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writefasttalkevenfaster · 4 years ago

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Take My Hand (Part Four)

Summary: doing what you think is best for another person never ends well (four of ??? parts - more parts to come!)

Pairings: Sonny Carisi x Reader, Rafael Barba x Reader

Word Count: 7,579

Song: I don't like slow motion, double vision in rose blush / I don't like that falling feels like flying 'til the bone crush (gold rush by taylor swift)

Warnings: T, lots of angst, but a happy ending?

A/N: thank you to all of you for reading, your comments and reblogs have kept me going! thank you to @laneygthememequeen and @bucky-of-the-opera for being the best beta readers!!

“Rafael, you don’t have to leave—” Sonny crossed his arms, as Rafael raised an eyebrow at him over his drink, sipping at his scotch mournfully, “McCoy said you could still work—”

“You know a lawyer’s reputation is everything, Carisi,” he swirled what remained of his drink in his glass, “it’s our main commodity, and mine has been taken out back and shot — by my own hand,” he downs the rest of the drink, “besides,” he sighs, “there’s nothing left for me here.”

Sonny frowns, sipping at his own drink, “What’re gonna do next?” Rafael shrugs, “I think I’ll broaden my horizons— this is the first time since before law school that I haven’t had a plan for my life — it’s just wide open.”

“And that’s?”

“Terrifying, surprising — I never thought I’d have to start over at this point in my career, but,” he leans against the counter, “it’s a change,” and then he looks over at Sonny, “and what about you?”

He furrows his brow, “What about me?”

“Are you going to apply for the opening in the D.A.’s office?” Sonny nearly chokes on his drink, “come on, Carisi, you’re more than qualified.”

He shakes his head, “I don’t know — I’m not sure if I’m ready for that change quite yet, besides,” he shifts in his seat, “I heard from Liv that McCoy has someone else in mind for the job.”

“Stone?” Rafael asks, and Sonny tilts his head, “I may not be in that office, but it doesn’t change the fact that it leaks like a rusty faucet.”

“If you know that—”

“Sonny, a piece of advice,” Rafael turns to face him, one elbow on the counter, “no one job is forever — Stone may last a while, he may not — but get your name in the ring at least because the next time the position is open, they’ll look to you—”

“But—”

“You have been part of the squad, you’ve seen these cases for years, you’re an officer and you have the education to back it up,” he pulls his wallet out, waving off Carisi, and placing a few bills on the counter, “Look, you went to law school for a reason right? If you keep making excuses, you won’t be able to do the good you could do.”

Sonny knew, he knew that he should but— “I’m just afraid that I won’t be able to handle it,”

Rafael raises an eyebrow, “You are a detective in one of the toughest units in the NYPD and you went to law school at the same time — I think you’ll be fine.”

Sonny blinks, trying to hide his smile, “Thank you — for everything. I’ve appreciated you mentoring me these past years.”

Rafael gives a small chuckle at that, “You shouldn’t be thanking me,”

Sonny tilts his head, “Then who should I be thanking?”

Your name leaves his lips, and Sonny frowns, “I didn’t really want to mentor you, but with some encouragement, well—” he shrugs, “my point is there’s no need to thanks, at least not me.”

A sentence burns on his tongue, hot as the anger sitting on his chest, and I should thank the person who cut me out of their life without any to-do? But Sonny doesn’t say that, he only smiles — as always.

He didn’t want to admit how much it hurt when you left. When you didn’t say goodbye. When you quit without warning. When you left him with nothing but a note and no explanation, only the feeling of your lips on his.

But it did hurt.

Especially because he didn’t know if it was because of him. He didn’t presume himself to be that important in your life — and maybe he wasn’t with how easily you had removed yourself from his life — but what other explanation was there really?

“I should go,” Rafael slips off the stool, pulling his coat on, and he holds out his hand to Sonny, “I hope to see you again sometime, Detective,”

Sonny offers a smile, shaking his hand, “Counselor, I expect to hear things about what you do next.”

“Same to you — your name is associated with me, I can't have you sullying it, now can I?” but then he grimaces, shrugging, “well, at least the bar is low.”

“Bye, Rafael,” and he nods, disappearing out the door, and Sonny straightens his coat, walking towards the door, before glancing at the bar stool you had sat at the night he picked you up — so much had changed and in so little time.

“How long has it been, Jack?” you skip the handshake for a hug, sliding into the booth across from him.

“Far too long,” he sighs, already had ordered his own food, “I heard about the stir you’re making in the Bronx,” he splits his chopsticks, dousing in his food in a very modest amount of sriracha, as you raise a questioning eyebrow at his remark, “The Brown case — I heard an earful from the Bronx D.A. about that case.”

You shake your head, ordering yourself a soda, “It was his fault that he didn’t have proper chain of custody on that evidence—”

“I know,” Jack nods, “it was a good catch.”

“Thank you,” you smile, pleased with yourself, “although I suspect this isn’t just for you to compliment me on my exceptional work.”

“Developed an ego at No-Go?” you roll your eyes at his “loving” nickname for your firm, Noble-Gordon LLP, before shrugging, “you know you could start your own practice and make more money.”

“I could, but I also wouldn’t get some control over where their pro bono hours go,” you order your food, stirring your drink with a straw, “now what do you want McCoy? And then I can bore you with the details of my life plan.”

Jack smiles, “Always straight to the point, huh, counselor?” he leans back, “what do you think of Detective Carisi?”

You furrow your brow, “Sonny? Is something—”

“Nothing is wrong,” Jack waved you off, “but what was your opinion of him?”

You tilt your head, “As what? Detective, a barred attorney, or person?”

Jack raises an eyebrow, “Let’s start with detective, and then we’ll get to the other two,”

You pause — how could you describe Sonny? “When he first started, I didn’t know what to think of Sonny — he was eager to learn, but green,” you suppress a snort at the thought of him the unfortunate incidents of him pestering victims and suspects alike, “but despite that, he was always willing to learn, quick on his feet. He was good with the victims, maybe not at first, but he’s a seasoned detective now, and I have confidence in his skills.”

“And as an attorney?”

“Well, I never was around to see him get barred,” and you feel a twinge of guilt crawl up your throat — you had promised to help him study, promised to help him celebrate — you didn’t do either, “but when he applied his legal knowledge to cases we worked on together and while shadowing at the Manhattan office, he showed aptitude, skill, and passion.”

“And as a person?”

You smile softly, “Sonny is kind, to a fault, but he’s practical, he knows there are grays to S.V.U. cases — he’s seen them firsthand. He knows how to handle tough cases, while having the empathy to handle victims,” Jack nods, sipping at his drink, “now I assume you’re asking for a reason?”

“Stone resigned,” Jack sighs, “effective immediately — and we’re looking for someone to get their foot in the door — quick.”

“Peter? What—”

“It wasn’t the right fit,” he shook his head, “he’s landing on his feet — don’t worry.”

You frowned, you didn’t know Peter personally, but you had heard stories of him and his father — both were legendary, “I’m sorry to hear that, but,” you tilt your head, “you’re considering Sonny for the position?”

“Yes, and now hearing what you had to say, I think I will," and you smile, "after an interview, of course."

"Of course," you shake your head, "I remember interviewing with you."

He raises an eyebrow, "And?"

"I think I convinced myself you thought I was a moron, until you gave me the offer after a week," he shrugs.

"Had to make you sweat," he purses his lips, "do you regret saying yes?"

You glance at the bar, a frown pressing onto your lips, "I regret a lot of things," and your food arrives at the table, and you break your chopsticks, smiling, "but never that."

You were not happy.

You hurried up the steps of the Manhattan courthouse — steps you had hoped you wouldn’t have had to hurry up ever again — not only had this case been unceremoniously dumped on the firm with a notice of one whole day, but it had been shafted to you with a whole two hours notice after one of your junior associates called out sick.

Sick or hungover? You couldn’t tell over from the 4:00 AM message left on your voicemail, but by the sounds of the clinking glasses in the background — they certainly didn’t have the flu.

This was not only the son of one of your firm’s biggest clients — the firm practicing not only criminal defense but also some business law matters. It was a simple case — a white first time offender on a petty marijuana possession — he would likely get no jail time, and get time served at most — with an expungement in the near future.

But that wasn’t the problem.

The crime was committed and the son charged in the jurisdiction of Manhattan, so that meant this was in a Manhattan courtroom, one that you hadn’t stepped into in what — two, nearly three years?

And on top of it all, there was the matter of who the prosecutor was. A silent curse muttered under your breath as you rushed to the courtroom — and it was someone you hadn’t seen in about the same amount of time.

Why a sex crimes prosecutor was covering for a narcotics case — you didn’t know, but you figured it was either a chance to learn the ropes in different departments or the D.A. needed someone to cover, and the new guy drew the short straw.

Just your luck.

You stood outside the courtroom, catching your breath, your heart thumping against your ribs — and you didn’t know whether it was from the running or from the fact you were about to see Sonny again for the first time in three years after you kissed him.

And he didn’t know you were coming.

Fuck it, you pulled open the door, stepping inside.

And you saw him— standing where Rafael and you once stood, his eyes first lying on his notes, but drawn to the noise of the creaking door and your footsteps against the marble floor.

You try not to look at him. You can��t help it, as you pass him by you catch a glimmer of his reaction — shock scrawled plainly across his face, eyes widened and nearly slack jawed.

“Your Honor, I apologize to you and to my client, ” you spare a small smile to the privileged 18-year-old, Jason Baker, beside you, before your eyes flicker over to Sonny — dress in a pressed suit, his hair slicked back, lips no longer curled in the smile he once had for you, but instead, in a thin line, “ as well as A.D.A. Carisi. I was only informed of this case this morning and I rushed here as soon as I could—”

“Yes, I understand,” Judge Lopez nods — Lopez being a judge you had dealt with many a time on cases — tough, but always fair, a definite leftist progressive (even by New York standards), “Do you need a moment to confer with your client?”

“Just a moment,” you confirmed the details of the case with Jason, before nodding, “I think we’re ready to proceed.”

The hearing went without much to-do, both of you agreeing to meet about a plea agreement to settle this case out of court. You promised your client you would meet with him after, as Sonny began to make a beeline out of the courtroom.

You barely caught up to him, on the heels of him striding toward the elevators, jaw set, “Sonny—”

“Counselor,” he replied coolly, and you frowned, “do you want to set a time for your client’s plea agreement?”

“Yes, but—” the elevator dings and he steps in without another word.

“I’ll send you and your office an email,” his smile is curt and cordial, but his words have an edge to them, “nice to see you again.”

And the doors shut.

So, you stare at the closed elevator doors, he was mad.

"Can you believe—"

Rollins sighs, leaning back against her sofa, head resting against the top, "No I can't, Carisi, just like I couldn't the first twenty times," she murmurs under her breath.

He pauses, his jaw tight, “Am I annoying you?”

“No, Sonny, but—” she gestures for him to sit, “you’re stressing me out with all that pacing, can you sit down?”

Sonny collapsed into a chair, arms crossed and leg still bobbing up and down, “I always thought about what I would say when I saw—” he cuts off, “it was like no time had passed, acting like nothing had happened—”

Amanda raises an eyebrow, “What did happen between you two?” Sonny falls silent, his eyes falling to the carpeted floor, “this is what I mean, you’re telling me half of the story and expecting me to have a reaction,” she pushes his knee, “what happened?”

He said nothing, and Amanda sighs, “When I gave you the sweatshirt, you barely said anything, and now you’re not saying anything when you saw—” a cry breaks her sentence off, and they listen as the baby settles back down, “You know I always knew you had a thing for—”

“I didn’t have a thing—” he cuts off when he sees her raise an eyebrow, “okay maybe I did, but it has nothing to do with this—”

“If it doesn’t, then why are you mad?”

“I’m mad,” his voice raises, before she shushes him, and he sighs, apologizing, “I’m angry because I didn’t get a goodbye.”

You were gone.

You were gone before he woke up. You were gone from S.V.U. before he came in. You were gone from your apartment when he came knocking — moved out.

And he was only left with a note and a sweatshirt.

He continues, “I didn’t get a goodbye, but guess who recommended me for the A.D.A. position?”

It hadn’t been long enough since the last time he had thought about you. And the last time was his interview for the A.D.A. position.

“I’ll cut to the chase, son,” Jack said, making Sonny sit up straighter in his chair — he had spent the last forty-five minutes trying to impress Jack McCoy only for him to cut the chase now, “You know I’m not the type to mince my words, so I’ll ask you the question that really matters — why should we hire you over other candidates with more experience?”

This was the question he was dreading — he fought the urge to tug at his collar or wipe the palms down the front of his pants.

“Honestly, sir, I’ve thought about this question a lot, and yes, I don’t have the legal experience of some of the other candidates,” he didn’t — he had shadowing, he had done clinics, but he hadn’t practiced since being barred, “but I know S.V.U. — more than any of your candidates because I’ve seen these cases firsthand. Not only have I seen the cases, the victims, but I’ve worked with the team — I know the ins and the outs, and I’ve worked with A.D.A.s before—” he nearly flinched at the thought of you, “I know what I’m getting into — I know a lot of cases aren’t a win and I know we have to push sometimes, and I’m not afraid to do that,” he swallows, his throat dry — unable to discern the expression on Jack’s face, “You’ll have to train any candidate you have — whether they have practiced or not, especially when it comes to S.V.U., but you will have to teach one less thing, and it’s the most important one.”

And after the longest moment, he smiles, and Sonny can barely hear what he says over his blood roaring in his ears, “I think you’re right,”

“You do?”

Jack laughs, “Don’t sound so surprised, Dominick,” he tilts his head, “after hearing you talk about your work in and out of the department, I thought you would have more faith in yourself.”

And you would think that but—

“I’ll work on that,”

Jack smiles, clearing his throat, “Based on that and the recommendation I received from who you shadowed—”

He frowns, “You talked to someone I shadowed?”

When your name leaves his lips, he blinks, “Haven’t you spoken—”

Not since leaving my apartment and disappearing, “Not in a long time,” he gives a tight smile, “How are—”

“Doing great at Noble-Gordon as a defense attorney in the Bronx — giving the Bronx D.A. hell,” he smiles with pride, and he remembers how you had told him that McCoy had been one of your mentors, the man who had helped you become the attorney you are today — and now he was Sonny’s boss, “Better them than us, right?”

“Sonny—” Amanda’s voice cuts through his thoughts.

He gets to his feet again, walking towards the window, “Leaves, and then thinks to interfere in my life, doesn’t even bother to reach out, I haven’t heard a thing in years — years — but still gives me a recommendation,” he gives a bitter chuckle, “apparently our friendship meant that little.”

Apparently he had meant that little.

“I’m sorry, Sonny,”

He shakes his head, “What are you sorry for?” he asks, getting to his feet — I got kissed. I got cut out. And I didn’t even get an explanation — “Nothing happened.”

“I want jail time,” your head snaps up at the sound of Sonny’s voice, closing the door behind him, as you sat waiting in his office — the one that was next door to your old one, “at least six months.”

“What?” No greeting, no handshake, no smile — that much you half-expected, but jail time— “it’s a first time offense, and it’s not 1980, we’re not in the war on drugs—”

Sonny slides into his chair across from you his hands folded, “Counselor, your client isn’t an innocent school boy — he is an adult—”

“Barely, he just turned 18—”

“Exactly my point, he’s an adult, and—”

“And no competent attorney would ever take that deal—”

Sonny leans back in his seat, “Well a competent attorney would consider any deal in front of them, wouldn’t they?”

And your eyes narrow, “My client will not accept anything more than probation with no jail time, and hell, maybe we'll even throw in drug tests in, but anything more is a disgrace to the legal system,”

“Then I guess a jury can decide,” his jaw is set, and you see the quiet anger in his eyes — frigid as an icy lake, one that you were currently drowning in. His chair screeches as he moves to rise, and you stop him.

“We both know this isn’t about the case, Sonny,”

He raises an eyebrow, “Are you questioning my prosecutorial authority?”

“Are you trying to send a barely adult first time offender to jail when it makes absolutely no sense?” he grits his teeth, “is that justice? Is that what you’ve learned in S.V.U.?”

“I’m sorry that I’m not playing soft ball with you, counselor—”

“I’m sorry that you’re trying to take your anger at me out on my client,” you snap, rising from the table. And it snaps him into silence, his eyes falling to his notes, brow furrowed, mouth a thin line. Your anger simmers slowly, but as you speak again, your voice is even, but tempered, “The way I see it — we have three options — one, get over yourself and let us make a reasonable plea agreement; two, I get someone else from my office to handle this; or three, we work out our issues like fucking adults and move on with this agreement,”

His voice is quiet when he speaks, “So are we finally going to act like adults now?”

You waver, “Sonny—”

“After you cut me out with no explanation and left, I didn’t realize now we could act like adults,” he flips shut his leather folder, “I apologize for my behavior — maybe you’re right, someone else from your office should handle—”

“I’m sorry,” you cut him off, and he doesn’t look up, “I’m so sorry, Sonny, I didn’t mean to—” you swallow, fuck, “I thought — I thought it would be easier after—”

“Easier? For you or for me?”

The truth cut deep, especially when you know it was true, “You’re right — I know, what I did,” you sigh, “It was awful — I was so embarrassed after how I treated you, after I kiss—” you break off, “I know I have a lot of things to make up for, but I want you to know that I didn’t cut you off because of anything you did — even if you know that already — it was me, I didn’t want to burden you—”

“How did you think cutting me off wasn’t going to burden me?” his words are softer, but sharper, digging into your chest with the guilt you knew was yours only to bear, “how did you think losing one of my friends wasn’t going to— you kissed me after I picked you up, and then nothing for three years. Nothing.”

“I wanted to call, I wanted to text—”

“Then why didn’t you?” and you wonder if this is how a suspect felt when they were being interrogated by him, but surely his eyes weren’t nearly this glassy with emotions then, “You promised me — you promised me you would be there for me—”

Your voice breaks, “Sonny—”

“Do you know the hell I’ve gone through?” His voice is quiet, “do you know?”

And you didn’t, “I don’t,” your words are quiet. “Because you’re right — it was easier, after what happened — not with you — with everything else, it was easier to cut ties and move on. It was easier to pretend none of it happened,” you admit, “but it wasn’t right — and I can’t change that. But I’m sorry,” you add, “and I know I have a lot of making up to do, if we ever can get to that point again, I would like to try.”

His expression is inscrutable — and you know Sonny has changed, you could read him so easily before — an open book who’s pages that you had familiarized yourself with, his emotions scrawled clearly across his brow, nose, lips, and eyes. And now you could barely make out a single word.

“Try?”

“Try to be your friend,” you bite your lip, wringing your hands in your lap, “I missed you, Sonny, and I know I don’t have a right to say that, but I did. And seeing you has only made me realize how shitty I’ve been — please?”

A frown pulls at his lips, and he wavers, before rising, tucking his folder into his briefcase, “Probation with weekly drug tests, and I want him do some community service—”

“But—”

“He’s spent years with a silver spoon in his mouth — let’s try to fix that,” and you tilt your head, hiding a smile.

“I’ll talk to him about it,” you get up too, beginning to pack up your things even as you watch him turn to the door, “Can we discuss it over lunch? My treat.”

He pauses, his back turned, “I’m a little busy these next few weeks,”

You wave him off, feeling your chest squeeze, rejection stinging — as it should, as you deserve — “Of course," nothing was that simple — trust was easy to lose, hard to get back.

“But how about I call you?” you blink, as he looks over his shoulder, there’s a hint of a sigh in his throat, a certain sort of begrudged reluctance, but still an almost undetectable smile ghosts his lips — and you’ll take it.

“You got it,” But it wasn’t impossible to earn trust back. Your heart swells with hope, your hand brushing as your hand moves to hold the door open — and you would get it back, one way or another.

“Penny for your thought, counselor?” Sonny’s head snaps up, finding you standing, suit jacket slung over your arm, a smile on your lips, “I would say a dollar, but I know you took quite a pay cut compared to your old job.”

“But I could make a buck prosecuting you for stalking,” and you scoff, looking at the table strewn with pages of briefs and yellow legal pads marked in reds, blacks and blues. It had been your fifth time running into him the last few weeks — and you had weaseled your way into conversations, though not a lunch. You were trying to earn his trust back, and you had gotten a little closer each time, but it didn’t mean it was all over and done with.

The distrust still sat squarely in his expression — but this time it was being overwritten by something else — stress.

You gape at him, affronted, “Forlini’s was mine before it was yours, thank you very much,” you gesture to the seat across from him, he grunts, nodding and you slide in, “I think I can settle for joint custody if you can.”

“I’d fight ya on it, but,” he sighs, eyes flickering back to his notes, “I got my hands full already.”

You purse your lips when you see the heaviness in his brow, “What’s wrong?”

He gives a grim smile, “You already know what’s wrong,”

Yes, you knew it well — your first tough case had the ability to unravel you to pieces, especially one from S.V.U., “Well, the facts aren’t any different when you’re the prosecutor versus the detective,”

“But the job is completely different,” he shakes his head, covering his face, before wiping his palm down it, “and I don’t know what I’m doing.”

You frown, “Have you eaten?”

“Eating isn’t the problem,” he shoves his papers aside, a few wrinkling and falling under the booth, the legal pad slamming against the end of the booth. He squeezes his eyes shut, before relaxing, “sorry, I—”

“No, trust me,” you catch a glimpse of the photos of one of the victims — a bruised and battered girl no older than fifteen, “I get the frustration, but you know there’s only so much you can do in these cases.”

“I’m not doing enough,” he leans on his elbow, his fist pressed to his mouth, before resting it against his forehead, “I don’t know what I’m doing. I have my first grand jury tomorrow and I don’t even know what I’m doing.”

“Sonny,” you resist the urge to reach out to him, “you can do this.”

“You would say that,” he mutters, and you tilt your head, “you recommended me for the job, McCoy told me.”

“I didn’t recommend you — Jack was already looking at you, he asked for my opinion and I gave it,” you raise an eyebrow, “do I need to tell you now?”

He shakes his head, “I—”

“Sonny,” he looks up at you, “I have not an inch of doubt in your abilities — I’ve seen you grow as a detective and as a law student, and now,” you smile softly, “I’ve seen you grow as an attorney the last few weeks. You are ready — you know why?”

He sighs, his hands folded on the table, “Because of my training?”

“No,” you say, and he frowns, “because you are sensitive and kind, but you are also tough — tough enough to make the hard calls,” your hand brushes his tentatively, hovering before settling, “weren’t you nervous before becoming a detective? When you were a cop?”

“I was, but I was confident, bordering on arrogant — I always went in, guns blazing, so to speak,” he adds, shaking his head at the implication, “now, I’m—”

“Now you’re cautious — it comes with experience, that’s normal and good — overconfidence bites you in the ass, every time,” you squeeze his hand, “you will do great — and more importantly,” he raises his gaze to meet yours, “you will do your job and do it well — and that’s all you can do.”

He purses his lips, “You really believe in me?”

You scoff at his disbelief, “Sonny, I’ll always bet on you — every single time,” his gaze softens, a smile gracing his lips and your stomach flips when he squeezes your hand back.

“Thank you,” his words are as soft as his touch, his fingers intertwined with yours for a moment, and your eyes flicker across his face — how was it you never realized just how beautiful he was?

And the moment is broken when he pulls his hand away, gathering all his materials and slipping them into his bag, “If you need any help—”

He frowns, “Y’know as well as I do that these cases are—”

“I meant with your self-esteem or advice about how to phrase questions — no specifics and no actual questions,” you cross your arms, “I know about confidentiality and professional responsibility, counselor — I have been at this longer than you have. You could afford to take my advice.”

He raises an eyebrow, teasing, “Pulling seniority? You’re not at the D.A.’s office anymore,”

“But I know your boss,” you tease right back, and he rolls his eyes, as you lean forward, “and it’s ‘counselor’ to you,”

He dares forward, “Well, counselor,” he replies, lips curled in a smile, “I’ll take it under advisement, and I’ll give my boss your best,” And he slips from the booth, pausing only to add, “do this again?”

And you can’t hide your smile, “Next week?”

He nods, slipping out of the doors from Forlini’s and you watch him, your eyes falling across the bar — and the two seats where you had sat, now reupholstered and refurbished — and then back again to the door he left from, before turning back to your booth. As you sat, his smile and the faint fluttering left in your chest, a smile you couldn’t stave off

Things really did change, didn’t they?

“Trial’s in a few weeks?” and Sonny nods, Rollins sips at her drink, “you have to testify, Amanda?”

“Unfortunately,” she jerks a thumb towards Sonny, setting her drink down on the counter of the bar, “he’s been prepping me and it’s somehow worse than Barba.”

The sting of his name hurt less, your easy smile not wavering, “I find that hard to believe,”

“Oh believe me,” Amanda turns to Sonny, who sips at his drink sheepishly, “how long did we practice yesterday?”

“Not important,” he brushes her remark off, as you and Amanda share a look and chuckle, “I just want to be ready — Hadid has been all over me about this trial. If she’s been looking for an excuse to fire me, this would be the perfect one.”

“Hey,” your hand finds his, “you’re going to do great. You have practiced your closing a thousand times — I’ve heard it half a million times — you know what the points you have to make are. I know you’re ready.”

He squeezes your hand back, smiling softly, “Thank you,” and butterflies bloom under his steady gaze, before he slips from the stool, “I’m going to use the bathroom, I’ll be right back,” his hand grazes your back before he finds his way to the restroom.

You sip at your drink, before you find Amanda staring at you. You frown, placing the drink down, “What?”

“What’s going on between you two?”

You wrinkle your brow, as Amanda scratches her brow, her lips pursed.“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to get involved, but,” she craned her neck to check if Sonny was gone, “I know something happened between you two before you left,” Your head snaps to your drink, biting your lip, “I may be a detective, but it doesn’t take a genius to see that you two, whatever this is,” she gestures, “it’s not just a friendship,”

You blink — but wasn’t it? “But—”

“I don’t know how you feel, but I’m not blind,” she tilts her head, trying to catch your gaze, “just don’t hurt him okay?”

“Amanda—”

“I don’t need to hear specifics about what happened,” she shrugs, “I just want him to be okay ‘cause he may not be my partner now, but he is my best friend.”

You nod, “Of course, I won’t, Amanda — I care about him too.”

But it was complicated.

It was simple before — but it was different — you were in love with someone else — blinded. Sonny was your friend, one of your closest, but a friend nonetheless. Your stomach didn’t flip when you saw him, you didn’t text him so often, there weren't brief touches that you wished would last forever — like there was now.

And you couldn’t deny it forever.

Amanda chuckles, shaking her head, “I can’t believe I just said Carisi is my best friend,”

You smile, “Guess he really grew on you after he shaved the ‘stache,”

Amanda raised her eyebrows, snorting, “Like an infection,”

You grinned, sipping at your drink, “What are you two laughing at?” and both of you share a smile, “what?”

“Nothing, Sonny,” Amanda waves him off, “I gotta go — babysitter’s time is almost up, and I have to check on the girls,” Amanda nods at you, “It was nice to see you again, counselor.”

“Same here, Amanda,” and she nods at Sonny, slipping from the bar, as he takes her seat, leaning against the counter, his knee brushing yours. The low light of the bar catches in his eyes, a dark blue that makes your heart stutter a moment as his lips curl into a smile. And you remember the moment you kissed him.

“Now what?” you blink, biting your lip.

Would it be so bad to fall in love with him?

To fall in love with an A.D.A. again? Falling into old habits?

“Walk me home?”

And fall you would.

~~~

It wasn’t a walk so much as it was a subway ride away and a walk to your apartment, “Do you ever miss the D.A.’s office?” and you spare a glance at Sonny.

“Why? Want another person bossing you around the office?” he chuckles, licking his lips.

“When you put it like that,” and you laugh, “no, I just mean—”

“You mean if I ever miss being on the right side of justice?” and he opens his mouth to retort, “I’m joking, Sonny — I mean criminal defense is a different way I can do justice — I get to take on a lot of the firm’s pro bono work and I get to help people who are at the lowest points of their lives put it back together.”

“Even murderers?” he frowns.

You bite your lip, “You saw the Ortiz case on the news didn’t you?” Ortiz, a husband who murdered his wife in cold blood — or that was the story the media and prosecutors’ were selling, “Did you read his interview?”

He raises an eyebrow, “No?”

“It turns out his wife had been abusive for years — verbally, emotionally, and physically—” your shoes scrape against the pavement, “he snapped when she turned it on their son.”

“Is that an excuse—”

“Yes, by law it is — it isn’t premeditated murder, it’s manslaughter,” you slip your hands into your pockets, “but even then, do people get any better locked up in cages?”

“Do you think they should be—”

“Walking free and clear? No,” you look up at the sky, “but you know in Sweden — they have one of, if not the, lowest recidivism rates? They have less than 4,000 prisoners, compared to America’s millions. It’s because they focus on rehabilitation, not punishment. Instead of locking up people in tiny cells and inhumane conditions, they give them care in all aspects of their lives — education, psychological help, medical — everything,” Sonny opens his mouth to interject, and you hold your hands up, “I’m not saying all people are capable of reform — but a lot of them are, and don’t we owe people that chance?”

“But with S.V.U.—”

“With S.V.U., it’s more complicated — I won’t deny that, rapists are more likely to victimize again compared to other crimes,” you shake your head, “I don’t have all the answers, but I know locking people up and having them be victimized in prison isn’t the answer,” you offer a small smile, “but to answer your question, I miss the people, but I’m happy where I landed. I think it’s the right place for me.”

“How do you know? I mean, how do you know it’s the right place?”

You shrug, “You just feel it after some time—” you tilt your head, “where’s this coming from?”

Sonny sighs, “I got a big case coming up in a week,” his hands slipped into his pockets, “My first trial.”

“Hadid letting you off the leash?” he barks out a laugh.

“Barely,” he shakes his head, “not that I blame her — this job, I swear I come home more tired than I did chasing down perps.”

“That seems like a stretch, and hindsight bias,” you add, elbowing him before rubbing your shoulders, biting back a shiver — wearing only a suit coat out was a mistake, “besides I know you can handle it.”

He unwraps his scarf, as you open your mouth to protest, but the scarf is already around your neck, and you can’t help but smile — it smells like him — “Sometimes I think you have more faith in me than I do,”

“I have enough faith in you for the both of us,” you pull the scarf snug around yourself, resisting the urge to bury your nose in it. You bite your lip, “is the gallery open to the public?”

“Think so,” he nods.

“Do you want me to be there in court?” the words come out carefully — afraid to cross a line you weren’t sure was there.

“Watching the case?”

“Just the verdict,” you say, “I didn’t get to be there for you when you passed the bar or when you got hired at the D.A.’s office — we could get dinner after — guilty verdict or not.”

“Not gonna disappear on me for three years, are you?” you flinch, and he sighs, “sorry that came out wrong—”

“It’s okay,” you smile ruefully, “I kind of deserved it, but,” you add, “I’m not going anywhere — and this time I mean it.”

The quiet settled over you both for a moment, and you knew he was going to ask — you knew he was working up the courage to do so, “Why did you leave?” you cross your arms, “you don’t—”

“I want to,” you shake your head — and you could see Rafael’s smile, feel his touch, and see his heart break — “It’s just complicated.”

“So complicated that you had to leave?” he pressed, and you nodded.

“I didn’t want to — but I had to,” you glance at him, see his brows knit together, “but the one thing I regretted and I will always regret is leaving you too, and I promise, I won’t do it again,” you reach for his hand, your fingers intertwining, just as you reach the doorstep of your apartment, “you can hold me to that.”

He stares down at you, the flickering light of your apartment barely illuminating his face, but a soft smile on his lips, “I will, sweetheart,” and warmth bloomed in your stomach — no, you really couldn’t deny it anymore could you? But he squeezes your hand, stepping back, “See you in a week?”

You lick your lips, heart thumping in your ears — you nod, “Yeah,” you feel his coat around your shoulders, “oh your scar—”

He waves you off, “Keep it,” he walks down your steps, turning around, pointing a finger at you, grinning, “But make sure Rollins isn’t the one bringing it by.”

You hear the humor in his voice and smile, “No promises.”

And you spare one more glance at his returning back, before slipping inside your apartment building and into your apartment. Your fingers fisted in the soft red cotton of his scarf — your cheeks and heart warm.

Oh, what were you getting yourself into?

Sonny tried not to glance behind him — you still hadn’t arrived. His nerves were shot after this week — everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong.

Of course it did — it did little to inspire faith in himself, or in Hadid for that matter.

“All rise,” Judge Abbas said, and Sonny had to stop himself from jumping to his feet — he knew, he knew in his gut that he had given his best case, though this case was sticky to begin with, “Foreperson of the jury, what say you on the charge of rape in the second degree?”

Sonny’s heart jumped into his throat, blood roaring in his ears, and he barely caught the verdict, mouth dry — the feeling of the victims’ gazes boring into the back of his head.

“We find the defendant guilty,” and he nearly couldn’t believe it — he had done it, they had done it. The judge announces they will reconvene for sentencing in two weeks. He turns around, shaking the hands of the victims, thanking them for their testimony, sparing one glance at the defendant.

Adneradline and relief is pumping through him, his chest lighter — he had done it, he had gotten justice.

And then he sees you — through the crowd, you’re standing by the door, smiling brightly at him, mouthing congratulations, jerking your head and slipping from the courtroom. He nearly trips over himself to get to you, trying to maintain decorum as he leaves through the double doors. He slips by people he knows and those he doesn’t until finally he finds you in a discrete corner of the courthouse, away from prying eyes and reporters.

“Sonny, I’m so proud of you,” you say, your hands on his shoulders, your lips curled in a smile he hoped that was just for him, “I knew you could do it,”

And you did — you had told him he could do it time and time again when he didn’t believe in himself, you had been there for him, as you promised to be.

Everything slows for a moment.

And he couldn’t help think you were the only one he needed to believe in him, to be by his side, the one he wanted to tell good news first, the one he wanted to wake up beside in the morning. He’s breathless as he looks at you, and you seem to realize — the air between you two becoming thick, as he looms closer, a bag on your arm, slipping to your fingers now.

“Sonny,” you breathe, as you tilt your head upwards to look into his eyes.

And he knows this may be a mistake — the last time he kissed you, you disappeared, and every relationship he’s had has ended in disaster, but he can’t bring himself to care — not when he could kiss you again.

“Can I kiss you?” the words slip past his lips without much to-do, and he has to stop himself from biting his tongue or stumbling back, especially when you nod, and his lips crash to yours.

His kiss is still hesitant, and so are you, your lips parting and meeting again and again — chaste, but he tasted you — and he swore he never tasted anything like you before, nothing so sweet. And he pulls away a moment, eyes fluttering and he sees your eyes do the same. And his heart is in his throat again — what if you thought it was a mistake?

But you only smile, your warm hand cupping his cheek, the bag slipping from your fingers, as the other intertwines with his fingers, “Where do you think you’re going?”

And you kiss him again, and he doesn’t hold back this time, his arms wrapping around you, tugging you impossibly closer, smiling against your lips. And he couldn’t help but think — as warmth bloomed in his stomach, your fingers curling in his hair — how did he ever get so lucky?

#sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi #sonny carisi imagines #rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba imagines #svu #svu imagines #law and order: svu #svu fanfiction

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garbagevanfleet · 5 years ago

Text

Learn To Leave A Room (series)

PART THREE

Pairing: Jake & female!Reader Warnings: REAL ACTUAL SEXUAL CONTENT. 18+ ONLY. Summary: Balancing relationships is hard work - God forbid someone throw a wrench into it. Notes: I appreciate everyone that likes, reblogs, and comments. There’s a special place in heaven for people like you. <3

MASTERLIST

“I am not ashamed, the story goes. I swear I will learn to leave a room without touching every part of your face.” — Marcelo Hernandez Castillo, “How to Grow the Brightest Geranium,” published in Breakwater Review

The cake is perfect. It’s exactly what you had ordered - a vanilla cake with blush pink, buttercream frosting. Little edible pearls spell out Lucy’s name. It’s uncanny how perfectly it mirrors her personality.

It lives in your fridge for six hours before you head to the party, next to a carton of orange juice and a bag of baby carrots. You think about it periodically while you get ready, trying to remind yourself not to forget it when you leave.

Lucy had requested that you wear something “really cute for pictures”, so you had gone and bought the most pastel dress you could find at Forever 21 and hung it in the back of your closet.

You’re trying to figure out if it makes more sense to do your makeup first and risk smearing your foundation on the dress as you slip it on, or put the garment on first and risk dusting powder on it. You weigh the options as you lay out every product you want to use, but in the end, you decide to slide the dress on and then tuck an old t-shirt into the neckline like a bib. It looks stupid, but it gets the job done, because you do drop a pea-sized glob of concealer onto it, and it surely would have stained the lilac-colored fabric.

You run your fingers through the loose curls that you’ve shaped your locks into, and straighten your dress in the mirror. When you’re finished, you grab your keys and your phone, and you do get all the way out to your car before you realize you forgot the cake.

It’s only 6 pm when you pull up to the Kiszka house, but Lucy had texted you earlier asking if you wanted to come and help her put up decorations, so you agreed. You’re glad that you did because she’s hectically taping candy pink streamers around the supporting boards on the ceiling.

“Lucy, wow,” you say. “You look incredible.”

And she does. Her long blonde hair is in a loose, fishtail braid down her back and she’s wearing a party dress the exact color of the cake you’d brought. She only turns her head to look at you and give you a smile.

“Thanks, babe. I’d look better if I didn’t have to sweat my butt off rehanging these streamers,” she explains, shooting Josh a look, who you realize is leaning leisurely against a doorway instead of doing any work. He grins at you, feigning innocence.

“I don’t really feel like there’s a wrong way to hang them,” Josh argues lightheartedly. “I guess I just don’t know about taping shit.”

You breathe a laugh at him and cross the room to give him a one-armed hug, careful to not risk dropping the cake. He takes it from you and disappears with it in the kitchen. There are heart-shaped mylar balloons everywhere; across the ceiling, tied to the stair railing, framing the doorways.

“It looks like Valentine’s Day in here,” you say sweetly and Lucy hums back at you.

“I have a lot left to do, but isn’t it pretty?”

“It’s gorgeous,” you agree.

You had been completely distracted by everything that you hadn’t worried about Jake once since you got there, so when he steps into the living room through the kitchen archway, it knocks the smile right off of your face.

You are not sure of much in your life, but you’re positive you’ve never seen him look so good. He looks like the antithesis of this party, dressed in a ripped pair of dark-wash jeans and a button-down that’s undone down to the base of his sternum. An array of long necklaces rest over the exposed flesh.

The nerve.

Looking at him is like trying to look directly into the sun, so you try to keep your eyes trained on anything else, but it’s nearly impossible. Lucy is turned away, and Josh is still in the kitchen, so you steal a glance over again. Since you’re the least lucky person you know, he meets your eyes, and the smirk he offers you back makes you wish you could choke him to death with all his stupid jewelry.

“Can I help with something, Lu?” you ask, snapping yourself back to reality.

“Wanna spread the glitter?” she asks in a sing-song tone.

You frown deeply at her.

“Glitter?” Jake asks in a tone that mirrors your exact confusion. “You know this is a house party, right?”

She nods at him but doesn’t say anything else.

You know you can’t reason with her, but you also know that you should try. “Lucy, isn’t glitter going to be a little messy? How are you going to clean it all up?”

“I’m not,” she responds through a grin that shows her blindingly white teeth. “It’s my birthday, so you guys are.”

You feel your face fall into a sour look, but she just keeps grinning at you. After a good five seconds of silence, you sigh and she points at a gallon-sized bag of glitter on the coffee table.

“For my birthday, I’m going to make you fill this entire house with foam like a rave,” you threaten. “And then, the morning after, I’m going to make your hungover ass eat it.”

She lets out a genuine laugh that makes you feel warm, so you can’t stay mad at her.

“Wouldn’t it all melt?” Jake asks, playing along.

“Then she can use a straw,” you say, but you still end up spreading glitter across the tables.

Half an hour later, you’re trying to dust tiny reflective pink stars off of your hands when you hear Lucy gasp. She had been setting cups out on the table, but now she’s staring at you with wide eyes.

“Shit, we forgot to get alcohol!” she squeals and turns to look at Josh. “Is there anything left from the last party?”

He shakes his head. “Definitely not enough.”

“Will you pretty please make a booze run?” she begs you, looking like she’s about to cry. “I’m not even close to done here.”

“Of course I’ll go.” You start heading towards the door when Josh calls Jake’s name and it echoes through the house.

Jake calls back a “what” from his room, but you can hear him start to make his way down to the living room.

“I’ll send Jake with you,” Josh explains, and then to Jake as he reaches the bottom stair. “You’ll escort her to the liquor store, right?”

You try to stop it but your eyes pop open wide. “No, it’s okay. I’m perfectly capable of making it there and back.”

“Just go with Jake so he can help you carry it all,” Lucy insists like you’re being stupid, which you are. “You know what I like, and we need at least the same amount we had for the last one.”

You watch Josh hand Jake his debit card and then he ushers you both along.

He doesn’t say it, but you figure that Jake is driving when he leads you out to his car, and you clamber in. The bench seat is freezing against your bare legs, and you feel like it’s somehow gotten colder out since you left your house. He must notice you curl in on yourself because Jake flicks the heat on high as soon as the car is started.

On the drive into town, you’re acutely aware of the small amount of space between the two of you. There’s no center console, so the only thing separating you is a couple of cassette tapes and an unopened pack of cigarettes.

You chance a look at him and instantly regret it.

His profile is so unbelievably beautiful, from the slope of his nose to the way his hair rests on his shoulder. It’s starting to get dark out, but what’s left of the natural light makes his jaw look knife sharp. He licks his lips absently, but you can tell he’s aware that you’re staring at him now. It feels safer here, without the threat of Lucy or Josh’s prying eyes. Just you two in a glass box.

Once your brain gets the idea that you need to touch him, you couldn’t stop yourself if you tried, so you don’t. You reach over slowly and place your hand on his thigh, but you force yourself to resist the urge to slide it up any further.

He looks down at it and then over at you, and he breathes a disbelieving laugh.

“You know, you’re starting to give me whiplash,” he says, but there’s no malice in his tone. His eyes flick back to the road.

Your fingers press tighter into the fabric of his jeans as you open your mouth to speak. “I’m sorry,” you reply, but you know you’re not, and so does he. You wish you could tell him what you want, but you can’t quite find the words, so you just settle for focusing on the feeling of his leg beneath your palm. You leave it there the rest of the ride into town, but you manage to rip your eyes away and watch out your window as the shedding trees pass you by.

When he pulls into the parking lot and turns the car off, you share a blank look. He’s not wearing that cocky smirk anymore, and you think he’s truly trying to figure out what you’re going to do next. But the joke is on him because not even you know.

You head inside with him close behind you and grab a cart. A bottle or two of every type of alcohol you can think of finds its way in and you pull a bottle of birthday cake flavored vodka off a shelf. You smile down at it as you set it in with the rest. After you pick out mixers, you’ve got enough to last through three parties, you think. The cashier gives you a look that makes you think maybe you’ve gotten too much, but he rings it up all the same.

You’re about to ask him to split the tab up, but Jake shakes his head and hands Josh’s card over.

“We’ll get it,” he says under his breath.

You’re more than grateful to have him along as you pack everything into the backseat because you can admit when you’re wrong, and there’s no way you’d be able to handle all the bags yourself.

The sun is completely gone as you hop back into the front seat, so the ride back is pretty dark, and you’re a little grateful because it eliminates the temptation of stealing looks at him. However, that doesn’t stop you from placing your hand back on his leg, maybe a little higher up this time, but hey, who’s keeping track?

You keep thinking about his outfit. He normally dresses somewhat like that, doesn’t he? You can’t recall ever being quite so taken aback by his appearance. By the time you’re just a minute away from home, you’ve convinced yourself that he’s dressed like this deliberately, and it makes you wonder if he’d done the same for the last party.

He parks the car, but you don’t make an effort to get out, so neither does he. He looks over at you expectantly, an eyebrow cocked slightly.

You hold his gaze and, heart racing, you start to slide your hand farther up his thigh. His eyes flick down at it, but it isn’t until your fingertips are brushing over his zipper that he grabs your wrist. The motion is so quick that it startles you a bit. You hold your breath, suddenly worried that you’ve gone too far.

He looks like he’s considering letting you keep going, but after a few seconds he lets out a shaky laugh.

“We need to get back inside,” he says, but his voice has taken on that tone again. The silky one that commands your attention.

You laugh breathlessly back at him and he lets go of your wrist. You don’t let yourself feel like a scolded school kid as you get out of the car, but you can feel yourself blushing.

Josh opens the front door and jogs out, Sam just behind him.

“Where’d you come from?” you quip at Sam.

“I was napping,” he says through a goofy smile.

You feign outrage. “Are you telling me that I was spreading glitter and you were sleeping?”

“In my defense,” he starts and then brushes past you to open the back door to the car. “There’s no way I’d help with glitter. And being in charge of the music is a really exhausting job.”

“I’ll gladly take it over for you,” you tease. It would be nice to be able to hear yourself think this time around.

“You can pry it out of my cold, dead hands.”

Josh ushers you inside empty-handed, and you smile gratefully at him. It takes the boys two trips to bring in the bags, but as soon as they’re set down on the kitchen counter, you start to unpack them. Lucy trots up to your side, giving you a hug.

“Thank you so much for going to get all this,” she whines and you hug her back. “You’re a great friend.”

“I know,” you tease. You can see that she’s been busy since you’ve been gone. There’s now little heart-shaped sugar cookies and chocolate dipped pretzel sticks laid out around the house for snacking, and you cannot imagine a reality where there isn’t pink and white frosting puked all over this house in the morning.

You grab out five shot glasses from the cupboard as the boys join you in the kitchen. Lucy looks absolutely delighted at the sight of her special birthday cake vodka, and after pouring you each a shot, you hold your glass up and turn to her.

“To Lucy,” you say and she beams a smile at you. “And to Valentine’s Day in October.”

The alcohol is so sweet that it makes you cough, but you laugh as Lucy picks up the bottle and takes another pull. She disappears into the living room with it under her arm.

As soon as people start arriving, they don’t stop until the house is packed. You get to catch up with old friends from high school, and you drink until you’re feeling nice and loose. This time when Lucy asks you to dance, you don’t put it off. You twirl around with her, and she doesn’t let go of the bottle of vodka the entire time.

The house is warm from so many bodies and it makes your hair stick to your skin. Luckily you had thought ahead to wear waterproof makeup, so when you find yourself checking it in the bathroom mirror there are no smudges to clean up - only flecks of pink glitter dusted across your nose like freckles.

The cake finds its way out unceremoniously and Lucy’s so drunk that she just swipes frosting off the top of her slice. You watch her lick it off of her finger and then offer it Josh to do the same and you shake your head. He laughs at her, but you look away before you see anything else, opting instead to make yourself another drink.

You wind your way through people, too drunk to care too deeply if you bump into anyone. The concoction you mix is a bit too strong, but the cup is too full to add more mixer, so you don’t make any moves to fix it. You’re thinking about trying to stir through it with a straw when you notice that Jake is standing feet away from you. Has he been there the whole time? You think yes, especially when you realize the girl that’s standing between you and him is having a full-blown conversation with him. You want to laugh at the lump in your throat that feels suspiciously like envy.

He doesn’t look deeply invested, but he’s nodding and laughing at all the right moments. You’re not sure he’s spotted you until he locks eyes with you over her shoulder. It’s only for a second, but it makes your face hot, so you rip away and weave back into the living room, praying that he doesn’t think you were eavesdropping.

You sit with Lucy and Josh on the couch where Lucy is trying to talk with you about a conversation she had with a high school friend. You’re not sure if it’s because she’s too drunk, or because you are, but you’re having trouble understanding her, so you just nod along. You have no idea what time it is, but people are finally starting to leave, and it gives you the warm feeling of a successful party as people come and say their goodbyes to the three of you collectively.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t thinking about him before, but now for the rest of the night, you are hyper-aware of Jake’s presence. Every time he’s in the same room as you, your eyes are on him, and you have the sense to feel a little embarrassed about it. At first. But every sip of alcohol sees a fraction more of your inhibitions out the window.

You should be at least trying to listen to Lucy, but out of the corner of your eye, you catch Jake standing by the staircase. He sets his drink down on the railing and goes to pull the pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket, and looking back at you, he flicks his eyes toward the kitchen - an invitation for you to follow.

You go to excuse yourself, but Josh and Lucy are already standing to hug someone else goodbye, so you’re able to slip away undetected.

The rest of the house is really starting to clear out, but the kitchen is still the most populated as people rush to get one more drink before it’s all over. You’re easily able to shoulder past them to make your way through, and you find that Jake is already waiting for you on the porch when you get out there.

The October air is chilly, and you think you’d be colder if you weren’t so full of alcohol. Still, you wrap your bare arms around your chest to preserve heat, and you unabashedly watch his fingers as Jake pulls a cigarette out and slips it between his lips. You’re impressed with how sober he can act as he fumbles with his lighter, especially since you’ve been watching him drink all night. Once he gets it lit, you watch him take a drag.

Neither of you says a word, but the silence is comfortable as you just stare at each other. You wish you could play coy - pretend that you weren’t sure if you were going to end up fucking him, but you know, and so does he.

The way his eyes rake up and down your body makes your breath catch. It feels like his gaze is touching you, leaving your skin to tighten in its wake. You think he might kiss you - you’re hoping - and you brace yourself for it, but he doesn’t. He just smirks at you, and a drunken worry that he can read your thoughts crosses your mind.

When he finishes his cigarette, he stubs it out into the railing, then he gestures you back toward the door and follows you in. You’d only been out there a few minutes - or at least you think it was only a few minutes - but when you reenter, the kitchen is nearly vacant. The only people still lingering are Sam and a girl under each of his arms, one of them brushing her fingers through his hair. You laugh at them on your way past and receive a grin from him in return.

The living room is completely empty, save for Lucy, who has just shed her heels onto the hardwood and is currently pulling off her earrings.

“Wow, everyone left so quickly,” you remark, and you have to tell yourself not to look as Jake slips past you and disappears up the stairs.

“I kicked them out,” Lucy replies sweetly. “It’s pretty late. Hey, do you want me to stay down here with you?”

You give her a questioning look before you realize what she’s talking about. “Oh, no. I’ll be okay. I’m pretty used to sleeping on this couch.” You pat the back of it, giving her a smile.

“Are you sure? Or maybe you want to come sleep with us upstairs?”

The look Josh shoots her makes you laugh a little too loud and you shake your head.

“Lucy, go. I’m going to be just fine.”

Josh has to help her up the stairs, but as soon as you’re sure that they’re in his room, you slip into the kitchen. Sam (and his girls) have disappeared too, and you allow a sigh of relief. You fill a glass with water and sip at it with the weak hope that it’ll lessen the hangover you’re due for in the morning.

Back in the living room, you pull a blanket out of the wicker basket by the tv stand and place it over the couch. You stare at it ruefully for a brief moment before roughing it up to look used, just in case someone happens upon it and wonders where you are. A pang of nerves feels like hot fluid in your veins as you flick off the lights. As you’re heading up the stairs, you try to be completely silent. You’re relieved that you can’t hear anyone throughout the rooms, but you also eye the bathroom door, just in case anyone pops out and you have to pretend that you’re too drunk to find your way around.

You pause a second in front of Jake’s door, your hand on the knob. It’s only after you take a deep breath and count to three that you can turn the knob, even if it’s frustratingly slow.

You’re praying that the hinges won’t squeak, so you aren’t expecting it when the door is pulled the rest of the way open from the inside. You gasp as his hand finds its way to your hip and he gently tugs you into the room. He is decidedly less quiet as he shuts the door behind you with a thud.

“Jake,” you scold through a grin. You feel his fingers press into your hip just a fraction tighter.

His room is dark and your eyes aren’t adjusted yet, but you realize how close he is as he breathes a laugh and it’s warm against your face.

“Stop worrying so much,” he says, and for the third time in your life, that silky commanding tone of his has you feeling weak. He presses you back against the door and instinctively, your arms wrap around his neck. When he brings his face closer to you, the smell of smoke and cologne in his hair is intoxicating. You curl your fingers through the strands and press your body back against his until you’re flush together.

You’ve been anticipating it for so long that the first time that he kisses you, you can’t help but let out a moan at how satisfying it is. He hums a laugh against your lips, but you’re too drunk to feel self conscious about it. He tastes incredible as you start to lick into his mouth, your lips slipping together. He slides his hands down your back, slowly enough that you’re anticipating what he’ll do next. Another, dirtier sounding, moan escapes you as he cups your ass, pulling your hips closer. His fingertips knead into your flesh through the fabric of your dress, and you enjoy the warmth that washes through you.

Your heartbeat picks up as his right-hand starts to wander lower until it’s wrapped around your thigh. When he starts to wrap your leg around his waist, you think you might lose your balance, but he counters the weight flawlessly, pressing you tighter into the door for support. He situates you until his leg is between yours. Your dress is riding up high enough that your panties are what slides against the denim of his jeans. The breath you let out is embarrassingly shaky as he teasingly rocks you forward, grinding you against his thigh. It’s silent enough in the space between you two that he hears it perfectly, and your sound pulls a smug hum from his throat. You kiss him again, deeper this time because the nerves are melting away with the pressure against your core. He lets you work yourself against him, but between the feeling building in you, and the sound of his timed breathing, it becomes increasingly hard to focus on what your lips are supposed to be doing. Your face feels as hot as the point where you’re meeting his leg, and you don’t realize how wet you’re really getting until you can feel the slip of your skin against your panties.

You break away from his mouth to breathe the word “fuck” against his cheek, but before you know it, he’s pulling his leg away. You let out a whimper and mourn the loss of contact as deeply as you would a dead friend. He huffs a pleased laugh into your ear, making you shiver and when you realize he’s teasing you, you frown - even though you know he can’t see it.

“That’s fucked up.” You intend it to sound angry, but it comes out in a soft, pleading whisper. He holds you far enough away that you can see his face, and you can just make out his features in the dim light coming from under the door.

When he speaks, it’s with his hand cupping your jaw. “What’s fucked up is the way you’ve been fucking with me for weeks.” His tone is serious, but you can hear a hint of a smirk under it.

“I wasn’t sure what I wanted,” you explain through a breathy laugh.

He shoves you tighter against the door, and it doesn’t hurt in the slightest, but the strength of it only turns you on further.

He leans in and takes your lips against his again. “Don’t lie to me,” he says directly into your mouth as he pulls you away from the door and starts walking you both towards his bed. It’s clumsy because of the state of your sobriety, but when the backs of your knees hit the bed, he pushes you down on it. The slight force of the action elicits a low moan from you.

Ever ready to push him further, you lay back and run your hands down your body, slowing over every curve, and you have to bite your bottom lip at the look on his face.

There’s an old neon light plugged into the wall in this corner of the room and the dull red catches against the side of his face. The sight of him standing over you - you’re sure you’ve never seen anything like it in your life. He slowly pulls off his necklaces and they make metallic noises as he lets them drop to the hardwood floor.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” you breathe and he cracks a smirk at you. You absolutely can’t help yourself - you sit up and start helping him undo the bottom buttons on his shirt, and as soon as the skin is exposed, your mouth finds it. Wet kisses leave shiny marks along his stomach and across his hips. His hand rakes through your hair, tugging the strands lightly. You nip into the skin and the feeling of his muscles jumping at the touch makes you groan through your teeth.

Your fingers dance along the hem of his jeans, and without warning, you cup his cock through the fabric with your hand. The denim is a little too thick to feel the exact shape, but you can feel it getting harder as you palm against it. His grip in your hair tightens, maybe involuntarily, as your free hand fumbles with the button and then the zipper. You peel the fabric back and mouth over his cock through the thin fabric of his underwear.

The little noise that falls out of his open mouth makes you feel instantly wetter, and you try to grind down against the bed for some reprieve, but it’s not quite enough to be satisfying. Your fingers are dipped under the band of his briefs, just about to tug them down when he gently shoves you back again.

Your expression, eyes wide with shock, earns you a deep laugh from him. He pushes you up until you’re both fully on the bed and then crawls half over you, his hair falling around your face like a curtain.

You reach up and run your fingers through it, scratching your nails lightly against his scalp. He dips down and kisses you again, but this time, he means business. He’s got his tongue in your mouth almost instantly, and you lick against it, tasting him. He tastes like sweet alcohol, but you lose focus the second you feel his grip on your knee.

He starts to move his hand up your leg, painfully slow. When he gets to the hem of your little dress, he slides it up. His fingers press into the skin of your thigh, lightly at first, but then deep enough that you pray they leave bruises. You gasp against his lips, so he pulls away and leans in to nip at the skin on your neck.

By the time his fingers catch against your panties, you’re feeling starved for the touch. He’s not giving you any pressure - any friction. It’s feather-light, but when he brushes over your clit, your hips buck into his hand without your permission.

“Sit still,” he instructs, and it’s so sexy that it makes your eyes roll back. When his fingertips press against you again you have to press your hips flat to the bed to keep them from moving. Goosebumps rise over your limbs as he pulls your panties to the side and you feel his fingers toy along your skin before they pause.

The look on his face is a little alarming. His brow is furrowed and the area around his lips is all red from the friction against your neck. His voice is already a little gravelly from want, so his voice comes out deep. “You are so fucking wet.”

You purse your lips together and bury your head into his shoulder. You’re way past feeling embarrassed, but you absolutely cannot handle him looking at you like that. The obscene whine you let out would be a little too loud if it wasn’t muffled against his hair, but you can’t stop it as his finger drags over your folds. When it dips into you, you can feel just how truly wet you are - you let him work it into you and love every movement. At that moment, you decide that his fingers are your very favorite thing about him.

You completely forget where and who you are until you hear how ragged his breathing is getting. He moves to delve in to the last knuckle, but as his body shifts, you can feel the length of him against your hip.

“Jake,” you whisper, past the point of caring if you’re begging. “Please.”

He must be able to hear the desperation in your voice because he sits up and pulls you along with him, your arms tight around his neck. He holds your hair to the side as he undoes the zipper on your dress, and lets you shrug out of the garment. It gets set aside with care before his hand is cupping your breast, thumbing across the nipple. They’ve always been sensitive, so when he leans in to suck one into his mouth, you give a high whine from the back of your throat. Your fingers thread into his hair as his tongue circles around it. You’re thankful that he doesn’t waste too much time on them, but you can tell that he wants to. You make a note that if you ever get another chance at this with him, you’ll try to be patient enough to let him.

He slides your panties down and onto the floor before he starts fumbling with his pants. The denim is so tight that he has to work a little to get them off, and it doesn’t help that his hands seem to be visibly shaking a little. You give a half-hearted laugh at the struggle.

You are struck completely breathless, however, when he slides his briefs down and his hard cock is suddenly right there. At that moment, you decide that his fingers are no longer your favorite thing about him.

When he catches you eyeing it, he grips it and he gives it a couple of slow strokes, making a show of it for you. The fact that the sight makes your mouth water is fleetingly concerning to you, but you add another thing to your “next time list”.

You’re more than ready as he parts your legs and situates himself between them. Leaning over you, he presses his lips against yours and as he slides in, he swallows the shaky breath that you let out.

He pauses for a moment after he’s in to the hilt, giving you a chance to adjust to it. He seems to be fighting the urge to move, and you think the sentiment is sweet. So sweet, in fact, that you feel slight butterflies, their wings beating against the inside of your stomach. But you have never been so turned on in your life, and you want this.

You grip his hair, maybe a bit too tightly and look directly into his eyes. “Fuck me,” you demand through clenched teeth. The proud feeling you get from the way his breath catches will live in your head forever if you have any say about it.

He grips your thigh and hitches one of your legs over his hip before he starts thrusting into you. It feels so good that you can’t even make a noise; your lips just part as your chest tightens. His fingers have done such a good job at laying the groundwork that you feel like you’re already peering over the edge. You’re wet enough that just him thrusting in and out of you is enough friction on your clit and it feels like absolute heaven.

He’s undeniably handsome under normal circumstances but he’s so much hotter in this moment than you ever could have expected. You can’t stop yourself from playing your fingers along his clenched jaw and his pulse races under your touch as he picks up a rhythm. You have to close your eyes because seeing his face like this is too much.

You can feel him breathing hard against your cheek, and the space between you is so hot that you’re starting to sweat. You drag your nails down his back and he lets out a low hum between pursed lips. You try to imagine the red lines your fingers leave in their wake but he’s fucking you so good that all of your thoughts feel like they’re melting away before you can realize them.

“Fuck, Jake,” you whisper against his lips and he desperately kisses you, like he’s afraid that the sound of your voice is going to send him over the edge.

He shimmies up until his hips are flush against you and when he thrusts in again you have to cover your own mouth to keep yourself from crying out. The slight change to the position has him in you so deep that he’s grinding against your clit with every stroke. You’re so wet that you can feel it dripping and that thought alone makes you bite against your palm.

You can tell that he’s getting closer as his rhythm slowly starts to fall apart. He leans back and places one hand on your hip for leverage as the other starts rubbing firm circles into your clit.

A string of expletives fall out of your open mouth into your palm, and you rock your hips into his touch, desperate for more of the hot feeling building in you. You don’t have to tell him that you’re going to come - you’re sure he can tell when your eyes roll back. As a last coherent thought, you recall something about him playing guitar, and you think that's maybe why he’s so dexterous - his fingers working so precisely against your clit.

Before you can overthink it, you rip his hand from your hip and pull it up to your face. There’s a wild look in his eyes as you suck his forefinger and middle finger into your mouth. His jaw clenches tight as he starts to work them past your lips in time with his hips. He pushes them in just far enough that you can feel your throat threatening to gag.

Between his touch on your clit, his fingers in your mouth, and his cock sliding into you, the sensation overload sends you over the edge. Your eyes roll back and you can feel yourself clench around him as you come.

He fucks you through it, slowing until his thumb is just brushing over you and patiently switching to long, deep thrusts. You hadn’t realized that you’d closed your eyes until you open them again. You can tell he’s so close to coming that he looks pained, and your hazy mind takes a split second to appreciate how insistent he’s been on your orgasm. He slowly pulls his fingers from your mouth, and you make sure to tease your tongue along them as he does.

“Come on,” you say, your voice a bit fucked out. “Come for me.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, but he doesn’t wait for you to ask again. He leans over you, hands on either side of your head and starts fucking you in earnest. The rubbing against your clit is beyond intense post orgasm and you can’t hold back a whine. He feels incredible inside of you, and the sound of his jagged panting is something you never want to forget for the rest of your life.

He’s shaking as he pulls out of you and slides his cock through a tight fist a few times. He comes across your stomach with a low growl through clenched teeth and strokes himself for a moment longer.

You’re both panting as you come down from the high and you’re drunk enough that when you stare into his eyes, you don’t feel embarrassed. Your fingers reach up to tuck his sweat-damp hair behind his ear. Smiling down at you, he huffs a laugh.

He fishes a t-shirt off of the floor and gently wipes his come off of your stomach, pecking a kiss against your cheekbone as a consolation. You try not to feel too sentimental about the gesture.

He pulls on a pair of loose shorts across the room and you watch intently as the dim, red light catches the sheen of sweat across his back muscles.

“Do you want me to go to the couch?” you ask gingerly as you sit up and pull his sheet across your bare chest.

He turns and gives you a look that’s near mortified. “What? Do you want to?”

You shake your head. “No, I just-” You trail off as you reach for your panties and slip them back on. “Didn’t know what the boundaries were.”

He laughs at you, low and under his breath as he thrusts one of his clean t-shirts at you, and you slip it on gratefully. “Don’t you tire yourself out worrying so much?”

You offer him a smile and a shrug.

He crawls back into bed and pulls you down next to him. You’re not sure whether or not you’ll regret it in the morning, but you lay your head on his bare chest and press a kiss into the skin. He rubs his hand across your upper shoulders and wriggles until you’re flush against his side. You’re drunk and exhausted, and still coming down from an immense high, so you’re not sure if you’re dreaming it or not, but the last thing you seem to remember is him nuzzling his nose into your hair.

PART FOUR

Taglist: @myownparadise96

#learn to leave a room #writing #jake fic #jake smut #gvf fic #gvf smut

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monbebe26-monstax · 5 years ago

Note

Wonho+ 22, please~

Hoseok was unaware of your presence as he kept his headphones on listening to the track he was working on with Hyungwon’s help every now and then. Hyungwon flashed a grin at you as you slipped into the studio before shutting the door and moving to his side. You fell into the chair next to him.

“How are you Hyungwon?”

He smirks at you. “Good. How are you? Hungover?”

“No. He told you though didn’t he?” You mutter and he nods giving a sympathy smile. You sigh, glancing at Hoseok, his back still to you. “Give us a minute?” You ask Hyungwon. He bobs his head yes before getting up. His hand squeezes Hoseok’s shoulder as he passes pulling the hyung’s attention from the screen to him.

“She’s here,” he mutters. Hoseok’s eyes dart to you and you give a half smile before looking at the floor. Hyungwon leaves without another word and you wait for Hoseok to finish what he is doing.

“You okay?” He asks finally.

You nod, fidgeting with your coffee cup straw. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” He peeks at you, pulling his chair closer towards you.

You nod again. “We need to talk about what happened last night…”

“Oh,” he sighs, slumping back into the chair. “I was hoping you would think you had dreamed it.”

You smile weakly. “Unfortunately, I didn’t.”

He sighs, reaching out and pulling your hands into his. “I’m sorry.”

You shrug. “For not feeling the same? It’s fine. I mean you are you, I should’ve known better.”

He frowns, squeezing your hands. “That’s not-”

“It’s okay, Hoseok. I’m a big girl. I can handle rejection.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

You stare at him for a second before lifting an eyebrow.

He scoots closer to you. “I… you know how much you mean to me,” he murmurs softly. You shake your head, frowning. He laughs. “A lot, more than anyone else if we are being honest right now. You are my world outside of Monsta X.”

You blush, looking down at the way his thumbs start to stroke back and forth over the back of your hands soothingly.

“And I want you, I’ve wanted you for a long time,” he licks his bottom lip. “I’m just worried with my schedule and the pressures that I would hurt you.”

“Hoseok,” you murmur softly as you squeeze his hands back. “I know, believe me I know. It’s crossed my mind often too.”

He grins at you. “I couldn’t forgive myself if I ever hurt you, you know. I also think the others would murder me if I did.”

You smile weakly. “I understand. It’s okay Hoseok. Last night was a mistake. We can forget about it and move on as friends only. It was just a kiss, right?”

He sighs heavily. “No.” You see the tears collecting in his eyes. “It was more than that. But Baby, you are so special and I can’t hurt you more than I am right now. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.”

“It’s okay, promise.” You let his hands go and stand ready to leave now that you had been rejected both slightly buzzed and now sober. “I just wanted to make sure we both understood where we were in this situation. I’ll see you later.”

He sighs watching you go, his heart aching.

…

You had told him you would see him later but it had been almost a month of you dodging him. The others would mention seeing you but go silent as soon as he made a comment on about you avoiding him. Which is what led to this. Him currently waiting outside of your apartment for you to come home from work. He had been here for over three hours already, nerves had come and set it and he was worried you had shut him out for good.

He heard the elevator open but didn’t look up already having been disappointed enough as he continued to scroll through his phone.

“Hoseok?”

His head jerked up, his gaze meeting yours.

“What are you doing here?” You question, gripping tighter to your work bag as you pass him to unlock your apartment door. It beeps and you pull it open before glancing at him.

“We need to talk.”

You stare at him before nodding and opening the door wider. He goes first and you follow shedding your coat, shoes and bag before padding past him into your apartment. You start to set a teapot to boil knowing he would follow.

“You are avoiding me,” he says quietly. You glance at him, biting your lip. He looked good, the cream sweater hugging to him perfectly, his dark jeans tight on his muscled thighs.

“Maybe,” you mutter before going back to the task at hand. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”

“Of course I would notice,” he says, his voice barely audible. “I meant what I said. You mean the world to me.”

You sigh, head hanging as you fight the urge to cry. Your heart ached seeing him now and he had no idea how much his rejection had really wounded you.

“Maybe that should change,” you whisper. “I don’t think I can continue like we have now. I thought I could, I really did, but I was wrong.”

Hoseok frowns. “You don’t want to be my friend anymore.”

You turn to face him and regret it instantly.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, voice cracking as he begins to cry. Your chest tightens and you quickly fold your arms around yourself in comfort. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I know Hoseok, I know.”

He nods, looking at the floor. “I’m so sorry.”

You fight the urge to pull him into your arms and comfort him. You couldn’t keep hurting yourself for his benefit anymore.

“You should go, I think.”

His chin lifts and he stares at you as you nervously chew on your bottom lip. “You want me to go?”

You nod, closing your eyes. “I can’t… this isn’t good for either of us. I’m sorry Hoseok. I think it’s best if we just take some time apart.”

He frowns, tears rolling down his cheeks now. Your eyes open and he frowns, seeing the hurt shining in them. He reaches for you but stops seeing the tears collecting in your own eyes now. His hand falls away and you look away.

“I love you no matter what.”

“Hoseok,” you cry, voice cracking. He moves quickly, his arms encasing you. You bury your face into his shoulder, sobs leaving your body as he cries, stroking your hair. He hadn’t meant for this to happen. Eventually you build up enough strength to push him away and he steps back, arms falling away.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispers, shaking his head. “I can’t. But I can’t hurt you anymore either. I just… please?!” He begs, his legs giving out as he falls to his knees. You let out a broken sob.

“I can’t anymore either. I can’t keep hurting myself to save your feelings. Hoseok, it is eating me alive to look at you and want you and know I can’t have you because you only want me as a friend.”

He shakes his head, head hanging. “That’s not true and you know it. I told you I wanted more. I told you I wanted you more than anything but I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You already have,” you snap a little. Your emotions wearing you down. “You have over and over again but I hid it in order to keep our friendship but I can’t do it anymore!”

He flinches as you storm away leaving him on his knees in your kitchen floor. His eyes squeeze shut as he begins to hate himself over hurting you, the one thing he never wanted to do.

You shut your bedroom door before moving into your bed. The comfort of your soft sheets an escape as you bury your face and begin to fully sob, letting it all out. You hadn’t known your confession during truth or dare would have led to this and you hated yourself for hurting him and ruining the seven friendships your treasured so dearly, because at the end of the day leaving Hoseok meant leaving the others too.

It felt like hours as your crying had subsided and your head ached from the sobs when the door cracked open. You sat up immediately, surprise clear on your face that he was still here. His first words making your heart clench.

“I love you.”

You look away, pulling your pillow to your chest.

“I love you so much and I can’t leave. I can’t let you go.”

“Hoseok,” you sigh, looking down at your lap. “Please don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

“I love you,” he repeats and moves forward. You start to tell him to stop but he doesn’t give you the chance as he moves into the bed to kneel in front of you. “Look at me,” he says, the strength in his voice not wavering. You turn your gaze to his. He smiles weakly before reaching up and gently wiping your tear stained cheeks. “I want you more than a friend. I love you more than a friend. I always have and I’ve always been scared and I have wanted to be selfish and not ruin what we have. I was always scared me being an idol would hurt you, but me being selfish is what hurt you. Please forgive me?” His hand moves to cup your face. His thumb continuing to stroke over you cheek. “Forgive me please,” he begs. “Tell me I haven’t ruined this before it’s even started. Tell me you love me.”

“I love you,” you murmur. “I always will, even if it hurts me.”

He sighs, his body sagging forward. “I love you, I love you, I love you. And I want to be with you as more than friends if you will still have me and I will work every day to make sure I never do this to us again. I promise.”

“Pinky promise?” You tease through the tears. He nods quickly before leaning in and pressing his forehead to yours.

“Pink promise for eternity.”

“Good,” you smile through the fresh tears before pulling him into you. Lips meet in a kiss before he pulls back to study you over.

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s a yes,” you confirm before he grins and starts to kiss you again. Both of you fall back into your pillows kissing like you were each other’s life sources.

#Monsta X #monsta x wonho #lee hoseok #wonho #wonho angst

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

Text

Got My Number (Branjie) - Ashley

AN: The first night out after returning home for Easter break seems promising for Brooke. However, things take a turn when she drinks a little too much and bumps into her ex-girlfriend, Vanessa. (Normal text is present day and italics is the night they met)

Hello again! It seems that self isolation has brought me back to the world of fanfic to help me cope and I have a lot to catch up. Oh how I’ve missed everyone. Hope you enjoy some of my shitty writing. Sending multitudes of gratitude to Meggie for beta-ing. Love Ashley xoxo

“This game does not work when there’s only three of us.” Brooke finished off her drink, a crafty mixture of vodka, some blue alcopop and lemonade, before flicking the card in her best friend’s face.

“It’s not Nina’s fault we lost half of our group,” Yvie retaliated, never afraid to breach the most awkward and painful topics that others wouldn’t dare to mention.

Most wouldn’t have noticed the crack in Brooke’s face, for it only lasted a second, but it was still there nonetheless; big, gaping and ready to break backs.

“Wow-wow.” Nina raised her hands, her motherly nature taking centre stage. “I will not have any of this bickering on our first night out back home.”

“I’ve missed winding you two up.” Brooke grinned and held a hand out to each girl - grateful that they were still here for her when she returned home for Easter break, grateful that they had given her the kick up the arse she needed to go out and have fun, grateful for the support they had given her when she lost the crazy little flame that kept her candle lit.

“Reckon you’ll pull tonight then, Brooke?” Yvie nudged her friend with her shoulder, only to underestimate her strength and the amount her friend had drunk so far, sending Brooke toppling back onto the floor in a fit of giggles.

“I haven’t pulled since year 13 so I highly doubt it,” Brooke brushed her friend off, thinking of how much she used to love flirting and being free, of how quickly that had changed.

An all-knowing silence filled the air, everyone remembering the night that Brooke and Vanjie first got together.

Brooke poured herself another glass of the blue concoction - only this time without any lemonade.

“She doesn’t need to pull.” Nina raised a glass. “We can have fun as the three of us!”

“As long as all of us actually get in.” Yvie pointed an acrylic nail towards the blonde, who was starting to neck her drink as if she only had moments to live.

“I’m fine.” Brooke brushed off in the most unconvincing manner - the only logic in her brain being that the more she drank and the faster she did it the easier it would be to stop thinking about Vanjie for just one night.

Oh, how wrong that girl was.

***

Brooke could hear the clipping of her heels on the pavement as she rushed down towards the club, too sober to justify the five minute Uber journey. Probably too sober to be leaving in the first place after she had spent the hour she had to pre-drink removing and redoing her eyeliner until it was perfect without so much as tasting a sip of alcohol.

Nevertheless, she was ready to party, begging her beloved best friends to buy her a pitcher as she hurried to meet them. Ready to dance and forget all about her impending A-Levels - getting as many drinks for horny spice boys as she could simply through tossing her long hair over one shoulder and giving them the classic flirty Brooke wave.

Maybe she’d go home with one, maybe she wouldn’t.

About to tell Nina to make it two pitchers instead of one, she was stopped in her tracks by the sight of a shorty and sulky Latina talking to herself on the curb of the road.

Brooke didn’t know what it was that made her stop.

Maybe it was the tears in the girl’s eyes that she clung to despite gravity fighting for them to fall, maybe it was the frustration in her grizzly voice, maybe it was the way her red dress complimented her skin tone as if it were picked from a colour wheel just for her.

Maybe it was all of those things combined.

“Are you alright?” Brooke placed a tentative hand on the girls back.

“Brooke Lynn?” The girl looked up, drawing her cigarette away from her mouth as she took in the glamazonian blonde giant who towered above her. Sensing Brooke’s confusion she spoke again: “My friends are all in your year at sixth form: Silky, Akeria…”

“Oh.” A light dinged in Brooke’s head. “You’re the girl who got kicked out in the first week of term for-”

“Yes, that’s me.” The girl scrunched her face in frustration towards Brooke which made her want to giggle. “And I’m back there now, bitch, so don’t even.”

“Sorry, I’ll leave you be.” Brooke remembered her friends and the big jug of Purple Rain that had her name on it.

“Wait,” the girl called, her voice cracking with a plea of desperation, the sassy tone from before quickly dropped into the drain next to her along with the stub of her cigarette.

Brooke stopped in her tracks yet again. “Yeah?”

“Can you help me find my phone?”

***

Vanessa’s pulse began to beat in time with the music as she moved closer and closer towards the speaker, sacrificing the ringing of death she’d hear the next morning to go to speak to her girls.

Never the most articulate in school, Vanessa hadn’t expected to fall in love with University life the way she had this year. From the shopping trips to the bar crawls she had thrown herself into the experience headfirst - pushing her home and the girl she left behind as far away as she could by immersing herself in every activity, club, and night out she could partake in.

It was safe to say that this coping mechanism did not work when she was back at home; the walls around her holding a thousand or more memories of sloppy kisses and drunk dancing - closing in on her more and more till she was almost slapped across the face with the fact that her Nicholas Sparks romance had been cut short and never finished, the pages recycled into a much more lonely tale.

There was the spot where Brooke had pushed a rugby player almost clean off his feet for falling into Vanessa.

The sofa they sat on when glass slipped into her pump and Brooke had to bandage her up with blue roll and piggyback her all the way home.

The DJ who was sick to death of Vanessa requesting the first song she and Brooke had ever danced to every single Friday until he added into his queue automatically without her having to ask.

“Imma go for a smoke.” She motioned to the door - breaking her new year’s resolution that she’d managed to abide by for three whole months.

Scanning the crowd she quickly spotted a half-cute boy pulling a bag of baccy from his coat pocket.

Bingo.

The old Vanjie never got with strangers on nights out, never settled for someone she didn’t feel that spark with - you know, the one from all the teen romance movies. She was a romantic at heart.

That started to change after she broke up with Brooke; if the girl she loved more than anything in the world wasn’t going to give her The Notebook then nobody was.

She found herself sleeping with more people at Uni - the type of people who called her beautiful but wouldn’t make eye contact in the library the following week, but she didn’t even care, she wanted to be more like Brooke was: more carefree, more independent, taking a shard from the ice queen’s castle.

But it was never the same.

As much as the thought made her want to shove her own head in a blender at how cringe she was, Vanessa had learnt the difference between fucking and making love.

Before she knew it the boy was rolling the paper for her, her mouth autopiloting her conversation, the feeling of his arm around her simply a feeling - not warm, not cold, not uncomfortable, not loving.

Brooke would have probably told her off right now, making some sort of shady comment about how her voice didn’t need to get any deeper and she didn’t need to take any more years of her life, kissing her forehead after to let her know it was only in jest.

She told herself that those days were long gone. That the Brooke who worried about her, teased her and loved her was overshadowed by the Brooke who didn’t know how to be in a relationship.

The day they broke up popped into her body, a bitter taste making her skin crawl. The three

unanswered calls it had taken for her girlfriend to finally answer. The short blunt replies she received. The flirty comments left on Brooke’s photos by half of the netball team. The even flirtier replies Brooke would respond with.

“Sorry, Vanj, I’m just really hungover,” she remembered Brooke saying, the first time she’d heard her voice for a while. The words piercing her skin like a needle when she realised that her girlfriend had forgotten their anniversary, the presents she had sent clearly living with the porters instead of Brooke.

The final straw.

She remembered being shocked at herself when she said that she couldn’t do it anymore. But the words slipped out in anger and she was too stubborn to take them back.

She remembered the heavy sound of Brooke’s breathing when she hung up the phone - deleting her number and taking away every chance that she had to fight for her.

The sound of her defeated voice rang in her ear, only it took Vanessa a second to realise it wasn’t just in her memory.

***

“Are you sure she said she was in here?” Brooke gave Vanessa a pointed look as they stood on the outskirts of the dance floor, starting at the masses of people before them.

“She said she had my phone here and she had a blue top on,” Vanessa repeated, part of her finding entertainment in the way she was irritating the older girl.

“And you didn’t think to ask her name or anything else before she stopped answering your calls?”

“Sorry, mami.” Vanessa shrugged as she watched a layer of blush form on Brooke’s cheeks at her nickname. “We can ask the bouncer to do a shout out?”

Before she knew it Brooke had turned and began to dive her way through the crowd reaching back to hold Vanessa’s hand.

It could have been the dark fruits or her affinity for romance and fate acting up but Vanessa could have sworn their hands slotted together like lock and key.

She watched as Brooke took command of their path, pushing aside anyone who fell in Vanessa’s way before asking the DJ if he could make an announcement.

No luck.

Just as they were about to make their way back through the crowd, Vanessa heard the first beats of a familiar tune and squealed with excitement.

“This is my song! We have to dance!”

“What?” Brooke looked flabbergasted at the girl who had seemed to forget how upset she was at losing her phone and friends within five seconds of a pop song.

“Dance,” Vanessa told her, a command not a question.

Screaming the words she allowed the crowd to envelop Brooke and herself, watching a half-smile form on the other girls face at her tone-deaf screeching.

“This is horrendous,” Brooke spoke into Vanessa’s ear - the feel of her breath heightening every sense.

“You love it,” Vanessa responded, a form of confidence washing over her body telling her to put her arms around the blonde’s waist and move closer, dancing as two halves of one body, the pair of them their own entity.

“I’m sorry I ruined your night,” Vanessa half-shouted as the song ended.

“You haven’t,” Brooke responded without thought. “Why don’t we get pizza next door and try to ring again once the club shuts? I’m sure she’ll look at the phone then.”

“That sounds like heaven.”

***

“No!” Brooke tried to swat Nina’s hand away. “We need to go back in and have fun.”

“The bouncers told me that if I didn’t take you home then they would. C’mon Brooke, we can Uber it.”

“I’m not going.” Brooke sat herself down on one of the benches, almost getting her arm burned by the girl next to her.

“Well, you have to, it’s not up to me.” Nina wasn’t even mad at the way she had to baby her friend, knowing they would have a good laugh about it for the rest of the Easter holidays and maybe even a while after that.

“Fine.” Brooke pursed her lips and stood back up. “But you’re not coming with me, I want you to go in there and get yourself a shag. I know you fancy Bob’s sister. Do it for me, Nina, I’m living through you!”

“I’m coming with you, just let me find Yvie.”

“Nooooooo.”

At that moment a familiar voice snapped Brooke’s eyes into a clearer vision.

There she was. Her devil in a leopard print jumpsuit.

“I’ll look after her.” Vanessa placed a friendly hand on Nina’s arm, missing the way her friendship group had been torn apart since their breakup. Regretting the way she cut off every and any link to the girl she was in love with.

“Oh hi.” Nina smiled awkwardly, pausing before asking Vanessa if she was sure.

“You’re not real.” Brooke opened her mouth at the girl before closing it again. “Your Uni shuts a week later. You can’t trick me, I Googled it.”

That’s when Brooke saw the smile.

The cheeky grin that showed off almost every single tooth Vanessa owned. The smile she would wake up to that told her that everything in the world would be just fine. Nothing in the world made her feel happier than that smile - she didn’t know why the sight of it made tears start to roll down her face but it did.

“Strikes.” Vanessa started to wipe Brooke’s tears away as though she were a paper doll, Brooke unable to read the emotion on her face. “Your Mam’s gonna kill you if you go home like this. Let’s get some food in you, yeah?”

***

“I remember seeing you at a house party before, Silky’s birthday,” Vanessa started after swallowing the world’s biggest mouthful of pepperoni pizza and garlic sauce, a tiny bit sticking to her lips.

Brooke wiped it off by instinct, not stopping to question why she felt so close to a girl she had only just met.

“Is that so?” Brooke asked, assuming that the girl was chatting drunk shit like she often did when she wanted to impress someone.

“Aha,” Vanjie nodded, “You were wearing this white lacy dress and I remember thinking you looked like a ballerina. And then you were sick in the kitchen sink and the bendy girl got annoyed at you but I remember thinking that she wasn’t doing a good job at holding your hair back and I could have done better.”

Brooke placed the slice of pizza she was about to bite into back into the box, amazed at how the ditzy girl had managed to remember her so well.

“Not my finest hour.” Brooke laughed.

“Tonight hasn’t been mine.” The girl laughed back, her brain slipping into a more sober state.

Her laugh sounded like a car alarm. Brooke wanted to put it in a jar and have it wake her up on lazy mornings.

“I’m sure you can repay me at some point.” Brooke smiled - Vanessa’s grin an infectious curse that you couldn’t help but surrender to.

“Bitch, I just bought you half of this pizza!”

“I meant in other ways.”

Normally Brooke would blame it on the drink. The longing to have someone’s body, the longing to hold them, even the longing to simply spend time with them. But right then she was stone cold and wanted nothing more than to spend the next day, the day after then and every day that followed listening to Vanessa chat shit and tease her.

“I taste of garlic,” Vanessa blurted out to the girl, her no-filter mouth spilling out the first panic that came to her mind at the thought of kissing the beautiful blonde creature in front of her.

“I mean, so do I.” Brooke laughed and moved closer to the girl, forgetting about the world around them and feeling her soft cheek against her palm.

Before she was snapped back to reality by a phone call. The phone call she had waited all night for that she now wished had never come.

“Cockblock.” Vanessa laughed before grabbing Brooke’s phone and aggressively interrogating the girl on the other end.

***

“Feeling better?” Vanessa asked her ex-girlfriend/first love/girl she was certainly still in love with as she waited for her to swallow her mouthful of pizza, surprised at how easily she had fallen back into being with her.

“A little,” Brooke responded, not meeting her eyes properly.

“You want me to take you back now?” Vanessa asked, figuring that sitting with her was the last thing Brooke wanted to do now, whether she’d bought her food or not.

“Not yet.” Brooke took a large swig from the Diet Coke Vanessa had bought her, finally meeting her eyes. “I wanna chat about David.”

Vanessa felt a lilt of panic rise in her body.

Had Brooke found a new boyfriend?

She shouldn’t be jealous - she broke up with her, she had slept around. But the thought of someone else running their hands through Brooke’s hair and planting her sloppy kisses made some form of heat rise up through her chest into her throat.

“David?” she managed to choke out - the hardest two syllables she’d ever had to conjure.

“Yeah, David. Shona dumped him!” Brooke slurred a little, turning to face Vanessa for the first time since they sat down in the shop.

“You hate Corrie.” Vanessa started to laugh at the thought of Brooke spending however long watching the soap. “You used to say it was a load of utter shite - the bane of your Friday night!”

“I do.” Brooke nodded in agreement. “But it makes me think of you.”

Something about the thought of her ex-girlfriend sitting down three nights a week to watch a show she despised just because it reminded her of their time together managed to warm and break Vanessa’s heart simultaneously.

“Well.” Vanessa looked at her, really looked at her. “I’m sad David and Shona aren’t together anymore. Even though he was a dick to her and didn’t really treat her right, I wish she’d given him more of a chance to work at it instead of running scared.”

“You’re right, he was a dick.” Brooke looked back, her almost grey eyes showing a maturity that Vanessa hadn’t seen during their relationship. “Maybe when I’m sober we can talk about how much he still loves her. But how he knows now that that’s not everything, he knows he needs to appreciate her. I know I need to appreciate you.”

And Vanessa knew that it wasn’t perfect. She knew that both of them would have to try, that The Notebook had its own ups and downs to get to the good bit. She knew there was more talking to be done, more apologies to be given on both of their behalfs. But right then she wanted to forget about that and simply kiss the girl she loved and missed.

In the movies, the big romantic moment always happened somewhere beautiful. Cady kissed Aaron in the middle of the dancefloor with that stupid crown on her head. Noah kissed Ali in the rain next to a swan filled lake. Cher kissed Josh in the perfect centre of that ornate staircase.

Vanessa wouldn’t have given up their tiny bench in a greasy takeaway table for any of that because Brooke’s lips simply felt like home.

“Ugh.” She grimaced away after, looking away from Brooke.

“Oh, erm, sorry. I thought… ” Brooke responded, a panicked look crossing her face.

“Garlic.” Vanessa put a hand to her mouth and grinned, a sense of warmth coming to her at the thought of being able to wind Brooke up again just like she used to, watching her face change when she realised Vanessa’s joke and swatted her arm.

“You little bitch. I actually believed you there.” Brooke laughed before pulling Vanessa in for one more kiss regardless. A kiss that she’d later think about as the second-best kiss of her life.

“Let’s get you in a taxi.” Vanessa read the looks of the staff behind the counter and grabbed Brooke’s hand.

“Are we gonna talk in the morning?” Brooke asked hopefully, scared that drunken words may have turned into regret on Vanessa’s behalf.

“You’ve got my number.”

***

“So, thanks again for helping me find this.” Vanessa looked down at her phone.

Three minutes till her Uber arrived.

“It’s fine.” Brooke brushed her off. “I probably would have had a shit night in the club anyway. At least I got some pizza out of it.”

“Yeah.” Vanessa laughed, letting an awkward silence linger. “Two minutes.”

“Oh,” Brooke said looking at the phone then back at Vanessa, a train of thought clearly chugging through her brain that was too fast for Vanessa to capture.

“Fuck it.”

She threw her arm around the back of Brooke’s head in one fell swoop, letting her other hand caress her cheek as they kissed.

Brooke was taken aback at first, but soon Vanessa felt her hand on the curve of her back and felt the girl’s body almost melt into her own.

“Oh shit.” Vanessa heard the phone ring and looked next to her to see her Uber waiting. “Cockblocked again.”

Brooke laughed as Vanessa squeezed her hand and started to make her way towards the car. “I’ll text you in the morning?” she shouted after the girl who had just given her the best kiss of her life, more of a needy question than a statement.

“You’ve got my number,” Vanessa winked before closing the door and blowing a kiss to Brooke, thinking about how the story of her night would make the best teen romance movie.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #angst #lesbian au #british au #ashley #submission #got my number

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pilot-boi · 5 years ago

Text

Shouting In Cafes: Chapter Two

Downsides Of Revenge

If possible, second impressions go even worse. And this time, he doesn’t even have the excuse of being hungover. As much as he wished he was.

AO3 LINK

Neptune laid in bed, phone on his chest, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. His hangover had finally worn off and he was starting to regret everything. Why had he initiated anything? He should’ve just acted passively annoyed and let the guy - Sun right? - figure out how much of a dick he was being by himself.

Why the hell did he tell him he had nice pecs?

He wasn’t in his right mind when he was hungover. That was apparent.

So, now he was debating whether he should actually call this girl and get one last blow in. It was a shady move. Using a girl for petty revenge. Was he really that kind of guy? What had Sun really done to him?

Neptune considered opening the bottle of replacement-wine he’d just bought.

No. Stop. He needed to stop. He wasn’t using a girl to get back at a guy he met once who kind of pissed him off. He needed to sleep. He needed to get his shit together.

He’d take care of it in the morning.

“Well, hello, sunshine.” Jaune greeted a drowsy, rumpled Neptune with a broom in his hand and a flower from one of his sisters stuck awkwardly into his blonde curls.

Morning light streamed through the windows of the empty coffee shop, the smell of fresh coffee and Jaune’s careful sweeps across the tile floor the only indication that the building was open. Neptune checked his watch. 7:05 AM. They didn’t get customers until around nine. They had some time to kill.

Neptune rubbed at the bags under his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Do I look that bad?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks.” He shoved his card into the slot to clock in with a little more force than needed.

“Not enough sleep?”

“I went to bed at like nine but kept waking up in the middle of the night.”

“Nightmares?”

“Stress dreams, more like.”

“Are you still trying to be mad about that guy?”

“I’m not trying! And no. I don’t know.”

“Did you get your revenge?”

“I’m not going to sleep with somebody’s girlfriend out of spite. Even if she’s dating a douche. She seemed pretty nasty herself.”

“Hm. She did give you her number while she was on a date, didn’t she?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you even know her name?”

“No.”

“Well then, that settles that!” Jaune plucked the flower from his hair and tucked it behind Neptune’s ear, poking his friend in the eye in the process. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure you’ll never see either of them again, anyway.”

Jaune’s soft smiles were one of the only things that could warm Neptune’s heart. He tried not to show any emotion other than general annoyance whenever he could, but Jaune never failed to see right through him. He appreciated that sometimes.

But right now, Neptune couldn’t tell if he wanted to be annoyed by Jaune’s optimism or not. He settled on giving him a soft smile. He tried harder than most people he knew. “Thanks, Jaune.”

“No problem. You’re on register today.”

“God dammit, Jaune.”

The day was slow. Slower than usual. By three in the afternoon, they had only had five customers. Neptune caught himself falling asleep a couple times while standing up, which could not be healthy. Had he done his homework? God, he didn’t remember. All he remembered doing last night was staring at his phone and contemplating whether he wanted to be an asshole or not.

No homework then. He could do it before class. After work. How much longer did he have?

The door opened. Shoes smacked against the floor.

“Welcome to The Daily Grind. What can I get for you to-”

It was the dickhead. And his girlfriend. Again.

Neptune took a breath. Cleared his throat. “Welcome to The Daily Grind. What can I get for you today?”

The guy- Sun? -hunched his bare shoulders up to his ears. He was wearing one of those tank tops that had nearly the entire side of them cut out of them so you got a healthy dose of chest no matter what angle you were looking on from. They were nice shoulders. He didn’t deserve nice shoulders.

Thankfully, his expression took away from his body. Cocky and whimsical and snarky, like he knew everything you didn’t. “What? Not hungover today? No sleazy remarks?”

God, he commented on how nice his pecs were yesterday, didn’t he? No. God, no, of God why. Why would he let him have the upper hand like that? Bad move, bad move. Wine did bad things to him. Never again. Or at least he’d settle for never that much.

Embarrassment flooded to his cheeks and he tried to choke it back down. “Could I please take your order.”

Sun forced his palms against the table, winking and flashing a toothy grin. “What? No guts now that you don’t have some booze in you?”

“I’m working. Please keep your voice down.” Neptune let himself wonder if Sun could ever be quieter than a jackhammer.

“You were working yesterday, too! But that didn’t stop you from saying that my pecs were nice!”

Neptune leaned forward. “I like complimenting a handsome man when I see one, but no matter how nice your body is, your personality reeks of frat boy and beer.”

Sun’s date appeared beside him, grinning at Neptune from ear to ear. Sun’s face melted into pouted lips and a worried brow, like Neptune had actually offended him. Neptune felt victorious for a moment, before more heat rose to his face.

He was at work. All three of their other customers were staring at him.

Neptune coughed and picked up some cups and a sharpie, staring straight at the plastic. “What will your orders be today?”

“Grande white mocha and a plain cappuccino,” Sun said.

“Right.”

There was a silent exchange of a credit card and a receipt. Neptune’s blush was finally fading away. Just as Sun and his date were walking away, Sun turned back around and asked, “Are you gay?”

Neptune tensed, mouth slack in shock. Finally he managed to stutter out, “Your order is almost ready, Sun.”

They stared at each other for a moment more before Sun spun on his heel and walked away.

“He asked me if I was gay,” Neptune said in a hushed voice, fingers pressed to his temples, head bowed to the floor. “Is this real life? Did someone just ask their fucking barista if they were gay?!”

“Were you acting gay?” Jaune asked.

“Jaune!” Neptune hissed, sounding scandalized.

“It’s a genuine question.”

“I said I liked complimenting handsome men. I kind of implied that he was a handsome man.”

“That’s pretty gay.”

“That’s not the point!” Neptune nearly yelled before gathering himself. “You don’t ask your barista if they’re gay! What?! No! You don’t do that. Who the hell does that? This guy, apparently!”

“Neptune.”

“I’m sorry, dude, but honestly what the fuck. I can’t believe this. Who acts like this?”

“Neptune, I understand, but calm down. Take a breath.”

“I have to retaliate.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I’m texting his girlfriend.”

“No, you’re not.”

Neptune pulled out his phone. “Then tell me what I’m doing right now.”

“Oh my god.”

He rummaged through his pockets and pulled out the crumpled straw wrapper, plugging in each digit into his phone. He thumbed the text icon and typed out a message.

Ocean Man: Hey this is the barista at the daily grind. I never caught your name.

“Sent it,” Neptune said and waggled the phone in front of Jaune’s face.

“I can’t believe you,” Jaune sighed.

“I’m probably going to regret this later.”

“You definitely are.”

They both watched as Sun’s date sipped her coffee, set it down, and looked at her phone. Sun was too engrossed in his own storytelling to notice the smile that pulled on her lips or how fast her thumbs typed on the keyboard.

A few seconds later, Neptune’s phone buzzed. Neptune puffed out a sigh. Guess he was doing this.

No Contact: Aria. And you?

Ocean Man: Neptune vasilias. Nice to meet you aria. Quick question. Why are you going out on a date with that guy? You dont seem to like him.

No Contact: He’s hot and he asked me out. Quickly finding that his personality sucks. You’re cuter. Wanna hang?

Neptune gave his phone a sour expression. No matter if the guy was a dick, you should at least finish the date before setting up a new one with someone else.

Jaune read over his shoulder. “Yikes.”

“Yeah.”

Neptune looked up and across the cafe to find Aria looking over her shoulder, smiling, and waving at him. No.

And Sun was glaring straight at him. No.

Was this what he wanted?

Sun stood up, nearly knocking his chair over backwards as he stomped back to the bar.

“Is this what you wanted?” Jaune asked, echoing his thoughts.

“What do you want exactly?” Sun questioned, pushing a finger into the middle of Neptune’s chest. “To piss me off? Is that why you’re flirting with my date in front of me?”

“Look. You might be an ass but she’s the one who gave me her number while you two were here yesterday. You might want to find someone who actually likes you.”

Neptune could hear Aria squeak in outrage from the other side of the cafe.

“Fine! But that doesn’t explain why you actually texted her!”

“I think I wanted to make you mad.”

“What the hell!”

“You asked me, your barista that you don’t know the name of, if I was gay!”

“You were acting pretty gay!” Sun exclaimed, as if that explained everything.

“So what?!”

“I dunno! But you obviously aren’t because you’re flirting with my date!”

“Why do you still care? She doesn’t like you!”

Jaune stepped to the side of Neptune. “Dude, you might wanna stop.”

Neptune didn’t stop. “I’m not having the best time right now! I got dumped two days ago, got painfully drunk and hungover and have had to deal with you repeatedly!”

“Neptune,” Jaune warned.

“You’re just a shitty frat boy! Why the hell are you in a tiny coffee house on a date at three in the afternoon?”

“I get free coffee here!” Sun yelled. Not that it made a difference, his only volume setting was yelling.

“No, you don’t, you id-”

“My mom owns this place!”

Neptune went quiet. He stared at the fury burning in Sun’s eyes, white teeth bared, flimsy tank top threatening to fall off.

For once, he had no words. Well almost no words. Thank you Mama Vasilias, for your words of wisdom for these troubling times. Words that had helped him through many hardships before. Words straight from the old country.

“Merda,” Neptune muttered, his eyes wide and his jaw hanging open.

#rwby #neptune vasilias #sun wukong #jaune arc #seamonkeys #mine #my writing #shouting in cafes #chapter 2 #writing wednesday #coffee shop rwby

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thequeenoffools · 5 years ago

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If I said parenting would be easy- I lied (and I’m not sorry)

CHAPTER 1 (posted 3/3/20)

There are a million things you worry about as a parent. Especially a parent to a young child. Especially a young mutant child.

Sure there are normal things like.. “what if they get hurt”, “What if they get sick” etc etc. Then there’s abnormal shit like “what if they get abducted by a government program”.

As a mutant- it happens more than you’d think it does. On that topic- you can trust me. I’ve had more than enough personal experience.

Thing is- I don’t want to see that happen as a parent. No parent of a mutant does. Especially if that parent spends their life working for ‘the cause’ and ‘saving the world’. Codewords for putting on spandex, fighting the military/police/government, and other people in spandex.

It’s a pretty cool gig. Let’s you meet all kinds of people. Then... well... shit settles down. Shit settles and you start worrying about munchkins. Which on its own is scary as hell.

Parenting? It’s terrifying. See everything’s good when you’re getting married. She loves you-you love her. It’s good. It’s great.

...Until around year two of marriage. That’s when the ‘b’ word comes up.

Maybe she talked to her friends. Maybe she saw a diaper commercial. Who the fuck knows?

Any way you slice it- the idea is now in her head.

And when the ‘baby’ idea gets in a woman’s head? Fuck is she determined. So, she waits. And waits. And waits.

And then she pounces.

“Darling... Kurt and Wanda are having a baby.” She says, looking all sexy- in her underwear at that. That’s entrapment right there.

But that’s old news. Kurt’s my best friend. I’ve known he and Wanda were trying for about a year now. We were all overjoyed when he announced that they conceived.

“Wouldn’t it be lovely if little Tj had a friend to play with?” Yup. That’s how it went.

The “Tj needed a friend’ excuse held up well with Mrs. Wagner. Who in turn told her husband to convince me.

He talked to me- which was really us sitting around with a beer in mostly silence.

Fun night.

She waited until after I ‘talked’ with him. Asked if I changed my mind.

Nope. Told her I shouldn’t be reproducing.

She did some stuff that night that kinda... swayed me. And then... then came the alcohol.

I was drinking- she was drinking- I got sentimental. Drunk Logan thought a baby was a great idea! Drunk Itsu did not help him come to reason. So, the pair of drunks went at it.

Cue the next morning. She’s hungover. I’m fine. We talk it out in greater detail. Then- Kurt and Wanda start doing baby things.

Itsu is so excited. She helps with the nursery, she helps to buy the clothes, she plans the baby shower.

She wants a baby, so, so, so badly.

Thing is- I saw how happy my friends were. I saw how much want she had for a little boy or girl for us to raise. I still had my reservations... but ya know the saying ‘happy wife happy life’?

Itsu really, really, really wanted a baby. For months she told me she wanted a baby. It’s not like we didn’t have the cash. Being a superhero is slightly lucrative. Plus, as a teacher- even if she just works at the institute- she makes a good little bit of coin herself. Wanda gets very, very, pregnant. Like huge. Seven months pregnant to be exact. Itsu was so, so, so excited for them. In that time frame- Scott and Jeanie announced that THEY were having a baby. That?

That was my wife’s final straw. Itsu’s eyes were daring me to say ‘no’. So I didn’t.

I caved. “Alright dear, let’s make a baby.” Were my exact words.

I figured Kurt and Wanda had been trying for about a year... and god knows his line produces a hell of a lot of babies- it would take a while for Itsu to actually get pregnant. A year or two? Time for us to really adjust to the idea.

I’d come to her way of thinking. A little baby would be fun... especially if it was with her. I couldn’t think of a woman I wanted to have a kid with more than Itsu. A little boy or girl to teach. To love. A piece of me and her. It’s not a bad idea.

It’s not like anyone could say we were rushing things- either. So, we started trying.

Itsu did everything she was supposed to do to ensure fertility.

It was a lot of work on her part. In the meantime- I got to enjoy making a baby. It was great. Sex four or five times a day. She’s turned on more, she’s receptive, she’s having fun- it was great.

Two months in- lo and behold she’s pregnant.

I freaked out a little. To be honest- so did she.

We wanted a baby- yea. But we didn’t expect it to happen so fast. We sat at the doctor’s office in shock.

Then we snapped out of it. We celebrated with all of our friends and family members.

Then- it started.

The pregnancy crazy- is what Scott called it. Slim said all women got that way. And that I was lucky my pregnant wife couldn’t read my mind and get pissed about shit I hadn’t even said.

Think he was talking about his own experience there. The pregnancy crazy is a unique thing.

You want to prevent it- but she’s so fucking cute when she’s pregnant, barefooted, and yelling over something stupid. It usually went like this.

3 AM - “Logan I want French fries”

French fries? At 3 AM? I was well stocked. But NOOOOO- they had to be from McDonald’s. That’s the craving part.

She won’t sleep until she gets her fries.

McDonald’s is pretty much open 24/7. It wouldn’t have been a big deal- except it was three in the fucking morning and I’d just got back from a mission in Romania.

But she and our boy- we’d recently found out what the baby was- wanted French fries. So I get my ass in the car, get her fries, come home.

“This is good but it would be better with a frosty.” She said.

Guess what’s closed at 3 AM? Wendy’s. Guess where the only place in the WORLD is that sells frosty’s? Wendy’s.

I improvised. Woke Ice Cube up- had him make her something. He was like seventeen at the time. Couldn’t get a girlfriend to save his life. Couldn’t understand the unique brand of crazy they hold.

Three years later- we kinda figured out why that was. Really shoulda seen that one coming. The ice cream wasn’t as good as a frosty- but it went over okay. Way better than expected.

The pregnancy progresses. Baby boy is taking up so much space. They’re saying this is easily a ten-pound baby. Which started to make Itsu a little nervous- if we’re being honest. Wanda and Jean assured her that the labor was painful- but she would get killer drugs.

We’re near the end and the crazy was upped about five notches. I’m talking maximum hormone endured crazy. I make one little comment about how big she’s gotten- bam. Hit in the face with a flip-flop. Repeatedly.

I got in trouble for saying I made a baby. Told that I did not ‘make a baby’ I made half of a baby. She was doing all the work.

Guess I couldn’t argue with that.

She always apologized after. My sweet wife wasn’t capable of holding a real grudge.

The delivery day gets here- baby’s fine. Mommy’s fine.

We look at our tiny bundle of joy with a sense of awe..and fear.

Little Akihiro came into the world screaming.

Four years now and he hasn’t stopped.

We’re raising him as best as we can- given the circumstances. Kid’s got a personality a mile wide.

He hangs out with Tj- his buddy in crime. A lot like her daddy is for me.

Kurt joked around and said something about marriage. Wanda hit him upside the head and told him not to put that on kids.

IF our lines ever do mix- it’ll be those two. We had to learn A LOT about things we couldn’t begin to understand.

I now know that you can’t leave a wet diaper on a kid, potty training a boy is really hard, and as a parent, you will never eat anything that isn’t from a happy meal or chicken in the shape of something else. (Aki seems to prefer dinosaurs. Don’t know what the difference is- but fuck will he let you know it’s not the same)

In our four years of parenting, I got another kid. A clone. Itsu loved her instantly. There was no way she was going anywhere but with us.

They were going to destroy her. We... couldn’t let them. She was a little one-year-old. The shit they’d already done was horrific. I wasn’t going to tell Itsu until I made up my mind- but Fury (who I think was kinda rooting for the

kid) ‘accidentally’ sent my wife a picture. She was instantly in love.

She said that we had the money, we had the room, and we had enough space in our lives for a poor little girl. So I went to visit where they had the kid- and she was so vibrant. Even after all they put her through. Even at such a young age.

She came home with us that day.

Itsu didn’t even wait for the ink on the adoption papers to dry before picking her up and toting her off to her new life. She’s five now. Laura- our little Laura. Love her to death. She’s a little trooper.

She doesn’t remember much of what happened to her. Thank god.

She just knows that her daddy took her away from somewhere bad and gave her a mommy and a brother.

I didn’t explain it that way- those are Itsu’s words.

Laura and Akihiro are one year apart. And because she’s a clone- there’s no way of denying she’s part of my family. She looks a lot like me. Which makes Itsu love her even more. Even if she had another mother.

Itsu was just made for shit like that. At the same time during those precious few years- Jeanie got pregnant again, Rogue got pregnant (god we don’t know how that happened), and Wanda got pregnant but lost the baby.

Babies are literally everywhere. The x-men are family orientated more than ever.

Fuck even Bobby was talking about adopting with his “Boyfriend”- code word for ‘fiancée’ that ‘no one’ knows about.

Most of us ‘x-parents’ were going through the same shit.

And by shit, I mean ‘x-women getting pregnant’. These women are naturally strong and trained in like fifty million types of hand to hand combat. Try telling a pregnant Rogue that she can’t have the last of the ice cream. Or a pregnant Jean that she can’t take up the bathroom for five hours. You know what you get? Punched. You get punched.

Ororo moved away to Wakanda. T’challa was ‘smitten’ as soon as he laid eyes on her. Think they’re having a kid- now that I think about it.

And I think.. it was a girl. Yea. It’s a girl. We’ve got a trip planned to go see her when the baby gets here. So how do you balance raising a kid and saving the world?

It helps that Itsu is amazing. Truly amazing. She takes care of the home front when I can’t. It’s a lot to put on her... but she handles it well.

She doesn’t get to leave the house much.

And until the kids are in school- she really won’t get to have much of a job. That’s her decision- not mine. I let her do what she thought would be right for her. Her not getting out of the house is a shame though. I love it when we go out

In fact, it’s what lead me to take her to a Gala with me tonight. A night out for her away from the munchkins.

I hate going to these things but Chuck insists that at least one team be there. I drew the short straw.

Some fancy event with everyone dressed up in some stuffy opera house like thing watching a boring play and seeing some shitty art.

Bores the hell out of me. Not as much as the talking afterward, though.

Putting a face on the leading mutant team. Giving the people something they can positively relate to. (Chuck’s words)

Remy and Rogue are here somewhere. I don’t know where.

Knowing them? A night out without their little one? They have a two-year-old. You can bet they’ve snuck away to some random corner of the place to have at it. I offered the same to Itsu. She just raised her eyebrow and smiled.

I don’t think it was a ‘no’ necessarily. But... we’ll have to see. We were talking to this random guy- more her doing the talking than I was. I didn’t know who he was. He commented on how lovely my wife was. I thanked him, she smiled, we did what we were supposed to do. By all intents and purposes, I was on my best behavior.

Even when I saw Remy sneaking off to the parking lot with his very intoxicated wife. I wanted to join but noooo. I stayed. God knows someone had to.

Random guy struck up a conversation with her- asked if she had any kids.

I guess that’s a normal thing to ask a woman in her early thirties. I don’t know. It’s not like you can tell she’s had kids. She’s as fit as ever.

Itsu is so proud of our kids. She told him, quite happily, that we had two. Two amazing little miracles.

The man was all smiles. Said he’d recently become a grandfather and that there was no gift greater than children.

He obviously didn’t see when my ‘gift’ threw my phone in the toilet this morning and ran off giggling.

Whatever. Chuck wheels over and greets the man. Turns out he’s some kind of Prime Minister. Go figure. He’s looking at investing funding in the school- big deal. He asks if he can meet with Itsu and me over dinner to discuss it.

We were happy- we sealed the deal. It was as good as done. We of course agreed. However, as we’re parting, he says “And bring the little ones.” We had a shared moment of sheer panic.

Our kids?

Not well behaved.

Not even decently behaved.

Nowhere near Prime Minister level.

But he’d already walked away.

I turned to Itsu and said we could tell him they were both sick.

She agreed.

Chuck- on the other hand- said we had to bring the kids. The only reason the man was really interested was that we were a family. He liked that. We needed the ‘miracles’.

Fuck.

The dinner is set for two days from now.

And we are royally fucked.

“We’ll bribe them,” Itsu says, gripping my arm as we walk down the many, many concrete steps in front of the building. (Which is some ugly color of red that I can’t begin to identify.)

She’s dressed beautifully in a black silk gown that has a slit up the side that nearly reaches her hip. Strapless, low cut- all of my favorite things. Her hairs pinned up high on her head- which is amazing considering how long it is. At night I like to run my fingers through it. She usually lets Laura brush it before bed- god only knows why- but it’s one of the girl’s favorite things to do.

“Yea?” I pat her hand on my arm. “With what?” I made it a point to not dress as fancy as she did.

One- because I hate these things, and two- because Slim told me to so I have to do the opposite of what he told me.

They’re just lucky I’m not wearing jeans. “Anything.” She says. “Anything their hearts desire.” Her voice is calm and soothing. She’s got a plan. I know that sound anywhere.

“Pretty sure that’s world domination- babe,” I smirk. “Or candy. Who knows with those two?” Itsu sighs and closes her eyes.

“I can’t imagine Aki as a dictator.” She says, carefully reaching the last step. She didn't wear her heels tonight because it makes her a lot taller than me. I didn't mind but... she did. Whatever.

They're her feet. “He’s got too short of an attention span and too much love for his mommy.” I have to chuckle. “Laura could do it,” I say. Itsu nods. “Laura could do it.” Our girl could definitely be running shit some day.

Not that Aki couldn’t... but she likes she said- the boy’s got a very, very, VERY short attention span. I think he’d find it kinda boring. We walk back to our car, stewing on what we’re going to do.

The car is not what we started off with. It's more 'sensible'. Meaning 'boring and slow'. A journey? Who wants to drive a journey?

“We’ll make a list of acceptable things.” She says finally, buckling her seatbelt in our Dodge. She immediately kicks off her flats and pulls her feet under her in the seat. She can only be fancy for so long. I love that about her. “And they’ll follow the list.”

Yea.. that'll happen.

“Aki can’t follow simple directions.” I laugh, pulling out of the crowded parking lot. “How’s he going to follow a list?”

“We’ll bribe him.” She repeats. "There's got to be something he'll behave for."

I laugh again. "Let's see... toys? No. Candy? Not really. We have some luck with pancakes- but he won't eat them that late in the day...."

"We'll find something." She assures. "We have to start with him. Laura will follow suit."

“Hmm.... he’ll be easier than Laura,” I say in thought.

“Laura can be bribed with enough money,” Itsu says.

It’s true. Our girl has a thing for cash. She never uses it on anything- just hoards it. Like a tiny ferocious little dragon.

“So... bribing the kids,” I say. “That’s our plan?” “That’s our plan.” She nods. “No way that can backfire.” I laugh, taking her hand and holding it while I pull out into the road. “Have some faith.” She smiles radiantly. “The kids might surprise you.” I hope so. I doubt it- but I hope so. “You ever thought of making another?” I ask. “Getting a redo?” She shakes her head. “15 hours of labor with Aki. And I’ve still got stretch marks.”

“Barely.” I snort. She glares at me.

“Bribe the children.” She says, still glaring. “We get through an hour-long dinner, say we have to put them to bed, secure funding for the school and call it a night.”

I nod. “Sounds good, babe.”

She returns my nod. “God,” she says. “I won’t be sleeping tonight. I'm so nervous.”

“That makes two of us.” I joke.

She smirks. “Whatever will we do with all this alone adult time?”

I kiss her hand. “I can think of a few things.”

She can bet after all this kid talk we’ll be using a rubber. One Aki is more than enough. Add in one Laura to the mix and well.... it gets a little messy.

Wouldn’t trade it for the world, though. My life was pretty shitty before they came along. I wouldn’t go back if you paid me. That doesn’t mean the dinner’s not going to suck- it is. But... we’ll figure something out. We always do.

#kid fic #aged down characters #non canon compliant #If I said being a parent would be easy- I liked fic #sketzocase writes

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yoongihoseok97 · 6 years ago

Text

The Night Before

Part 2

Taehyung x reader , Yoongi x reader, fuckboyau! Fratboyau!

Summary: you and your brother had a promise to keep and you weren’t ever going to break it, even if you didn’t entirely know what the boundaries were for that promise.

Warnings:use of alcohol, language, mentions of sex, the beginning of a cheeky few messages with Tae, me trying to be cute with backstories, this chapter is boring af :)

4,464 words

‘Hoseok!’ You screamed and giggled as you ran around the garden. The sun was beaming and flowers were blooming as your big brother chased you around the swings and through his play castle. ‘Stop, stop! Okay, okay you can have it.’ You wheezed as you brought out your inhaler, passing the small chocolate egg that you had tightly held in your hand. hoseok giggled as you gasped in the air of your inhaler, widening your eyes as you always did.

You both sat there together, full of happiness, full of joy. And full of innocence. You stared as Hobi scratched at the eggs coating of tinfoil, grasping his hands around the middle before snapping it in half. ‘One half for me, one half for you,’ Hobi started ‘just like us.’ He smiled at you but you frowned. ‘What do you mean?’ you continued to look confused at Hobi’s gesture but he just continued to smile back at you. ‘We’re half brother and sister right? We come in two parts and look similar, but really we come as one whole, and noting can change that.’ Your frown retraced itself back into a grin and then a smile. you took the chocolate despite it’s melting and sat back against the plastic castles wall, looking out towards your dad and Hoseok’s mom talking. You wandered what they were talking about as they both looked sad, angry and frustrated. but still your innocence took the best of you and you looked back at Hoseok. ‘Nothing can change that?’ he smiled and understood as he glimpsed at his parents. ‘Nothing.’

You woke up startled, eyes adjusting to the sun blaring through the un-drawn curtains. you groaned as you sat up looking around the place- red cups, glasses and beer bottles were everywhere, and the floor was covered in what you had hoped was spilt alcohol. this was definitely the worst part of the party. the aftermath of having to clean up with a pounding head and occasionally, you would even have to wake some people up who didn’t manage to make their way to the front door. except this time there were easily six guys and yourself in the middle of them. you slammed your hand to your forehead slowly bringing it down in regret and laziness as you remembered the night before. your mind raced round and round and you weren’t sure if you were overthinking or you had gone dizzy from standing up too fast. little dots of colours dazed your eyes, making you wobble on your feet, hand still on the side of your face. You squeezed your eyes before opening them again, hoping it would do something to numb the dizziness as you gradually made you way around the mess in the floor and towards the kitchen sink. luckily for you there was only a cup and cocktail straw in there as you reached for the kettle and began to fill it up.

just as you placed the kettle back down onto its place, the noise of the two parts clicking together woke one of the males up that were lying on your sofa. you froze wondering who it was only to slump your shoulders in acknowledgement. ‘Morning,’ Hoseok croaked as his morning voice got the better of him. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ You rolled you eyes and grinned as you saw his hair stuck up everywhere and even had a bit of beer stain in his top. ‘What does it look like I’m doing idiot. I’m making some coffee, do you want some or are you just gonna question each step I have to do in order to make it?’ he snorted and made a face at you as he mimicked your sarcasm. he slumped himself back into the sofa next to Jimin while you turned the kettle on, surprised how no one else had woke up yet. you heard a groan from Hoseok’s direction and turned to see him looking at Jimin in disgust as you noticed the dripping beer bottle in his hands. ‘son of a bitch, im going to kill him, this is one of my favorite tops!’ You giggled but then frowned as you saw the mess he was making on the floor you knew you had to clean up. ‘Stop being such a drama queen, you say every piece of clothing is your favorite. now stop that beer from dripping cause I’m the one who’s gonna have to clean it up.’

Hoseok picked up the bottle and attempted to find room on the coffee table for it to go. He sat up straight and got a little more comfortable before taking the coffee that you had brought towards him before handing him an aspirin. ‘Thanks.’ You attempted to find some room on the sofa and sat yourself in between what looked like Taehyung and Jin. Unfortunately you had done so unsuccessfully as both of them woke up, Jin so startled he knocked you making you spill a little of you coffee on your leg. You hissed at the heat that traveled along your bare leg while Jin mumbles something about turtles and Taehyung dribbled on your arm. ‘Oh great thanks, Jin calm down and Tae, do you mind not drooling on my arm?’ across from you Hoseok wheezed at the three of you in front of him trying not to make a noise with his incredibly loud laugh. but your noise had set off a domino set as each body slumped it’s way back up to life. Jimin gurgled and complained that someone moved his beer bottle, Namjoon jumped up from Jins lap, knocking their heads against one another as he did so. the two yelled in pain and Taehyung slumped his head backwards sighing. from the corner the other male you hadn’t been introduced to mumbled something that suspiciously sounded like ‘shut the door’.

‘Well done y/n you’ve successfully woke the dead.’ Hoseok continued to laugh as he looked around the room. ‘Wait where’s-‘ Hoseok was cut off from one of the doors opening behind you. you had hoped that it would be Margot that would step out of her room but instead a young male with light brown hair and a mocha-caramel skin walked out, shirt merely done up and his eyes half closed. ‘Jungkook! there he is.’ The male groaned in confusion as he opened his eyes to find a sight of all his friends sat up looking half dead and half hungover. or just fully dead. ‘what the... wait are we still at last nights party?’ you rolled your eyes before coming back to the realization that he had just come out of your best friends room half dressed. you wanted to be surprised but you couldn't be- he was exactly her type. sill though, you would’ve questioned him why he was still here until you remembered that he was a friend of Hoseoks, and if he was one of Hoseoks friends then you knew exactly what kind of reputation he had. then again its not like you had any place to say anything after what you had remembered from last night.

‘so...explain.’ you froze, unsure of how to respond, only for you to let out a sigh when you realized you couldn’t. your shoulders slumped and you opened your mouth to talk but Taehyung beat you to it. ‘relax bro, shes just a friend, this is-’ he stopped himself when he saw the face you were pulling at Hoseok. ‘someone you already know, clearly. look Hobi if shes your girl, chill, its not like anythings happening. we’re just getting to know each other.’ ‘that’s exactly my problem. at the bar y/n, now.’ you whispered under your breath ‘shit’ before following your brothers lead to the bar. he stopped only for him to pace a short distance before swinging his arms at you. ‘Y/N you know i don’t like you hanging around my friends, they’re-’ he paused realizing he was starting to sound too overprotective. ‘look, im sorry, i just don’t want you to do something stupid like fall for one of them.’ you burst out laughing making Hoseok feel stupid for saying anything- he knew damn well that you didn’t do relationships. ‘okay, okay whatever, forget i said that then’ you continued to laugh at him, looking slightly psychopathic as you tried to understand why he was ever concerned about you hanging around with his friends. was this seriously the reason? ‘you can’t be serious right now. Hoseok, seriously? please tell me that’s not why you didn’t want me to be around your friends.’ Hoseok let his head hang like he knew something, unable to answer your question. ‘im sorry, it just that they’re... well...’ you grinned knowing exactly what he was thinking. ‘fuckboys?’ he laughed and then threw you a look. ‘hey that’s my friends your talking about.’ he teasingly threatened you as you recalled your little promise thing you had with your brother.

‘hey come on,’ Hoseok nudged your arm as if to comfort you slightly. ‘its not like anything too bad. i promise to you that we will never be torn apart.’ you looked longingly at your dad and the huge house that stood behind him. well, it was pretty big to compare you. ‘promise?’ you asked questioningly. you didn’t have a clue what he was on about. ‘yeah, you know, its like, something you cant break, no matter what. if i make a promise and break it, then im untruthful and horrible and don’t deserve anything from you. so if i promise that we will never be tore apart then nothing will ever happen to break us.’ you smiled and hugged his arms tightly, slightly smearing the melted chocolate on your fingers over his shirt. he looked down at you to see you pulling a grimaced face. ‘what?’ he frowned at you. ‘i don’t want to be torn apart, that would be gross!’ he swung his head back at your comment and leaned his head on top of yours, worn out from laughing.

‘you know if you really wanted, we could seal our promise.’ you heard Hoseoks voice from above you. ‘how would you do that wizard Hobi?’ he laughed at the nickname you had give him. ‘well... give me your pinky finger.’ you held out your hand and tied your smallest finger around his. ‘i, Wizard Hobi, promise that i will never let anything come between us, no matter what.’ he sat straight as he let his promise seal by squeezing his finger. you looked up and followed. ‘i, apprentice y/n, promise to never let anything to come between us either, even if you annoy me.’ Hoseok hung his moth open at your words and swung himself at you, tickling you. ‘Y/n, Hoseok! time to come in!’ you both stopped laughing as you ran towards the house, not knowing what was to come of you both next.

you looked down at your hand realizing that you had grabbed hold of Hoseoks smallest finger. ‘don’t forget our promise Hoseok.’ you smiled up at him looking at his surprised face. ‘Im surprised you remember that. you were so young.’ you shrugged pulling a face and began to walk off. ‘come on slow-coach, your drinks with us.’ you grinned looking back at him as you walked over to sit back where you were. ‘Took you long enough.’ Tae looked up at you grinning but almost looking concerned. ‘mm-hm, did you miss me?’ you asked teasingly hoping to remove some of the tension you had left behind. he just looked back at you, signalling with his hand for you to sit next to him.

after furiously trying to get the boys to wash and go home, they had finalized on staying. you appreciated them helping you clean up the place at half ten in the morning seeming that your two real roommates hadn’t woke up yet, but it was slightly awkward. you had to put up with Hoseok lecturing you and teasing you at the same time about how the room was a mess to begin with and was never really clean before the party, then you had Namjoon and Jin acting like parents and constantly asking Jimin to behave himself after he knocked over a vase and the tried to scavenge for leftover beer. not to mention Tae still flirting with you right in front of Hoseok. you had got his number while cleaning. really y/n? Jungkook was cleaning and helping, but he seemed to busy looking at Margot’s door, waiting for it to open. The guy that was sitting in the corner all night had woken up and you had learnt that his name was Yoongi. he was really attractive, tall, not as tall as the others, deep black hair that was slightly curled and look so soft you just anted to run your hand through it. you didn’t bother him though, just occasionally said the few ‘sorry’s’ when bumping into each other and ‘thank you’s’ when he handed you something. other than that he stayed quite, subtly glancing in your direction. he seemed tired but he was hungover and probably having a small withdrawal from being high all night. you had decided to get him a drink and aspirin, so instead you just made everyone more coffee.

you went into the kitchen and put the kettle on again as you rubbed your eyes from the lack of sleep you had got. ‘making more coffee?’ the voice startled you and you almost dropped the cups you were carrying over to the grinned beans. Taehyung stood leaning against the counter behind you giving you a look from his tilted head and raised eyebrows. he was really attractive, even if his clothes stunk of the night before and had the occasional beer stain on his thigh. his Blonde hair swept across his face, his fringe slightly parted showing the smallest amount of skin. mullets were never really your thing, but damn it looked good on him. his skin was a stunning light mocha colour, a bit like Jungkook’s but darker, which blended amazingly with his pink long lips. not to mention the fact that he wore tight fake leather trousers that tightened perfectly around his muscles in his thighs. you only realized you were staring when he chuckled lowly, making you spin back around trying hard not to blush. dammit.

you had never really felt like that around someone before, you didn’t get into relationships, you didn’t catch feelings, you certainly never felt embarrassed just for looking at someone. i mean, yeah, you found people attractive and hot, and occasionally you slept with a few people just for that. you had that sort of effect you guessed, people would approach you and whether you were in the mood or not, you’d go along with them. and that’s about it- it never turned into anything else. but the effect that Tae had on you was different. probably just his looks- you’d never seen anyone like it. of course you thought you shouldn’t do anything about it, he was your brothers best friend. you dreaded to think of what his reaction would be if he ever caught you with one of them. probably not wonderfully to be honest. still though, who could blame you for checking him out, he was a literally piece of walking art.

you spun back around, full confidence back. you saw no reason to why you should be embarrassed anyways, you always did it, he shouldn’t be any different. god why were you overthinking this so much? you reached up to the shelf where the sugar was kept, lifting your top up slightly. not intentionally. or was it? christ, what was going on with you? ‘you want one?’ you slyly glanced back over to the male leaning against the wall. he shrugged as if that was supposed to make you understand his answer, when you saw him looking at you bare waist. you rolled your eyes and made one for everyone anyways. ‘you know i gave you my number right?’ he asked while you got all the cups onto a tray. ‘oh really,’ you said sarcastically ‘i didn’t know that was what it was.’ you smiled at him as you walked past, knowing he had just rolled his eyes. ‘alright smart ass, i meant i don’t usually give people it, so you had better use it.’ ‘oh yeah ‘cause im sure hope would be real happy about that.’ you chuckled at him as you spun back around after placing the coffees down. he frowned at your comment which made you blush, realising that you hadn’t actually told any of them that he was your brother. ‘and why would that matter, you told me you weren’t together?’ his frown continued to stick to his face as you stumbled on your words, unsure of how to break it to him. why was this such a big deal to you? its not like its a bad thing being his sister.

Tae had just began to speak again when the door burst open, filling the room with giggles and the rustling of bags. Margot and Skylar had just entered with some shopping bags and food bags, each holding an iced tea each. they both looked up and was about to come up to you as if they were going to tell a story, but then they must’ve caught a glimpse of the others and gave you a ‘what the fuck...’ face. you hissed at the awkwardness that had suddenly filled the room as you ran and dragged the other two with their bags into the closest empty room. ‘y/n what the hell? i would ask why you have so many good looking guys in the same room as you, but i’d rather as why do you have so many good looking guys with you cleaning the living room?’ Margot looked dumbfounded which kind of made you laugh, which clearly wasn’t a good idea. Skylar looked at you with a look that probably meant something but honestly you didn’t have a clue, she just looked like she was talking to you in her head. ‘they didn’t go home last night because i stayed up with them, and then they chose to help, okay?’ Margot puffed air harshly from her mouth while she threw her hands around the air above her. ‘yeah i can see that, but why haven’t they left yet?’ ‘wait a second, i thought that you two were in your rooms? why did you leave?’ you rose your eyebrows in confusion at Margot, and Skylar who still had the same look on her face. ‘we left so that you could politely ask them to leave when you woke up.’ now it was your turn to waft you hands above your head. ‘you expected me to do it? this party was you idea in the first place!’

you and Margot continued to harshly whisper at each other when Skylar finally butted into the conversation. ‘okay, okay, first of all, at least they’re the ones cleaning up and not us, second of all, whatever as long as you know them that’s fine right? and last, how the hell do you know that many good looking guys?’ ‘ id didn’t even know you knew that many people to be honest.’ Margot added. she chuckled at herself while you smiled and rolled your eyes. ‘its just my brother and his friends, and the guy you supposedly slept with last night by the way.’ you aimed at Margot, ‘ but they don’t know that hope is my brother yet okay?’ you saw a sense of dread in Margot’s face at you comment, clearly focusing on Jungkook while Skylar had a bright red cheeks. ‘christ Skylar, relax, i know you have a thing for my brother okay?’ you winked at her making her stutter something like ‘no, hes just hot’ while you walked back out into the living room, hearing Margot whisper to herself nervously.

you walked over to the boys giggling to yourself, while they all gave you a face. ‘i take it they didn’t expect for us to be here.’ Tae asked coyly. you shot a look back at him and you couldn’t help but look down at his spread out legs. ‘no not really, but they’re chill for you to stay longer, if you want too.’ you brought your eyes back up to his and then around the room to everyone else. you weren’t sure if anyone had realised you staring at Tae’s legs but you didn’t think too much of it. you went and sat down next to the open space in between Hoseok and Jimin, your brothers arm automatically swinging around to your back, getting another look from Tae, reminding you of your earlier conversation. shit. you didn’t know why you were so uncomfortable with him knowing, but it made you anxious. maybe it was more how it could affect your relationship? god how pathetic.

remembering your earlier conversations with Tae, you reached into your back pocket while the others around you chatted, occasionally laughing. you didn’t really pay attention when you unfolded the little piece of paper you had dug out and began adding a new number to your contacts. looking up you made eye contact with Taehyung, his deep eyes staring right back into yours, slightly tilted with a frown. a grin grew at the corner pf your mouth as you started to type a new message.

‘stop eyeing me, if you want something, you can just ask sweetie.’-you

you waited patiently for Tae to look back to his phone, praying that he didn’t have his ringer on for the rest of the boys to know it was him you were texting. Tae frowned further as he began to pick out his phone from his back pocket and opening you message, you saw him grinning back at you from the corner of you eye as you brought them down, tying not to pay attention. you diverted your attention back to the room where you had left Margot and Skylar. they still hadn’t come out. you grinned. pussy's.

‘don’t dare me, i just might. just as long as i can get whatever i want’

you rolled your eyes at your new message notification, you knew damn well he could get what he wanted, it just depended on what it was. ‘who are you talking to?’ Hoseok turned his attention towards you, a grin on his face. he must’ve seen you stupidly smiling down at the screen. ‘school, I've got a major biology test Tuesday and i haven’t even looked at any revision. apparently no one else has either, they all came to the party instead.’ you psychologically patted yourself on your back for the quick comeback lie.

‘Im just a school groupchat to you? ouch’-Tae

he laughed and raised his eyebrows. ‘wow, who knew that you could be so daring. i just thought that you were always a bod.’

‘oh don’t i know how daring you are?’-Tae

you snorted at his comment, trying not to laugh from Tae’s previous message. ‘for your information, i throw the best parties here- which is a fact- and secondly, hunny im in college, we don’t have ‘bods’. i take my work seriously.’ ‘oh yeah it really sounds like it to me.’ you rolled your eyes at your brothers last comment. as if he knows.

‘so are you gonna keep talking about college or are you gonna actually have some fun with me?’-Tae

‘well it depends what you want sweetie.’-you

you looked back over to Tae before looking around the room, seeing if the others were paying attention.

‘don’t look so anxious,no ones looking. all i want is a simple question.’-Tae

‘okay, sure. just one though. that’s all you’ve earned.’-you

you could see from sweeping the room again that Tae was grinning at you, his eyes switching between his moving thumbs and your expression.

‘Well do you want a question or not? hurry up or you get nothing from me. also, stop frowning, you’ll ruin that pretty face of yours ;)’-you

Tae poked the tip of his tongue out and ran it over his lips, spread widely into a smirk. he chuckled when he saw your eyes tracing the outline of his mouth making you raise your eyebrows as if questioning him to hurry up.

‘sorry for disappointing you with my boring question baby, but i have to know, whats the real relationship status between you and Hoseok?’-Tae

your stomach dropped, and you couldn’t tell if it was disappointment or anxiousness. it wasn’t Hoseok that was was the problem. what if he didn’t want to do anything more if you told him? surely he would mind, its his best friend. what if he felt guilty? what if cared more about one friendship than the other? what if-

fortunately for your racing mind and thumb muscles for hovering them over your keyboard, Margot and Skylar had walked into the living room, clearly wanting to say something to everyone. Skylar winked at you and you smiled back at her, but her face turned bright red again making you the one to frown this time. ‘so, seeming that this is technically my place, i make the rules.’ you rolled your eyes while smirking when you saw Jungkook staring intently at her. Yoongi swooped his head over to Margot as though he had been looking at you while the others listened carefully. ‘i don’t mind any of you staying here,’ her emphasis on you seemed to be directly towards Jungkook which made you smile. ‘as long as you don’t dick around and end up braking something. and that goes for everyone, Hoseok, i don’t care whether you’re y/n’s brother or not-’ she stopped mid sentence, your eyes wide staring right at her. around you, you heard Jin aggressively spit out his drink he had gotten all over the floor and bit over Namjoon, while Jimin stared right at you and Hoseok repeatedly, backwards and forwards. Jungkook was laughing at Margot’s frozen expression, and to your surprise, Yoongi was sitting in the corner laughing, as if he preferred you more. you managed to bring your eyes back up to Tae who was slightly holding his mouth open but smiling at the same time.

‘thank you, Margot, really i appreciate it.’ Hoseok grinned while he rubbed his nose with his index finger and thumb before pinching the top and sighing loudly. you chuckled while looking down but it was instantly snatched away towards the direction in which Yoongi was sitting. and he just smiled back at you. wonderful.

im sorry it took so long for this shitty chapter, but ill try and escalate it as i do a few more chapters. i don’t know when the next chapter will even be out but i will try my hardest to keep it updated. also i didn’t proof read this so sorry for any spelling mistakes but i honestly cant be arsed, i hate proof reading :))- anon suga xx

all gifs belong to rightful owner

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jiminniethemarshmallow · 6 years ago

Text

Forgiveness (Drabble #8)

1. “I missed you so much” 2. “Like what you see?” 48. Gym 75. Blowjob 100. Makeup Sex

It has been an entire week since you and Jimin had your argument. An entire week since you had last seen or spoken to him. You and Jimin didn’t fight often, most disputes were over trivial things like where to eat for diner or which movie you should see at the theatre, never anything like this. It started when you went to go out with your friends last week to a club a bit farther from your home than Jimin was comfortable with, but you assured him that your friends knew the area well and that it wasn’t anywhere shady. As you were getting ready to leave, Jimin made a comment about your outfit, saying it was too revealing for you to wear out especially as a woman going to a club without male supervision— a comment that made you scoff. You weren’t alone, you reasoned, you’d be with a group of your closest friends the entire time, but he worried what might happen if you got separated or if they all decided to leave with other people, leaving you to fend for yourself. After talking your way out of his interrogation, you came to a compromise— you would text him around midnight to tell him things were okay and that you were safe and then text or call him again when you got home so he knew you made it back safely.

Long story short, you forgot. Jimin received your message at midnight, but didn’t hear from you after that. He worried himself for hours trying not to panic because he knew you liked to stay out late when you were with friends, but when you didn’t return his calls or texts, his resolve broke and he stormed to your house. Your lights were on when he got there, a clear sign that you were in fact home and while relief flooded his chest, Jimin could only feel the boiling anger crawling up his neck because you so blatantly ignored his request. He used the key you gave him to enter, not even bothering to knock, and when he came in he found you passed out on your couch, still fully dressed in your scanty dress and sprawled half off the cushions.

“(Y/n).” Jimin called, his voice hollow and deep as he watched you come to your senses groggily and look up at him. His eyebrows furrowed and you could see his lip curling into a frown when he noticed that you were very drunk, eyes glossy and body unstable.

“Jimin?” You mumble, squinting in the light at his figure hovering over you.

“Why didn’t you text me when you got back like I asked?” He got straight to the point.

“Huh?” You were still struggling to comprehend the situation, wondering how Jimin got here and exactly how you got home yourself.

“What time did you get home?” Jimin tried to remain calm, but the longer you took to answer, the angrier he got.

“What time is it?” You ask, squinting across the room at the clock on the wall. It read about 4:30am. “Oh, I’ve only been home for about... 2 hours?”

“Only 2 hours?!” Jimin was about to lose it. “Do you know how worried I was? I called you at least 5 times within those two hours and you didn’t answer a single one of my messages. I asked you to do something simple, text me when you got home so I know you’re safe; but you had me up all night worried sick, ready to trash the entire city looking for you just to find you drunk and knocked out on your damn couch!”

He was seething, you could practically see the fumes coming off of him as he ranted, eyes narrowed and hands motioning around him. In all honesty, you were only taking in about half of his words, your brain not being able to process it all at the moment, so you just stared blankly at him until he was finished, face red and breathing heavily.

“I’m sorry, I forgot.” Is all you can say. You neglect to tell him that you don’t even remember who took you home or when you passed out for that matter. Grabbing your phone from the floor, you see all of the messages and missed calls from him. Some seemed worried, some desperate, some irritated. You shut your eyes in an attempt to collect yourself and Jimin continues.

“You’re sorry? You forgot? (Y/n), this is serious. If something were to happen to you I don’t know what I would do. But you don’t even seem to care! I didn’t even want you to go out tonight, the least you could have done was let me know you were okay! God, I swear sometimes it’s like you’re a child, you don’t think about consequences. If you went missing I wouldn’t even know where to start looking because the last time I contacted you was at midnight and this is four and a half hours later. It’s almost morning! And why the hell did you think it was a good idea to get this drunk, do you know how dangerous it is to get drunk when you’re out alone, without someone you trust?”

“Jimin, stop. I was with my friends, I was fine.” You try to explain, but it only makes him angrier.

“How was I supposed to know that when you didn’t tell me?!” He raised his voice, so you raised yours.

“I’m a grown woman, I can handle myself! I don’t need a babysitter and I can drink however much I want. Stop acting like you’re my dad!” You shout, finally coordinating yourself enough to sit up on the couch. That was the last straw for Jimin and after a few more bitter exchanges with you, he stormed out, leaving you alone.

The thing that bothered him the most was that you were ignorant to how he felt and how terrified he was for you. It wasn’t about him being possessive over you or wanting to control you, it was about your safety, because if something did go wrong that night, he would blame himself for not protecting you. It wasn’t until a few days later, when you weren’t terribly hungover, that you realized this. You were reckless, this you knew, but you didn’t know how much your actions affected Jimin, someone who cared for you deeply.

So now it’s been a week and he still hasn’t spoken to you— not that you tried to speak to him after the incident either— and it doesn’t seem like that will change any time soon. His members noticed Jimin’s sour mood immediately, appalled when he locked himself in his room the entire day after, knowing how he hates being alone. They tried to talk to him but he sent them away and it took another day after that for him to start talking to them again. Every time your name was mentioned, he would roll his eyes, and whenever someone asked where you were he would grumble something about not knowing or caring and how you were probably doing something reckless. This concerned his friends and after a week of him moping around and snapping at others, they had enough.

“Hey (Y/n).” Yoongi’s voice resonated on the other side of your phone.

“Hey Yoongs, what’s up?” You ask, digging into the bag of chips in front of you.

“Not to get in your business or anything, but what’s going on with you and Jimin lately?” He asks cautiously, listening to you nearly choke on the chip you’re eating.

“What? Nothing.” That wasn’t a complete lie. There was literally nothing happening between you two.

“It’s just, I’ve noticed you’re ignoring each other. Well, we’ve all kind of noticed. And Jimin’s been in a really bad mood and he gets all sensitive when we bring up your name.” Yoongi waits for your response, listening to the breath you take on the other end.

“We had a fight.” You shake your head, cheeks heating up in embarrassment and you have no idea why. “I was drunk and in the wrong and Jimin was just being a good boyfriend and worrying about me, but I was... drunk and stupid.” You sigh.

“You didn’t cheat on him, did you?”

“Never! God, Yoongi, you should know me by now, I would never.” You defend passionately.

“Then this is fixable. Just talk to him and apologize, tell him he was right and that you’re sorry and fix your relationship like adults. I’m tired of seeing him act like this.” Min Yoongi was no relationship expert, but he did have a lot of common sense. You suppose the solution was clear to everyone on the outside of this, but you didn’t think so. Talking to Jimin wouldn’t be as simple as he made it seem because both of you were stubborn, but you knew things wouldn’t get better if you continued ignoring each other, so you mustered up your courage and decided to face him.

“Ugh, fine.” You sigh, putting down your chips. “Where is he?”

“At the gym. You know how he gets when he’s upset, he just exercises away all his frustrations and comes back looking like a body builder. He’s bulked up a lot this week, it’s kinda scary.” Yoongi half chuckles as you shuffle around to find your shoes.

“I don’t even know what to say to him.” You groan when you reach your front door.

“You’ll figure it out. I know he’ll probably forgive you to moment he sees your face.”

“But what if-“

“Gotta go (Y/n), good luck! Don’t go home until you’ve fixed this.” And with that he hangs up, leaving you to your own devices.

Whenever Jimin was stressed, he always found solace in physical activity. It helped take his mind off of things, distract him from whatever it was that bothered him in the first place, and today that’s exactly what he needed. Jimin was no longer upset with you about that night, he was completely over the situation and wanted nothing more than to go back to you and offer his forgiveness for your drunken impulsiveness, but that was not an option for him. It would be wrong to go to you first and reconcile your relationship when he did nothing wrong. You had to be the one to come to him, so he waited and trusted the fact that you would eventually come around, even if you haven’t spoken to him in a week.

Today he saw something funny happen while out at the studio and his first reaction was to text you about it so you could laugh with him, and he typed out an entire message before his better judgement stopped him from hitting send. Contacting you first would be forfeiting this imaginary game you were playing, making you the automatic victor, and he was not about to let that happen. So he headed to the gym to blow off some steam and keep his mind off of you.

Jimin spent hours exercising, benching the equivalent of your weight effortlessly while distracted by thoughts of you. He tried cardio, running on the treadmill endlessly to burn off the tinge of guilt he felt for yelling at you like that, wondering if maybe he was actually the one in the wrong and not you, then turning up the speed to disperse those thoughts because, of course not. He moved on to the pull up bar at the back, lifting himself over and over and ignoring the burn after many reps, too lost in thought about what you might be doing right now, if you were having the same dilemma as he was. Since you started dating, you’ve never been away from him this long voluntarily, only when he was forced to leave for tour or to do promotions all over the country. But even then you were in constant contact with him, always telling him how you were and making sure he was taking care of himself. Jimin didn’t like this lonely feeling overtaking him in your absence, so he worked harder to fill the void.

Stepping into the deserted gym, you contemplated what you would say when you saw him. Would he even want to see you? Of course he would, you knew Jimin couldn’t stand being away from you for long, but you were still wracked with nerves. You explore the empty building cautiously, listening for any music or clashing of weights, but you heard nothing. Weaving through the assortment of machines and racks, you almost give up when you come up empty handed, but something tells you to check in the back and soon you see a movement in the corner.

Jimin is at the very back of the gym using the pull up bar, his shirt discarded on a nearby bench and earbuds stuffed into his ears. Sweat drips down his back in streams, defining his muscles as they flex with effort to pull his weight up and down, and the motion has you mesmerized, everything you wanted to say flying out the window as you stare at the work of art before you. It’s only then that you realize just how sexually frustrated you’ve been this entire week. Jimin catches sight of your figure in the mirrors lining the wall in front of him, your parted lips, wide eyes, and tinted cheeks amusing him. He drops down from the bar and turns, pulling out an earbud as he smirks at you.

“Like what you see?” His cocky remark breaks your trance and you close your mouth, shifting nervously to your other foot. You can’t think of a reply fast enough, so he walks away from you, grabbing his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. “Did you need something?”

“Jimin- I, uh,” You fumble, trying your best to ignore your choking pride. “S-sorry.” The word slips from you slowly, almost sounding insincere, and Jimin raises his eyebrows in amusement at his stubborn girlfriend.

“For what?” He wasn’t going to let you go that easy. He didn’t want you to know that he had already forgiven you the moment he saw your face, just like Yoongi predicted. You take a breath as he approaches, stopping to stand right in front of you.

“I’m sorry for not listening to you and for yelling when all you were trying to do was be a good boyfriend and take care of me.” You give him your most innocent puppy look and he barely bats an eyelash. “That was wrong of me,” You continue. “From now on I’ll try not to be so inconsiderate to how you feel.”

When Jimin doesn’t say anything, you flounder a bit, unsure of what exactly he was looking for. He stares at you with an unreadable expression before shrugging and walking toward the locker rooms.

“Okay.” He says simply as he breezes past you, grinning when he hears your rushed footsteps following closely behind him.

“Where are you going?” You ask, frustrated, but all he does is pull his phone out of his pocket and hand it to you along with his attached earbuds.

“Hold this, I’m gonna go shower.” And with that he disappears into the male locker room. You stand there with a dropped jaw, knowing how he gets when he has power over you, and you purse your lips, huffing and following after him.

It takes him by surprise when you come up behind him just as he enters the water, he didn’t expect that you would have the guts to come in, but seeing that no one was there, there was no reason for you not to. You pull back his curtain as he washes himself, unbothered by your presence, giving you the same incredulous look you were giving him.

“What?” He asks.

“Do you accept my apology?” You bite your lip as you await his answer, watching him look you up and down.

“I guess...” He says finally, wanting to make you sweat a little. “But I might need a little more convincing.” The look in his eyes is darker than before and it makes you heat up inside.

“How can I make it up to you?” You ask, eyes trailing his body now as well as he stands there naked before you, rinsing off in the streams of warm water.

“Why don’t you show me how sorry you really are.” Jimin suggests, stepping deeper into the shower to make room for you. You hesitate only for a second before stripping out of your clothes. Putting each layer in a pile on the long bench splitting the aisle, sitting his phone on top of them. Once naked, you step into the small space in front of him, following his tongue with your eyes as it swipes along his plump bottom lip. You press yourself close to him, shutting the curtain behind yourself and resting your hands on his hard chest, pushing him until his back hits the wall.

“Baby, I missed you so much.” You coo, looking into his eyes and running your fingertips down his front, stopping at his V line. He bites his lip when you lean forward to kiss and suck at his neck, careful not to mark him too much. “I should have listened to you, you were just trying to protect me.” You mumble into his skin. “You always know what’s best for me, how to make me feel safe, loved... how to make me feel good.”

He shutters when your hands slip lower to grip his hardening length to give him a languid pump. A grunt leaves him when you squeeze, lips ghosting his ear before you take the lobe between your teeth and nibble, just like he likes it.

“I felt bad after our fight. I don’t like when you’re upset with me and I’m sorry for making you worry like that. So please forgive me, Jimin, it was so hard for me to be away from you for so long.” You practically moan, giving him another jerk.

“On your knees.” He orders sharply. Jimin’s hands fly to your waist as he begins pressing you down, watching with lidded eyes as you sink until you’re eye level with his dick. When you look up at him with innocent eyes, he grabs himself at the base and lifts his tip to your mouth, threading his fingers tightly in your hair with the other hand. “Suck.”

On command, you open your mouth and take the head of his cock between your lips, using your tongue to tease the slit and swirl around it a few times. Jimin inhales when you take him a little deeper, caressing the underside of his shaft with your wet muscle and sucking hard. You would never admit it, but you love blowing him almost as much as he loves fucking you. You love the feeling of him slowly engorging in your mouth until he’s rock solid, his weight heavy on your jaw. The soft skin feels good on your lips as you continue your work, pulling back and feeling it pull up with your lips to add more friction over the sensitive ridge at the underside of his tip.

Jimin’s fingers twist in your locks when you take a deep breath and drop all the way down on him, forcing yourself forward until he hits the back of your throat and your nose presses into his lower abdomen. A broken moan resounds from him and echos along the empty walls of the locker room making you squeeze your thighs together because— fuck, he sounds sexy like this. You try to pull back from your position, laving your tongue up the thick vein running up the underside of his cock, but once you get about halfway, Jimin pushes you back down roughly, making you gag harshly around him out of surprise.

“Holy fuck, (Y/n),” He gasps, looking down at you from above and watching as tears gather at the corner of your eyes from lack of oxygen. He pulls you away by the roots of your hair and you yank your head back, breathing heavily but still stroking his length with a closed fist. Jimin waits for you to look back up at him before smirking, biting his lip at how sexy you look on your knees in front of him. “Mm, you’re so hot, baby. You can be a good girl and take me like that one more time, can’t you?” It was less of a question and more of a warning on his part, but you nod anyway, opening your mouth again and bracing yourself.

As soon as you’re ready, he pushes your head forward until he’s down your throat again, but this time you’re more prepared and try not to gag. He holds you there for a few seconds, throwing his head back in ecstasy and shutting his eyes tight to focus in on the feeling. Jimin can’t even begin to describe how good you feel around him. Water runs down his face, the shower long forgotten, but he can only feel how your throat softly pulses around his tip with the effort of fighting back your reflexes. And when you swirl your tongue under him, a moan escapes involuntarily from him that startles you both with its volume.

His grip loosens on your scalp and you remove yourself from his length, letting his tip stay in your mouth as you catch your breath. Jimin smiles at you when you meet his gaze, using his free hand to move stray hairs from your eyes gently.

“Good girl.” He murmurs, but his breath hitches again as you suckle on him, focusing your attention on his frenulum. You can feel his precum coating your tongue and you suck, causing more to gush out and giving you a taste of him. The salty liquid makes you moan around him, arousing you more than before, and it takes everything in you not to reach down and rub yourself in front of him. You bob your head along him when you feel his dick start to throb, setting a fast speed from the start that makes him groan out loud. “Ah, you’re mouth is so good. You suck my cock so well— just like that, baby.”

Jimin pants heavily above you, thrusting his hips gently to match the pace of your mouth and you look up at him to see the look on his face. He looks like he’s in absolute heaven as his stomach muscles flex with effort, defined muscles working hard with every labored breath he takes. You reach up and trail your nails down the ridges and Jimin groans, pushing his hips a little harder into your mouth to reach deeper greedily. Your hand drops all the way until you cup his balls lightly, rolling the pliant skin in your palm as you blow him vigorously.

“Oh shit, ‘m gonna cum.” Jimin warns, breathless and desperate, sweat getting washed away by the water. You hum and lick a stripe down his length to take his testicles into your warm mouth and as soon as you give them a gentle tug, his breath hitches and he explodes in your hand. You feel his cock twitch as spurts of his cum shoot past you and onto the shower floor behind you, your hand still pumping him through the intense high. With one long moan of your name, Jimin relaxes, leaning against the wall for support while you give kitten licks to his tip, wanting to taste the remnants of his messy release.

You pull back once he’s clean, looking up at him once more before he drops his hand from you hair in favor of pulling you up by the face to kiss you eagerly. You moan from the heat of it, the first kiss you’ve shared in a week, and you missed this so much. Finally breaking apart, Jimin rests his forehead on yours as you catch your breath, smiling when you open your eyes.

“I forgive you now.” He sighs, pushing off of the wall to turn off the water.

“You better, I just gave you the best blow job of your life.” You smirk, watching as he licks his full lips.

“If this is the reward I get, maybe we should argue more.” Jimin shrugs, laughing when you hit his chest. “But if you ever scare me like that again, be ready for a real punishment.”

Although that was supposed to be taken as a threat, you could stop the heat from rushing to your core at the thought of Jimin punishing you “for real”. He didn’t even fuck your throat this time, so you assumed this wasn’t a serious punishment, but you were kind of excited to see what he would do to you if you actually made him angry. It was tempting, but you also hated when he was mad at you.

“Oooh, scary. Please don’t hurt me Big Bad Wolf.” You tease, Jimin’s hand coming down on your ass before you can even react. The noise echos off the tiled walls.

“Watch it.” He growls, but he can’t conceal the smile on his cheeks with you back in his arms.

#drabble game #Jimin smut #btssmutclub

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himbowelsh · 7 years ago

Note

What if the whole time Webster's trying to figure out who the thief is, he's starting a relationship with the infuriating man that usually sits outside the bakery that's next to synagogue Webster passes every day in his way to work. Bonus if Joe didn't know Webster was the detective assigned to his case until he was into deep.

Anonymous asked: Would you like to write a prompt for Webgott in Police/Criminals AU? I’m really curious how it would end for them.

AN: I couldn’t resist turning this into a prompt. I’m literally in love with this idea and it makes the whole scenario so much more interesting!

David trips over the curb.

It's the last straw, the cherry on top of what is already a terrible, terrible morning. He makes a furious sputtering noise, kicks a nearby flowerpot, and almost sends his coffee flying across the street.

It's an overreaction. He knows this, as much as he knows he must look like an idiot -- in his business suit and tie, red faced and furious. He doesn't really have any excuse: been a hard week, and an even worse month. He gets what's coming to him a second later, when his foot connects with the clay flower pot, sending a spike of pain through his ankle.

He draws his foot back to him, cursing under his breath. As a taxi speeds sat him, he shrinks into his too-large suit and wishes he could be invisible.

"Jesus, breathe a little."

The unexpected voice startles him. He jumps, nearly dropping his coffee again, and reels around to face the speaker. It takes him a second of scanning the sidewalk before his eyes land on him; a thin, lanky man balancing a coffee in one hand, sitting outside the coffee shop and lazily reclining with his feet up on the nearest table. Dark eyes regard David from beneath full eyelids, lips pulled up in a mean smirk.

He can't explain it, but something about the man makes him want to kick him. David huffs, drawing himself up with all the dignity he can muster, and scowls at the man. "You try breathing when your coffee's too hot, your bagel's too cold, and you're already fifteen minutes late for work."The guy considers this for a moment before shrugging. "First world problems."

He doesn't know why he's bothering. Clearly this guy doesn't have any job or responsibilities, considering he's sitting outside of a coffee shop in the middle of the morning instead of going anywhere. David needs to get to work, and fast, because David is a responsible adult.

He scans the traffic-packed road again, looking for a place to cross. Cars crowd the streets wherever he looks, beeping and stalling around each other. His lips curl in frustration. "I should have just called a cab, dammit...""You can probably make it in half the time if you sprint,” chimes Slothful Smirking Man, who’s apparently still not done. “I mean, if you can run in that monkey suit."David shoots a harassed glance over his shoulder. "Some people like to look nice for work.""Some people need a Xanax and a vacation,” the man fires back. His feet make a dull thud against the ground as he abruptly sits up straight. “Calm down, fuck. Being late for work one day isn't gonna destroy your career. Just take a breath, and eat your stupid bagel."David stares at the man; he stares back, impassive. For a moment, no one speaks. David hardly dares to breathe over the pulse he can hear pounding in his head, but he forces a few deep breaths into his lungs anyway.

The guy isn’t wrong. It’s a new day. He’s healthy, he’s alive, and he’s got his second-favorite bagel in his hands. Sobel isn’t their commander anymore, so he isn’t going to be crucified for being a few minutes late for work. Everything is alright, all things considered.

He finally exhales, and gives the belligerent man what he hopes passes for a smile. “You've got a point,” he says. “Thanks. Have a nice day."The man nods, leaning back in his seat. "You too, guy," he says, and that’s all David hears before he’s sprinting across the crosswalk.

He’s got a job to do. There’s no need to stress himself out, but he also doesn’t have time for distractions.

When he gets to the station, everything is about the same as expected. Guarnere and Toye are lounging in chairs on opposite sides of the room, tossing a tennis ball back and forth. Each throw barely clears the head of Lipton, who is hunched over his desk in the middle of an impressive pile of paperwork. Welch is texting someone on his phone; by the tiny grin on his face, it’s probably not work-related. Babe looks hungover, and is drooling into his palm like a middle schooler asleep in math class.

David sighs and settle down at his desk. Back to work as usual. He wasn’t sure why he thought taking a day off would help clear his head, but it’s only making it harder to get back in the game. He’s not viewing anything with fresh eyes. There are still no new leads in his museum theft investigation, and if the crook’s pattern holds up, he can expect another caper tonight.

He just doesn’t know where, or what, or -- most importantly -- how.

“Hey, Web,” Babe calls. David, mouth wide open and full of bagel, turns to look at him, and barely manages to catch a letter tossed at his head. Past the bags under his eyes, Babe offers him a mischievous grin. “Letter came for you this morning.”

“Thanks.” David takes a sip of his (cold) coffee and carefully examines the envelope. There’s an address handwritten in big, blocky print. He immediately knows that this isn’t a bill or some kind of notice. Who actually sends letters anymore?

His frown deepens when he opens the letter to reveal a folded piece of paper. He recognizes the same handwriting as on the front, and blinks down at the scrawled message in dumb shock before his eyes widen.

WEB --

YOU THINK YOU CAN CATCH ME? YOU’RE NOT EVEN TRYING. IT’S FUN TO WATCH YOU SCRAMBLE AFTER ME. BETTER LUCK TONIGHT.

-- EIN FREUND AUS DER HÖLLE

Webster grits his teeth and slams it on the table. The bastard has done it again, and now he has one more piece of evidence to add to the growing case file that’s getting him nowhere.

Whoever this crook is, the only thing he knows about him for sure is that he hates him.

The fact is that he doesn’t know another way. As soon as they’ve become conscious of each other’s existence, the strange guy -- who, it occurs to David, must have sat outside the same coffee shop every morning without David even noticing -- is impossible to ignore. He’s loud, he’s sarcastic, and always has a passing comment for David whenever he sees him.

After a few weeks, David finds himself looking forward to the guy’s Words of the Day. He starts looking for him. When he goes into the shop for coffee, he’ll say hello; when he walks out, he’ll wish him a good day. He still kind of wants to kick the guy’s teeth in, but his mornings wouldn’t be the same without him.

Only after he realizes the guy is actually on his mind at work does he decide that something needs to be done. He confides in Lipton, and his friend’s advice is simple: start by having a real conversation.

So, one morning, after a sleepless night spent pouring over his evidence file for the museum burglaries, David drags himself out of bed half an hour early and sets off for the coffee shop.

The stranger does him a favor. David doesn’t have to approach him first, because he speaks up as soon as he sees David approaching the shop. "You're here early,” he calls, and David offers a nervous smile."Wasn't sure if you'd be too, but I figured taking a chance never hurt anyone.""It’s Saturday. I’m waiting for the Shabbat service. It’ll be a while before it starts.” The guy inclines his head across the street, towards the synagogue David has never taken much notice of. Then his eyes scan over the man before him, and he sucks on his lower lip. “I guess ‘taking a chance’ explains the look, though.”

David tries not to blush, and probably fails. He was in such a rush to get out of the house that he hadn’t found the time to slip into his usual shirt. He’s just in a white shirt and tie today, a belt holding up pants that are too small anyway. He didn’t even shave; stubble lines his jaw. He looks like a mess, and standing in front of this man now, he feels like it.

Still, he steels himself and takes a deep breath. "My name's David."The guy stares at him for a second that feels like an eternity. David can’t hear anything over the roaring of his pulse in his ears. His heart is in his throat. There’s no reason for him to be this nervous, but he feels like it’s his first day in the field and he’s just come face to face with a suspect. It’s torture, and he hangs off every second of silence before the man opens his mouth.

"Joe,” he says. His lips curl up into that same infuriating smirk. “You feel like grabbing a coffee?"David doesn’t know if he’s heard right; and when he realizes he has, he can hardly believe it. His face breaks into a blinding grin, and his cheeks ache from the force. "Yeah,” he says, offering the guy a hand to help him up. “Coffee would be fantastic, actually."

His hand grasps Joe’s, and he lifts him to his feet. David doesn’t know what this is, but he knows it’s the start of something. He can’t wait to find out more about the mysterious man who’s so unexpectedly become a part of his life.

#Anonymous #webgott #cops and robbers au #david webster #joe liebgott

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troey-jibiani · 8 years ago

Link

Listen. This has taken me all day to post. I had it all ready to go and Ao3 decided to be contrary, but it’s here. I did it!

His time is running out.

Ok, so that sounds really Extra, but it’s actually a good thing. Derek’s time is running out–the numbers on his wrist are ticking downward, meaning he’s going to meet his soulmate soon.

In approximately 45 seconds.

He’s not freaking out. Really. None of the other people here can tell he’s about to meet the love of his life. He’s good at keeping it all in.

He just so happens to be standing in a group of high school seniors, all considering attending Samwell next year and playing hockey there.

There’s this guy, who walks up next to him. He doesn’t pay him much attention, he’s got to keep his eyes open for his soulmate. Three, two–

“You sure you’re in the right place? You don’t really look like a hockey player,” the guy says blandly. Derek doesn’t know how to take that. Is he saying it because Derek’s Black, or because he’s dressed like he just walked out of poetry night in a dimly lit coffee house? Either one hurts, but one is significantly worse than the other.

“Bro. Check your timer,” Derek urges instead of acknowledging Mr. Whitest Boy Alive’s possible racist comment.

“Fuck,” Pasty gasps. “This has to be some kind of mistake.”

Oh, ok. So White Boy has been significantly downgraded to White Asshole™. “Wow. Aren’t you just pumped to have a soulmate,” Derek snips.

“I didn’t mean it like that, man,” White Asshole™ backpedals.

“I’m sure you didn’t. Kindly fuck off and pretend this didn’t happen,” Derek sighs, “and I won’t mention it either.”

Before the royal douchebag can protest, there’s a girl telling them to follow her, and the tour has started. Derek does his best to ignore the guy for the rest of the tour, and he doesn’t make any effort to talk to Derek either.

He avoids the guy for the campus tour as well. This one is lead by two of the guys who are already on the team, a small southern man that makes Derek uncomfortable when he first hears his voice but then immediately comfortable again when he hands him a gift bag, and Shitty, a dude Derek went to school with.

Shitty makes sure to whisper to him that while the southerner–Bitty–is indeed a Georgia Peach, he’s by no means bigoted. (White Asshole™ makes a comment about expecting the Samwell Hockey team to be ‘less good at baking.’ Seriously fuck this guy.)

He doesn’t so much as look at Apparently Racist and Homophobic Dickwad after that, and hopes that Bitty was the straw that broke the camel’s back for him so he won’t show up at freshman orientation in the fall.

He shows up at freshman orientation in the fall. Well, actually, he shows up before that because the first optional skate is before orientation, and Derek and White Asshole™ both decide to go.

“Hey man, listen. I didn’t mean that I–”

“I thought I told you I wasn’t talking about this,” Derek hisses. “Look, asshat. You don’t call your soulmate a mistake. But hey. You don’t want to, like, date me or whatever the fuck? That’s chill.”

“But that wasn’t–”

Nursey isn’t going to let the dickbag talk. “I don’t care. Just forget it already, man.”

And that’s that. Months go by, the coaches pair him and White Asshole™ (his name is Dex, but to Derek he’s always going to be White Asshole™) together as defensemen, they fight like crazy, but neither of them bring up being soulmates. None of the team knows, because no one knows to ask.

For some reason, the goalie, Chowder, decides that Nursey and Dex are both his best friends, which is a problem. Derek likes Chowder, he does, but he can’t get along with Dex to save his life.

It wouldn’t be that big of a deal if Chowder could just hang out with them separately, but he insists on having the three of them study together in his room, or go to Annie’s together, or sit together at team gatherings.

And now he’s got Bitty trying to play referee. Since they don’t get along, someone has to, right?

Derek’s going insane.

Dex, Derek notices, doesn’t drink much. In that respect, they’re polar opposites, as Derek gets absolutely fucking trashed at any chance he gets.

So it’s a bit of a surprise when they somehow get their roles reversed.

Derek has been nursing (ha) one beer all night, the nicer shit that he convinced Shitty to buy and hide in the back of the fridge. Dex is on tub juice number three, and while he’s certainly holding it better than Derek would, he’s more drunk than Derek has ever seen him before.

Apparently, drunk Dex wants to be around Nursey way more than sober Dex.

“Nursey,” Dex slurs, throwing his arm around Derek’s shoulders, “fuck bro I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Did you need something?” Derek asks, slowly, because Dex doesn’t seem to be at full Poindexter Processing Speed right now. Shut up, it makes sense in Derek’s head, alright?

“N’really. I just wanted to see you. Fuck. How did I end up with you as a soulmate?”

“Dex, we’re not talking about this, and especially not here,” Nursey warns.

Dex frowns, and leans his head against Derek’s. “Just because I’m not good at words. I didn’t mean to ruin everything. I didn’t think you were mine.”

Derek is confused. Dex had called him a mistake. Dex didn’t want him, just like everyone else around him eventually came to realize. His parents were never there for him, his classmates at Andover were only ever party friends, and sooner or later the rest of the SMH were going to figure out that they didn’t want him either.

“Too pretty. I thought, like, no? Not him? Not even close to your league, Poinde–Poindex–Poindexter. Plus you’re fuckin’ annoying,” Dex babbles.

“Yeah right. Tell me that tomorrow morning when you’re not schwasted.”

Dex lifts his head up and Looks Nursey in the eye. It appears to take a lot of effort. “’M not that drunk. Maybe a little. But not that much.”

“Still. I’m not believing a word you say until you say it sober.”

Derek thanks whatever celestial being that they don’t have practice in the morning. He’s not hungover, but last night’s kegster lasted a long time, so he’s a little sleep deprived. He revels in his opportunity to sleep in, to just lay in bed with nowhere to go.

And then someone starts pounding on his door. “Nurse! Open up! Nursey!”

That sounds suspiciously like Dex, so he gets up, remembers to at least put on pants, and stumbles to the door. “What the fuck, Poindexter. Let a guy sleep in on the only day he gets to.”

“You told me to tell you what I told you last night again when I wasn’t drunk. I’m mildly hung over but my headache’s almost gone and I’m Irish so my entire family would be super disappointed in me if three drinks did me in.”

“You have my attention,” Derek mumbles, dropping back down on his bed.

“Ok. So. I’ve kind of tried to say this before and you wouldn’t listen? I didn’t mean to say that I thought us being soulmates was a mistake. I just meant that there was no way that someone like you could possibly be stuck with, well, me.”

Derek looks up at Dex. He’s standing awkwardly, with his hands crammed in his pockets. His face matches his hair, and he doesn’t seem to be able to look at Nursey.

“But no matter what I say I always seem to say the wrong thing? Especially if I’m talking to you. It just. It doesn’t come out the way I want it to.”

Derek doesn’t want to believe him. Dex is just another person in his life that’s going to walk out eventually.

“What the fuck Nurse, no I’m not.”

So Derek is apparently drowsy enough to say that last part out loud.

“Is that really what you think? That I’m just going to leave? Last time I checked, we’re soulmates. I’m stuck with your ridiculous ass no matter what.”

“But you like my ridiculous ass,” Derek quips. “You said it yourself. You think I’m miles out of your league.”

“I also said you’re annoying,” Dex reminds him, but he’s smiling. Dex is finally looking at him, and he doesn’t seem so uncomfortable anymore. “As luck would have it, so am I.”

“Can I get that in writing?”

Dex laughs. “Shut the fuck up. I’m serious, though. Just because other people in your life haven’t cared about you enough to stick around–which we are discussing later because what the fuck, Nurse–doesn’t mean I’m going to do the same thing. If nobody else stays, I will.”

Derek props himself up on his elbows. Dex is so earnest. He always is, really, but this? This is Dex begging him to understand that they’re meant for each other even if Derek wanted to push him away to try to save himself the heartbreak.

Apparently, there was no mistake after all.

#nurseydex #nursey week #please send help #Ao3 hates me today #my lobster son

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mindless-noise · 5 years ago

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Losing the love of my life to booze and video games.

I've been drinking heavily since I started, something like 10 years ago. I smoked, I drank, I snorted, but mostly, and steadily, and desperately, I drank. I drank while working nights inrestaurants and bars. I drank the night away after the shift, trying to wind down. I drank the afternoons after working day shifts in restaurants. I drank on my days off, cause why not, and I drank after school, cause that's what you do. When you're addicted, that is. I quit most other drugs, quit cocaine, quit MDMA, but I kept drinking. I never addressed it.Maybe four or five years ago, I started gaming a lot. Dota 2, Half-Life, Counter-Strike, Diablo 2, Path of Exile. That last one has a fitting name. I figured I'd rather be gaming than imbibing god-knows-what harmful chemical my friends would have the brilliant idea of ordering. I figured it was any better. I thought it was better for me to isolate myself, game until the wee hours of the morning, and to down a 12-pack simultaneously, than it was to go out. I made myself believe that. And then I met her. I was fucked.My ex-wife moved in with me very quickly. We were madly in love, and she was staying with her parents when we met, so we naturally spent a lot of time at my place, drinking beer, wine, listening to music, making love. We went out a lot. We were always up for a sesh at the bar. She nearly flunked her Uni semester cause of the wild fucking weeks we were having. My roommate and I were parting ways in September anyways, and so it made perfect sense than R. and I would find a nice cosy Villeray apartment for the 2 of us, even though our friends were warning us not to move too fast. I was intending on going back to school, to study computer science. But I kept gaming, and I kept drinking, alone, or not. At some point, she realised what she had gotten herself into. She'd go to sleep cause of morning obligations : school, work, sport. You know, real life. I stayed up. Almost every night. Gaming. Sometimes I'd tell myself I'd take it easy and I wouldn't drink, or drink just a bit. I'd still end up going to bed past 2 or 3 am. I could smoke a gram and a half of weed, thinking "hey at least I'm not drinking". Such is the mind of an addict. I ended up dropping CS a couple weeks into the semester. It has been a grim pattern in my life to drop stuff before completion. I ended up quitting my job that winter, and I spent the next six months just wallowing in my own shit, gaming, drinking and eating fast food. This was only the first of a couple bouts of me trying to get into something, then quitting abruptly, without telling her or anyone beforehand. I'd tell her with bloody hands "Hey, I quit my job" or "Hey, I dropped out of school". She hated not having any idea of what the fuck was going on with me.She saw the empty cases. She smelled it on my breath. She felt it on my skin. At this point I knew my limits well enough that I wasn't completely disfunctional hungover every morning. But I'd be late for work, at least half the time. I'd botch my school assignments. I'd order takeaway. She'd be the sunshine of my life getting ready for her day being excited for what was to come, telling me about her classes, her dreams, her ambitions, and I'd lay there, disheveled half-hungover asshole. I'd be that cynical snarky know-it-all who doesn't do shit but complain. For two and a half years.I stopped seeing my friends. My mind was being completely consumed by the holy trinity of work, relationship and substance/game abuse. I'd let them go through rough patches, barely caring. I'd let them spend months abroad without a message. I'd go for months without a ring. My wife was going through some shit on her own, issues with body image and food, and she had denounced her teenage abuser to the police, so her stress and anxiety levels were pretty high. I tried to help her cope by listening, making dinner, watching tv shows, etc. I thought I was doing a good job, turns out I was doing too much of the bare minimum. She needed excitement, she needed culture. She needed to share interests with me, to go out, to see the world, to laugh, to dance, to cry. I didn't catch on. I was so invested in my own little virtual worlds I didn't understand when she told me she needed me to take less care of her and more of myself. I didn't know what that meant. I thought I was happy doing the things I was doing. I knew it pained her to see me abuse alcohol and investing so much time and energy in video games. I thought things would pass. I thought a way would find me. I thought we'd be fine.At one point, in an attempt to connect with me, she agreed to install Steam on her computer. We added each other as friends, and she downloaded the Sims and Dota 2. Now the problem with being friends with your wife on steam is she can see just how many hours you've sank in the past few weeks on various games. It shows on your profile, and it weirdly feels like a badge of "real gamer" of sorts. She didn't fathom how fucking far gone I was, I don't think. Eighty-five hours in the past few weeks, she said. She didn't comment on it much. She laughed nervously and we moved on to something else, like a dying couple does. For the record, I have over 5 000 hours recorded on that game, and over a thousand on Path of Exile. That's over 4 or 5 years, not much more. It's like I've had a full time job gaming and gaining nothing but fucking points. I had given my old steam account to my youngest brother Z., a couple years prior. I'd have to ask him how many more hours played I had on various games, namely Counter-Strike 1.6. It can't be under the thousands. We never did end up playing Dota 2 together. I don't blame her. She had seen me raging on the microphone because complete strangers didn't play the way I wanted. She knew how hard and involved the game was. She wasn't interested in it. She was just grasping at straws, trying to find a way to connect with me.I am now forty pounds over what I was when we met. I wasn't the most jacked dude you'd ever seen, but at 185-190 pounds and 6 feet, I was relatively lean. I remember having some amount of muscle definition, around the abs and arms and such. Now I have a real goddamn beer gut, fat drooping from where my pecs are supposed to be. I had to change almost all of my clothes. She tried and tried so hard not to fat-shame me, but how the fuck are you supposed to love the fat fucking mess I was becoming while she was hustling at school, at work and at the gym, looking better and better and getting closer to her goals every day? Needless to say, our sex life took a huge hit. In the last year we probably had one or two sexual encounters a month, if not less. I'm not saying I'd fuck me, either. And when we did have sex, my stamina was a fraction of what it was 2 years prior.Now she tried to give me an ultimatum a couple weeks ago. She said she couldn't bear living with my sorry ass anymore, if I didn't do something about it. I told her I'd curb my drinking, which I sort of did. I didn't change jack about my day-to-day habits, though. Most days, I'd still woke up, have a coffee watching some useless shit about video games on my laptop, gamed a while, ate late cause I was doing "intermittent fasting" - which by the way doesn't count if you don't at least try to eat healthily when you do eat, gamed some more, etc. And then some nights I'd kiss her sweet dreams and relapse and drink a case of beer, trying to hide it the best I could. But if she didn't know in her rational brain, she knew in her heart that things weren't working out. I wasn't making the necessary changes to become a husband you can think about the future with, to succeed in my own life, at school, at work. I didn't get it.Fast forward to last Monday, when she finally couldn't bear the weight of this relationship with me. She left. And instantly, I knew. I knew I had fucked up so much for so long. But it took a couple days to accept it. I was angry, I was furious.I told her I'd be staying in the apartment for as long as I needed to find a new place, and that she wasn't welcome, and that it wasn't my problem. I told her I didn't care if my attitude hurt her : "Tough luck", I said.Jesus fuck, dude.We spoke yesterday, on the phone. For two hours, a painful, slow, emotive conversation. One of those you never want to have.One of those you wish you could have avoided by being better than you were. I told her I'd change. I told her I'd do anything to be with her. You know, the usual. It feels like such a cliché but it's fucking real. I've never loved a woman like I love her. I knew in my heart I wanted her to have my babies, one day. I was set and I fucked it up so bad by not caring, not listening. Fuck.I brought her flowers today, at the Uni. with a hand-written note, saying that I'm sorry and that I'm going to get help. That I would give anything for another chance at us. I believe it, though I'm not sure that she does. After I had made her late for class I left, and I called for help. I have an appointment on Monday morning with a social worker, to evaluate my needs. I won't let the pain of her being gone prevent this valuable lesson to help me. I wish with all my heart that she finds her way to me, somehow. I'll be working hard, regardless.I can't live this way. Anymore.

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etherockj · 6 years ago

Text

Enjoli

I’m newly sober and dog-paddling through the booze all around me. It’s summer, and Whole Foods has planted rosé throughout the store. Rosé is great with fish! And strawberries! And vegan protein powder! (Okay, I made that last one up.) At the office, every desk near mine has a bottle of wine or liquor on it in case people are too lazy to walk the 50 feet to one of the well-stocked communal bars we’ve built on our floor. Driving home from work, I pass billboard ads for Fluffed Marshmallow Smirnoff and Iced Cake Smirnoff and not just Cinnamon, but Cinnamon Churros Smirnoff. A local pharmacy, the same one that fucks up my prescription three months in a row, installs self-service beer taps and young guys line up with their empty growlers all the way back to Eye & Ear Care.

Traveling for work, I steel myself for the company-sponsored wine tasting. Skipping it is not an option. My plan is to work the room with my soda and lime, make sure I’m seen by the five people who care about these things, and leave before things get sloppy (which they always do). Six wines and four beers are on display at the catering stand. I ask for club soda and get a blank look. Just water, then? The bartender grimaces apologetically. “I think there’s a water fountain in the lobby?” she says.

There is. But it’s broken. I mingle empty-handed for 15 minutes, fending off well-meaning offers to get me something from the bar. After the fifth, I realize I’m going to cry if one more person offers me alcohol. I leave and cry anyway. Later I order vanilla ice cream from room service to cheer myself up.

“People love this with a shot of bourbon poured over it,” the person taking my order says. “Any interest in treating yourself?”

***

That’s the summer I realize that everyone around me is tanked. But it also dawns on me that a lot of the women are super double tanked — that to be a modern, urbane woman means to be a serious drinker. This isn’t a new idea — just ask the Sex and the City girls (or the flappers). A woman with a single malt scotch is bold and discerning and might fire you from her life if you fuck with her. A woman with a PBR is a Cool Girl who will not be shamed for belching. A woman drinking MommyJuice wine is saying she’s more than the unpaid labor she gave birth to. The things women drink are signifiers for free time and self-care and conversation — you know, luxuries we can’t afford. How did you not see this before? I ask myself. You were too hammered, I answer back. That summer I see, though. I see that booze is the oil in our motors, the thing that keeps us purring when we could be making other kinds of noise.

***

One day that summer I’m wearing unwise (but cute, so cute) shoes and trip at the farmer’s market, cracking my phone, blood-staining the knees of my favorite jeans, and scraping both my palms. Naturally, I post about it on Facebook as soon as I’ve dusted myself off. Three women who don’t know I’m sober comment quickly:

“Wine. Immediately.”

“Do they sell wine there?”

“Definitely wine. And maybe new shoes.”

Have I mentioned that it’s morning when this happens? On a weekday? This isn’t one of those nightclub farmer’s markets. And the women aren’t the kind of beleaguered, downtrodden creatures you imagine drinking to get through the day. They’re pretty cool chicks, the kind people ridicule for having First World Problems. Why do they need to drink?

Well, maybe because even cool chicks are still women. And there’s no easy way to be a woman, because, as you may have noticed, there’s no acceptable way to be a woman. And if there’s no acceptable way to be the thing you are, then maybe some women drink a little. Or a lot.

***

The year before I get sober, I’m asked to be The Woman on a panel at the company where I work. (That was literally the pitch: “We need one woman.”) Three guys and me, talking to summer interns about company culture. There are two female interns in the audience, and when it’s time for questions, one says:

“I’ve heard this can be a tough place for women to succeed. Can you talk about what it’s been like for you?”

As The Woman, I assume for some reason that the question is directed at me. “If you’re tough and persistent and thick-skinned, you’ll find your way,” I say. “I have.”

I don’t say she’ll have to work around interruptions and invisibility and micro-aggressions and a scarcity of role models and a lifetime of her own conditioning. My job on this panel is to make this place sound good, so I leave some stuff out. Particularly the fact that I’m drinking at least one bottle of wine a night to dissolve the day off of me.

But she’s a woman. She probably learned to read between the lines before she could read the lines themselves. She thanks me and sits down.

“I disagree,” says the guy sitting next to me. “I think this is a great company for women.”

My jaw gently opens on its own.

The guy next to him nods. “Absolutely,” he said. “I have two women on my team and they get along great with everyone.”

Of course they do, I think but don’t say. It’s called camouflage.

Guy #1 continues. “There’s a woman on my team who had a baby last year. She went on maternity leave and came back, and she’s doing fine. We’re very supportive of moms.”

Guy #3 jumps in just to make sure we have 100% male coverage on the topic. “The thing about this place,” he says, “is it’s a meritocracy. And merit is gender-blind.” He smiles at me and I stare back. Short of hijacking this panel for my own agenda, silent balefulness is all I have to offer. But his smile wavers so I know I’ve pierced some level of smug.

The panel organizer and I fume afterward. “Those fucking fucks,” she says. “Ratfucks.”

What’s a girl to do when a bunch of dudes have just told her, in front of an audience, that she’s wrong about what it’s like to be herself? I could invite them out for coffee, one by one, and tell them how it felt, and they might really listen. I could tell the panel organizers this is why you should never have just one of us up there. I could buy myself a superhero costume and devote the rest of my life to vengeance on mansplainers everywhere.

Instead, I round up some girlfriends and we spend too much money at a hipster bar, drinking rye Manhattans and eating tapas and talking about the latest crappy, non-gender-blind things that have happened to us in meetings and on business trips and at performance review time. They toast me for taking one for the team. And when we are good and numb we Uber home, thinking Look at all we’ve earned! That bar with the twinkly lights. That miniature food. This chauffeured black car. We are tough enough to put up with being ignored and interrupted and underestimated every day and laugh it off together. We’ve made it. This is the good life. Nothing needs to change.

***

Do you remember the Enjoli perfume commercial from the 1970s? The chick who could bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan, and never let you forget you’re a man?

I blame that bitch for a lot. For spreading the notion that women should have a career, keep house, and fuck their husbands, when the only sane thing to do is pick two and outsource the third. For making it seem glamorous. For suggesting it was going to be fun. And for the tagline she dragged around: “The 8-Hour Perfume for the 24-Hour Woman.” Just in case you thought you could get one fucking hour off the clock.

More tales of my first sober summer: I go to an afternoon showing of Magic Mike at one of those fancy theaters that serves cocktails to blunt the terrible stress of watching a movie in air-conditioned comfort. A few rows ahead of me, a group of women are drinking champagne through straws. They whoop and holler at the screen as though at an actual Chippendale’s. In the parking lot afterward, one of them says to the others: “Girl time! We have to claim our girl time.” “We’ve earned this,” another replies. And then they drive off in separate directions.

A baby shower is in progress at the nail parlor. Except for the guest of honor, everyone is drinking wine, lots of it. I wonder if the mom-to-be minds, if it feels like they’re rubbing it in. “Thank God there are places like this where we can have lady time,” a woman in a yellow dress says. She tells the mom-to-be she’s far enough along to have some wine. It seems important to her that the mom-to-be drink with them. I catch myself nodding. You, I think. Yeah, I know you. There’s always one person who can’t deal if someone isn’t drinking. At times, I was that person.

“I’m going to feel hungover by dinner,” a different woman says. “But it’s so worth it. How often do you get a chance to get away from your kids for an afternoon?”

I personally think this is an insensitive thing to say at a baby shower.

Is it really that hard, being a First World woman? Is it really so tough to have the career and the spouse and the pets and the herb garden and the core strengthening and the oh-I-just-woke-up-like-this makeup and the face injections and the Uber driver who might possibly be a rapist? Is it so hard to work ten hours for your rightful 77% of a salary, walk home past a drunk who invites you to suck his cock, and turn on the TV to hear the men who run this country talk about protecting you from abortion regret by forcing you to grow children inside your body?

I mean, what’s the big deal? Why would anyone want to soften the edges of this glorious reality?

***

I run a women’s half-marathon on a day in August when temperatures are fifteen degrees above normal. It’s a — what do you call it — a horror show. But I finish and someone puts a finisher’s medal on me. I’m soaked, chafed, limping, and still triumphant. Until they say: “The margarita tent is right over there!”

A yoga studio where I sometimes practice starts a monthly “Vinyasa & Vino” event: an hour of fast-paced yoga in a hundred-degree room, followed by a glass of an addictive, dehydrating substance (made locally!). Oh, but it’s about mindful savoring, I’m told. Well, then. Apologies for thinking it was about mindful reciprocal advertising to an overwhelmingly female audience, and om shanti.

A local kitchen shop offers a combination knife-skills and wine-tasting class — yes, wine for people who have already self-identified as being so clumsy with sharp objects that they need professional instruction.

At the waxing salon, a cut-glass decanter of tequila is at the ready for first-time Brazilian customers, which — okay, you know what, that tequila was actually pretty helpful back in the day, and far be it from me to deprive other first-timers.

But knives and booze, yoga and booze, 13 mile runs and booze? What’s next to be liquored up: CPR training? Puppy ballet class? (Not really a thing, but someone should get on it.) Is there nothing so inherently absorbing or high-stakes or pleasurable that we won’t try to alter our natural response to it? Maybe women are so busy faking it — to be more like a man at work, more like a porn star in bed, more like 30 at 50 — that we don’t trust our natural responses anymore. Maybe all that wine is an Instagram filter for our own lives, so we don’t see how sallow and cracked they’ve become.

Toward the end of summer I take a trip to Sedona and post a photo to Facebook that captures the red rocks, a stack of books, a giant cocoa smoothie, and my glossy azure toenails in one frame. It is scientifically the most vacation-y photo ever taken.

“Uh, where’s the wine?” someone wants to know.

“Yeah, this vacation seems to be missing wine,” someone else chimes in.

I go to a stationery store to buy a card for a girlfriend. I couldn’t keep it together enough to track greeting card occasions when I was drinking, so it’s been a while since I’ve visited a card shop. There are three themes in female-to-female cards: 1) being old as fuck, 2) men are from Mars, and 3) wine.

“Wine is to women as duct tape is to men…it fixes everything!”

“I make wine disappear. What’s your superpower?”

“Lord, give me coffee to change the things I can…and wine to accept the things I cannot.”

Newly sober women have a lot of wonderful qualities, but lack of judginess not one of them. I don’t just stand there mentally tsk-tsking at the cards. I actually physically shake my head at them like Mrs. Grundy. Are you sure you can’t change those things? I think. And have you stopped to think that if you need ethanol — yes, at this point in my sobriety I called wine ethanol, wasn’t I charming? — to accept them, maybe it’s because they’re unacceptable?

***

The longer I am sober, the less patience I have with being a 24-hour woman. The stranger who tells me to smile. The janitor who stares at my legs. The men on TV who want to annex my uterus. Even the other TV men, who say that abortion should be “safe, legal, and rare.” What business is it of yours whether it’s rare or not? I think.

The magazines telling me strong is the new sexy and smart is the new beautiful, as though strong and smart are just paths to hot. The Facebook memes: muscles are beautiful. No, wait: fat is beautiful. No, wait: thin is beautiful, too, as long as you don’t work for it. No, wait: All women are beautiful! As though we are toddlers who must be given exactly equal shares of princess dust, or we’ll throw a tantrum.

And then I start to get angry at women, too. Not for being born wrong, or for failing to dismantle a thousand years of patriarchy on my personal timetable. And not for enjoying a glass of wine, alone or with their girlfriends — cheers to that, if you can stop at one or two. (I could, until I couldn’t.) But for being so easily mollified by overdrinking. For thinking that the right to get as trashed as a man means anything but the right to be as useless.

“What,” says a woman I enjoy arguing with, “so they can get fucked up and we have to look after them?”

No, I tell her. We have to look after ourselves.

“That still doesn’t seem fair,” she says, not unreasonably.

But who said anything about fairness? This isn’t about what’s fair. It’s about what we can afford. And we can’t afford this. We can’t afford to pretend it’s fine that everything we do or think or wear or say yes or no to is somehow wrong. We can’t afford to act like it’s okay that “Girls can do anything!” got translated somewhere along the line into “Women must do everything.” We can’t afford to live lives we have to fool our own central nervous systems into tolerating.

We can’t afford to be 24-hour women.

I couldn’t afford to be a 24-hour woman. But it didn’t stop me from trying till it shattered me.

I am very angry with women that summer and then I’m very, very angry with myself. And I stay that way for months, trudging through my first sober Christmas and job change and flu and birthday and using that anger at every turn as a reminder to pay attention and go slow and choose things I actually want to happen. By the time summer comes back around I realize I no longer smell like 8-hour perfume.

***

That second summer, I meet my friend Mindy outside San Diego, where her adopted son is days from being born. Mindy’s dark alleys were different from mine, but she walked them all the same and walked herself out of them, too. Sometimes, talking about the recent past, we blink at each other like people struggling to readjust to sunlight after a long, bad movie. More and more it’s the new that gets our attention: my new job, her newish and happy marriage, the book I’m writing and the classes she’s taking. The things we are making happen, step by step.

We spend the weekend moving slowly and sleeping late and — hypocritically — wishing the lazy baby would hurry up already. On Sunday morning we’re reading by the deep end of the hotel pool when the shallow end starts to fill with women, a bridal party to judge by what we overhear. And we overhear a lot, because they arrive already tipsy and the pomegranate mimosas — pomegranate is a superfood! one woman keeps telling the others — just keep coming until that side of the pool seems like a Greek chorus of women who have major grievances with their bodies, faces, children, homes, jobs, and husbands but aren’t going to do anything about any of it but get loaded and sunburned in the desert heat.

I give Mindy the look that women use to say do you believe this shit? with only a slight tightening of the eyeballs. The woman on the other side of her catches the look and gives it back to me over her laptop, and then woman next to her joins in too. We engage in a brief, silent four-way exchange of dismay, irritation, and bitchiness.

Then Mindy slides her Tom Ford sunglasses back over her eyes and says, “All I can say is it’s really nice on this side of the pool.” I laugh and my heart swells against my swimsuit and I pull my shades down too, to keep my suddenly watery eyes to myself. Because it is. It is so nice on this side of the pool, where the book I’m reading is a letdown and my legs look too white and the ice has long since melted in my glass and work is hard and there’s still no good way to be a girl and I don’t know what to do with my life and I have to actually deal with all of that. I never expected to make it to this side of the pool. I can’t believe I get to be here

Written by: Kristi Coulter

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pilot-boi · 5 years ago

Text

Shouting In Cafes: Chapter One

Neptune keeps getting dumped and is honestly about to give up on dating all together. He'd much rather focus on his crappy job, and his schoolwork. Anything but dating. The universe, as always, conspires to ruin everyone's plans.

Or: The coffee shop AU that nobody asked for or wanted, but that I wrote anyway.

(In the same universe as Coffee Cup Woes, but before that timeline wise)

Unfortunate Meetings

As far as first impressions went, there was probably some way that this could have gone worse. But you’d be hard pressed to think of one of those ways.

AO3 LINK

Neptune was working his shift more than a little hungover from last night. Plastic cups kept toppling out of his hands and coffee streams began shifting just to the right of the mugs. Thank god for dim aesthetic lighting and the constant smell of coffee beans pumping through his senses.

It had happened again. As soon as Neptune finally got a straight dude to realize how not straight he really was, the dude thanked him for this realization and left. Leaving Neptune with a bottle of wine to mull over alone.

How many times had this happened? Five? More? Numbers were a little fuzzy at the moment. Neptune silently thanked god that he wasn’t working the cash register.

“Excuse me?” a bored voice called, followed by a harsh tapping on his shoulder.

Neptune blinked and jerked his head upright. Oh god, his head. Dull pain pounded against his skull, black spots popped up in his vision. How much did he actually drink last night? This was not at all healthy.

“Huh?” Neptune asked.

“Your turn to work register.” God dammit. He should have known it was too good to last.

“Fine,” he managed after a pause.

“Dude, you’re drunk as hell.”

“Just very hungover.”

“Why are you here?”

“Do I look like I can afford college?”

“I mean, a little. You’ve got some fancy ass hair.”

Neptune groaned out a sigh. “Thank you, I try.”

“Good luck.”

His coworker clapped him on the back and the spotty vision returned. This was going to be an extremely long shift.

After a moment, Neptune registered a blurred moving object passing in front of his face. A second later, there was a snap by his ear that his headache did not appreciate, and then someone said. “Hello? Dude, can you take our order?”

More blinking. More time to register. There was a lot of blue, but maybe it was a face.

“Welcome to the Daily Grind. What can I get for you today?”

“Um, buddy, my eyes are up here.”

Neptune was a tall guy. Like, annoyingly tall. Sometimes he hit his head on door frames tall. But Neptune actually had to tilt his head up to look this guy square in the eye. Guy was a basketball player. He had to be. What else could he be doing with all that height.

In a moment of horror, Neptune realized he had been talking directly into this customer’s chest.

“You’ve got quite a pair of pecs,” Neptune heard himself say. The hangover was doing bad stuff to his brain. For some reason he was combing his well refined casanova talk with his already terrible mocking talk, and it was turning out awful. The embarrassment didn’t register.

As soon as the words left his mouth, the guy’s face registered. Very high cheekbones, very spiky hair, and a very surprised expression on his face.

“What?” the customer asked, eyebrows trying to escape into his hairline.

There was a light giggle beside the customer and Neptune felt his eyes drag a foot and a half down to where a pretty brunette was covering her mouth and giggling. Neptune tried to push away the judgement. It wasn’t like he was any better after all. And he had practically just catcalled this paying customer’s chest. Oh god, what was he doing?

“Oh Lord. Sorry, sir. I’m a little out of it,” Neptune admitted. It kind of felt like the entire coffee shop was suspended in honey and his mind was trying to keep him afloat.

A hearty laugh burst from the customer’s mouth. Hearty? Was hearty the right word? It started a ship captain’s bellow and dissolved into woodland pixie giggling by the end. “I can tell. Who says that? Kind of ridiculous thing to say right off the bat.”

Well. Even though Neptune was in the wrong, he still had pride in himself.

“I’m guessing a black coffee and a unicorn frappuccino? I’m not sure whose is whose though,” Neptune commented, shooting a sideways glance at the pair of them.

The customer prickled. His date laughed again.

“Hey, dude, what the fuck?” the guy said. He said “fuck” loud enough for some heads to turn. “I’m on a date right now.”

“I see that, and honestly, she seems to be enjoying the company of a horribly hungover guy more than a douche in a wifebeater.” Neptune should probably stop. The leftover alcohol was making his tongue and his brain disconnect.

The girl laughed again. It felt good that he could seduce someone through a pounding headache, but also awful because it was her date she was laughing at.

Her date was a douche, though. It was a moral grey area.

The customer pointed at Neptune. Pointed at him! This was a coffee shop! The fury in his eyes said murder, the finger said the time was now. His nails said he hadn’t ever seen a nail clipper other than his own teeth.

After an intense stare down, the finger was lowered, and the customer spat out a “Grande white mocha and a plain cappuccino.”

“What’s the name?”

“Sun.”

Neptune smiled. “Just a few minutes until that’s ready, Sun.”

His smile was returned with a glare and snarl. Again, this was a coffee shop. Not a wrestling match. Neptune wouldn’t be surprised if he was called out onto the street to throw down after the order was made.

He could feel himself punch in a few numbers while making deliberate eye contact with the guy, Sun. As soon as his receipt printed out, Sun reached across the counter and snatched it out of Neptune’s printer before moving down the line to wait at pick up, staring and squinting all the while.

As soon as they were out of each other’s sight, Neptune caught somebody else’s glance: Sun’s date. She wore a tiny smile on her face as she slid by, pupils following Neptune until they couldn’t. She was cute, though not really Neptune’s type.

“What just happened there?” Neptune’s coworker, Jaune, appeared beside him. It would’ve made him jump had his brain not been moving so slow.

“Asshat in flip flops talked back to me.”

“He’s a paying customer, Neptune!”

“And an asshat, Jaune!” Neptune slumped onto the counter. Lucky for him the coffee shop was so tiny and crummy. It was always slow, giving him some well-earned time between customers to mull over his life choices. “He pointed at me!”

“Pointed at you?”

“With his finger! Right in my face! Who does that?!”

“Who started the argument?”

“It was…” Neptune thought for a moment. “Technically me. But he said ‘my eyes are up here’ when I was staring at his chest.”

“Why were you staring at his chest.”

“I’m very hungover.”

“Why are you hungover.”

“I got dumped last night.”

Jaune paused, sighed, and opened his arms for a hug. Neptune raised an eyebrow. He did not hug. He did not show the urge to display physical affection.

“Neptune, give me a hug.”

“No.”

“Neptune.”

“I don’t want a hug.”

“You got dumped. You’re hungover. You need a hug.”

Neptune gave into the hug. Jaune was a very soft person, emotionally if not physically. So even though their similar heights made it awkward, all his hugs were very comforting. The perks of having like a million siblings. And Neptune kind of needed it, though he would never admit it.

The wine had been swung back between fits of crying, but the more wine he drank the more he would cry and by the time the sun started to peek through his curtains, there was a bottle gone and Neptune had to deal with the fact that he’d been practically inhaling a bottle as he fell asleep.

He didn’t even like the guy that much. But five times is a few times too many to get denied just when you realize you like someone. It hurt. And the hurt had been building up for a while.

“I just can’t keep a guy,” Neptune said into Jaune’s shoulder. His curling blonde hair smelled like dish soap.

“Maybe you have bad taste in guys?” he asked.

“I do not have bad taste in guys.”

“You obviously do if they keep dumping you!”

“Hug over.” Neptune tried to pull away but Jaune resisted. That oversized sweatshirt hid the strength of a mammoth.

“Hug not over. Stop bottling everything inside! It’s annoying.”

“I can’t not bottle, Jaune! I’m not a feelings guy!”

“You could be if you tried!”

“Let go!”

“Ahem.”

There was a customer waiting.

“Shit,” Neptune said. Jaune finally released his grip and pushed Neptune out of the way and into the syrups.

“Sorry about that, ma’am! What will you be having today?” Jaune said in his brightest customer service voice. He caught his eye for a second, giving him a look that said, ‘You’re really out of it. I’ll take care of the cash register. Go do something useful.’

Neptune silently thanked god for Jaune Arc.

Only two more customers came in during the thirty minutes Neptune was on syrup duty, leaving Jaune and Neptune to make idle chatter. The whole time, Neptune kept glancing back to the dude from before. Sun. He kept laughing with his date, pounding on the table and overall being very loud.

Everything about him was loud. His sandals, his shorts, his shirt, his hair spikes that defied gravity and Neptune could verify just how weird they were because he saw them with his own two eyes. Why the hell would this dickhead dudebro come into a tiny local coffee shop with crummy staff and crappy food? On a date?

Sun’s date would still softly giggle when it looked like Sun had cracked a joke, but Neptune caught her writing something on her straw wrapper when Sun turned around.

And then they were leaving.

No fight, no duel, no screaming match. They were just leaving. The only suggestion of bad blood was the glare Sun shot Neptune as he opened the door for his date. Other than that, nothing.

Nothing except Sun’s date passing something to Neptune without looking as they passed by the bar.

Neptune unfurled the crumpled straw wrapper in his hands and stared at the telephone number written there.

“What’s that?” Jaune asked, leaning on a broom.

“A number.”

“Oooo. Is he cute?”

“She. And I guess.”

“You gonna call her?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“She was the date of that douchebag.”

“Oh, wow.” A pause. “Oh wow! I guess the date didn’t go well, then?”

“Who could've guessed?”

“And you’re not gonna call her.”

“Why would I?”

Jaune smiled. “I’m proud of you, Neptune! And here I thought you were gonna call her in an act of revenge against the shorts and sandals guy you initiated the fight with! I guess people can-”

“I’m gonna call her.”

“There it is.”

#rwby #neptune vasilias #sun wukong #jaune arc #seamonkeys #mine #my writing #shouting in cafes #chapter 1 #writing wednesday

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