“What? It’s still early.” you say, in case he was referring to work.

Jungkook shakes his head. “Yeah, no. I was supposed to get ready at five am sharp. Need to go there early.”

“Oh.”

He groans, and the sound makes your stomach feel a little weird.

“I have to go shower,” Jungkook says, picking up his shirt from the coffee table. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Huh?” You realize what he’s talking about and is then quick to shake your head. “No, not your fault. I, uh, you fell asleep on the couch last night and I didn’t want to wake you.”

He nods, more like to himself. “How did we…?” Jungkook points between you, eyeing the couch.

“I didn’t want to use your bed without your permission, so I slept on the couch as well,” But then you decide to add, “But I didn’t sleep beside you, I was like –” you point to the edge of the couch, “there.”

“Ah,” Jungkook follows your eyes, and then nods. “Okay.”

“Yeah.” you purse your lips into a thin line. “Sorry about that. I should’ve just woken you up, huh?”

“Nah, it’s fine.” He dismisses you with a wave of his hand. “Well, is it okay if I use the shower first?”

“Of course.”

Jungkook smiles before he saunters towards the bathroom. You try not to stare at the hard lines of his retreating back, taping down to his narrow waist.

You failed to do that, obviously.

Sighing out loud when you’re sure he can’t hear you, you busy yourself in the kitchen to make some toast.

After work, you paid a quick visit to your apartment to see how it’s going, since you’re supposed to be able to come back tomorrow.

Your building manager told you that you can pretty much move back already, but there’s no water yet, so you will still have to stay at Jungkook’s place for the last time. At least for another night.

Speaking of him, when you step out on your porch, you see him in front of his own unit, back turned to you, opening his door.

“Hey,” you call. Jungkook turns on his heel, and he smiles as he sees you.

“Hey,” He greets, his hand pausing on the door. Jungkook gives you his undivided attention as he looks at you. “Your apartment’s fine now?”

You nod happily, grinning widely. “Yeah. But I have no water yet. They’re turning it on tomorrow.” You saunter towards his direction and stop beside him. Pointing to the paper bags in his hands, you ask, “What’s that?”

Jungkook lifts them up. “Soju and Midday Miso take-out.” Then, hesitantly, he looks at you curiously. “Do you drink?”

That prompts you to laugh.

“Of course. Are you drinking tonight?”

He nods his head. “Yeah. I was gonna ask you to drink with me… but if you’re not up for it, I’ll just be in my room.”

You cock your head to the side.

“What’s the occasion?”

Jungkook chuckles. “Nothing. Just thought I could loosen up.”

You nod in understanding.

You think about asking him how work’s been, but decide against it, not wanting to pry in case he doesn’t want to talk about any of it.

As you both enter his apartment, it’s almost so domesticated how you take off your shoes and put them in the rack in the threshold. Jungkook wears his black sliders while you wear your baby blue ones. Following him into the living room, it’s almost wild to see yourself being so familiar with his place already.

“Where can we watch The X-Files?” Jungkook asks suddenly after he set the bags on the table, going for the remote and turning on the TV.

You look at him in surprise, not expecting him to ask that.

You answer nonetheless, and Jungkook clicks on the show once it shows up on the screen.

“Do you really want to start with the pilot episode?” You chuckle when he hovers over it.

Jungkook grins. “I enjoyed it last night. Maybe this could be a new favorite.”

“Woah,” you breathed, shaking your head. “Do you know how much I have to convince Jimin to watch this show?”

“Jimin doesn’t like shows. I wanted him to watch Suits but he said he couldn’t stand Harvey Specter – which is fair.”

“Oh my god, that’s also what he told me when I recommended Suits!” You say. You narrow your eyes at him, excited about the information. “So… you like Suits?”

Jungkook nods. “Sort of like a guilty pleasure? I used to watch it a lot in college. My roommate studied law and started telling me about how inaccurate it was, but it’s fun regardless,” He says with a shrug. “Sue me.”

“I know, right! People always wanna be smart about procedural dramas, but I think it’s just camp they can’t comprehend,” You shake your head, feeling a certain high bubble inside you. You lean your elbows on the coffee table. “Okay, okay, thoughts on Jessica Pearson?”

Jungkook grins. “A dream.”

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“I’m so glad you have the correct opinion.”

Jungkook laughs at that, and you begin to eat the take-out he bought, The X-Files playing on the big screen before you.

“You went home early today,” you comment as you take the shot glass he offers you.

A few minutes has passed already and you’re beginning to open the bottles of soju, Midday Miso take-out boxes all finished.

“Managed to finish early tonight. That’s probably why I wanted to drink,” Jungkook says, tipping his head back to drink from his own bottle. “Also, it’s your last day here.”

You nod. With a teasing smile, you jab, “Are you going to miss me?”

Jungkook looks at you briefly.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” You ask incredulously, feigning hurt.

He chuckles. “I liked your little dance in the kitchen last Sunday.”

Your lips part, recalling that time when you reheated some pizza during the night. As far as you were concerned, Jungkook was in his bedroom at that time!

“You saw that?” You say, embarrassed.

Jungkook must’ve noticed, because he chuckles and begins to sound comforting when he says, “Some part of it, yeah. Megan Thee Stallion would love to perform with you, I think.”

“Oh my god, no,” You giggle, covering your face with your hands because if he caught you during that part, it means he saw you trying to throw it back. “Yeah, I think I’m packing my things right now.”

Jungkook laughs, and his eyes crinkle as he does so, overjoyed at your tactics.

“I thought you wanted to drink with me?”

You squint your eyes. “Just because I feel sorry for pushing you off the couch this morning.”

He shakes his head, still chuckling. “Yeah, that hurt. I think I have a bump on my head right now.”

You stop, eyes widening. “Seriously?”

Jungkook presses his lips together and nods. You grow concerned, ready to lean over the table to check the back of his head, but as you do so, Jungkook makes a sound of stifling his laugh and you realize he’s fucking with you.

“That’s so mean.” you say, going back to your side and pouting at him.

“Not meaner than you pushing me off the couch.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“Ugh, I’m sorry. You just surprised me, 's all!”

Jungkook laughs and nods his head. “I know, I know. I’m sorry about that. I have a habit of being able to sleep anywhere.”

You scrunch your face. “Me too.”

And then a beat of silence.

Jungkook tips his head back for another sip of his alcohol. When he looks at you again, a gentle smile is playing on his lips.

“I had a good night sleep, though. Did you?”

He looks at you with something in his eyes – something soft and gentle – his gaze making the hair on your nape stand and your cheeks burn.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

The night continues to envelope your surroundings and as time passes by, the empty bottles of soju multiply.

You’ve always had a high tolerance for alcohol – and soju, in particular, is generally not too strong for you personally. With one bottle in, you don’t feel hammered just yet. There’s a daze at the back of your head that you’re starting to feel, though. One and a half is your limit, sometimes two – you’ve had that down since college.

Jungkook seems to share the same trait, it seems like. You noticed he’s on his second one, and even though his cheeks are starting to get painted red, he still speaks with you like he’s a hundred percent conscious and not like alcohol’s hit his system already.

“It’s so hot,” you say, popping open the first two buttons of your shirt. Jungkook’s coat has long been disposed on the couch, and his ties are loosened, with the long sleeves of his dress shirt pushed to his elbow, showing his tattoos.

“Should I adjust the AC?” Jungkook asks, looking at you as you gather your hair up in a ponytail.

You manage to secure it even without a tie and answer him, “No, it’s fine.”

When you feel like you can breathe again, you look at Jungkook. As you think about what to say next, you giggle lightly.

“Let’s have some fun with these,” You point to the empty bottle of soju. Jungkook quirks his brow, which prompts you to continue. “Let’s play spin the bottle. When it points at you, you have to answer some questions. If you don’t want to, then you’ll have to drink.”

Jungkook snorts. “Truth or dare? Really?”

You roll your eyes. “No, not truth or dare. Just truth because I’m sophisticated like that. Besides, are you going to entertain me if I dare you to wear a rainbow suit for work tomorrow?”

“This is your idea of fun?” Jungkook says, teasing you. Playful with a boyish grin.

You shrug. “I mean, it’s quite fun, actually. But I know about how thirty-year-olds get. If it’s past your bedtime, then…” you glance at the door to his bedroom.

Jungkook bursts out in laughter.

“You like making it sound like I’m sixty, don’t you?”

“Are you?” You pout.

Jungkook chuckles, although relenting to your game proposition.

“Alright…”

You do a little shoulder dance which makes Jungkook shake his head. As you spin the bottle, it stops and points at him. You let out a little sound of enthusiasm.

“Okay. What’s that mean?” You ask. Jungkook looks confused as he tries to see what you’re looking at. His arm. “That flower tattoo – or if it even has a meaning.”

“Oh,” Jungkook utters, realizing. He lifts up his right arm and twists it so that the flower tattoo is within both your sight. There, you see a full view of the flower drawing tattooed in orange ink. You find yourself staring at it as Jungkook starts to speak, “It’s a tiger lily. My birth flower. It means…” You can see Jungkook hesitate for a little while, and you’re just about to take back your question when he continues to say, “It means please love me.”

“Wow.” You gasp. “That’s… so pretty.”

Jungkook caresses his forearm, staring quite lovingly at the art. “I know. My tattoo artist did a really good job.”

He takes it to himself to spin the bottle again, and this time, it points at you.

“Well… do you have a tattoo?” Jungkook asks, and it’s obvious he meant to tease.

You nod your head. His playful smile drops.

“Are you serious?”

You raise your brow at him. “Sorry. Only one question gets entertained.”

He clicks his tongue playfully but then begins to spin the bottle one more time. When it points at you again, he gives you a smirk.

“Can I see your tattoo if you’re saying you have one?”

You scrunch your face, cocking your head to the side.

“Hm. I don’t think so. It’s under my boob. So.”

Jungkook stills, and you watch as his eyes trail down from your face down to your collar – although he did it quite subtly.

“Oh.”

You grin. “Yeah, “oh”,” you chuckle. When he shakes his head, you tell him, “What?” You look at him weird, regardless of the smile on your lips. He stares right back at you, and you narrow your eyes at him. “Ohh, I see. You think I’m lying.”

“No, I’m not,” he scoffs. “I just thought…”

“You just thought what?”

“I just thought you wouldn’t have one. Or if you did, it’d be a like a small thing on the leg or something. I don’t know.” He shrugs, still smiling.

You grin. “Interesting insight.”

“Nevermind that.” Jungkook rolls his eyes, spinning the bottle again.

When the rotation stills at his direction, you clap a little and put your elbows on the coffee table.

Your next question sounds stupid in your head, but you let it out anyway.

“What’s your ideal type?” You ask.

“Oh, are we doing that?” Jungkook says, sounding intrigued. “Are you going to ask me about my first kiss next?”

You snort. “This feels so high school. But answer my question.”

“Yes, ma’am,” He playfully gives you a salute. You couldn’t help but giggle. “Okay, well, I like women who are smart and… funny,” Jungkook says, and when he looks at you, you move back a little. With a soft smile, he adds, “And pretty.”

You break the eye contact. Raising your brow, you nod your head. “Pretty women. Like Kang Heesu, right?”

Jungkook looks surprised when he hears the name.

“How do you know her?”

“How can I not? Jimin’s mother has been trying to set him up with her for months now.” You shrug.

Jungkook chuckles, as if he knows exactly what you’re talking about.

“Yeah. You’re right – not about the part that she’s my ideal type, though.”

You can’t help but let out a scoff.

“That’s such a cop-out answer, Jungkook.”

He looks at you incredulously, chuckling as he says, “What? It’s not a cop-out, it’s the truth.”

“You’re awfully close with her. I heard from my coworkers you’re both dating.” You raise a brow at him.

It’s true. Words are starting to get around the office that Jungkook and Heesu are more than just collaborators.

Of course, you know to ignore that. Not because you want to be in denial or anything – but because you just don’t think it is actually true.

But maybe poking fun at it will get you the confirmation. Or whatever. It doesn’t matter.

Jungkook laughs at your previous words, though, as if you just told him a big joke.

“God, no,” he shakes his head, as if he couldn’t believe it. “They’re really saying that?” You nod your head, your lips pressed into a thin line. “I ought to make everybody know we’re just working together. You know about the project the company has in collaboration with Kang Tech, right?”

“Yeah.”

“There you go,” Jungkook chuckles. “I’m not dating Kang Heesu.”

The words feel a bit different in your ears. Paired with the way he looked at you as he said it, he sounded as though he was… almost assuring you.

But of what?

You shake off the idea in your head.

“Okay. Next one.” you interrupt the silence to change the subject. You curse in your head when the bottle stops at you.

“Your turn. What’s your ideal type?” Jungkook asks as if his tongue is just itching to ask you that. You know he’s just excited to get back at you.

You think about it for a moment, though, and you find you don’t really know what to say.

It’s not a thought you ponder over a lot. The guys that you’ve been with were so… different from each other.

“I—I’m not sure,” you shake your head, genuine.

Jungkook points at the shot glass. “New rule. I’ll count to ten and if you don’t answer, you drink.”

You glare at him; he just gives you a grin.

“I really don’t know! I mean, my past relationships are so different from each other,” you say, pouting. “But— okay. I guess I like guys who are… confident,” You look at Jungkook and then let your mind float. “And I guess I also like somebody who’s…” You watch as he leans in closer to wait for your next words. Your feel blood rushing to your cheeks as you finish up with, “Attentive. I like good listeners. Yeah.”

“Ah,” Jungkook nods. And then, he adds, “Is Shin Taemu from the IT department a good listener, then?”

Your brows furrow. “Shin Taemu?” He nods. That earns a laugh from you. “No, we’re friends.”

“Friends?” Jungkook asks curiously.

“Well, we – uh – did date. Didn’t work out. So. We’re only friends now.”

“Date, as in, a long relationship?” His eyes are so full of genuine curiosity that you cower away from them.

You shake your head at his question. “No, no – not long relationship, it wasn’t like that. I meant date as in – dinner date. Once.” You look at the shot glass and down it because of the sudden nerves that enter you. “We’re doing this game wrong.”

Jungkoon chuckles at the way you drink another glass. He mirrors your action, though, and ask, “How so? We’re questioning each other.”

“Yeah, but it’s too many questions!” You complain, jutting your lips into a pout.

“You said you only wanted truth, so there goes your questions,” Jungkook says. You roll your eyes, which makes him laugh. “Okay, just so I can amuse you, I’ll do a dare if it points at me, and you’ll do one if it stops at you. Deal?”

When you nod, Jungkook spins the bottle. He did it quite forcefully that the bottle takes a longer time to stop. You both watch keenly as it begins to slow down. Nervous, you pray it doesn’t stop at you, and you let out a sigh of relief when it finally points to Jungkook.

Jungkook shakes his head when you let out a contained, “Yes!”

“I dare you to…” you trail off, watching as he looks at you curiously. “Let me pluck your brows.”

“What?” Jungkook asks incredulously.

“A promise is a promise.” You remind him.

“Like all of them?”

“What? Of course no!” You chuckle, seeing the genuine panic in his eyes.

“Oh.”

“You silly,” You say, laughing at him. “Not right now, though. I actually feel like I’m about to pass out. Oh my god, I have to tend to a hung-over tomorrow.” You let your face fall into your hands and stifle a groan.

“I’ll cook us some porridge or something, don’t worry.” Jungkook says. Curiously, he asks, “Why do you want to pluck my brows?”

You stare at him, and then focus your eyes onto his brows.

Pouting, you let your shoulders deflate as you sigh. “They’re so thick.”

“What?” Jungkook lets out, laughing incredulously. “I’m so confused.”

“You wouldn’t get it.”

“Okay… well, would you let me pluck your brows?”

You try to think about it.

“No,” you shake your head. You add, “Unless you’re flirting with me.”

Jungkook stops. And then raises a brow. “Unless I’m flirting with you…”

You snap your eyes to look at him. Mirroring his brow, you ask, “Are you flirting with me?”

“Maybe,” Jungkook looks at you, lips tilted into a barely-there smirk that suddenly makes your cheeks burn with heat. “Do you like it?”

It takes you a while to answer, processing his words. You don’t know if he’s joking or what. Is this just his usual teasing? It feels different this time.

But why are you denying it again to yourself, though? You may be stupid sometimes, but you know his teasing gets a little… borderline flirty. You’re scared to ask him about it outright, though – afraid to be faced with the possible truth that it’s just your head playing mind-tricks for you; that Jungkook, with his teasing, is not flirty at all and you’re just flattering yourself to think about it that way.

But right now, his question feels real.

If he is flirting with you… do you like it?

You pour a drink into the shotglass and down it quickly. You feel your vision starting to get a little hazy as you put it down the table.

Jungkook realizes what you just did, and then throw his head back to laugh.

“Now, that was a cop-out.” He says, pointing to the trick that you just did.

You give him a smirk. “No rules about not answering except down a drink.”

Jungkook chuckles. “Smart girl.”

He watches as you stand up, but when you trip over the carpet, he’s quick to follow and go over to your direction to hold your wrist, his arm going around your waist to guide you to stand upright.

“You okay?” He asks. When you look up, your faces are just a hair's breadth away.

“Hm.” You hum, blinking your eyes up at him. You find it’s because your lids are starting to get heavy.

“Be careful.” Jungkook says, but he doesn’t let go of your waist, nor your wrist.

You stand there in the middle of the living room with that position, and weirdly enough, you feel like you’re both glued on it.

You can’t move – or don’t want to. You wish you want to. But you don’t, and it’s why you let Jungkook’s fingers trail softly to your waist.

“You look real sleepy,” he comments – whispers, more like, his bated breath hitting your skin.

“I am a bit dazy.” You say, finding yourself indulging in his touch.

Somehow, Jungkook never makes a move to get away even when you’re already steady on both feet. You feel that fading away so soon though, your knees starting to feel like they’re about to buckle at the way Jungkook’s eyes bore deep into your own. You feel a sort of heightened sense within your body, his hand on your back making something in you tingle.

It’s so intimate – the position. Jungkook looms over you with his much bigger frame and with his support on your back, you can just let yourself fall back.

Can you, though? Are you sure he’s going to catch you?

“You do look a little dazy,” Jungkook comments, but his eyes have traveled down to your face, and you can see them stop at your lips.

That makes them part.

You see Jungkook’s adam’s apple bobbing at the action.

“I do feel dazy,” you say, parroting back his words. Maybe they’re coming off slurred. You don’t know. You find you don’t care.

Jungkook’s lips tilt into a gentle smile. Soft like his demeanor. Soft like his arm that somehow found a way to tighten its hold around you even though you don’t need it. But it’s Jungkook though, and as much as you deny it even to yourself – you do like his touch.

“Yeah, you told me so.” His voice becomes an octave lower. His hands start to rub your clothed waist, and the ministrations of his thumb distract you a bit.

You roam your eyes around his face – noting the scar on his cheek which story you want to know so bad. When you trail you eyes down to his lips, you see the mole under it. You don’t think you were being subtle at all – it’s quite obvious that you’re just staring.

And you know Jungkook notices.

“Jungkook,” you breathed out, calling him about nothing in particular.

His only response is a small, gentle hum.

A beat of silence, and you feel Jungkook’s face leaning closer to yours.

You don’t make a move away from him, just let your legs stay where they are, letting Jungkook slowly pull you to him. You can tell his movements are slower than usual – like he’s testing the waters, searching for something in your eyes, quietly asking if it’s okay – if what he’s about to do is okay.

It makes your heart hammer against your chest – his breathing becoming more audible in your own ears. His mouth reeks of the soju you both drank earlier, but you’ve always liked the smell of it, especially when it comes with a man as breathtaking as him.

You feel the tip of his nose touching yours, your chest pressing against his own, his hand travelling from your waist to the back of your head.

When Jungkook leans down to close the gap, you swerve your face just in time to have his lips press against your hair instead.

“I’m sleepy.” You say quietly, a nervous lilt to your voice. You duck your head a little lower, laying your face on his chest and bury it with his scent.

You can feel Jungkook freeze in his position, taken aback by the sudden turn of events. You hope he doesn’t feel the way your heart goes abnormal in your chest with such proximity – but right now, all you want to do is hide. Hide your face away from him because if he sees you, he’ll know exactly what you’re thinking.

He’ll know exactly the effect he has on you.

It takes a few seconds of silence before Jungkook comes back to you.

“Hm,” He hums, and you feel his hand letting go of your wrist to wrap around your waist, squeezing for a brief moment. Jungkook’s other hand cradles your head to his chest, swiping his hand against your hair in a repeated manner, and with the way he rests his chin on the crown of your head, you feel comfort in the whole thing. “We should sleep.”

“Yeah…” you trail off, and you can just feel your lids getting heavier at the remark.

“Yeah?”

“Hm.”

“I’ll take the couch. Do you want to shower first?” You shake your head against his chest. You feel it vibrating when he chuckles. “Okay.”

“My body feels like jelly.” You say, and you feel that to be actually true.

“Is that code for “carry me to your bed, Jungkook”?”

You’re thankful your face is buried in his chest as you smile widely.

“Do you want it to be?”

“I don’t mind.”

You nod. “Good. I think I’ll get alcohol poisoning tomorrow.”

You feel Jungkook lifting his chin off your head as he sounds scold-y when he says, “Don’t joke like that.”

You giggle against his chest.

“Carry me before I pass out.”

Jungkook snorts. “Ohh. Bossy.”

“It’s my last day here. I deserve some slack.” You grumble.

“Fine.”

TAGLIST: @mortal-body-timelesssoul @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @lachimolalajeon @miniesjams32 @parkinglot-nights @peterstarkchrishiddleston @aznstoner @chuberry22 @tae-hibiscus @jungkooksmytype

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[dix0nvix3n]

𖤓°⋆ Chapter 1 °⋆𖤓

⋆☀︎｡Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader  ⋆☀︎｡Media: The Walking Dead; No Apocalypse & Alternate Universe ⋆☀︎｡Pronouns: She/Her  ⋆☀︎｡ Warning: Smoking (Cigarettes), One mention of weed, Talk of a bad past relationship. (That's it I think?) ⋆☀︎｡ Word Count: 2.5k

⋆☀︎｡ Author's Note: It's finally here... the beginning of my magnum opus. Even though I only have this one chapter out, there hasn't been a single day since I came up with the idea for the fic where I didn't think about it at least once. I just wanna thank all the people who let me infodump about it; y'all are true soldiers, cause I can really ramble on. Special thanks to @sinkdownbeneath for helping me write the intro because I was completely stuck for months with almost nothing to show, and being the person who let me yap the most, he can account for me pretty much talking about it every day for the past five months. So, anyway, I guess I hope y'all like my first finished something that wasn't just a blurb. Last night I only had a little over 200 words at 10 PM something, and now it's 7:44 AM with 2.5k words as I write this... I don't know what got into me, but anyway, enjoy!

June 1st, 1992

Daryl finds himself propped up against a tree, catching his breath. The cool summer air around him makes his chest ache with every breath he takes. He had been running, hearing the twigs snap and the leaves crunch beneath his feet as he darted past every tree, trying to evade potential capture from a party that had him jumping out a window when the cops showed up due to a noise complaint.

He spent much of his life within the comfort of the woodland, underneath the thick canopy of leaves and branches, the first roof he ever felt safe under.

He gasped for air, his legs exhausted and his lungs overworked, adrenaline still pulsing through him as he slid down the rough bark of a tree, pulling his legs up to his chest.

He's close to the road, hearing a solitary car cruise past. He can tell it's late from the stars that peek through the leaves that loom above him in the thick black sky, but he spots his glimmer of hope, which seems to be the soft light of a gas station just a bit beyond the road's traffic barrier closest to him.

With a deep inhale, Daryl knew he had to walk to the gas station and reluctantly call for a ride in a phone booth.

After fully catching his breath, he pulled himself off the ground and began walking towards the gas station, already dreading the thought of the phone call.

Reaching the gas station, he saw two cars; one belonged to the lone worker at the cash register inside, and the other belonged to a woman smoking a cigarette at the side of the building. The woman did a quick wave at him, which he found to be a little odd just because most people at this time of night aren't too friendly, but he gave a polite wave back anyway. 

Finally getting up to the phone booth, Daryl looked down at his watch, which read 1:00 AM, causing him to let out a deep sigh, realizing how late it was and how much of an inconvenience it would be for someone to come and pick him up. 

He stepped inside the phone booth, staring at the phone for a minute before popping in the quarters he luckily grabbed from the living room floor of the party. If he hadn't grabbed them, he'd be completely fucked and have to figure out his way back to his apartment.

After dialing the number he knew would pick up, the phone rang just a few times before a tired and clearly just woken up by a phone at one in the morning voice picked up.

"Hey, Mr. H... Could ya pick me up?"

"Thanks. 'm sorry about this; kinda just started walking and didn't stop. Ended up at some party, and now I don' know where I am."

"Yeah. Place is called Peachy Speed, never seen another gas station called this; it must be family-owned or somethin' and the closest road sign says it's on Navel Street. You know where I'm at?"

"Okay, cool. See ya in a bit. Sorry again."

After hanging up, Daryl stepped out of the phone booth with his head held down, letting out a deep exhale and running a hand through his hair until he heard a pair of feet shuffling up to him.

He looked up to see who it was, and it was you, the woman who waved at him.

"Need one?" You held out an open pack of Marlboro Reds, with only one cigarette missing from the pack.

"Oh. Yeah. Thanks." His thoughts stuttered for a moment because he was caught up in the fact that you came over to him. You're really pretty, and now Daryl feels like a nervous schoolboy trying to ask a girl to the prom just because of a simple gesture.

He grabbed a cigarette out of the box and reached to pull his lighter out of his pocket, only not to feel it, and checked the other pocket to have the same luck. "Shit."

You let out a small chuckle. "Need a light too?” You pulled a lighter out of your pocket and handed it over to him.

He nodded his thanks and popped the cig in his mouth before lifting the black bic with a spiderweb seemingly hand-painted on up to the end of the stick. Flicking the flame to life, he took a long inhale and handed you back the lighter, as he really took a moment to take in the sight of you. 

You were in a black tank top tucked into a pair of black ripped jean shorts. Under the pair of jean shorts were fishnets with an intricate pattern of moons and stars, and you had on a pair of slightly battered-up Doc Martens. 

As he exhaled the first plume of smoke into the night sky, he saw your kind smile, which sent a rush of warmth through his face. Your lips had a simple gloss on them, but your eyes were a different story, painted with smokey eyeshadow, sharp graphic eyeliner, and two rounds of mascara on each set of your top lashes. He also noticed the simple yet pretty titanium stud on the left side of your nose and two helix rings on both your ears.

He thought you were gorgeous, his heartbeat a slightly faster pace than what it normally rested at.

"Rough night?" You asked as you lit up a cigarette for yourself, letting out a slight gag at the taste and smell that you weren't used to, which caused Daryl to let out a small chuckle.

"Sorta. More of just hated the fact I had to call and wake someone up to come and get me. First time smokin'?" He said before he took another drag.

"How'd you know?" You said sarcastically as your face contorted in disgust a bit at the taste building up in your mouth and throat after each puff.

"Maybe try a different brand. You'll find one ya like." A small smile graced his lips as he butted off the ash at the end and took another drag. 

"Nah. Think I'm quitting after this one. I'll just stick to weed."

He let out a chuckle. "May I ask, why'd ya even start?"

You let out a small groan, running your hand through your hair in slight embarrassment. "I finally left my shitty boyfriend once and for all. I finally realized he'd never like me for the real me. I constantly had to put on this mask around him, and I finally found out that it was impossible to fix him and the fact he didn't actually like me. I know it sounds weird, but I guess my thought process was that my epiphany about him would stick with me after smoking one like a character in a movie or something." You let out a laugh. "Stupid, right?" 

He snubbed out the end of the cigarette, as it was almost a roach at this point. "Nah, it ain't stupid. A lot of my best thoughts come after smokin' one, cleared my head more times than I can count. You deserve one after the bullshit he put you through, I think. Hope the prick is havin' a shit night after realizin' he's lost you cause ya seem awesome to me so far."

You felt warmth begin to rise in your cheeks at his words. "Thanks. I know I deserve better. I'm just pissed; it took me so long to realize it. So, anyway, what's your name? I can't believe I haven't asked yet."

"Name's Daryl; what's yours?"

You had a few good puffs left of your cig but decided to snub yours out as well since you didn't like it anyway. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Daryl. My name is (Y/N). Do you wanna come sit with me at my spot against the wall? My most likely melted slushy is calling my name to get this taste out of my mouth." 

"Yeah, I can. Might be a bit till my ride gets here, so I might as well sit down." He started walking to your spot, and you followed in tow. 

When you got back to your spot, you looked down at your slushy on the ground. The dark purple concoction of blue raspberry and cherry slushy combo was completely melted. "Goddammit." You didn't fully care though; you paid for that slushy, because you were stubborn it meant you were going to have all of what you paid for, so you drank down the rest of the sugary liquid with a satisfied sigh. It was luckily still cold, at least, and it was just what you needed to get the taste of the cigarette out of your mouth.

As time passed, you and Daryl talked about whatever came to mind as you doodled some intricate pattern on the front of the pack of the Marlboro Reds with a sharpie, ultimately moving to the back when you ran out of room. You found out that he works as a mechanic for motorcycles and cars at a nearby auto body shop, that he rides a motorcycle that he built himself a few years ago, that he loves to hunt on occasion, specifically with a crossbow, and that he ran from the cops at a house party tonight.

You knew your short time with Daryl was up when you saw a 1987 Ford Sierra MK2 pull into a parking spot at the gas station, and Daryl stood up, doing a quick stretch. The man in the car smiled and made a small wave at you, and you did the same back.

"It was nice meetin' ya, (Y/N). I'd talk more, but I don't wanna keep him up any longer." He said as he gestured a hand towards the man who came to pick him up. 

"It was nice meeting you too. Thanks for talking to me, Daryl." You pulled the pack of cigarettes from your pocket and held them out to him. "Take these. You need them more than me. Plus, I just quit." You grinned at him as he took the box from you. 

"Holy shit, thank you." He smiled back as he placed the box in his own pocket and slowly started walking backward towards the car. "Hope ya have a good night and that Nick the dick has a shit one. 

You let out a laugh at the nickname Daryl gave your ex-boyfriend and waved him goodbye with a "You too." You leaned your head back against the wall, staring up at the night sky as your eyes finally began to feel tired, knowing you should head back to your friend's apartment soon and try and get some sleep before your nine AM shift. 

Once Daryl got in the car, he let out a quiet sigh as he looked out the window at you, wishing he dared to ask for your number. You were the first good conversation he'd had in a while, and his schoolboy-like crush on you kept growing the whole time you talked.

"So, who's that?" The man said as he shifted the car into gear, Daryl noticing the grin on his face.

"A girl that started talkin' to me after our call. Name's (Y/N)." He pulled the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, mindlessly tracing the pattern of doodles you did.

"You ask for her number? The car was now beginning to be backed out of its parking spot.

"Nah. Mind if I smoke?" Daryl shook the pack and began looking for one of the lighters he left in the glove compartment a few weeks ago. 

The man shook his head with a slight sigh and said, "Go ahead." He wasn't shaking his head over Daryl wanting to smoke, but over the fact he wouldn't ask for your number when he obviously liked you, but he knew he couldn't push him; he understood Daryl's nature.

Daryl looked back out the window at you, opening it as he blew out the first cloud of smoke. He then looked back down in his lap where the box lay, flipping it over to the back to see what you had drawn there as well. His breath hitched as he saw it. On the back was your phone number, and above it said, "Call me" with a smiley face. 

The tips of Daryl's ears were beet red, and he tried to hold back his face from turning the same color. He looked back out the window at you to see you grinning at him this time, to which he smiled and waved goodbye to you as the car pulled out of the lot. In Daryl's twenty-three years of life, he could say that this night was one of his best.

"Daryl, why'd you call me Mr. H again? Son, you've known me for five years; how many times do I gotta remind you to call me by my name? It's Dale for you."

Daryl let out a small cloud of smoke this time, wanting to savor this one on the peaceful ride back. "I'll tell ya again, it happens when I'm nervous; didn't wanna wake you up, s'all, and you still are my boss after all."

"Daryl, you're like a son to me, and I told you to never be nervous if you need help, and that includes coming and picking you up in the middle of the night if needed. I'm here for you." Dale placed his right hand on Daryl's shoulder, keeping his left on the wheel as he squeezed his shoulder lightly before returning it to the steering wheel.

"Now, it's not Mr. H or Mr. Horvath, son. It's Dale."

Daryl rolled his eyes playfully. "Yes, sir," he joked, letting out a chuckle.

It was the next day around 10:30 PM when Daryl picked up the phone on his nightstand and finally called the number you gave him, nervously wrapping the cord around his finger. The phone only rang twice before the other end picked up, "Hey, is this (Y/N)?" 

The inner teenage girl in your brain screamed in excitement, so happy that he finally called. "Omg, Daryl! I was wondering when you were gonna call me. I've been waiting since I got off my shift."

"Didn't know if you worked a mornin' shift or got off at night, and I didn't wanna leave too many voicemails on your friend's phone."

"Yeah, I worked a morning shift at the diner today. I got off at five. Morning shifts are the fucking worst." You're lying on your stomach on the couch, playfully curling the phone's cord around your finger and kicking your feet back and forth in the air.

You and Daryl talked for an hour, mainly talking about the shitty customers you dealt with today, sounding especially frustrated about the woman who yelled at you just because the diner was out of unsweet tea that you couldn't do anything about because the place was also out of tea bags to make more. What did she want you to do? Just up and leave your job and go buy the tea bags, your fucking self?

"Even though I don't want to, I gotta go to bed 'cause I have another morning shift tomorrow. I get off at five, so call me around six-thirty, okay?" 

"I get off at five too. Works for me. Goodnight, (Y/N)."

"Goodnight to you too, Daryl."

The call ended, and you both looked up at your respective ceilings, smiling as warmth bloomed through your faces. You both slept well that night, falling asleep to the thought of calling each other tomorrow.

⋆☀︎｡ Extra author's note: Here's what Dale would look like in 1992, I took Dale's age of 64 from the show since the apocalypse started in 2010 so he'd be 46 in 1992. I think this picture of Jeffrey Demunn is from when he was 43 maybe? I can't remember but that's close enough to 46 and even if he isn't 43 in the image he fits the look of someone in their mid-forties. Just imagine him without the cowboy hat, okay? There's not a lot of pictures of him when he was younger.

⋆☀︎｡ Taglist: @mrdixon , @yevmarie , and @shadowcitrine

⋆☀︎｡ Divider creds: @ saradika, go check her account out! She has some very cute dividers!

[megamindsecretlair]

Through the Fire

Pairing: Franklin Saint x Black!Fem!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Smut, PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (male receiving), size kink, all consensual. Praise kink, dirty talk. Mention of jail, drug use, guns, and violence. Angst. Established relationship. Spoilers for season 2 of Snowfall.

Summary: The night that Franklin shot Kevin, he made one stop before seeing his mom.

Word Count: 4,424k

A/N: Hello brainrot. Did I mention the brainrot? Because I have major brainrot. FX knew not to show them nasty ass sex scenes for him because I would be UNWELL. Anywhooo, I couldn't stop writing. This hurt me. I hope it both hurts you and makes you feral LOL. Thank you so much for the love on my first Franklin fic! Please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers!

Taglist: @planetblaque @notapradagurl7 @miyuhpapayuh @henneseyhoe

The loud banging at your door made you nervous. No one knocked like that and it meant something good. It was either the police or some shit you didn’t want to deal with. You crept to the living room and looked out of the peephole. There was no one there.

The banging persisted and you turned to the sound, following the sound to your back door. You pulled aside the curtain on the door and saw Franklin looking over his shoulder. You opened the door.

“Franklin? What–?” 

Franklin pushed past you into your kitchen. Cold air from outside hit your exposed arms and legs from the shorts and tank top you wore. “He’s dead.” 

You closed the door behind Franklin and locked it behind him. The lights were still off thankfully and you peeked through the curtains, watching for anything suspicious. Though you didn’t know what you were looking for. 

Franklin paced the dark kitchen rubbing his hands and his breaths were shaky and stuttered. “Who’s dead, Franklin?” 

You’d never seen him like this. Franklin was the definition of cool and calm. Dread knotted in your stomach. ‘He’ could refer to anyone. You thought of Leon, Jerome, Kevin, Officer Wright. Naw. Franklin wouldn’t be this upset if it was that asshole Wright.

Franklin rubbed his head and you crossed the room. “Franklin, talk to me,” you said.

He was too agitated. He shook his head as he paced. “Is your moms home?” 

“She workin’ late. Franklin, you’re scaring me.” 

Franklin couldn’t take a full breath. In a minute, he was going to put a groove into the kitchen tile. “I told him! I told that muthafucka that somethin’ like this was gon happen. He didn’t wanna listen!” 

You stepped closer to Franklin and grabbed him by the shoulders so he would stop pacing. Your head spun watching him go back and forth like a ping pong ball. Franklin stopped but wouldn’t look you in the eye. 

“Tell me what’s going on, baby,” you said. You squeezed his shoulders. Franklin’s harsh breathing nearly echoed in the silent kitchen. Every sound was heightened and only served to put you more on edge. 

“Kevin…Kevin’s dead. Because of me,” Franklin said softly. His face crumpled and he dug his hands into his eyes. A choked gasp escaped him. You realized that he was crying. Your heart shattered as you pulled him into a hug. 

“What do you mean, Franklin?” He was saying words but it wasn’t making sense. You were no idiot. You knew what Franklin and his little friends were up to. You made him promise to leave that shit outside. So far, there haven't been any problems. 

Franklin shivered in your embrace, his crying quiet and soft. You hated this for him. There was so much you didn’t know, that you wanted to shake from him. You wanted to demand answers. You wanted to yell and scream. None of that would help the situation. You needed to be calm for his sake.

You rubbed Franklin’s back, soaking in the feel of him. He had to bend at an awkward angle in order to put his chin on your shoulder. Surely, it would start to hurt him. You pulled away and glanced at his face.

Franklin’s eyes were unfocused, seeing something in his mind’s eye that you had no idea of. Whatever it was, left his eyes wide. You hated that look in his eyes. You pulled him towards the living room. 

Franklin stopped and shook his head. He directed you towards your room in the back of the house. Bright light bathed your room and you cringed a bit at all of the girly shit. The Michael Jackson posters in your room. The comforter with flowers all over it. 

Franklin turned off the light. The sudden absence of light gave you a flash of a headache as your eyes adjusted. The moonlight hit your room in such a way that you could still see most of Franklin’s features but not much else. 

Franklin sat on the edge of your bed and pulled you next to him. You sat close to him and he put his head on your shoulder once more. You wrapped your arm around him and scratched his head idly. 

“Please, baby, I’m scared,” you whispered. 

“I shot Kevin. I thought…I shot him in the leg. He was gon be fine! Me and Leon had to leave him there,” Franklin told you. “We left him.” 

Franklin’s voice broke and you kissed his head, absorbing the information. Franklin shot Kevin? It didn’t make sense. It was so out of character for Franklin. You remembered all the conversations you and Franklin had about guns. About protecting himself. But as more of a scare tactic. You didn’t want him to get beat up like he did when he first started all of this. 

You shuddered remembering how hurt he was then. His face all swelled up and blood was sticking to his face. You told him then that you didn’t want something like that to ever happen again. You tolerated the guns because you knew he’d never use them unless he absolutely had to. 

“Tell me everything, Franklin,” you whispered against his skin. 

Franklin told you everything. About Kevin’s cousin still selling in Mexican territory. About the senseless murder. How Kevin screamed for the guy’s head no matter the cost to the business. Kevin wanted war and blood and violence. Franklin did what he could but he knew that if Kevin ever found out who did it, there would be no talking him down.

And that’s exactly what happened. Kevin betrayed Franklin. Sold the recipe to the Mexicans for the name of the man who murdered Kevin’s cousin. Kevin went to the park to kill the man in broad daylight, all the other people be damned. 

“There were kids there,” Franklin said and sniffed. “He didn’t care. What it would mean for us or for him.” 

“You did what you had to do, baby. I’m sorry. But if Kevin succeeded, you could be laying in a ditch somewhere,” you said. You knew your morals were messed up. But when it came to Franklin, nothing else mattered. You didn’t want that phone call. You dreaded it. You had enough nightmares about it to last you a lifetime. 

“He’s my best friend,” Franklin said. He buried his head in your shoulder. Warm, wet tears slid down onto your tank top. You held him and let him cry it out. You didn’t know how to help him. 

He needed some rest, truthfully. To sit with that he did. “Is that why you’re here? The cops are on you?” 

Franklin shrugged and told you the rest. About an agent being on scene. Leon drove away fast enough that he should be safe. But he didn’t want you hearing anything about him from the streets. It was too risky to call. Riskier still to make the trek here. 

You stayed across the street from him so it wasn’t entirely suspicious for him to be caught near here. Still. You wondered if he wouldn’t be safer in one of his properties. Something not tied to him. 

Your mind raced thinking of how to keep him safe. Franklin’s shoulders shook one last time and he wiped his face.

“I’m so tired,” he said. 

You scooted back in the bed and tugged on his arm. He kicked off his shoes and got into bed, placing his head on your stomach. He wrapped his arms around your middle and held on tightly. You stroked his head and kissed him periodically until his breathing evened out. He slept while your mind ran a mile a minute. 

So many emotions and thoughts ran through you. How safe was he with you? How exposed was he in the streets and all these drugs? What the hell was an agent doing at that park? Did someone see them? Their car? Franklin was the smartest man you knew. You knew that for every question you thought of, he likely already thought of the solution. Still. The worry gnawed on you like a dog with a bone. 

Time passed where you must have fallen asleep, because when you opened your eyes, Franklin was kissing your neck. 

“Franklin?” You asked groggily. What time was it? Felt late. The moon was still out. Your window was open and a light breeze ruffled the curtains. 

“I need to feel somethin’ other than…this,” he said. 

“You need rest. We gotta come up with a plan or…” 

“Please. Baby,” Franklin said and kissed you. He licked his lips and dived in for another kiss, longer and deeper this time. “You’re the only one who feels safe. Feel like home,” he said. He placed his forehead against yours and took a deep breath.

How could you deny him this? Outside was insane. Kevin was dead, there’s possible agents after him. On top of everything else…Franklin was constantly under stress. He took on so much responsibility. 

You nodded. You kissed his cheek and then the other one. Franklin leaned up and his palm came up to cradle your cheek. You kissed his palm. His thumb feathered across your cheek before pulling you close into a kiss. Your arms wrapped around his neck and held him to you. 

You’d give him everything you had. You’d ground him in whatever way you were able. If he needed to kiss, you’d kiss. If he needed your hands on him, you’d do that too. If he needed a ride out town, then you’d find a way. 

Franklin kissed down your neck, to your chest. He kissed over the top of your tank top before yanking it higher and exposing your breasts. He played with them, rubbing it between his hands and pushing your breasts together. He kissed one and then the other, before flicking his tongue out.

You moaned and he wrapped his lips around your nipple. “Fuck,” you moaned. Each suckle of your nipple sent shivers right down to your pussy, making you contract and clench. Franklin blew his breath over the wet nipple and then moved on to the other one. 

You pulled at his shirt and pulled it over his head, exposing his chest. You ran your hands over the expanse of his body. He shivered at your touch on him. He grabbed your hand and kissed your palm, then your forearm, and the crook of your elbow. 

You leaned forward and kissed him, rising up. He followed you and you pushed at his shoulders until he laid down on your bed. He looked at you with a question in his eyes. 

You couldn’t help much when it came to his business. You didn’t want to be involved. Sticking your head in the sand wasn’t much better. But there was nothing you could do. You didn’t know shit about business. Not like Franklin. However, you knew this. You knew him. 

You knew that you could make him feel good and forget for a little while. To help him reset and think more clearly about all of this. 

You got off the bed and pulled at Franklin’s legs, moving him to the edge of the bed. You unzipped his pants and pulled both it and his boxers off. 

“Baby,” Franklin said. 

You put a finger on his lips and sank to your knees. Your bed was a little high for what you wanted to do. You stood back up and grabbed a pillow, putting it under your knees. It made you level with his thick, long dick. He was getting harder by the minute. 

You reached out and touched him. He hissed as he watched you. Studied you. It was like he was committing all of this to memory. You didn’t want it to be a memory. You were going to figure all of this shit out. He was going to stay safe. 

You kissed his thigh and watched his reaction. He smirked at you. “Don’t just play with it,” he said. 

Ignoring him, you stroked his dick and played with the precum beading on the tip. You kissed his balls and kissed a trail up his dick. Franklin sighed as he moved, leaning back on the bed on his elbows. 

You licked his dick and he twitched on the bed. You inhaled the musky scent of him. You fondled his balls, rolling one between your fingers nice and slow. His breathing picked up, little hisses of groans. 

“You are an evil woman,” he said with a chuckle. 

You giggled and sucked the head of his dick into your mouth. “Oh fuck,” Franklin said. You popped it back out with a loud smack.

You waited and looked at him. Franklin looked down at you and smirked. “C’mon baby,” he said. You grinned and gave in. Some other time, you could tease him all you wanted. He always paid back in kind, but for now, he needed this quick and easy release.

You sucked him back into your mouth, as many inches as you could fit. You started to bob your head, getting his dick nice and wet. You slobbered as you pleasured him. Franklin let fly a string of curses and moans, rolling his head back. 

His hand dug into your scalp and pulled your hair back. “Just like that. Fuck, just like that,” Franklin coached. You kept going, doing exactly what he wanted. Spit slipped out the side of your mouth and dripped down your chin. Franklin watched it slide and you could’ve sworn that his strokes increased. His thick dick nearly hit the back of your throat. 

Franklin’s moans grew frantic. He couldn’t move your head anymore, his hand slipping. You opened your eyes and watched his head fall back. His jaw went slack. A last, strangled moan escaped him before his dick pulsed and hot jets of cum shot down your throat. You swallowed and licked it all up. 

You moved your mouth off of him and kept stroking with your hand. He hissed and the look he gave you…it was ravenous. “Get that ass on this bed,” he said. 

You grinned and stood up, shimmying out of your shorts. Franklin moved to the front of the bed. He laid on his back and pulled you by the arms. You straddled him and looked down into his eyes. It was always strange to look down on him for once. His height always forced you to look up at him. 

To look up to his vision for the future. You spent plenty of time listening to him. He was like an old school Panther or activist the way he talked about the community. You’d follow him to the ends of the earth. 

Franklin ran his hands under your shirt to feel your skin. He caressed your lower back. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he rasped. 

You leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. You intended to give him all of the comfort you could. He quickly took over, kissing you deep and slow. You had all the time in the world to kiss him. Love on him. 

Franklin shifted and moved you. His dick pushed into your wet heat and you shared a groan. “Franklin,” you whispered.

“Love my name on your lips,” he said. He kissed you again. He didn’t move. The thickness of him pulsed and twitched inside of you. He was content to sit and kiss you. His tongue slipped inside. He kissed and sucked on your bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth and releasing it. 

He licked your lips. Explored your mouth. Each pass of his tongue against yours made your pussy contract and arousal flood his dick. “Like that shit, don’t you?” He asked. 

You nodded. “Franklin, I love everything you do to me,” you said. You kissed him. “This right here? This is us. We’re the only things that matter,” you said. 

“I just wanna make you feel good, baby,” he said. 

“You make me feel so good,” you said. 

“Yeah? Let me hear it then,” he said. He started to move his hips, sliding you up and down on his dick.

“Oh, oh shit,” you said. It was like he pulled the words from you. He dick stretched you out but in this position, it was comfortable. Your thighs were on either side of him. Your hands braced on his shoulders as you looked into each other's eyes. 

There was still no sense of urgency. He moved slowly, pulling all the way out and then pushing back in and watching the way your eyes rolled. Your jaw would hang open, the breath stolen from your lips. 

His hands gripped your waist, almost bruising. It only turned you on more. His moans fueled your own. “Feel so good,” you moaned.

“Shit, baby. Grip that dick,” he said. His head rested against your headboard, his eyes rolling back with a smile on his face. You loved when he got like this. When he let himself be free and open. 

Your orgasm was building slowly but steadily. Climbing higher towards that delicious peak. “Franklin, please. Let me cum,” you begged. If he would go faster, you’d already be flying high. 

Your hands traveled up, cuddling him close. You buried your head into the crook of his neck. 

“Mm-uh, I wanna feel everything,” he said. 

He continued that slow, tortured pace. The sound of your lovemaking squelched in the silent house. There was just you and him. Joined. Connected. 

“Oh fuck, Franklin. That’s it,” you said. He managed to hit a spot deep inside of you. 

“Oh, I like that,” he said. He hit that spot, over and over. Your moans turned wild and crazy. You bit his shoulder as that peak neared. You bounced on his dick as he routinely hit your spot. 

“Oh fuck me,” you moaned. 

“Just like that, baby. So fuckin’ beautiful. Never letting you go. Never letting this pussy go.” 

You came on a loud curse, your legs shaking and your body going boneless. Franklin wrapped his strong arms around you and held you through it. “That’s it. Let it go,” he said as you talked you through it. 

When you were done, you panted and moved to get off of him. He shook his head, capturing your lips once again. His dick twitched inside of you. He kissed you and he leaned up, taking you with him.

He laid you onto your back, kissing you. Rubbing your back and your thighs. He hiked one leg up and over his hip. The other, he spread wide. Then he started to pound into you like a man possessed. 

His dick speared you over and over again. It robbed you of all thought. There was nothing but his dick hitting that spot again. 

“Mhmm, take that dick,” he whispered harshly. 

“Fr-Fra-” 

“Mm-uh, just keep taking that dick.” He moved your tank up, gripping onto your titty and licking your nipple. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck. Fuck me, baby,” you screamed. You were leaning on one elbow and your free hand pushed at his chest. You just needed your bearings. But your hand slipped on his sweaty chest. Moonlight caught some of it, making it glisten. 

“Mhmm, mhhm,” Franklin moaned. 

You slapped his chest. His dick kept sliding in and out, slick with your arousal. You looked into his eyes. There was so much love and lust there, shining through his eyes. He kept eye contact, never breaking pace, as he leaned forward and kissed you. 

“Who this shit belong to?” He asked.

“You, you, you,” you moaned. You were so close. Your moans and cries grew louder as your orgasm approached. 

“This pussy yours, baby. All yours,” you managed to croak out.

“All mine?” 

You could only manage a nod. Between his dick and your moans, you didn’t have time for anything else. 

He pinched your nipple and you gasped. It surprised the orgasm out of you. Wave after wave of pleasure suffused you. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head while your vision blacked out. 

Franklin groaned and pumped you full of him. Spurts of cum shot into you, filling you to the brim. 

You collapsed together, panting and laughing at what you just experienced. He smacked kisses all over your sweat slick skin. 

“Thank you, baby,” he said in between kisses.

“You never have to thank me for that,” you said. 

“Yes, I do. My mama always told me to be thankful for what’s mine,” he said with a devilish smirk.

You smacked his shoulder and he laughed. He slid out of you and his cum came leaking out. You groaned at the feeling. He got up and disappeared down the hall and came back with a wet rag. He helped clean you up and then he slid into bed beside you and pulled you close.

You both grew quiet. You listened to the strong thump of his heart. You were halfway to sleep, cuddled into his side. 

“Baby?” Franklin asked.

“Hm?” You asked.

“Do you think I’m a monster?” He asked. 

You turned to face him. The moonlight cast shadows on his face so he was half in profile. He didn’t look at you, he stared out of the window. 

“You are the smartest, greatest man I know. You can never be a monster. Never.” 

“What kind of great man kill they own best friend?” He asked. 

“You didn’t know.” 

Franklin shook his head, refusing to meet your eyes. “There could’ve been a different way,” he said. 

“If there was, you would’ve found it. Things were moving too fast, like you said.” 

Franklin took a deep breath but he was retreating from you. You could tell. He was closing in on himself, locking away the sweet man you’ve come to know. The walls that you’d spent months pulling down were building back up. Brick by brick. 

“You’re not a monster, you have to believe that,” you said. You needed him to see. Before he disappeared completely behind those walls, you needed him to understand that crucial part. 

“I need to go,” he said. He didn’t move but it was like he didn’t hear you. Nothing you’d say would get through to him.

“Franklin, don’t. What if there are people looking for you?” 

“If they are, I don’t want to bring ‘em here. You’ve done enough for me. I love you,” he said. He kissed you, pouring unspeakable emotion into this kiss. It was unnameable. Something you could only feel in the tug of your soul. 

“I love you. Stay here with me,” you said. 

Your mom would flip so you thought of places to hide him. Your mom usually came right in, checked on you, and then went to bed. All Franklin had to do was lay on the floor until then.

Franklin kissed your cheek and got up from the bed. He started pulling on his clothes. His face closed down. He was not the same, scared person that showed up earlier that night. He was distant. Walled off. A pillar or a statue now, immoveable. 

“Franklin, please,” you cried. 

You stood up as well. He pulled on his boxers and jeans. You grabbed his shirt and yanked. You got into a tug of war as Franklin pulled the shirt from your grasp. He leaned down and kissed you, his hand caressing your cheek. 

“I have to do this. I’ll see my mom and then I’ll get out of town for a bit,” he said. He tried to smile but it was too quick. Too fake. 

“I’ll come with you,” you said. You didn’t care what you had to tell people. He couldn’t do this. But once Franklin got something in his head, there was no turning back. There was no talking him down.

“No. You have to stay here. Your moms will kill me,” he said with another fake ass grin. You groaned and pulled your panties and shorts back on. Franklin kissed your cheek and left the room. You hopped on one foot, trying to pull your shorts up. One side got caught under your foot. You cleared it and pulled your shorts up and ran after him. Fuck him and his long ass legs.

“Franklin! Franklin, don’t!” You pulled at his arm and he swung it, knocking you loose. He left through the back door. You couldn’t call after him. You searched the ground for your shoes. Fuck! Why was everything so fucking hard to find in the dark? 

You slipped on a pair of flip flips and left the house but Franklin was nowhere to be found. You searched the dark backyard, looking for any sign of movement. You cursed softly and placed your hands on your head, rocking back and forth on your heels. 

You went back inside, headed towards the phone in the living room. You picked it up and the dial tone sounded. Movement out of the window caught your eye. You put the phone back on the receiver and moved towards the window.

You peeked out from behind the curtain and saw numerous cop cars rolling silently. Their lights were off. You followed them with your eyes. They stopped in front of your house, in front of Franklin’s mom’s house. There was a soft glow of light on the inside. 

“Franklin, no!” You went back to the phone, dialing the number. At that moment, the sirens sounded. Red and blue lights flooded your house, a swirling mix that only spelled danger. “Franklin,” you gasped.

You left your front door. The neighborhood left their front doors, heading outside in a mix of robes, rollers, and house slippers. Cold air slapped against your skin as you watched Franklin getting marched out of the front door by police officers. He was struggling and looked scared.

His mom called after him and yelled at the cops. You stood transfixed. This felt like it was happening to someone else. It felt like a television program. Any minute, it would turn to the commercial and leave this awful scene. 

Your chest caved in as Franklin looked at you from over the hood of the cop car. He mouthed, “I love you.”

You did the same thing back. He was shoved into the cop car and the door slammed. It made you jump. Burning hot tears streamed down your face. The streetlights and red and blues swam in your vision. 

You watched your future drive away and all you could do was stand there and watch.

Loved this? There's more! The Secret Franklin Saint Files

[macfrog]

ghost

when i wrote jet, she was always a two-parter to me. two characters, two horses, two stories. equal and distinct. you guys loved the first part so much that i figured i'd leave it as it was, but recently i hit 2k and thought this could be a cool way to mark it. think of this as jet's sister story. walks right alongside her; same universe, same joel - but still very much a standalone. she can be read with or without her predecessor. thank you a million times over for all the love y'all show me on the daily. writing for you guys is so much fun. love you all the most. 🤎🖤 dedicated to @hellishjoel whose love for this pair inspires me daily

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

summary: your loyalty to joel - and your ability in yourself - are tested in st. louis. the reward might just be worth the risk

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) post-outbreak!joel, graphic violence, moderate threat, a horse is shot and killed (though i don't think i made this too graphic, more gutwrenching), reader and joel are separated, badass stealthy reader, near-SA (more intended than attempted), very protective & very violent joel, unprotected piv sex, like...bloodplay i guess? lil bit of consensual choking and spitting, creampie, possessive!joel, dom!joel but also softdom!joel, big fluff at the end, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), strong language. this fic is not sponsored by nike. lol.

word count: 10.1k

main masterlist

It’s been weeks. Weeks of just the two of you, shoulders brushing together, hips moving in stride. Horses parallel to one another, heads nodding in unison. The time you’ve spent without Joel since leaving the QZ amounts to a grand total of about ten minutes. What if something goes wrong? If he doesn’t cover himself properly? If you clear the building, come back, and you’re not only a horse down, but a partner, too? You’re standing by the hole in the wall, trying to convince yourself to duck under the bare brick when Joel’s urgent voice does it for you. “Go now. Now!” And you do.

St. Louis is quiet, still, but fruitless.

It’s been two long days of wandering around and you’ve found one building safe enough to camp in. One. The rest have either been inaccessible – boarded up, broken down, or otherwise already inhabited by infected – or Joel’s deemed them too close to the middle of town, too open, not safe enough.

Not safe enough in a world overrun by a brain-rotting fungal infection? you’d asked.

He shut you up with a sharp expression which you understood simply as: Enough.

It meant that you were wasting days, though. The night you arrived, Joel quickly combed the area surrounding the barber shop you were holed up in for supplies, and found none. He woke you at the crack of dawn next morning to set off, saying he didn’t like the fact nothing was around here. Meant someone had been through before you guys and taken it all.

Meant company, is what he was saying.

So you’d ridden around for – what, maybe three hours? You and Jet, following Joel and Ghost down cracked roads, under rusted street signs. Listening to the wind circle the buildings overhead, nudging traffic lights gently until they sang in distorted, off-key creaks to you. Always keeping your eye on the Gateway Arch between buildings, using it as some kind of north star – not for any reason other than you’d never seen it before up close, but when you mentioned this to Joel, his brows furrowed and he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

Which meant that no, you wouldn’t be paying it a visit anytime soon.

It was mid-afternoon when Joel pulled on Ghost’s reins, brought her to a halt, and held his hand out to you. Jet huffed to a stop, and you swear you felt her cock her hip angrily at him.

“Turn back,” he muttered.

“What?”

“I said, turn back. Ain’t nothin’ out this way.”

“Turn back ‘n go where?”

He jerked his head back in the direction you’d come, swerved the reins sideways and then clicked to the black-coated horse to set off. She nodded obediently, like she knew what he was thinking and she figured he was right, and began the long walk back to the barbers.

You muttered an expletive and Joel coughed a Ha, hearing you loud and clear. So you turned to silently praying for a rainstorm, for a horde of infected, for anything you could sling an I told you so in and whip it at Joel.

You followed him, though, deliberately a good few paces behind, knowing he’d keep twisting around to check on you, and letting him fucking do it. Asshole.

When you finally arrived back at your spot, the red sun low behind the buildings and bleeding skyward into twilight, you slept with your back to him.

He didn’t seem to mind. He never seems to mind when you’re distant. You wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t even notice. He knows you’ll come back when you need something from him – want his words in your ear, want his body on yours, want…him.

The splintered sunlight through the boarded-up windows of the shop stirs you from your sleep. It wasn’t much of a sleep, despite Joel’s promise late last night that he’d let you lie for a little longer; knew you had a long day ahead if you were to get out of St. Louis, and he’d already drained your energy with the travelling yesterday.

You’d woven in and out of unconsciousness all night, dreaming of creaky farmhouses with clicking children inside, their skin torn and swollen and sprouting in swirls of pale white, singed with raw red and rotten green. And you dreamt of Joel’s shotgun blowing their moldy maws apart, blood and bone splattering across the floral wallpaper behind them.

You’re lying on your stomach, flat out on the floor with nothing but a worn comforter separating your fatigued body from the dusty tile. Joel’s out front feeding the horses on the street. You push yourself up, stretching your back, and a red-hot pain licks around your wrists.

“Motherf–”

You wince, falling onto your elbows, and your fingers link lightly around the red skin. The marks from Joel’s belt two nights ago still haven’t eased, haven’t cooled down so much as a degree. They’re still glowing, still burning, still painful.

Joel’s rugged face appears through a busted window. “Y’alright?”

“’m fine,” you mumble, turning over and examining the sores in the sunlight. The sting as your fingertips trace over the skin draws sharp tears to your eyes.

He feeds Jet the last handful of the hay you’d stocked up on and steps in from the golden morning to the dim light of the shop, dusting his hands on his jeans.

“You want more water on ‘em? Cold flannel?” he asks, avoiding the sight of your pained hands.

You shake your head. “Don’t think it’s helping.”

Eyebrows close, crease between them deep, he lowers himself with an achy groan and says, “We’ll find somewhere. You ready to go?”

You nod, tight lips blocking any words you think you’d probably regret later.

Joel helps you up, hands you a bag of beef jerky from his back pocket, and tells you to go get settled on Jet. He’ll pack up.

As you walk by him, he runs a hand from the crown of your head down to the nape of your neck. Gentle as air. And you almost fucking turn back. Almost catch his hand as it leaves your hair, almost wind your body into his. Almost.

Almost.

You follow at Ghost’s tail for another two hours, this time west instead of north. Joel turns to check on you more than he did yesterday; asks a couple times if you need more water, if you want any food. Even asks once if you need a break.

Each time, you reply with a flat, No. It seems to come from your throat more than your lips, more a grunt than an actual rounded word. Teeth locked tight around it, barely separating to let the sound through.

And each time, Joel turns back wordlessly. A mutual understanding; an unspoken agreement – as most of them are – to not talk any more than absolutely fucking necessary.

You spend most of the ride hunched over, your palms pushing heavily against the horn of Jet’s saddle. The sleeves of your jacket rolled up to stop them from brushing against your wrists.

The horse whinnies softly, and you reply to her as though she’s actually speaking. As though you can understand her thoughts, your forehead pressed lightly to the crest of her neck. You tell her you’re fine; tell her she’s doing a great job. You notice Joel’s jaw turn whenever you speak to her.

And then he whispers, “Hey,” and you lift your head, following the flick of his head to a tiny, lone pharmacy up ahead. You could fall off Jet’s back in equal parts shock and relief.

Joel winds Ghost along the road towards the building, stops by the curb outside it.

Its windows are smashed, broken glass decorating the sidewalk in front. There’s dried blood painting the white stone exterior, and empty shell casings dotted along the paved ground. You draw your eyes from the sight to look at Joel, and he’s already noticed them. He’s staring around the street, eyes darting from building to building, looking them all up and down.

The back wall inside the pharmacy is blocked, rubble and rafters hanging loose from a huge hole in the ceiling. Dusty insulation hangs between beams, and through the tears in the candy floss material, you can see the metal grate of the dispensing area. Joel sees it, too; notes it with a grumble and a click of his teeth.

“You stay here,” he tells you, dismounting Ghost.

“’n what if you get stuck in there?”

“Stuck in front of the collapsed ceiling? I ain’t gettin’ anywhere close to bein’ stuck. Stay put.”

You slide to the side, rubber-toed sneaker angling toward the ground to jump off of Jet. Joel swings back around and shoots you a look like fire on your skin.

“You got a death wish, or som’?”

“You just said you won’t get stuck. The hell’s gonna kill me in there?”

“Me, if you don’t listen to my damn instructions. Get back on the horse.”

“I ain’t off it,” you snap, a little louder than you intended. Sure, you want him to comfort you sometimes, but fuck, he pisses you off.

Joel stalks off without another word, head low between his shoulders. You hook your foot back into the stirrup and shake your head, averting your gaze to the other side of the street where the sight of an ill-tempered man-child won’t piss you off more.

The street is lined with stores and cafes, a bar on the corner with torn-up leather seats spilling out of the door like someone’s barricaded it. Your eye travels further down, where faded, moldy bunting ruffles in the wind, hooked around a traffic light.

There’s a red-brick building directly across from you, a truck with green tarpaulin parked out front. The doors to the building creak as they swing back and forth in the wind. The windows are still intact – surprising for this deep in the city. Other than that, the place looks pretty damn abandoned.

Ghost shakes her head, ears flicking. A heavy, shuddered breath jolts from her flared nostrils in the form of two white clouds, lit golden in the sunlight. She moves from foot to foot. You pat Jet gently, distracting yourself with the feel of her long, ginger mane.

You hum quietly, filling an eerie silence. Something to the beat of your heart, quickening with each second. Trying to calm the horses, calm yourself. Joel’s still wandering around inside.

You read an article once before the outbreak that said horses can smell fear on humans. It was for a school project. Said it affected their nervous system, like, made their heartrate pick up, though they never concluded whether it made the horses more afraid themselves or not.

Feeling Jet’s body weight shift from side to side as you swerve around atop her, analyzing every movement, every sound, every change in direction of the wind on this street, you figure you know the answer now.

Yeah. She feels edgy.

The wind picks up, carrying leaves across the broken road, fluttering by burnt-out cars. There’s a scuff from the store and your head shoots back to find Joel emerging from the shadows.

“Nothin’,” he mumbles, giving the street a sideways look as he walks back over to Ghost.

“Nothing I need, or nothing at all?”

He lifts his hands to take hold of her. “Nothin’ at all. Place is ransacked. Whole damn city’s –”

It all happens in the blink of an eye. One minute you’re looking at Joel, watching his lips form the words, his fingertips coming to land on the leather strap of Ghost’s bridle, and barely a heartbeat later, there’s a deafening crack from across the street.

Ghost’s body falls to the earth like she’s nothing but an inanimate sack. Her front legs buckle first, her chest crashes down towards the smooth stone, and then she’s rolling onto her left side. She’s dead before she hits the ground.

Dust and dirt are thrown skyward as she slams down, head falling heavy and still on the sidewalk.

“Ghost!” you shriek, and then you feel Joel’s hands on the sleeve of your jacket – rough. Painfully squeezing, canvas burning against your wrists.

He’s gripping the material, hauling you down to him, only you won’t let go of Jet’s reins. You’re being tossed to-and-fro atop the now-panicking horse. Ghost is bleeding from her head; thick, dark blood spilling out like tar and dripping down the curb.

You scream at Joel, fighting his grip off, eyes never leaving the black horse. But then another shot fires, ricocheting off of the ground by the pharmacy window, missing his head by less than a foot, and you fall limp.

You let him drag you off of Jet’s back and hurl you inside the pharmacy, shoving you out of view and into the dingy shadows. When you turn, you realize she’s still out there, a chestnut-colored blur as she rears and spins, fleeing from the noise. You scream her name but Joel whips around and plants his palm flat against your mouth, smothering your cry into a muffled whimper against the curve of his calloused skin.

“Shut up,” he whispers, free hand reaching into his holster for his own gun.

You drag his hand from your face, dropping it. “Jet’s still out –”

“They ain’t aimin’ for Jet,” he replies, switching the handgun into his right. “They’re aimin’ for us, and they’re gonna be down here soon. I need you to listen to me.”

“But Ghost –”

“Baby,” he says, laced with frustration and desperation and panic. Your sentence falls flat on your tongue. “Listen – to – me. Now.”

You nod, tears forming in your eyes. The horse is still lying out front; you can see her past Joel’s shoulder. You think back to your agreement: Do as you say. He’s shaking you by the shoulders, forcing you to look him in the eye, repeating those words to you. Listen to him. Focus on him. Stay alive. You don’t survive this if you don’t wake the fuck up right now.

And then he has his hands either side of your face, shaking you back to reality. “Hear me?”

“What? No, I didn’t hear. I didn’t fucking hear!”

He wastes no time chastising you. Just says it again. Calm, clear. Every word its own sharpened shape.

“I need you to move, need you to get out of here. They’re across the street, in that red building. There’s probably a gang of ‘em, right? So we gotta take ‘em out.”

“Take ‘em out? We gotta fuckin’ run, Joel! We don’t even know how many –”

“You,” his voice sounds like he’s about to break, “are gonna head out of there.”

He points past you, behind an upturned shelving unit, where there’s a small hole blown in the side of the pharmacy. Unnoticeable from outside, though if the perps across the street have ransacked this place, they’ll know it exists.

“You’re gonna make your way around the street, head low, quiet, ‘n get in the back of that building. You got it?”

“What the fuck are you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna distract ‘em. I’ll cover you, alright? Just do it.”

Just do it. Just fucking do it. I tell you what to do, and you just do it, because it’s me. Because you trust me, because we’ve kept each other alive this long.

Just do it. Because right now, what the fuck else are you going to do?

Your head’s still spinning. Pulse throbbing in your ears. Lungs hammering against your chest wall for breath. You can barely think straight.

“What do I do once I’m in?”

He’s kneeling down, swinging his backpack off of his shoulders. “Take – them – out. You’ve done it before, you know what you’re doin’.”

“Real noble of you, Joel,” you hiss, taking the spare gun he offers and slipping it under the back of your jeans, “sendin’ me in alone to kill who the hell knows how many fuckin’ guys.”

You pull the switchblade he picked up from that farm in Nebraska and flick it once, letting it glint fiercely in the light from out front, then close it and place it back in your pocket, ready to hand if – and when – you need it.

Joel’s loading his rifle, unable to meet your eye. He sniffs. “Do it quiet, you hear me? Sneak up on ‘em.”

You shake your head in disbelief, feet starting to carry you over to the side of the room. Powered by adrenaline only, letting go of any emotion that might keep you inside this stupid pharmacy. Forgetting anything in you that might convince you to stay glued to Joel’s side.

Yeah, you can fucking do it. You’re not a kid. You’ve been doing this long enough.

This was life before the QZ. You were in a group then, a collective of survivors whose only interest was staying alive. At all costs. And you got good at it. You’ve told Joel about it before – you were the first wave. Whenever you came across another group – no matter if it was hunters, smugglers, fucking FEDRA – they’d send you in, alongside Mila. The two of you lightest on your feet, best with a knife in your hands.

You started to find it fun, after a while. Thrill of the chase and all that. Creeping up behind them, dragging the blade along their throat, dropping them to their knees as they choked and gargled and bled out. The two of you could clear an entire building in ten minutes, not a single bullet fired.

Mila preferred puncturing them. She’d lift her arm and bring the knife down with the weight of her entire body, sinking it into their necks, under their jaws, sometimes through their fucking temples. You’d seen that girl do some pretty fucked-up stuff.

You’d seen yourself do some pretty fucked-up stuff. Stuff that’d have you avoiding mirrors for weeks.

And none of it scared Joel away. None of it made him think twice about setting off with you.

Certainly never made him think twice about sending you on what can only be described as a suicide mission, just to rid St. Louis of a few bandits.

Doing it isn’t the problem, though, is it? You haven’t had to do it in a while, sure. Joel takes care of you well enough that you barely have to look twice at a threat before there’s a bullet, a blade, or an arrow through it. And you’re not scared, either. Not of those guys across the street.

No. You’re scared of leaving him. Parting with him.

It’s been weeks. Weeks of just the two of you, shoulders brushing together, hips moving in stride. Horses parallel to one another, heads nodding in unison. The time you’ve spent without Joel since leaving the QZ amounts to a grand total of about ten minutes. What if something goes wrong? If he doesn’t cover himself properly? If you clear the building, come back, and you’re not only a horse down, but a partner, too?

You’re standing by the hole in the wall, trying to convince yourself to duck under the bare brick when Joel’s urgent voice does it for you.

“Go now. Now!”

And you do.

You emerge into an alleyway, concealed from the street by a rusty blue dumpster. Overgrown weeds at your feet, you stay crouched and still until you’re sure there are no eyes on you from the windows overhead.

I mean, you’d be dead by now if there were. So that’s hopeful.

You slink around the jagged metal, slow, silent. More gunshots sound from across the street, and you know Joel’s tossed them a bone. Maybe he’s shown himself – a flash of his jacket or scuff of his heel as he settles to fire back. Maybe they’ve already killed him. Who fucking knows?

At the end of the alleyway sits a black gate, bent and contorted into an archway which separates you from the street. Still covered by knee-high weeds, you kneel down onto your stomach and peer between the wiry green plant to get your first scope of the street ahead.

There’s a long-abandoned nail bar on the right, a few doors down from that bunting you spotted earlier. And right outside it, cast in shadow from the awning: a chestnut horse, saddle hanging lopsided on her back. Waiting, patiently, watching the shootout before her.

You breathe a sigh of relief. Stay there. Stay right there.

Joel’s on his knees outside the pharmacy, crouched behind a Jersey barrier. He lifts his head every thirty seconds, fires one heavy shot at the windows on the top floor of the red-bricked building, and then ducks for cover when they send a burst of erratic bullets back down to him, pelting against the concrete.

You watch for a minute, studying the pattern, and then slip back between the weeds like a lion hiding in the bushes. When Joel fires at the window, you push yourself up and make a swift run for it.

There’s a truck in the middle of the street. Black paint scraped, shot, and sun-burnt off. You take three good strides, kneeling once you’re at the tailgate. You peer around the rear of the truck, huge tires flat and melted into the broken tarmac. You spot your opening.

A gray fence faded by the sun, a few slats missing from the bottom half, guarding an overgrown yard, and, sitting wide open: the backdoor to the building.

Bingo.

It’s an easy enough route. Looks almost like someone’s laid it out for you this way, a perfect path. You wait for your signal – Joel’s gunfire – and sprint over to the fence, back flush against the rotting wood.

You pull the revolver from your jeans and open the chamber. Five bullets. Not bad. You snap it back and adjust your grip on it, finger ghosting the trigger. And then you hear them.

“The girl’s still inside,” a voice grunts from over the fence. Your blood runs cold.

“He’s gotta run out sometime. What the fuck’s Nico doing wasting bullets?”

“How often do strays come through? Let him have his fun.”

Strays. Like a little pet name. Like it’s sport for them. It pisses you off, your adrenaline channeling into rage, white hot across the nape of your neck, growing into determination to put your knife through every single one of them.

So, you return the gun, favoring your switchblade.

Old dog, new tricks. Yadda yadda.

You bend down, peering through the gap like a dog searching for scraps.

It’s just the two of them. One, standing by the door; looks about six feet tall by six feet wide, buzzcut atop a puffy face, tattooed arms hanging loose by his side. The other, pacing around the yard; when his worn jeans pass the opening in the fence, you scan up the tall figure and notice dirty blond hair, scraped back from a gaunt face into a greasy ponytail.

“And if anything hears him? Runners? Fuckin’…we ain’t ready for that.”

Neither of them seem to have a gun. Scrawny doesn’t, anyway, and if Buzzcut does, it’s not in his hands. Which gives you a few seconds’ advantage.

Once Scrawny turns away, you slip through and hook your arm around his neck, holding your knife to the spongey skin under the ridge of his jaw. Buzzcut steps forward, hands reach into his waistband. Fuck.

“Make a sound, I’ll cut him.”

It’s not hard for your voice to fall back to that pitch, that same old tone. Muscle memory. Hushed, so no one inside hears; serious, flat, not a hint of fear. Even though this guy can probably feel your heart hammering into his back.

There’s still shooting on the street. Buzzcut steps forward, pistol between his fingers, silver reflecting the sun into your eyes. He’s unsure if he should lift it or not. Unsure if he should do anything or not. There’s panic painted across his face the color of crimson. He’s not built for this stuff, and he knows it. His free hand comes up, palm forward. Half of a surrender.

Not good enough.

“Put the gun down.”

“Fucking bitch,” Scrawny mutters, wrestling around, long legs bent awkwardly as he leans into your smaller frame.

Fucking idiot, you think. He doesn’t know that this is the fun part. This is why you chose the knife, and not the gun. Blade over bullets. It’d be too easy to rip his brain apart with the squeeze of a trigger. Too quick. Nah, you want to hear him. Want to feel him writhe against you.

You let the blade sink into his whiskered neck. Ever so slightly. He hisses and settles.

“Put – the fucking gun – down.”

“Patrick,” your hostage spits, “just do it.”

Just do it.

Patrick glances down briefly and then nods, eyes flitting back to you. Your eyes stay locked on him, your grip tightens around the knife, but you deafen to the heaving of the chest under your elbow.

Just do it.

Where’s Joel? Is he alive? His voice is ringing in your ears.

Just do it.

There’s a pause between the bullets across the street. Have they hit him?

Just do it.

Patrick’s gun hits the ground with a blunt thud.

Just do it.

And then you feel it.

Searing pain, hot as fire in your upper thigh. A sharp scratch just below your hip, teeth cutting through denim and flesh, then a rutting feeling, twisting and digging and fucking burning as the knife is pushed further and further. You let an angry groan pass your lips and dig your own blade deep into his throat.

His skin bursts open like a bag of water. You pull on him, letting him sink to his knees flush against your chest. Before he’s even on the ground, you’re lurching forward, retrieving the pistol and swiping your knife at Patrick’s outstretched hand. He gasps, clutching his split palm, and then backs away a couple steps.

This time, he lifts both hands. That’s better, fucker.

“Don’t – don’t gotta –”

“Shut the fuck up,” you cut back, staring him down while his buddy writhes at your feet, taking his last few gulps of air. Fresh, warm blood seeps into the grass. Your thigh is on fire.

You edge closer to Patrick, and Patrick edges further away. Until his back is pressed against the wall, his knuckles scratching against the brick; his own blood streaming down his wrist.

“How many are in there?” you ask, head nodding to the doorway, barrel of the gun pressed into his cheek.

He gulps.

“How many?”

“Th-three. Please.”

“Where?”

“One in the h-hall. Two upstairs. Please,” he says again, and you drop the gun, leaving a white ring in his skin.

Mila would sink it in deep, right into his neck. The trapezius. Her favorite spot. She’d just plunge the knife in, push until he collapsed, and then leave him to bleed out. But this is a big guy. He’s gonna need more than that to floor him.

“Alright,” you concede, stepping forward. “Since you asked so nicely.”

You pull your arm down to your hip, knuckles white around the handle and take a fistful of his shirt with the other. Draw him in real close, and angle the blade to the sky, shoving it up under his chin. Nice ‘n snug.

It glides through his skin like it’s butter, and you catch the butt of the knife in your palm, pushing further up. You watch as his eyes widen, his pupils focus on yours long enough to take the memory of your face with him – and then they relax, roll back to check out the metal intrusion behind them.

Patrick gargles, chokes on blood and blade, then gasps as you haul it back out, bright red gushing down his front.

His body folds, both hands come up to cup his torn jaw, and with one kick which cracks into his knees, he’s flat on his face, breathing in dirt and grass and…the blood of his buddy.

“You’re welcome, Patrick,” you breathe, limping over him to enter the building.

Shots are firing again upstairs. It’s dark, your eyes take a few seconds to adjust, but you’re in a derelict store. Place is empty, probably looted by these assholes.

Patrick told you there was one guy in the hall, which you assume is through the door sat ajar on your left. Patrick, however, was most likely a liar. And even if he was telling the truth, you don’t know what this place looks like. You have no idea when or where you’ll come across this one guy.

The only things you have on you are your gun and your knife. So you open the revolver again, your trembling fingers fish one bullet out, and you toss it, aiming for the sliver of light between the door and its frame.

It rattles through, rolling over the solid floor.

“Patrick?” a voice calls, and footsteps begin to approach. “Tucker?”

You duck behind a battered, empty shelf.

A third guy, long brown hair tangled across his shoulders, thick beard patchy with white and gray, pushes the door open and sidles in.

“Pat–”

You’re on him before he can finish his pal’s name, same way you jumped Scrawny – now Tucker, out there. Your blade glides across his throat and he buckles, much quicker than his predecessor outside did. You settle him face down on the tile floor, nodding to him as some twisted form of a thank-you, and slip out of the room, swinging down to collect your bullet as you go.

Patrick, as it turns out, was not a liar. The bottom floor of the house is empty. You’re in a long, narrow hallway. A bloodstained runner at your feet. There are muffled voices upstairs – roaring, cursing. The sunlight streaming in through the arch-shaped window on the front door draws you nearer.

Your breathing is labored, with stress, exhaustion, and pain. Your thigh throbs under your jeans, pain shooting like lightning from the wound anytime you put weight on it. You drag yourself to the bottom of the stairs.

More shots. You swear they’ve only been coming from this building for the last five minutes. Where the fuck is Joel?

You lift your foot hesitantly, hovering over the first step. Don’t fuck this up now. You line it up, applying your weight bit by bit until you’re pushing up off the floor with a whimper, balancing on one leg, bracing for the inevitable creak of the wood.

Nothing.

You’re about to step onto the second, when the door behind you bursts open. Light screams into the hallway, shining on you like a spotlight, and three huge figures stumble in the doorway.

“Wh–? That’s the bitch on the horse!”

You throw yourself up the stairs desperately, taking them two – three at a time, but a pair of fists are in your hair, dragging you back down to the man they belong to. You cry out, swinging around, and catch him square on the nose with your elbow. He swears, retreating only momentarily, before looking you dead in the eye, blood pouring down his lips.

“Fucking – cunt,” he seethes, arms darting out to reach up for you.

His attempt is short-lived, for a number of reasons.

First: you kick his chest before he can grab you, sending him hurtling back down where he came from.

Second: one of the two Patrick said would be up here is at the top of the stairs now, taking you by the shoulders and hauling you up.

And third: Joel just opened fire downstairs.

The bullets pelt around the hallway, coming from the side you just snuck in through. He must’ve followed you across the street.

The last thing you see as you’re dragged off into another room is the three of them ducking for cover, and then you’re being flung onto a cold, dusty floor, knocking the wind out of your lungs and the revolver from your waistband. You roll over and groan, staring up at two men standing over you.

One of them – the one whose vice grip dragged you in here – is big and bulky. Like a brick wall. You realize you’ve no chance of getting by him. His fists are clenched, face reddened, black beady eyes boring into yours. Then he lurches forward, steals the gun from the floor beside you, and points it at you. The safety’s still fucking on.

The other looks younger, but still built. Toned. His shoulders swell in the green canvas jacket he’s wearing, patches on the sleeves. Short, black hair, face sculpted and smooth, chin hairless. Lips pursed as he surveys you, tosses over what to do.

“Cute little game you were playin’, down there,” he muses. “Took out half my guys.”

“Wasn’t that hard,” you pant in reply, “you’re all fucking idiots.”

You can hear Joel fighting off the rest of them, grunts and growls of pain echoing up the stairs. You don’t know which are him and which are them, and it sends fleets of panic through your chest, tightening your breath.

“Sounds like your man’s losing.”

You laugh, masking your fear with a roll of your eyes, head leaning back. “I don’t think so.”

The two men look at each other. The black-haired one nods down to you, then turns on his heel. “Do what you want to her,” he tells Brick Wall, bored, and begins walking away.

A repulsive smile pulls on the man’s lips as he glares down at you. Putrid pink cheeks swell, eyes disappear. Your heels dig against the floorboards, beginning to push yourself in a dizzy haze backwards as his huge, beefy hand reaches down for your waistband.

Something of a scream, warped by the way your body so quickly jumps away from him, escapes your throat, but it only makes him laugh. Your hand slips up inside your sleeve, fingers clutch the cold metal handle of your blade. It flicks open under the fabric, and, just as the noise draws the attention of the man now fumbling with the button of your jeans, you take one good swipe and cut through his forearm. One clean slice, separating skin and soaking the tip of your knife in his blood.

He hisses, stumbles backwards two steps, clutching his arm. You throw yourself to your feet, backing into the corner opposite.

“Nico!” Brick Wall cries out, and the canvas jacket spins to face you.

You clutch your knife, hunched, panting. The room slowly tilts, resetting every time you blink, then begins rotating again.

Nico laughs, pulling a gun of his own and aiming it straight at your face. It’s a nightmare – two on one, both of them armed. But it’s better than what was about to fucking happen.

“Fucking – bitch,” Nico snarls.

“Y’all keep saying that,” you utter, eyes never leaving the barrel of the gun, “I don’t get it. I’m goin’ easy on you here.”

“You’re gonna fuckin’ get it,” Nico spits, apparently not paying enough attention.

The building’s silent. The fighting’s stopped downstairs. And there are no loud footsteps making their way up here, which means one thing.

There’s a quieter, deadlier threat on his way up.

A brutal shot fires from the hallway, taking your breath with it, and Brick Wall’s body flops to the floor. Bullet hole in his temple. Spray of blood across the wall. Only three beating hearts left in the building.

Nico seems to gasp, whether from fright or the way he lunges toward you, wrapping a tight, choking arm around your neck and holding the gun to your temple, both of you waiting for Joel to materialize for two very different reasons.

His figure creeps around the doorway, footsteps slow and soft. His eyes flit over yours, shoulders hunched, rifle aimed ahead. Your breath lets go in one huge, shaky gasp, feeling your muscles relax.

“I’ll do it,” Nico hisses, panic strung through his voice tighter than the bow of a violin. “One wrong move and she’s dead, asshole.”

Joel shrugs. “Do it.”

Nico doesn’t move. He shakes your body, pushes the gun harder into your skin.

Joel looks you dead in the eye. “Do – it.”

Your fingers run over the handle of your knife, lowering it until you have a good enough grip to lock your fist and tilt the blade, lifting your right arm and hammering it backwards, stabbing deep into Nico’s side.

Your head leans to the right as he screams out; he falls to the left. And Joel takes his shot.

Nico’s hand bursts open, blood spraying everywhere. The revolver is thrown from his grip, rattling against the floor as your fist takes one good swing across his jaw and then you fall apart from one another – you, rocking into the steady weight of Joel’s body, and Nico, collapsing against a desk.

Joel catches you in his arms and straightens you up, shifting you to aim his gun back at the threat – though there’s not much about him that warrants such a name anymore. He’s slumped against the dark wood, dark stain seeping through his shirt, head rolled back and groaning. One hand cupping what’s left of the other, blood snaking through his fingers and down his hand like vines on a tree trunk. He looks…pathetic.

Joel fires another shot at him without fucking looking; it lands in Nico’s thigh, and he screams. Mouth full of blood and loose teeth, it’s a gargled, drowned howl of pain.

“They try somethin’?” the fierce drawl asks you, brows low, eyes dark. You know what he’s talking about. The button of your jeans is undone.

You want to say, It’s fine, I’m fine. You want to tell Joel to leave Nico to bleed out. He’s the last one, he’ll be dead inside of ten minutes. You want to go, want to climb onto Jet’s back and let her carry your weak, limp body as far from here as her legs will gallop, and then, once she’s rested, further.

But Joel won’t hear any of that, you know it. Won’t leave this little son of a bitch to slip into a half-conscious drowse, the dripping of his own blood ticking down the seconds he has left while the sound of Jet’s hooves fading into the distance lulls him to hell.

He knows you. Joel. He can read lies on your lips like they’re words scrawled into your skin, so that’s a waste of time, too.

You nod. Joel’s jaw locks. And his eyes flood black like ink.

He hands you the rifle, pulls his arms out of his backpack, and paces over to Nico. The bloody, injured figure begins to back up, push himself further away from Joel, who’s reaching down for something.

“Look, man,” Nico heaves, “you gotta see it from our point of v-view. You guys came walkin’ into our territory, you – you…”

There’s the sound of metal dragging across the bare floorboards, vibration strong enough that it rattles your entire body. You turn away, figuring you don’t need to see him pummel a man to death with a broken pipe.

You hear it, though. Every grunt from Joel, every cry from his victim. Every time the pipe bludgeons into him, the wet squelch of warm flesh and blood meeting cold, rusting metal. You wander off to the other side of the room, closing your eyes.

It’s like a pattern – like the shooting from earlier. Joel sucks in breath as he lifts the pipe above his head, groans as he hurtles it down. There’s the blunt sound, a ding almost of the metal whacking against Nico’s skull, the splatter of blood bursting. And repeat. Deep breath as the pipe winds back – groan as it uppercuts through the dusty air, crack of bone breaking when it makes contact.

Finally, he stops. Takes three deep breaths. Drops his weapon. You turn.

The limp body lies at his feet, a dent the size of Texas in the globe of his skull. Olive skin now splattered red, face unrecognizable. Blood pouring out of somewhere – everywhere in his head, circling his body in a thin, fast-moving pool.

Joel’s staring at you when your eyes lift. Sweat glistening on his forehead, lips apart. Shoulders tight. You’re standing face to face, both of your breathing heavy and labored. Exhausted. And yet…you fucking need him.

You take one step forward and suddenly Joel’s advancing, too, hands out to meet you when you collide into him. Your fingers scram for his collar, ripping his jacket from his shoulders while he messily tears apart the waist of your jeans.

His weight bears down on top of you and he pushes you to the floor, following you down. The floorboards are dirty, coated in a thick layer of dust disturbed by the scuffle you just had, and glazed by the blood of those who lost. You sit up only long enough to remove your jacket before Joel’s pinning you down, unbuckling his own jeans and taking a grip of yours.

You flinch when he tugs on the waistband, and he pauses. Looks up, watches your expression twist. Then follows your eyeline, down to your thigh, where the fresh stab wound oozes thick, dark blood.

Joel slowly peels your jeans down your legs and over the gash. When they pool loose around your knees, you bend them, angling your broken skin in the sunlight. It’s swollen, the cut, reddened and raw. Flesh dragged back and forth, torn and ripped around the edges. You can’t even feel the pain of it anymore, only a prickling heat leading up to the ridges of your broken skin.

And so, when Joel’s fingers run through the air directly above it, and he mutters something about cleanin’ you up, you grunt. Straighten your legs. Pull him by the shoulders back down to you. Reply with a rushed whisper, a Hurry the fuck up.

And he listens; he unbuckles his own jeans, sags them low on his hips, and bends your knees at his shoulders. His cock is already stiff, bead of precum at his wide tip, which he dips between your folds to collect your slick, and then fists himself slowly.

Hurryhurryhurry “– the fuck up,” you groan, watching your wet glisten off the smooth skin of his shaft.

He smirks, then pushes straight in.

Your head hits the floor, eyes rolling with it as he fills you up. His face buries between your breasts, voice muffled by the material of the fabric when he lets out an open-mouthed moan. You both adjust to the feeling – the stretch and the tightness – and then, with a couple more shallow thrusts, Joel begins really fucking you.

He drags his forehead up to yours, sweat mixing where your skin touches. Your jaw clenched; you’re hissing every time he hits that sweet spot inside of you. Holding onto him by the shoulders as he rocks his hips forward, pushing you closer and closer to your first release.

Joel lifts his hand, placing it flat on the floor above your head to steady himself. Then, he quickly glances up at it, an unusual look on his face. You crane your neck and follow his eyeline to find his hand gleaming wet with blood. Bright red. Fresh.

It’s the guy he shot. Bullet wound peering out from the other side of the desk you’re lying next to; his blood has travelled across the uneven flooring.

Joel studies his palm intently, thrusts slowing down some. His face looks…puzzled? As if he’s never had to physically encounter the result of him and his bullets. As if he doesn’t know where to put his hand, now that it’s covered in that result.

You do, though. You know exactly where you want him to put it.

You take his wrist in both hands and draw his gaze down to you. The blood drips from his almost trembling palm down your fingers.

His expression changes – softens, when he sees you looking up at him, watching him from under hooded lids. And then it darkens, when you pull his palm flat against your neck, and the red fluid stains your throat.

You can feel the warm wet between Joel’s skin and yours – the same warmth on the back of your head, creeping through your hair as it seeps further across the floorboards. You’re both covered in blood and dirt, anyway. Joel seems to consider the same, and his grip tightens.

His thumb and forefinger pinch, cutting into your windpipe. Your vision falters for a second, Joel blinks out of focus, and a tiny wave of euphoria crashes over your body. A sick grin pulls across your lips, mirrored in Joel’s.

He releases you and you gasp, oxygen surging through your throat like a burst of water in a dried-up pipe. You let go of his wrists to run your blood-soaked fingers across his face, through his hair. He’s still fucking you hard, and you need something to ground you as white-hot heat pools rapidly between your legs, and a knot begins to tighten.

“You like that?” Joel grunts, driving his hips harder.

“Mhm,” you reply, mouth falling open in a silent gasp when his tip punches into your cervix. The edges of the world start to whiten.

“You’re mine, you hear?” he says through gritted teeth. “Belong to me.”

You’re nodding, throat tossing out an, Uhuh.

“Ain’t no one gets this but me, h-uh?”

Joel’s hand is back around your neck, this time taking either side of your jaw between his fingers, keeping your eyes trained on his. Whatever the fuck makes you do it – the look in his eye, silently commanding, or maybe your own fucking desperation – you’re not sure. But you open your mouth wider, rest your tongue on your bottom lip, and plead with your eyes for him to do it.

So, he does.

His jaw slackens and a bead of spit falls from his mouth into yours. He watches as it lands on your tongue and you run it along your lips, coating yourself in him, before swallowing it.

Joel groans, lets a staggered, “F-fuck, baby,” pass his lips.

You smile in return, filthy, but needy, and beginning to crash hard as your orgasm bursts through you.

He fucks you through it, pace never faltering, still stringing wet saliva between your lips as he kisses you. You pull away when it becomes too much, burying your head in his shoulder and biting down on his shirt.

“Yeah,” he coaxes you, “that’s it. Fuck. Nice ‘n tight, baby.”

As soon as the room starts to return to your vision, the feeling back in your body, you’re rolling him over. Ignoring the burn of the wound in your thigh, you push him back down and straddle him, his cock still deep inside.

You roll your hips lazily, fingers coming down to toy with your clit as Joel stretches you even more from this angle. He groans, hands finding home tight on your hips, head rolling back. He bucks his hips and your free hand steadies yourself on his chest.

“Faster, baby,” he says, trying to move you with his hands.

“No,” you hum, “we go slow. I want to go slow.”

He grunts, pissed off. Good. Keep him that way.

You begin to slowly bounce, pads of your fingers drawing circles over your swollen clit, almost hurting with overstimulation.

“Tell me what you did downstairs,” you whisper, eyes falling shut.

“Downstairs?” Joel asks in a broken voice.

“Mhm. What did you do to ‘em?”

He catches on. “Shot one of ‘em under the jaw.”

You shake your head. “Next.”

“Ch-choked one of them out.”

“No. Not him.”

You want blood. You want Joel’s fists wrapped around someone’s vital organs. You want the sound of your screams in his ears, whether they were really there or not, driving him to commit acts so heinous he won’t look you in the eye when he confesses them.

That’s what you want: him to confess them.

“One of ‘em had a Bowie…” he breathes, knowing what you’re looking for.

You fall forward with a deep moan. “That’s it. Him.”

“…hangin’ from his belt. Shot his leg, right above his knee –”

You moan again, sighing as you sink down on his cock and that feeling creeps over you again.

“– then took the knife.”

“He on the floor?”

“He got up. He – fuck – he stood up, ‘n I put it between his shoulders.”

“Fuck, yeah?”

“Yeah. Ripped ‘im apart, baby.”

You cry out in pleasure, bouncing up and down faster and faster the more the image replays in your head. You’re leaning forward, hovering over Joel as your skin slaps against his every time his hard length fills you. Fucking him to the thought of him slaughtering anyone who posed any threat to you. Those guys didn’t make it upstairs, you’re not even sure they got a good look at you before you were hauled away. But Joel tore them limb from limb at just the possibility.

“Did he – did he scream?”

“Yeah, he fuckin’ screamed.”

Your head drops between your shoulders, hands splayed on either side of Joel’s head, and his fingers knot in your hair. He pulls your forehead against his again, whispering into your mouth.

“Begged me not to do it,” he hums, and you’re thrown over the edge for the second time.

Your hips stop moving to allow space for your high; a second blinding, screaming orgasm ripples through you. You’re gasping now, fingers clutching for Joel, but he’s already moving again.

He slips out from underneath you and lets you down gently on your front, taking your hips and pulling them up to him as he positions himself behind you. And then, without a second’s hesitation, he’s back inside you, chasing his own high. Your back arches as he fucks you, chest flat against the floor.

There’s blood fucking everywhere. On your clothes, in your hair, on the floor beneath you, streaming down your thigh. The entire room smells of it – that suffocating, sickly sweet bite of iron. The bitterness so thick that it coats your lungs with every desperate pant of breath.

And finally, fucking – finally­, all the adrenaline and momentum is brought to a climax when Joel releases deep inside you, and you feel yourself contract around him as a third orgasm pulses through you. Your cunt swollen, aching, you almost don’t feel it, but for the way your legs give as soon as he stills inside you.

He’s groaning, borderline fucking whining, before he draws out of you and slumps down beside you on the floor. You’re both staring at one another, almost afraid to touch each other – as if you’re made of glass. Fragile. Breakable.

Yeah. You’re his. And he fucks you like you’re his, like your only purpose is to relieve his stress, tire out his anger, but then…then he looks at you like this, the sunlight twinkling in his warm eyes, dust falling over him like snow. Then he shifts the hair from your face so he can take a proper look at you, study every detail on your face – the cracks in your lips, the curve of your nose. And you know you’re so much more than that to him.

Always have been. Always will be.

You lean over and run your fingers across his cheek, dried blood the color of wine all over your hands. Joel lies still, places a soft kiss to the pad of your thumb when it touches his lips. Your nails sift through his beard. His eyes close over, laying in the comfortable stillness as you trace his face, delicately drawing from his dark brows down to the patches of skin between the graying hair on his jawline.

He doesn’t move when you push yourself up and roll over onto his chest. Doesn’t flinch when you press your mouth to his neck, running from the bottom of his ear up to the tip of his chin.

And when you bring your lips up to meet his, he kisses you back.

His hand sneaks through your hair to the crown of your head and he sits up, rolling you onto your back and caging you underneath him, teeth grazing along your bottom lip, asking it to part. His tongue slips inside, wet and warm and comforting against yours. Your fingers lace at the back of his head, your own cradled in his hands on the hardwood.

It’s like he’s starving. Like he’s been holding off on doing this, for whatever reason. And now that you’ve been the one to open the floodgates – fucking, destroy them – everything comes rushing to the surface. Every time he wanted to, and didn’t. Every time he was buried inside you, and purposefully held his jaw apart from yours. Every minute he’s spent since he met you, without his lips on yours. It all comes rocketing up.

And before it gets too heated, before he begins winding that coil again, he’s pulling away. Lips leaving yours, noses bumping together as they part. You smile, and Joel breathes a laugh for the first time in what feels like weeks.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“Hey.”

You glance down at his flannel: stained with dirt, with sweat, with blood. It brings you down a little from your sun-kissed, golden-rayed eutopia. You suck in a deep breath, and his finger hooks under your chin to lift your face to his.

“Should get that leg covered.”

You nod, and he pulls up off of you, letting you sit up. He wanders around the room, checking the backpacks of Nico and his guys, and pulls some gauze and a bottle of alcohol from a side pocket.

He kneels slowly by your side, offers you the white pad. You shake your head. He has to do it. You don’t know why, don’t know what’s stopping you from wrapping your own wound – something you’ve done hundreds of times by now. But it has to be Joel.

He tips the bottle over the dressing, dousing it in alcohol, and settles it carefully on the floor by your hip. You look at one another, a Ready? and a No, but do it anyway pass across your gaze.

The clear fluid seeps from the pad down his hands, thinning the bloodstains and dragging them in light orange streaks down to his wrist. And when your eyes are distracted, watching the stream of blood and alcohol, he presses the gauze to your thigh.

“Fuck – you,” you stammer, eyes screwing tight enough that you see stars.

“I know,” Joel breathes, and pushes the gauze down harder. Firmer. It shoots heat up your leg, flashes the image of that plank of wood named Tucker who stabbed you across your mind. Your teeth grit, the tendons in your neck leap.

Still holding the pad to your skin, Joel winds a dressing around your thigh. He knots it, gives it a little tug, and then sits back on his heels.

“Okay?”

You tilt your head, lift your eyebrows in form of a Yeah. A half-truth – it feels better to have it covered, but fuck is it stinging. You lift a roll of spare bandage and wrap your wrists.

Joel nods, and then passes you your jeans.

“We should go,” he tells you. Then, softer, kinder, “Gotta go back to the pharmacy. Still supplies in the…”

You push yourself to your feet, unable to listen to the end of his sentence. Ghost was carrying most of your food. The map is still in her saddlebag. Ammo, too. The thought of seeing her again turns your stomach, and Joel seems to figure.

“Why don’t you head out back, go get Jet? I’ll grab everything.”

You stare down at him. Your head shakes before words filter through it. You don’t want to be apart from him again. Not today, at least.

He seems to figure that, too. He nods once, then stands with a low grunt. He fixes his jeans, shrugs his jacket back over his shoulders, and his hand finds the nape of your neck again. He pulls you nearer him, your lips brush against the shoulder of his jacket, and then you split, grabbing your supplies and searching the room for any that these assholes might’ve left to you.

When your pockets are full, you limp at Joel’s heels down the stairs and outside, glancing down the street. The silhouette of a horse slowly meanders back over to you, head bobbing, hooves clicking across the asphalt. Show’s over.

Joel stops and waits for her to approach, lets you bury your face into her strong body when she reaches you.

You squeeze your eyes shut against her muzzle, your forehead between her glossy eyes, and hope the message finds a way through flesh and bone – strong enough and sincere enough to push its way through your skull to hers. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Joel’s hand leaves your back and he walks slowly over to the pharmacy.

Your hands run over Jet’s soft mane, combing her gently, reassuring her as if she’s the one covered in blood, bruised and pained. You hook a finger around her bridle and follow Joel.

As you slowly approach, he’s emerging from the shadows of the pharmacy, a backpack in each hand. He reaches the same curb you were stood on less than an hour ago, and looks up to check on you. Your stomach lurches, glancing down to his boots.

There she is. Black coat shining, chest not moving. Legs splayed out on the road. Pool of blood around her velvety soft ears. She seemed so lean, so fit and graceful when she was on all fours. Now, lying in a heap in the shade of some barren street, she looks huge and clumsy. It makes your eyes swell with tears.

You shift with Jet, turning her to avert her gaze. It’s stupid; she’s a horse. How would she know what’s going on? But then, the way she’s breathing – soft, quiet. It’s like – it’s like she fucking knows.

Joel does it gently – kneels beside Ghost, searches in each pocket for your belongings. He knows your eyes are on him. He pulls a box of bullets and the folded-up map from the bag, slips them into his jacket pocket. Collects the tins of soup and canned fruit in one hand, standing to roll them into Jet’s bag.

He turns to you. “You got your switchblade?”

You nod, and he holds his hand out. You drop the heavy knife into his palm, and he bends back down to Ghost’s side.

He uses your blade to cut the bridle by the corner of her mouth, slicing through the leather running from the bit up to the headpiece. Then pulls it apart, a single strap with a tiny buckle still attached, a silver hoop at one end.

He reaches for your backpack, drags it across the rough ground, and knots one of the canvas ties through the silver hoop of Ghost’s bridle. Triple knots it, to make sure it won’t budge. And then he leans back, surveys his handiwork, and turns to gain your approval.

You can’t do much more than nod, tears dappling down your raw cheeks.

When he’s sure he’s got everything, Joel passes you your backpack, slings his on, and then kneels by her side one last time. He places a gentle palm on her head, runs his hand down her muzzle. Sniffs.

A thank-you, you think. A Farewell, brave girl.

He stands again, turns back to you. Waits for you to decide it’s time to move on.

“I can’t do it…” you whisper, and Joel nods, taking a step closer. “I don’t want to leave her.”

And then you’re sobbing, and he’s taking hold of your shoulders and pulling you into his arms, and your cries are muffled by the soft fabric of his shirt. You wrap yourself close around him, bury deeper into his chest, and Joel tightens his grip. The steady beat of his heart pulls you back down, grounds you. You match your breathing with his and pull away.

You approach Ghost shakily, then crouch, fix her mane out of her eyes, scratch her silky ears one last time, and let her go.

Joel’s face is tight when you turn back. Eyebrows low. You bite the inside of your cheek as you pass him, and then hoist yourself up onto the brown horse’s back.

He pulls himself up in front and leans back into you, head cocked to wait for your signal. You snake your arms around his waist and feel a delicate hand rest on top of yours, interlaced on his belt buckle. His thumb traces your knuckles, and when you lean your ear between his shoulder blades, he clicks to Jet.

The horse swerves off, beginning your long journey out of the city.

----------

taglist: @slvbl @regalwhovianbrowncoat774 @casa-boiardi @msjarvis @acornacreacure @totallynotastanacc @earthtogrogu @sexygaypalpatine @cool-iguana @serenaxpedro @lizzyervs @bitchwitch1981 @brittmb115 @stormseyer @fairytale07 @scarletthefierce @patti7dc @pattwtf @atticrissfinch @pascalpvnk @jediknightjana @jessie8605 @caitispunk @mrsquill @uncassettodiricordi @gracieispunk @hellishjoel

(lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

[callmelola111]

guilty conscience ☆ part one

⭑ part 2 , part 3 , part 4 , part 5 →

synopsis: it’s your first year at college and you’re 1,500 miles away from home. you’d feel completely alone if it wasn't for your attractive roommate ellie. will this attraction complicate the already uncharted territory? or will she be the answer to all your problems?

      |✯| pairing & wc: college!ellie williams x roommate!reader. wc: 1.4k

      |✯| cw (by part): 18+ themes (MDNI), fem reader, modern au!ellie, feelings of angst, sexual themes on like the verge of smut, some swearing

a/n: hey lovelies!!!! this my first time posting a fic so plz enjoy. feedback is appreciated as long as it is constructive. im new to all of this, and still learning. i plan on making this into a series so expect more coming soon. sorry if this chapter is very reader-centric. once reader gets to know ellie better, i’ll write more about her perspective. this will be a slow burn despite part 1 already having sexual themes (lol sorry, couldn't help it), but do expect eventual real smut <3 <3 (p.s: lets b mutuals, message me!!)

As you packed the last of your belongings into your parents' 2008 Toyota, excitement was the last thing you were feeling. When speaking about college, most people explained this coming of age experience with phrases like “change”, “hard work”, and “no sleep”. These pessimistic descriptions made the big move that much harder. Unlike your friends from high school, you were crossing multiple states to attend your dream school. You would’ve been stuck in your home state too if it wasn’t for your impressive art portfolio which earned you a full-ride. Art school is where you know you’re meant to be, but the anxiety of doing it alone lingered.

Of course you were happy to be escaping the grapples of your small Republican town, but you couldn’t help but wonder if 1,500+ miles would really be the solution to all your problems.

                                          ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★

“God where is she??” you grunt to yourself. The brown swivel chair provided as dorm furniture was your only source of entertainment. You spun around in circles, checking your phone every few minutes. You were anticipating a text from Ellie Williams. Through the cracked screen your phone read 11:03pm and the notification wall was empty.

Ellie is supposed to be your roommate. The two of you had met through the university's online roommate matching system. Your interactions were limited to the few texts sent back and forth about move-in times and who’s bringing what. Ellie was supposed to show up 5 hours ago to move in her stuff but she never arrived. You consider messaging her to check-in but Ellie’s previous texts wreaked of un-interest so you thought it best to leave her alone. You knew nothing about the girl, or even what she looked like, but with her stand-offish demeanor and your overthinking, a friendship didn’t seem in the cards.

Another half-hour passes before the sound of keys rattling pulls you out of your trance. Realizing you’re about to be face-to-face with your new college roommate, you snap up from your slouched position and push your hair behind your ears in preparation.

The slender door lazily swings open and your gaze quickly shifts to the faux wood floors. There was a sense of hesitancy, like you weren’t ready to see your fate just yet. A pair of dirty, black converse covered in writing sulk into your line of sight, triggering you to look up. As you did, your eyes were met with the most jaw-droppingly beautiful girl you’ve ever seen. Peeking through her messy auburn locks were piercing jade green eyes and an angular nose scattered with freckles.

It was Ellie Williams, and she was the epitome of “cool girl". Your head spun with all kinds of thoughts as your physical body went idle. You sat before Ellie gawking until she broke the awkward silence that had gone unnoticed by you. 

“Uh, hi… I’m sorry for coming in so late… some stuff came up. But uh, I’m Ellie Williams.” She held her right hand out towards you to shake it. It took you a second, but you snapped out of her spell and quickly shook her hand in return.

“Shit- Ellie, hey, it’s uh, nice to finally meet you.” You stumbled through your words as nerves overpowered your usual confidence.  There was an obvious awkward tension between the two of you. A typical feeling when moving in with a complete stranger.

Silence loomed in the air as Ellie took a stationary tour around the small, 12 x 20 ft. dorm. She surveyed your side of the room, taking note of any items that could hint towards who you are as a person. Her eyes stopped on a band poster you had hung up just hours ago. 

“You listen to Sleater-Kinney?” she inquired. 

“Hell yeah, they’re one of my favorite bands. Honestly anything in the riot grrrl music scene is right up my alley. Do you listen?” you replied with more enthusiasm and less nerves than before. 

“Yeah, yeah I do,” Ellie answered nonchalantly. You took note of her answer realizing what it could mean. Sleater-Kinney was like the gayest band ever, and Ellie definitely knew that. Maybe she just likes them for their music, but it's possible she also found the lyrics laced with sapphic pining to be relatable. Selfishly, you were dying to know her sexual orientation. Ellie seemed like too much of a stranger to ask her outright and so the game of reading between the lines began. Little did you know, Ellie was wondering the exact same thing about you. 

It was getting late and Ellie decided to save unpacking for the morning when she wasn’t so tired. You climbed onto your stiff dorm mattress and fluffed your pillows for sleep. Ellie did the same in her bed. 

“Is it cool if I turn out the lights now?” you asked, still navigating the new social dynamic as roommates. Ellie replied with a gentle hum and you hit the switch turning the room pitch black. As you lay in bed all you can think of is Ellie and the future. You didn’t know what it was, but you knew she was special, and you yearned to understand her. With these thoughts in mind, your eyes slowly begin to droop and you slip into a deep slumber. 

The next thing you know Ellie is sitting at the foot of your bed staring straight into your soul. Her beautiful green eyes felt especially intense as the rest of her face was shadowed from the dark room. 

“Ellie- I-” you could barely get out 2 words as you sat up from bed flustered. You felt like prey and she was the hunter… and you liked it. Ellie slowly inched her way toward you, crawling on hands and knees. She didn’t have to say anything, you knew what she wanted.

Your plush thighs sat between her knees and her crotch hovered over yours, heat being exchanged. You wanted her so bad. You needed her. Ellie took your chin in her hand and pulled you in close. You exchanged breaths as her lips brushed up against yours. She couldn’t wait any longer and pressed her face into yours, capturing your lips which she so longingly desired for. You fell back onto your pillows and she followed intently.

Her body lay pressed against yours and she desperately shoved her wet tongue into your supple mouth. It was ravenous and you wanted more. You knew she did too as you began to feel the rotation of her hips digging into your pelvis. The heavy breaths coming from her swollen lips were in sync with the fervent grinding. You bucked your hips towards her in a frenzy. Ellie took her veiny hand and ran it along your waistband. As she began to slip it into your pants... you woke up to discover your own hands cupping the heat below and Ellie nowhere to be found. 

“What the fuck.” is all you could say. You pulled your hand from your pants and stared at the slick spider-webbing between your fingers. God this was humiliating. You climbed out of bed to wash your hands and glanced at the clock. It was 7:15am and Ellie was already gone. That seemed kinda odd for a 19 year old college student. You wondered where she had disappeared to so early in the morning.

Soon, the over-thinker took over and you began to grapple with the possibility that you said something out loud during your naughty wet dream. What if Ellie heard you? God what if you moaned her name?? What would you even say if she brought it up? Before you could formulate a hypothetical response, Ellie walked right through the door.

“AHh-” you yelped, startled by her presence. Ellie backed into the doorway holding a coffee in each hand. 

“God, sorry, you scared me.” you explained. Ellie shuffled back inside, twiddling her thumbs trying to decide what to say.

“Sorry, I just left to grab some coffee early this morning. I couldn’t sleep.” She continued, “I brought you one too. As an apology, for any trouble I might have caused by showing up at almost midnight to move in…”. Your cheeks flushed with color and you hoped she didn’t notice.

“Oh, thanks Ellie, that's nice. I promise there was no harm done.” you answered, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. Seemingly enough, this news meant she was awake while you were, ya know... dreaming. Ellie definitely wouldn’t bring a pervert coffee though. Right? Either way, you knew one thing for sure, you've got to have her.

  ← masterlist ⭑ part 2 →

[booksandabeer]

Stucky, Fandom Longevity, and "Primacy Bias"

There’s this post that's been floating around the past few days about how the Stucky fandom in its heyday produced fic and art masterpieces like they were all collectively possessed by an unprecedented spirit of creative insanity. It’s a good, fun post and I agree with the person who wrote it. (not rb'ing because I didn't want to hijack their post with something that's only tangentially related).

It was indeed a magical time and the creative output in both quantity and quality in the two-year period following the release of CA:TWS is—with perhaps a few exceptions—unmatched by anything that I’ve seen before and since. However, going through the notes on that post, I noticed something that left me a little irritated and quite frankly sad since it is in congruence with, and to a certain extent the confirmation of something that I’ve been thinking about a lot lately.

For one thing, there are so many people in the notes expressing sentiments along the lines of “it was such a wonderful time; I wish I could go back; I miss these fics; I want to read these fics again,” etc., etc., you get it. And it feels a little silly pointing this out, but…you can just do that? Almost all of these fics are still right there, waiting for you to be (re)read. Yes, a lot of people left the fandom after The Great Devastation of 2019, but their stories didn’t just disappear. It's not like there is now a big, black hole where the Steve/Bucky tag used to be on AO3. So, if you miss these fics and you want to revisit them—just do it. Chances are the authors will be delighted that people are still finding and enjoying their stories all these years later. And—since apparently this needs saying, too, judging from the notes on that post: A lot of people seem to be very concerned with losing ‘coolness points’ for openly admitting that they still miss the ship and often feel tempted to dip their toes back into the Stucky pool. I don’t know how to tell you this, but if someone tries to shame you for simply enjoying or missing something, they are an asshole. Not to mention that all this is happening on tumble.com—'coolness' doesn't exactly live here. And that is a good thing, to be clear. Fandom is not about being cool. It’s about being as enthusiastic, as silly, as absolutely fucking unhinged about the things you love as you want to be. So, stop caring what other people think and enjoy yourself.

The other thing is that there seems to be a pretty widespread misconception that the Stucky fandom hasn’t produced any good fanworks after 2016.

First, that is patently and demonstrably untrue. There is so much incredibly good fanfiction and fanart still out there. Not as much as back in the day, sure, but it still exists. And more is being posted every day! Even some of the OG Big Names are still around. One of the most beloved Stucky series that started all the way back in 2014 was updated as recently as December of last year. The artist, who I believe the op is referring to as creating ‘baroque’ paintings, posted their latest Stucky art not even two months ago.

Second, I find this “primacy bias” more than just a little insulting to the many hardworking and incredibly talented people who are still putting their blood, sweat, and tears into creating for this community. And it’s one thing if people who have long left the fandom believe or say something like this, but it’s frankly irritating when I see people who are still very much active—and therefore definitely should know better—feed into that same false myth. Yes, it sucks that the Stucky ship isn’t as big as it used to be, but that doesn't mean there isn't any 'fresh talent' to be found anymore. I’m also not saying we shouldn’t still celebrate and recommend older works—I do it all the time! And it sure as hell doesn't mean everyone has to reblog absolutely everything all the time, either. Your blog, your rules.

But maybe we should put a little more focus on the good things, on the creators and the community we have now, especially if we want that community to still exist in another ten years. I mean, imagine you’re a person who’s just gotten into the fandom (because yes, there are indeed still new people discovering Stucky all the time) and one of the first things you’re being told is “eh, nice that you're here, but you’re about 7 years late; the big party is already over.” Does that seem like a fun space to hang out in to you?

So. Let’s all—and I do not exclude myself from this because God knows, I love to complain—spend a little less time mourning the ‘good old days’ that are never coming back anyway, and instead focus our attention on enjoying and appreciating both the incredible treasure chest of an archive we have AND the wealth of high-quality art and fic that is still being created by this wonderful community every single day. With this in mind:

🥳🎊Happy Stucky Week 2023!!! 🎊🥳

*I want to make it very clear that this is a general thing that’s been on my mind lately and that I’m trying to work through here—probably not very coherently. I'm not trying to tell anybody 'how to do fandom' and I’m most definitely not vagueposting about any particular incident, person, or group in this fandom. This isn’t a callout post. It’s an I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about this and I don’t know what else do with them post.

[strawberry-jan]

Back in late 2022, I started working on a long story about Ishin: a tale of two dummies whose weird one-night stand blossoms into a surprisingly caring relationship even as a (mostly) canon-compliant series of tragedies plays out around them. It’s a now-complete series in approximately 125,000 words and three parts, and you can read the whole thing right now on AO3: The Glorious and Bloody Deeds of Okita Soji, Volume 1: Okita Soji Versus the Scoundrel Saito Hajime; The Secret History of Saito Hajime, Volume 2: The Shiraume Incident; and, finally, Brief Notes on the Domestic Life of one Saito Hajime.

Taken as a whole, it's a story about identity and history and the stories that people tell each other and themselves about those things. And it's a story about one guy getting way too into weird Edo-era egg dishes, and another guy finding himself embroiled in an extended detective sequence, and a third guy composing a series of corny haiku that (almost) nobody wants to read. And, of course, it's also a story about people who are shamelessly and sometimes explicitly in love (so you probably shouldn't read it at work).

This whole big, sprawling thing has been a labour of love on my part: it turns out that I adore writing historical fiction and finding excuses to read books and journal articles in order to write it better. In addition to making not one but four little illustrations to celebrate the fic's completion (and please look at them up-close; I hand-inked all those kimono patterns), I've drawn up a list of some of the sources that I consulted for my writing, and you can find those under the cut.

This is not an absolutely exhaustive list of sources; I don’t think it’s super useful to catalogue the extremely nitty-gritty stuff, like that time that I felt compelled to find out what the state of strawberry cultivation was in 1860s Japan, or when I needed to picture exactly what it looked like when Haruka was repairing Ryoma’s kimono. That being said, I’ve added a couple of things that are really particular to my stories but that I thought were cool enough to share.

Foster, Michael Dylan. The Book of Yokai: Mysterious Creatures of Japanese Folklore. U of California P, 2015. (This one was a really fun read – it combines a short history of yokai in folklore with a little catalogue of yokai.)

Jansen, Marius B. Sakamoto Ryoma and the Meiji Restoration. Stanford UP, 1971. (Super useful as an introduction to the Bakumatsu era and for biographical details about Ryoma and the figures around him.)

“Japanese Wiki Corpus.” https://www.japanesewiki.com/. (This is a machine-translated collection of articles on the Japanese side of Wikipedia related to Kyoto. As with a lot of things on Wikipedia, the citations on these articles tend to be poor or nonexistent, but it’s a useful starting point for information on figures and events that don’t have an English wiki equivalent. Definitely more useful if you can then head over to the original wiki articles and parse them out yourself.)

“Kabuki21” and “The Noh.” https://www.kabuki21.com/section.php, https://www.the-noh.com/en/plays/index.html. (I’m lumping these two together because I tended to consult them in tandem. Without getting too much into my personal details I am – among other things – a non-practicing theatre scholar, so whenever I wanted to have characters in my old-timey fics refer to something cultural, my first stop was old plays. These sites have, respectively, summaries of kabuki plays and full texts of Noh plays available for you to browse. If you’ve read my other fics you will probably have seen that I referred to the kabuki play “Fuwa” in 亀が如く.)

Katsu, Kokichi. Musui’s Story: The Autobiography of a Tokugawa Samurai. Translated by Teruko Craig. U of Arizona P, 1988. (A book that needs to be taken with a grain of salt because it’s an autobiography written by a guy who sounds like a real blowhard, but it’s still a really fascinating look into the daily life of a low-ranking samurai.)

Leupp, Gary P. and Tao, De-min. The Tokugawa World. Routledge, 2022. (Of particular interest is Kimura Sachihiko’s essay, “The Shinsengumi: Shadows and light in the last days of the Tokugawa shogunate” [1104-1124], which gave me a bunch of incidental details about the Roshigumi that I incorporated into the sections of this series that were told from Inoue and Hijikata’s perspectives.)

“Old Photos of Japan.” https://www.oldphotosjapan.com/. (Pretty self-explanatory. Very useful as a resource for picturing scenes!)

“Shinsengumi Archives.” https://shinsengumi-archives.tumblr.com/. (A long-running tumblr dedicated to cataloguing resources about the Shinsengumi. There’s an absolute wealth of information collected here, and best of all, the creator cites their sources and even provides links to the original texts. Although it’s focused on the Shinsengumi, it’s impossible to overstate how useful this site is for prospective Bakumatsu-era fic writers in general. The collection of Hijikata’s poems with links to others’ translations and commentary is here: https://shinsengumi-archives.tumblr.com/post/683071924948058112/hijikata-toshizos-haiku-poems. The creator of the blog also links to a translation of Nagakura’s and Shimada’s diaries, and while the document is machine-translated, it’s still a great source of historical details: https://shinsengumi-archives.tumblr.com/post/678083336614428672/where-can-you-read-the-memoirs.)

Smits, Gregory. “Warding off Calamity in Japan: A Comparison of the 1855 Catfish Prints and the 1862 Measles Prints.” EASTM 30 (2009): 9-31. (Okay, this one is highly specific to my fic – it comes up in Part 2 when Okita tells his story about Kashima and again a couple of chapters later when his pile of remedies includes a crudely-drawn picture meant to ward off indigestion – but I love little details like this so I did want to make a point of sharing it here.)

“Tamago Hyakuchin” and “Tofu Hyakuchin.” http://codh.rois.ac.jp/edo-cooking/tamago-hyakuchin/recipe/, https://toyama-tofu.jp/tofuhyakutin.html. (These are collections of Edo-era egg- and tofu-based recipes. They’re two of the sources cited in Cookpad’s collection of modernized Edo-era recipes: https://cookpad.com/recipe/list/14604664.)

Vaporis, Constantine N. “Linking the Realm: The Gokaido Highway Network in Early Modern Japan (1603-1868).” Highways, Byways and Road Systems in the Pre-Modern World. Ed. Susan E. Alcock, John Bodel, and Richard J. A. Talbert. Wiley-Blackwell, 2012. 90-105. (Some of the works cited in this article also sound interesting, but I didn’t have a chance to dig any deeper as I just wanted to know a bit about the Tokugawa-era roads. Also interesting in this vein is Jilly Traganou’s book The Tokaido Road: Travelling and Representation in Edo and Meiji Japan [2004].)

Wert, Michael. Meiji Restoration Losers. Harvard UP, 2013. (Not directly useful as a source for writing about Ishin – it’s about later events and it mostly tracks the posthumous construction of one specific Tokugawa magistrate’s history – but it was an engaging read and I found it interesting as an exploration of how people continue to look back on the Bakumatsu era and the Meiji Restoration, which is something that the game is, of course, also doing.)

Yamakawa, Kikue. Women of the Mito Domain: Recollections of Samurai Family Life. Translated by Kate Wildman Nakai. U of Tokyo P, 1992. (Another one of those bits of essential reading on everyday life for low-ranking samurai, this time with a focus on women’s lives and households more generally. I didn’t use a lot of from this book in my fic, but it has everything from translations of songs to records of families’ financial transactions, and it’s fascinating to read about all the turmoil in Mito playing out in the background of these families’ lives.)

“Yokai.com.” https://yokai.com/. (The creators of this site make a point of not going into detail about their sources, and they’re very careful to state that they don’t intend for the project to be “the final authority” on yokai, but I enjoyed browsing the site to get some ideas for Okita’s stories – and once you know the name of a particular yokai that you’re interested in, it’s easy enough to go look up other sources on them.)

[caribbean1989]

It's Better Together - A Baby Lasagna fanfiction

Who: Baby Lasagna / Marko Purisic Request: maybe the reader is representing another country (doesn't have to be a singer maybe in the team) and after the behaviour of isreali's team (as many people said they treated them bad) she isn't feeling well and marko helps her and supports her. Requested by: anonymous Word count: 916 Warnings: some implied swearing and rudeness.

A/N: Thank you so much for your request. I have changed it a little bit, so it's not specifically about the Israeli team being the rude one, but it can still be read as such.

If you want me to write more Baby Lasagna fics, you can always make a request through my Ask Box. For more information on my Baby Lasagna fanfics, see this masterpost

It had always been your dream to represent your country at the Eurovision Song Contest. This year, your dream came true true when you were selected as the contestant for your country.

After months of preparations, the moment was finally there. As soon as you'd arrived in Malmö it was everything you had hoped for and more. Your fellow contestants were really nice and supportive, the organization was flawless, and so far you were really enjoying yourself. You weren't the favorite with the bookmakers, but they still tipped you for a top 10 candidate.

The schedule was demanding, though. Each day was filled to the brim with rehearsals, interviews and other press-related obligations. Some of the interviews were fun, others were dull, but today you had had an interview with a journalist who was flat-out rude and even somewhat hostile. During the interview you were able to keep your cool, but it took every ounce of your self-control to do so.

Immediately after you were done, you stalked out of the room and made straight for the contestants' lounge. That area was only accessible to the performers, and strictly off-limits to any kind of media-personnel. Since it was late in the evening and most of the other contestants had already finished their duties for the day, you expected it to be empty. And some alone-time to cool off was just what you needed.

Without even checking if someone else was in the lounge when you stepped in, you angrily slammed the door closed behind you, and loudly released an entire string of curses in your native language.

A startled gasp from further down the room made you realize that you weren't alone after all. You let your eyes roam over the dozens of sofa's and armchairs crammed into the lounge, and indeed found one, halfway down the room, occupied. It was Marko who sat there. Your little outburst had clearly startled him, and he had jumped up from his seat. He now stood looking at you a little wide-eyed.

"I'm so sorry about that." You passed a hand over your face and took a few deep breaths to calm yourself down. "I survived," he chuckled, before a frown crossed over his face. "Are you alright?" "Yeah..." You sighed. It wasn't truthful, but you didn't want to burden him with your troubles.

But Marko wasn't so easily fooled. He cocked his head slightly to the side, and gave you an intense stare for about a second. "No, you're not." He stated quite confidently. You couldn't help but laugh. Of course you had met Marko in the previous days. You liked him, and you had had a few nice chats with him, but you two didn't really know much about each other. So the confidence in his statement surprised you.

"Please, don't take this the wrong way." Marko immediately second-guessed himself. "But I think you still look... upset." He wrung his hands together, clearly uncomfortable by his own words and wondering if you were going to get angry with him now.

"You're right," you finally confessed. You weren't nearly alright yet and still way too upset by how the journalist had treated you. Yet, you were strangely relieved that Marko was here and had seen that you were still distraught.

"Maybe you should sit down." Marko quickly recollected himself. You nodded quietly, before walking over to where Marko had been sitting and throwing yourself down in the armchair opposite him. "Here." Marko handed you a bottle of water and sat down as well. You gratefully accepted the water, taking a few sips of the much needed hydration.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Marko smiled shyly. "It's just... this journalist." You shook your head. "The interview I've just had was awful. So rude and disrespectful." "Ah..." Marko understood immediately. "I know exactly who you mean. If it's any consolation, he's rude to everyone. I had to do an interview with him yesterday, and... let's just say that I was glad when it was over."

Marko's words did make you feel a little better. If someone could be rude to a gentle soul like Marko, they were just mean and heartless.

Suddenly you remembered that tomorrow you had another, even longer interview scheduled with the same journalist. "Oh, no!" You buried your face in your hands. "I totally forgot I've got to do more press with that guy tomorrow." To your surprise, Marko chuckled softly. "You and me both. Quite literally actually." "What do you mean?" You looked up at him. Marko smiled crookedly at you, giving a one-shouldered shrug. "You and I are teamed up for press tomorrow."

You blinked stupidly at him for a few seconds. You needed a moment to remember that Marko was indeed right. In your fury and frustration that fact had completely slipped your mind. "So sorry," you mumbled, "I forgot about that." Marko smiled another shy smile. "It's fine."

For a few moments there was silence between the two of you. "I'm glad we're teamed up for tomorrow." You broke the silence. "You're a good guy, and I feel really at ease with you." Marko blushed slightly red. "Me, too. And if anyone is rude to us tomorrow, I'm sure we'll be able to get each other through." "Absolutely," you nodded happily, all the anger of just now quickly draining from you.

And suddenly, tomorrow's press day didn't seem so bad anymore, because you knew Marko would be there with you.

[sprinklenoodles]

Read Chapter Two and reread the first as well! Mostly as a refresher and cus I didn't say anything for the first chapter and I felt bad hehe! As for my little queries (which I hope there aren't too many! 1. What fantasy species are Junko and Mukuro? 2. What specific age is Byakuya and the others? Guessing they're around their canon ages like late teens/early adult hood but I wanna make sure! 3. What species is Toko since she's now been introduced? Furthermore, on the general side of thoughts, I like the dinner scene in the first chapter. The hint of weakness on Kijo and how Byakuya showed a bit of concern. After all, Byakuya's still young! He's valid for worrying about the man! He's probably never seen him like this before. Secondly, I like Kyoko and the crew just plotting to abduct Byakuya. It makes me happy and I can't wait to read one of them potentially lifting him up fireman style. Or, well, I CAN wait hehe! But, I am very pumped for when that occurs. Or just the potential duel that could transpire since he's clearly a powerful individual and won't go without a fight, especially since they're targeting his father! Some other thoughts are that I like Toko and Komaru being here. Their subtle handholding is not unnoticed! Plus, the bit of lore for the Naegi's!! Helps explain why they're here with the others as, at least Makoto, is less likely of a character one would expect to be plotting the potential murder of a king. Also, another good thing is that it still leaves a mystery on what the other's are really plotting. They of course want Kijo gone, but are they a sort of resistance group? I like the intrigue of what they're up to, with the bonus of the despair sisters plotting as well with who I assume is Izuru. Aoi's just cute too. Just in general. I just had to say it cus it's true! But, yeah! Like how it's going and wish you good luck on future chapters!!

There's never too many questions! I always love answering them!

1. Both of them are dark elves. Can't say too much about dark elves just yet, but they do have a devil-like tail. Why? Cuz it's cool.

2. It was mentioned a few times, Byakuya just turned 16. The coronation happened a month after his sixteenth birthday and the rest of the fic takes place shortly after that, at least for now.

So, the rest of the kiddos are also around 16. Taka and Mondo are 17 though, and Chihiro is 15 (but almost 16) Kyoko also just turned 17, but the rest of the rebels are 16. Well, Komaru is 15.

3. She's a sorcerer! A big difference from sorcerers and wizards is that sorcerers don't use a want nor do they have a big-ol hat. Sorcerers also didn't inherit their magic, which is also why they're so rare. They actually come from humans- who do exist here! They are just very rare and almost extinct.

So, Toko's parents were humans. She just got lucky and got magic powers!

And, yeah, there is a small fight. I'm not the best at writing fight scenes, but it's there in the third chapter!

Also, they're a resistance group. More of that will be explained in the next few chapters, but let's just say that they see Kijo as an awful king. In one way or another (well, mostly the same way. Go guess what that can be) their lives have changed for the worst cuz of his actions.

Can't say more about that tho, even though I really want. Gotta make sure the chapters actually give some good info... and that I don't retcon myself...

But Aoi is very cute. Sakura would agree with that.

[mono-dot-jpeg]

[12:32am]

a/n; just a cute platonic fic before i wonder for another hour if i decide to write something else or not. im reading through the u20 v bllk arc (i think im like halfway through) im like, i could write some good shit with this rq. someone probably wrote something like already potentially but it's rotting my brain rn so. this is totally ooc for rin probably im so sorry

also small bachira mom cameo slay

[platonic] [younger sibling! reader]

your brothers.. are cool.

rin and sae, your big older brothers who loved playing soccer. you watched them play everyday and they always looked like superheroes in your young eyes.

you grow up alongside them, just a year or two younger as you try to find what you want to do. do you want to win with them? do you want to live a peaceful life?

what do you want to do?

you don't know. you're lost without the guidance you wanted. you've been watching your brothers all this time that you lost track of yourself.

you come to realize that what rin talks about.. rings true for you as well.

that sae is just so far away from you both. but you feel far from rin too.

when did that happen?

you can only watch as your brothers fight in a colosseum called soccer where everyone in the audience is thirsty for a fight. where the new recruits meet the pro gladiators and then the pros crush them under their experienced swords and chains.

but this was different. you could feel it in the intense air. you were not even close in terms of seating to see your brothers. even with the seat you were offered from a really nice lady, you could barely see them. but you know that chilling air anywhere.

it felt like you were back in that school field with your brothers again. when he came back home from spain.

everything cracked.

"get lost rin. you're not necessary in my life anymore."

you watched as your brothers broke everything you believed in. how you three would stay together, how you would be there to cheer them on every match you could, how you would happy with them by your side.

your parents weren't even here to see the destruction they caused. the absolute pain they unintentionally inflicted on the three itoshi siblings. you came here on a whim, you wish you could say.

if you were really being honest, you really missed them. sae was always busy, and rin was in blue lock the whole time. so that left you alone.

"are you here with your family, dear? where are they?" that nice woman from before sits beside you, worried that you're all alone in this stadium.

"n-no. i'm alone." you're flustered by the sudden attention from her. "i'm here to.." you paused for a moment, "..to support my brothers."

"oh! that's so sweet! i'm supporting my own son! your brothers must be really good as well."

when was the last time you felt warm like this?

from just a simple talk with a lovely mother has you boiling with pain and longing.

why couldn't you feel this warmth with your family?

"yeah." you nodded curtly.

when the timer ticks down, you watch with dull eyes as rin and sae fight on the field again. you almost thought they would get cards for how aggressive this was. and before you know it.

blue lock wins.

and you don't know how to feel.

you saw the monster that rin was, tearing every person apart against their strongest assets. and you saw the monster that sae was, constantly calculating his way to win optimally.

today was the day that rin finally beat him.

and today was the day soccer changed japan.

the two week rest was now given to the blue lock members, and you haven't seen much of rin. that still hurt.

but you did catch him one day.

"rin.." you encounter him on a late night, hearing a set of heavy footsteps before you went to bed. "rin." you don't address him as your brother anymore. you wonder when you started making that habit.

"what?"

"you did well." you don't know what to say when you finally manage to have a chance at a proper talk with at least one of your brothers. he scoffs at your weak voice but you continue, "i saw everything. i attended the match."

"then you should know that i didn't do enough."

"i don't think like you and sae, i don't know as much as you two do-"

"i'm still far away from him now." you stay silent as he trembles with frustration and anger. "i'm gonna beat him and that stupid isagi.. "

your mouth is dry with confusion. you can't find it in you to talk to him like you once did as a kid. but you manage, "does this mean i'm gonna be alone again?"

it's his turn to go silent. his back faces you while he stares at his bedroom door.

"how long am i gonna be alone again?" you ask.

"until i beat our good for nothing shitty brother and that idiot isagi."

".. okay." you reach to open your bedroom door, "when you see sae again, tell him i said hi. i miss seeing you and sae." you confess.

"i don't understand how you miss him."

"the same way i miss you." you open your door, looking out at your bland bedroom. not a single trophy seen, not a single sign of any sports prowess, nothing that defined you. "you're both too far away from me. and i can't catch up." you sigh. "i'm just the talentless third kid after all."

"with that attitude, you deserve it." he opens his bedroom door and it's the complete opposite of yours. littered with awards and trophies and a single photo frame of the last time you've seen rin and sae happy.

"i know."

[thefreakandthehair]

@eddiemonth prompt, oct 22nd:  First concert | Triumph of King Freak - Rob Zombie | Eager a/n: a missing scene from an older fic, counting stars (when I look in your eyes)! post-canon fix, eddie pov, established steddie, fluff with a dash of angst, mention of eddie's late mother read on ao3 + ao3 masterpost | tumblr masterlist

December, 1988

“Why does your acoustic have that written on it? ‘This Machine Slays Dragons’?” Steve asks as he watches Eddie strum without looking at his hands. It’s a bit mesmerizing, the way his fingers glide along the strings of their own accord. 

The song stops and Eddie slaps the body of the guitar in his lap. 

“This old girl is an homage to one Woody ‘This Machine Kills Fascists’ Guthrie. Ever heard of him?” 

“He did ‘This Land Is Your Land,’ right?”

Eddie claps his hands together and points two finger guns his way. “Ding ding ding, we have a winner. Yeah, he wrote that and a shit ton of other political critique folk music.” 

“I didn’t know you liked that sort of thing. Sounds pretty far removed from Metallica, y’know?”

“Only in delivery. You’d be surprised how much overlap there is in meaning. But yeah, my uh—” Eddie stops and pulls the guitar closer to his torso and swallows the dust in his mouth that’s gathered from years of not talking about his mother. “My mom was a big fan of it. She loved Guthrie, Baez, Dylan, Grateful Dead, Cohen. You name it, she loved it.” 

Steve’s heart tries to claw its way out of his body to run towards Eddie sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, timid smile, and fidgeting hands. 

“That’s really cool, man. She sounds awesome. How come you don’t talk about her more?” 

“It just—I don’t know. It still hurts, I guess. Which is stupid, I was eight when she died so it should get easier, right?” Eddie laughs humorlessly and stares at his strings like they hold answers to questions he didn’t know he had. He wants to crawl on top of Steve, desperate for warmth and comfort now, and looking at him makes the urge damn near impossible to beat back. So he doesn’t look up. 

Steve adjusts his position on the bed, subconsciously making room. “Hell no, that’s not how grief works, Ed. Wish it was that easy but I’ve seen a lot of death personally and with work, and it changes people. You can tell me to fuck off if I’m like, overstepping here but you were a kid. You’re allowed to be sad about her death, and you’re allowed to talk about it.” 

Eddie pauses for a long moment, considering the validation and how much he trusts Steve. He trusts him with his life, his soul, his heart, his  everything. Maybe everything could include his past, too. His voice is wistful when he starts.

“She used to sing Dylan’s ‘Forever Young’ around the house.”

December, 1974

Eddie sits cross-legged on the floor, threadbare couch behind him as he flips through a comic book gifted to him by his Uncle Wayne. The page crinkle with each turn and he traces the illustrations of each villain and superhero, the words a bit lost on him but the pictures jumping off of the page. Varying shades of saturated reds and blues disappear and reappear beneath his pointer finger and grins. He hasn’t read the story yet– he prefers to make up his own first– but he can see that the good guy is about to win. 

Happy endings are just so rare in real life. 

His mom is in the kitchen, singing softly and stirring something on the stove in a corroded aluminum pot. Eddie picks up the delicate scents of tomatoes and peppers, maybe some kind of meat. She’s been in a bright mood today, singing as she cooks, singing as she did her best to clean up the beer cans and bottles that litter the living room. Eddie even heard her singing in the shower that morning.

It’s not lost on him that his dad’s been gone for a few days. Hell, that’s the only reason he’s able to sit in the living room: there’s room for him. 

His dad is always too loud, drowning out the soft soprano of his mother’s voice. Everything she sings sounds like a lullaby, so it’s fitting that Eddie closes his eyes to listen. 

Eddie loves when his mom sings, especially the song she’s singing now. 

May you always be courageous

Stand upright and be strong

May you stay forever young

May you stay forever young

She never tells him, but he feels like she sings it just for him. 

November 1990

Steve hasn’t been this nervous to give Eddie a Christmas gift since that first Christmas of theirs two years ago. Funny enough, the gift then had been related to his late mother, too. Maybe he has a pattern. The envelope shakes in his hands as he sits next to Eddie on the couch– their couch, actually. At least as of a few months ago when they’d put down their down payment on the small, one-bedroom apartment in the heart of Indianapolis. 

Eddie glances over and sees Steve’s right hand nearly crumpling whatever his gift is, his fingertips white and his smile tight. Whatever it is must be time sensitive, since he’s insisted on giving it to Eddie so early. 

“What is it, Steve? You look like you’re gonna shit yourself.”

Steve laughs, nervous and breathy. “I actually might, and we just bought this couch, so. Just– here. Open it.”

He pries the envelope from Steve’s hand and tears it open, Steve having to caution him against ripping it in half and voiding the fucking the gift. Three rectangles fall out onto his lap, full of typewriter style font. 

“Oh shit, concert tickets!” Eddie smiles and knocks his knee against Steve’s. “Why were you so nervous? This is awesome!” 

Steve nods at the tickets. “Did you see who it is?”

Eddie’d been too excited about finally getting to a proper concert, one that he doesn’t have to set up and break down with Gareth, Jeff, and Frank. When he looks down and actually reads the headliner, his heart stops. 

University of Dayton Arena Presents: BOB DYLAN TUESDAY, NOV 13 1990 7:30 PM

“Steve… is this…?” He can’t find the words, buried and lodged behind the lump forming in his throat. 

Steve watches him carefully as he traces the letters with one finger, a habit he’s picked up on over the years, and gently rests a hand on his thigh and gives it a squeeze. “You okay?” 

Eddie nods. “Yeah, yeah, I’m definitely okay.” 

Okay is an understatement. He’s bewildered, he’s humbled, he’s ecstatic. When Eddie tears himself away from the small rectangles that sit on his lap like the gold bars they are, he looks at Steve with wonderment. First, the music box. Now, this. How is he ever going to keep up? 

“I know it’s your first concert but I saw that he was coming around and I just figured it’d be cool, y’know? I don’t know who he’s touring with or anything–” 

He does this, Steve knows. He knows that he rambles when he’s nervous or when he’s put himself out there and for some reason, giving Eddie these tickets feels incredibly vulnerable. Even years later, even after Eddie’s constant reassurance that he could never, Steve would hate for Eddie to think that he’s encroaching on special memories. 

Before he can finish his stream of thought, Eddie kisses him. Just leans over, tickets still in his lap, and claps both hands on either side of his cheeks as Eddie plants one on him. Then again. And again. And again. 

Eddie peppers every inch of Steve’s face with kisses, interjecting in between each one. 

“You’re–” Kiss to the nose. 

“So fucking–” Kiss to the cheek. 

“Perfect–” Kiss to the forehead. 

When he finishes, Eddie rests his forehead against Steve’s and wraps his arms around Steve’s neck, feeling them shake beneath him as Steve laughs. “Always so dramatic.” 

“And you love it. But, wait,” Eddie pulls back and picks the tickets back up. “Why are there three?” 

“Do you honestly think Wayne would ever speak to me again if I got tickets for Bob Dylan and didn’t include him? C’mon, man. Christmas would be so fucking awkward.”

[pedrosprincesa]

Landslide

pairings: joel miller x afab!reader

a/n: I didn't mean to become the person that writes fics based on Fleetwood Mac songs, but here I am. I listened to this song yesterday and the idea for this hit me. I am a shitty writer usually, and I am definitely NOT good at writing smut so for now you will only be getting fluffy Joel from me. follow me if you enjoy i guess!!

warnings: fluff, age gap (reader is mid- to late twenties, Joel is 56), not proofread, no use of y/n that I know of, I'm still dyslexic

wc: 3327 <3

It's not that I expected to have a crush on this man that seemingly picked me out of a dumpster fire. He found me at the brink of death by a few raiders. Joel had a soft spot for women, if that wasn't obvious enough. When he saw me, I didn't look much older than Ellie. The fear in my eyes and how close I knew I was to death gave me more youth I suppose.

Whatever it was, I was grateful to see him after he took out all three men that had been hunting you down. He had blood splattered across his face, panting after the exertion of strength he used to take them out. I would never forget how beautiful I thought he was, just in that moment.

He never meant to have a third person join along on the cross country trip. Hell, taking care of Ellie was enough to wear him out.

Joining about fifteen miles outside of Kansas City, I was met with an unenthusiastic Ellie and a hard-faced Joel. I didn't get the details of the event that occurred right away, but eventually I learned quickly that unenthusiastic wasn't normal for Ellie, and Joel... well, he was hard-faced. After some inevitable conversations, we all got to know each other as much as we would allow. Keeping each other safe can do that. Joel found out I was in my mid-twenties and he stopped treating me like a child, almost. He was quicker to give me a gun as opposed to Ellie—which, best believe, she gave him shit about—however, Joel just explained it was because I was older. I also thought it was because he realized quickly that I was pretty good with it too. However, he still hardly looked at me in anyway, let alone that way, and I blamed some of that on my age.

Joel also dealt with my presence, because Ellie had someone else to share her jokes with. I was also the one that kept Ellie curious, giving her random facts about things as well as knowing how certain things worked that Joel couldn't explain. He might have even smiled a few times because of me. That was something to gloat about.

It took a bit for him to warm up to me, but long nights on watch, sleeping in the same place a majority of the time to let Ellie have the bed if there was one, both made it hard not to speak. When we really started talking, I could see that he would enjoy other conversations with me. I was older than Ellie, and I knew about some of the music and movies Joel grew up with. If I hadn't seen the movie, he'd explain the plot to me loosely. One night I told him I've only ever seen The Emperor Strikes Back out of the Star Wars movies. Ellie had never seen any of them, but she was ecstatic to listen to Joel explain the premise of the movies about space and cool aliens.

Star Wars was easy to get her in to. Over about the month trip, I taught her about Fleetwood Mac too. The songs didn't really get her attention too much, mostly because I was only really humming a lot of it, but she really got into all the drama that happened in the band. Joel didn't ever comment on it until one night, he finally just asked, "how do you know all of this? This stuff was happening before you were born." I couldn't help but laugh as I closed my eyes. "Reading, Joel. Magazines are still pretty easy to find."

When we made it to Jackson, Wyoming, the welcome was about as warm as the weather. Guns aimed straight at our heads. Joel and I both knew we would pass the test with the dog, but Ellie... I could feel my heart pounding, until I heard the sweet little girl's giggles as the dog gave her kisses. Joel mentioned we were out looking for his brother and one woman just seemed to know exactly who it was.

Joel got to reunite with his brother, which was sweet, and luckily that connection got us a nice house across from theirs. Joel let Ellie and I get the first showers. Maria gave us shampoos and conditioners, body wash and even some lotion for after the shower. I was faster than Ellie, and I came out with damp hair and the new, clean clothes that were just a bit too big for me. I looked up and I just saw Joel's face kind of soften when he looked at me. It felt like he was really taking me in for the first time. I really don't think he's seen me freshly clean. Sure we got river water here and there, but now I was clean, smelled good, and I felt like I could just sit back and relax. "I saved you some hot water. I didn't trust Ellie to." I told him with a little smile. He didn't even get a chance before Ellie came into the living room.

"Jesus Christ, I'm probably fucking bald. So much hair came out. Is that normal?" She asked me. I took a look at her head and she definitely wasn't bald.

"Not bald, honey. It just happens when you wash your hair after a long while." I assured her.

Honey. Joel liked it when I called her that. His face didn't change much, but he looked down at his lap for a moment, taking in a sweet, almost domesticated moment for the three of us.

"Now you need to get a bath, because you smell awful." Ellie told him, grinning widely and he only had a half smirk and rolled his eyes before he got up from his seat.

The first week of being in Jackson consisted of lots of rest, and lots and lots of food. Both of which we hadn't been used to in a really long while, so much that this felt like a fairytale. I was waiting on the moment I would wake up. Maria and Tommy let us have a few days to ourselves to sleep. We really didn't have to worry about anything sneaking up on us. Joel tried staying up late that first night, but he found himself in his bed, after obsessively making sure all the windows and doors were locked, he was asleep for well over fifteen hours. He was so exhausted.

During those few days of having three meals a day, and occasionally seconds, I noticed Joel was looking a little more fuller, as was Ellie. It made my heart swell that they were both getting healthy again, and we weren't living off of scraps essentially. I had a feeling I was really going to like it here.

At the end of the week, Maria suggested we all have dinner as a "family" since the first meal on our first day didn't go as well as I wanted it to. Honestly, I was pretty convinced she had the wrong idea about me and Joel. We had only talked briefly the day we arrived when she gave us the clothes and supplies and she let me know our house was stocked with everything we needed. In my clothes, Maria had graciously gifted me. Ellie snatched out the small, lace lingerie bottoms and her jaw was dropped. "Ew! What the fuck is this even covering, dude! Do girls really wear this?" Ellie scoffed at the ancient artifact at this point, Victoria's Secret lingerie. I could never wear those now.

I had to give Ellie a little pep talk (I actually pleaded) for her to say nicer things at the table. Just try to at least, and she seemed very serious about it. She actually did well for the most part. When she started to slip up and say a curse word, if it hadn't came fully out, she just switched it up. If it did slip out fully, she just gave a wide eyed look at the table, before glancing at me and I just gave her a secret little "it's okay" to make sure she didn't stress about it too bad.

After dinner was over, it was obvious that Joel and Tommy were still having a bit of fun so there wasn't much of a push to leave. I didn't think I'd ever seen him this happy, but he was also a few glasses in. Maria mentioned we move to the back porch to have a fire going, since the living room had become overwhelming quickly. We could actually have a fire now. That was new, but I would enjoy that heat as much as I could.

It was a night of the Miller brothers easily bantering about who could shoot the furthest, and Joel just let Tommy have that, being the selflessly older brother type. He didn't care too much to have the title, but he knew Tommy was full of shit. "Nah, Joel's good at stuff too. Fantastic carpenter in the day. Decent guitar player. Has he played guitar for you yet?" Tommy asked, motioning over to me and Ellie.

"Yeah, totally, whenever we find a working guitar in the woods trying to get across country." I responded sarcastically, making every everyone laugh a bit. I took the chance to see the him laugh. It was honestly more like a giggle. Tommy must've had something stronger than the watered down shit he got from the QZ. Or Joel knew this was a place where he knew he could indulge a little more now. Either way, I just relished in the sight of how happy he looked.

"Well lucky for y'all, I actually found one. Months ago. I sure as hell dunno how to play it, but I liked having it around. Gave me a little piece of my brother." He mentioned with a sappy smile before he got up and went to grab it. He came back with it, and it was honestly in good shape. "Think you can still play?" Tommy asked Joel, holding the guitar out to him by the neck until he took it. "S'been a while since I've heard live music. Not sure anyone around here as a musical bone in their body." He added before he took his seat again.

Joel held the guitar in his lap, trying to find the right positioning in. Once he found it, he easily slipped back into it. "Well, you're not gonna get much. I'm pretty rusty, I'd say." Joel told Tommy when he cleared his throat, just giving a prompt warning not to expect anything crazy.

"Thought you wanted to be a singer, man?" Ellie asked him, always giving him a hard time, but that was how these two bonded. I had never seen such a thing, but it was so sweet. Even the way Joel gave her a scowl back made me smile. "Good thing you can though." Ellie mentioned. The little mastermind knew about my crush on Joel, after so much interrogation, of course. I wasn't going to just give it up until she pulled out all the times she's caught my "longing stares" at him in any situation. I didn't feel like it was a bad thing, the staring. It was better than my other option. Confessing how much I cared for this handsome man that happened to be double my age, and then having to be rejected. That would've made traveling a hell of a lot harder. I was convinced he didn't see me that way. He had said it once before—Ellie and I were only cargo.

Joel glanced up at me when Ellie mentioned I could sing. He just spent a whole month walking across the country, protecting each other, killing for each other. We had all seen each other at our lowest, yet he didn't know I could sing? Not that it was his fault necessarily. I only did it a couple times when I was explaining how Fleetwood Mac songs sounded like to Ellie, mostly while he was asleep. I was too shy to do it otherwise. "You can?" He asked and I felt everyone's eyes on me.

Luckily the orange light from the fire completely give away how bad I was blushing. "A little—not much. I only remember one acoustic song and it's "Landslide"... by Fleetwood Mac." I cleared my throat, giving a side eye to Ellie for getting me into this mess.

"You know how to play that one! After Sarah forced yo—" He cut himself once he consciously knew the name that slipped out of his mouth in the moment. It got quiet. Ellie and I were so aware of how we were not supposed to bring her up. It was an unspoken rule at that point.

Joel only looked at his brother for a moment before looking away and he nodded his head. "I do know how to play it." He finally responded with a little nod. "Practiced so much, it's muscle memory." His lips curved up just enough, barely giving him a little smile. It said what it needed to. Sarah had made him learn how to play it for whatever reason, and it was a memory he almost forgot about.

He started strumming the song after tuning a few bum strings and Ellie nudged me to make sure I was going to sing the lyrics. She was so excited. I could do it for her.

It was a very surreal experience, singing a song about the changes and challenges of life, especially in a post-apocalyptic world, where each one of us had lost people, lost ourselves. At one point I could see a tear fall down Maria's face but I had to focus my eyes elsewhere not to start crying myself. The song ended and this time, it was Joel that had the longing stare as he slipped the instrument out of his lap. Ellie caught it and she got a little twinkle in her eye, having an idea that her plan was falling into place. This could be the start of her very own real family.

After that, once Tommy checked the time, he knew he should probably be getting to bed because he had work tomorrow. He told his older brother to come on out so he could show him a few things. We were going to have to work as long as we were here, however long that may be, but it wasn't bad. We've had way worse. "Oh! Before you go!" Maria said and I raised my eyebrows a little, Ellie standing close by and Joel was already at the front door. Maria hurried back with a CD and The Very Best of Fleetwood Mac was printed on the top. "Go ahead and learn a few more songs. Keep the music alive, and the joy that comes with it. There will be more where that's coming from." She told me and Ellie looked wide eyed at the CD. It had all the songs I was telling her about.

"Thank you so much." I told her softly, taking her in for a hug. Joel watched me hug her and smiled a bit again. He knew I was full of love, even after all of these years. i could find love for anything, the moon. the clouds in the sky, colorful weeds that lined the roads we walked to get there. That scared him. He didn't know if he was worthy of it, after everything he's done. He knew I would be able to love him. He did make a mental note to try and maybe flirt back to test the waters with me, see if I was serious—even though I was every single time I made a slightly flirty comment.

"Hey, do you guys have any of the Star Wars movies by chance?" Ellie asked Maria curiously, breaking a soft moment. She figured if they had Fleetwood Mac, they could possibly have the movies she wanted to see so badly.

"We have all of them, episodes one and two, and four through six. Which one were you wanting to watch?" Maria raised her eyebrow a little with a smirk when Ellie squealed.

"All of them! Please!" Ellie bounced a bit and I couldn't help but smile wider. "Hear that Joel? We're gonna be watching all of the Star Wars movies!" She turned back to him, just to make sure he was as excited as she was about it, but this was excited Joel for the most part.

"Sure, Ellie. But I'm not watching them all in one night. They're pretty long movies. I'm too old for all that." He told her, letting her follow him back over to the house across the street with his arm obnoxiously draped over her head.

"Thank you, again. And just drop off the movies whenever you can. She's gonna go crazy." I laughed a bit as I walked out the door.

"We will. Take care of him, alright? Well, both of 'em. But let him know it's okay to loosen up a little around here." Tommy told me as I walked down the steps. After tonight, it was obvious to him that I was something a little more special to his brother, even if no one else could see it. Tommy caught all the little glances he never thought he'd see Joel give again. I had a power over you that I would probably never know the extent of. Tommy knew he was going to give Joel hell tomorrow though. He didn't know why Joel hadn't already made a move.

"I will take care of them!" I waved to them as I made it out to the street, getting across to my new home. Tommy and Maria made sure I made it inside safely before closing their door as well.

Once I was in my bed for the night, in clean clothes, under an actual duvet and an actual pillow, I was so close to sleep. I had fallen asleep so quickly in the last week. Just as I could feel myself drifting off, I heard my door creak open.

"Darlin'? You awake?" I heard Joel's deep southern accent say in the dark. I could barely make his outline out in the doorway, sure enough he couldn't see my eyes well enough to know if I was still awake or not.

"Yeah, I'm still awake." I partly lie. I hadn't been quite at that point yet, but I'm pretty sure him calling me darling would've woken me out of anything. It only happened a few times, and each time he's said it, it's just felt like an accident, like it just slipped out. This time, though, that felt real. "What's up?"

It took him a minute to answer, like he was actively trying to think of what to say, like he hadn't been rehearsing it. I would've paid good money to get a look of the expression his face held right now. "I, uh, was wonderin' if you'd come to my room, to sleep? Got kinda used to having you at my side at night. This last week sleepin' in'a different room, it's been..." it was like he was trying to find the right words to say, so he didn't sound like an idiot at my door.

Little did he know, explaining himself wasn't needed. I was already getting out of bed hugging my pillow, and I slipped by him in the doorway, headed to his room. He was kind of stunned, like he was surprised his pathetic attempt worked. "Well, c'mon cowboy. I'm ready for bed." I ushered him before walking into his room.

He had his girl safe in bed down the hall, and his girl waiting on him to get in bed. Maybe this was a great place for him.

[cringe-but-proud]

I read your wonka fic and wanna say that it’s amazing for your first time writing x reader! I was hoping that you can do a miles morales x reader where reader miles best friend and is a fan of Spider-Man (reader don’t know miles is Spider-Man) and readers birthday is coming up so miles knowing how much reader loves Spider-Man decides to do a guest appearance at their birthday while being Spider-Man. Reader is happy Spider-Man is at their party but is sad that miles isn’t there. Was hoping it can end with Miles revealing he’s Spider-Man and confessing to reader!

Thanks for the request! I had fun writing this one!

Miles Morales x gn!Reader

Warnings: A little cursing, reader being sad for a min

A/n: Just wanna let everyone know that my asks are open 😈

"Dude, I swear to God, he was right next to my apartment. Right there! If I had been looking out the window, I totally would've seen him!" You spoke excitedly as you showed Miles a video of the infamous Spiderman swinging past your apartment building.

"Yeah, that's cool. That's really cool." Miles nodded.

"Do you think I'll ever get to meet him? Like, for real? Face to face?" You asked as you turned the phone back to yourself, rewatching the video a few more times.

"I mean, he's in Brooklyn a lot, so..." He shrugged.

"Yeah... It's weird, I feel like everyone I know has had some sort of encounter with Spiderman, but I've never even spotted him in person."

That was true and it was intentional. Whenever miles was being spiderman, he did everything in his power to avoid you. He liked you a lot and you were his best friend. If he ever had to interact with you as spiderman, he'd probably get nervous, slip up, and blow his cover.

But, he did feel bad. You were obsessed with Spiderman. And he'd heard over and over again about how badly you wanted to meet him.

"Do you think he does cameos or anything? Maybe I could buy one of those for myself with all the birthday money I'm about to get tonight." You suggested with a chuckle.

"Nah, I don't think he does those."

You sighed and began to go on a rant about how much money spiderman could make from doing something like that.

But, Miles wasn't really listening. He was starting to get an idea. And if he wanted to follow through with the idea, he'd have to leave. Like, right now.

He stood up. "I gotta go."

"What? Really?"

"Yeah, I just remembered, uh, I gotta finish doing my laundry."

You blinked. "Alright, dude. See you later."

This was gonna be the perfect birthday present. All he had to do was stick to the plan.

Miles was going to come to your party as spiderman. He'd take some pictures with you, wish you a happy birthday, and try to keep all the talking to a minimum.

Perfect.

Your party was on the rooftop of your apartment building, which worked out perfectly for him. He arrived fashionably late, when the party was already in full swing, and he was quickly spotted.

"Yo, is that Spiderman?" A small crowd quickly formed around Miles as he searched for you.

"Yeah, yeah. I, uh, thought I'd swing by wish a happy birthday to... Y'know, Whoever." Miles said, trying to act nonchalant.

"Spiderman?!" You were suddenly standing right in front of him, eyes wide, mouth agape.

"Hey! Happy birthday!" He said to you happily.

"How'd you know this party was for me?"

Shit.

"Uh..." Miles shrugged. "Spidey-sense?"

"Cool..." You smiled. "I'm such a big fan. You- You're like- I mean, you're you. You're Spiderman." You gushed. "Could I take a picture with you?"

"Yeah, for sure." This was going better than expected.

"Can I get one next?" Some random guy piped up.

"Uh... Sure." Miles shrugged.

"Could I get one too?"

"... Yeah?"

Ok, this wasn't part of the plan. Miles was now stuck awkwardly taking pictures with your friends and family.

And where were you? He hadn't seen you in a while and this was YOUR party!

Should he be worried? Well, whether he should or shouldn't didn't really matter. Because he WAS worried.

Miles slipped away from the line of people wanting pictures to look for you. He found you sitting behind your apartment building on some steps.

He cleared his throat. "Hey, uh... Why aren't you up at the party?" He asked as he walked over to sit next to you.

You glanced over and straightened your posture nervously. "Oh, I just... My best friend isn't here and I'm starting to get sort of worried." You shrugged.

Oh, no. This wasn't part of the plan.

"Well, I'm sure he's fine, maybe he just..." Miles trailed off.

"Maybe he just didn't wanna come?" You suggested.

"No! No! I wasn't saying that! I mean, maybe he's just busy."

"Yeah, but he would've texted me if something came up." You shook your head.

Miles was panicking. Spiderman was at your party! That was supposed to make you happy! He didn't think you'd get sad about his absence.

"Well, I'm sure he's got a good reason for not being here." Miles said. "He definitely didn't just ditch you because... I mean, this party is awesome. And you're awesome... I mean, you seem awesome. From what I've seen." He was supposed to keep talking to a minimum. What was he doing?!

"You're probably right. I just wish he could be here, y'know?"

"I'm sure Miles wishes he could be here right now too."

"Yeah." You paused. "Wait, how'd you know his name?"

"Uh-"

"And how do you know my best friend's a 'he'?"

"Well, obviously-"

"Why'd you even come to my party in the first place?"

Well, shit. Miles didn't know how to talk his way out of this.

"I... Um..." You looked at his with narrowed eyes. "Alright, don't freak out, but... I..." He took off his mask. "It's me. I'm Spiderman."

Your jaw dropped.

...

"Please, say something." Miles said.

"Are you kidding me?!" You laughed. "You're- You?! How did I never figure it out?!"

"Cause I was good at hiding it?"

"Why did you come to the party like this?"

"Cause I know you love Spiderman, and I know you've wanted to meet him, and I wanted to make you happy!" Miles says. "But, I... I didn't think you'd get sad about me not being here. Me as in Miles." He said.

You paused. "You know, you didn't need to do the whole Spiderman thing for me."

"Yeah... But, I did." He shrugged.

"Why, though?"

"Cause I like you."

"What?"

Oh, God. This was like a nightmare. Whatever, no going back now.

"I like you." He repeated. "Like, not just in a platonic way."

"Oh."

...

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-" He began.

"No, no! I like you too!" You quickly reassured as you chuckled. "I was just surprised."

Miles was surprised for a moment, but then he smiled in relief. "That's cool."

"Yeah." You rested your head on his shoulder. "It's cool." The two of you sat in a comfortable silence for a moment. "Thanks for coming, man."

"You saying that to Miles or to Spiderman?" He teased.

"Shut up." You chuckled.

This was a nice birthday gift.

[television-overload]

Done! *passes out*

White Christmas

NCIS Christmas 2023 fic

Read on AO3

Summary: For Christmas 2023, the NCIS family makes their way to Alaska to celebrate all together for the first time in years.

WC: 7,963

Rating: G

-.-.-

"Daddy, Daddy! I can see the glaciers!” Tali announced excitedly, her face pressed up against the small airplane window.

Tony DiNozzo smiled and peeked over her head of wavy brown hair to catch a glimpse of the snow-covered Alaskan wilderness below. “You remember what you learned about glaciers in school?” he prompted.

“Uh-huh! They’re like frozen rivers that move down the mountains!”

“Something like that,” Tony chuckled. “You’d better sit down and buckle up, Tals, we’ll be landing soon.”

The nine-year-old obeyed, sitting back in her seat where her legs didn’t quite touch the ground—though the way she’d been growing lately, it wouldn’t be long.

“Can I have your phone to take pictures?” Tali asked once she was properly buckled, the seatbelt tightened by her father until he deemed it sufficient.

With an exaggerated sigh, Tony fished the device out of his back pocket and handed it over. “Don’t take too many, we need to save some space for pictures of all the other cool stuff we see.”

With his daughter occupied, Tony turned his attention to the woman sitting in the aisle seat beside him.

“Hey, you doing alright?” he asked in a low voice, placing a hand on her knee.

She had been shifting uncomfortably for the last hour or so of their flight, unable to get positioned in a way that took the pressure off her back. They had broken up their journey from Paris with a day’s respite in New York City, where they were able to catch up with some of Tony’s extended family. Tali, in particular, loved seeing the sights and stuffing her face with giant slices of pizza. But still, it put a lot of strain on Ziva’s body.

“I am starting to rethink what a good idea it was to travel so extensively while pregnant,” she spoke with a grimace, rubbing her rounded belly in comforting circles.

Tony hummed in sympathy, his fingers finding her lower back and massaging there as best as he could in such a confined space. She sighed in relief, her head falling against his shoulder and her eyes drooping shut.

“In our defense, when we planned this trip, we didn’t know you’d be five months pregnant,” he said softly with a teasing lilt to his voice.

It was true. They had almost given up on the prospect of having another child, promising that if it didn’t happen before Tali turned ten, they would stop trying. But finally, after years of negative tests, they got their positive, and Tony and Ziva were overjoyed. Tali, too, was looking forward to having a sibling. The high pitched squeal she had emitted when they first broke the news proved to them that she would be the best big sister a kid could ask for, and she had slept with a copy of the ultrasound in a frame beside her bed ever since.

But when they first started planning this trip almost a year ago, they had not planned on an additional passenger in utero, which definitely complicated things a little. After Gibbs visited them in Paris for the holidays the year prior, they knew they wanted to be with family. That had been the first time they’d seen him since Ziva had finally been reunited with Tony and Tali, and there was a lot of joy to go around. Tali had taken to calling him Grampa Gibbs, and in almost no time at all, they were like two peas in a pod.

“I can’t wait to see everyone,” Ziva murmured, a small smile pulling at her lips. “I hear Jimmy is bringing his girlfriend.”

“Agent Knight,” Tony said, remembering hearing about her from McGee on their weekly phone calls. “It will be nice to finally meet her. From what I hear, she's been good for him.”

Although the shape of their makeshift family had changed a lot over the years, love was still at the heart of it, that was the only thing that mattered. It broke their hearts to hear of the loss of Breena Palmer. It wasn't fair. As much as Tony had gone through since leaving NCIS, at least the end result was a happily-ever-after with Ziva. Jimmy wasn't so lucky. But the consensus was that this Jessica Knight was a great match for Jimmy, and Victoria apparently liked her too.

After a few more minutes, a voice came over the speaker instructing passengers to take their seats for landing, and Tony pressed a kiss to Ziva’s temple.

“You hear that?” he said, his lips brushing against her hair, “Only a little bit longer, hon.”

-.-.-

“I can’t see him!” Tali screeched far too loudly for a public place, while Ziva tried to wrestle her mussed-up hair into something presentable. She stood on her tippy toes, trying to look out through the crowd at the pickup lane outside, craning her neck for any sight of him.

“Tali, hold still,” Ziva said, brushing through the tangles, “He is not here yet, we only landed a few minutes ago. Your father is still getting the luggage.”

Tali squirmed, but luckily Ziva was finishing up with her hair, so soon she would be let loose.

“What kind of car do you think he drives?” she asked excitedly.

“I don’t know, probably something with big snow tires to get through all this snow,” Ziva answered.

Just then, Tony strolled up, dragging a cart stacked high with suitcases along with him.

“He here yet?” he asked.

Ziva let out an exasperated sigh.

“You and your daughter,” she said, shaking her head. “She just asked me the same thing.”

Tony lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “What can I say? Impatience must be genetic.”

Of course, in actuality, Tony was one of the most patient people to ever walk the earth, and Tali too. But in things like this—well, it was a good thing Tali’s birthday was in the summer. If she had to wait almost a whole year to open presents, she’d probably explode.

Through the glass doors, a dark pickup truck rolled its front window down and honked twice, drawing the DiNozzo family’s attention.

“There he is!” Tali squealed triumphantly, bounding out the doors to the waiting vehicle ahead of her parents.

“Tali, wait for us!” Ziva tried, before giving up and simply following behind, weighed down by their carry-ons, brush still in hand.

By the time she and Tony stepped out into the freezing weather, Tali was already leaping into the waiting arms of their old boss with a shout of “Grampa Gibbs!” He folded her into his embrace, murmuring his own welcome to her in that conspiratorial, hushed tone that only existed between a grandfather and his granddaughter.

Bringing the luggage trolley to a halt on the curb next to the truck, Tony wiped his palms against his pants before reaching out to shake Gibbs’ hand.

“Thanks for coming to pick us up,” he said, smiling as the older man pulled him in for a one-armed hug and pat on the back.

“That’s what family’s for.” He released his former senior field agent and turned to Ziva, who had finally set down the bags she was carrying. “Ziver.”

“Hello, Gibbs,” Ziva said, beaming at this man she saw as her father as he wrapped his arms around her. While her pregnancy wasn’t noticeable to the eye under the many layers of sweaters and coats she was wearing, it was unmistakable to the touch.

Just as she expected, Gibbs placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled back, his raised eyebrow contributing to the knowing look he sent her way.

“Surprise!” Tony said, looking as proud as could be. “We would have told you on our last call, but decided to save it. What do you think?”

The answering smile was so free and easy, it just showed how much Gibbs had benefited from his new life here in Alaska.

“I’m happy for you guys,” Gibbs said, “you deserve it.”

They stood for a moment longer, just enjoying being in each other’s presence again, before the car behind them honked impatiently.

“Well, hurry up, daylight won’t last much longer,” Gibbs said, grabbing the first of their bags and tossing it into the bed of the truck. “Everyone is waiting for you back at home.”

“It’s cold,” Tali said, her cheeks already pink despite the puffy, fur lined coat and thick woolen mittens she wore.

Gibbs chuckled, handing Tony the next bag.

“Then you’d better get in before you turn into an icicle,” he said, tipping his head in the direction of the truck. With a toothy grin copied and pasted from her father, she bounded up to the open door and hoisted herself into the backseat with her mother’s help, and the two climbed into the vehicle.

-.-.-

The drive from the airport in Fairbanks to Gibbs’ place in an area known as Two Rivers took only about 30 minutes. The entire ride, Tali chattered away about the baby, and the big house out in the French countryside they were thinking of moving to. It looked like Gibbs’ lips were stuck in a permanent contented smile, and just as he had done many times for Tony and Ziva, he did what he did best: listened.

As they passed the occasional display of Christmas lights, Ziva would tap Tali’s shoulder to draw her attention, pointing out the window so she could see. Even though it was only two o’clock in the afternoon, it was already getting dark, a phenomenon that Tony did his best to explain scientifically, giving up when it became clear that he was only confusing Tali more. Gibbs couldn’t help but chuckle at his expense. Little Johnny and Morgan McGee could probably explain it better than he could, but he kept that thought to himself.

At last, they pulled into a long driveway, recently plowed to clear it of snow. As they rounded the curve, the moderately-sized cabin came into view from behind the tall evergreen trees, its warmly-lit windows and snow-covered roof a vision of a picturesque Christmas.

Tony climbed out of the cab first, promptly opening the door behind him to help his pregnant wife out of the vehicle. On the other side of the truck, Tali jumped into Gibbs’ arms with a squeal of glee, and was carefully lowered to the ground.

While they stood gathering their things, they heard the front door open with a creak and snick shut, the motion-activated porch light illuminating with a glow.

“Look who the blizzard blew in,” came the voice of Timothy McGee. Tony turned in the direction of the sound and saw his best friend standing on the porch with a huge grin on his face. McGee immediately shoved his hands in his coat pockets and trotted down the front steps, quickly crossing the short distance to the new arrivals. Not a moment passed before he was enveloping Tony in a hug, patting him on the back to convey just how good it was to see him again.

“It's so good to see you all!” McGee spoke. “How was your flight?”

Tony shared a look with Ziva, and responded. “Better for some of us than others,” he said as he wrapped an arm around Ziva’s shoulders. McGee wasted no time in greeting her with a one-armed hug of his own, careful of the bags she was carrying.

“I saw a glacier!” Tali said excitedly, her arms wrapped around her stuffed dog Kelev.

McGee crouched down so he was on her level, his mouth widened in a smile. “I bet you did. Pretty cool, huh?”

Tali nodded emphatically, and Tim stood back to his full height, walking around to the back of the pickup where Gibbs was standing.

“Come on, let’s get you guys out of this cold,” he said, lending a hand by taking one of their suitcases with him. “The snow’s supposed to pick up in the next few hours. Should be quite a sight.”

They followed behind, carrying all their luggage with them as they approached the rustic-style house. McGee pulled the suitcase he was carrying up a wooden ramp, its wheels gliding smoothly up the incline to the porch.

“Gibbs built this for Delilah,” McGee explained proudly, glancing back at Tony and Ziva. “Got the slope of it right and everything, isn’t that great?”

Tony and Ziva joined in the praise, though it surprised no one that Gibbs had done his due diligence to make everything just right for his guests. Despite the snow, it looked like he’d done the work to make his place accessible for McGee’s wheelchair-using wife, and the craftsmanship was exactly what they’d come to expect from Gibbs’ woodworking projects. It blended seamlessly into the rest of the timber exterior, almost as if it had always been there.

“They’re here!” McGee called out as he pushed the door open with his foot, hefting the bag into the entryway.

Excited shrieks and rapidly approaching footsteps precluded the arrival of little Johnny and Morgan, who energetically hopped up and down right in front of the door, preventing the others from entering.

“Hey, hey—yes, I know we’re excited to see everyone, but—Johnny—Morg—"

“If your name is McGee and you are standing within 5 feet of the door, you need to back away right now and give everyone space,” Delilah spoke in a firm, warning tone as she wheeled into the vaulted entrance hall of the cabin. “Yes, that includes you, Tim,” she added, a glint of amusement betraying the kindness she hid underneath that commanding presence. She always was more effective at getting the twins to fall in line than their father was. As ordered, the two backed up until they were standing against the wall, hardly able to hold still for all the excitement they were feeling.

“Hey!” Tony called out as he entered. “There they are! How old are you now, mini-McGees?”

“SIX!” They answered, and Johnny (after double checking that he had it right) held up six fingers to show his Uncle Tony. Their birthday had been last month, just before Thanksgiving, and they’d spent most of their birthday phone call talking with Tali about all the things they hoped to do and see on their Christmas trip. Now, at last, the time had come. It had been years since the McGees came to visit during the summer holidays, and that was far too long for the little ones to be apart.

Ziva entered next, brushing snowflakes off her coat as she wiped her boots on the welcome mat. Her smile was easy and warm, marked by the introspective awareness of what a blessing this time with family was after everything she had been through. Delilah rolled up beside her and welcomed her with a hug, taking one of her carry-on bags off her hands and setting it in her lap.

“The kids wouldn’t stop talking about seeing Tali again,” she said with fond exasperation. “I hope she’s ready to be smothered by two clingy six-year-olds with a million questions.”

Ziva chuckled and followed Delilah into the house, setting her other bag on a wooden bench in the hallway as she passed. “She has been equally looking forward to it, I’d say,” Ziva answered. “Thankfully we have not yet reached the point where she thinks she is too cool to spend time with her family, though I am certainly not looking forward to that day.”

Delilah waved her hand in disbelief. “Pssh. If any kid could skip that phase, I’m confident it’s her,” she said, shaking her head. “She only just got you back, I’m sure she realizes how fortunate she is to have two parents who love her.”

It was a surprise to Ziva every time how little it hurt to hear things like that, these days. Those years of separation and constant anxiety were now in her past, and she had finally been able to move on. Of course, anxiety wasn’t something that went away for good, but she managed much better now than she had before. And she could talk about what had happened without breaking down, which was a huge step forward. Just another thing to be grateful for.

“TALI!” two twin voices screeched, and when Ziva turned to look at Tony, he had his finger in his ear, wiggling it around as if to test his hearing. She smirked, rolling her eyes a little.

Their daughter had been enveloped by the much shorter McGee twins, just as Delilah had predicted. She could vaguely make out a slew of questions being fired at the eldest child, about their trip to New York, whether she saw any polar bears from the plane, and the stuffed dog she carried. Tali seemed to be taking it in stride, only looking a little overwhelmed at the attention as she tried to make her way further into the house. Tucking Kelev under the crook of her arm, she grabbed Johnny and Morgan’s hands with each of her own, leading them into the next room.

Yes, she would be a good big sister. Ziva smiled as she watched them go off on their own.

“I know what that sound means,” came another voice, as he peeked around the corner into the entryway.

“Hey, Jimbo!” Tony greeted. “I think they broke the sound barrier that time. Probably scared off every wild animal in a 5-mile radius.”

Jimmy Palmer grinned, his eyes crinkling behind his rounded glasses. “Well, can you blame them? I’d be right there with them if it were socially acceptable, I’m so happy you guys could make it!”

Ziva placed a hand on his shoulder and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “We would not want to be anywhere else,” she said truthfully.

Glancing at each of them in turn, Palmer offered, “Can I take your coat? There’s a closet by the back door where the rest of us have ours stashed.”

Ziva sent a questioning glance back at Tony, and he shrugged and gave a tiny nod. It was times like these that their unspoken communication really came in handy.

“Thank you, Jimmy,” Ziva agreed, turning her back to him and allowing him to help her with the thick winter coat. It slipped down her shoulders, and as it did, she watched with great amusement the reactions of each of their friends the moment they noticed her rounded figure.

McGee’s jaw dropped in an awed and excited expression, and he immediately turned to look at his wife, who herself looked rather surprised and pleased.

Ziva turned expectantly to Palmer, who thus far had only seen their reactions and not what caused them.

“What are you—” he began to ask, then his eyes widened in disbelief. “What?! You guys! Finally!” He promptly pulled Ziva into a crushing hug, pulling back to look at her and then to Tony.

He knew how much this meant to his friend, after missing out on this incredible part of his daughter’s life the first time. He’d been something of a confidante to him for years, listening to him over the phone as he lamented all the things he missed as he learned how to be a father. This time, he knew, nothing could keep him from being involved every step of the way. Probably even more than Ziva would like at times, if he had to guess.

“How far along are you? Do you know what you're having?” Jimmy fired away with the questions, and Ziva couldn't help but think this is what she could have had the first time around, if she had chosen differently. A family to share this wonderful news with, and a partner by her side.

“20 weeks,” she answered with a glowing smile. “And–”

She turned to look expectantly at Tony.

“It's a boy,” he announced proudly, looking for all the world happier than he'd ever been. “We found out last week.”

Shouts of congratulations echoed the entryway, and McGee came up to shake his hand, offering him a clap on his back.

“Any thoughts on names?” Delilah asked next.

Ziva nodded, her eyes flicking in the direction of Gibbs before nervously trailing the walls and ceiling. “Actually, we have had one picked out for a while…”

Tony’s arm wrapped around her shoulder, pulling her close.

“Leroy Farragut DiNozzo,” he spoke in a bold voice, waving his hand in an arc in front of him for dramatic effect, which earned a host of politely repressed looks of concern by all their friends.

“Ah, jeez,” Gibbs spoke gruffly, shucking his own coat and hanging it on a nearby coat rack.

McGee, too, looked alarmed. “Oh–that's…”

But before anything else could be said, Tony doubled over laughing, and as much as Ziva tried not to, the corner of her lips quirked up involuntarily at her husband's latest antics. McGee breathed a sigh of relief.

“Okay–okay, I'm kidding, we're not naming him Leroy,” Tony said with a wheeze.

“But,” Ziva said seriously, pulling back on the reins of this conversation, “We are naming him after you, Gibbs.”

The room fell silent, the only sign that Gibbs had heard being the tightening of his jaw and the way his adam’s apple bobbed. He never was an emotional one, their boss. He felt it, but rarely did it show.

“We're calling him A.J.,” Tony began, his voice suddenly thick with emotion.

Ziva nodded. “Anthony Jethro.”

Gibbs didn't hesitate to cross the short distance to Tony and Ziva, wrapping her first into a hug, and then him.

“I'm honored,” he spoke softly, ruffling Tony’s hair before pulling back. “You give me a call when that baby’s born, I want to come meet him.”

“Copy that, boss.”

“Perhaps you can come stay with us,” Ziva said. “We are hoping to have a house outside the city by then.”

Tony's face lit up. “Now there's an idea! NCIS Christmas in France next year, mark your calendars!”

“That sounds absolutely wonderful,” Jimmy said honestly, his eyes alight with joy. “Well, hey, Victoria is in the kitchen with Jess working on some hot cocoa and cider, if you want to come say hi. If you're serious about us coming next year, she'll flip. Vic’s always wanted to see the Eiffel Tower.”

“Well, the details will need to be worked out, but we are very serious,” Ziva spoke, wrapping an arm around Tony’s waist. “And I could use a cup of hot cocoa,” she added, resting her chin on his chest and looking up at him. “Tony?”

“Let's go,” he said. Then louder, “Hey, Tali! Hot cocoa!”

“Where?!” came the answering shout.

“Kitchen. Come on!”

She came running out of the living room at full speed, then proceeded to climb Tony like a tree, whispering something in his ear.

“Yes, you can have marshmallows.”

She grinned.

-.-.-

The kitchen was rustic, but large. Palmer led the way, regaling everyone with the story of the trip he, Jess, and Victoria had taken that morning to stock up on goodies at the only grocer in town. Apparently they had taken Gibbs’ snowmobile, or “snow machine” as they called it here, as it was much faster and probably safer than trying to maneuver a larger vehicle in this terrain.

The result of their labor was all the ingredients for warm drinks, smores, and a hearty Christmas dinner, which everyone was looking forward to.

Jimmy pushed open the door to the kitchen, and inside, Agent Knight turned, a smile on her face as she continued stirring the contents of a steaming pot on the stove. Victoria paused mid-conversation where she sat perched on the counter, her face breaking into a grin at the sight of her friend Tali.

“You're here!” she said excitedly, hopping down from the counter. “Want to come help us? You can put the whipped cream on top!”

Tali looked to her father for permission, then hurried over to Victoria, smiling brightly in return. Not quite a year younger than Tali, the two got along swimmingly. Though, like the rest of their NCIS family, they hadn't spent much time together in person, they kept up via video call as often as they could. Long-distance movie nights had become a regular occurrence–whenever they could get it to work with their different time zones.

“Jess, this is Tony and Ziva,” Jimmy said, standing beside her somewhat awkwardly.

Agent Knight nodded. “Hi! I–uh, I've heard a lot about you!” she spoke, reaching out to shake each of their hands in turn. “I see congratulations are in order,” she added, nodding in Ziva’s direction.

Ziva smiled warmly. “Thank you, it is great to meet you. We've heard good things.”

“How's the cocoa coming along?” Jimmy asked, turning to check on the girls whose faces hovered over the chocolatey concoction, taking turns stirring it.

“Almost ready, Daddy!” Victoria said. She nodded to Tali who held a bag full of mini marshmallows. “Just needs a few finishing touches.”

-.-.-

The cocoa and cider was enjoyed by the entire party, as they gathered around the blazing fireplace in Gibbs’ living room. Those who knew each other enjoyed getting caught up on each other's lives, while new friendships were quickly formed between Jessica and the others.

Agent Torres, Tony learned from Palmer, had unfortunately been unable to come for Christmas, citing some unspecified holiday plans that he was being oddly tight-lipped about. Tim, however, whispered his suspicion that the younger agent may, in fact, know the whereabouts of one Eleanor Bishop, and have gone to meet up with her for the holidays. Tony and Ziva shared a knowing look.

Meanwhile, they'd heard Abby had met up with Ducky in London, spending a nice quiet Christmas with him and some of his extended family in the British Isles. It sounded lovely.

As mugs of cocoa were emptied and marshmallows eaten, the children sprawled out on the floor with an array of board games and cards and a veritable mountain of couch pillows. They got along incredibly well for the most part, which their parents were endlessly thankful for.

With them occupied, Palmer took it upon himself to show Tony and Ziva to their room, assisting them with their luggage up the slightly cramped wooden staircase.

“You'll be up here, in the room next to Jess and I,” he spoke, pushing a heavy oak door open with his shoulder. Inside was a beautiful wooden bedframe that they immediately suspected to be handmade, with a mattress topped in a colorful quilt and matching pillows.

“This is lovely,” Ziva said, surveying the comfortable accommodations.

“Tim and Delilah are downstairs next to the living room, and Gibbs is just next to the kitchen.” Jimmy set their suitcases down in the corner, turning to smile at his two friends. “Get this: Gibbs made bunk beds for the kids. He's got the attic all decked out, I'm talking string lights, shag rugs, and the works. If there's not a blanket fort up there by the end of the week, I'll be shocked.”

Ziva felt tears welling up in the corners of her eyes, courtesy of the pregnancy hormones.

“Would you ever have guessed that one day, our boss would build a dream bedroom for our kid?” Tony asked, reaching out for Ziva's hand and threading his fingers into hers.

Ziva's lip wobbled, and Tony knowingly pulled her into his embrace, rubbing a hand soothingly up and down her back.

“It is pretty incredible, isn't it?” Jimmy agreed, an understanding smile pulling at his lips. “I'll go grab Tali's bag and take it up there. You guys get settled in.”

Tony thanked him, and soon it was just the two of them left breathing in the moment, in awe of all the twists and turns their lives had taken.

-.-.-

The ridiculously early sunset combined with jet-lag meant that the DiNozzos were scarcely able to make it past 19:00. The entire group gathered once more for an easy soup dinner before going their separate ways, either putting their finishing touches on gifts for Christmas day or calling it a night and curling up under warm blankets for some much-needed rest.

“I can't believe she’s still awake,” Ziva mumbled, laying on her side with Tony spooned up behind her.

Up in the attic, loud thumps and high-pitched squealing indicated that none of the children had gone to bed like they had been told to. The last time Tony had popped in to check on them, they had been jumping around into piles of pillows and blankets, and dancing to some music playing on an old radio they'd found, with far too much energy.

His hand splayed across her belly protectively, while he nestled his face into her voluminous hair.

“She's a monster of our own creation,” he murmured back, pulling her tighter. “A night owl like me, and an early bird like you.”

Ziva hummed, too exhausted to laugh.

“If they don't knock it off soon, though, I'm telling them Santa will put coal in their stockings,” Tony added, just as another thud sounded above them.

“They're just having fun,” Ziva said, her voice so soft that she had to be moments away from falling asleep. “S’good for her.”

Tony's lips curled up in a smile. He loved the lazy droll of Ziva's voice when she was half-asleep.

“Yeah,” he agreed. Then, he pressed a kiss to her curl-covered head, and let sleep take him.

-.-.-

Tali's eyes blinked open slowly, only the light from the string lights illuminating the cozy attic hideaway. She rolled over and stretched, cuddling Kelev close before sitting up in the top bunk of the bed. Across from her, Victoria still slept soundly in her flannel pajamas. They had worn themselves out last night playing until Uncle Tim had come to scold them for staying up too late.

Tali inched herself over the edge of the bed and down the ladder, her bare feet cold on the wooden surface. It appeared the twins were still passed out too, and likely would be for a while. She was like her mother, in that way. Always early to rise, although her daddy explained that the baby made Ima sleepier now than she usually was.

As quietly as possible, she pushed open the door at the bottom of the stairs and crept down the hallway, making her way to the first floor.

The sun was still far below the horizon, the sky as dark as ink. Only a few lamps lit the living room, but the smell of bacon and freshly-brewed black coffee wafted from the kitchen, which meant she wasn't the only one awake at the crack of dawn.

She pushed open the swinging door and saw Gibbs seated at the breakfast nook, sipping from an old coffee mug as he read the newspaper.

Tali plopped down across from him at the tableclothed table, wordlessly reaching for a piece of bacon and taking a bite. She leaned her head onto her arm and watched him, her eyes still blinking heavily in the dim light.

After several minutes of comfortable silence, marked only by the flip of a newspaper page or Tali’s munching of bacon, Gibbs asked, “Wanna come help me plow the snow?” His voice was gravelly from disuse, breaking the spell of the stillness of early morning.

Tali's cheeks pulled up in a smile and she nodded, following Gibbs to put on her heavy winter boots and coat over her pajamas.

He led her out to his truck, which was fitted with a plow out front for shoveling snow. “Hop up,” he said, patting his lap once he'd taken his seat in front of the wheel. Tali grinned and climbed up.

“Can I steer?” She asked, glancing back at Grampa Gibbs.

“After I clear the driveway and the road,” he answered, chuckling a little at the young girl's enthusiasm.

He took her around the house, pushing the freshly-fallen snow to the side as they drove. The headlights caused the white-blanketed landscape to sparkle, and it looked almost otherworldly with the mountains in the distance, barely visible. As they passed it, Gibbs pointed out the barn where his dogs lived, promising to bring her there later when it was light out and when her cousins were awake.

True to his word, once he'd cleared a section of the road and the driveway that encircled his house, he let Tali have the wheel while he controlled the pedals, keeping a hand close by in case she started to veer too far one way or the other off the gravel of his driveway. She giggled all the while, focusing intently on doing her job correctly.

“Looks like your old man's awake,” Gibbs said as they pulled back up to the house, catching sight of Tony through the window. He helped Tali down from the truck, setting her in the ankle deep snow. She trudged happily toward the house behind him, stepping only in Gibbs' footsteps for the short walk to the porch.

As they opened the door, her Abba was passing by with a glass of water in hand for Ima.

“Look at you, up an at ‘em,” he said, smirking down at his daughter. “Is Grampa Gibbs putting you to work?”

Tali nodded enthusiastically. “He letted me drive!” she said, earning an impressed look from Tony. 

“Well, in that case maybe you want to bring this up to Ima and give her some snuggles,” he said, handing the glass to Tali. “I'll help Grampa over here with breakfast.”

“Okay!” Tali nodded, and after kicking off her boots, she set off up the wooden staircase.

-.-.-

The occupants of the cabin slowly filtered downstairs, rubbing sleep from their eyes and attempting to smooth their sleep-mussed hair.

Little Johnny's stuck up in all directions as he padded down the steps with his sister in tow.

“Hey, buddy, you sleep well?” McGee asked, setting his cup of coffee down on the table. Johnny climbed onto his father's flannel pajama’d lap and laid his head against his chest, still half asleep.

“She snores,” he mumbled tiredly.

Tim chuckled. “Who does, bud?”

“Tali.”

McGee lifted his eyes knowingly to Tony. “Wonder where she gets that from?” he said, his tone jokingly accusing.

“Hey,” Tony said, raising his hands in surrender, “mine has been up since o' five-hundred, if he didn't sleep well, that's on him.”

“How did Ziva sleep?” Tim asked, making conversation.

“Like a very noisy rock,” Tony answered, “So, the usual.”

Tim smiled and took another sip of coffee, careful not to spill on the sleeping boy on his chest.

-.-.-

Once everyone had devoured a hearty breakfast of pancakes, eggs, and fruit salad, the sun finally began to rise on a lovely Christmas Eve day.

“What are your plans for the day?” Jimmy asked Tony and Tim. “Only a few hours of daylight, I'm sure there's plenty you want to see.”

Tony glanced over at Ziva, who was curled up on the couch with a cup of hot tea, chatting quietly with Tali.

“We were gonna go to these hot springs that are nearby, but Ziva can't go with the baby,” he said. “Chena Hot Springs. You should look it up, sounds like the perfect way to spend an hour or two before the snow starts up again.”

“You sure you don't want to go?” Tim asked, his eyebrows furrowing. “I can stay home and keep her company.”

Tony waved him off. “Nah, that's okay. We're gonna take it easy, she still gets this nauseous feeling sometimes, the doctor says just to rest and stay hydrated.”

“If you're sure…” McGee said. “It does sound really nice. Jimmy?”

“I'm in. Jess had something similar in mind, I think.”

“Daddy?”

The three men turned to see Tali standing in the doorway. She leaned close to Tony, and he instinctively bent down to listen to her.

“Grampa Gibbs said I could go see his puppies,” she whispered.

Tony leaned back to look in her eyes, and gave her a little smile.

“I think that's a great idea,” he said, “I bet Victoria and the twins would like to go too. Why don't you all go get your coats on?”

She ran off, and Tony turned back to the grown-ups.

“I can check in on them every once in a while if you guys want to go.”

McGee and Palmer shared a look, then shrugged.

“Well, I guess it's settled,” Jimmy said.

Tim nodded. “My dad always said never to look a gift horse in the mouth, whatever that means.”

Tony chuckled, pushing his two friends through the doorway. “It means it's time for you two to go get your ladies and get your butts into nature's hot tub.”

“Alright, alright,” Tim laughed. “Thanks, Tony. I owe you one.”

-.-.-

By the time the two couples had left for the hot springs and the children were bundled up for their adventure with Gibbs, Ziva had fallen asleep curled up on the couch in front of the fireplace.

Tony stopped in front of her and knelt down, setting the mug she still held on the side table. He traced a finger over her cheekbone, brushing back a stray strand of hair over her ear.

“Ziva,” he whispered, gently jostling her hand with his own.

“Hmm?”

“You wanna nap upstairs?”

Her eyes opened a crack and worked on focusing on the man in front of her.

“Where is everyone?” she asked, sitting up just a little. 

“Out making the most of the daylight,” he answered with a small smile.

“I'm sorry.”

She tried to sit up again but he stopped her with a soft touch on her shoulder.

“Hey, no, it's okay. I just wanna spend time with you. When's the last time we had an afternoon to ourselves? No Tali, no baby–” he leaned forward, placing a hand on her rounded belly, eyebrows raised. “–yet.”

She smiled a sleepy smile, covering his hand with one of her own.

“We could watch a movie,” she offered, shifting her feet to make space for him beside her.

“Now you're talking,” he said, flashing that trademark grin she'd fallen in love with so many years ago. 

He scooted onto the couch and pulled her to his side, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he did.

“I love you,” he spoke.

“I love you too.”

-.-.-

“It tickles!” Morgan giggled, the puppy in her arms licking her face relentlessly. Tali set down the one she was holding and picked up another from the bed of straw they had been sleeping in.

They stayed pretty warm in the barn they lived in, insulated by straw and plenty of blankets. Plus, these Alaskan huskies had more than enough thick fur to keep them comfortable through the winter. This was what they were built for, after all, and Gibbs loved looking after them.

“Sled's almost ready,” he spoke, busy tying up a series of ropes. He set the excess equipment aside on his workbench, where his woodworking tools were laid out. The fully grown team of dogs barked and jumped excitedly as they were attached individually to the sled. 

Gibbs opened the large main doors of the barn, propping them open with heavy bricks before returning to the kids.

Grandkids.

He'd thought his shot at having any of those was gone with Kelly. How wrong he had been.

“Alright, hop on, all of you sit in the front.”

Morgan gave the puppy she was holding a kiss on the forehead, then set it down to join her brother and friends with Gibbs.

“Can I stand in the back with you?” Tali asked, giving him her best puppy-dog eyes.

“Fine,” he acquiesced, “you gotta hold on tight, though, you hear me?”

“Uh-huh!” 

Her little hands gripped the handlebar at the back of the sled, and Gibbs stepped on behind her, grabbing ahold of the reins.

With a simple command, the dogs took off over the snow. The kids squealed with glee, the cold wind blowing in their faces as the team of dogs happily pulled them along around the house and the perimeter of Gibbs’ property. 

“Go, go, go!” Johnny cheered, enjoying the ride.

They stayed out there until each of them had had a turn standing in the back with Gibbs.

-.-.-

The hot springs had been as relaxing and beautiful as advertised. And to be child-free for even a few hours during the school holidays was priceless. They really owed Gibbs and DiNozzo a favor.

When they arrived back at the house, it was suspiciously quiet. An old country western movie was playing on the TV in the living room, and both Tony and Ziva were fast asleep, curled up together under a blanket.

McGee smiled and reached for Delilah's hand, squeezing it once. He was so thankful to have Ziva back after all this time. He could only imagine how Tony felt. Every moment of peace he now enjoyed was earned a hundred fold. For both of them.

“Why don't you go check on the kids?” Delilah said quietly, careful not to wake them. Tim nodded and headed toward the stairs, while Delilah wheeled her way into the kitchen with the others.

Up in the attic, Gibbs lay on the floor beneath a ramshackle amalgamation of blankets and pillows. He'd be the last person to admit they'd worn him out between the dog sledding, snowman making, and fort building, but he wouldn't complain if they let him just lay here for a little bit longer. He hadn't taken everything with him when he moved to Alaska, but he did still have some of Kelly's old things, toys that Victoria, Tali, Johnny, and Morgan were now playing with.

“How's everyone doing up here?” Tim's voice called as he made his way up the stairs. “Woah, looks like you all had a fun afternoon.”

“We went on the dog sled!” Morgan announced loudly, her head popping out of the fort. Gibbs pushed one of the blankets aside and inched his way out.

“You good, boss?” Tim asked, an amused smile on his face.

“‘Course,” Gibbs answered with a nod, stretching his knees. “I'll get started on dinner. Steaks okay?”

“Great!” McGee answered. “I’ll come down and help in a bit.”

-.-.-

Dinner consisted of Gibbs’ signature cowboy steaks cooked over a fire. The kids regaled their parents with stories of their afternoon activities, while the adults discussed their hopes of seeing the northern lights that night.

A few hours later, they all stood bundled up on Gibbs’ back porch, disappointedly staring up at the cloudy sky.

“We'll try again tomorrow night,” McGee said, giving Johnny a consoling pat on the back. The clouds would prevent them from getting a view of the aurora tonight, but hopefully another time they would have more luck. Eventually they trudged back inside to warm up around the fire.

“Tateleh, have you set your shoes out for Père Noël?” Ziva asked.

Tali's eyes widened, and she ran off to grab a pair.

“What's she doing that for?” Victoria asked, looking up to her father.

“Père Noël is French for Father Christmas – Santa Claus,” Tony explained. “In France, he leaves presents in shoes instead of stockings."

“Can I leave my shoes out too?” Morgan asked, yanking on her dad's hand.

“Me too!” Johnny said. 

“Go get them,” Delilah spoke, nodding toward the stairs. Victoria followed, excited at the prospect of getting more candy and presents from Santa Claus.

-.-.-

Somewhere, a floorboard squeaked, drawing Tali out of her peaceful sleep. When she opened her eyes, Grampa Gibbs was standing beside the bunk bed wearing a t-shirt and plaid pajama pants.

He held a finger over his lips. 

“Follow me, I've got something to show ya,” he said in a whisper, bending to do the same for Morgan, then Victoria and Johnny. They each rubbed their eyes sleepily, allowing Gibbs to help them down from the bunk beds and into their slippers.

“Where are we going?” Morgan asked, her whisper not quite as soft as she was intending. They padded down the cold wooden stairs, like little ducks in a row as they followed their parents’ old boss.

“You'll see in a minute,” Gibbs promised, leading them through the living room to the back porch door.

Johnny glanced at the Christmas tree as they passed it. “Hey! Santa already came!” he said excitedly, his eyes widening at the sight of so many presents under the tree and filling their stockings and shoes.

“Plenty of time for that later,” Gibbs spoke, handing each of them their coats. “Look outside.”

Tali did, and she gasped at the sight of the sky alight with color. Stripes of green rippled across the black firmament above the Earth, like a flag waving in the wind. Surrounding it was a glittering field of stars, brighter than any Tali or the others had seen, living so close to the cities.

“The clouds cleared!” Victoria said, staring up at the sky in awe. Gibbs opened the door and let them outside, watching their faces instead of the natural wonder taking place above their heads. 

“So cool,” Johnny mouthed, his jaw hanging open. “This is the best Christmas ever.”

Morgan nodded in agreement.

This was pretty special. A moment the children would never forget.

-.-.-

Morning time brought presents and the kind of holiday cheer Ziva never thought she'd be lucky enough to experience again. The kids were delighted at their gifts, giggling at their success at getting chocolates put in their shoes by Santa Claus, just as Tali said would happen.

Victoria received a star projector as one of her presents, and she and Tali were already making plans to try it out in the fort they had built upstairs. Meanwhile, Ziva gave Tony an empty baby book, knowing it would mean the world to him to fill it with pictures and memories as their new baby grew.

Snow was again falling, a picturesque sight out the large cabin windows, especially with the sun beginning to rise over the horizon. Light wisps of pink and yellow mixed with faded blue over the top of the snow-capped mountains. A crystal clear morning.

“Why don't you play for us,” Ziva whispered in Tony's ear, nodding to the piano that sat in the corner of the room, a remnant of the previous tenant, Gibbs had said.

Tony turned and looked down at her, a contented smile playing on his lips. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, holding there for a beat, then unfolded himself from the couch where they sat intertwined.

“Hey!” McGee said excitedly when he noticed where he was headed. The others looked up from their gifts and smiled in anticipation. Tali hopped to her feet and joined her Abba by the piano, her grin matching his.

“What song should I play?” he asked her. One look out the window, and she answered his question in his ear like a secret. “Good idea,” he said.

After testing the keys, making sure they were in working order, his fingers splayed across the instrument, beginning their rhythmic dance. Each chord was played beautifully, a warm sound that matched the feeling of sitting by the fire with family. 

“Sing with me, Tali,” Tony said, locking eyes with his daughter as he finished up his intro. She nodded eagerly and placed a hand on his shoulder, leaning her head against him.

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas,

Just like the ones I used to know.

Where the treetops glisten,

And children listen,

To hear sleigh-bells in the snow.

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas,

With every Christmas card I write.

May your days be merry and bright,

And may all your Christmases,

Be white.

-.-.-

Tag list: @artemisscabin @benedettabeby @earanemith @happygirl-0408 @hopeless-nostalgiac @loudlooks @nicolem194 @putthekettleon @slippery-soapbox @tivafanfic @tonysziva

[chaithetics]

coming back to your blog to re-reading for 700th time and i see the recent reblog or arian um HELLO??????? i’m gonna cry imagine reader coming into his office for lunch and seeing him stressed so she starts teasing him about his glasses and standing behind him to just bring him peace because that’s what their mere presence does to each other yeah my soul will not rest all i think about is your stewy 😵‍💫

Glasses

Pairing: Stewy Hosseini x Roy (f) reader (can be gn though - no descriptions)

Word count: 1.6K

Content/chapter warning: 18+ MDNI! stress, fluff, implied spice. Pretty easygoing for a Succession fic!

Authors note: lovely, I am so, so, so, so sorry for how long this one has taken! Please forgive me I absolutely love and adore you! Please let me know what you think bestie, I am so, so, so flattered that you've read my fics so many times! I really loved this prompt so than you so much!

I'm so sorry for how long it took for another Stewy piece to get finished. Everything has been so busy lately, I hope you all enjoy and please do let me know what you think! Comments, reblogs and asks are always appreciated! I live for validation. This has also not been beta or proof read. I hope you all enjoy!

Omg I'm so anxious!!!!

***********

It was a cool, early Wednesday afternoon and you were walking into the Maesbury Capital office. You'd had a rather good day today, it had been the perfect amount of busy, you hadn't been overwhelmed but you certainly weren't underwhelmed, you thought to yourself yes you can be whelmed, Chastity. I'm perfectly whelmed right now. You reminisced a little over that iconic movie for a few seconds as you were perfectly whelmed. 

Wednesdays had become your favourite day of the business week. You'd take a longer lunch break and it had become routine for you and Stewy to have lunch together. You knew he'd had a particularly busy week, which said a lot as the man was always busy, so you'd made sure to get some of those sickly sweet pastries and doughnuts he fancied. Stewy and stress often led to an indulged sweet tooth. 

Once you step out of the elevator you walk towards his office, the floor is relatively quiet which isn't too much of a surprise for this time of day. You know it's because of people being out for lunch or in meeting rooms for lunch/just after lunch meetings. You polite smile at the few faces you see before you walk into Stewy's office. 

You can see him through the glass walls of his office, sitting at his desk completely focused on work. Normally he would've noticed you coming in by now and you would've seen that handsome face light up. 

“Hey, Stewy?” You ask softly as you push open the door and walk towards him as he sits at his desk. 

“Yeah?” He asks softly and gently, his focus is still on the screen and he doesn’t look up. His attention is fully still on his work. He's wearing his glasses and he pushes them up the bridge of his nose as he looks down at some papers that he's printed that are now on the desk. He looks more tense than usual, and the soft tone lacking playfulness is a stark contrast to his usual irrepressibly teasing nature.

“I was just wondering, who’s the hottie in the specs?” You ask with a large smirk. 

You're hoping a bit of playful teasing will help coax him out of the ball of stress he's rolled himself into. You smile at how it's a bit of a sharp parallel to the usual dynamics in your relationship, he's normally the playful one. 

Your teasing catches his attention enough to distract him from whatever is on his screen, he looks up at you with raised eyebrows, the stress is more evident in his expression now, he pointedly exhales as he pushes the frames back up again slightly with his index finger. 

He doesn't often wear the glasses, much to your chagrin. They suit him so well and do something else to you… You've noticed that he's always adjusting them, you think it must be because he's not used to it. It doesn't feel quite right on hid face, and you imagine it's worse because of how overworked and stressed he is right now. 

“Here I was, thinking you weren’t malevolent like the rest of the Roy clan.” He says it somewhat dryly as he rubs his brow, once again shifting his focus back to whatever the cause of stress is. You can tell he’s trying to add some humour for your sake but he’s clearly too worked up to fully commit to it. 

“Hey.” You place down the bag of food and walk over to where he’s seated at his desk. You stand behind him and lean down to rest your chin on his shoulder and wrap your arms around him. “I like the glasses. They look good. You look good. Really good." You speak as gently and genuinely as you can, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek where his perfectly trimmed facial hair tickles your lips. 

“How commodious that they’re exclusively aesthetic.” He dryly teases. 

They’re not. A fact that he knows you’re well aware of. 

"You've always been a men's fashion icon, my love." You say softly, starting to run one hand through his hair. It's not as slicked back, it's looking more natural, you know he must've done some stress tousling it while thinking. You don't say anything about it, you just play with his hair trying to relax him a little. 

He closes his eyes and let's out a small little chuckle. 

“What’s going on?” You ask before you press another gentle kiss down to his shoulder. 

“Just this fucking asinine portfolio review- it’s giving me a headache.” He sighs, leaning further into your hold. You nod and tilt your head to place some soft gentle kisses to his neck and shoulder. 

“Let’s get you some water honey.” You whisper, giving him another kiss and a gentle squeeze before walking over to the drinks cart in his office and pouring him a glass of water. 

"Water on the rocks?" He asks a little playfully as he watches you. 

"Yes… And it's extra strong. All the good stuff. Now drink." You tease back as you give him the glass and lean against the desk watching him. 

"You know that social phenomenon of women being told they're too pretty to cry? Or they look angry or upset and would look better if they smiled?" You ask, he nods. "If they did that to men, the phrase would be you're too cute to be this stressed." He chuckles at that and his eyes have a playful twinkle which makes you smile. It's what you were hoping for. 

"And I can say for a fact that you're far too smart to say such silly things." He teases as he finishes the glass of water. 

"Yes, you're not wrong. But normally my dear lover makes up for my lack of flair for silliness." You smile and he playfully rolls his eyes at that. 

You hug him and give him a soft kiss on the lips. Stewy squeezes your hand softly and rubs his thumb around your hand, it's a small, sweet comforting gesture. You're not sure who it's relaxing more though. 

He presses another soft kiss to your lips, and it's perfectly cozy and enveloping. You kiss hum back lovingly and once you two stop he presses his forehead softly against yours. You stay there for a moment, now practically sitting in his lap while he sits on his office chair. 

"Have you eaten yet, Stew?" You whisper. He shakes his head. 

"No, but I could eat you." He says matter of factly and you can't help but laugh a little and your cheeks heat up at that. "What? Don't laugh! You're already making me feel better, imagine how much better I'd feel if I got a proper taste of you." He playfully teases in a low voice, watching you with a devilish smirk. 

"I have sugar." You say softly as you play with his hair. 

"You're better than sugar. And carbohydrates. You know that right? And sugar is a miracle so that says a lot" He says as he leans into your touch more. 

"Someone's awfully romantic today. Maybe you should drunk water more often." You quip as you continue playing with his hair, you feel his breath against your face as he chuckles at that and nods. 

"If you insist, your request is my command after all." He teases and kisses your neck. 

"What if I told you to wear the glasses more often?" You ask.

"Really?" He asks surprised. You nod and hum in affirmation. "Of all the things in the world, that money could easily be blown on but no. It's the glasses?" He teases. 

"They're something else, you're something else Stew." You say with a small laugh. 

"No, you're something else." He says with a genuine smile, his warm brown eyes are looking at you in absolute adoration but the playful glimmer is more prominent now compared to how the stress had wiped that out earlier. 

"There's one of those ridiculously sugared up doughnuts in the bag." You say with a smirk. 

Stewy's eyebrows quickly raise up at that and he leans slightly over to the desk, still keeping one hand gently but firmly on your back. He gets the doughnut and offers you a bite and then starts to eat it. 

"Best thing baked for humanity's taste buds ever. Nothing will ever taste this good, you know? Except for well you of course." He says and you laugh at that, caressing his cheek a little. "God, you're just tempting me, tempting me in the office you know?" He teases and you laugh. 

You two sit like that, talking for the rest of the hour, he becomes a bit more relaxed, you can see the tension leaving his body with each minute, each word and each kiss. 

Stewy drinks some more water, he eats some more food and eventually you both have to get back to your busy days unfortunately. 

You give him a soft loving kiss on the lips and he smiles up at you. 

"I'll see you tonight, love." You say softly. 

"I'll still be wearing the glasses." He smugly promises.

"Aren't I the luckiest person in the whole world?" You ask with a smirk as your cheeks heat up at the thought. 

"I don't mean to make this a competition because as you know, I don't have a competitive bone in my body," he teases. "But actually, I'm the luckiest person for getting you. You're a real dream babe." He says with a playful but adoring smirk.