#though maybe they have no object permanance when it comes to him
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Where the Storm Looms
Copyright Ⓒ 2023 by Moonjxsung
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner. Doing so will result in a legal takedown per the Digital Millennium Copyright Act and is subject to legal action.
*This fic is part 2 to “When the Rain Stops.” You can read part 1 here.
Pairing: Lee Minho x fem reader
W/c: 13k
Warnings: smoking, drinking, mention of cheating, mention of masturbation, mention of casual sex, brief mention of calories, nipple play, unprotected sex, bulge kink, creampie, squirting
Synopsis: Now living in the city he despises, Minho is determined to find you again- despite the sacrifices he’ll have to make.
18+. mdni!
•
They say if you love something, you have to set it free. And if it comes back to you, it’s yours.
So what implication can be drawn if you go searching for it- for three months and 13 days straight?
Minho isn’t sure.
The city is just as grimy as he remembered it- teeming with the sounds of pushy street vendors, bumper-to-bumper traffic and conversations of plummeting stocks at every corner. The coffee is overpriced, and the people dress in gray slacks even on laundry day. The girls are pretty- they’re decent in bed, they work good jobs and they can carry a conversation well as long as it involves their respective companies or an ex-boyfriend.
But none of them are you.
Minho feels stupid for thinking about it this extensively. A random hookup in his bar as a result of bad weather conditions- one you never even bothered saying goodbye to him after, and yet he’s still hung up on you.
That stupid game. He should've never let you fix that arcade game. Maybe then you wouldn’t have stayed so long, wouldn’t have kissed him back even though he’s the one who initiated it. Wouldn’t have let him fuck you on the pool table, moaning his name over and over again like a prayer permanently etched into his memory. But he didn’t stop any part of it- in fact, he didn’t want to. Minho knows he wouldn’t have been able to deny you anything you asked for that night, not with the way you looked at him through wide sparkling eyes, scared you’d angered him, when all he really wanted was to keep you safe. Safe from the storm, safe from people with ill intent. He’d pour you a hundred cups of Diet Coke on the rocks if you asked, or be a chance card in another game of pool you’d inevitably lose at. He’d make love to you repeatedly on any surface inside the dive bar, kissing you every chance he got like it would be his last. Because you changed something in him that night- and he’s determined to find you again.
*
“Still waiting on that garlic bread. And we have another order for fettuccine.”
Minho nods once, drizzling a pan with olive oil and prepping the ingredients that sit in disarray on the counter in front of him.
Tales from the hotel kitchen.
So maybe getting his job back as a private chef was a harder feat than he’d originally anticipated it to be. But Minho’s sudden assimilation back into city life meant he had to make adjustments- sacrifices. And although he’s still technically the owner of the little dive bar 6 hours out of the city, he recently signed co-ownership off to Jeongin, who’s been practically running the place while Minho does some soul-searching in the city.
Of course, the soul he’s searching for is nowhere to be found.
Coffee shops, bookstores, convenience shops, dive bars... Minho recently read there are nearly 2 million people in this godforsaken city at any given moment of the day. That’s a 0.0000005% chance he’ll run into you again. Coupled with the fact he’s already run into you once before, and slept with you, the odds are considerably lower. But nonetheless, the objective remains.
Sometime after the initial run-in, Minho also realized he knows nearly nothing about you. You never spoke of an occupation, or a significant other, or even your favorite color. He does know you live in the city, you’re vulnerable against married men and you can use a screwdriver like a cellphone. The rest is left to his wandering imagination.
“Minho, your bread is burning,” a voice interrupts, and he snaps out of the daze he’s in to lower the heat on the oven. Minho’s sous chef Seungmin sighs in irritation, practically pushing Minho aside to retrieve the loaf from the oven himself.
“Do you want me to take over for the evening? You seem really distracted and we’re super busy out there.”
“No, I’m fine,” Minho says, his eyes darting briefly to the window across from him.
Dark rain clouds loom over the afternoon sky, but it doesn’t rain- in fact, it hasn’t rained once since that night. At first, he sees it as some sort of blessing, attributing the mostly-clear skies to your presence somewhere in the city. Perhaps where you go, the sun follows.
But he quickly realizes that it’s more of a curse, this constant storm looming over him, taunting him with promises of darkened clouds and rainfall, only for the nighttime to bring clear skies once again.
It never rains anymore. Sometimes Minho thinks he imagined you, that night in his bar.
Maybe he imagined the rain, too.
*
The ceiling of this apartment is in desperate need of some TLC, Minho thinks, as he lays in bed that night with hands folded over his chest. It’s riddled with cracks and imperfections, running along the drywall like a design choice. But it’s not a design choice- it’s a result of the shitty architectural integrity of this crowded city. Everyone’s so desperate to live out here they’d put up with leaky roofs and cockroaches before they’d live in the suburbs. Minho thinks back to his apartment in the suburbs, where his three cats are currently being taken care of by a friend, and the biggest pain point is patching up thumbtack holes when he moves things around. It’s spacious, a lot bigger than this dump, and it’s a hell of a lot cheaper.
There’s no set time Minho has dedicated to being out here. “When the time is right, I’ll leave,” he told his friend, averting his gaze to avoid raising suspicions about his intentions out here. But to most, it’s clear Minho is going through something. His hair is visibly longer, the silky ends of it now resting just above his shoulders. He can’t be bothered to care about what he wears, knowing very well that he doesn’t blend in with the other city-dwellers when he’s in jeans and a baggy t-shirt. But without the bar to dress up for like he used to, he doesn’t find reason in trying.
Minho’s also well aware that he looks like a complete lunatic, coming out to the city like this to search for a hookup. If your paths do cross, there’s a likelihood you’ll call the police and have him arrested for stalking. You could also have zero recollection of who he is, or that you ever hooked up with him. You could have a boyfriend, be married by now, or just not interested in Minho. Maybe you regret that night. Maybe you lied about being from the city. You could be on the other side of the world by now, and he’d have no clue.
But he feels it- he feels you, in this city, at every corner he turns. He sees traces of you in the people who smile at him when he passes them by. He sees you in the people who hold doors open for him, the baristas who make foam hearts in his lattes every morning, even the businessmen when they catch themselves admiring the beauty of the buildings on a smoke break. He sees you in all things good, when he’s reminded momentarily that the world has more to offer than boxing him in the confines of a dark bar out in the suburbs. And while he’s not completely in love with life all over again, it’s a start.
The hotel patrons give their compliments to his cooking, and he’s reminded of his days as a private chef again, chasing the sweet high of people fawning over his entrees and desserts. When he calls Jeongin to check up on the bar, he remembers the view out the window by the kitchen- nothing but a parking lot, empty most days, or plagued by truck drivers and prostitutes.
Sure, his apartment window in the city faces a brick wall, but he can escape at any given moment of the day to be part of the towering skyscrapers and city lights that stay on all night. It’s then that he feels bad for Jeongin, who doesn’t have the same luxury all the way out there.
Of course, Minho also remembers the sex from that night. It plays in his head on a loop, often echoing in his brain at the worst of times. The way you’d called out his name was all but intoxicating, chanting it in the empty space of the spare room like you’d done it a hundred times before. Your fingers looped through his hair, massaging his locks in praise while your moans did the rest. Your lips on his, smiling when he teased you about the game of pool- teasing him back, like the complex woman he knew you were.
He remembers the way your hardened nipples felt between his fingers, memorizing their feel with his nimble hands while he pressed his third erection of the night against you, a confession that this is what you do to me.
The way you took him with complete ease, undoubtedly craving him, too, gushing with arousal as he fit so perfectly inside you.
“You’re so big,” you’d said to him, and Minho isn’t sure he ever felt confident in his girth until it was inside of you, thrusting in and out like he was trying to make his semen catch, painting your walls white while you squirted on his still-hard cock.
He can’t get off with girls from the city unless he’s thinking of you and him, in the bar, bent over the pool table. He also avoids the spare room of the bar now, getting hard almost instantly at the sight of it.
It’s embarrassing, and he knows it, tucking his now-softened cock back into his boxers and reaching for tissues on his makeshift cardboard box nightstand. The shame washes over him as he folds his hands over his chest again, eyes locked with the shitty drywall ceiling. Have the cracks gotten bigger? He’s not sure of the large one to the left, caving in toward the window in the shape of a backwards L. If it rains, the roof will surely leak. How do you fix a leaky roof? Is it ever going to rain again? Where are you?
*
On a random Tuesday in the middle of the month, Minho runs into Jisung again.
He’s out by one of the tall buildings in the financial district, one hand shoved in the pocket of his suit while the other brings a turquoise-colored vape up to his lips.
Of course he vapes, Minho thinks. He’s just as predictable as he’s always been.
“Is that the Lee Minho?” Jisung says, blowing a cloud of strawberry-scented smoke into the air. Minho shrugs, saying nothing as he approaches Jisung.
“What are you doing all the way out here? Lost ownership of the bar or what?”
“No,” Minho replies, a stoic expression on his face. “I’m living here.”
“You’re living here? You? Avid hater of city life and all things that inhabit it?”
“Yeah,” Minho says, counting black spots on the concrete below him. “Not permanently. Just looking for something.”
“What are you looking for?”
Minho swallows momentarily. He knows he could bring up your name, and Jisung would probably know where to find you. After all, the two of you bonded over your love of the city before you almost went home with him that night. But he refrains, suddenly feeling a little jealous and overprotective. It’s the reminder that Minho was technically a second choice- maybe you’d just slept with him to get some relief for the sexual tension you felt with Jisung. You did lecture him when he cockblocked you, after all.
“Seeing if the apartments are better out here,” he settles on saying. “They’re not.”
Jisung chuckles. “Yeah, well, I could’ve easily told you that.”
He slides his vape back into the pocket of his suit, adjusting the buttons as he begins to speak again.
“When was the last time I saw you, anyway?”
Minho blinks nervously. His mind races with options of what to reply, but Jisung is faster.
“That storm!” He finally exclaims, clapping enthusiastically. “When we were stuck there while it rained fucking cats and dogs out there. You, me and Miss ‘hard to get’.”
“Right,” Minho says, his pulse quickening a little at the mention of you.
“Can you believe she backed out like that? I went back to that hotel with blue balls like you wouldn’t believe. I bet she’s a good fuck, too, the way she’s persuaded so easily.”
Minho grows irate, doing his best to refrain from lashing out at Jisung to defend you. The way he speaks about you like you’re disposable, like you weren’t only swayed by him because he puts on this act, one where he’s single and nice. Both polar opposite of the sleazy man standing in front of Minho right now.
“Doesn’t matter,” Jisung says. “I ran into her like a week after that, anyway.”
Minho feels his heart stop. He finally makes eye contact with Jisung, voice hitching in the back of his throat as he searches for words to say. What were you doing? What were you wearing? Were you with anyone? Did Jisung try to pursue you again? Was there any trace that you were as changed by Minho as he is by you?
“You did?” Minho queries.
“Yeah. She remembered me, for sure. Said she googled me and found out I was married. That’s the problem with women these days- they fucking google you. Who does that?”
Minho observes the way Jisung snorts with laughter, shaking his head like he’s not a serial cheater himself.
“Where was she?” Minho asks, quickly aware of the way the question comes off as a little too bold.
“Uh… I can’t remember. Think we were in the parking garage off 7th. She was all dressed up like she was going to work or something. Must be a private investigator with the way she stalks her potential hookups.”
Minho laughs internally at the irony.
“Why do you ask?” Jisung chimes in again, sounding a little skeptical of Minho’s behavior now.
“Nothing,” Minho says quickly. “Just curious.”
Jisung nods slowly, not taking his gaze off of Minho. He’s visibly tense, thoughts circling his mind as he tries to recall the buildings on 7th.
“I should get going,” Jisung says, pulling his vape back out to take another hit, much like the nicotine-addicted cheater Minho sees him for.
“Good catching up,” Jisung finishes, exhaling a cloud of smoke into his face. “Catch you later.”
And as Minho leaves, he turns back around to Jisung, pausing momentarily before speaking again.
“Oh, Jisung?”
“Yeah?”
Minho cocks his head slightly.
“Your wife really deserves better.”
*
The parking garage on 7th is a shithole. It’s a narrow, almost cylindrical building, filled back to back with rows of fancy cars. Minho remains parked on the third floor, sat in his car like he’s staking out the place, eyes darting over every passerby in hopes you’ll be one of them.
But they’re all middle-aged folks, blabbering into their cellphones with briefcases in hand, no sense of purpose for the life they’re living aside from money, and maybe their fancy cars.
He sighs, reaching for a cigarette and cupping his hand over the lighter to set it ablaze. Smoking is a recent development. Minho doesn’t think he’s chain-smoked like this since his culinary school days, when he’d spend late nights preparing for exams and practicing his plating techniques. It’s not that the cigarettes relieve him, nor does he even care for the flavor. But he does it as a form of sacrifice. The city keeps you from him, and consequently, he’s pulled back largely from things he actually enjoys, choosing to mirror the actions of the city-dwellers. Smoking, casual sex, drinking, dressing down, hardly ever eating full meals. He’s become reduced to a product of the disdain he feels for himself, spiraling further with every cruel reminder that you’re not his.
When his car stakeout passes the three hour mark, Minho is all out of cigarettes. He’s also starving, and dying for a beer. So he pulls out of the lot, most of the spaces vacant now, anyway, and starts the painful trip back to his apartment. The streets smell like sewage with his windows rolled down, but his own car reeks like a cheap casino. With one hand hanging loosely over the door of his car, Minho speeds down the crowded streets, groaning when he’s promptly halted by a red light. Cars press their horns impatiently as nobody seems to move. Minho glances to the right of him, scanning the streets that begin to darken as night falls. And then he sees it- a dive bar. It’s a city dive bar, of course, tainted by its rustic gentrifying decor and teeming with hipsters. But he’s sure you’re in there, knowing you probably regularly finish work and hit up the nearest bar to down Diet Cokes and chicken wings. In a frantic motion, Minho puts the car in reverse, using one hand to steer as he makes an illegal u-turn. The cars around him honk angrily, shouting profanities and pulling up to fill his spot. But he crosses several lanes to reach the bar, a sense of anticipation bubbling inside him already.
*
The place is much fancier than Minho’s, albeit much smaller. An open bar makes up most of the dive bar itself, a sleek laminate wood finish surrounding the series of draft beer dispensers. The wall above the bar is plastered in license plates from all different regions, and the patrons around all appear to be tourists judging by the way they take photos of it. There are several bartenders working tonight, the nearest one to Minho being a heavily tattooed gentleman with bleach blonde hair.
“What can I get you?” He asks enthusiastically, holding a pen and pad in his hand. Minho’s not sure he’s ever seen a bartender write down an order for a single beer.
When the bartender makes his way to the tap, Minho sits on one of the circular red stools. They’re a little too tall for his liking, swiveling around erratically while he catches his balance and glances around at the patrons. He’s the only one alone here, standing out even more in his loose jeans and an old jersey.
“That’s $12,” the bartender says when he returns.
“Can I just run a tab?” Minho asks, scoffing internally at the steep price.
“First drink’s upfront payment,” the bartender replies, flipping a tablet around to Minho for his payment details. Minho swipes his card and confidently smashes the ‘no tip’ button, earning a little eye roll from the bartender. These bars are nothing like his back home.
When the bartender moves away to attend to another patron, Minho swivels around on his stool, scanning the bar for a sign of you. There’s not a single cup of coke on any of the tables here. Everyone’s happily sipping away at whiskeys and vermouths, their drinks clutched closely in hand as they chat about their boring lives. Minho tunes in briefly to a conversation about someone’s broken toe and sighs, wishing so badly he had you to converse with. You’d probably laugh at all of Minho’s jokes about the people here, agreeing with his presumptions of them. See him? He’s definitely compensating. That guy there needs to cool off the vodka seltzers. She’s definitely not interested in him.
As he takes a sip from his mug of beer, it suddenly catches his eye. The arcade game, tucked away in the back of the bar like a little secret. It’s neglected, probably no one around old enough to know how to operate the thing. Minho rises from his seat, making his way to the game and smiling at the sight.
It reminds him of you, the giant black display of Galaga, decorated with whimsical drawings of aliens and Galaxian Flagships. He pulls out a quarter, slotting it in the machine, because of course you have to pay at this one, and slots it in, waiting for the thing to start up.
Only it doesn’t, the game not even emitting so much as a hum from the monitor. He smacks it a few times, partly in efforts to start it up, and partly to reclaim his last quarter. But it’s a moot effort- the game is completely dead.
Minho makes his way back to the bar, frustrated at the deja vu of broken arcade games and the memories they bring back to him.
“Your game’s broken,” Minho says to the bleach blonde bartender.
“Huh? Oh, yeah. That thing’s been dead for months now.”
“I put a quarter in. Swallowed it and won’t spit it out.”
“Yeah, it does that. Sorry, man.”
“Sorry? You should be. That thing shouldn’t be down here if it isn’t working.”
The bartender narrows his eyes as he mixes another drink for a patron.
“Yeah, well, people don’t usually try it. Again, sorry man. Not really anything I can do about it.”
Minho is angry now, his ears flushed a crimson shade as he speaks, not in any mood to reason with the bartender.
“Look man, just give me my quarter. Can’t you key the machine or something?”
“We don’t have access to it. It’s from some local vendor. You’re welcome to go find a few pennies on the ground if the 25 cents means so much to you.”
“What the fuck kind of behavior is that for a bartender?”
The other patrons and bartenders have noticed now, quieting down as they watch Minho down a few more sips of his beer angrily.
“Look man, you’re gonna have to leave. I can’t have you in here acting like this.”
“I want my quarter.”
“I can’t get your quarter, dude. It’s gone. Get out before I call the police.”
“Why don’t you hire someone to fix the machine, then? There are people in the city who do that, you know. I know someone who’d get it fixed in seconds. She’d be able to get the fucking quarter out, too.”
“Call the police,” the bartender says to another, and Minho raises his hands up in surrender.
“Relax, I’m leaving.” He chugs the rest of his beer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as the other patrons look on in shock. Nearby, a different bartender has a phone clutched in his hand, ready to dial the cops like they’d requested.
“Tell me one thing,” Minho says before turning around.
The man says nothing, eyes narrowed in fear as he waits for Minho to finish.
“You guys sell Diet Coke here?”
The bartenders look around at each other nervously, confused at the question.
“We only have Pepsi,” one chimes in.
And Minho nods, understanding.
“Take care,” Minho says, waving them off as he finally exits the bar.
*
“I need you to come back for a little bit,” Jeongin says into the receiver one morning. He sounds panicked, like he might break down at any moment. Minho knows he wouldn’t request this of him if it wasn't something serious.
“Okay,” Minho replies. “What happened?”
“The place was robbed last night. By a group of guys. Nobody’s hurt, but they did have a knife on them. Cleared out one of the registers.”
Minho sighs, suddenly feeling awful about being out here. What is he doing out here when the business he owns is being threatened? Even worse, putting Jeongin and the other staff at risk while he embarks on the futile task of searching for what’s already gone? There’s no good explanation for it. It’s selfish- sure, he’s finally chasing after what he wants, but it’s a selfish task nonetheless.
“I can be there this evening,” Minho says, already mentally preparing himself for the six hour drive out there. “Just close up for the day. Make sure everyone gets home safe and knows they’ll be paid for the day anyway.”
Jeongin understands, hanging up on his end of the line and closing up the bar.
As Minho tosses his cell phone aside, he looks around the apartment, sighing heavily when he observes the state of things. His stuff is still stored away in cardboard boxes, the apartment looking more like a showroom than a space lived-in by him. The walls remain bare of any form of decorations, the tiny excuse for a kitchen is void of dishes and cutlery, even his toiletries are in travel bags, like he’s ready to go home at any given moment. And he just might be, after this week’s events.
*
The drive home is as excruciating as he remembers it. Exiting the city means sitting in miles of traffic, alongside impatient city-dwellers who somehow voluntarily make the commute everyday for their jobs. Minho briefly wonders if you’re in the traffic, too. You’re a little impatient, he remembers, thinking about how you demanded a phone charger from him that night in the bar. Only your impatience is something he’d gladly put up with in traffic like this, probably taking the opportunity to play his favorite songs for you and listen to you talk his ear off. He sighs to himself, wishing so badly you could fill the empty leather seat next to him, currently inhabited by empty cigarette boxes and discarded takeout boxes.
Six agonizing hours later, the sun’s beginning to set as Minho pulls into the familiar parking lot of the bar. Waning beams of sunlight reflect off the old bar sign, almost luring Minho inside as the nighttime chases closely after. When he unlocks the door and makes his way inside, it’s like he never left. The red booths are vacant, the peeling vinyl of their seats still scattered across the floor like he remembers. Bottles of alcohol neatly line the shelves behind the counter, which don’t reside far from the shiny mugs and glasses inside the cabinets. Minho runs a finger over the counter, well impressed with the state of the bar since Jeongin’s taken over. It’s impeccable, almost better than it was when Minho first left.
“Minho?” A voice calls, and a figure peeks from around the corner.
It’s Jeongin, who looks different in casual wear for the day, sporting a pair of sweatpants and a simple black t-shirt. He’s wearing his signature pair of thick framed glasses, running a hand through his hair as he takes a seat on one of the barstools.
“It was this register,” he says, gesturing to the one closest to Minho. “I think it was roughly $300 in there. They all had dark jackets and I couldn’t see their faces.”
Minho nods, opening the register to investigate, and then slumps back in the stool behind the counter.
“I’ll take the remaining cash to the safe. Let’s stay closed for a few days while I file a police report. They’ll probably want to poke around in here, and I don’t want any of the patrons to panic.”
It’s Jeongin’s turn to nod, making a mental note of Minho’s instructions. After a brief pause, he speaks again.
“How’s the city?”
“The city is…the city.”
Jeongin chuckles lightly, shaking his head.
“Are you working?”
Minho nods. “Not my private chef gig. But it’s a restaurant. I have a sous chef, which helps. It’s nothing special, though.”
There’s a moment of silence as Jeongin traces the table pattern with his fingers. He wants to ask more from him- he wants to know why Minho’s out there in the first place, why he even agreed to sign co-ownership off to Jeongin when this was his bar he was so proud of for all those years. But there’s seemingly no courteous way to go about it- any which way, he feels like he’s overstepping. Minho is usually on the quieter side, only confiding in his colleagues when it’s something that affects the business.
“Minho, are you…” he begins, his voice wavering in fear that he’ll unintentionally offend.
“Have you found what you’re looking for?”
Minho is silent, and for a second, it’s hard for Jeongin to gauge his reaction. His eyes remain locked on Jeongin’s pupils, trembling in discomfort as he thinks back to you. He thinks of the city, of the bar fight, of the hours spent in a dingy parking garage and the cracks in his apartment ceiling.
Jeongin begins to take back his question, disappointed in himself he’s even chosen to utter the inquiry. But Minho finally does give an answer, albeit a vague one.
“Not yet,” he replies, swallowing nervously before continuing. “You’ll be the first to know.”
When Jeongin leaves, he takes the cozy atmosphere of the bar with him, and the place now feels colder, more unfamiliar. Minho looks out the window at the darkness that envelopes the parking lot, feeling a sense of unease in knowing he’s going to leave it all behind again. This bar needs him, it needs stability. It needs someone to look out for the people who are vulnerable to sleazy married men or robbers. As he pockets the cash to transfer to the safe, he glances at the yellow Pac-Man game, sitting proudly where it has for the past three months since its repair. Little ghosts dance along the display screen, prompting users with ‘press A to start’.
Minho simply walks past it, knowing very well there’s little joy in a game that only brings back painful reminders. He makes his way to the back office, where the red leather couch and desk still remain. The cash is deposited in the safe, and the keys in the file cabinet- third drawer from the top.
Minho feels a gravitational pull to the spare room upstairs- he knows he shouldn’t, very well aware that he’s only hurting himself by picturing you up there. But still he does. Hands shoved in his pockets, he makes his way up the creaking stairs and through the little hallway.
The room is just as suffocating as he remembers it. The same old pool table sits in the middle of the room, and at the back where the arcade game previously lived, there’s a rectangle on the carpeted floor where it once sat, contrasting a bright untouched green to the older, worn down carpet. Minho doesn’t leave the doorway; he just stands, observing the room in all its mundane appearance. His eyes remain on the spot you’d previously hoisted yourself up to sit on the pool table, and he can almost see himself looming over you, too. From this angle, it doesn’t feel like it ever happened. It plays more like a cheap movie where a famous scene was shot. Like a figment of his imagination.
Have you found what you’re looking for?
He hasn’t, not yet. But seeing the potential of this old room, in the bar he owns, Minho knows it’s finally time to stop searching.
*
Back in the city, Minho’s days are numbered by the countdown. Two days until he’ll leave all this behind, for good this time.
The kitchen is busier than normal on this gloomy Thursday, more staff than usual working floor while others make trips up to hotel rooms for delivery.
Minho drizzles pans with olive oil in between plating a shrimp scampi, tonight’s special. The air is thick and fragrant with seafood and Parmesan cheese.
“I need a lava cake for room 302!” Seungmin exclaims to Minho in a rushed tone.
“On the cart by the door. Second row.”
Cooks work diligently in their respective areas, and Minho wipes his brow with the back of his sleeve. It’s a stressful role, no doubt, but he still feels a sense of sadness knowing he won’t be back to cooking like this once he’s back in town. He tries to mentally prepare himself for days of mixers and signature cocktails again.
“Minho, get out of here and go take a lunch,” Seungmin says as he reappears from behind the door. “That way the schedule doesn’t rearrange.”
Seungmin is a blunt sous chef, but he’s dedicated to his work. Minho knows he’ll have no problem working his way up to a head chef role one day. He appreciates his attention to detail and ability to work with difficult patrons, and he’d certainly entertain the idea of bringing him to work at the bar back home if he liked.
“On it,” Minho says, already pulling off his apron.
“Oh, and can you bring a Diet Coke to table 6 out there? I brought regular on accident.”
“Yup,” he says plainly, grabbing a clear glass from the clean stack and filling it at the fountain.
Minho thinks back to his apartment- this might be his last day at work, but he still has a generous amount of packing to do when he gets home. He’s relieved he kept most of his stuff in boxes, or else he’d easily be stuck here another week.
Minho counts boxes in his head, balancing the glass in one hand and his apron in another as he exits the kitchen to the seating area. He’s seldom out here, only really passing through when he gets in for the day. But he’s not in charge of serving guests, and the whole thing suddenly feels a little uncomfortable to him. Quiet jazz music plays overhead as tables fill the room with noise of their conversations, everyone dressed up with legs crossed neatly under white tablecloths.
Minho looks around frantically as beads of condensation on the glass wet his hand- where the hell is table 6?
A family sits at the back, every member paired with their drink of choice. An older couple sits closer to Minho, two cups of coffee steaming in front of them.
And by the window, two women deep in conversation- one of them passionately sharing tales of work or perhaps a lover.
And the other one, you.
Minho thinks he’s hallucinating for a moment, when he first observes you sitting there. You’re nodding as the other woman talks, a smile pulling on your face as she exaggeratedly makes a hand motion during her story. You’re not dressed like the other city-dwellers here, looking starkly more beautiful in a sweater and a pair of jeans. You’re the only one in here wearing jeans, aside from Minho. He smiles when he takes notice.
Another server passes Minho in a rush, shoving by him with a tray of food in hand.
“Oh sorry,” he says, eyeing him a little confused. “Did you want me to take that? I know you’re on lunch.”
Minho grips the coke firmly in his hand, shaking his head almost immediately. He’s never refused something so fast in his life before.
“No, I got it,” he says, finally taking the first step toward your table.
Minho glances down at his appearance briefly, fixing the collar of his shirt as he approaches you. He’s a little more dressed up for his last day here, a pastel blue button-up tucked into his jeans, his now long hair parted down the middle. He wishes he could tuck back into the bathroom and see himself more clearly, but he knows he’ll lose you if he doesn’t make his move now.
Minho’s thought of this moment so many times, replayed the conversation in his head like a speech he’s been waiting to give. He wants to proclaim his adoration for you, giving you a romantic explanation of how he’s searched for you all these months and never stopped thinking of you. And in an ideal scenario, you’d say the same, kissing him in front of all the restaurant-goers here and leaving back to town with him to live happily ever after.
But he’s never considered the idea of a friend being present. Or being crunched for time on a 30-minute lunch break. It’s all happening so fast, and his head spins with anxiety as he approaches you.
You’re still in conversation when he sets your Diet Coke down at the table a little too hard, hoping to get your attention. You don’t so much as look his way as he does, and he lingers by your table for a moment as he thinks.
“Do you need a straw?” Minho asks, eyes darting over your face briefly. Your hair is a little longer, too, but you look the same. He’s sure you’re not a hallucination.
“No thank you,” you say, finally glancing over at him to give a small nod.
And just like he’s lost for more words, you seem to be too, lips parting slightly as you keep your gaze fixed on his.
*
“Thank you for lunch,” you say to your colleague at the end of the meal, who’s been passionately talking about her recent project at work for the last hour.
You tuned her out after the first 15 minutes, being completely awestruck when the server delivered your requested Diet Coke to your table.
Either the brain fog from work is finally starting to catch up with you, or you’re simply too tired. But the server looks exactly like Lee Minho, the bartender you slept with a few months ago. Normally, you’d tuck away and hide at the sight of running into a hookup again. But Minho wasn’t just a hookup to you.
He’s lingered amongst your thoughts for the better part of those three months, the polite action of protecting you from sleeping with a married man and letting you seek shelter in the storm remaining some of the nicest things someone’s ever done for you.
He wasn’t just a hookup, not with the way he spoke of his hopes and dreams and asked about all of yours. And then he fucked you like a husband, the feeling you got from him bending you over the pool table like that still sending chills down your spine.
Your colleague pulls her scarf and coat on, nodding as she gestures to the door. The lunch rush has died down by now, and most of the tables are vacant as the streets bustle with people returning to work.
“I’m gonna grab a meal to-go,” you tell her. “I’ll meet you back at the office. Thank you again for lunch!”
Fortunately for you, she doesn’t question it, leaving you to order as she heads back to the office.
Minho is nowhere to be seen, only one server present on the floor as it’s more empty now.
“Can I help you?” A voice asks, and you’re met with the warm smile of the singular server.
“I… I wanted to give my compliments to the chef,” you say, sounding a little unsure of yourself.
“I’ll be sure to do that, thank you very much,” he replies, bowing when he finishes.
“I meant my personal thanks,” you clarify, and he furrows his brows in response.
“Uh… sure, I can ask him. Do you know if it was the head chef?”
“His name’s Lee Minho,” you say with a smile. “He’s probably the head chef.”
*
Minho’s sous chef runs his kitchen like the navy, you quickly learn, as he ushers for you to leave soon after Minho exits the kitchen due to the impending dinner rush.
There’s no time to catch up with him, only being able to utter a short “thanks for the meal,” as he waits for you to speak.
But he recognizes you, his gaze staying on yours a little too long as he nervously bows.
“Y/n,” he says in response, the action saying nothing and yet so much at the same time.
And you smile back at him, relieved he still remembers.
As Seungmin calls for him a second time, you pull a pen from the pocket of his apron, scribbling your address on a napkin from one of the tables.
He nods back at you, napkin clutched in hand, as he makes his way back to the kitchen.
And for a brief moment, neither of you can make out the implications of the action. An invitation for sex? A date to catch up? The details are blurry to both of you. But you hope he shows, and Minho already knows he wouldn’t miss it for the world.
*
As you fix your hair in front of the mirror that evening, memories of Minho play in your mind like they did after the night you spent together. You know you had to leave- it wasn’t something you decided lightly, but you and him are fated for different things. And who are you to intervene where the stars align? Minho deserves someone who will be available for him, someone uncomplicated and willing to inhabit the place he loves so dearly.
You, on the other hand, have a historical bad run with men, and so pursuing Minho would be uncharacteristic. But also unfair to him. It’s clear from that night that your worst traits will always remain the most significant parts of you- impatience, judgment and naivety. And while Minho comes off as curt, he’s anything but. He’s too good for you. You’re just a byproduct of this city- everything he despises. It would be over before it even started.
Minho shows at exactly a quarter to nine, knocking twice at the door as he waits out in the hallway for you.
When you unlatch the door, he perks up from nervously staring at the carpeted floor, adjusting his collar and clearing his throat. He looks more casual than you’ve probably ever seen him before, in a striped gray and black top, layered with a black collared shirt and dark ripped jeans. He also looks particularly handsome tonight, but also different, noticeably thinner in his face where his cheekbones protrude generously, his hair a little longer now.
“Hi,” Minho says plainly, his gaze fixated on yours in an almost trance-like state.
“Hi,” you reply, unsure of where to start. “Come in, please.”
You step aside, ushering him into your apartment and shutting the door behind you both. Minho looks around, impressed with the state of your apartment in comparison with his. There are cherry wood bookshelves lining the walls, filled top to bottom with stacks of old novels and textbooks. Colorful modern paintings decorate the walls, which are admittedly much taller than his own, and cozy lighting fills every room in the space.
Minho bows a little, handing you a bottle, and you smile in amusement as you scan the contents. A single liter of Diet Coke.
“You remembered,” you say, endeared by the simple action.
“So you don’t waste your calories,” he replies with a small smile, echoing the statement you told him so many months ago.
“Please, make yourself comfortable,” you tell him. Minho takes note of the shakiness in your voice, a little relieved that you seem to be as nervous as he is. It’s certainly not a matter of picking up where you left off when you both have your walls up like this, but he prefers the silence to your absence any day.
You disappear into the kitchen, pouring both of you glasses of Diet Coke as Minho settles on the edge of the couch. He folds his hands in his lap and blinks nervously, trying so hard to remember everything he’s wanted to confess to you since returning here. But in this proximity to you, in your own home, everything suddenly seems like a bad idea. He feels dramatic, overbearing, trying to make sense of this. Maybe he shouldn’t have come.
When you return, Minho takes a deep breath, quietly thanking you for the beverage when you place it on the coffee table in front of him. And then as he feared, a silence washes over both of you.
You take a sip of your coke, waiting for him to speak, and similarly, he waits for you. You’d forgotten, briefly. That Minho is inherently a quiet guy. It’d been you who brought his walls down, challenged him to a game of pool and even instigated the argument when he told Jisung to leave the bar. As he blinks at you a few times, you realize it may be his way of asking you to do it again, to help him feel comfortable again.
“Your Italian food is on par with your chicken wings,” you say to him, finally breaking the silence. “Think you need to add shrimp scampi to your bar menu.”
Minho smiles, and the whole room seems to brighten up when he does. His eyes turn to little crescents, his grin flashing you the skewed front teeth you were so endeared by when you first met him. His presence feels like the bar did- safe, familiar.
“It’s not my best work,” he replies. “It’s just a temporary job. But I do have a sous chef here, which is a plus.”
“The one with the nice smile? I know, he almost kicked me out for asking to see you. He’s very deceiving.”
You and Minho share laughter, recalling how Seungmin yelled at you several times at the restaurant today. When your laughter dies down, he swallows nervously, unsure of how to proceed.
“Thanks for… giving your compliments today,” he says. He really wants to say ‘thank you for seeing me again’.
“I knew I recognized you,” you say back to him. “I was surprised to see you here in the city. I guess I just wanted some confirmation it was really you.”
“It’s me,” Minho says sheepishly. You smile at him, feeling a little sorry at the way his tone sounds so unsure.
“What are you doing in the city, anyway?” You ask.
Minho isn’t sure what to say. In an alternate timeline, he’d like to tell you he came for you. But he knows he’ll come off as a creep, and the last thing he wants is to lose you again.
“Just wanted a break from the suburbs,” he settles on saying.
“Do you like it?”
He toys with a frayed hem on the throw pillow beside him, shaking his head a little hesitantly.
“If I say no, you’ll think less of me.”
He regrets the words as soon as they leave his lips, not wanting you to think he came here for you to pity him. In fact, the reality is quite the opposite.
“I would never think less of you,” you assure him with a gentle smile. “You’re allowed to have your opinions.”
Minho nods, not entertaining the subject anymore.
“How’s the bar?”
“It’s okay,” Minho says, sighing a little as he thinks back to recent events. “It was robbed just the other night.”
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” you say to him with widened eyes. “Is everyone… okay?”
“Everyone’s okay,” he affirms. “Just lost some money. I’m working with the police on it, so hopefully we’ll have someone arrested if we’re lucky.”
You nod at his words, feeling disheartened at the mention of the robbery. Although you’re not particularly fond of the suburbs, the bar is a sacred space for you, and knowing he and the staff were put in that situation makes you uneasy.
“How’s work?” Minho asks, and you chuckle at the question.
“Nothing special. I did get a promotion last month, but I’m only making a few dollars more than I was last time we met. Nothing to write home about.”
“We’ll congratulations anyway,” Minho says, raising his glass of Diet Coke. “Well deserved.”
“Thank you,” you say, clinking your glass against his and letting the cool carbonated beverage soothe the nerves still present in your demeanor.
“Oh, you’ll never believe it! I ran into Jisung out here,” you say to Minho with a scoff. “He tried to pursue me again, the bastard. I’m pretty sure he was even wearing a wedding ring this time. I had to tell him I found out he was married on-”
“On Google,” Minho finishes your sentence. “He told me.”
“You saw him too?”
“Yeah, just the other day. He’s just as obnoxious as he was three months ago.”
You smile at Minho, briefly reminded of the way you were able to bond with him as a result of Jisung’s antics.
“I never got to say thank you,” you say a little quietly, averting his gaze. “For that night. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you there to help me.”
He looks down, pondering your words for a moment.
“You left without saying goodbye.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to. Trust me. But I figured…” your voice trails off, trying desperately to decipher how to word your sentiment politely.
“Figured what?” He says, looking back up at you. His eyes tremble a little in anticipation for your reply.
“I figured we’re just different people.”
Minho nods, pursing his lips together as he replays your words.
“And by that you mean that you’re a successful member of the city, and I’m just a bartender.”
Your face drops at his words, suddenly panicked that he’s come here because he’s angry at you. You would never think less of him for being a bartender- hell, you wouldn’t even think less of him if he was unemployed. You’re not sure you could think less of him if you tried.
“That’s not what I mean. And you know that.”
Minho narrows his eyes a little, challenging you.
“Then what do you mean?”
“I mean,” you begin, sighing before continuing to speak. “That I’m everything you despise. I let people down. I’m not inherently a good person, the way you are. You know how I stormed in there demanding a phone charger? Fighting you at the bar because you wouldn’t let me sleep with a married man? That’s the kind of person I am. I’m impatient, and naive and I’m nothing like the girls you’re used to.”
“How do you know what I’m used to?”
“Come on, Minho,” you say, and the conversation finally begins to sound a little more natural between the two of you. “You said it yourself- I’ve never lived without the notion of wanting to migrate as soon as possible. Who’s to say that doesn’t apply to people, too?”
“You’re nothing like you say you are,” Minho interrupts, and you can feel yourself getting frustrated at his words.
“How would you know that? Because you slept with me in a bar? I’m not this dream girl you think I am, Minho. I was looking out for you. You deserve better.”
Minho says nothing for a moment, swirling Coke around in his cup and watching the bubbles fizzle away as they hit the rim of the glass. He shakes his head a little to himself, and then he begins to speak again.
“You want to know why I came out here again?”
You remain silent, already knowing what he’s going to say. But to your surprise, his answer is a little more complex.
“I came out here because I wanted to. I wanted to work as a chef again. I wanted new colleagues, I wanted a different view and I was tired of being stuck in that little bar.”
You don’t reply to his statement, waiting for him to continue.
“And do you know why finding you was something I held onto so dearly?”
“Why?” You ask, the question coming out in a shaky tone. He takes a deep breath before he answers.
“I wanted to thank you. I wanted to tell you all about it. To tell you that you were right- sometimes, simple isn’t better. Sometimes you have to go back and make amends before you can move forward again. I wouldn’t have done any of this if someone really cool didn’t walk into my bar and make it clear to me. I guess part of me just hoped you were changed by it, too.”
Your expression softens at his words, feeling awful for the way this conversation has gone so far. It’s not your intention to hurt him- in fact, you feel particularly protective of Minho.
“I came looking for you, too,” you say after a moment of silence, and Minho perks up at your words.
“You did?”
“Mhm,” you nod. “I visited your bar. Twice since that night. I asked for you both times. The guy said you weren’t there anymore. I think after the second time, I took it as a sign to stop trying.”
“Jeongin?” Minho says, furrowing his brows together in visible confusion.
“He was blonde, a little small. Freckles.”
“Felix,” Minho says, chuckling lightly. “He’s a new hire. Jeongin would’ve told you differently. I have co-ownership with him now.”
You nod, folding your hands in your lap.
“I was changed by it,” you say, finally letting your gaze meet his. “I never stopped thinking about you. But it scares me. In so many ways, you’re everything I tried to run from when I left the suburbs. I don’t think I was ever good enough for any of it- all I cared about was money, and my work and finding an apartment with a nice enough view of the city. I didn’t care about the memories I made there, or that there’s genuinely good people. I didn’t even visit my parents very often. You reminded me that there’s more to it than just that. There’s more to the past than its negative aspects. So thank you, too.”
Minho is quiet for a moment, his mind racing with thoughts of what to do- how to keep you around. But in this moment, it’s clear to him- he has to let you go. He said what he had to say. He’s done the search, all three months of it, and he found you. He validated his own emotions and made sense of yours- you were just as changed by it as he was. But maybe that’s enough- perhaps the rest is just wishful thinking.
“Looks like we felt the same about it, then,” he says with a small smile, sitting up from the sofa and making his way to peer out the large glass window in your living room.
“And by the way, you definitely succeeded with the view out here. Mine’s just a brick wall.”
You chuckle, making your way over to the window and standing next to him to take in the view, too.
“It’s nice, right? All of the east side is visible from up here.”
“See that down there?” Minho points. “Visited that dive bar the other day. It sucks if you’re wondering.”
“CJ’s? Yeah, it’s kind of a shithole. They don’t even serve Diet Coke.”
Minho chuckles lightly, a little sadness evident in his tone.
“You know, maybe if you swung by and fixed their little arcade game, they’d supply you some. Probably something to do with all the ABC’s.”
“The what?” You query, furrowing your brows together and chuckling as he speaks.
“The little gidgets inside. You know, with the pins.”
You pause to think for a moment, mentally mapping out the circuit inside.
“The EPROMs,” you say finally.
Minho feels his breath hitch in his throat as you utter the acronym. It sounds so unfamiliar, and yet so familiar to him at the same time. He suddenly remembers that night, in the spare room, hearing you say it for the first time.
“The what?” He replies gently, not removing his gaze from the window.
“The EPROMs,” you clarify, a little louder this time.
“Say it again,” Minho breathes, a small smile painted on his face now.
“EPROMs?” You question, turning to face him, visibly confused.
“Yeah, those. What’s it stand for, anyway?” Minho finally asks, turning to face you. You face him, too, endeared by the curiosity he’s displayed for that game repair since the first night you met.
“Erasable programmable read-only memory,” you explain, aware of how close he is in proximity to you now. His eyes flicker down to your lips and then back up again, his plump lips pulling into a knowing smile as you speak. He knows he’s wandering into dangerous territory now, but he can’t help it- not when it’s you who makes him feel like this.
“God, it sounds so sexy when you say it,” Minho says sheepishly.
And he knows he shouldn’t entertain it- he’s well aware that his intention is to walk out of here and get on with his life, comfortable with the knowledge that you’d sought him out, too. But he can’t help himself when you’re this close to him, talking circuit repair so intelligently and erotically.
So without another question to stutter, or a fight to be had, he closes the gap between you two, pressing his lips onto yours and kissing you one last time.
You don’t protest the action, instantly tangling your hands in his tresses and reciprocating with the same hungry, passionate kisses he delivers. Maybe it’s the long hair, or the ripped jeans, but part of you also wonders if he’s been dying to kiss you tonight as badly as you’ve been craving him. The flavor is reminiscent of the bar to you, on that pool table like the first time you kissed him. He tastes like mint, enveloping your tongue with hints of Diet Coke while he nibbles on your bottom lip between kisses.
Without any sort of end goal in mind, your hands snake down to his collared shirt, which you tug on hungrily, and then begin to push off his torso. Minho smiles into the kiss, reaffirmed that you want him just the same, and he pulls away momentarily to complete the task of pulling off his button down.
Underneath, his striped t-shirt is cut off generously at the shoulders, completely exposing his arms to you. You almost gasp at the sight of his toned arms jutting out, veins running along his forearms and flexing with each movement. Minho chuckles softly when he takes notice, amused at your reaction.
When his button down shirt is fully off, he kisses you again, hands finding their way to your waist as he pushes himself against you, desperate to feel you against him. You walk backwards, cupping his face between your hands and leading him toward your bedroom.
For a fleeting moment, you’re nervous to take it any further than this, the last person you slept with being Minho himself. You can’t remember which undergarments you wore, or what your bedroom decor looks like to anyone except yourself. But Minho’s kisses shut you up, his lips moving against yours with desire and passion, and you don’t want to do anything except this, right here.
When you’ve made it to the bed, you pull away, crossing your arms over your torso and pulling your sweater off over your head. You’re in a lacy black bra, you realize, because of course you thought to dress for him. Minho blinks a few times, crossing his own arms over his torso and finally pulling his shirt over his head.
It’s then that you realize you’ve never seen Minho without his shirt before- he wore that white button down in the bar, only allowing you to see a generous amount of his collarbones. But standing in front of you like this, he’s breathtaking, his toned torso and his sharp collar bones complementing his sculpted thighs and arms so perfectly.
When he takes notice of you staring at him, one hand flies down to his mid-torso, where he spreads a palm out over the skin, seemingly in an attempt to cover something. You take one step forward, gently placing a hand over his and moving it so that his torso is exposed again. And across his tanned skin, a pale pink scar catches your eye, not very noticeable from your previous distance, but definitely perceptible when you observe his body long enough.
“Minho,” you coo, running your hand along the scar and tracing it with your fingertips. “You’re beautiful,” you say to him after a moment, smiling up at him sincerely.
Minho’s heart almost stops in its place, overwhelmed with his emotions for you, to be here with you, the desire to make love to you eating away at his mind like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.
And if it is, he’d die a happy man.
His lips crash against yours again, hands snaking down to your jeans, where he unbuttons them, your hands meeting his to help pull them down. While you take over, he unbuckles his belt, snaking the leather out from around his waist and undoing his buttons. It’s then that he pushes you gently against the bed, hoisting your legs up so that you’re at a comfortable angle, finally propping himself above you and working kisses down your neck. He nibbles your flesh between his teeth the way he did before, beginning to work purple bruises around your throat. And you let him, without protest, because you’re desperate for a reminder that he’s here, that he’s yours. Minho smiles against your neck when he feels you moan softly at the sensation, satisfied with the way you melt at his touch.
“Minho,” you call, and he brings his lips to press a chaste kiss to yours again.
“What is it, baby?” He coos gently, pressing a series of kisses to your lips before you speak again.
“I never should have left,” you reply, toying with a strand of his hair around your fingers in a pleading manner. Your chest is heavy with guilt, tears almost pricking at your eyes as he looms over you like this.
He chuckles softly, kissing you for a moment before grazing his lips over yours again, speaking just above a whisper.
“I’m here,” he says. “I’m right where you left me.”
And it’s your turn to kiss him, crashing your lips against his again as tears fall from the corners of your eyes. Minho takes notice when the salty taste of them dance along his tongue, kissing them back up your face and holding you a little closer to him. His hands wrap around the small of your back to find the clasp of your bra, skillfully undoing it with one hand and pulling away from you to discard it on the floor. It’s Minho’s turn to stare, running one hand down your clavicles until he’s grazing your nipples with his fingers.
You feel your breath hitch in your throat with anticipation, before he finally dips his middle finger down over one of your hardened nipples, earning a stifled gasp from you. He works little circles over your nipple with one finger, the gentle stimulation making you gasp into his mouth as he kisses you again.
And then he moves back to your neck, kissing over the bruises he sucked into your flesh, trailing lower and lower until he’s just above your breasts. You look down at him with bated breath, almost clenching at the way his lips exhale little breaths against your nipples, making them even harder. With his eyes on yours, he finally lowers himself, latching both lips around your breast and sucking.
Your back arches up into him instinctively, the feeling of his teeth grazing your skin sending divine shivers up your spine. In a sudden motion, his tongue swirls around your bud, the cold sensation causing you to moan fervently. He smiles with your flesh between his teeth, while your hands tangle themselves in his hair and massage him encouragingly.
It feels so primal, so natural to have his mouth all over you, your legs pressing together to calm the ache between your legs. He takes his time on one breast, only coming up to press a kiss in the valley of your breasts and then moving to give attention to the other one. You could stay here for hours, like this, if it wasn’t for the pulsing reminder in your groin that you want to feel him inside of you.
“Please,” you say gently, pressing your legs together and squeezing in efforts to relieve yourself.
Minho chuckles softly, letting go from your nipple with a gentle sucking sound, a string of spit hanging from his lips as he looks up at you with hooded eyes.
“I want to feel you inside me again,” you admit shyly, tenderly running your nails along the back of his neck. Minho’s lips meet yours again, and his hands quickly find their way to the hem of your underwear, sliding them down and pulling away to discard them on the floor.
He’s promptly reminded of how needy and vocal you are, smiling down at you as you pull his face back to yours and swirl your tongue around his. But truth be told, he’s just as needy as you are, equally reminded of how much he’s touched himself to the thought of this and secretly prayed he’d be able to make love to you again. And now here, his lips on yours, it’s finally happening, his rock-hard erection proof that it’s always been you.
As you arch up into him, one leg wrapping around his to push him even closer against you, your hand snakes down to his erection, palming him through his boxers. Minho groans at the contact, his lips parting a little as he winces in pleasure.
“You’re so hard,” you say with a smile, pleased at his evidently equal desperation for you.
“All for you,” Minho replies, running one hand down your stomach to rub little circles on your clit, causing you to moan in pleasure.
“Ah- fuck,” you breathe out, contorting against him, desperate for him to fill you up. “Please, Minho, want to feel you inside me,” you pant against him, pleading for the second time now.
He remains like that for a moment, working little circles onto your clit as he observes the way your eyebrows arch up in pleasure.
“Want me to fill you up?” He asks, cocking his head with yours as you grasp his forearm.
“Yes, please,” you reply, trying your best to stave off your orgasm until he’s inside of you.
And without teasing you any further, Minho pulls away from you to slide off his boxers, his cock springing up against his abdomen in anticipation for you. You prop yourself up on your elbows, in awe at the sight as he tosses his boxers aside and leans down to kiss you again.
“Lay down,” Minho orders sweetly, and you do as you’re told, exhaling once to calm your steadily beating pulse.
“Is this still okay?” Minho asks, caressing your shoulder with concern as you wait for his next move.
“Yes,” you say, giving a half smile to him when he rubs his thumb along your cheek lovingly. He smiles back at you, giving one small peck to your lips before hoisting himself up and wrapping one hand around his cock.
You watch as Minho wraps his slender fingers around the base of his cock, pumping a few times before leaning down to kiss you tenderly. The sensation causes him to breathe a few gasps into your mouth, Minho also trying his best to stave his release until he’s inside of you.
“Gonna put it in now, okay?” He asks, breaking away to part your thighs. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
But you don’t- not when you’re this wet for him, this desperate to finally feel him fill you up again, like you’ve fantasized for so long.
A strand of his hair falls into his face as he finally guides his cock inside of you, rubbing your clit as he thrusts in fully and bottoms out. You gasp at his size, almost having forgotten just how thick he is, the stretch making your head spin with pleasure. When he gauges your reaction, he begins to move with you slowly, giving gentle thrusts while you wrap your arms around his back.
The bed creaks as he moves in and out of your sopping pussy, emitting lewd sloshing sounds as he leans down to kiss you, your tongues and mouths doing much of the same. You can hardly kiss him back, your lips already dribbling strings of drool in fucked-out satisfaction from him filling you up like this.
“Fuck… baby… you’re so tight,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut in pleasure.
“Feels so good,” you breathe back, gripping his shoulder a little bit when he picks up his pace. “No one fucks me the way you do,” you say to him, and his cock twitches inside of you at the admission.
“Fuck,” Minho says again. “I dreamt of you for so long,”
“Me too,” you say, reaching up to move a stray piece of hair out from in front of his eyes between your heavy breathing. “I wish I came looking for you again. God, I wasted so much time.”
Minho kisses you, burying his lips in the crook of your neck to caress the bruises he’s already left.
“I never stopped searching for you,” he breathes out against your skin. “It’s you, it’s always been you.”
His words make your heart flutter as he continues to thrust in and out of you, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix with every thrust now. Your moans get louder as he picks up the pace, digging his nails into your waist as he holds you in place. Between kisses, he caresses your thigh with his hand, positioning it up and bending your leg at the knee beside him. You moan instantly at the new angle, his length caressing every inch of your pussy, his girth stretching you out with every thrust inside of you and tickling your pulsing clit as he moves against your hips.
“Good girl,” Minho says, smiling against you as he kisses you. “Take me so well.”
Your nails dig into his back as he thrusts a little faster now, the rhythmic motion sending shivers up your spine.
“I’m close,” you breathe out, and judging by the way Minho’s cock twitches inside of you, he is too.
“Will you do that thing again?” You ask in a shaky voice between moans, and Minho lets out a breathy chuckle.
“What thing, baby?”
But he knows very well what you’re referring to, having replayed it in his head every time he got off without you. You don’t respond to him, instead intertwining his hand in yours and bringing it down to your abdomen, where you sprawl his palm across your navel and give it a little push. Minho groans at the feeling of your warm abdomen under his palm, remembering the way you reacted last time. And he’s eager to please you, to do it exactly how you liked it before.
Without teasing you any further, Minho presses down on your stomach, observing the way you moan when he does, and then thrusts a little faster. He can feel his length sliding in and out of you under his touch, locking his gaze on the bulge in your abdomen that appears with every thrust.
“Min, I’m so close,” you say, gasping desperately and digging your nails into his back.
He presses down a little harder, burying his face in the crook of your neck and moving even faster, moaning every time he can feel himself move against your abdomen.
And as he brings his lips up to meet yours, you finally let go around him, making a mess of your sheets as you cum around his cock, your clit pulsing in syncopation with your entrance as he fucks you through your orgasm. Minho finishes just seconds after, emptying his milky white release inside of you, both your juices spilling into each other and coating the bed in your arousal. He doesn’t pull out immediately, slowing his thrusts for a few minutes as he kisses you much gentler this time, your lips still glistening with the exchange of saliva.
When he feels you shiver against him, Minho finally slides out, turning over to lay on his back and catch his breath. The two of you remain like that for a few minutes, catching your breath and wiping beads of sweat off your forehead as you do. After a moment of silence, he turns to you again, a worried expression on his face.
“I promise I didn’t come here to have sex with you,” Minho says. “I wasn’t lying about wanting to tell you all about it. I guess I just happened to-”
“Min, I know,” you say with a small smile. “I didn’t think that’s why you came here.”
He lets out a silent chuckle, and you mirror the action, smiling back at him before laughing silently. The two of you remain sore and wearied, your languid bodies a comfortable distance away from each other on the soiled duvet.
Still, Minho extends a hand out from beside you, palm facing up and shifting his gaze onto yours out of his peripheral vision.
Your hand meets his, intertwining your fingers together, the delicate embrace a reminder that he’s here, right where you left him.
*
“Can’t you just stay another week?” you say to Minho, leaning down to press another kiss to his already swollen lips.
You lie on top of him as he lays back on your couch, his hands tucking strands of hair behind your ear as he smiles up at you.
“It’s just for a little bit, I promise. I just have some unfinished business out there.”
“I don’t want to lose you again,” you say in a whisper, tracing the bridge of his nose with your fingertip.
“You won’t lose me,” Minho replies, his tone turning serious at your words. “You’ll never lose me.”
“What am I going to do without you?” You ask him, feeling yourself grow increasingly more panicked at the thought of being away from him again. You’ve spent the better part of three months searching for each other, desperate for some closure to this fleeting thing- and now he’s leaving, and you can’t help but feel like you’re doing something wrong by letting him leave like this.
“You’re going to be the woman you always have been,” Minho says with a smile, stroking your hair gently. “You’re going to work your job, and fix things and be absolutely remarkable wherever you go. And I’m going to finalize a few things out there and then meet you right back here in the city. And we’ll lie on this couch, and we’ll pick up right where we left off.”
You smile at him through pricking tears, feeling them begin to fall as he reaches a thumb up to wipe them off your cheek.
“Hey,” Minho says to you reassuringly. “You know- I was thinking a lot about the bar.”
You nod at him, trying to hold back the rest of your tears as he speaks.
“We have contract negotiations coming up next month. And I was thinking of… maybe…handing it off to Jeongin.”
You sit up a little, eyes widening at his words.
“Complete ownership? But you love that bar, Min.”
He shrugs a little, blinking a few times as he pauses.
“I want to cook. And I think being out here made me realize I need a change of pace again.”
“You mean like… moving out here? To the city?”
He lets out a breathy chuckle, throwing his head back a little before meeting your gaze again.
“Maybe. Just something I’ve been thinking about.”
You chuckle too now, cupping his face in your hands as you sit up to look at him.
“You know,” you begin, thinking for a second before continuing to speak. “This really cool bartender told me once that sometimes you have to go back and make amends before you can move forward again.”
His lips flicker down to your smile and back up to your eyes as you speak, a visible sparkle in your pupils as you look down at him. “Whatever you decide to do back there, I’m here with you when you go forward again. As a bartender, or a chef, or whatever you decide. I’ll be right where you left me.”
And he doesn’t have to ask you twice, knowing in his heart, you’re already here with him- every step of the way.
*
Minho leaves bright and early that morning, grasping your hand firmly in his as you make your way down the concrete steps of your apartment building to where his car is parked.
He looks more angelic than you’ve ever seen him, his smile illuminating the space around you as he holds you in his gentle embrace on the sidewalk. The two of you say nothing, only speaking through the tender touches of your arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, face tucked in the crook of his neck as he holds you. He presses kisses to the top of your head, reminding you through hushed whispers that he’ll be back as soon as possible. And you know he will, feeling completely enveloped in his loving trust as he holds you, as he promises not to lose you again.
When he pulls away to look into your eyes, tears prick at the corners of your eyes for the third time this morning, and Minho chuckles lightly, reaching up to wipe them away with his thumb.
Before he can say anything, he feels it, finally.
The gentle caress of droplets on his face- not your tears, not his, but the sky above, showering you with little raindrops for the first time in three months and some days.
At first, Minho thinks he might be hallucinating it, when he looks up to squint his eyes back at the cloudy sky. You do the same, feeling the familiar kiss of raindrops on your skin. And then, as if the sky’s taking notice, it begins to pour, warm rain showering you both in the hazy atmosphere of the city sidewalk.
Minho laughs up at the sky, shaking his now damp hair as he looks down at you again. All this time he’s waited for the rain, thinking maybe he’d imagined it that night in the bar- the same night he ran into you. But as the raindrops graze his skin and glisten under the light of the city, he realizes it was very much real, as are you, standing right here in his arms. And like everything falls into place, so does the rain over the city, washing away the doubts he held onto for so long.
“It’s finally raining!” Minho exclaims, holding you closer to him as he tilts his face up to the sky again.
You watch him in admiration, laughing at the way he embraces the sudden downpour, also remembering the first night you met him because of the storm like this.
The city-dwellers around you begin to seek shelter under the cement roofs of the high rises, but you remain there on the sidewalk, warm in each other's embraces, content with the sudden turn of the weather. When he looks back down at you, his hair is now completely soaked, stringy pieces falling into his face as he continues to laugh.
“Minho,” you say through gentle laughter of your own. The rain comes down violently now, drenching the two of you as he holds you closer to him.
“Where have you been all my life?”
And he smiles down at you, the familiar beam of his giggle instilling the same safety and comfort as the first night you met in his bar.
“Right here,” Minho replies, leaning in to kiss you again.
“I’ve always been here.”
This time, you make no effort to escape the rain, comfortable in the way it looms over the city, much like how Minho looms over you- fortuitous, and with promises of new beginnings.
#skz smut#Lee know#Lee know smut#Lee know fic#stray kids hard hours#skz#stray kids#skz scenarios#stray kids x you#Lee minho#lee know scenarios#Lee know x reader#fanfic#smut#stray kids hard thoughts#stray kids x reader#stray kids x y/n#Spotify
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Schrödinger's Disability
"Stop using your autism/adhd as an excuse!" I cannot tell you how often I got to hear that. Because here is the thing: Most people do not perceive either of those two diagnosises as "real". Even if they know they are real. Even medical professionals do not quite... understand it. Even those working with neurodivergent people.
Of course, if someone is the kinda autistic person who has also some sort of mental impairment, people perceive it as a disability - but if it does not come along with that kinda stuff, a lot of people treat it, as if we make an active choice to do or not to do something.
I told this story yesterday: When I was a kid, the following thing would always happen. When we would have art class, some of my pencils would drop from the table. Most likely because of dyspraxia. Now, when that happened I was simply not able to stop what I was doing. Because my brain cannot handle "stopping one thing to do another thing even for just a moment" very well. And it could handle it even worse when I was a kid. But also, I do not have object permanence. So, if an object does not exist within my field of vision, I just... forget about it. So, I often would just forget to pick the pencil back up. And teachers would be: "Oh, this boy is too lazy to pick up his own things." Which was not at all what was happening.
Another thing that happened to me too often is a very typical autism thing: Someone tells me something. But they do not tell me this in plain words, but rather imply it. So... I very much just not understood it. So, for example, I got told on a Discord Server by one user: "I have muted this channel." Which I understood as: "They muted this channel (maybe because it is very active)". What they said was, though: "I do not wanna see this channel, stop tagging me in this."
And mind you, this happens at work and university, too. A good example is the good old question of: "When are you done with this?" Which I usually understand as: "When are you done with this?" But what they mean to say is: "Hurry up, I need this now."
Last semester I had this happen at university even. Basically I misunderstood the final assignment, because it was not spelled out. Thankfully the professor was less of an asshole about it, than most people. I explained it to him, he understood, still got a good grade. But that tends to be more the exception than the rule.
As I said, this is a thing that even medical professionals do not really get. Even therapists do again and again fail to just communicate with autistic people clearly. They do not think about us usually being unable to understand implied meanings. We only understand the literal meaning for a lot of stuff.
And again: This is especially harsh with people like me, who superficially seem to function well in society. Heck, I have been told by professionals that I could not have ADHD or autism, because I archived a master's degree at university. Because they cannot comprehend that both ADHD and autism are a spectrum. It is not something you "either have, or have not" but it is a wide spectrum of symptoms that are differently strong in different people.
In Germany this also shows harshly when it comes to disability benefits. Because autism on its own rarely ever qualifies for disability benefits at all. Mental disabilities that might be linked to autism do. But autism on its own? No. Same goes with ADHD. And this... is kinda silly, right? Because we have studies upon studies that people with autism and ADHD often cannot work fulltime - at least not permanently. And we also know that generally neurodivergent people are more likely to be fired for a plenthora of reasons. So, yeah, we should kinda be treated like disabled, right?
And the worst part? In the parts where you get legally discriminated because of disabilities? Yeah, we still get that. We cannot immigrate into all other contries. Like, I cannot immigrate into New Zealand, for example, even though I would like too, because New Zealand discriminates against people with autism when it comes to immigration.
So... yeah. No, this sucks.
Nobody would tell a blind person overlooking a visual sign: "Stop using your blindness as an excuse". But with autistic people? It is the norm.
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Trinkets; The Gifts of Gold He Gave You
Synopsis: A detailed record of all the special objects Daryl has found for you while hunting, riding, supply gathering, and living in the various places he has in the new world. These objects often lead to sweet moments of kindness, joy, and understanding between the two of you, deepening your connection. Although they are things others might not think much of— they were simply small gestures or trinkets after all— you believed these memories and mementos to be gifts of gold; they would shine in your mind forever onward.
Details: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader, mutual pining, kisses, lots of love and ♡ sweetness ♡ (true self indulgence at its finest), but there are also descriptions of trauma, abuse, and self-hate. Though other than that, it’s nothing else except Daryl being an endearing friend and future loverboy to you. This travels across the plot and setting of season 6-8, but it might not be a perfect fit. Lastly, even though these can be read anthologically, I did write them in a storyline as if there was an order in which Daryl gives or does these things with the reader as their relationship grows, so some past trinkets might be mentioned in the next story, but it truly isn’t too big of a deal; this is one you can have fun with! ♡
Author’s Note: My dearest reader, this one took much longer than I intended, but I think it’s because I put so much of my silly heart-filled imagination into it— truly one of my favorites to write thus far. I’m just so happy to give it to you. Feel free to read these all at once, one at a time, or pick the ones that best fit who you are. with love, writella . ♡ ⋆ ☽
Trinkets moodboard & visualizer here!
Trinket No. 1: The Ribbon ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ ⟡.•
A Bow from a Bowman
Daryl was out on a hunt one morning when he found it. It’s like he was compelled to pick it up, he did it without even thinking. It was nothing, honestly: kind of silly really, and flimsy, slightly covered by grass blades— it was dirty and discarded. But there was something about it, something tender… it reminded him of you, even though in some ways still, he hardly knew you at all.
It had been over a month since Daryl came back home to Alexandria; just a month since you entered what was supposed to be your new home. But also a week or so long journey it had been to unexpectedly find you and bring you back.
He remembered it well: you were covered in dirt, tired and hungry, running for your life from the past group you were with. He was going to let you go and mind his business— you looked scared of him anyway when you crashed into him. But most importantly, he had just lost his crossbow, his bike, and maybe even a little bit of his dignity to Dwight who stole them. He didn’t feel like getting tricked again, especially since it takes a lot to trick him; he wasn’t letting that happen again. Especially not the day after. And most especially not for a seemingly young and innocent-looking girl like Dwight’s wife, Sherry or that kid they were with, Tina.
But then, he heard the yelling, the hollering, the men– they wanted you, and none of it was for the right reasons. Very wrong and scary reasons they were indeed, ones he would soon come to understand were things you’d never want to live out or discuss again. He understood that feeling, so he stayed. He hid behind a tree. He decided to help again. Who knows of your innocence, but what was definitely true was that you were a lost and lonely girl in the woods. He knew a thing or two about those unfortunately, those stories ended badly.
Sad enough, the hiding and helping— or attempting to— led him to become a prisoner with you and your ‘group.’ He barely got scraps of food, and every night was just another day of seeing your tears, your face in a permanent state of desolation and misery; staying ever silent even when you were yelled at— even when you were forced to do things you didn’t want to do. You looked scared and small.
It was only when you all reached a hospital, one you burned to the ground just to get away from them, that Daryl saw the fight in you. You didn’t even ask for his help and he tried to save you, but in the end, you saved him. A silent soldier, you were. He returned the favor with the least he could do: he took you home.
And now there you both were. You sat by Rick’s fireplace. No one was home yet, and you had just put Judith down for the night. Daryl found you there on the floor with a book. He quietly sat near you. All you two said was hello.
And this was normal, actually– the being around each other, showing up unannounced, sitting beside each other– talking or not– or you, trying to help him with whatever work he was up to. He tried to fight it at first, but it became a regular thing. It’s what helped Daryl get to know you, and you to him.
You were equally as fierce as the fire you created not long ago, but just as gentle. Just as desiring to smile and create friendships. He knew that now. And he— he was just as rock solid and straightforward as the crossbow he once carried, but just delicate. Just as easily hurt and as quick to hide, yet so deeply desiring of loyalty and acceptance. You know that now too.
It’s still so soon, but you admired him, so deeply. You wanted to learn from him. You thought he was strong, and you wanted to be strong. All that anguish and pain and he came out a fighter, a leader.
Little did you know that is exactly what he thought of you. He went from seeing you cry yourself to sleep every night to becoming the kind and generous friend you were to almost everyone you met. Always offering to care for Judith, or allowing Carl to come to you to talk, or learning about guns and shooting with Rosita. And of course finding a way to go on supply runs, or learn to hunt, or fight walkers with Daryl as much as you could. As always, he pretended not to care that much, but he did. He couldn’t help it. He values his independence, but it was nice that there was someone who wanted to be around him so much. And he admired you for his own reasons as well: You’re someone who fills others up with lightness when such dark things have happened. He felt like that every time you two we’re together. He wanted to learn from you too.
As he sat there, thinking, he wondered if maybe that’s why he thought of you when he saw it. Maybe it was the brightness and softness of it, despite finding it on the ground, despite it being dirty. He cleaned it up, and it still shined, that’s like you but… he was still unsure. Maybe it truly was nothing, maybe it was stupid.
He looked to his side, watching your figure for a moment as he decided what to do. You were on your stomach, laying on the small rug that sat in front of the fire. You were continuing the chapter you were on, paying little attention to him. He only said ‘hey,’ after all. And you did wave back, you asked him how his day was, but all he gave you was a typical response, ‘fine,’ he had said. You thought maybe this visit wasn’t about talking so you left it. And all of this was typical anyway, for Daryl to come by Rick’s, or for you two to sit in peaceful silence, but then you started to see him fidget in his spot in your periphery, like he couldn’t decide how he wanted to sit, hands adjusting his jeans, moving things in his pocket.
“Do you wanna go to the porch?” You thought maybe he was reaching for a smoke. “I can put on the baby monitor…” He just shook his head at the suggestion.
You decide to move to the spot next to him, leaning your back against the wall. “Did something happen today?” Your voice was soft as you tilt your head, trying to reach his eyes.
“No,” he shook his head again, he was facing forward. “It’s just…”
“What?” You asked calmly.
He found it hard to speak, “Just- just brought something.” He reached into his pocket one last time, his hand in a fist as it made its way closer between the two of you until he started to release his fingers from his palm slowly.
It was a ribbon. A pearly light pink one. Just scattered in his hand. “It’s stupid,” he grumbled quietly, trying to shove it back down his pocket, but you stop him.
“Wait,” your hands gently cupping the other side of his and then you pick it up, letting him go. You wrap the ribbon around your finger and you tie it into a bow, examining it in your palm now. “This is for me?” Soft disbelief enchanted your voice. You made sure not to sound too excited or too surprised. You didn’t want to scare him, especially since he replied with:
“It's nothin’.” He was feeling slightly embarrassed.
“It's so nice,” your voice continued in its understated tone despite your smile becoming uncontainable. You couldn’t help the way your lips were curling upward, it was even hurting your cheekbones to try to make your teeth shine through a little less— Daryl Dixon just gave you a gift. And it was a little pink thing at that. Perhaps miracles are real. “It's perfect,” you say, “I can wear it in my hair.”
“It's stupid.” He repeated, brushing you off, but you saw right through him. Daryl doesn’t do anything for no reason at all.
“It's not.” Your words are so kind as your interject, “You know, sometimes it's the smallest things that mean everything. They become our favorite things even.” Your lips pressed together, forming another smile as he meets your gaze, “Like your vest that needs to be patched up.”
“It's fine,” he almost sounded defensive. It made you laugh.
As messed up as it is, it truly was fine. It was his and he loved it; that made it so. And he didn’t only have the vest, he also had his cut-up button-downs, and those ties he laced on the bottom of his jeans— you knew those were probably because the pants available didn’t always fit all the time, but nonetheless— these were all things that made him and his clothing unique from the others. Even in the apocalypse, Daryl was one of the few that maintained a personal style. You couldn’t help but love it. He could, and often always was, the guy covered all in dirt and grim and blood but he still had something about his look that was simply just him.
You missed that. Having those personal touches, and now here Daryl was with this. The simplest thing, but he brought it for you. It was your special piece, your special something. It truly was perfect.
“C’mere,” Daryl gestured, taking the ribbon from your hand and moving your shoulders so your back faced him. He undid the bow and cuffed your hair, he actually almost yanked your head with the way he gathered the ponytail, honestly– he forgets his strength, but you said nothing. Only giggling slightly, but you were mostly quiet. You tried to keep it down, afraid he might stop if he thought you were making fun of him. You wanted to reel at the closeness for as long as you could. You couldn’t believe the fact that he was doing something so domestic— you almost couldn’t breathe. He tried to detangle some pieces with his fingers and then he tilted his head to the side to leave some shorter pieces out at the front. He didn’t know what he was doing and he probably was doing it badly, but he tried his best to be delicate. He’s never touched you like this before. Every time his fingers accidentally brushed against your ear or your neck he relearned just how soft you are. And every feeling of his skin almost made you shiver; like when someone whispers in your ear, it always feels so sensitive, traveling down until you feel it everywhere. His touches felt like that. You always end up feeling his everywhere. He’s entrancing, filling you with hearts and stars.
Finally, he ties the ribbon into a bow right at the top of the ponytail he created. He’s done. He lets go. They shapes and colors fade. Everything is cold again.
But to him, everything looked warm and vibrant. Looking at you was a sight so sweet and so gentle among all this dark wreckage of the world— it was precisely how he saw you: the way the ribbon now laced around your hair looked like an angelic embrace.
You turn to him, “Thank you, Daryl.” Your smile is so sincere, so lovely, there might as well be a halo and hearts invisibly drawn all around you.
A moment passes as you continue to look at each other and your heart jumps. He’s still looking directly at you. There are moments that he looks away and you can’t help it, the bashfulness creeps up on you two, but he’s giving you all his attention; it feels great. You decide to take the chance, you can't help yourself, you hug him, you have to. It has been so long since someone gave you something. So long since someone thought of you so specifically and intimately.
He’s caught off guard, his hands don’t wrap around you until a few seconds later, but when they do, they are sure, and tight, more sure of it than you surprisingly.
You breathe him in, giggling again, “I’m surprised you smell this good.”
“Fuck you.” It makes you laugh just a bit louder, it’s the nicest ‘fuck you,’ you’ve ever heard. Its tone has a hint of sincerity in tandem with humor in just the same way you delivered your line. He shakes his head, “You’re silly.”
He lets you go and you turn away, but it’s only just a little. He watches how the ribbon lays right where he put it again, seeing the side of your face light up with your rosy smile as you sway your head. You’re trying to not make it obvious that you want to feel the wag of the bow and your hair back there so you do it slowly, it just feels so cool and so pretty. You liked it so much. You didn’t even know what it looked like yet, but it already made you feel more like yourself. Like a part of you that had left before this world began— it fit well like a missing piece finally snapping into place. It was your unique touch and he found it for you. He did it for you. Just for you.
For me, you repeated it in your mind, he found it just for me.
Trinket No. 2: The Lesson ō͡≡o˞̶ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆
Turnpikes, Gunshots, and Dreams
You had asked and asked for weeks with no let up. It made you start getting creative with your pleas: “You know, Daryl, we really should be teaching each other our skills,” you had insisted, sarcasm lining your voice. No one else in the group knew how to ride yet they were doing just fine, but you were incessant, “You never know what kind of situation we’ll be in where we might need it… I could die,” your hands raise as your voice does, “and your bike could be my only escape but I wouldn’t even know how to ride it!”
He would always just stare at you blankly, ignoring you, especially when you got dramatic like this right before you two were leaving. “Get on or stay,” he would say, “go help Rosita or somethin’.”
You’d grit your teeth and get on regardless.
But then one day, one lucky, lucky day for you— it was your earnest approach, and your silly smile, and sun-filled eyes that got the best of him as they looked up to meet his darker ones. “Please,” you said, stretching out the word, it was just as cheesy as your smile. He looked back at you from his front seat as you continued, “I just want to feel capable and- free… I don’t know,” but you did, you meant it and felt it from deep inside you. “To know I have the option I wanted to… I… I didn’t really have those before.”
He was still for a moment and then he nodded, restarting the ignition. You guessed that was another no until you started to ride past the walkers that lined the outer gate. “An hour,” he said, his eyes forward as the trees became a blur to both of you, “then we gotta get work done.” You wrapped your arms around him tightly, you only used to cup his waist or hold his shoulders, but you felt fearless today, head leaning against his back and neck, arms hugging around his torso. He finally said yes.
As time went by, you had gotten comfortable with completing your drills. You learned the controls, how to shift gears, how to waddle and power walk with the bike, operate the clutch, throttle, and lift your feet up, riding on a straight path all by yourself. Turns were still hard though, and the fact that Daryl always insisted you think about the worst-case scenario wasn’t the greatest either. He’d look you dead in the eye, his voice clear and unrestrained from his usual grovels as he said, “If a herd is comin’, or people are shooting, or if there’s something tryin’ to crash into you, you need to think about how you’re going down. Decide on what won’t fuck you up completely, then do it. ” He always got way too close to your face without realizing it in those moments, his finger almost crashing into your nose as he vigorously pointed to get the idea across.
“If something goes down, I’m not arguing,” you say. “You'll be in front.” You meant it, your voice was quiet, you understood.
But really, you didn’t: “If something go down, either of us should be able to do it.” He paused to make sure you got it this time, “That's the point.”
As if you didn’t already sense it, this was the first time you absolutely understood that Daryl was serious when he decided to do anything. Full commitment. Start to finish. You said you wanted to learn, that you wanted to be capable, then that’s exactly what he was going to teach you. You would take it seriously too.
Soon enough, Daryl allowed you to ride out of the gates of Alexandria first instead of switching off after you got a few miles out. You were getting better. So much so that today would be a different day, he explained. Daryl wanted you to ride to the Hilltop. This would be the longest distance you’ve ever rode. A whole 23 miles. But before you guys got there he would steer you in the direction of a turnpike: he wanted to practice speed, and most crucially for you, right and left turning.
His weapons and guns were strapped to his lower body, some on his thigh holster, and a machine gun over his back, all just in case, and his hold on your waist was fixed as you rode. It made you feel like a child and such a little teenager all in one with how excited you would get. Not only were you becoming skilled at riding a whole fucking motorcycle, but you were the one he was holding onto this time and it was the longest amount of time he was holding you at that.
As you reached the turnpike, he guided you around the semi-circular road. Continuing on, you saw a few walkers in the distance. He told you to speed up, there was enough space on the road and there were only four of them, they were far away anyway.
You looked back at your surroundings, other than those four, the road was pretty clear other than some broken down, discarded cars. This accidentally became a lesson on tight turns and swerving too.
Some of your turns were abrupt as you tried to go around the cars, it made you nervous. You knew it was okay not to be perfect, but it was still a little stressful to make mistakes when a master was watching behind you.
“Relax,” he’d tell you, sometimes putting his hands over yours on the handles and helping you out. “You got it.”
You went on and as the walkers approached closer, an idea arose. It was probably irresponsible, but you joked anyway, “Daryl,” you whisper-shouted with fake suspense, getting his attention. “We’re on a mission. Got to take those guys out before they get to Rick!”
He chuckled a bit, shaking his head. He leaned in closer as you leaned forward, gaining speed. One arm wrapped around your hips in totality, hand placed firmly there as the other reached for his gun, extending his arm out as you two got closer to the walkers. You two turned to face them as Daryl pulled the trigger: one shot each, straight in the head, “Got ‘em.”
You gasp, your laughter sounding so wild and fun and unrestrained in a way it hasn’t been heard by either of you before. “Is it bad if I say I hope we find another one?!”
“No, that was fun,” he agrees understatedly, trying not to fully give in. You couldn’t even see his face, yet he was trying to hide a smile.
And you were too. It was all too much honestly. You were balancing riding and having Daryl right behind you, holding onto you, trusting you to do something he’s never let anyone else do before; and you just proved you both could probably kill it in a high stakes situation. Well, maybe not, this was very, very low stakes, but still, it made you believe. You decided to ride the high, quite literally as you kept going, shouting back: “Imagine us in battle?”
Oh, wait— your grin fades slightly, you immediately regretted it after you said it. The point of this life was to try to find a way to live, not always fighting to survive. Maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say.
The silence makes you feel like an idiot until Daryl speaks up, both hands now on your hips, thumbs pressing into your back, “If we were in battle,” he almost whispers into your ear, “we’d be their worst fuckin’ nightmare.”
You feel your smile practically reaching your ears. “We’re a team,” you say, the humor coming back to your face now, the shine in your teeth reflecting the sun as it always does. “A dream team.”
A dream… Maybe. You definitely were at least, but that is a thought he doesn’t let come to the forefront. He let it go. But it was true… something about you felt unreal to him. The way you wanted to be around him this much, so interested in the things he does; he still didn’t get it, it almost felt unbelievable. He wondered when it was going to stop. When he would wake up. He didn’t want to wake up. The thought grows, he can’t avoid it now: you are a dream. One he didn’t even know he wanted.
Trinket No. 3: Lucky Charms ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊
Flying Away With You
You gasp excitedly, “The Eiffel Tower!” You hold the bottom up to the light as he still holds the top. “Nice,” you say with bright eyes, “I found the Statue of Liberty in the mom’s jewelry box and a few others that weren’t on her charm bracelet.” You showed him the mother’s sterling silver and he showed you the daughter’s that he found. “I guess they were traveling family… or wanted to be.” You feel a heaviness behind your eyes after you say it.
You loved collecting these charms, but sometimes there was a sadness to it. Like you were collecting other people's tokens, little pieces of their personalities and their stories, keeping it as your own. It almost felt invasive. But it was something that you and Daryl did together. You liked that. Another thing that made you feel close to him… Maybe this was like keeping their memory alive? You may not have known them or know what happened to them, but you were giving something that they loved new life. The charms did make you happy, after all. Especially because it was Daryl that got you into it. But it was also you who got Daryl into it too.
You both can recall the first day it all started: He found it incredulous that you cared more about a little piece of jewelry you saw in the dirt rather than the bigger thing that was right by it: the deer Daryl just shot, the one that you two had been tracking for what felt like hours.
His face twisted up to you as he collected his bolt from the body, “We just caught a deer, and you’re lookin’ at that?”
“We just caught a deer for the first time in months and this was right by them… it’s literally good luck!” You held the gold sun charm to the actual light source it was designed after, “Look at us… Lucky charm, dream team, remember?” Your smile was just so wide after you said it, he let his slight irritation go. It was easy actually, he was always taken aback by that smile. It still wasn’t that long ago when he thought you weren’t the type to do so, like him most of the time. He had only seen you sad, but now, I’m Alexandria, you just glowed. Eyes and an essence as bright as the sun, and that smile, all teeth and just as pearly as the moon… The charm was perfect for you and it needed its match. Maybe a star too. He would find it.
He still remembers where he found those. He came across a silver crescent moon necklace discarded on the floor of a girl’s bedroom. It was simplistic, like one or those expensive necklaces that shouldn’t even be that expensive because of how small it was, but it was a perfect charm size, and it shined, there were no scratches. In the other girl’s room in the house, probably the younger sister, there was a charm bracelet on the desk. It was kind of childish and clunky, like one you could get in those supermarket toy vending machines. He took the first charm he touched and removed the clasp from it for your moon. It was hard to do it with his fingers on something so small and dainty but after a few tries, he managed.
As for the star, he found it on a walker in the woods. It was a little girl, it almost made him feel bad to do it because he knew you’d feel bad about it, but her and what looked like her mom and dad went straight for the two rabbits he just caught, ripping their skin, eating them. He shot them all in the head. The thud of their bodies to the ground only seconds apart. Oh well, were his thoughts, their fault for messing with his catch. After that is when he noticed the gold charm bracelet on the kid’s wrist. It was different from the one he saw last time in that other girl’s room, it wasn’t a fake toy, it was more refined. Maybe they were a well-off family.
There was a star was at the center. It’s all he wanted, but he thought you might want to see the others she had too— they were all nature themed, he kind of liked it— so he tried to take the bracelet off but it wasn’t working. The thing fit her wrist perfectly and the bracelet clasp was stuck so, in typical Daryl fashion… he just chopped the girl's hand off.
Kind of gross, and he would definitely have to keep the red off of everything now, but the star charm was gold, it would match the sun charm and the moon would stand out at the center, he assumed. He thought it could look nice… and beggars can’t be choosers in the apocalypse anyway. After he took the bracelet he discarded of the hand, tossing it to the ground like it was nothing. (He’d leave that part out if you asked for the story later). Now that he had the bracelet, you would also have a gold owl, a bunny, a bird, and if it couldn’t get any better, there was a deer charm too. That’s what was most important about the account anyway.
That night, Daryl crawled into your bedroom from the window while you were asleep. He placed the star and moon on top of your journal that was on your desk, and after that, he left. That was it. He just wanted to surprise you. He’d give you the rest later. You only realized he did it and how he did it when you closed your window that was slightly left open the next day. There were scuff marks on the window sill. They were from his shoes.
After that it became a game; a little side quest. Like how people would count red versus blue cars or shout ‘punch buggy,’ when they are out with their family. An activity that took you out of your boredom, or really, for you in the apocalypse, it was an activity that made you feel oddly sane again, since you always dealt with the insane everyday anyway.
That was what today was about. At least on the down low; at least after you found anything of value for the community; at least to you two. You guys had found what seemed to be a wealthy neighborhood a while ago, when you passed that turnpike. The houses there were so big there, but all you had was his bike at the time, nowhere to put supplies and you were expected at the Hilltop, you couldn’t stay and look around.
It had been a little while after that and you had a plan now, a few Alexandrians backing you up with cars. You two finished your portion of houses to sweep and now you were waiting on the others, sitting in one of the house porches. That’s why you both were showing each other your finds from this place and the others.
You continued to hold the Eiffel Tower charm in your hand, “Maybe we should go to Paris…” Your voice was wistfully, then a quietness lingered in the air, it made you laugh awkwardly, releasing the tension. Your suggestion was one of those silly things you say where you mean it, but you pretend it’s just a joke, knowing it won’t have any outcome. “All of us, I mean,” you do mean it, but at the same time you we’re just talking about him right now. “That would be nice.”
“What would I do in Paris?” He asks it while he fixes his weapons, you’re sitting back, looking at the trees. He thought it was a ridiculous idea. He’s never been anywhere. He hadn’t even been to Virginia or D.C. before this and there’s no way he could go anywhere else now.
“Well I guess we’re never going to know unless we find out… you can eat!” You laugh, “You do like eating.”
He snorts, “Who knows if there’s food left there.”
Pessimist. “Again— we’re never going to know unless we find out.”
“Have fun tryin’ to become a pilot,” his drawl comes out strong on that last word. “Or a plane.”
“I guess that’s the next charm we need to find, an airplane or a captain’s hat. I am a pilot… or I can pretend to be.” There’s that smile again, “I can do anything.”
“Bet you could.” He meant it.
You nod, your next words making you laugh at yourself, “I’m Barbie.”
“Better,” he mutters. You can barely hear it. You don’t know if it was real so you say nothing until—
“We’re going to travel the world some day, Daryl.” You say it so surely, breaking the moment of silence, “We’ll find a way.” As long as we’re together. As long as you want me.
That’s all you wanted, truly. Even if this world really couldn’t take you to Paris, or New York, or anywhere out of Virginia. All you wanted was him. All you wished and hoped for is that he wanted you… but did he? You still weren’t sure.
Trinket No. 4: The Flower and the Photograph 𓇢𓆸
Back Pocket Memory
You two were almost near Alexandria, only a few miles left to drive. “Do you think we can just sit down over there before heading back?”
Daryl continued driving, “Dangerous to leave a good van with supplies just put.”
You pointed to the clearing you were referring to ahead. The trees were sparse in that area, it might have been a meadow, but you didn’t know the difference. There was a little pond near the center. “Can we just drive the car a little bit closer? Just for a few minutes?” You look up at him, your eyes doing that little sunshine thing as it always does, “I just want to sit in the grass,” you say, putting your hand out the window, feeling the wind through your fingers, “the sky feels so nice today.”
He huffs, but does as you ask. “Get out,” he says, gesturing to you to walk over to the area you pointed at. “Pick your spot.” You run over and he follows. You have this wonder about you, it was almost childlike, but not childish, more— sweet, innocent perhaps.
You jump down to the ground and cross your legs on the grass, looking out at the pond. Daryl parks the car a little behind you and comes out to sit on the hood. His legs spread, knees almost to his chest, his elbows lay on there, arms extended.
You look at him, “You’re really not going to sit down?”
“If someone comes up behind us and steals our shit then that’s gonna be your fault.”
Fair. You gesture at him to move over and you sit to his side on top of the car.
As you settle, you close your eyes and you raise your face to the sky. Feeling the warmth of the sun on your closed eyelids. There was a majestic kind of wind that blew in the air today. It made everything look effortless, especially Daryl.
His ever-so disheveled hair had pieces flying on both sides, brushing some parts out of his face, and pushing others in. As always, it was just enough that they didn’t completely cover his eyes. How does that always happen? Thinking about it makes you giggle lightly as you look at him.
“What?” He asks, becoming a little self conscious.
You shake your head, your eyes looking at him kindly, hoping to ease his nerves. “You just look nice.” Your voice was silvery and sweet as you said it.
You get up and skip toward the pond, picking a flower and coming back to him. You sit down and try to put the tiniest white flower behind his ear.
“What’re you doin’?” He tries to swat it away, playfully hitting your other hand that tries to hold him in place and he takes the flower from your other hand. He successfully places it behind your ear instead. “Better,” he says.
As he looks at you, he notices light pieces of your hair frizzing up at the top from the wind, other pieces at the bottom still moving around slightly. It didn’t look bad, to him, your hair looks more like that invisible halo he sees when you’re around, and with that flower in your hair, you look like a true angel or maybe even a fairy with all the greenery surrounding you. You’re just lovely.
You give him a closed smile, your head falling to your knees. “Pretty day,” you sigh contentedly.
Pretty girl.
Handsome man.
Then a thought comes. Your smile turning to a grin.
“What?” He asks sharply. He knows the look you get when you’re up to something at this point.
You grab your backpack from your side, slowly bringing out the polaroid camera you found earlier today.
“No,” he pushes the side of your face, already detesting the idea.
“Daryl,” you whine.
He says it straight this time, “No.”
“But…” your eyes trail his face for a moment before continuing, “you just look… I don’t know. It’s like I said, you just look so- nice.” There’s other words you could use, but you don’t, not yet. “I just think it would be nice to have a nice picture. All we take pictures of is the houses and work. It’s boring and a waste.” You pause, “Daryl… Please?”
He rolls his eyes, grumbling, “You first.”
He’s glad no one was around when these moments happened. Someone might think you had him completely whipped. His brother definitely would think so if he was still around. Daryl was almost embarrassed of himself because of it. But you don’t ask for much. Other than the bike thing, you really didn’t. You trusted him and you were patient. You went along with his plans and you could sit for long car rides and periods of time in quietness if that’s what he wanted. You never pushed him to tell you his story. He only knew a part of yours circumstantially and he didn’t push you for more details after he brought you home, so you did the same. He could feel you wanted to ask more questions, but he also saw you stop yourself, move on, you were creative with your conversation topics: you asked him about what the best thing he hunted was, or what his favorite things were about your friends. You were so gentle with him. Maybe you could get him to do almost anything you wanted without you even knowing, but it was worth it for someone like you.
You look down shyly, “I’m not good at pictures,” you admit.
“You’ll look fine.” He wanted to say something else, but he didn’t. You’re so alike, more than you know.
He tilted your jaw with his thumb. It was too quick for you to melt into it but the feeling lingered, it made you buzz with excitement and it was easy to smile after that. He looked through the viewfinder, seeing you do that pretty sunny smile, matching the yellow bud of the white flower. He clicked the button. Beautiful.
You snatch the camera instantly, “Your turn!” You were too eager but you didn’t care.
You take the flower from your hair and bring it toward him. He sucks his teeth, saying your name as he does so, “No!”
“Yes, Daryl!” You push it over his ear, but not before he pushes you knee, just to do it. He didn’t even know why he was fighting, he knew he was letting you have your way right now. “Look,” you sound like a school teacher, “very nice.”
You even out some of the frizzy parts at the top of his head, the light wind was still blowing through it, it was futile so you left it, he looked great anyway. A perfectly imperfect mess.
He crossed his arms over his knees and looked into your eyes. You held the camera to your face and snapped the shot. “Beautiful.”
You stare at him for a moment longer. If anyone else was here that could see those all to familiar hearts and stars around you and in your eyes, it was so hard to hide. “I’m keeping this,” you said, placing the polaroid delicately in your back pocket. He said nothing, he wasn’t going yo let you know he cared about a dumb picture. “Okay, thank you for indulging me,” you start, taking the flower from his ear, “let’s go home.”
Later that night, past one am, he came through your window again. But this time you saw. Your head was almost covered by the blankets, your eyes slightly open. He didn’t even look in your direction. Maybe he wanted to be quick.
You saw him go into your bookbag. It was hanging on your desk chair. He took the picture out. He wanted it. He wanted your picture. The one that matched yours of him. Maybe this was something. Maybe he did want you.
You closed your eyes quickly when he started to turn around, then watched as quietly as you could as he neared the window, starting to climb out but not before he placed the polaroid in his back pocket, just like you did. Now you both had a piece of each other, forever.
Trinket No. 5: The Music Player and the Wish on an Eyelash ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻ ♬♪
Never Fade Away
It’s official, in all the ways it possibly could be: Alexandria was truly your home. More time has passed: you live in a house, you have a job, you have family— it’s your friends. In some ways things are better than they have ever been… yet you still think about the night and the dark just as much as you used to. You tried to hide it, you wanted to be grateful and you were. But the things that used to happen to you, and the people that hurt you… they still lingered like ghosts when night came.
In the closed and guarded walls of your community, you hoped night could be a time and place that was peaceful. But thoughts of an attack, thoughts of losing your first real home, it left you apprehensive and paranoid of what could happen in your vulnerable state. And when you close your eyes, sometimes the past visits your dreams. It all felt inescapable.
It makes you so fearful that despite keeping your window’s curtain open, a battery-powered lantern resides practically glued to your nightstand— always on when the sun goes down. You knew it was a waste of a resource, but at least you kept it on low, at least when you woke up in the middle of the night, closer to morning really, you remembered to turn it off— the sun making its way back around soothed your nerves; it was always that initial getting-to-sleep part that made you need it anyway.
And of course, you’ve tried to calm yourself down at night using different methods to see what stuck: You do read— your neighbors were always kind enough to lend whatever books were in their houses— and you did daydream— letting your mind wander to happier, more wondrous places when you wanted to escape— and it did help sometimes, but on other nights, it wasn’t enough.
You miss watching tv in bed. There was something about the buzz of the box, and the voices of humor and romance and relatability that miraculously took you away, and helped you stop thinking, even allowed you to drift to sleep… it was a luxury you didn’t have anymore, and not only did you not have that luxury, you also had an overabundance of dead or deadly issues to worry about. It all haunted you.
You sat with your back against the headboard of the bed. You’ve yet to put on any night clothes. You had already read the next chapter of your book, and you would have read another, and possibly another after that, but tonight you knew it would have just kept you awake as something to do instead of worrying about sleep. You were tired though. That’s why you stopped, but you also weren’t ready for trying to catch sleep that wouldn’t come.
Part of you hoped Daryl would stop by, but he doesn’t always, and he probably won’t tonight. Some nights he’s out until the next day or the next week, who knows how far he went this time, you didn’t go with him and he left too quickly to ask. It had been a few days since you saw him last.
When he was here though, he did start to make it a habit of stopping by to see you, especially when it was time for Alexandrians to settle into their homes for the night. He stopped being so quiet through the window and only dropping things off. He would start coming through the door. It was just a light chat for a couple of minutes at first, then there were the times when he stayed an hour or two. He always sat on your floor, by the window, or by the door. You never understood why until you insisted he sit in your chair by the closet. It was only until a few more visits later you realized the chair's light color becoming just a bit visibly darker. It was soot and hard work and the air, he worked outside all day and usually visited before he called it a night. You made sure not to mention it, you just cleaned it yourself. No need for him to feel embarrassed.
Besides, you didn't mind, anytime he walked through your door or jumped in from your window, that was his chair, at least that’s what you called it in your head. You liked that. You liked that after he brought you home he didn’t move on and let you be. In his defense, you didn’t let him be either, but he could have always distanced himself if he wanted to, told you no, but he didn’t.
You two have gotten so close quite quickly. You both felt it and you didn’t know why, but at the same time, you did. It was something left unspoken, even in your mind, always on the side toward the back of your brain. That part knew you could fall in love with him, but why admit it to yourself if the other person might not feel the same? You were still feeling that way. Despite all the moments you’ve shared thus far. His silent nature was endearing at times, but it could also be a very confusing gripe of yours. There were moments when you knew exactly where his mind was, but there were other times when you simply did not. Especially when it came to you. Daryl always gave you just enough, and maybe tonight, it would be nothing at all.
At least that’s where your thoughts resided until you heard the creak of your door slowly pushing inward.
Daryl’s hand holds the doorknob, meeting your eyes as he steps in further. Your window casting just enough light on his face.
“Hi,” you meant to be clever, ask him if he knew how to knock, but only wistful, subdued surprise is all that came out in your one-word greeting.
“Hey,” he replied, it almost seemed like he was surprised too, you couldn’t tell it from his voice but from the way he cut the word short. “Didn’t know if you were awake.”
You laugh somberly, “You didn’t?”
“Didn’t see you in the window.”
His voice is low, your house is quiet, and people are asleep in the other rooms. You match his tone with your own quietness, “Right,” you say. The window did hit the bed end, not the top. But he knew you were a late sleeper. He even came and sat with you for longer the night before he left because you had told him about it— he knew, he had to, but you didn’t question it.
“Um,” he’s looking down, “Was just gonna leave somethin’.”
He starts to walk to your nightstand but you stop him, your hand reaching out, not touching him, but it’s just enough to pull him to your gaze. “You’re gonna leave without showing me?”
Daryl positions himself toward you and you sit up. Gingerly, he takes something small out of his front pocket, it was covered in one of his bandanas. He looks at it for a moment, almost unsure before placing it on the bed, right in front of your lap.
It was an MP3 player. One of those slim rectangular ones with a digital rectangular screen to match and a big circular button with the controls covering the bottom half. There were some small scratches in the screen corners and some dent marks in the back. The arrow buttons were starting to fade too, but he handed you some headphones out of his back pocket as you continued to examine it, it must have worked.
You look up at him, eyes wide, shining just a bit in the dark just like the little silver miracle that was in your hands. You remembered having one of these, the thought made your lips curl, a light open-mouthed smile forming as the nostalgia set in.
You move closer to the edge of the bed, the sky illuminating you more in your semi-darkened room. You place your hand on the other end of your bed, “Come,” you say as your tap the spot. He’s hesitant before he finally accepts the invitation, sitting down. You would have insisted anyway if he didn’t.
You flip the switch on the side then and the music starts instantly in your right ear where you set one of the earbuds in. You tried to put the left on him, but he shook his hand, “You listen.” You let him be for now, you were too excited to see what the previous owner was into.
The songs are scattered from different decades, but what you notice the most of as you skip through were various 90s and 2000s rock, pop-punk, pop, and the like. There was Nirvana, but also Fiona Apple to Blondie, and even Elvis. It was a little all over the place, really. This definitely had to be a teen’s in the early or late aughts. You thought maybe Carl would like this. There was even some stuff that you were sure had to have come out in 2010, right before the apocalypse began… Another kid who wouldn’t get to spend the rest of their teens, or young adulthood, or adult life like they were supposed to, like you were supposed to.
Having these thoughts while Aerosmith’s Fly Away From Here played was not helping, especially since it made you think of your lost family, and those from your found family that were gone now too, so you decided to skip, but the button seemed to fidget. You tried again, then again, even touching the screen. You accidentally made the shuffle icon come onto the bottom corner.
“Don’t like Aerosmith?” Daryl read it on the screen, but he also recalled the melody, even from just the soft buzz produced by the headphones, the volume was accidentally turned all the way up, you set it down.
You give him a light smile, “Aerosmith’s fine. Just have to be a little more careful with this, I guess.”
You continue to press forward to see what else is there until you shriek, color coming back to your face as you shake your head at the memory emerging as you listen. “Oh my god, my sibling used to love this song when we were younger.” It was Avril Lavigne’s Girlfriend that was playing. “We used to put on the radio or look up the music videos on the tv and dance. They loved doing that…” Your voice was soft, both sweet yet desolate, “I knew all the popular songs and all their favorite songs whether I liked it or not.” You giggle, “I can lie this one is fun.”
You knew Daryl would probably scoff, but you lightly place the left earbud near his ear for a few seconds so he can hear what you’re talking about.
“Definitely a chick’s.”
“‘Chick’?” It was funny, and you did laugh, but you still decide to protest, “It’s just one song and…I don’t know, I think it’s a pretty eclectic mix of artists…” You continue to press forward as you ask, “Were there kids? Or- did there used to be?”
“Based on the rooms.” He nods, “Boy and a girl.”
“Hm,” you say curiously, flipping through the songs: the next one that played was by Linkin Park, then Alanis Morisette… you wondered if the kids shared it or shared interests. Suddenly, the player starts Lit’s My Own Worst Enemy. Your eyes are starlit as you gasp, “Oh, this one is so you.”
This time you fully push the headphone into his left ear, turning the volume all the way up as the first verse plays, his face is fixed, “This ain’t me.” There is silence as the music continues and he scorns, “You think I used to just get drunk all the time?”
“Daryl,” your laugh is light, “no.” It was a ridiculous thought and he should know it, but nonetheless, you console him, “Of course not.” Your hand reaches forward onto the bed, nearing where his own resided, but not touching. It saddened you to see Daryl always react like this to small things. He was never judgmental, but he was always so quick to believe others would judge him. “Maybe not that part,” you smile, slightly mischievous, “but- okay, this-” you sing-speak along lightly, remembering to stay quiet, “it’s no surprise to me I am my own worst enemy, cause every now and then I kick the living shit out of me- that's you! That's literally you.”
He shakes his head, ‘Whatever,’ the gesture says with his grunt.
“No, you’re actually a little bit self-deprecating, I think. At least internally.” You continue, “Oh, and this part— I didn't mean to call you that- you see?” You say, humor still in your smile, “That part is you.”
Daryl gives you another small grunt indicating ‘no’ as he shakes his head again. “If I say something to someone, then I mean it. Wouldn’t say it if I don’t.”
“Well, you also mean a lot of what you don’t say,” your eyes trail to the side. You knew that didn’t make sense, but it did to you. There was a part of you that was still in denial of your feelings or if there was a possibility he had any for you either. You’d never see him talk or treat anyone in a more than friendly way– or whatever Daryl’s version of friendly was. You wanted to protect yourself by not admitting you adored him, even to yourself, but really, you knew. And there was the way he kept giving you these things, these little moments: the ribbon, the picture, the charms… It made that smaller part of you that believed something was there, glow and warm inside your heart.
You look at him, there was a sorrow placed on both of your faces, but he just looks at his hand that is placed on the bed through his hair, the one that's so close to yours. “You really don’t think there is anything you don’t regret saying?” Another song passes, you didn’t recall it, but then the playlist shifts to something slower, it’s the Beatles. “I just think you keep a lot inside… It’s okay though. But it is just something I notice.”
Normally, a comment like this or something similar to it would sound trite and judgmental, there are a lot of things people don’t talk about now, but you say it with understanding, a little sad because you can’t help it, but your voice is kind, like gentle fingers through his hair, evening it out; a voice that shows you care, you see him and respect him even if you do want more. “It’s okay,” you whisper as Paul McCartney’s voice sings softly, “I’m not half the man I used to be, there’s a shadow hanging over me.” It felt like he was speaking right to Daryl as he continued to look away from you.
It’s moments like this where he wants to say it all. The sad stories from his childhood that he has never been able to tell anyone before. Stories about his brother… the bad, yes, but even some of the good ones. He knows he could talk to Rick if he wanted, or Carol. His group was loyal to him as much as he was to them– he knew that, but they probably wouldn’t care to hear about Merle, it would probably make them angry to be reminded of all the bad things he’s done to them. He wouldn’t blame them. In many ways, and for more reasons then all of them, he will always be angry at his brother too. This is why he didn’t even like to let himself think about the past, but in other ways, it still sucked. It makes him feel alone, like talking about himself or his brother or the past was just a gateway to hurting himself and scaring others, scaring you.
You wipe him away from those thoughts even though you didn’t even hear them, your voice pulling him out of his trance, “Things are harder now, Daryl, but I think you’ve only gotten better.” There is still so much you don’t know, but nonetheless, it’s like you can read his mind.
“This is the only me you know.”
“And even then I don’t think you’re the man I met when you found me… We’re definitely not the same people.” Your hand is just inches from his fingertips now. “We all have things to improve on, even if we think we’ve already grown up. I think that’s a part of growing up actually… just realizing that you never do, or at least not entirely. You’re always going to continue to grow.” Your words linger in the air as the next song starts, it’s Paramore, it’s The Only Exception— something still laced with melancholia but it has a sweet gentleness to it. It's just like you. This is how you were trying to be with your words. “It’s better if you allow it though, or work toward it instead of against it, I think.” You laugh at yourself then, “But I'm far from perfect so I should really stop talking.” Blush creeps onto your cheeks, you’re hopeful the night’s light doesn’t show it too much.
He wishes he could tell you he thinks you’re perfect, or at least something close to it. At least for him. You truly were like an angel. Maybe Radiohead is on this too.
The chorus continues to play, leading to the song’s ending and his jaw tightens. It’s annoying that you were right, your words from before echo to him. They weren’t nonsensical, he did get it: he does mean the things he never says as much as the things he does, but no one will ever get to know. Not that everyone has to, but maybe for you, maybe just a little, maybe you can be the exception. And he can tell that you’re trying to me: who carries around a silly little ribbon anyway? Or who keeps their window open almost every night, even on cold nights? He felt like he was failing you. Maybe these gifts and these small moments weren't enough. Maybe they were just trinkets; meaningless, giving you false hope for a love he couldn’t provide.
You both hear the outro, “Oh, and I’m on my way to believing,” and his heart pangs at that. Maybe he doesn’t have to fail, maybe he can try, at least right now, “It’s just…” he speaks up, his voice clears, “It made me think of you when I saw it.” He was talking about the mp3, “That’s why I brought it back… You’re always humming under your breath. Now you can stop annoying me with the same old thing.”
Your eyes roll, but you aren’t mad, in fact, you can't help that it makes you smile. “Oh, okay, Daryl,” you say through quiet bits of laughter.
“Also thought it could help you sleep… I dunno.”
You nod intently at his words, “Thank you,” and that wistfulness in your voice returns. “That's really kind.”
He nods back. He’s so gruff and straight-faced all the time, but was it bad to say that there were moments when you can't help but see him as adorable? He was always trying not to meet your gaze through his hair, and it was always messy like a kid’s, just like when you took that photograph.
Muse’s Starlight starts playing as you brush some of the hair out of his face. It's an awkward transition, but it's what you get from accidentally pressing shuffle so many times. In the end, though, the words make it seem perfect for the moment. The singer spoke of desire and escape, about missing loved ones and wanting to keep someone special, someone that's like starlight, close by. You understood that. He did too.
You giggle lightly, “Daryl, you- you have something…” You point at your face in reflection of his.
“What?” He wipes his nose.
“No, it's- it’s here,” you say, taking your finger to lightly catch the eyelash that threatened to slip away from his face and onto the bed. “Make a wish,” you whisper. Your face is nothing short of innocence and wonder.
His snorts, “I’m not doin’ that.”
“Daryl,” you eyes widened with apparent prodding and pleading annoyance, but your words still have a sense of amusement to them, “I think we need all the luck we can get.” Your head tilts as you say through your smiling teeth, “I’ll do it with you…?”
“Fine.” He can’t help that your squeal makes his lips curl but he’s trying to hide it.
“You have to really do it.” You turn the music down, it's in the background now. Your usual sun-filled eyes are currently wide like the moon as you look into his, coming closer to his face.
He nods, “Okay.”
“Promise?” You sing.
“Promise.” He meant it, he even closed his eyes before you to prove it.
You closed your eyes too, “Okay, I’m trusting you.” Squeezing them tightly, you whisper, “Think about what you want, and then I'm going to count to three and we blow.”
Instantly, your heart foolishly thinks of Daryl. You know you could be thinking about the safety of your group, the stability of Alexandria, or hoping that the threat everyone feels coming subsides into nothingness, but all your thoughts are just of him. It makes you feel like a silly little girl, waiting for that big romantic confession of love that you dream about, the one that will probably never come.
I wish for you, you think. You can’t help it, you can’t say anything else, this is the only thing that’s true, I just wish to stay by your side, forever.
The song echoes your hopes too, I’ll never let you go if you promise not to fade away.
You agree, never fade away, please.
“Okay,” you say softly aloud, “1… 2… 3…” And then your wish flies into the air. You two stare at each other afterwards, eyes starry like the sky from your window.
You wished for each other.
Trinket No. 6: Scars, Marks, Tattoos, and Internal Wounds ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆
The Things I Only Trust You to Know
It’s another night. Another visit. It wasn’t intentional this time, but your curtains were drawn. They’re almost never drawn, at least not completely. The window was still open though, the night’s breeze ruffled them backwards. Daryl became concerned, so he climbed up, opening the window wider and pushing the curtains to the side to get through.
He saw you crying.
Hearing the thud of his boots stomp lightly to the ground triggered you to turn, body facing the closet as you were curled in your bed. You didn’t want him to see you. “I’m tired tonight, Daryl.” Your voice was low, you tried to keep in neutral. For the most part you were doing well, but it was still obvious you weren’t fine— he saw your face before you covered it.
He sat down on the edge of your bed, his legs hitting by your feet. He didn’t feel like asking if you were okay if you were going to lie and say no. “You can tell me to go if you want,” was all he said, rubbing your arm as he did and then let go. You starting sniffling involuntarily because of the touch. You realized you were holding in a breath, the shaky exhale came out louder than you wished it did. “I’m sorry,” your voice blubbering. You were embarrassed. You hadn’t done this in front of him since before he brought you home.
“Don’t gotta be.”
“I feel stupid,” you say under your breath. You’re still trying to hide your face.
“Stop.” He puts his hand over your body now, on the bed, and he faces you. “What’s wrong?”
You shake your head slowly, looking at him, “I don’t know how to say. I can’t-”
“Just say it,” he said calmly.
You felt heat rising from your throat, it was like the words were trying to come out, but it felt scary to do so, it made your teeth grind against each other. Your head shakes harder, “I don’t think I can.”
He brings a hand to your face and wipes some of your tears with his thumb, “What would you tell me?”
You would tell him to speak, that it’s okay, you both knew it. The thought makes you sit up in your bed, tears still running down your cheeks, but you were going to try.
“You’re just going to get annoyed,” you wipe some of your tears with your wrist, “think I’m dumb, like a little girl.”
“You’re not dumb,” he spoke over you before you finished.
You pause, you shake your head again. The words are on your tongue but you just feel so bad and so embarrassed to admit it. “Sometimes I just…” your voice hitches and your hands goes to your head, more tears fall, “it’s just one of those days, I guess.”
One of Daryl’s hands goes to your shoulder and your upper back, he pats you until it quickly becomes a soft, swaying motion.
Your voice doesn’t go above the lightest whisper as you try to start again, “Sometimes- I just look at myself and I-” a sob erupts from your throat and tears roll much quicker, “I know you’re going to think I’m stupid, but sometimes I just wonder if anyone could love me.” It doesn’t even feel good to finally admit it, but you continue, “I feel like there’s something wrong with me. Like maybe I’m not enough. Or I’ll never be.”
Daryl’s face heats up. How could you ever feel that way about yourself? How do you not see yourself as anything less than everything he’s seen in you since the day he met you? You’re not stupid. Never. He feels stupid for not seeing this in you. He feels stupid for it being so hard for him to tell you everything wonderful about yourself in the way you deserve.
He thinks for a moment, he wishes he was more poetic, but he wasn’t and there are still certain things he’s not ready to say. So he decides on something else as he calls your name, “You’re telling me you can’t see you’re a tough son of a bitch?” The phrase makes you laugh involuntarily through your tears, he always says it like it’s one word. “One that found a way to burn down a hospital and kill a bunch of dickheads in one go just to stay alive?” He huffs, “Prettiest arsonist I’ve seen.”
You gasped but it made you smile lightly, it was funny. “I’m not an arsonist! And it was only part of the building.”
“Coulda fool me.” He tilts his head, “But you’re also probably one of the best scavengers we got. And you’re a good friend.” His hand travels to your knee, “You’re really good at talkin’ to people… and to me.”
You try to let his words fill you up but there is still doubt. “I don’t feel like pretty and really good are the right words.”
“Then you’re wrong.”
You shake your head.
He doesn’t get it, “Well, what do you see that I’m not?”
Your heart beats ferociously, you don’t move, you’re hesitant, you don’t know if this is right, but there is a part of your that wants to. “Can I show you something?” You asked.
He nods.
It’s scary, but you decide to trust him, showing him the part of yourself you felt most ashamed of. The part of you that you thought was unloveable.
But he sees nothing shameful, nothing bad, he just holds onto it or another part of you, caressing you gently. “You’re perfect,” he says, shrugging as if his words aren’t a big deal, but he knows they are. This is the first time he doesn’t keep a thought like this in his head anymore. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”
He turns his back on you now, and he takes a breath, sighing deeply. You’re confused until he sighs and starts to speak; “When you were with those guys— and I know it ain’t the same, but— I know what it’s like. For people to use you.” He swallows hard, “I don’t like myself all the time neither.”
Your eyes widen. He was taking off his shirt. The first thing you see are tattoos, until your eyes travel to the other side, you see what he meant; the scars. “My dad. He was a drunk and a loser and an asshole.” Daryl's voice hitched, you couldn’t tell if he was crying or not, but you had never heard him like this before. “He did it to my brother too, Merle. But then he just left when he was old enough. Didn’t even give a shit that our dad was gonna do it to me,” there was anger in his voice. “He said he didn’t know,” and then he chokes on his words, “but how can I believe that? Thought it’d just skip a generation? He never changed. Neither of ‘em.” You wanted to hold him, but you didn’t know if it was too soon. He was still speaking, “Then when I got old enough, I left too. Some time later I started drifting ‘round with Merle, like that was gonna be any better… Two fucked up kids doing nothin’ with their fucked up lives.” His face turned to the side, you saw his profile, his eyes were red, “That’s what I did before Rick… You all were going to do good things with your life and I was gonna be nothing.”
“Daryl…” you were crestfallen, “I’m so sorry.” You held his arm, stroking it softly. “But you weren’t going to be nothing.”
“Yes, I was.”
“There is no thinking about what could have been. This is how life is. Maybe this was always going to happen,” your voice falters as you say it. “You’re not nothing. You’ve become everything to so many people.”
He turns his face back around and you look at his back again. It was difficult to look at, you won’t lie. Your heart sunk low, like it was being squeezed and brought down to the pit of your stomach to know that someone put him through this. Someone who was supposed to love him. Another tear escaped your eye at of the thought.
“Daryl,” you stutter meekly, “Is it okay if I hold you?”
His nod is so faint you barely see it, but he doesn’t say anything else so you believe it is a yes.
Your fingers ghost over his back until you let the tips of them finally lay on his skin.
His eyes wince and squeeze as he shutters despite your fingers trailing so tenderly. Your palm is now flat on his back as you move downwards and back up again. You kiss near his shoulder, right on the tip of his highest tattoo and then you wrap your arms around him, under his arms over his waist, and he holds your hands there.
You stay there for a long while, you don’t have a recollection of time. The moment feels like forever, although it is sad and you wished you weren’t discussing the things you were to get here, you don’t want it to end. “You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met,” you tell him.
It’s quiet until he says, “No,” disagreeingly, “You’re not brave just because you go through some shit.”
“But you still are,” you insist. “This happened to you and you chose to be the person you are now despite it. You became someone invincible.” You pressed him against you tighter, “I’m proud of you. Every day.”
Finally he turns around and takes you in his arms, your head now resting over his shoulder as your chests touch, closing the gap. You lay down on the bed and he stays on top of you. One hand plays with your hair and you continue to caress his back.
“I really like your tattoos,” you whisper, almost a giggle in your voice. “They look really good on you.”
He smiles a little. He never takes off his shirt so people barely see all the ones he has. He liked that you liked them. “Thank you,” he says.
“Do you want more? If you could?” You also want to ask why he got the ones he did, but the crying has made you sleepy and him being on top of you is making your mind hazy. “I wish I could,” is all you add.
He looks at you, “Maybe that’s the next thing we find.” He was talking about a tattoo gun, “That’s the kind of junk people don’t need now, we’ll look.”
He plays with your hair again, both your smiles are so innocent and lazy, you two would knock out soon, but it was nice to talk about something that used to be mundane for a moment.
“What if we do it and it turns out bad?”
“We’re not gonna find it tomorrow.”
“Right,” you say, moving on. “You know… I remember I used to be so scared of that stuff— needles and blood. I can imagine wincing just thinking about a needle touching me at the doctor’s… But now, I think that’s a pain I’d actually prefer… Rather than the other things we’ve gone through… If there ever was a choice like that.”
He agrees, “If there was a choice, I’d be covered by now.”
You two laugh at that, letting go of each other. Your bodies are on your sides, parallel to one another as you lay down. You’re on the side that faces the window and Daryl’s back is to it. He sees the moonlight illuminate your face because of it, the glow makes you look enchanting.
He wonders if you would get one— a tattoo, or another one, of this: of the moon; of the night where you showed each other parts of your bodies you wanted to hide, thinking they were flaws; of the night where you accepted each other fully despite it. Where he laughed and felt happy even after he shared something so dark. He almost never laughs or feels happiness in its totality, but with you, he does. It happened right now as he’s looking at you.
You see his face glistening in tandem with the white light that shines on you, it’s darker, but it’s still there. You were wondering the same exact thing.
Your eyes feel heavy now. They slowly flutter shut, but you try to keep them open. You don’t want him to leave. But he sees that your face dozing off, you’re tired, your eyes keep trying to close and close fully. He quietly gets up to go, but you stop him. Holding onto his forearm, sliding down to his hand. “Just stay,” you murmur, “please,” it’s light and dream-like. So he does. He doesn’t want to let go of your hand. He doesn’t want to let go of you.
You both stay at your sides, your intertwined hands at the center. He continues to look at you and you smile softly as your body finally allows your eyes to close shut. You drift swiftly to sleep. And he stays awake for a while longer, fixed on you and your slowing breath until sleep finds him too.
Daryl being right there, and you being right next to him, made everything infinitely better.
Despite it being vague on details, feel free to skip around areas of this one if you are not comfortable with reading about the reader being imprisoned at the Sanctuary.
Trinkets No. 7 & 8: The Second Ribbon and the First Kiss ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ જ⁀➴ -`♥︎´-
Confessions From a Broken Bowman and a Battered Beaut
It had taken a long while for you and Daryl to talk again after you escaped the Sanctuary.
The last time he saw you was through your tears as Negan’s men threw him in a van, your eyes bloodshot, wanting to scream and plead. He felt it was his fault that he didn’t fight harder; he felt that it was his fault that you were in there for so long; felt it was his fault that you were taken there in the first place. He couldn’t save Glenn— a burden he still carried so deeply, even after talking to Maggie— and that led to not being able to save you. He felt like he left you, not knowing you would have been in the same place he was if he didn’t escape before you got there. But what choice did he have? He didn’t know. And he doesn’t even know if it’s a good or bad thing to admit that in a heart beat, he would take another day of torture, of abuse and pain, if it meant he was with you, and you could make it out together. One more day for him would have been worth your days only adding up to one hand if it could. It would have been better than just waiting for you on the other side. Having to hide just so Negan wouldn’t find him and kill him and more of his friends because of it.
And even worse, what if he threatened Daryl with you instead? Especially since you were still there, with him. That’s part of the reason why Daryl wanted to blow up the Sanctuary. It would have just been one side. Just enough to cause the chaos you needed to run away from your captures and back home. You were fast enough, he knows you are, and you must have known all the exits by now. He tried to convince himself of it. Rick told him it was a bad idea, dangerous to do that to the workers, and most importantly to you— it too many what ifs if it didn’t work out— but what else was he supposed to do? He needed you out, and the Saviors to be gone. It felt like the only choice.
But then, Daryl saw your face. You got out, you didn’t need another fire. It must have been their first attack against the Sanctuary that helped.
Your breathing was so heavy when you finally stopped, you were running so fast, there were patches of dirt all over you, sweat dripping from your neck. It must have been fate that he, Tara, Micchone, and Rosita were right there on the other side, ironically trying to go back to the place you just escaped from.
All their guns were pointed in your direction. They heard the gunshots, they heard someone running. They instantly dropped everything when they saw that it was you.
It felt like the world turned in its full rotation in seconds, coming into a halt all in this moment. The woods, the running, the chance encounter— him; it’s like you were brought right back to the start.
He was speechless, stunned in a way he didn’t expect, mouth agape and yours the same. You didn’t know what to say and he didn’t know how to apologize in the way he felt he should, so you both just stood there. Tears started to well in your eyes. All he did in the end was look down.
This exchange of stares happened only in a mere matter of seconds until Rosita brought you in for a hug, cursing leaving even though she knew you didn’t have a choice, being so happy you were back, but for you it felt agonizingly long.
And for Daryl, it all felt endlessly hopeless. The reality that his plan probably could, or most definitely would have killed you sunk in. He was stupid for thinking that it could work. And seeing you in that wife's dress? A black bow tied to the back of your head? It was unbearable. He hates that he found it hard to even look at you.
The two other women welcomed you back, Michonne even looked teary eyed. The sight made some of your own tears fall because of it. She took you by the shoulder and Rosita took your waist, guiding you to the trunk. Tara went back near Daryl, she wanted to ask if their new plan at the Sanctuary was still a go but waited when she noticed Rosita sent a glare Daryl’s way. It honestly did more to Tara than Daryl. He didn’t even bother meeting her face, he was already punching himself for his silence, for his inaction. He just got in the driver’s seat and took off.
After that, you watched him, waiting to see when his eyes would finally meet yours, but he tried to avoid them as much as he could. The only time he spoke to you was to ask if you were okay when Alexandria fell and you were all in the sewers, and when he entrusted you to take care of Judith as he guided everyone to the Hilltop afterwards.
This treatment was excruciating, but you said nothing. You didn’t feel like yelling at him, you just wanted him. And there was no time between when you came back to right now when you could speak alone anyway if you did want to yell. If you asked why he probably would just shoved you off and you’d get more sad and upset than you already were, or maybe you’d pester, demanding some kind of answer and he'd be the one that might yell… no reason to fight in front of people, especially since there are so many other things to worry about.
But you remember when you finally got to the Hilltop, and how you saw the way he embraced Carol almost right after he saw her. You weren’t upset about that specifically. You admired Carol, even if you didn’t get to know her that well yet. You knew they loved each other, you thought they had a beautiful relationship… It wasn’t that. It was the fact that you fought all the way to get back to your family, to him, and it felt like it was all just so he could act like a stranger again. He didn’t even say hello when he saw you, or ask how you got out, or that he missed you. Maybe he didn’t. That was the real reason you said nothing. The thought broke your heart.
You could at least say that Negan talked to you, and didn’t keep all his feelings inside– whether they were real or not, you were only half sure somtimes– but your time at the Sanctuary, becoming a soon-to-be-wife, it was a hardship only you endured. No one would understand the humor of that sick joke, and it especially wasn’t the time nor would it ever be when everyone hated him and wanted to kill him so desperately.
The next day came by, you all prepared for the Saviors to attack at Hilltop. You were on a break, sitting in the cellar. It was dark, but it helped relieve you from the incessant heat that beamed outside.
Daryl was looking for you. This happened to be the third place he went around. He had just spoke to Rick, apologized for their fight. He felt awful that it took until after Carl passed for them to talk about it, and that his passing made Rick start to believe all the killing might be the only option like Daryl believed before. He still wasn’t sure what he felt now. All he knew is he couldn’t let you two go on like this any longer. It was time to talk to you.
As he opened the cellar door he kept it slightly open, letting the light emanate through.
He sits down next to you, bringing his knees up as he usually does. You don’t bother looking at him. Maybe he would just ask you to do him a favor like last time.
There is silence for a moment. He doesn’t know where to begin. All he decides to say is, “You got Judith here safe, I made sure Rick knew. Thank you.”
“You’re the one who led us here.” Your voice says quietly.
“You helped chop a lot of those walkers down in the swap.”
You sigh, not answering him right away. “This isn’t a competition.”
“I know,” he mutters.
Silence is all that hangs in the air again. With each second that passes it makes your throat swell, bubbling up to your tongue and brain as it usually does until you’re trying to hold back tears.
Daryl was feeling similarly. All his words were caught in his throat too, wanting to be said out loud but he can’t, it’s like someone is squeezing and choking him right there. And he can see your teary eyes, it could almost make his eyes match.
He says your name low and slow, “Do you hate me?”
You’re stunned at the thought. Your words are hushed but vehement, “How could you ever think I’d hate you?”
“I left you-”
“You didn’t know.”
“I could’ve fought harder when they put me in that van, you grabbed onto me and I still let them take me—”
You speak in between his words, “Why are you acting like you had a choice?!”
“—I could’ve went back right after they told me that’s where you were. Not leave you! I coulda done that.”
You shake your head, your voice a sharp whisper, “If you tried either of those things you would have been dead. Everything would be worse and this probably still would have happened.”
“I could’ve done something,” is all he repeats. Quietness fills the space again. You’re never going to agree on this. He’s stuck on what happened and you’re upset about what’s happening.
You breathe in shakily. He’s still finding it hard to look and it hurts, it makes you sad and angry.
Your voice becomes stifled, almost weepingly as you ask, “Daryl… Why can’t you even look at me? Why have you barely talked to me since I came back?”
His voice raises strainingly, “Cause I left you.”
Your voice cries as your head shakes again slowly, “You didn’t leave me, they took me. You left me now.” That makes him turn. You see his eyes, they’re puffed and the whites of his eyes are a faint red, and yours are still watery. “It’s not your fault.”
The backs of your fingertips brush against his cheek, feeling the bristles of his beard and you go down further, continuing to shake your head sadly, moving back to your face to wipe your own tears.
“Did they put you in that cell? Take your stuff?”
“Only the first time I came there. And then the two other times I tried to escape. After that I was sent to sleep with the other girls.” Your voice is quiet, “I don’t think it was the same for me like it was for you.”
“Did he,” he almost can't say it, “Did he hurt you?”
You knew what he meant. All you could do was shake your head slowly, it was a gesture of no.
He nods, his mouth fixed. Some relief is finally released from that, but this doesn’t change anything. They still took you away, they probably put you in a cell, they don’t deserve mercy. He wants to tell you that you all are still going to kill Negan and how he still plans on killing Dwight, but he holds his tongue. This wasn’t what being with you was about right now. His mind races with plans, just thinking of how to get close to them, how to commit the final act, until you speak, reading is mind again.
“I-” you stutter ashamedly, “I think- I know that my time in there has changed me and maybe I see things differently or know more than I used to but… it doesn’t change that I’m with you. I never let that go.” You whimper, “It just hurt when you didn’t say anything to me. Like you were disgusted by me.” You can’t help the string of sobs that come out.
“No,” Daryl holds your face close to his. The bottom of his palm reaching your neck, his fingertips extending over your cheeks, his thumb caressing over the area under and behind your ears. “I fucked up. I was going to try to blow up a part of the Sanctuary… even before I knew you got out… If you got hurt that would have been my fault. That would have been on me. I’d never see you again- Would’ve hated myself.” His voice hitches, it’s rasp so coarse and grating.
You hug him instantly. Your hands go under his arms and one of his goes in your hair, holding your head so tightly as it presses into his shoulder. He cries, “I’m sorry.”
“Stop” You breathe him in, “It’s okay.”
“It aint.”
“It doesn’t matter now.“ You wait a moment, telling him quietly into his neck, “I only want to be with you.”
“And what if it goes bad? What if I hurt you again?”
“We’re going to hurt each other, Daryl. What matters is we try and we stay. That’s it.”
He faces you now. His nose brushes against yours, your foreheads connect, it makes your eyes flutter shut. Your tears are drying the longer he holds you like that and everything feels so warm. Your heart, your brain, your cheeks and his fingertips against them. It makes you feel it again, that fearlessness— you kiss him. Gently touching his jaw, your chin moves upwards, your mouths opens, your lips twist so softly with his, you already can’t breathe, and then you let go.
As he looks at your face, he smiles, realizing he’s seeing the girl he used to know again. His sunshine girl with the stars in her eyes. They’re shining up, still half sad and glossy, but the bright lights are slowly coming back on. His dream is back. She’s real. You’re real. You’re trying, you’re staying, so will he.
He takes your neck and kisses you this time. His tongue slips in, you’re so surprised, you gasp into his mouth. It makes you both smile into the kiss. You come closer and he helps you into his lap, allowing you to lean in. His hands go to your waist and yours to his shoulders. Then one of his hands runs up to your hair and your opposite hand does the same to him. You want to touch each other everywhere now.
Then he feels the ribbon, the black one. It makes him stop.
You’re worried, “What happened?”
He holds the piece of hair that the ribbon is secured to, it’s only a little part, the rest of your hair is down, and he undoes the bow, discarding it to the ground. Your hair falls messily over your ears and down your neck. “You don’t need that anymore.”
Daryl pushes your hips and you sit on the floor again. He’s reaching in his pocket, and you can’t believe it, it’s another one. A dark ruby, maybe a silky burgundy one it was in color— it was another ribbon.
“How long have you had that?”
“Since I found the other one.” He shrugs, “I thought the first one was better.” This one had fraying on one end, unraveling just a bit.
You would have said that you could sew it later, but you didn’t, you said only what mattered: “It’s perfect.”
Daryl doesn’t argue. This is him trying, he takes the win.
He doesn’t know how to put it nicely in your hair, how you do it with the different styles, so he just wraps all of your hair in a ponytail, just like last time, tying it into a bow.
It feels like a gift, not just because he gave it to you and not because it looks like a decoration on top of one, but it is all of it— this moment, the conversation— it all feels like breathing new life into something you worried might be slowly withering and dying. You exhale, it felt so nice to feel him so close, to feel his fingers run through your hair, to feel his breath on your skin.
“Think maybe this suits you better now,” he says, and maybe it always has.
He leans back against the wall and you lay your head and back in the crux of his knees and chest. You look up into his eyes and he does the same right down at you. There was more work to be done, more fighting to endure, but for now, you lay there as if you were the only two in the world. In a moment of sweet understanding; in a moment of love. You could finally admit it to yourself now, you were absolutely and monumentally in love.
… I could go on forever ♡ perhaps this can be a mini-series where I post one when I think of another and you can feel free to request a trinket you think Daryl would give the reader and I’ll post it and respond or even write a blurb for it and add it to the list if it’s a good fit! Thank you for reading. ⋆｡°✩
#daryl dixon#daryl dixon x reader#daryl dixon fluff#daryl dixon imagine#daryl dixon x fem!reader#daryl dixon x female reader#the walking dead#the walking dead fluff#twd fanfiction#twd fluff#daryl dixon fanfiction#daryl dixon x you#daryl dixon x y/n#writella’s sfw section
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Syrupy Sweet: Nasty Baker! Soap x Reader
tumblr deleted the orgininal for whatever reason. Luckily I tracked down a reblog. Edited and added some new stuff (love tumblr for deleting my most popular post, rip my 600+ notes 😔)
NSFW 18+
Soap is forced into an early retirement. He gets a job at a small bakery. And that's where he meets you
➔ gn!afab!reader (described as having boobs & wearing a bra), creepy soap, pervy soap, obsessive soap, lust at first sight, non/dub-con cum eating, dirty thoughts, fantasizing, humping inanimate objects, coming in panta
After so many years working in the military, serving his country. Protecting the people of the world from danger. The last thing Soap expected waas tyo be discharged so suddenly and with so little warning.
Too much time working with explosives has affected his hearing. A bad knife wound, or a torn Achilles tendon. A bad break that never healed right. A couple of head injuries too many.
"An early retirement," they'd called it. Forced retirement more like it. They won't even tell him why, just that he's, "no longer fit for active duty," and that he should be grateful that they, "got him such a nice deal. That he gets to keep his pension."
He’s bitter about it, understandably, He likes his job. He’s good at it. They can’t be serious about this! His performance hasn’t been hindered.
Regardless of the reason, in spite of his arguments, Soap is benched, permanently. Price is apologetic, Ghost is... Distant, though that's to be expected. Gaz promises to keep in touch. And he does keep in touch, they all do.
But it’s ot the same. Soap still feels lonely. Bored. He doesn’t know what to do with himself or all the time he suddenly has on his hands. Doesn’t know how to operate without the adrenaline rush, without something to occupy his hands and minds. He figures that, maybe, he should get a job. A civilian job. Not one of those cushy desk jocky jobs Price had offered him out of pity, Soap wants a job far removed from the military. Really reintegrate himself into normal, civvie life.
After a bit of searching along the drizzly cobbled Glasgowian streets, Soap finds a little coffee shop and bakery nearby. A tiny, quaint little thing, run by a sweet old woman who just doesn't have the energy to keep the doors open on her own.
The place is situated on a street corner, tucked away from the busy traffic-filled streets. A soft bell jingles when the door opens. The sign is hsand painted. The place, though clearly aged, is well looked after, loved. The wood floors and counters shine; the tables and chairs, though antique, are comfortable, well made; plants hang from the ceiling; and a couple bookshelves line a wall, a leave a book take a book community library.
Soap applies for the position and despite his lack of experience, he gets the job. Something about him reminding the old woman of her own son.
At first, Soap worked there with her. Learning the ins and outs of the trade. How to make meringue and bread and macrons and creme brûlé. It's not easy, not at first, but with practice and time, he gets the hang of it.
He figures it's because of his experience with explosives and chemistry. Baking is... Kind of the same thing.
Eventually, he's left to tend to the day-to-day affairs of the bakery. The woman still writes all the recipes and makes some of the breads. But he's the one managing the front of the house.
It's where he meets you.
Sweet. Kind. Polite. Breathtaking. Irresistible. Sexy. You.
You come tumbling into the warm bakery on a day when the weather is particularly bad, even for Scotland. Strong winds, cold rains threatening to turn to hail, thunder rumbling in the distance.
You're soaked to the bone. Hair dripping. Shoes leaving puddles in your wake as each of your steps is announced by a wet squish. Your full cheeks bitten by the cold, fingertips numb, you offer him a blinding smile.
He's more focused on your tits though. And your bra. Visible through your thin, now see-through, shirt. Black lace. He can see how your chest rises and falls with each breath you take. He can even see a small mole, or maybe a birthmark, on the swell just above the cup of your bra. He wants to sink his teeth into you. Wants to suck that mark into his mouth, chew and lick at it, make it bigger. Make it his. Make you his.
He's drooling a little, he realizes absently.
"Hey," you say softly, wiping at your nose with your sleeve. Hands curled into adorable little sweater paws as you try to wipe your wet hands off on your equally wet pants.
Soap just stares at you, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Shell shocked. He... He’s never... You’re so... He... Holy fuck.
Eventually, he clears his throat and manages a smile, stepping a bit closer to the counter so he can hide the growing tent in his pants. He forces himself to meet your eyes, rather than stare at your chest.
But they’re staring at me, his innermost thoughts whine, wanton and airy in his mind. So desperate for attention... for love... ready to be suckled and bit and groped and pinched...
Johnny leans forward, elbows resting on the counter and chuckles, flashing you an easy, charming smile. "Hey... Looking for something to warm you up?"
Please say you've already found what you're looking for. Please say you want him to warm you up. With his hands. His mouth. His cock. Please say–
"Yeah... Do you guys do hot chocolates?"
"It's not on the menu, but I've got my own stash in the back," he says as he looks you up and down. But how could you blame him? What with your... everything! This is your fault, honestly. Dirty, dirty, little thing, wearing a white shirt in the rain. You know what you’re doing. Something sinister and heated bubbles in his gut. A thick, molten, syrupy desire, a primal need. A sort of instinctive pull, a fish lured in by the soft glow of an angler fish. A moth to a flame. Helpless but to stare, slack jawed, and fighting back drool, as you stare up at him expectantly, He smiles, his lips spreading further as he notices your flustered state, how you shift under his stare, biting your lip as he looks you up and down. Logically, it’s a nervous reaction. But, in Soap’s quickly spiraling mind, it’s a clean indicator that you want him too. "I'll make one, special for you, darling."
Your eyes sparkle, your smile tears the breath from his lungs. "Really? Oh my god, thank you."
Soap grabs a mug from the shelf and twirls it around his finger. He pulls up his sleeves, bunching them around his mid biceps. He flexes, purposefully, showing off the hard-earned muscles in his arms, the scars, the prominent veins, his big, strong hands. Hands that would look so perfect around your neck. Or holding your wrists. Or deep between your shaking legs reaching deep and good, far past anything you could reach on his own. He wonders if you’re a crier. He hopes that you are.
Soap notices the way your eyes fall to the newly exposed skin. The way your jaw drops a little. The way you close your mouth. The way you glance away before quickly looking back. The way your throat bobs when you swallow...
Holy shit.
He can give you something else to swallow if you'll let him. Please let him.
He rolls his hips against the counter and lets out a stuttering breath through his nose. His lips part. His tongue feels thick and leaden in his mouth.
A moan bubbles in his throat, he disguises it as a cough. "Can..." He swallows another noise as he shifts his stance, achingly cock pressed against the teeth of his zipper. He makes a show of dusting the counter off, acting like he's tossed something into the bin so he can adjust his pants. "Can I get you anything else?"
Your eyes, gorgeous eyes, scan the menu and the display. "A cinnamon bun?" You ask, pointing to the delicacy through the glass case. "Please and thank you."
"You're in luck," he says, rutting against the counter again, as quick and harsh as he can without drawing attention. A part of him thoough, a sick, twisted, part of him that quickly spreads his mind like a weed, corrupting and poisoning, wants you to notice. Wants you to catch him. To punish him. "Just made a fresh batch... I've just got to head back and ice them."
"Oh, I'm fine with one of them from the display, you don't need to trouble yourself."
Oh, and how sweet you are...
You keep chewing on your bottom lip. Part of him wants to stop you, tell you that that’s his job. Wants to bite your lips until they’re raw and swollen.
He's fucked. Well and truly fucked.
He smiles. You’re blissfully ignorant of the darkness lurking in his eyes. "No trouble at all... It's my pleasure."
And it is his pleasure. Very much so.
He comes out a bit later, a little out of breath. A little red in the face. A couple buttons undone on his shirt.
"Hot in there," he says with a smile, setting the mug and a cinnamon bun on the counter in front of you. He sets another little plate down, a doughnut. Chocolate frosting with a cream filling, the sticky white substance still pouring from the hole.
"I uh, I didn't order that," you say with a little, awkward laugh. "The doughnut."
"I know you didn't, sweet thing... It's a new recipe I've been trying out. Trying to get right... Mind telling me what you think? It's free of charge, promise."
"Oh," you blink, staring up at him with those wide eyes. God, how he wants to see those eyes watering. How he wants to see those eyes tearing up as you choke on his cock. How he wants to see you cry as he fucks you. You smile. "Thank you!"
You pay for your drink and dessert and blink up at him from under your lashes. Your smile turns shy as you chew your lip. Stop it. Stop it. You’re going to make him lose his mind. You have to know what you’re doing to him. You have to. "Keep the change."
He smiles. "Thanks."
You find a seat in the corner and settle in the corner with a book. Soap keeps an eye on you the whole time. Watches you as much as he can without attracting unwanted attention.
His cock throbs in his pants when he sees you take your first bite of the cinnamon roll. When you wipe at the icing with your thumb and lick it clean. He watches with delight as you eat and drink, rolling his hips against the counter in time with the bobbing of your throat as you swallow.
Soap watches you with rapt attention as you enjoy the desserts. His lips parted, jaw slack, drooling. He wonders if he could convince you to lick it away. He is so glad that he stopped by the office to record the security footage. He’s going to be watching this over and over and... Fuck!
With a final grind of his aching cock against the counter, his boxers are flooded with a wet, sticky warmth. He mourns it going to waste like that. His cum belongs in you. Your tight pussy, round ass, past your full lips.
"How was it?" He asks, breathless, when you return your dishes to the counter. He shifts his stance, hiding the wet spot in his pants. He's not embarrassed that he came in his pants just from watching how your throat moves as you swallow. At watching the way that you lave your tongue over your fingers, licking the thick glaze away with a spit-slicked tongue.
He just doesn't want to weird you out.
"It was amazing," you say. "I really liked the balance of the sweet with the salty... Sometimes the sugar is just... Too much."
"I agree," Soap says, breathless. He swallows a lump in his throat. "I agree."
You become a regular from then on. He always gets you freshly baked items, from the back. No matter how busy.
He's not supposed to alter the recipes. But he doubts the lady will mind that he made a change. All he did was put a little love into the recipes. A little bit of himself in the sour cream glaze.
Keep your eyes peeled for a part 1.5 involving what soap did in the back room!
Comments and reblogs help motivate!
Masterlist!
#call of duty#cod mwii#cod#john soap mactavish#soap x reader#x reader#dark fic#johnny soap mactavish#cod x reader#nastybaker!soap
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Yandere Ghost x Reader
CW// NSFW (MINORS DNI WITH PART OF THIS POST), Dub-Con, Obsessive Behavior, Masturbation, Stalking, Mentions of Murder, Religion, Somnophilia
Introduction here for more context
Masterlist
When you spoke to Dante for the first time he felt more alive than when he was living.
You could see him. For the first time in centuries someone could see him. He could finally interact with somebody.
“Y-You can see me?”
He could never let you go now. No… this must be fate. God brought you to him! The Lord denied him access to the heavens and sent you instead!
Well, now you have a ghost following you around your own home 24/7. Tell him to leave you alone and he’ll just whine and beg for you to let him be in the same vicinity as you.
“Dante please leave me alone. I’m trying to write.”
“Amore mio, my love, please let me stay. I promise I won’t disturb you. Just let me be in your presence.”
The perks of being a ghost means Dante can choose whether to phase through objects or touch them.
Meaning he can touch you.
You’re so warm. It’s been so long since he’s felt such warmth. You’re the sun in his new life. Yes, he sees his death as life now thanks to you.
“Dante your hands are freezing!”
“I’m sorry dearest but I can’t control it. I’m a ghost after all.”
“Could you maybe not touch me then while I’m trying to work then?”
“:,(“
He’s madly in love with you, obsessed with you, and would die again for you. He prays that you feel the same way for him. But you’re just so dense towards his advancements!
“I would die a thousand deaths for you amore.”
“Please don’t do that, dying once should be enough for you.”
He cannot blame you though, no no you’re a doll! Absolutely adorable. Nothing is ever his amore’s fault.
Dante blames himself. When he was alive he could have any woman he wanted. But that was when he could show his gorgeous face. Now, he has a Venetian mask permanently attached to his face because it was what he last wore when he died during the party. If only he could take it off and show you how flawless he is.
“Dante, why do you wear that mask?”
“It was what I wore when I died, along with what I am wearing now. I… cannot take any of it off.”
“How come?”
“I don’t know mi amor but I wish I could show you my face.”
“Are you handsome?”
“Oh I’m absolutely ravishing. You’d fall in love with me immediately.”
Physical affection is his love language and not being able to kiss you is as painful as dying to him.
Your lips are so soft and it breaks his heart being unable to feel them on his.
So instead he’ll trace the lips of his porcelain mask along your neck while you sleep. He’ll touch your body while you’re vulnerable and asleep.
“I wish I could feel you… I want all of you.”
You notice some of your things start to go missing. Your bat necklace, blood red lingerie, and even a pair of your panties. It was weird. It wasn’t like you traveled and lost your things, you were always home after all.
The only room you cannot access is the attic. Dante says that it’s his private area so you respect his privacy. This was his home originally after all.
But you have no clue that he has put together a shrine dedicated to you in the attic. All of your missing things are in their respective spots in the shrine built in your name.
“If I pray hard enough will you give yourself to me as I have given myself to you?”
He’s a religious man. He believes in God and was raised Catholic. Dante prays every night, begging the lord for you to love him back.
Dante can’t stand it when you leave the manor!
He makes up many excuses for you to stay. He needs you! You’re his life! Yes you work from home and are home 90% of the time but he can’t stand seeing you go even for a second!
“Amore mio please don’t go! You have everything you need here. You still have milk in the refrigerator.”
“But I’m running out of eggs..”
“That is no problem my dear. There are many recipes you can make without eggs. I have my Mother’s cookbook somewhere. How about we try and make something together?”
“Oh that sounds cool.”
Adores your aloof personality. You don’t mind it when he cuddles you at all! Plus your smiles are rare so it makes him all the more merrier when he sees you smile. He thinks of your smile like a shooting star. Rare and more beautiful than any other star in the sky.
But he does wonder where your attitude came from. You don’t like to talk about your life before you came to the manor. The ghost wanted to know if there were any previous suitors. He has tried to pry once but you became angry. He never pried again.
“What was your life like before you came here? Any… special someones?”
“I don’t wanna talk about it Dante..”
“So was there someone?”
“Just be quiet about it already! Stop being so damn nosy and mind your own business!”
Cried for the rest of the day after that. He hates seeing you anything other than your neutral or happy self.
His green eyes glisten with tears when you apologize to him. They peer at you from the dark holes of his mask.
“Sorry I snapped at you… Who I was with in my past is a sensitive subject and I don’t like talking about him.”
“Was he a bad man? Did he hurt you amore?”
“Badly…”
He wants to kill him. As soon as he heard you say that one word he had the bloodthirsty urge to kill. It’s a sin but… but whatever. It’s for you.
Anything for you.
NSFW ONWARD, MINORS DO NOT TRESSPASS
Can’t resist you any longer. But… He doesn’t want to scare you off.
Dante wants to fuck you so badly. He’d treat you so so right! He already kisses the ground you walk on.
But he’s afraid of rejection. If you leave then it’s over. Once you’re off The Verona Manor property he cannot chase after you.
Dante may be a depraved animal for you but he’s still a gentleman. He wants you to fall in love with him as all couples in love do.
But you’re taking too long. Would you be mad if he just so happened to slip into you in your sleep? Your s/c thighs are so tempting in those lewd little shorts that hide little to nothing.
“J-Just the tip… Just a little bit.”
Slides your shorts down slowly. He watches your expression carefully, green eyes gaze piercingly at your resting face. If you just so much as whimper he’ll freeze and continue once you’re relaxed again.
Once your shorts are down to your knees he practically drools at the sight of your lace panties.
“Amore mio, did you wear these just for me? You knew I’d do this huh? Such a vixen you are.”
Massages your clothed clit with his leather bound gloved fingertips. Rubs soothing circles into you that make you squirm where you lay helplessly.
Stares at your dripping cunny like a desperate, thirsty animal who has found an oasis in a desert. He wants to lick up your slick so badly. But that damned mask is in his way.
His fingers will have to do.
Your pussy flutters around his fingers as he gently eases your hole. He doesn’t want you waking up with his dick in you after all. He needs you to get used to the feeling. You haven’t had sex in so long, you may was well be a virgin!
Dante’s dick leaks pre at the thought of taking your virginity. He knows you aren’t, you have had past partners. But he wants to imagine.
Just for tonight.
He tugs his pants down, his erect cock slaps against his tummy. The tip is red and angry, begging to be put into your sweet little cunt.
“A-Ah~ Mmggph… W-Wish you were awake s-so I could hear your pretty little moans~ I know they would sound so pretty from your lips m-mi amor-“
Whispers dirty little things into the night as he fucks your tight little hole slowly and gently.
Even when asleep you’re dripping wet for him. Your unconscious arousal turns Dante on like a light switch. But he has to maintain control.
Just the tip after all.
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#x reader#yandere imagines#yandere oc x reader#yandere oc#obsession#dante verona#yandere ghost#yandere ghost x reader
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Donation Found!
Remember Ryder? The SoCal pretty boy who was depressed that his life was a vapid, superficial, and party focused existence? He contacted Turnaround Technologies to ask, nay plead for a new body and a new life. See his Donation Request Form.
If only it were that simple. Turnaround Technologies utilizes some of the most advanced science on the market. When a body is fully adjusted, it's a slow and sometimes torturous process! If it was as simple as switching brains, that would be one thing. But the subjects have to physically transform into one another, and then brainwaves are overwritten. Chemistry, genetics, biology, and psychology are all involved in this elaborate process.
So Ryder had to come up with the $325,000 fee. Luckily, he had money saved and he was able to sell off the red Mustang convertible and his yellow Yamaha Sport Bike to meet the target. The final straw was giving up the deed to his WeHo apartment. Don't tell him, but his donor bought the items! Isn't that funny? He covered the rest with personal loans! Well, a little bit of debt won't hurt.
Let's remind you of where Ryder is starting his journey:
And now let's the see information plate for his donor. I think he'll be very pleased! After this, he'll never have to worry about being surrounded by vapid, beautiful people and fending off pesky pool party invites! Yes, this is the ideal swap partner for Ryder.
Meet Dr. Pervus Fondler. And wouldn't you know it? Dr. Fondler was a doctor in Ryder's hometown! They actually know each other. The good doctor cares very deeply for Ryder and was pained when he heard about his current circumstances. He decided that his job as a physician meant he had to step up and give the ultimate sacrifice! You know what they say: First Do No Harm.
Donor Statement: While I am nervous about the process, I am confident that I will give Ryder a new future, one where he won't have to worry about all that vanity and his gym obsession. True freedom for the boy!
Thank you, doctor, for going the extra mile for your patients. Turnaround Technologies will prepare the Exchange Chambers. Both subjects will be stripped down and cleansed before being placed in metallic, moisture wicking bikinis while our technicians prepare for the process:
Now that Ryder is dressed and the drugs are injected into his system, it's time to introduce him to his generous benefactor. I hope he has a positive reaction to the kind of man he will become. Let's check in!
Patient Statement: No! Holy shit! No, not Pervus the Perv! You can't put me in that. Don't force me into that body! I'd be going from a perfect ten to a zero. Please! No... LET GO. Please, oh my God. No, I thought it would be another buff guy like me. I change my mind, I changed my mi--**UMPH HRRMPH**
It's not clear why Ryder objected so strongly to his partner. Maybe it was the shock of knowing who the doctor was from earlier in his life. At any rate, he paid the fee and signed the paperwork so there is, quite literally, no going back. Swaps of this nature are once in a lifetime and, of course, quite permanent.
Subject had to be forcibly gagged and sedated.
Add another $125,000 for the service. Ryder sure is going to pay a lot of money for his new life!
When he came to in the chamber, Ryder was pounding on the door. I think he was crying. His oversize genitalia were mashed against the glass in his silver pouch. It was quite the sight. When the whirr of the machine began and the paralyzing blue light hit, his eyes went crossed. He fell backwards and pumped his hips in the air. Well, the erection is to be expected. I've heard the process somewhat erotic, though painful.
It takes a couple days and the exchange unstable during that time, but I am happy to report the following:
Donor Report: I feel good. Very good. I'm probably going to move to SoCal, sort of take over Ryder's apartment. I'll probably start using his name now too. Don't wanna confuse people. I don't even have my old, perverted urges. I hope he's comfortable with the mental traits foisted on him. Oh... he wants to take picture of me? Ha, okay. I'll flex for $100.
Recipient Report: What do you mean I can't go back *whimper* why do I feel so strange. I'm already out of breath. Give it back! What do you mean a name change is included in the package *sob* MY NAME IS PERVUS NOW??!?! Oh. I have to take his medical practice in my shithole hometown? Oh God! I just... oh goodness, seeing it from this angle it's such a fine body. So tight and firm! At least flex for me, my boy? A little. So I can snap a few pics and... use them later. Eehehe. Oh God, what have I become?
#body swap#male body swap#male transformation#muscle theft#mind swap#body switch#permanent#young to old#old to young
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what was left behind in the rubble P.2
1,150 words
soon to be harry x reader
summary: you moved in with your father Sirius Black from California two months ago and he completely ignores you when Harry arrives for your birthday your adoptive father visits you and hell breaks loose.
Sirius Black had many questions, as did everyone else.
Harry had been talking with Sirius about something, but at this point, he couldn't remember because of how often the subject would change. that's when he heard a knock on the door and the hushed voice of Remus who was practically interrogating him. "who are you? how did you find this place" Remus said harshly. As the man was about to answer both men heard a loud gasp coming from the hallway. Harry and Sirius both watched as y/n practically jumped off the staircase into the grasp of the strange man. "I can't believe you're here!" "Of course I'm here it's not like I would've missed your birthday," Joel said in a sarcastic voice. Joel was a large man. standing 6'5 (taller than Sirius by 8 inches) and he had a scowl embedded permanently on his stubble-covered face. he was quite intimidating to put it shortly, although Harry could tell that wouldn't stop Sirius and his stupidity from picking a fight with the man. Joel smiled as he put down the strange object he was holding and spun y/n around. Harry looked at Sirius with wide eyes as Sirius stood up and walked cockily toward the much bigger man.
I'm sorry, and you are? Sirius said in a rude tone as Remus just stood back in shock. he and Molly had been trying to get you to open up to them for months. you never smiled or left your room. they would invite you to partake in activities with them but you would always refuse and opt to stay in your room with your muggle cassette tapes and guitar. seeing you switch up your demeanor and so easily jump into the arms of this random man made him reflect upon himself. maybe he should've tried harder. maybe he should try to bond with you over your interests. he felt as if he failed to be your godfather. Sirius despite having ignored you during all the time you had been staying in his house had a random rush of a fatherly authority. who was this strange man holding his daughter? Who the hell did he think he is? instead of wondering why you didn't act that way with him, he chose to ignore how happy you were with him and focus on getting this guy out of his house. "oh um Im Joel, her muggle guardian, that's what they call us right y/n? muggle?" "yeah Dad" Sirius felt his heart drop. all of a sudden his reality dawned on him. you never called him that. he never gave you the father-daughter relationship he was supposed to give you, instead he pushed you away just as he did your mother before she passed. though, he was much too prideful to let his self-reflection show in the presence of all these people. he was much too prideful to admit he had fucked up, it was a talent he carried throughout his life. his blissful ignorance. "I'm sorry but this home is being used by the order, you can't be here," he said in an attempt to get him to leave. Harry just watched as the other nosey children of the home started filling in the room silently as if they could smell conflict. Joel having picked up on the negative vibes Sirius sent his way instantly began returning the same hostility. "actually I was just about to leave" Joel said giving Sirius a fake smile "I just wanted to drop off y/ns gift before I take her out for the day" Sirius ignored the new information. he didn't know it was your birthday, he never bothered to ask. "what makes you think you can take out my daughter?" he said making a point to exaggerate the "my" "I'm not your daughter and I never will be" y/n said in a closed off tone. who the hell did he think he is? For the past month, he acted as if you didn't exist while he treated that Potter kid as if he was god himself. Joel noticed you're now closed-off manner and your fidgeting hands as he reached out to put his arm around you to calm you down. Sirius being the ignorant dumb child man he is ignored how uncomfortable you were and instead of backing down he chose to provoke Joel into arguing with her "I'm not letting some junkie take my daughter" "Oh please look at yourself you reek of cigarettes"
before Sirius could get the crap beaten out of him Remus stepped in and made him step down as you and Joel left. Remus had always wanted a family but he ignored the small one in front of him. having seen your beautiful platonic relationship with Joel Remus was now determined to make you feel more included even if he had to drag you out of your room. he was jealous and disappointed in himself.
you didn't come back for a long while. you showed Joel around the area that you were now somewhat knowledgeable about although you pretended as if you were an expert to make him impressed. Joel took you shopping in the muggle side of town, somewhere you haven't been allowed to go to. he even took you to the movies! Joel felt bad for the scene that Sirius he had caused.
when you walked into the dining room the tension thickened. the children in the room looked between the adults anticipating drama. "so, how was your day with your drug dealer?" "Sirius that's eno-" "What the fuck is your problem? You never cared about me until now, stop trying to act like your my dad because you never will be!" the table went silent. "I am your father, you are my blood!" Sirius squared like a segal on drugs as Molly ushered the children up the stairs. all left but Harry since he was so entitled to push himself into your problems. "Sirius does everything for you and you treat him like shit!" Harry said ignorantly. "oh I'm treating him like shit? I've talked to him twice in the 4 months I've been here!" you retreated up to your room pushing the other teens who were eavesdropping from the staircase. you flopped on your bed as you curled up into a ball and cried.
Remus felt terrible. even if he had treated you kindly he still sat back and allowed you to be treated as if you were nothing. he should've intervened earlier but now all he can do is hope you are willing to forgive him.
Remus knocked on the door "May I come in?" Remus said wearily "Yeah sure..." Remus walked into the room that was dimly lit by your muggle "led" lights. he didn't speak. he engaged you in his warm hugs and held you as you cried. "shh it's okay, let it out."
tag list
@moonys0chocolate @venomsvl @quackitysdrugdealer
#harry potter fanfiction#sirius black x daughter!reader#harry potter marauders#marauders era#Marauders#harry potter x reader#harry potter angst#angst#Remus Lupin#remus lupin x reader platonic#sirius black x reader angst
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minghao + beside you (keshi)
im thinking like a friends to lovers bc that’s what im getting from this song but it’s completely up to ur interpretation! cant wait to see what u do with this c:
HI BABES!!!!!
I got serious friends to lovers from this too so that's what I did! Shitting my pants rn hope you like it muah
masterlist
***
[11:35]
Dusting your hands on your pants, you attempt to pry Minghao away from the tire when he's not entirely convinced it's tightened.
It was 10 PM on a Thursday night and, Minghao took it upon himself to drag you out of the slum that was your dorm room and to some cliffside he had gone to with his friends. It was also mandatory for his pickup to get a flat tire just before you were about to head back home.
"It's thickening the plot" He had said, attempting to bring his forced positivity into a road with no streetlights and a scissor jack that took him 20 minutes to find.
You managed with your phone flashlights and a couple scrapes, more grateful that you weren't stranded in what was basically a forest by yourselves at nearing midnight.
"Can we sit in the back for a little bit more, I'm pooped" you whine, clambering into the blanketed cargo bed before he can reply.
Hao has an inability to say no to you so he obliges, wondering if he could switch gears a little bit and move to a topic he's been wanting to bring up.
You both are comfy, heads on pillows, looking up at the stars as you whip out your constellation app.
You're checking for Orion when Hao starts to talk.
"Do you still think about Jun?"
You freeze as you hear your ex's name, not expecting the abrupt change of topic.
"Haven't thought about that one in a minute" You reply with a laugh, looking over at him.
You were telling the truth. Because somebody else had taken over the empty space he left, very quickly.
"Why'd you ask?"
He turns to his side to face you, bringing his hand up to his head, elbows supporting.
"Do you have anyone in mind? You haven't gone out with anyone after Jun, just thinking about it"
Your face answers enough for him, and he starts smiling before letting out a yelp.
"There is someone, isn't there?!"
"No there isn't" You deadpan, trying to cover up for yourself.
"Yes, there is! Who is it, tell me"
He's bluffing just as much as you are, but he may be doing it better as you haven't caught on yet. Minghao is smart, observant, analytical; he knows when something's up. So when he began to feel the lingering touches and dreamy eyes, he knew what it was before you did yourself.
Not to say he didn't feel the same way, the window that came about after your split was enough to re-ignite the fire that he had attempted to subdue long ago. You only encouraged him.
It was cute, though, watching you struggle to keep your composure when asked the blistering question so head on.
"I'm not telling you!"
"So there is someone" He strikes the chord.
You look at him, a little like a deer caught in headlights. "That's not fair"
"Not my fault you're stupid"
"You're right, I was stupid enough to fall for you"
The universe had slammed the pause button the second the words tumble out of your mouth. The owl had stopped hooting, the trees had stopped rustling. You had stopped breathing.
You closed your eyes, not wishing to perceive anything. Your mouth with its tendency to voice your thoughts had gotten you in serious trouble before, but you really didn't think you could ever pull something of this caliber.
You wished you never fixed that tire, maybe you'd be left stranded here to die. It wouldn't matter that you had just effectively confessed to your best friend if you were both dead meat for the coyotes.
Unbeknownst to you, Hao had been smiling ear to ear. All smug once he got over the initial shock.
"Thought I wasn't your type?" he asks. He's enjoying your pain a little too much.
"Please, just don't" You moan, hand coming up to cover your face, in hopes of forgetting object permanence and perceiving Hao as nonexistent.
"Oh, you fool" He sighs dramatically.
You were expecting that.
You suddenly feel a hand removing the obstructions from your face, and what feels like a kiss is being placed right on your lips. He's smiling as he cradles your face, despite the awkward position. You open your eyes to look at him, finding him staring down at you with nothing but infatuation in his eyes.
You were not expecting that.
#seventeen#seventeen fluff#seventeen imagines#seventeen scenarios#svt#svt fluff#svt fic#svt imagines#svt scenarios#svt x reader#minghao#minghao fluff#minghao imagines#minghao scenarios#minghao x reader#seventeen x reader#em.writes#em.mika#em.drabblegame#toruro
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Dubcon mating with alpha dream except hob knows EXACTLY what hes doing:) hob has been all but throwing himself at dream all semester all "ohh wow i would NEVER leave MY alpha like that.. too bad i dont even have one :(" hell cut it as close as possible going to class through his pre heat just to hopefully give dream a wiff of how slick and fertile he is. Dream does not seem to notice. But hob is one of the few omegas in the school this year so hob thinks his chances are pretty good to be able to get him in rut. He follows dream to his office all smug and confident. But he wasnt prepared for how overwhelming getting held down and rut fucked was!! Hes trying to crawl away despite himself but only gets hornier when dream physically drags him back. Hob has fooled around before but never done more than some over the clothes stuff with an actual alpha.. dream gives him his first knot and latches his teeth to the back of his neck to mate him as well. Hob is a bit teary and dream still hasnt come back to himself.. his pants were ripped off his body along with his underwear but dream lays on top of him so hes not cold. Hob is determined to keep his alpha though. Hes got his gym clothes in his bag and he drags dream off to his own room, planning to hide long enough that the bond solidifies and an emergency break wouldn't be possible anymore :) good thing dream isnt awake to make hob see someone for that!! Hes got a weird sense of honor and hob is doing all he can to make the bond permanent before dream can get in his way :)
-🔪
Oh YES. Sneaky, sneaky Hob. This is excellent.
Hob is ambitious, ok? He’s been told all his life that he’ll never get anywhere or be anything. He sees it as his job to prove people wrong. So he has a plan: put himself through uni, get a fantastic fucking job, and get himself the most eligible alpha he can find.
Not necessarily in that order.
Dream is just perfect. Clever, rich, handsome. Hob can’t understand why anyone would leave him, but he’s not complaining. With Dream’s previous mating bond gone, Hob is free to make his move. He’s a little scared of how it will work out, but Dream has been nice to him and shown an interest in Hob! Not in a sexual way, but that’s only because he’s too professional. Hob is sure that Dream won’t object to them being mated. Hob isn’t the perfect omega, but he’ll do his best. He’s (mostly) a virgin, and he plans to take good care of his alpha. What more could Dream want?
And once he becomes lucid again, Dream is surprisingly compliant. He doesn’t seem angry. He panics at first, but once Hob assures him that he wanted Dream to fuck him and mate him, he just kind of… accepts it. He takes Hob home to his big empty house. He just seems pleased to have an omega around the place!
Hob gets his comeuppance for his sneakiness, because the house isn’t entirely empty. Dream soon introduces Hob to… his son. Orpheus is preschool aged and spends his time split between Dream and Calliope’s homes. Hob is suddenly thrust into the role of step-parent to a child who could conceivably be his sibling, while Dream breathes a sigh of relief because he really needs all the help he can get with Orpheus.
But Hob doesn’t believe in giving up! He rolls up his sleeves (figuratively and literally), speedily reads a couple of websites about blended families, and decides that he’s going to be the best fucking step-parent anyone has ever seen. He does regret his underhanded behaviour a tiny bit, but he’s made his bed and now he’s going to lie in it.
And he still gets to ride Dream’s dick at the end of the day, so… it could be a lot worse. Every time Dream grabs him at the waist and pulls him back onto his cock, shoving his knot more firmly into his hole, Hob remembers how it all started… and he’s honestly really looking forward to his next heat. Dream fucked him so good in his rut, so Hob is pretty sure that spending a pheromone loaded heat with him is going to be amazing. And maybe they’ll even make a little sibling for Orpheus :D
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I can't sleep, so sleepy thoughts in coming! So I was like thinking what if Bunny met Ada? Like say if she falls in love with Leon and one day he's away and Ada shows up at the door, (I still think he'd still love Ada a small bit) and Ada is telling her so many times that makes Bunny question her relationship with Leon and he gets back and hears everything
Aww man, you really had to hit me with this one didn't you Anon. lol Since you said Bunny reader, I'm assuming we're talking about Yandere!Leon from my Guardian Angel Fic (if not throw another ask my way and I'll do one for regular Leon.)
🖤 By this point, I'd like to assume Leon's plan had come full circle. His little Bunny loves him, trusts him, doesn't question him, etc. Things have been going good for a while (as good as they can when you're trapped with a delulu psycho lol)
🖤 When Ada shows up, I think at first Bunny would be untrusting, especially since this would be the first person besides Leon she's been around in a long time.
🖤 That being said, Ada would probably talk a lot about Leon, personal things she knows, etc. and it would be enough to convince her that Ada is the real deal.
🖤 After all the trauma she's gone through up until now, I think Bunny would be devastated, heartbroken. She'd finally given in to trusting Leon and their new life together -- and now she was thinking about all the things he did when he wasn't home. Was he really working? Was he meeting Ada? Were there other women too? It would make her feel so lonely now and foolish for having given up the fight to escape. 'Maybe he's really in love with her, but I'm just a pet to keep him busy.'
🖤 When Leon found out, his feelings would be complicated. I like to think that Ada was definitely one of the factors behind his now obsessive behavior - the fear of losing someone, wanting to protect and remain in control.
🖤 That being said, she's always been a part of his history he couldn't let go. He never went after her though because she's not an object to him, but someone who's close to equal ground. But he really can't let his Bunny go.
🖤 Ultimately, I think his need to keep his Bunny would outweigh the feelings he had for Ada, especially since he knows Ada would run off again, but Bunny needed him and was already there.
🖤 His heart would shatter seeing Bunny in tears, untrusting of him all over again because of Ada, and honestly, depending on his state of mind, he might finally decide to remove Ada from his life permanently. For someone like Leon, it's far easier to just ignore bad feelings or guilt instead of dealing with them. Out of sight, out of mind literally for anything that wasn't his obsession - not to mention Ada knew his little secret.
🖤 Regardless of how that situation ends - he'd crank the love-bombing up to max. He'd be reminding Bunny every day how much he loves her, how Ada lied to her out of jealousy. Might even give some actual explanations about his job and history. Gifts and physical affection galore. Lots of intimate sex too. Really anything he can think of to help make sure she understands.
🖤 Due to the unhealthy relationship dynamics, I don't know if Bunny would recover any time soon maybe not at all - especially since she still can't leave the property. Any time he went back to work or had to leave for supplies, she'd be very unhappy.
🖤There'd definitely be a shift in the relationship now that Bunny was extra insecure and jealous. This would manifest in mood swings between not wanting his affection at all to needing it, touching him at all times, begging him not to leave, etc.
🖤 Leon's punishments wouldn't have the same effect anymore either as likely Bunny would be apathetic to those kinds of things, especially if she felt there was no longer a point to trying to earn his affection.
🖤 If Leon couldn't love-bomb her enough to fix things, then he'd definitely resort back to gaslighting or finding a chemical at work to help Bunny forget or be more suggestible.
#nexys#Anon#Ask#Request#Leon Kennedy#Yandere! Leon Kennedy#Yandere!Leon Kennedy#Yandere Leon Kennedy#Guardian Angel Fic#Leon Kennedy x Reader#Headcanon#resident evil
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hii i just wanted to say i really appreciate how much love you put into all of your writings, its all so heartwarming and detailed, and you capture cedrics character SO well. you have such an in depth understanding of his personality and its commendable. i really admire your dedication and love for this guy and how willing you are to share it with others :]
but ya i have a request, a headcanon list (or story/anything u wanna do) of Cedrics autistic behavior and maybe how he would act with an autistic partner? the idea of there being this mutual understanding of each others needs is really sweet to me. also i personally hc him with adhd alongside autism so it would be neat if that could get mixed in somehow, too :D no problem if not!
ANON. WTF YOU'RE GONNA MAKE ME CRY FR?? THAT MEANS SO MUCH TO ME, THANK YOU. I get so scared of MISCHARACTERIZING Cedric, so to hear that I have an in depth understanding of him from you made my entire day, month, YEAR. I hope this headcanon list is good and up to expectations!!
AuDHD Cedric The Sorcerer Headcanons (With Autistic S/O)
Coming from someone with AuDHD with an autistic best friend, I can't stress how much source material I have to speak about this sifkdiieis
FIRST THINGS FIRST. SENSORY ISSUES GALOREEEEE. That man will shrivel and die if he were ever in the modern era and came into direct contact with a microfiber towel.
A secret Headcanon I have (outside of the reasons I listed in my first headcanon list about Cedric!) Is he wears gloves BECAUSE Cedric has sensory/texture issues. His potion ingredients seem incredibly bizarre at times, and I'm sure the textures of them just get overwhelming at times. If you're wondering why the fingertips are exposed, he might need the extra grip to handle delicate objects, etc etc.
His robe is basically a weighted blanket, argue with the wall. He needs to be regulated somehow, and he's still a nervous wreck anyways
We know Cedric's speech is affected by his audhd. Dude has pedantic speech, overly emotive or deadpan, his volume control is non-existent when excited.
Expanding on that, his tendency to mix up words for spells seems a little... Neurospicy, on top of the anxiety
Forgets spells constantly. Not actually forget how to do them, just forgetting they exist cuz adhd
Has CHRONICALLY turned his workshop inside out because the thing Cedric was using just disappeared after he set it down!
(it was in his hand the whole time lol)
HC that outside of, yk, lack of personal space because no one knocks except Sofia, Autism rage whenever you're being interrupted from a task, especially something your fixated on, DRIVES HIM SO INSANE
Lack of patience. Just. Irritable, and same
His only friend (before Sofia) was an animal companion. C'mon y'all.
Music is so important to Cedric! It helps him regulate. He sings, he dances, he appreciates the dragon Acapella! Definitely uses music to stim, as well as dancing. He does it way too much. Audhd people usually are very connected to creative outlets such as music
Speaking of, his flying machine? CEDRIC IS AN INVENTOR. SO MANY INVENTORS ARE/WERE NEURODIVERGENT
Cedric is so genuinely shocked by kindness from Sofia even though she's consistent with it. That can definitely be trauma, but also feels like a lack of emotional permanence
Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria SO BADDDDD Cedric would have a shutdown about it (thanks ADHD)
Prone to more shutdowns than meltdowns. But as we know, shutdowns inevitably lead to meltdowns anyways. I hc that Cedric is definitely seen as "melancholic" because his mood shifts as well as masking (poorly) his mental state after having meltdowns in private
Definitely tugs at his hair, bites himself, hits his head/fists on hard surfaces during meltdowns :((
Cedric's job as royal sorcerer is fun for the knowledge as special interest aspect, but the social parts leaves him in bad burnout, at least before his redemption
Still hates the social aspect of his job though
Potions are his special interest
The amulet of avalor was a hyperfixation, there I said it!
Due to trauma, but also to adhd, I think Cedric has no emotional object permanence. Dude for real acts a little TOO shocked towards Sofias kindness-
There is two types of audhd: sarcasm is the only language they're fluent in, and cannot distinguish sarcasm to save their life. Cedric is the first.
Sofia is the second type LMAO
Where's the same outfit everyday. Like. Cedric would buy the same set of clothes/outfits because too many choices are just overwhelming, and too many textures are Bad
Speaking of textures, again
Picky eater
I've never seen Cedric eat anything except those jellybean looking candies at his parents house
Jellybean/sweets as a safe food
I hc personally that Cedric is familiar with food magic because he conjures his own meals. I can't imagine people would respect his needs/wants enough to be especially accommodating, so he did it himself
Cedric talks to children as equals because of the lack of social hierarchy due to autism
However with the royals his age he is desperately trying to please people for the sake of acceptance (mood)
Okay
Rapid fire s/o headcanons!
Y'all either talk for hours, or parallel play without a word
Doing Nothing Together While Vibing Is Essential
Even though y'all understand each other well, sometimes the weird social rules you force yourself to mask with still stick. So sometimes y'all will have to ask "are you mad or are you unmasked rn"
Same thing with sarcasm. Taking jokes too literally so then you gotta ask for clarification. At this point it just adds to the joke xD
Cuddling/hugs is the best because THE DEEP PRESSUREEEEE
But also don't touch me when I need space pls
Infodumping whenever the chances arise
Seeing cedrics eyes sparkle his smile lines crease when talking about something that excited him feels like the warmest ray of sunshine
Cedric will sometimes get distracted by how much he loves you and loves seeimh you being happy while infodumping and will ask you to repeat things while apologizing profusely
Cedric will buy you little comfort objects you like or give you cool things he finds
Pebbling!!!
Sometimes y'all need to sleep alone for the sake of space, but other nights you gotta be in each other's skin
And both are okay!
Laying in bed doing a separate activity until bedtime is a good compromise when one of you doesn't want to spend the night, but still wants time together
Switching hyperfixations
Adopting each other's vocal stims/speech mannerisms
Suddenly you're saying Merlin's mushrooms UNIRONICALLY
When shutdowns happen, y'all have communication cards! Very helpful for both parties :))
You both doodled in the margins of each other's communication cards
Cedric chronically loses his and you now you're just letting him use yours until they manifest again 😭
Meltdowns, Cedric needs to be alone. He just can't handle ANYONE seeing it, even you
You respect that... And take care of him afterwards with whatever he needs
Whatever way you need support during shutdowns/meltdowns, Cedric accommodates without question
Just
So much love and acceptance and CHOOSING to put in the work in your relationship
Anyways, that's all I got! Feel free to add on! TYSM for the ask!! This was so lovely and self indulgent to write lmaooo
#cedric the sensational#cedricthesorceror#sophia the first#cedric x reader#cedric the sorcerer#sofia the first#autistic cedric#adhd cedric#also audhd#help this is more just audhd character analysis than headcanons
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WIP Wednesday
Today is a very special WIP Wednesday, because as some of you may know, as of a few hours ago...
I wrote 50,144 words in January.
I realized a few days ago that I was at 44K, and I'm not sure I'll ever have the downtime to do this again, so I figured I had to seize the moment. I'm super excited, so as a treat, I'm going to share not one, but two snippets from Seahorse Dad Henry (reminder that means trans & pregnant) with y'all. One above the cut, one under, for NSFW reasons.
First:
After spending about five minutes with Alex and Nora, he thinks he gets it. He can see how the two of them—sharp tongues, biting wip, a competitive give-and-take that’s endless and enigmatic and alluring and terrifying all at the same time—would have explosive sex. He can also understand how that would translate better into a lifelong friendship rather than a more permanent partnership, how they’re not quite complementary when it comes to matters of the heart.
Henry observes as Nora eggs Alex on until he’s attempting to disassemble his bed in less than ten minutes, he watches as she takes him down a peg when he comes in preening about being voted “Hottest Intern” by some of the junior associates. He also catches the moment when she’s too buried in her own project to notice that Alex comes home, looking grim in his white dress shirt covered in ink, notices when her joke about Alex being oblivious makes him grit his teeth.
Henry remembers each one, tattooing them into the part of his mind that’s quickly become dedicated to the project of Caring for Alex; no jabs at attentiveness fits right alongside cinnamon in his coffee and the closest store that sells Tide To Go Pens.
Second (NSFW):
Henry feels a surge of pride as Alex comes less than a minute later, not even minding that Alex gets his come all over Henry’s stomach. It doesn’t hurt that Alex’s eyes go wide at the sight; there’s more than lust there, though. Something like amazement, maybe.
Alex reaches out a hand, stopping an inch away from Henry’s stomach.
“Can I?” he asks, turning his head to look Henry in the eye. “I know you don’t really…”
They’ve talked about the whole pregnancy belly, how amazing Alex thinks it is, how muddled Henry’s own feelings are towards his own body right now. But in this moment, the water’s clear.
“Yes,” Henry nods.
Alex dips his fingers into his come, smearing it across the curve of Henry’s stomach like a child discovering fingerpaint for the first time. Awe and delight dance across his face, along with other emotions that Henry’s still learning to identify, passing by too quickly for him to put a name on them.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Alex’s cock twitch. So, arousal, too, maybe.
They stay like that, peaceful, as the come starts to dry in the paths that Alex’s fingers traveled across his skin, the history of Alex’s touch on Henry’s body visible for them both. While it’s objectively a bit disgusting, Henry’s not sure he’s ever felt so beautiful.
For once, his eyes can’t leave the curve of his stomach.
Thanks for the tags @14carrotghoul @leaves-of-laurelin @zwiazdziarka @firenati0n @anincompletelist @littlemisskittentoes @nocoastposts @gay-flyboys @kiwiana-writes @hgejfmw-hgejhsf!!!
Tagging @affectionatelyrs @anchoredarchangel @cactusdragon517 @cultofsappho @firenati0n @futureseaempress @getmehighonmagic @gayrootvegetable @inexplicablymine @leojfitz @daisymae-12 @read-and-write- @rockyroadkylers @suseagull04 @user-anakin @wordsofhoneydew @welcometololaland @xthelastknownsurvivorx sorry if I missed someone, brain is tired please consider this an open tag!!
#red white and royal blue#rwrb fanfic#firstprince#rwrb#fanfiction#alex claremont diaz#henry fox mountchristen windsor#nora holleran#rwrb fandom#wip wednesday#rwrb wip#wip: seahorse dad henry#nanouary#happinessofthepursuit writes#apparently he writes a lot#50k words
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British exceptionalism means that we do not like to think of our politicians as extremists. Official paranoia, state-sponsored lying, half-mad ideas that play to bigoted prejudices: these evils do not afflict dear, sweet, safe old Blighty.
You need only glance at the press or watch the BBC to know that policies and politicians we would have no problem identifying as radical right if they appeared in Europe or the Trumpian corners of the United States, are treated as mainstream here in the UK.
To be fair, Rishi Sunak is not a typical strongman leader. He is small (5ft 5in) and without physical presence, oratorical skill, or a definable sense of purpose.
Sunak’s manner varies from wide-eyed chirpiness when discussing his strangely marginal political passions – banning smoking, recruiting more maths teachers – to petulance when confronted with difficulties: “He comes across as snippy, and comes across as thin-skinned — which he is, when people challenge him,” said one former minister.
Labour politicians believe he will fall apart under the scrutiny of a general election campaign.
And yet this mediocre member of the superrich (our modern Malvolio married rather than earned his wealth) who received the best education the Western world can offer at Winchester college and Oxford and Stanford universities, is by any reasonable definition an extremist.
Sunak’s only saving grace is that he is as useless at extremism as he is at everything else and thus there is a limit to how much damage he can cause.
Within the past few hours Sunak passed into law the power to send asylum seekers to the quasi-dictatorship of Rwanda. The deportees will include genuine refugees, the victims of human trafficking, and Afghans who risked their lives serving the British armed forces in the war against the Taliban.
I have no doubt that radical right politicians across Europe would like to possess the same powers. But as things stand only Rishi Sunak has them and is able to set them to the Orwellian task of remoulding reality.
The UK Supreme Court ruled that the government could not deport people to Rwanda because it is not a safe country. It’s a quasi-dictatorship under Paul Kagame, a genuine and genuinely frightening strongman, who is engaged in covert warfare against neighbouring states. There’s no real judicial independence and the Rwandan government breached the terms of a previous asylum deal it had entered into with Israel.
The UK government has got round these objections by announcing that reality is now what Rishi Sunak says it is.
Sunak’s legislation declares that Rwanda is a safe country, even though it isn’t. From now on, an asylum seeker trying to stop the UK deporting him cannot use the actual existing repressions on the ground in Rwanda to challenge the government in UK courts.
Sunak says Rwanda is safe so it must be so. Maybe Sunak will move on to declare that black is white and 2+2=5, but for the time being he is limiting himself to creating an imaginary African republic where all is peace and light.
Lord Anderson, who as a former adviser to the UK state on terrorism is hardly a knee-jerk softie, put it well when he said of the government’s plans to end judicial oversight
“If Rwanda is safe as the government would have us declare, it has nothing to fear from such scrutiny.
“Yet we are invited to adopt a fiction, to wrap it in the cloak of parliamentary sovereignty and to grant it permanent immunity from challenge. To tell an untruth and call it truth.”
To insist that lies are the truth is extreme. It is also the logical conclusion of the Brexit policy of concerted lying in the service of political ends, which has been running since 2016.
And speaking of Brexit and before I go any further, I should note that, with the exception of Geert Wilders, no European far-right leader advocates taking his or her country out of the EU. But Rishi Sunak was all for Brexit, and promised that “our nation would be freer, fairer and more prosperous outside the EU”.
We know how that went.
And we almost certainly know how the Rwanda deportations will go. They will fail, and Sunak will be a failed extremist because what he wants is impossible.
Look at it from the point of view of a right-winger who is furious that tens of thousands are crossing the English Channel and entering the country illegally. Throughout his life the Conservatives have betrayed him.
David Cameron promised to reduce migration from the hundreds to tens of thousands, and failed to deliver. Brexit promised to return control of our borders. Instead, small boats cross the channel in a parody of the Dunkirk evacuation, while legal immigration has gone through the roof.
No pro-European politician would ever say this, but it does not mean that people have not noticed. By leaving the EU, the UK swapped European migrants who were largely white and, if they had a religion, it was Christianity, for migrants from the rest of the world who are largely not white and, if they have a religion, it is unlikely to be Christianity.
Despite all this Sunak is still bellowing that he will stop all the boats, which is as impossible as David Cameron’s fake promise to reduce migration to the tens of thousands.
He is bellowing because Conservatives are terrified that Reform (the latest Farage party) will send the Tories down to a landslide defeat.
They are trying to unite the right by assuming that right-wing and radical-wing voters are stupid, and won’t notice the attempt to con them with impossible promises.
It’s not working. At the moment we are in an unprecedented situation, where Labour enjoys a poll lead on immigration.
For those on left who say there is no difference between Starmer’s Labour and the Tories ought to notice that Labour holds that lead even though it is absolutely opposed to the Rwanda obscenity, when Tony Blair’s Labour party would probably have gone along with it.
In the Commons yesterday, Stephen Kinnock, Labour’s shadow immigration minister, tore into the government.
He pointed out that the cost of the vain attempt to save Sunak’s skin – will be about “£2 million per deportee”. As only a few hundred are ever likely to go, tens of thousands more will be left “in expensive hotels, stuck in a perma-backlog at a staggering cost to the taxpayer.”
Assuming, that is, anyone goes at all.
Yesterday Sunak made a rather pathetic admission that no plane will leave for 12 weeks. We shall see. Despite the government’s best efforts to rewrite the law and threaten the European Court of Human Rights, there can still be legal challenges which may last until the next election.
Cynics say the government would like nothing better than the flights to be stopped so it can blame left-wing lawyers in the campaign. I think they are attributing intelligence to the prime minister he does not possess.
Put like this, the UK’s failed extremists do not seem so reprehensible. But look at what they have done. Since David Cameron in 2010 they have never explained the necessity for immigration in an honest conversation with the public.
They have pandered to right-wing and radical right-wing sentiment and then infuriated voters by making promises they could never keep. In doing so they have prepared the ground for genuinely extremist politicians.
We have already paid a price for their trickery with Brexit and I doubt the full bill is in yet.
We are fortunate that Rishi Sunak is too hopeless to be dangerous. We may not be so lucky in the future.
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Dragons Rising Season 2 Pt1 overall thoughts!
WARNING: MAJOR SPOILERS DO NOT CLICK UNLESS YOU'VE WATCHED THE WHOLE THING
In no particular order:
Wow, this season was the heaviest one yet. I'd been a bit disappointed by how Season 1 seemed a bit light on the life lessons that I found so compelling in Ninjago. Well, DR2 delivered in spades, from the theme of secrets, to the issues of mental health. Never should've doubted Ninjago writers!
WHY LEAVE SO MANY UNRESOLVED THREADS THOUGH. Not even clues for fans to speculate on?!?
Like what happened in Cole's journey to follow Master Wu?
What really is that glowing orb sprite thingy? Because it showed up in the Monastary of Spinjitzu to close the portal gate, right? How was it doing that before they'd even traveled to Mysterium? Have I misunderstood something? (Granted, I had to do chores here and there so I really might've missed something... need a rewatch)
Where did Cinder even come from? How did Ras recruit him? What's his story?
What really is Arin's object spinjitzu power?
Of course I'm sure all of this will be resolved/revealed eventually, but it seems a lot to conclude in the next 10 episodes. Oh wait, they've said they have enough material for a few more seasons right? Well, sure looks like enough for at least a third season.
I think the ones who are gonna have a falling out are Arin and Sora. It's gonna be revealed, maybe at some critical point, that he didn't actually do object spinjitzu to get them the win, and it's gonna destroy his self confidence as well as his trust in Sora.
They're gonna get all of the Forbidden Five out eventually, possibly by shoving more ninja through the gate. Which is fine, because the ninja will just meet up and come back through the Power of Friendship!
SO CURIOUS to find out what the elemental powers of the Forbidden Five are.
I was a little disappointed by the lack of Euphrasia though. I thought for sure she'd have a more major role this season, but she still remained a side character for most of it. Oh well, patience!
BONZLE. I did NOT expect her story to go this way. Still trying to wrap my brain around a sentient spell, but hey. It's Ninjago.
Love her so much though she's so precious.
Speaking of precious, ZANE. That's it. That's the whole thought.
No, I AM going to expand on that. Look at how he had such a vast knowledge of the Administration's rules and regulations. Look at how he stalled them with it. Look at the pride he had in helping them raise their efficiency by NINE PERCENT. IT COULD'VE BEEN TEN YOU GUYS. IF HE HADN'T GOTTEN RESCUED.
MR FROHICKY. I need that Frohicky plushie like YESTERDAY.
Also PUPPY COLE PLUSH WHEN
COLE. He's still protecting and trying to comfort everyone. What an amazing fight he put on at the monastary, almost a one-man army against the Adminstration's mechs, with Gandalaria's support. I bet his failure to protect Zane would have devastated him if Zane had been deactivated permanently. Fortunately Gandalaria knows more about nindroids than she should...
GANDALARIA! Endlessly positive and chirpy and disorganised. Like a more established Fungus. Wish I could be her. Loved seeing her dynamic with Cole being her straight man (hush, yes I know.)
So happy to see Kai get his focus for a change. Love Lloyd but he gets the focus like... every season. Kai needs the love. He's really cool this season.
Nya gets the least focus :( I miss her
WHY are all the ninjas' powers only as powerful as the plot calls for it :/ Zane's frozen way more than just a runaway mech back in the day!
I still think Ras looks too cuddly to be taken seriously as an antagonist. I mean would you not hug a Ras plushie? Look at those eyes. Look at that nose.
Is Ras's master a Source Dragon or the Overlord? OR BOTH?
Love Rontu, but she is such an archetypal (?) Nurturing Mentor to Egalt's Grumpy Old Master
Egalt has dragon cancer :( he looks way cooler in the show than he looked in the promotional materials and the set
I haven't talked about Jay, have I? JAY. Oh how my heart skipped a beat when he showed up pointing that gun/taser at Bonzle. I literally said out loud "OH NO OH NO OH NO".
I think that was the single most terrifying part of the whole season for me. I don't even know why it was so visceral. I think I was worried that his entire peronality had changed, though I don't know why I thought that, since in Pt1 he was literally playing video games instead of working.
So I was actually relieved to hear that he felt he didn't really belong in the Administration. Pre-merge Jay probably couldn't even fill out a single form properly. He probably had Nya or Zane or Cole do all the paperwork for him.
He clearly wasn't suprised that he had control over lightning. Why did nobody know about it? He's the kinda guy who'd use his powers for entertainment if he didn't have a good reason to hide them.
He didn't recognise his own ninja outfit D:
Lastly, the Finders - I'm also a little troubled by how Cole seems to put them ahead of his ninja family, but then again. He knows the ninja are all very capable warriors who can take care of themselves. On the other hand, for who knows how long, he had felt responsible for protecting his little newfound family. It makes sense that he would continue priotising them even after finding his old family.
In conclusion, Cole is such a dad :D
And to wrap it up, NEED PT 2 NOW 6 MONTHS IS TOO LONG TO WAIT NETFLIX /shakes fist
Sorry that was so long and rambling! Fun though.
I had wanted to do a blow by blow reaction post of every episode, but I can't seem to get clear photos from my device without major reflection issues. Still trying though!
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in the college au who all lives together? maki toge yuuta and panda? how do they (maki esp) feel about gojo paying their rent?
omg, hi !! thank you for taking notice of my college au 🥺
living arrangements:
• yuuta, toge, and maki live together in an apartment they rent near the school. none of them have a particularly good home life, so by the time they met, it was an easy decision.
• they rented a three bedroom before yuuta and toge started dating. once yuuta started studying abroad, toge started sleeping in his room when he got particularly stressed. it wasn’t uncommon for maki to crack the door open and see him huddling on his bed, wearing a stolen hoodie, blankly staring ahead. sometimes she’d sit with him, other times she could only drag him to the living room and put his stupid youtubers on
• once yuuta came back and everything got sorted between them, toge just moved into his room permanently. it was essentially his room anyway, his bed had already turned in a source of comfort for him. yuuta will never gain ownership of his hoodies again, and they have a new plushie corner of pandas.
• they turned the extra room into a guest space for when their friends want to stay over. panda probably uses it the most, but he has a good relationship with his adoptive dad, yaga, so he still lives with him at their home.
• nobara eventually starts staying over eventually too, though she immediately takes over maki’s room and becomes an honorary roommate. it’s not too uncommon for maki and yuuta to come home to toge cooking and nobara pouring over designs on the kitchen table.
• yuuji lives in his grandpa’s house with his brothers: choso, kechizu, eso, and maybe sukuna who is being tortured for atonement lol.
• megumi lives with his sister and gojo who loves making fun of him.
• eventually megumi starts staying over at yuuji’s, and eventually they’ll get their own apartment together.
scholarship kids:
• initially maki was okay with the scholarship she received for her skills in the naginata club she was captain in through high school. she didn’t know gojo at the time as anything but someone who recognized her skills, so a full-ride scholarship was game-changing for her with a middle finger to her family who always looked down on her.
• after getting to know him and finding out he was paying the apartment off, she definitely felt like he was treating them as charity cases. it offended her and she confronted him with no small amount of hostility. his sincerity in helping them was off-putting, his comment about needing a lawyer someday even more so. but eventually they settled on an agreement. maki would be sending gojo, who did not tell her the actual rent cost lol, her share. he also doesn’t tell her that he just uses it to increase her scholarship. sometimes stubborn kids just need a little underhandedness to succeed.
• for toge, the scholarship initially made him uncomfortable. he was good at school because he had to be, the scholarship was almost a binding vow that his family taunted him with. yet, gojo paying his rent made him feel immensely guilty. it was to the point where he was ready to back out, but yuuta unashamedly begged him. a pinch of manipulation was involved because the gojo-okkotsu family does not play fair. but all yuuta had to do was open the empty cabinets, look a little helpless, and say ‘i need you,’ before toge was folding. toge still pays him back in meals, every time gojo visits he makes a feast with way too many sweets. but gojo is the closest thing he’s ever had to a savior, the only way he escaped the abuse. even if he can’t say it, a beautiful cake is always waiting for gojo’s arrival.
• yuuta tried to object at first, since technically he wasn’t a scholarship winner, but gojo is honestly too exhausting for him. not having to worry about rent was also a huge relief to all of them so yuuta was also pretty easy to convince. gojo justifies it by saying it’s too lonely to live by yourself and yuuta just can’t argue.
• i think it’s understating it to say that gojo does love these kids. i know his relationship with megumi is highlighted the most but he’s saved so many of them and likely at such a young age. toge and maki especially have always been rejected, and he was likely the first to accept them. he’s their parental figure, even if he might be childish and annoying, those are his kids !!
• he couldn’t protect them in their past life, but at least here, he can finally give them happiness.
adding this here:
• panda is a human !! i headcanon him having vitiligo and a mild pain insensitivity, which made yaga extremely overprotective, hence not moving in with his friends lol
thank you for the question, feel free to send in any more !! 🥺
#inumaki toge#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#yuuta okkotsu#inuokko#ottoge#jjk panda#maki zenin#megumi fushiguro#itadori yuuji#nobara kugisaki#nobamaki#college au
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it took 140 hours, but i finally finished my first playthrough of baldur's gate 3. overall i'm insane about it but there are a few things that really pissed me off. my (many) thoughts in no particular order under the cut.
i forced myself to play the full game totally vanilla, no mods even though i'm so bad at games i usually need cheats to make it to the end. not to mention i've hated inventory management in every game i've ever played (except genshin. love u, hyv). but i was patient, and i played on explorer mode, and i savescummed the hell out of it (hence 140 hours). but as SOON as i finished the epilogue, i turned around and installed 30 mods, most of which are QoL things that shouldn't even need to be modded (vertical camera pitch, WASD option, stackable items, sortable inventory, highlight ALL interactable objects).
i decided i wanted to play both a Dark Urge playthrough and an I'm Just Ken playthrough, but after making two new characters and, through my endless youtube diving, accidentally getting spoiled on what i think is the major durge reveal, i decided simply to make Ken the Dark Urge.
every other minute he goes, "Hi! I'm Ken," and then thinks about murder. it's great.
obvs he's going to romance Shadowheart (although i may download the poly mod and romance everyone).
MAJOR SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT
here are my Thoughts, in no particular order, because i don't know where else to put them:
i didn't enjoy romancing Astarion as much as i thought i would, because i came to see him less as a romantic interest and ended up identifying with him more than my Tav. that said, i'm very excited to do Astarion's origin playthrough
i ended up enjoying my Halsin romance more, because it was a more traditional slowburn, and Halsin's quest was totally external conflict. on one hand, that made me less interested in him as a character overall; on the other, it was SO SATISFYING to find out he had been Pining for me the whole time. sometimes i just need a little bodice-ripper content, as a treat
obviously i'm also into Astarion/Halsin and Astarion/Halsin/Tav
however the only viable fic idea i have is Astarion/Shadowheart? i blame this fanvid
no, really, what was so different about Early Access that OP got this much Astarion/Shadowheart material? the description in the video says they were disappointed by how their dynamic had changed for full release
okay, time or my biggest beef:
Haarlep pissed me off almost enough to stop playing the game. not in a purity way, but in a "this is just bad writing" way
i mean, your options are to kill him or fuck him. that's not consent. and when you agree to fuck him, you have to roll several checks to keep him from killing you. then he steals your likeness so that whenever he has sex with someone else, you have a spontaneous orgasm
i wanted to dismiss it as dead dove, but the point of dead dove is that 1) it is labeled, and there was no indication whatsoever i was about to walk into this, and 2) dead dove implies the creator is aware that the content is filth for filth's sake. i saw no evidence that that quest was anything more than the sniffing panties buff of D:OS2
the sadist in the goblin camp? that's good filth. you have a little public BDSM demo that you can easily nope out of, and if you finish it you get a permanent buff. your companions have fun things to say. and there's no major quest attached to it, so you can completely walk past it. and the Drow twins were the same. and Mizora. just horny content for players who enjoy that kind of thing, and easily disregarded for players who don't. i don't understand why Haarlep had to be different
like, you're looking around for the hammer. you come across Haarlep, who is bored and wants to have fun with you. maybe he offers the promise of a buff that will help in the coming battle with the Absolute. if your romanced character is in the party, you have a dialogue option to talk to them about it first. maybe in parting, he gives you a hint about where to find the hammer, and it's in a completely different room
but no, you *have* to interact with him to advance the quest, can't talk your way out of it, and it leaves you with a skeevy pseudo-debuff
when i went to look it up, i saw so many forum posts of people being like, hmm this made me really uncomfortable, and (presumably) men responding, it was consensual! you have the option to kill him! and it's frightening that so many people think that way
also when you have a female Tav and you choose a male Haarlep, the animation doesn't change to account for the position. Haarlep straddles you the whole time. and that just made me interpret the scene as a male succubus rape fantasy
and your companions have to WATCH. and they don't intervene or even say anything about it. if you've romanced Astarion and he's in your party, you get one point of disapproval and that's it. like he wouldn't have an Opinion over that kind of coercion? i saw some youtube videos and know that he says something about it much later when you spontaneously orgasm, but that's it
i hope there's something i'm missing, and someone will come into my ask and go "ummm actually" and tell me some important factoid of game development that will make me interpret the scene differently
i ended up resetting and just not doing the House of Hope questline. i didn't bother with the hammer, either. honestly the whole Githyanki plot confused me and i was more invested in my conflict with the Emperor. i ended up siding with him and killing Orpheus so that no one would have to turn into a mindflayer. i was expecting to have to persuade him out of taking the crown himself, but he just noped off for some reason
this is another thing i wonder if i missed. i never understood his motivations or goals beyond "protect you" and "manipulate you." so he's Balduran and he killed his dragon and...what else? to what end? it would have been more satisfying to me if he planned to take the crown for himself but decides not to because of the bond he's forged with you. but maybe i can interpret it that way anyway
yes i fucked the Emperor
but i fucked him in Guardian form
like a COWARD
i was very torn about all the characters' final decisions. in the end, i kept Jenheart and spawn Astarion. i let Wyll and Karlach choose for themselves (and loved their ending together). i couldn't prioritize Gale or Lae'zel this playthrough because i was focused on too many other things, and i got their bad endings (although i ended on good terms with Lae'zel despite killing Orpheus?)
i played as a beast master ranger (i mained a beast master hunter in WoW for years) and i've seen in several places on the internet that it's supposedly the worst subclass, but let me tell you...
the bird companion. nobody is talking about the bird companion. by the end, it has two actions, the ability to blind, and your bird can call in two more birds. you can have a total of FOUR BIRDS
the red dragon in the final battle? couldn't do shit. it spent the entire time blinded by my bird. nearly everyone on the battlefield was dead by the end, but my bird still had over 50% of its HP. the bird is BROKEN
in my I'm Just Ken playthrough, i'm going to multiclass Shadowheart into a raven girl. the birds spoiled me and i can't imagine playing without them now
it's weird to me that there's penis physics but no boob physics. did anyone else notice that? you wiggle the male avatar and the dick moves. you wiggle the female avatar and her boobs are like rocks. even when she's lying down, the boobs stay exactly as they are
listen, i have a lot of complaints. the bugs made the game nearly unplayable for me. i know they're putting out patches fast, but i think it'll still be years before i would recommend this game to someone who is on the fence about playing it. if you're not immediately dropping everything to fuck the hot sad vampire, you might as well wait until the game is cleaner at like hotfix 856
BUT
i've never experienced anything like this game. every decision matters. every character has a story. there are so many potential paths and opportunities that it's literally impossible for the fan wiki to be completely accurate. i cried at least 4 times, and by the end, saying goodbye to Karlach, i was actually sobbing. i'm old enough now to know that these states of immersion into fictional worlds are rarer than they used to be, and i'm so grateful to this game for giving me so many hours of fun and escape
unlike books, movies, and tv, where i get invested and move on and rarely read or watch anything twice, video games are always such a learning curve for me that when i get into a game, i stay there. i have thousands of hours into Genshin and SDV, and i have a feeling BG3 will be the same. this game is so, so flawed, but it's ambitious beyond any narrative i've ever encountered, and i really admire it for that
i would love to find a Discord server for it that's not overwhelmingly huge, just the people writing fic and making art. it's been a long time since i've been involved in a fandom and i really miss it
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