#to the extent that he's like. actually known to my followers

[glowingplant]

I threw some stuff at the wall until Rhydenach and Trahearne smoochies in Orr emerged <3

[the @magentameows watermark refers to my art blog, where this will be reblogged]

[hannieehaee]

IO CHE NON VIVO (teaser)

18+ / mdi

summary: being abducted and dragged to italy in the middle of promotions was not something wonwoo could've ever expected, but idol life was very unpredictable after all. what had truly caught him off guard, however, was the girl he met whilst strolling the pretty sights at night, fully unaware of his title as idol or any of his hectic life, offering a breath of fresh air he could've never accounted for.

content: strangers2lovers!wonwoo, idol!wonwoo, meetcute<3, shy!wonwoo, reader is lovely and outgoing!!, no race specified but reader's nationality is italian, language barrier (but reader is said to understand and speak korean so its ok!!), long distance relationship, summer love vibes, love at first sight type of situation, takes place during nana tour but does not follow the actual chronology of real events in the show, afab reader, smut, sex dream(?), dry humping, leg riding, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 18.3k

(^ no actual content warnings in the teaser)

wc: 2k (teaser); 18.3k (full fic)

RELEASE DATE: october 14th

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masterlist

a/n: this is based off this ask i received a very long time ago that i never got to but ended up inspiring this story<3

masterlist | patreon

Wonwoo should've known.

The moment he saw that uncharacteristically free month in his schedule, he should've known that something was up. Neither Hybe nor Pledis would ever allow for Seventeen to have an entire month clear of any schedules. It'd be an immediate financial failure in their eyes.

As much as Wonwoo enjoyed the rapid life of an idol, he missed the days when he was a teenager and time could stand still for a few moments. It had been a long time since he'd had that luxury.

So when he cross checked his schedule with his groupmates and realized they were all equally free of idol duties for an extended period of time, he couldn't help but feel worried yet relieved. Could be possibly make plans during this free time? Maybe rest? Maybe simply enjoy the quiet and slowness of time as it passed without a worry for what was next?

His questions were answered pretty quickly.

As he rested in his room after a grueling week of back to back concerts in Japan, Wonwoo felt content in knowing that he'd get to head back to Korea and rest for a few days. He only had a few simple album-related shoots for the following days, and once those were done he'd be able to cash in on his free month. The company hadn't mentioned any change of plans, nor had they officially announced the meaning of this gap in schedules, so Wonwoo chose not to question it and simply bask in it.

Unfortunately for Wonwoo, life was never that simple.

As per usual, he was not even allowed that a full night of sleep before being bombarded by noise just outside his door. Assuming it was just his hyperactive members meaning to make another attempt at dragging him into their impromptu rap battle, he simply turned to his side whilst nuzzling under the covers, too comfortable to be bothered.

The next disturbance came in the form of one Boo Seungkwan hesitantly opening his door with a key he assumed came from his manager, sneaking into the room as he checked for signs of life.

Not fully awake, Wonwoo continued to ignore the situation, hoping that his lack of reaction for whatever was going on outside would lead his members to realize that he was checked out for the night — something quite usual for him after an extraneous concert.

After a few moments, Wonwoo was able to hear the descent of Seungkwan's steps, meaning he had likely left the room and that Wonwoo could now claim slumber to its fullest extent.

That was until an entire band of people marched into his room, carelessly turning on the light and rushing towards his lone form on the bed. Sitting up sleepily, he attempted to make sense of what was happening, unsure of why this many people had entered his room, and suddenly far too aware of his lack of clothing, pulling his blanket to cover him as much as possible.

Thanks to Boo Seungkwan, his glasses quickly found their way to his face and a shirt was thrown at him to put on while under the covers. It wasn't until then that Wonwoo realized that Na PD was one of the many people currently looking down at him as he laid in bed, camera man next to him.

"What is happening?", he murmured about one minute into the situation, barely awake enough to speak.

"We're getting abducted, be ready," spoke Mingyu with a laugh from the side of the room, looking far too excited and as if he had already been briefed on the situation.

The rest of the details were blurry, but the gist of the situation ended in only one verdict — Seventeen was now headed to Italy.

The free month should've been a dead giveaway, but Wonwoo had simply been far too busy with his usually hectic schedule to even make the connection. It had been a while since the deal to be taken away spontaneously had been made, so the whole thing had left his mind.

Despite his prior desire for some free time, the thought of finally stepping foot in Europe for the first time did bring a smile to his face. Mingyu had always told Wonwoo of his wish to go to Italy someday, which was usually echoed by Wonwoo himself. The chance to go with all his friends made him look forward to it all the more. All he needed was his camera and he'd be a happy man.

One lengthy flight later and Wonwoo found himself in Italy with a band of eleven friends (Seungcheol was sadly left behind) and even more staff members. The gist of the trip was that they'd be recorded simply exploring the beautiful city they'd landed in and playing the occasionally game for content on the show. It had been dubbed Nana Tour, even including personalized shirts for every member.

As per instructions by Na PD, they would get a lot of leisure time to use however they desired. Being a good friend of the group after a few prior meetings, Na PD had assured them that he wanted to grant them as much vacation time as possible whilst in Italy, not wanting to put too much pressure on the content-making aspect of the trip. As long as they were able to record a good six hours of content every week for the duration of their month-long stay, they'd have more than enough for a full successful season of the show.

So now Wonwoo was in Italy, a place he considered to be one of the most beautiful he had seen in his short life. The weather was comfortable, the sights amazing, the food delicious, and not to mention the freedom that came with being out and about on his own, worry-free of his responsibilities as an idol.

Surely he'd get recognized by Italian carats sooner or later, but within the few days he'd been here, always opting to go on a quiet outing at night, he had not been spotted as of yet. Maybe it was the fact he was so far from home and his location was unaccounted for by the media, or perhaps the nighttime making it difficult to recognize him, but he was currently experiencing an incognito lifestyle he had long bid adieu to.

Tonight, similarly to the previous three nights, he made the rounds in the small home Na PD'd staff had rented for Seventeen and excused himself for a nightly outing. At this hour, all activities expected for them had been wrapped up, giving them full freedom to spend their leisure time as they wished. Some other members opted to stay home, having already enjoyed outings during the day, whilst others went out in groups. Wonwoo was alone in the fact that he craved alone time at this hour, preferring to head out with no company other than his camera.

Camera in hand, Wonwoo made his way outside, always heading in a different direction than the previous night, seeing where fate would take him and taking pictures of any pretty sight on the way.

The night was chilly, illuminated by the yellow streetlights that had a tendency of brightening up the city as dawn fell. Maybe it was the change of scenery, but Wonwoo found himself in love with the atmosphere of the nightfall in Italy. Every sight was one to behold. It hadn't taken long for his love for photography to invade his every free moment in the beautiful city. Pictures overflowed his camera roll, all satisfying his artistic eye.

His nightly stroll lasted a good half an hour before he found himself near a shore, looking to the distance and finding nothing close enough to the end of the sea. It was too dark to tell what might be beyond, but the sight was still one Wonwoo quickly became hypnotized by. Surprisingly, the area was quite lonesome, with most people choosing to hang by the brighter areas nearby, housing themselves in restaurants or small shops that opened late into the night. He found himself alone with the ocean and a lone street light providing him with that yellow hue he came to find comfort in.

The comfortable loneliness did not last Wonwoo too long. A sudden presence practically materialized a few feet from him a few moments later, or maybe he'd just been too drawn by the sight to notice anyone approaching prior. He meekly turned his face to the side, unable to help wondering who was his new silent companion. Upon taking a cautious look, he found the silhouette of a girl. Wanting to avoid making her uncomfortable or being too obvious, Wonwoo looked forward almost immediately, now eyeing the view once more.

They stood like that, in comfortable silence, for a few long minutes. No words were exchanged despite the mutual knowledge of the other's presence, simply sharing a moment of solace together. It was unlike any other interaction he'd ever had with a stranger — or lack thereof, really.

He felt comfortable, uninterrupted in his peace despite the presence of a stranger. Wonwoo had never been good at strangers, specially not in foreign countries. He usually found himself being anxious and far too quiet for comfort, never one to pick up casual conversation even in his native language, much less in one he felt no confidence in. His on-stage persona was very different than that of his actual one. Carats were quite correct in assigning the black cat stereotype — quiet, untrusting, keeping to himself.

The silence halted with the sudden stutter of a camera, taking Wonwoo out of the trance he'd been in as he stared out to the water, making him turn to the left in a combination of fear and curiosity. His instant assumption had been that whoever the faceless girl was, she must've taken a picture of him, having recognized him. But as he turned to the side, he found her in a rather awkward position, crouched down and camera facing the sea as she found the best angle possible for her shot.

He chuckled breathlessly to himself, a bit embarrassed that he'd made such an assumption of an unsuspecting stranger who likely had no idea who he was. Where did that big head come from, Wonwoo?, he thought to himself. This girl knows nothing of who you are, most people here seem to be the same, he should be happy.

It was then that he finally made sense of your appearance, as you crouched towards the edge of the shore and gave him a better look of you under the streetlight nearby. He couldn't see your face very well as you continued to face away from him, but he had a good enough view to catch the slope of your nose, the color of your hair, the shape of your body, all distinctive features he could appreciate under the melancholic lighting.

Wonwoo wasn't really one to care much for appearances. Beautiful people came in all forms, but he was one to truly find beauty in a person through other means, usually enjoying the physical aspects of a person's being only after getting to know the emotional ones. There seemed to be some exceptions to the rule, however, as Wonwoo came to find when you got up to your full height, making your way back to your original spot but incidentally locking eyes with him as he eyed you curiously. Your eyes drew him in immediately, finding you beautiful upon a single look.

As embarrassed as he was at getting caught staring at you, his mind was eased when you offered a friendly smile, taking his smile in return as a welcome to stand closer than you'd been before. Wordlessly, you made your way to his side, eyeing the small disposable camera he had hanging from his neck.

...

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[jenscx]

LUCID DREAM — ning yizhuo

it’s been years without ning yizhuo in your life. it feels surreal; the day you walked out without an explanation. but just the thought of being able to see her again, it draws you back into the endless loop of loving her.

TAGS — angst, exes to ???, insecurity, model!ning, ambiguous ending, mentions of alcohol, making up, jmj wedding (we don’t actually get to witness it tho)

WORDCOUNT — 7.4k

you stare at the wedding invitation, written neatly at the top, the invitation is addressed to a ning y/n. you want to cry. the invitation clearly stating your ex’s name makes your heart clench uncomfortably. it’s a blaring reminder that your relationship ended and you’re no longer living in your childhood fantasy.

“fuck,” you swear, “fuck you, kim minjeong.” you want to murder minjeong, but who were you to ask minjeong to stop reminding you of your bitter ending? especially since it was your own impulsiveness that had ended the relationship. you could have been more understanding towards yizhuo, could have tried her best to resolve your conflict, but no. instead, you ran. ran like the coward you were.

you remember the brokenhearted look on yizhuo’s face, the devastated glimmer in her eyes before she had flipped her expression to another, like a switch. or more like a broken one, your brain offers unhelpfully. of course, the quiver of her lips had given yizhuo away almost immediately. you had known yizhuo for a third of your life, obviously you could tell when your soulmate– or in this case, ex, was about to break down.

you wish you had stayed, and simply comforted your soulmate like old times, but you couldn’t bear to watch yizhuo cry, because of you. you remember the look on your friends’ faces when you told them that you broke up with yizhuo, all the words they had yelled at her for betraying yizhuo. you remember the anger directed at you by yizhuo’s parents when you had sent them an apology letter. through the post, yizhuo had told you, letters felt more sincere than emails.

but perhaps the worst reaction wasn’t from any of them, it was simply from your own cat. meowing viciously when you had picked him up, bringing him together with you. the scratches lining your arms only serve as a constant reminder. mao, your british short haired, was desperately attached to yizhuo (and she was the one who named him too. what absolute luck.) his hostility could only be reasoned that he knew his owner had hurt yizhuo. if a silly little cat knew the extent of the breakup, what could that mean for you?

“wallowing in your grief again? that’s not good for you,” you peer up at chaewon, the only friend that somehow wasn’t connected to yizhuo. chaewon takes a quick glance at the invitation and giggles, “you’re going? i hope you survive, you haven’t paid this month’s rent yet.”

you merely sigh.

“the place’s gonna be filled with people who hate my guts, you really think i’m going? minjeong probably only sent this to piss me off.”

chaewon frowns, “you don’t seem pissed off, just sad. honey, you have to let me know if they’re bothering you, like actually. it’s not your fault, well– maybe it is, but you’re suffering too. it isn’t nice for them to do this to you.” you shrug in response. you deserve it. you deserve every stab in your heart, you deserve the tears that escape in the middle of the night.

“let’s drink tonight, okay? we’ll put on titanic or something and cry about life while eating ice cream,” chaewon offers. maybe it’s the thought of getting drunk, or titanic, or crying in your friend’s arms, but the offer is appealing and you find yourself agreeing too soon.

you can hear chaewon do a silent cheer. it makes you smile slightly and gives you enough energy to pull yourself up from the floor.

“i’ll go get the soju, just lie on the couch and relax!” you follow as your friend says and lie on the sofa you had picked out together after mao’s claws had sunk into the leather, ripping it to shreds. the cat was a brat.

doesn’t this remind you of something– or someone? the voice in your head quips. you groan, why couldn’t your head shut up sometimes? your heart drops as you recall the conversation between your parents when you had told them you broke things off with yizhuo. you remember your mother’s expression; disappointed and upset, a stark contrast to when you had told her that you finally found someone. the proud look on your father’s when you introduced yizhuo to them, god, why the fuck was yizhuo such an amazing girlfriend?

you caused this. you want to scream ‘no’. you’re the one who dumped yizhuo. who are you to be upset over thi–

“y/n? hey, stop thinking about it,” chaewon pouts, “don’t make yourself even more sad!” you blink back into reality and at the sight of chaewon puffing her cheeks out, holding two bottles of soju and a large bowl of popcorn, make you want to coo at the girl. you push the thoughts of yizhuo to the back of your head as soon as the opening to titanic appears on the screen.

you two laugh sometimes, mostly chaewon, but it’s quiet throughout the movie and you can’t tell whether you’d rather have chaewon’s comments about how cute the actors are or the silence that allows you to delve deeper into your thoughts. you take a sip whenever chaewon mentions how in love jack and rose are.

when you blink, it’s already at the part where jack allows rose to get onto the wooden door, while he stays in the freezing water. chaewon throws popcorn at the tv, apparently already drunk, screaming at rose to quote, “fucking move her ass,” for jack to get on. you take a large gulp of soju in the midst of chaewon’s sniffles.

“y/n…i can’t believe it… she just let jack die!” chaewon cries out, “the love of her life, she just let him go! how could she just let him die?!” you nod, trying to drink the already empty bottle of soju.

when you stand up, the whole room swirls and you stumble back onto the couch. “don’t let her go, y/n!” you jump at the close proximity of chaewon’s voice, “don’t let the love of your life go!”

you hum in agreement and scream, “i won’t let her go!” determined, you pick up your phone and the selfie of you and yizhuo greets her. you miss her, don’t you? of course not. you don’t miss her at all. change your homescreen then. you wouldn’t.

you roll your eyes and enter kakaotalk.

y/n [11.38pm]:

i kiss you

i miss you*

read [11.39pm]

“i did it, chaewon!” you exclaim, “i didn’t let her go!”

drunk you is apparently an idiot, since we all know, if a ‘i love you’ can’t solve a crack, obviously a ‘i miss you’ wouldn’t be able to solve an earthquake.

i miss you too. i miss you so much it hurts. but how could you say that, when you’re the one that left me first? yizhuo doesn’t cry as much anymore. she doesn’t sob into her pillow in the middle of the night anymore. the couple posts that appear on her instagram feed doesn’t make tears well up in her eyes anymore.

it still hurts. hurts as much as it did before. and yizhuo might just have to live with that pain everyday. the misspelt word makes her heart throb, in affection and pain, because she could imagine your voice in her head. are you hurting as much as she is? it doesn’t make the stabbing pain in her chest any better to know that the one she loves is suffering.

yizhuo stares at the glaring light from her phone. i miss you. really y/n? she wants to scoff. you were probably drunk out of your mind and sent that text on a whim. or maybe it was meant for another girl. the thought makes yizhuo want to cry.

is there someone else you call ‘baby' now?

fuck, you think, oh fuck. the read blaring on your phone, as if mocking you.

“shit,” chaewon groans, holding her head, “what happened last night? did we accidentally kill someone?” you wish you did. you take a deep breath, and scream. if the neighbours show up the next moment, it’s totally because of the night before, and not your scream at 8 in the morning.

you calm down. eventually. you calm down after chaewon grabs your shoulders and wiggles you back and forth, yelling for you to get your shit together. it only worsens the raging headache the both of you have. if rent wasn’t so high nowadays, you would have immediately fled and lived alone. kim chaewon with a hangover was not a good sight.

“whatever! you drunk texted your ex! whatever! hashtag yolo right— ah fuck, the room is spinning,” chaewon shrieks, “ugh, why did we drink so much?! but! your life isn’t over! so what if you texted her? it’s okay, we stay delusional and pretend things never happened!”

despite the wacky talk chaewon gives, it actually helps. texting yizhuo, while drunk, was a mistake. you nod hastily, “i get what you’re saying, but please let me go.”

chaewon loosens her grip, pursed lips as she huffs, “the most badass thing you can do now is go to the wedding.”

your eyes widen, “what the hell? kim chaewon, are you crazy? no, you’re insane.”

your roommate only grins lazily, “it came with a plus one invite, right? i’ll go with you. it’ll be okay! and don’t you wanna see your friends again?”

“i do, but most of them hate my guts,” you wince, recalling the angry messages left by aeri and minjeong, none from jimin, that probably speaks for itself what she thought of you, “they were yizhuo’s friends first, and mine second. when it comes to things like this, they would, rightfully so, take yizhuo’s side.”

chaewon whistles, “yeah it’s not looking too good for you right now.”

you flop onto the couch, sighing, “if i see yizhuo, i’ll freeze up and make a fool of myself.” your hands fly to rub at your eyes, groaning miserably, “i guess i’m not over her.”

chaewon slides into the space next to you, scoffing, “you think? having her number saved and pinned is crazy and the last time we talked before this, you were in love with her. what happened?”

your heart constricts painfully. you never spoke about your breakup to anyone, only asking chaewon if she still needed someone to split rent with. the moment you had uttered those words, you had left the shared apartment with yizhuo, not turning back to watch the love of your life collapse.

“i…” your throat dries up, “i was in love with her, i guess i still am. i don’t doubt that she felt the same for me, but maybe not anymore. our relationship was the best thing to ever happen to me. the happiest years of my life were when i was with yizhuo. she made me feel alive.”

tears prick at your eyes involuntarily. chaewon’s gaze is full of pity and comfort. sympathy. no one else gave you that.

“she wanted to get married, chaewon,” you whisper, “she was ready for marriage. i wasn’t.”

“oh.”

“i saw her looking at engagement rings one day and god, it was like, how have i never noticed before? she always shows me videos of weddings and how she would want her wedding to be like, but i never stopped to think whether i wanted marriage. i didn’t know what i would say if yizhuo just proposed. would it have hurt less for her if i said no rather than breaking up with her?”

chaewon presses a comforting hand to your shoulder, sighing, “i’m sorry, i literally see two of you right now but i’ll try to articulate this as best as i can.” her words draw out a hollow laugh from you. “you just weren’t ready yet, and yeah, you should have communicated that to her before jumping in to break up, but have you ever thought that you weren’t ready because you didn’t love her enough?”

you swallow, tears flowing down your cheeks freely, “n-no, i love her. she’s my favourite person. i love her so much, too much even. but getting married? that’s a lifelong commitment. i just didn’t know if she was sure that she really wanted to spend the rest of her life with… me. she has her whole life figured out. she’s a rich model who could have anyone else. we were childhood friends first, before girlfriends. and now she’s certain that she wants to marry me? what if there’s someone better for her out there? she’s only been chained to me because we got together so young. i just… had to let her go.”

“commitment issues,” chaewon states, “you have severe commitment issues.”

“i guess so,” you let out a watery laugh. your roommate chuckles, “you want her back?”

“yeah, i’m desperate.”

“let’s go to the wedding.”

you send a small smile to chaewon, “thanks, roomie.”

“i saw the invite by the way, and damn, are your friends rich? don’t get me wrong, i’m going as your moral support but the free buffet too—”

“i’m literally going to strangle you.”

yizhuo twirls the pen in her hand, watching it glide across her fingers and abruptly landing on the wooden table with a thud. she couldn’t stand seeing all the wedding preparations and chose to hide in jimin’s study. the door creaks open, a figure stands by the doorway.

“hello jimin unnie, aren’t you meant to be looking over the finishing touches of your wedding?” yizhuo asks, her smile dimming as she thinks about marriage. jimin frowns, “minjeong’s doing that. she told me to come check up on you.”

“me?”

“i know how you feel about weddings. we all do,” jimin says bluntly. yizhuo’s lips fall into a thin line. of course her friends were aware. they helped pick out the ring for god’s sake. the weight of a velvet box lying in her bedside table haunts her dreams.

yizhuo stands up from her desk, inching closer to jimin, a faux smile on her face, “you don’t have to worry about me. it’s your special day after all.”

“not yet, but let me worry about my friend for a while more before i get married,” jimin mutters, “minjeong sent an invite to y/n.” yizhuo’s whole body tenses up. a blurry image of you appears in her brain. she immediately shuts that down.

biting the inside of her cheek, yizhuo turns away from jimin with folded arms, “and? did she say she was coming?”

yizhuo hears jimin’s hesitance.

“just say it.”

jimin clears her throat, “she’s coming with a plus one.”

a distant thought forms. a plus one. your new girlfriend? did you find someone else? were you coming to the wedding to flaunt your new lover? yizhuo wasn’t dumb, she knew that her friends disliked you, heavily. minjeong most definitely sent out that invitation with disgust. jimin told her what minjeong had said to you. aeri had barely brushed it off, saying you weren’t worth her time scolding, despite the chain of messages she sent. she knew that you were aware they hated you. why would you come to the wedding?

“i-i’m not sure what’s their relationship, but her name is kim chaewon and oh my god, minjeong’s gonna kill me, y/n requested for a shared hotel room,” jimin utters out nervously. yizhuo’s eyes turn into slits. a shared hotel room?

“i see,” yizhuo says indifferently, contrasting the feelings bubbling inside her, “that’s good to know.”

jimin places a hand on yizhuo’s shoulder, “hey, it could all mean nothing, i don’t want you to get hurt again.”

“does it matter when i’m already like this?” yizhuo retorts back.

“i hope you don’t do anything stupid. before everything, you’re still my friend. if y/n showing up makes you uncomfortable, i’ll tell her she’s not invited,” jimin says softly, “minjeong will understand. you come first.”

“it’s your wedding, jimin. i won’t be a burden to you guys. it’s your day,” yizhuo mirrors jimin’s frown.

jimin’s shoulders slack.

“it’s not about that,” the older girl retorts, exasperated.

“what is it about then?”

“i don’t think minjeong will stay neutral and be calm when she sees y/n,” jimin groans, “she’ll probably pick a fight with her and i don’t want my wife to be stressed and angry on her wedding day.”

yizhuo can’t help teasing jimin, “wife, huh?”

jimin smirks, “yes, wife. you know last week, minjeong called me—”

“oh kay! i think you should go!” yizhuo yells, saving herself from the details of her friends’ intimate lives. jimin cackles maniacally as she leaves the study. yizhuo sighs and leans her head against the wooden door. jimin’s footsteps can be heard as she walks downstairs, along with the voices of her friends. they’re all scattered and anxious, she hears the distant shouting of minjeong and aeri. despite the noise around her, yizhuo feels somewhat at peace. for now. she doesn’t know what she’s going to do the moment you come to the wedding.

because despite what everyone else says, yizhuo cannot move on. you were literally half of her life and more. when you had uttered those words of devastation, it was like the world had ended. a terrible nightmare that tortured yizhuo every single day. was she too overbearing? sometimes— well, last time, you had mentioned that she was a very affectionate and clingy girlfriend. was that the sole reason? yizhuo frowns. no, that couldn’t be. you were equally as physically needy as her.

maybe you had found someone new? the plus one that was coming? that didn’t seem plausible either. if you were cheating, yizhuo would most definitely know and you abhorred cheaters anyway.

as she wrecked her mind for reasons, a common past time she developed after you had left, the constant rewinding of the conversation had been engraved in her brain eternally.

(yizhuo had just gotten off work, a smile on her face as she entered the house, heels clacking against the floor. the thought of you waiting at home impatiently for her only brought her smile to widen. maybe you would run up to her and embrace her warmly, complaining about how long she took. yet, neither of those happened and she’s left staring at you, hunched over, at the dining table, a suitcase packed by your side.

“what are you doing?” she had asked curiously. were you going on a trip? begrudgingly, you had gotten up, a sombre look on your face as you whispered, “yizhuo…”

that ticked yizhuo off. you never called her yizhuo. it was always baby, honey, sweetheart. but never yizhuo. it sounded so foreign and cold coming from your lips.

“what’s wrong? is everything okay?” she asked.

your face contorts into one of utter desperation and heartbreak, “i think we should break up.”

yizhuo’s mind had gone blank. she had never anticipated hearing those words from you. break up? that wasn’t in her future with you. her heart clenched uncomfortably against her ribcage and her throat constricted, to the point she couldn’t mutter a single word.

taking advantage of her silence, you run your fingers through your hair, the hair that yizhuo would so lovingly comb through every night as she whispered words of devotion into your ear, “i want to break up.”

“no.” is the only thing yizhuo can say. wide-eyed and stupefied, “no.”

you look as stunned as she is, yet the stark difference between the two of you, are the tears that threaten to tip over at every passing second in your eyes.

“yizhuo,” you pleaded, “i’m sorry. i can’t.”

“why are you doing this?” she croaked out, demanding an answer. the weight of the velvet box in her purse felt like it was dragging her down to the darkest pits of hell. she couldn’t imagine something like this ever happening. you were meant to be her happily ever after.

“i—”

yizhuo couldn’t stand it anymore. “tell me why you want to break up!” she yelled, the confusion and fatigue of her body overwhelming everything.

“i… please… don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“you don’t love me anymore? you found someone else?” yizhuo accused. of course, none of these were the true reasons. you couldn’t even look at yizhuo in the eye before murmuring an apology again and grasping the suitcase in your hand.

“i love you,” you had whispered at the door, “i’m sorry.”

yizhuo doesn’t even respond. pure shock overtaking her as she watched you leave. the moment the door had closed, sobs took over yizhuo as she collapsed on the floor, heartbroken and devastated at losing the love of her life.

if you truly loved her, you wouldn’t have left so easily.)

that statement plagues yizhuo’s mind for the next few years. it replays in her head repeatedly, like a broken mantra. she knows that it’s unhealthy; to be thinking of you every night before she succumbs to a dreamless sleep. yet, sometimes, yizhuo prays that she might be dreaming, and when she wakes up, you would be right by her side. jimin thinks she should get a therapist. but yizhuo doesn’t want to get over you. she fears that you might just become a hazy memory, lost in anger and grief. she doesn’t want that to happen. because despite everything, the pain you have caused her, she still loves you.

it’s strange, the way love works. yizhuo hates you for doing this to her; ruining her for anyone else because if they even bore a similar trait to you, she would just break down. like the blind date aeri had set her up on long ago. fresh out of the breakup, and with extreme bribery and convincing, yizhuo had met shen xiaoting, one of aeri’s friends, over dinner. aeri had said that maybe yizhuo needed someone closer to her culture, and with the homesickness she felt constantly, the lack of comforting words that you provided, yizhuo agreed.

that date was the whole reason aeri stopped asking yizhuo to go on blind dates, for when xiaoting had mentioned that she liked cats, yizhuo had started bawling, the memory of you playing with your own pet cursing her mind.

it was embarrassing to say the least, and even more embarrassing to explain to xiaoting that it wasn’t her fault. the poor girl had thought yizhuo had something against cats. aeri apologised endlessly as yizhuo cried, with an awkward xiaoting patting her shoulder. at least they became friends.

maybe, with the support of her friends, yizhuo would be able to stand the sight of you at the wedding. it would be totally fine! and if she sees you with someone new, maybe, just maybe, it would give her the motivation to finally get over you.

honestly, screw everything. you literally hate chaewon right now. thankfully, jimin and minjeong had provided a one night stay at the hotel. your apartment (and mao) was being taken care of by sakura, one of chaewon’s friends. there was apparently a party before the actual day. you assumed they would just want a shared bachelorette party. however, your self-proclaimed wingman was cozying up to one of the guests. by her straight posture and gentle expression, she was probably nakamura kazuha from high school. yizhuo was friends with her, you remember.

you couldn’t believe that all those words of encouragement had flown out the window the moment chaewon locked eyes with the ‘love of her life’. you roll your eyes, already annoyed with your friend. somehow, you still hadn’t spotted yizhuo amongst the crowd.

most of them, you didn’t recognise. some, from high school and college. the rest, probably family members. maybe some faces stood out, like shin ryujin from history class or jang wonyoung, the valedictorian. but mostly, unrecognisable. from the various mops of hair in the crowd, you spot uchinaga aeri’s infamous smirk. you wonder where the rest of the group are.

you sigh, taking a lonely sip of the champagne they provided. at least it was good.

chaewon’s obnoxious laughter fills the area. it’s loud and irritating, or maybe you’re just easily annoyed right now. kazuha just stares at her, all confused. it’s a little funny.

“y/n.” a steely voice rings out from the crowd. you whip your head, heart racing at the familiar but dreadful tone.

“oh,” you whisper, horror-stricken. you weren’t prepared to meet them now!

the older girl merely stares at you, before you bow your head hesitantly, “congratulations on your marriage.”

jimin visibly loosened up, her eyes twinkling and shining with adoration, “thank you.” perhaps out of all of yizhuo’s friends, jimin was the one who hated you the least. she didn’t bother scolding you or cursing you out, only choosing to glare at you.

“i think we should talk,” she finally says after a moment of silence. you wholeheartedly agree with her. if you were meant to see yizhuo tomorrow, you definitely needed another friend that wasn’t chaewon.

she brings you out of the function room, the starry night sky being the only company outside. jimin takes a long gulp of her champagne.

“why’d you really break up with yizhuo?”

the patiently and dedicated stitches of a sewed wound are ripped apart, directly exposing your bleeding heart and emotions. everything comes falling apart the moment she asks. you can only stare at her.

“i… i made a mistake,” you shake your head, “i wasn’t ready.”

jimin, patient as always, hums, urging you to continue.

“she wanted to get married. i didn’t,” you say, with grief and regret lacing your every word, because everything would be fine if you had just talked to yizhuo.

“we helped her pick out the ring,” jimin adds. you only feel more guilty.

“i can’t give her the life she wants, unnie,” the endearing term of intimacy slips out, a cry filled with desperation, “she deserves the world and i can’t give her that.”

“you were her world. it’s that simple. she only ever wanted you.”

hurt gnaws at your heart, it’s palpitating with raw stabs that echo of your heartbreak.

“i don’t deserve her,” you sigh, “i had to let her go. i couldn’t bear to see the look on her face if i refused her engagement.”

jimin nods, “i understand your fear. but i hate the fact that this could have been solved with an explanation.”

you groan, anger coursing through your veins. you were so upset and narrow-minded at the time. the only solution was to seemingly break up with yizhuo. it would spare her the everlasting pain from a rejection of her proposal.

“i know, i just couldn’t at that time.”

the older girl tries to smile. it’s akin to one of those encouraging ones she would give right before an exam or test. it sparks a shiver of nostalgia.

“jagiya, where are you— oh.”

jimin quickly straightens up, swiftly turning around to face minjeong with a grin, “hey, mindoong.”

you tense up, your fingers wrapping around the glass tightly.

“glad you could make it,” minjeong’s eyes flicker up and down your body, venom evident in her tone as she hisses, “y/n.”

nodding, you reply, “thank you for inviting me.”

the tension is overbearing; with minjeong’s glares, jimin’s beaming smile and your awkward shuffling, you couldn’t wait to retreat to the comfort of your hotel room.

“where’s your girlfriend?” minjeong suddenly asks. you stare at her, confused, “my what?”

jimin’s eyes widen as she hastily pulls minjeong aside, frantically whispering in her ear. but like the past, jimin has never been a good whisperer. you catch phrases like ‘she might not be her girlfriend’ and ‘what if yizhuo hears?’. a looming sensation brews in your stomach.

“kim chaewon? is that her name?” minjeong asks harshly, “didn’t take you to like korean girls, i thought you liked chinese girls instead.”

you’re visibly taken aback. what was minjeong saying? chaewon? your girlfriend? since when was chaewon your girlfriend?

“uh,” despite your fear of minjeong yelling at you, your words come out firmly, “chaewon isn't my girlfriend.”

minjeong falters slightly before scoffing, “yeah right. you don’t have to lie now. we all know that you left yizhuo for some other girl.”

your heart stops. what?

what was she saying?

leaving yizhuo for another girl?

“i— i would never… that’s—”

“minjeong unnie, that’s enough.”

you’ve thought of this moment forever. every single day after the break up. you’ve thought of running back into her arms, apologising endlessly for even thinking of breaking up with her. you’ve thought of how she would accept you graciously with murmurs of comfort, because that was just how she was. a gracious and generous girl who deserved the world. you’ve thought of her bright smile and gleaming eyes.

you’ve never thought of her staring at you, a dull and saddened look on her face.

“ning—”

“minjeong unnie,” she pleads, “please.”

the watery gaze must have swayed minjeong over. you would know, having fallen prey to her puppy eyes before. yizhuo slides the door open, watching intently as minjeong and jimin leave.

“good luck,” jimin whispers just before she steps away. you think you need all the luck in the world right now.

yizhuo lets out a heavy sigh once the door slides closed. she gazes at you for a second. you’re taken back to your younger days, where every day was spent just staring at yizhuo. you had proclaimed confidently that yizhuo was the most gorgeous girl on earth. you aren’t wrong. the years you spent apart from her had done her generously. it had only been two, yet, yizhuo looked more mature and sure of herself.

“did you really find someone new?” she whispers, shattering the glass of ignorance. you swallow, shaking your head, “no.”

yizhuo thinks back to the drunken message you had sent.

“was that on purpose? that text you sent,” she asks, eyes wide and afraid of your answer.

you shake your head again, “i was drunk. i’m sorry.”

“i hate you, you know that right?” yizhuo says. before, you had imagined the piercing stab of pain that came with those words. you had thought it would be the end of your life, with the girl you loved the most saying she hated you.

it’s understandable now, and inevitable.

“i know,” you whisper.

yizhuo continues to stare at you. somehow, this all feels like a fever dream, one that she’ll wake up from soon. it feels unreal to have you in front of her again.

she takes in the sight of you, memorising every detail for if you leave again.

“why’d you come then?”

there are many reasons that you can say, with varying degrees of truthfulness; to congratulate jimin and minjeong, to see your friends again, to just visit your hometown.

“i wanted to see you.” it’s the truthest thing you’ve ever said.

“you can’t,” yizhuo inhales sharply, “yo-you can’t just show up like this.”

“i know, i’m sorry.”

your head hangs lowly.

“tell me the real reason why you left.”

you had expected this.

she would want closure.

your throat constricts uncomfortably.

“i… yizhuo…”

“tell me.” it feels similar to your past.

yizhuo looks as beautiful as ever. she’s the only thing you can think of right now. her lips are moving, yet you don’t hear a single thing.

“i didn’t want marriage.”

oh.

the girl’s eyebrows furrow. her eyes turning into slits of anger as she takes in a deep breath. you know she’s about to start tearing up. maybe you should quickly explain yourself.

it’s your only chance.

“i saw you looking at engagement rings and i knew i wouldn’t be ready if you got down on one knee. you’re a model, for god’s sake. you had a prospering career, being tied down to someone like me wouldn’t bring you any benefits,” you finally say. it’s not the full reason why, but you hope yizhuo would understand even a semblance of your choice.

“i know that it’s a shitty excuse. i know that i’m a coward. but what else was i meant to do?”

yizhuo huffs.

“talked to me. you could have talked to me.”

you resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“would that stop me from breaking your heart?”

the love of your life stands before you. yet, it seems like the only words of devotion you’ll exchange is how devoted she is to hating you. yizhuo crosses her arms, frowning, “yes. i’d much rather have a minute of heartbreak than years of it. you’re such a prick.”

“yizhuo—”

“no, you don’t get to do this,” she points a finger at your chest, prodding the area where your head resides ferociously, “you can’t just come back, explain yourself with an extremely stupid reason, and expect that i would be okay with it. you sent me a drunk text, saying you missed me. how come i don’t feel anything?”

“i love you, yizhuo. i just did what i thought was right in that moment—”

the only thing you can hear is your heart shattering into pieces at the sight of tears falling down her face. yizhuo sniffles, her voice becoming shrill as she adds on, “you’re an asshole. you think you’re the only one in this relationship? you didn’t even explain yourself properly. you think you’re making the right choices for us? for me?”

you continue to stare at her blankly.

the next words come out like a gunshot, “then you don’t know me at all.”

it snaps onto your skin, leaving a scathing burn and engraving ning yizhuo’s name into your body. your insides coil up painfully. hearing yizhuo’s cries as you left years ago had been torturous, but nothing beats her breaking down in front of you right this instant. you’re overcome with a striking urge to pull her into your arms and whisper words of affection into her ears, promising her to never leave. the pet name leaves your mouth quicker than you can think.

“baby—”

a sharp stinging sensation sears in your right cheek. you can feel the affected area heating up, scorching hot and red. yizhuo’s handprint is evident, singed in your skin.

an onslaught of tears rises, but you’re determined to not let them fall.

“okay,” you whisper, unable to say anything else to the equally stunned yizhuo, “i’ll leave. i’m sorry.”

the girl just stands outside in the cold, her eyes bloodshot and cheeks rosy from the wind. before you go, the slight shiver that runs through her body makes you hesitate. the comfort of your jacket feels like a heavy burden now.

maybe you would get slapped again. but at least yizhuo wouldn’t be cold.

gently taking it off, you encase yizhuo in your jacket, biting your cheek (which still hurts!) to resist a smile at how it covers her small figure. she gazes at you like a deer caught in headlights. you sigh and try to move your legs, but they feel like jelly. with much difficulty, you finally make it to the door, using the frame to stabilise your wobbly walking.

when you turn back, yizhuo isn’t staring at you, but she’s staring at the night sky, more specifically, the moon. you take one last look at her. the weight on your shoulders is gone now. and all that is left is a longing feeling to have yizhuo back in your arms again. but maybe, you could live with that.

sliding the door open, you go back into the function room. the crowd had dispersed, leaving just a few people chatting around. you spot jimin and minjeong talking while drinking. aeri’s at the bar, engaged in a conversation with a waitress. chaewon, god bless her, is relatively nearby, while kazuha is nowhere to be found.

“chaewon,” you breathe out, relieved. she turns to you, startled, “oh damn, what happened to your face? you look a little…”

“i know,” you laugh dryly, “i think it’s time for us to leave and go to sleep now.”

chaewon doesn’t argue and instead nods, her eyes drawn to the reddening mark across your cheek. even in the dark light, she could still notice the imprints of someone’s fingers.

“she slapped you?” she asks while you head towards the elevator.

“yeah,” you scratch the back of your neck, “we kind of… argued.”

chaewon laughs heartily at your misfortune. you’re glad at least this brings someone joy. maybe minjeong too. she would love to see you in pain.

“i think you should get some rest buddy,” she pats your back. you nod, feeling as if sleep was just an arm’s reach away.

the conversation with yizhuo had drained you significantly, both mentally and physically. and maybe you should put some ointment on the red area too. you might wake up with a bruise or something tomorrow.

the urge to flop into bed is too strong as chaewon slides the keycard into the slot. the door opens, revealing a luxurious hotel suite with a king-sized bed. you remember requesting for a shared room. it was to mainly prevent yourself from doing anything reckless when drunk. you’d have chaewon to keep you grounded.

“did you get kazuha’s number?” you ask as chaewon throws her face cleanser at you. the girl giggles, “yeah. she’s so cute.”

you subtly cringe at the lovestruck look in her eyes.

groaning, you head into the bathroom. your eyes widen as you prod at your cheek, shocked that yizhuo landed such a heavy hit. damn, has she been going to the gym lately? the yizhuo back then barely had any strength to resist your tickles. there wasn’t any surging hot anger left from yizhuo slapping you, just a dull and yearning hope for her. maybe you should calm yourself down by taking a cold shower.

after dowsing yourself with water, you padded out of the bathroom, only to discover that chaewon wasn’t hunched over her luggage anymore.

you check your phone.

chaewon [10.27pm]:

zuha texted me, staying w her for the night

there’s ointment on the bedside table

for ur stupid face

bye :p

wow. chaewon had managed to do that within a day. staying at a girl’s hotel room? you whistle lowly. maybe she was onto something. but with her departure, the hotel room feels too quiet now. only the breezing and fluttering sounds of the airconditioning accompanying your thoughts of self-loathing. collapsing onto the bed, you reach out for the ointment.

just as you unscrew the cap, the doorbell rings. you don’t recall ever ordering room service. maybe it was chaewon and she forgot something?

you turn the door knob, not bothering to check who it was.

“chaewon—”

ning yizhuo stands before you, glassy eyes and a look of desperation that you’re familiar with.

“oh.”

she shuffles awkwardly, gesturing at your cheek, “are—is it okay? does it hurt?”

gulping, you shake your head.

“can we talk?” she asks, in the quietest voice ever, her words coming out shaky and breathless.

you open the door wider.

yizhuo mutters a soft, “thank you,” as she enters the room. you quickly send a text to chaewon telling her not to come back.

“did you put any cream on it?” she asks.

“no, not yet. i was just about to,” you reply quietly. the tension from the heated argument from before had disapparented, only leaving a strained relationship behind.

“can you sit down?”

you follow her instructions dutifully, sitting right at the edge of the bed. yizhuo lifts the ointment up, squeezing a bit on her finger before gently rubbing it into your cheek. it hurts, but the softness of her touch heals the area.

wincing as she applies more pressure, you can only stare at the girl.

“i’m sorry,” she whispers.

“it’s okay.”

you want to pull her into your arms.

you want her to lean onto you.

you want the feeling of her skin against yours.

“i was really hurt.”

“i know.”

yizhuo sighs, her hands dropping.

“i can’t believe you left me so easily.”

your chest tightens at the devastated tone in her voice. it wasn’t easy, you want to say. but it doesn’t feel right to defend yourself now.

“i thought it was the right thing to do.”

yizhuo lifts her head up, “why didn’t you just tell me you didn’t want to get married?”

“i don’t know,” it comes out in a hushed murmur, “i didn’t want to tie you down. you had a lot more things to accomplish.”

“i’d rather have you and nothing than losing you and having everything.”

the confession goes unsaid. because you’re her everything.

“i’m sorry. you just had your whole life in front of you and i was in the back. i… i didn’t fit into your life.”

the girl takes everything in. you were just so afraid then. scared that once you said yes to her proposal, yizhuo might realise that you weren’t the one for her. you’d rather be away from her, than be with her and make her unhappy. you didn’t want to live a miserable life where you hated each other.

“you don’t get to make that choice for me.”

“i know, yizhuo.”

yizhuo’s eyes are brimming with tears. her raven hair covering her face partially, but you can feel the pain radiating off her.

“you know that i would have been happy just being with you?”

“i know.”

“god, you still left like it was the easiest decision of your life.”

no it wasn’t, you again want to protest.

“you know that even in another life, i would choose to just have you by my side, even if i lose everything else? don’t you understand the extent of my love for you?”

it’s so surreal— the way yizhuo is practically begging for you to realise that leaving her was the worst possible choice for you to make.

“i love you too much.”

“then why’d you leave?” she asks.

through tears, you shakily breathe out, “because i love you too much.”

the lack of past tense doesn’t bother you, nor does it bother yizhuo. it’s a given that you’re still madly in love with the girl, and vice versa. it only leaves the question of what will happen now. yizhuo doesn’t say much afterwards. it’s the truth. you love her too much that you couldn’t bear to see her suffer because of you.

“i was so ready to marry you, i bought a ring,” yizhuo mutters, shedding tears. her sniffles aren’t concealed by the low humming of the air conditioning. it feels too real.

“forgive me, please,” you say.

“i can’t.”

the hotel room goes quiet.

“that’s okay,” it’s hard to say. you want to protest against everything, beg yizhuo to take you back and you could live your happily ever after with her.

it doesn’t happen. you don’t fall to your knees and plead.

you only stare at yizhuo in a mix of fear and longing affection. it pains you to see her so broken, and it only drives the knife further into your heart to know you’re the reason why.

“i’m so tired, y/n.”

you nod, feeling the fatigue seep in.

“me too.”

“can i sleep here tonight?” yizhuo asks softly.

you nod. there were still things to talk about, but you think you’ve done a decent job so far. pulling the covers over your bodies as yizhuo slides into the bed, you relish in the warmth and comfort of having her beside you again.

she turns her head to look at you, uncertainty filling her voice, “let’s talk more in the morning. i’m tired now.”

you agree with her wholeheartedly, inching closer to fit against her back.

as yizhuo’s eyelids flutter shut, you caress her skin tenderly. your index finger writes against her back, strokes lining her skin.

我爱你.

i love you. it’s one of the many phrases you’ve picked up throughout the years of being with the girl. she only taught you silly words and swears, but yizhuo had insisted you learn how to say and write those very words.

it’s fitting, because it’s all you ever feel for her.

because of yizhuo, you’ve had the opportunity to experience having a soulmate for almost your whole life. because of yizhuo, there’s no lingering doubt of being unlovable. because of yizhuo, you get to spend your days filled with happiness.

because of yizhuo, you understand what love is.

you just hope she understands you too.

[lemonlover1110]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬

Satoru Gojo

[Chapter 16] Justifications

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Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

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Mrs. Gojo’s first reaction to finding her son in the hospital room isn’t one of worry– Rather, she’s curious. She wonders if you told him; she doubts you’re dumb enough to actually tell him, but he got here somehow. Instead of wondering how he found out, she should worry about how she’ll explain everything to her son. She can’t just throw you under the bus… Well, she can but it wouldn’t be right for her to do so.

Satoru is sitting down, his hands on his knees as he looks around the room. He contemplates everything. He questions every single relationship that he has. Shoko knew, and his mother, but who else? How many people are betraying him? How many people know the fact that he has a son? 

The man is nauseous at the mere thought that they faced him as if they weren’t hiding something that could turn Satoru’s life upside down. He hears his mother’s heels as she walks towards him but he can’t bring himself to look up at her. He’s never had a close bond with his mother, and at times he’s hated her presence; but nothing compares to now. Satoru has never hated being her son until now. 

“Satoru.” She doesn’t try to soften her voice when she talks to him. She probably should. She feels the hatred that radiates off her son, and she knows that maybe she should console him. She’s mostly at fault for how things played out. “How did you end up here?”

“That’s what you say.” His voice breaks and he takes a deep breath to compose himself. He won’t start crying in front of his mother, she doesn’t have to know how heartbroken he is. She should have an idea though because it’s no easy feat. “You knew about my son, you hid him from me on purpose, you let me find out on my own and your response is that.”

She stays quiet. Satoru will continue speaking and she won’t interrupt until he lets it all out. “I always knew you weren’t a star mother, but this? You’re the worst mother I’ve come across. You hid my son from me, and for what? Because you didn’t want your ideal plans to go to the trash?”

“You’re almost twenty-seven and you act like a child. You wouldn’t have been able to step up to the role. I did what was best for you, and for Ren and his mother.” She argues and he feels his blood boil. He’s never been so mad in his life.

“I wouldn’t have been like you. I wouldn’t have thrown my son to the help and let them raise him. I’m nothing like you, I would’ve been able to step up to the role. Ren would’ve actually felt me being present, and I would’ve loved him as much as I possibly could.” Satoru’s nails dig into the fabric of his pants. “No one is ready to be a parent. You learn along the way. I would’ve and am going to try my best, the same way you should’ve.”

“If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have your precious job title, Satoru. Watch how you talk to me.” She warns him, ignoring the guilt that runs through her veins. She focuses more on the fact that her son gives her attitude. 

“This is what you wanted! You didn’t tell me because you knew I’d give up everything for him. I knew you were fucked up but to this extent? You’re a wretched woman, I’m ashamed to call you my mother.” Satoru raises his voice, and silence follows. She doesn’t know how to answer. Satoru clears his throat, “For how long have you known? For how long have you known I have a son?”

“Almost a year.” She confesses, and maybe Satoru would’ve easily let it slide if it was something more recent. Well, she hired you for a reason, she’s known for as long as you’ve been working with her. Satoru takes a deep breath, trying his best to hold back the tears that fill up his eyes. 

“Shoko knows. She told me. Who else knows?” He asks, speaking slowly to contain his feelings. She shrugs, she doesn’t know who else knows. 

“I have no idea. I didn’t know Shoko knew.” She responds, walking over to stand next to Satoru. He glares at her, standing up. He can’t stand to breathe the same air as her for another moment. She watches him walk away and she asks, “What are you doing? Now is not the time to throw a tantrum.”

“A tantrum?! You hid my son from me and you’re calling this a tantrum?!” He yells. “You’ve known about my son for a year, you asked for him to be kept from me, and you’re calling this a tantrum? You’re fucking unbelievable. This is all your fault. You’ve been set on making me miserable ever since I was born.”

“Calm down, Satoru.” She says, and Satoru has to take another deep breath. He doesn’t even know how to respond to her. How dare she even suggest that? She must be out of her damn mind– No, she’s evil. He’s convinced she’s fucking evil.

“I’ll never forgive you for this. This is so fucked up, even for you.” Satoru steps out of the room. He needs a breath of fresh air, and he needs to take it all in. Gather his thoughts. 

He’s a father. He’s been one for the past four years. How does he handle it all? His mother betrayed him in the worst possible way. You betrayed him the worst possible way. But Satoru can somewhat understand why you stayed quiet. Not her though. Both reasons are selfish, but her selfishness is pure evil. 

“Satoru.” He hears your mother, and he stops walking. The tears that he’s been holding back finally slip out, and he wipes them away as your mother walks to him. Her hand goes to his arm and she squeezes it as a form of reassurance. “Let’s go grab a coffee, there’s a coffee shop nearby that’s open.”

“Yeah.” He tries to talk normally, and she gently smiles at him. They walk outside and Satoru follows your mother’s lead to the coffee shop. They walk in silence, and when they get there, Satoru pays for coffee for the both of them.

Once the coffee is in their hands, they sit in silence at a table. They came here to talk, yet Satoru is not going to spark up the conversation– At least Satoru assumes that they came here to talk. Your mother clears her throat, “I hope you can forgive my daughter for this… At the very least see her point of view.”

“I’ll try at the very least… I just thought she would try to tell me. I’m disappointed… and feel betrayed.” Satoru confides. He’s always felt like he could talk to your mother, she’s always been someone he can trust. He never went to his own mother for help, instead he went to yours. “I would’ve done anything for Ren, she knows I’ve always wanted to have a kid.”

“I remember the day my little girl called crying, telling me she was pregnant. Her boyfriend just broke up with her and she didn’t know how to tell him. You were out of town, your mother fired me– I told my daughter I quit, but it wasn’t that. Your mother didn’t want me around, she started hating me the moment my daughter started to date you,” Your mother begins and Satoru listens attentively. 

“She tried to tell you, Satoru. You changed your number. You completely cut her off. She went to your house, and guess what your mother said to my pregnant daughter?”

“That I got married.” Satoru mutters, looking away since he’s too ashamed to look her in the eye. 

“And you know the damage that caused? She cried for weeks, but she managed to move on. She couldn’t dwell on you forever because she had a son to be responsible for. Maybe she should’ve told you when she saw you, but I understand she didn’t need you anymore.” 

“I didn’t get married because–” Satoru begins but your mother cuts him off. She doesn’t want to hear any justifications, she really doesn’t see any response that will make her feelings change.

“I don’t care why the hell you got married. I was rooting for you, Satoru. I was rooting for the two of you, but you showed me that you’re just like your selfish entitled family. You made me change my mind, you’re the last person I want near my daughter and my grandson.” Her words sting more than anyone’s because the woman that sits across from him practically raised him. “But I guess I have no other option. You are Ren’s father.”

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs, causing her brows to raise.

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.” She answers before standing up. Satoru watches as she walks away, biting his quivering bottom lip. He shuts his eyes, trying not to begin crying in front of everyone. 

He’s tired. He should probably go home and take a nap, but he promised his son he’d be there when he wakes up. So he won’t leave until Ren sees him. Satoru stands up and goes back to the hospital.

You don’t talk to each other when you’re with Ren. Ren is filled with love, from both of his parents and grandmothers. He’s never been with them all at the same time, and he’s excited to be with them all even when he isn’t feeling too well. His father seems to have a lot of questions though, but Ren likes the attention.

Ren gets to talk about his birthday (which surprises Satoru since they have the same birthday), his favorite color, his favorite show, his favorite toys, what he does when mommy is not home, what he does when mommy is home; Satoru tries to get to know all about Ren in a couple hours to make up for the past four years of his life. Satoru is overwhelmed with sadness, yet he’s never felt so happy before as he sits on an armchair, next to his baby boy. Ren holds his father’s hand, smiling when he’s never felt worse before. He’s just happy to meet the man that he’s been asking about.

Satoru spends the entire afternoon there, listening to Ren’s every request. He expected to spend the first day with his son in the hospital but not under these conditions. Regardless, Ren could be a newborn or a four-year-old, Satoru loves him either way. 

Ren yawns, and Satoru sheepishly smiles. He kisses the top of his son’s head. “How about you go to bed, buddy? You’re tired.”

“I don’t want you to go.” Ren says, and Satoru squeezes his hand. You swear you hear your heart break as you hear Ren’s words. You definitely fucked up.

“I’m not leaving, Ren. I’ll be by your side when you wake up, I promise.” Satoru assures him, and the man stays by his side until Ren finally falls asleep. Satoru doesn’t let go of Ren’s hand. You sit in silence for a moment as you try to decide what you’ll do next. Should you speak? Maybe you should… But what should you say? Maybe you should apologize, but you don’t have the guts to do it. 

“Who else knows?” Satoru whispers, not wanting to wake Ren up. He doubts that Ren will be waking up any time soon though, no matter how loud he is.

“Shoko and Suguru. And everyone that works at your house.” You answer. “I asked them not to tell, and I lied to Suguru so don’t be mad at them.”

“Did you… At least try to argue with my mother about telling me?” He hopes that you’ll say yes, so at the very least he can feel like you care about his feelings. He wants to hear that you tried a bit more. He’s filled with disappointment when you shake your head. He looks away from you, and back at Ren.

“How are you going to tell your wife?” You ask, and Satoru shrugs. That isn’t his main problem right now. Sayo can wait.

[beefboyandbabygirl]

Titty-Shirt! (18+)

pairing: pervert!rollercoaster operator!jeonghan x bigtiddie!fem!reader

genre: theme park au??? lmao, coworkers to lovers, kinda enemies to lovers, smut, fluff, lil crack, lil angst

description: you start your new job and your mentor, jeonghan, is the biggest piece of shit you've ever met. you swear you hate him. you swear. he's just also the most gorgeous man you've ever seen.

warnings: whew this requires a lot of warning, first of all a lot of DUBCON BEHAVIOR FROM JEONGHAN INITIALLY (we know she enjoys it to some extent, but he doesnt know), hes a sleazy perverted fuck, tiddie playing, tiddie sucking, tiddie fucking, fingering (f. receiving), dry humping, mirror sex, praise (f. receiving), dirty talk, FINGER SUCKING HNG, a lil degradation (f. receiving), meanie condescending jeonghan turning all soft for ur tiddies :(, V TIDDIE-CENTRIC IF U COULDNT TELL, belinda loves jeonghan, WEED LOTTA WEED, explicit depictions of smoking weed, high sex, this fic sounds rough but it actually has some really soft cute moments, im pretty sure thats it lmk if i forgot smth

quotes from babygirl (@joshibambi): "shove ur cock down my throat treat me like the whore i am", "FUCKING STEP ON ME", "omg hes so disgusting..... im so attracted to him"

wordcount: 13.2k

a/n: the way i raced 2 finish this before im actually moving out... ALSO thinking ab making this a series? like one for each member, the theme being "unusual jobs". like not stuff youd immediately think of like coffee shop or lawyer or ceo or whatever. like. strange jobs. would u guys b on board?

“We’re so excited to have you working with us.” 

She had a mole on her nose that was hard to ignore. It was big and exceptionally round - your thoughts flitted back to your dearest Discovery Channel, and how amazing it was that nature could create such perfect spheres. The thought of your couch and your blanket and your most cherished nature docs brought upon a wave of uncertainty. You could just be lying at home, you thought. 

“Happy to be here,” you smiled tightly. She was your new manager and she was short and stout and had gray hair and a lovely smile and a round mole on her nose. You tried not to make it obvious you were staring at it. 

You were standing in your city’s local theme park under a long path with flower archways. People, kids and parents and ninth graders, swarmed around like bees, standing at booths and in lines to old, janky, rusted roller coasters. It was summer and you were wearing the branded shirt they’d given you, slightly too small, and the matching cap. Insects buzzed past your stray hairs and you looked up at the bright blue sky. 

You needed a job, you had known, and your mom had certainly known it too, so you could only lounge around after graduating for a short while, before you opted to apply. This had been your last choice. You’d tried to become some sort of lobby-worker, tried makeup stores and even regular stores. You used to make fun of the people who worked here. But now that person was you, and standing under the archways in the summer sun slathered in sunscreen, you figured you would make the best of it until the busy season was over. 

“So,” your manager, Belinda, began after a brief pause of polite nods, “new employees such as yourself are required to be trained and surveyed by an existing worker for a two-week period, but after that you get to run the rides all by yourself.” 

She said it like it was something to look forward to. You tried to believe that it was.

“Of course,” you said, and once again the space between you was filled with polite and exaggerated nodding. “Need to learn first before you get to be the master.”

“Exactly!” she said. Her lipstick was barbie-pink and a little overlined on the right side. She smelled faintly of gasoline. “So we’re handing you off to one of our star-employees!”

You hummed and noticed her taking a step backwards, indicating you to follow. She began walking, trudging over the cobbled paths and shuffling awkwardly in between walls of people. You followed behind. “He’s been working here for the past two years, so he knows the place in and out.”

As you walked, passing twisting, gnarly tracks with screams emanating from them and stands with oversized, China-made plushies hanging from them, you tried to imagine what a star-employee at Caratland Theme Park looked like. 

It was probably someone that loved roller coasters, maybe someone like yourself, who strived for approval and perfection, maybe someone that found a certain joy in being a good service experience for guests. Someone who was good with kids? 

“So you’ll be training with him for a bit before we leave you alone with the coasters, of course, but it should be no trouble, he’s a fun guy!” 

You passed by a haunted house, where a group of kids psyched each other up in the queue. Dodging a tree, you finally came up on a certain blue ride where Belinda stopped and put her hands on her hips, power posing in front of the creaky, old machinery. 

The Pirate Swing. That’s what it was called, and it was a big ship attached to a huge, metal pole on each side, and it was currently swooshing up and down with a large, grating sound. You cringed at it. Belinda noticed and frowned, fingers fiddling with the edge of her shirt. “Maybe we should oil that one.” 

Kids and parents were lined up at the stairway leading up to it in a parade of artificial polyester colors, and on the edge of the platform where the ship was shoveling through the air, a little booth was sat. Peeking through the frankly grimy windows, you could see him. He was slumped back in a wooden chair, wearing the same shirt as you and Belinda, and wearing big, blocky, black sunglasses. 

“Jeonghan!” she called, and you saw the figure jolt. He looked briefly dazed, before he snapped his head up to peer through the glass, smiling and waving. The kids in line turned to glare at you. He scrambled up from his seat clumsily and with sporadic movement, and you both watched how he hunched over the door, shaking it in its frame before it finally let open. He took one long step out the door and was finally outside, looking down at you from the platform and leaning on the railing. 

“Belinda! Nice to see you,” he breathed, smiling in a way that seemed to indicate he did not find the prior sequence of events embarrassing. In fact, he seemed to think he had the upper hand - the confidence rolled off of him in waves. You grimaced. 

You could see him much better now that he was outside, not broken up by the greasy glass, and whatever you had envisioned the star-employee to look like, this was not it. He was young, maybe just a little older than you, and he was thin, with long black hair that just kissed his shoulders. About half of his face was hidden away behind the frankly humongous sunglasses on his face, but he had pale pink lips and a pronounced cupid's bow, and even though you were a little skeptical of him, the cockiness in his smile was well-received. 

“This is Y/n!” Belinda said (yelling to overpower the severely loud child glee), gesturing to you, and you almost felt self-conscious when he looked over at you and smiled. “She’s a new employee and you’ll be her mentor during her training period.” 

“Sure thing!” he said simply. Again with the polite nods, you thought, before you felt Belinda’s hand on your shoulder. You glanced over and she squeezed. 

“Good luck, Y/n! You’re in great hands!” Now that you weren’t so sure about. Had the two of you not seen the same thing? 

You mumbled a thanks and she padded away, once more dodging and weaving through huge chains of people, and you squinted after her, before you turned back to Jeonghan. He was already looking at you, a lazy smile on his lips. 

“Welcome to The Pirate Swing, matey! Get up here and let me show you the ropes,” he padded back to the booth, now visibly more relaxed, as his back returned in a hunch. “I should probably stop the ride,” he mumbled to himself, pressing a button on a long controlpanel with a grid of eight buttons. 

You climbed up the stairs unsurely, hand smoothing over the railing as you went. At the top you squeezed in beside Jeonghan. It was a fairly small space, just big enough for the two of you to stand next to each other. Jeonghan smiled a straight smile at you, before brushing past you to let out the dizzy guests. 

“Was it a good ride?!” You heard him ask distantly, while you studied the interior of the booth. 

It was reeking with a sweet herbal stench, and for a moment you might’ve chalked it up to sweat and cologne, but when your gaze danced over the grid, you became aware of a small, open ziploc of weed on the countertop, crumbs of it dotted by the opening. An energy drink, most certainly warm from the sun flowing in, was perched next to it, and you saw more cans by the foot of the wooden chair (it seemed like a chair that had been dragged in from somewhere else - it was almost reminiscent of the one from your grandma’s house).  

You grimaced, looking over to where Jeonghan was waving kids off and shuffling over to let in people from the queue, a big sign for checking heights in his hand. The sunglasses, of course, you thought and frowned at the room. Luckily it seemed pretty straight forward, so maybe you could escape this Jeonghan character earlier than two weeks. 

“Right,” Jeonghan clapped his hands together, pushing past you again. “This is how you turn it on,” he said and pressed one long, skinny finger to a black button that read ‘dispatch’. 

Sure enough, the huge metal set to work again, screeching as it lifted a boat-full of nuclear families through the air. 

“You turn it off with this other one. Usually rides just stop by themselves when they reach the end, but since we got a little shitty one today it’s manual.” 

“Okay,” you said, nodding along and watching when his hand danced and pointed to the set of buttons.

“That’s pretty much it!” he said, collapsing in his chair again, sunglasses sliding halfway down his nose and revealing his bloodshot eyes. 

“What about the other buttons?” you ask pointedly, arms crossed.

“Don’t worry about them, sweet cheeks,” he waved you off. “They don’t do much.”

The empty cans by his chair clattered when he reached down a hand for one, toppling over and hitting the metal flooring. You scrunched your nose in disgust. 

“I like your shirt,” he mumbled, nimble fingers picking up a particular empty can. It was bent on one side, little holes pricked in it - it was a makeshift bong. You scoffed at him. This was the star-employee?

“We have the same shirt,” you deadpanned. 

“Yeah, but I like yours better,” he grinned lazily, can now in hand, when he leaned forward to fetch the ziploc of weed. “Nice and tight.” 

“You’re gross,” you spat, brows furrowed. “This is a kid’s establishment, you know that, right?” 

“Ninth graders fuck here all the time,” he shrugged. You gasped, not only because it was an extremely gross fact, but also because that was not what you were suggesting. “I’m referring to the fucking weed in your hand, jackass!” 

“Woah, calm down!” He shushed you, and you might’ve genuinely scared him, because he looked around each window of the booth, light cascading down his tan skin. He was wearing a pair of shorts, and you saw his knee bounce. When he’d secured the area, he turned to you with a hiss: “That’s a secret, woman! You can’t just throw words like that around.” 

“Then maybe you shouldn’t smoke here!” You snapped, but Jeonghan was doing exactly the opposite. Ducking down so it wasn’t totally visible from the windows, he’d placed a little nugget of weed on the grate, and was now setting it alight with Transformers-print lighter.

“This is your first day, right? Trust, you’re gonna end up being high on the job too,” he ended his sentence by placing his lips around the mouth of the can, sucking in smoke.

“That’s such a safety hazard,” you murmured, looking down at him from where you stood. He pulled away, smoke still in his mouth and you saw a twinkle in his eyes from above his falling sunglasses. Then he lunged forward and blew it into your face, a concentrated stream of weed smoke bouncing off your shiny cheeks. “Hey!”

You sputtered and spat, shoulders tense and straining against the fabric of your shirt. Jeonghan settled back down in his chair, legs spread.

“The kids love me! With or without weed!” he said, voice a little groggy from the smoke. You coughed, discontent. 

“Maybe they love you because you get them contact-high,” you mumbled under your breath. Jeonghan grinned at that. 

Suddenly he leaned back in his chair to study you, one hand on the can, the other taking off his sunglasses. He stared up at you with fire-red eyes and soft, long hair and a bemused grin on his lips. Seeing his full face, you gulped under his intense gaze. He was really pretty. Annoying. More annoying than pretty. But still. 

Distantly, kids screamed and a constant buzz of countless conversations overlapped in each inch of the park. Jeonghan reached out a finger and poked your jean-clad hip once. 

“You’re funny,” was all he said, something resembling curiosity in his eyes. “Yeah. Funny girl with the tight shirt.” 

You were going to retaliate (they truly had run out of your size and had opted for this as a temporary option, it wasn’t your fault!), but Jeonghan coughed suddenly, eyebrows furrowing as he sat back up in his seat. 

“Oh shit, should probably stop the ride now.”  _____________________________

You thought about quitting. 

You could honestly say that Jeonghan made you think about quitting, and maybe you would even have brought the plan into action, had it not been for the fact that you had been rejected from just about every other job that you’d applied to. It seemed you were stuck. 

You showed up the next day in your shirt and it felt even tighter than the day prior, and the cap tightened around your scalp like you were a toy in a claw machine. 

Fortunately for you, the park seemed much less crowded today. It was a Wednesday, parents were still working and apparently no one sought out the thrill of scary, old, decaying rides on such afternoons. You admired how much lovelier it was when it was still, as you walked up to The Pirate Swing. 

“Hey, titty-shirt!” 

The loveliness was ruined. 

Jeongan was standing on the railing with someone else you didn’t recognize, long, black hair swaying out from the rim of his cap. He waved enthusiastically, watching your form slump at his words. 

“Hey, Jeonghan,” you muttered, approaching the steps. The boy beside him looked mildly uncomfortable at the interaction. 

“It’s a good thing you’re here, N/n - can I call you N/n?” he didn’t let you answer, simply continued talking like a telemarketer. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re here. Me and my buddy, Junhui, from the Beetle Bug ride were just discussing something that I think is extremely valuable to learn about this place!” 

“Are you gonna teach me about the rest of the buttons?” you drawled, eyes half closed in feigned boredom (as much as you disliked him, it certainly wasn’t boring). 

“No!” Jeonghan snapped his fingers at you. You noticed he had this way of smiling, that irked you. It was void of sincerity and was instead wolfish and teasing, something genuinely animalistic and mean-spirited. It was distasteful.

“On days like these-” he hovers and outstretched hand to gesture to the mostly bare land of the theme park, “- you can steal food from the restaurants.” 

After just one eight hour shift with Jeonghan, you find yourself not even remotely surprised at this. You cross your arms over your chest (Jeonghan’s eyes briefly flick down to them, and you think you might actually hate him): “I have a packed lunch.” 

“Packed lunches are for geeks and nerds,” he said, unbothered. “You can come along if you want to get some delicious, warm pizza, or you can stay here like a loser and explain to every kid that comes by, that you’re not allowed to give them a ride on the coaster and watch them cry until you get fired. Your choice, babe.” 

“Don’t call me that,” you snarled. Jeonghan shrugged with puckered lips and the Beatle Bug guy - Junhui - scrunched his face in disgust at the two of you. 

“Not gonna lie, I’m gonna go find Seungkwan,” he said, not even attempting to hide his dismay for your dynamic. He brushed past you on the stairs, hands buried in his pockets. “If you guys fuck, do it in the bathroom Chan uses!” he yelled, trudging past the pillars that held up the haunted house. 

“Sure thing, Jun!” Jeonghan smiled, and you could punch him. Again that animalistic, joyful, laughing-at-you-not-laughing-with-you smile.

“What if I snitch on you?” you asked, hoping it would knock some sort of sense into him, but he only shrugged.

“Belinda loves me. Whenever she works on Valentine’s day, she cries in her office and I let her rant about her shitty boyfriends,” the visual was somehow not hard to imagine. Belinda in her office chair (you’d seen it once, and all you could say was the interior looked like something from a log cabin) and Jeonghan, 19, feeding into everything she said. “You can say what you want, but she’ll just fire you for making up rumors.” 

Your brows furrowed. “That’s so concerning.” 

“Nothing about this place works right,” he admitted and it was maybe the only time you’d sensed an ounce of truth in his words. “So, are you coming?” 

You hesitated. You really were working up a real distaste for Jeonghan, but talking to spoiled, crying kids seemed worse than anything else at the moment. You decided you could live through Jeonghan’s lewd comments and maybe make friends with some other park workers. 

“Okay.” 

“I knew you loved me,” he teased, and then grabbed your wrist from the top of the steps, bouncing down and pulling you along with him. “Hey!” you yelped, but Jeonghan was, as always, unbothered. 

He pulled you by a narrow walkway into the toilets, passing by a single, confused family, as you stumbled behind him. There was a fountain with a hen figurine on top, which he steered around, your arm jerking limply, as he went down a flower-walkway. 

“You do this often?” you remarked, out of breath from jogging to match his strides. 

“Oh yeah. Mingyu works there and he’s like 16, he lets me do anything,” Jeonghan giggled evilly, glancing over his shoulder once, and you gulped, and hated the way his eyes were so big and pretty, and the way his hair blowed softly along carvings of his cheeks. 

“It’s great that you have so many people here to enable your bad habits,” you said. Whatever sarcasm you portrayed in your tone, Jeonghan ignored it, still smiling when he said: “Right?” 

When you stopped you were standing on the backside of a blocky building - one of the many offers of food you provided, prices marked up to drain the suburbs of their cash. You felt something underfoot, and looked down on the gravelly, rustic pavement, only to see circa 20 cigarettes jammed in between the rocks. You scrunched your nose. 

“What? You don’t like cigs?” you looked up at Jeonghan’s voice, to see him grinning cheekily at you. His eyes sparkled and for maybe just a second it was kind of attractive. 

“I don’t..” you broke off eye contact. “I don’t mind, it’s just.. Is everyone here like you?” 

“Sweetheart,” he tutted, and you nearly flinched at the feeling of his long fingers tapping your cheek, cool on the warming skin. You looked back up at him and he had tilted his head to the side. Why was he being attractive? Why were you finding him attractive? “There’s no one like me.” 

Before you could respond, Jeonghan pushed open the backdoor, the heat of the kitchen simmering out in one brief wind, before it slammed shut behind him, and you were left, alone and dumbfounded on the stones in a mountain of cigs. 

Then you scoffed.

You stood for a moment, letting the fresh air cool the inevitable warmth on your cheeks, huffing (because you were annoyed, you told yourself, not because he had just done something terribly, horribly attractive!) and puffing with your arms crossed over your too-tight-shirt. 

Then you pushed open the door and stepped inside the tiled kitchen. 

The room was filled with steam and it smelled like canned marinara sauce and fake cheese and most of all it was unbearably hot - so hot and humid, you felt the particles of water sitting on the fabric of your shirt. There was a decidedly oversize pot simmering with sauce on a stovetop, and on a hotplate three untouched pizzas sat; one with potato-topping, one pepperoni and one margarita. 

A very tall boy was running frantically around the kitchen, three different kitchen utensils in his clenched fist like claws. Sweat was dripping down the side of his frowning face and red speckled his shiny cheeks. Jeonghan draped himself against the counter lazily.

“It’s just me today,” the boy, Mingyu, cried, “Thomas sent home the other two because there’s no one in the park, but I can’t do this alone!” 

“Seems real stressful, Gyu,” Jeonghan mumbled, leaning on his hand. 

“Yeah, so if you aren’t too busy, maybe you could stir the marinar-” 

“That’s really great, man. You’re doing God’s work. But hey, we’re just gonna-” While Mingyu’s back was turned, the tall boy hunched over the sauce, Jeonghan limply pushed the pepperoni pizza to the edge of the hotplate with a pair of tongs. He winked at you, scooping the pizza into his open palm. “We’re just gonna head out now.” 

“Jeonghan, please help me out and don’t-” 

Mingyu turned around and his tortured expression dropped into one of shock, his tense limbs falling limp at his sides. Jeonghan stood, hand in the cookie jar and pizza in his palm, frozen in front of him with a sort of cartoonish ‘oopsie’-face. Steam clouded the room while you watched from the doorway.

Mingyu’s eyes narrowed and when he spoke again, his voice was lowered in warning: “Jeonghan. We’ve talked about this. Put. The pizza. Down.” 

There was a moment of indifferent silence. Jeonghan contemplated.

Then he nodded, lips pursed and eyes cast down to the pizza.

“You know… I would.. But. Y/N, OPEN THE DOOR OR KNOCK HIM OUT!”

“WHAT?”

“OPEN THE DOOR.” 

You did. Apparently Mingyu hadn’t seen you, because he jumped at your voice behind him, body twisting to see you just in time for you to open the door and Jeonghan came scrambling out of it like a rat. You cannot believe you just aided this man’s crimes, you think, Mingyu’s expression of horror forever imprinted in your retina, before you followed suit. 

However bad Mingyu’s puppy expression made you feel, the rush of adrenaline as you bolted down the pavement under row after row of flowers and sunbeams brought forth something sinister and mean that had you giggling at your evil-doing. Jeonghan was laughing as well, and his genuine laugh was bright and bubbly and very unlike him. 

Mingyu sprung open the door behind you, yelling over your shoulders: “HOODLUMS! THIEVES! YOU’RE LUCKY I CAN’T LEAVE THIS SAUCE.” 

This made the both of you laugh even harder, disappearing behind another building, leading up to the chicken-fountain. You caught up to him, still holding the pizza in his open palms, now sweating and panting in between bright, heart-thrumming giggles. 

“I thought-” you panted, bending at your knees and warding away the image of the betrayed Mingyu. “I thought you said he let you do whatever he wanted.” 

“Yeah,” Jeonghan heaved, cheeks rosy and shiny, as he gently padded over to a bench with the pizza out like the plate in the hand of Oliver Twist. “That’s my bad. I forget he was 16 two years ago and has since then lost all respect for me.” 

This made you laugh. This had your eyes squinting closed and a deep, ringing laugh bouncing up your ribcage and your throat and exploding into the summertime. Eyes closed, you missed the way Jeonghan’s face lit up at that.

“That made you laugh? Self-deprecation?” he asked incredulously, but somehow amazed. 

“Oh,” you cried, opening your eyes and willing your laughter to calm. “I think it’s just the first time you haven’t been baselessly confident and cocky.” 

“Baseless?” Jeonghan echoed, face screwed in poorly-concealed glee.

“Yeah,” you nodded, face also screwed in poorly-concealed glee.

“What? Am I supposed to collect, like, fuckin’ data?” 

“Yeah, evidence.” 

“EVIDENCE?” 

You and Jeonghan went back to The Pirate Swing, splitting the pizza in the booth and every 45 minutes or so, letting guests on when they came by. He was still annoying and in all fairness he’d dragged you into his crimes against humanity. But. He was also a little funny and sweet. 

And the pizza did taste better than your packed lunch. _____________________________

Two days of normal work followed. 

There were too many people to really fuck around, so you and Jeonghan stayed in the booth, and you even managed to pressure him into telling you about the rest of the buttons, as well as the mechanics of the bigger machines. 

Everytime Jeonghan saw you he greeted you with “Hey titty-shirt!”, equally enthusiastic each time. Everytime the clock hands read 8 PM he pulled out his weed and began smoking. Everytime he began smoking he snaked a hand on the back of your leg where you stood (still no chair!) beside him, rubbing the flesh under his palm. You shooed him away half-heartedly, then felt guilty for not meaning it. Jeonghan was a sleazy piece of shit, but his hand was warm and felt nice on your thigh. You liked to tell yourself you were just lonely or something. 

“TITTY-SHIRT!” 

That Saturday you came walking into work, still wearing your shirt and your cap, and was immediately alerted to the fact that something was off; Jeonghan was ecstatic. 

He always had this front of joy and constant bemusement, but you’d learned to read how he yearned for his shift to end - you saw it sometimes when he gazed out of the windows of the booth, thinking you were surveying the kids. That day, he was happy. Genuinely. 

“TITTY-SHIRT!” he called again, causing a family of blonde children to turn their heads in dismay. He paid them no mind, rushing down the stairs with loud, trampling steps, to meet you at the foot of the platform, before you could even settle down in the booth. He grabbed your forearms in his hands and grinned at you childishly. You couldn’t help the small, bemused smile that parted your lips.

“Great fuckin’ news,” he said, “Belinda is fucking gone. M.I.A.”

“Okay?” you grimaced, unsure of what he was getting at. 

“Okay?! Do you know what this means?” 

“No, not particularly,” you mumbled. 

“This whole fuckin’ area,” he let go of your arms to motion vigorously to your part of the park. "Unsupervised. Unaccounted for.” 

“Okay?” 

“Okay?! This means we’re gonna go shoot the shit at the arcade, come on!” He threw a hand over his shoulder to gesture to the arcade area. You frowned and crossed your arms challengingly. 

“Shouldn’t we go take care of our coaster?” 

“Are you kidding me? If no one is working it, people just assume it’s shut down for maintenance. Come on, this only happens, like, twice a year!” He whined, stomping his worn-down Nike sneakers into the pavement and pouting at you. You hated to admit it made your facade melt like an overpriced ice-cream in the hand of a child. 

“Alright, but-” 

“Yes!” 

Without further nonsense, Jeonghan grabbed your hand in his, and began to once more drag you through the park. As you ran behind him, you looked at your interlocked hands and thought, briefly, that it wasn’t too bad to look at. And it felt kind of good. 

“What happened to Belinda?” 

“God knows, I think it was something with her kids.” 

“She has kids?!” 

You and Jeonghan messed around at the arcade - Jeonghan miraculously had been granted the keys to the arcade by Belinda (something about her trusting him?), and unlocked the machines and you played games with already-used coins. 

First was Whack-A-Mole, then the boxing game, then those motorcycle races, and then you played the basketball game.

“I’m gonna beat you!” you squealed, throwing a miniature basketball through the hoop with a small jump. You grinned in triumph when it landed right, punching the air like a dork and turning to him with victoriously glean. 

Jeonghan wasn’t even played, you realized. You’d been so caught up in actually landing the ball in the hoop that you’d managed to forgo the way Jeonghan leaned against his lane, eyes half lidded and shadowed under his cap. You turned to him, now much more aware that you’d been acting like a dork. 

“Uh, aren’t you gonna play?” you asked sheepishly, blushing. You wished you’d missed how Jeonghan’s lips quirked upwards at the sight. 

“No,” he sang, “I think I’m just gonna stay here and watch you play.” 

You narrowed your eyes, suspiciously, and that was all Jeonghan needed before he sighed and shrugged in defeat, like a criminal caught for his crimes.

“Sorry, I just like watching your tits bounce when you get all excited,” he deadpanned. Your mouth gaped open and crossed your arm over your chest.

“You’re so gross, Jeonghan!” you said, now thoroughly uninterested in playing anymore. Jeonghan only scoffed though, to which you snapped your head back to him with an outraged expression. He smiled at you in that cheeky son-of-a-bitch way. 

“Oh, don’t act like that,” he said cockily.

“Like what?”

He laughed, rolling his eyes, letting a small pause linger in the space between you. You hoped he couldn’t see the way your eyes twinkled with excitement every time he said something like this. As hot as he was, Jeonghan was a cocky, sleazy piece of shit and you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. 

“Like you’re scandalized,” he said simply. You wanted to respond, wanted to defend your honor, but Jeonghan saw right through you, and he took one step forward to speak again: “Like you hate the way I talk to you. You act all innocent and nice and so uptight, but you know what?” 

He took daring steps forward, one after another, until you were half-sat on the basketball machine and he stood, looming over you, surprisingly menacing despite the get-up. The air seemed to suddenly thicken and warm, tasting foul in your mouth. Then he leaned in, eyes glimmering brilliantly with amusement and that evil smile on his lips, breath hitting yours. 

“I think you love being treated like a slut.” 

Fuck.

He was so close to you, body heat rolling into you. You knew he saw the mechanisms of your brain turning behind your eyes, saw the fear when you realized he had seen right through you, and he smiled, and he might as well have had fucking horns.

He tilted his head, and, fuck, if every angle of his face wasn’t perfect. It was unfair. It was so unfair. 

“I-I don’t-” your voice was a meek, half-hearted protest, cut off before you could even begin.

“Yeah,” he laughed. “I think you do. You don’t just let any man massage your thigh, hm?” 

At those words, his hand dropped onto your thigh, finger digging into soft flesh. You mewled at the feeling, causing his grin to spread wider. 

“Oh, poor baby,” he pouted in fake-sympathy. “Am I making you wet?” 

“JEONGHAN!” 

Thank God for Kwon Soonyoung with the impeccable timing. 

Soonyoung was “the pool boy” - he did not work at the pools, but he was the victim of a dunking-machine that was set up in the summertime. Kids and adults alike paid to throw balls at a big, red button that would lower a trapdoor and dunk Soonyoung in ice-cold water. You’d seen it in action and it was pretty hilarious. 

At his voice, you and Jeonghan scrambled apart, his hand flying off your thigh and body twisting to back away from you, and you dropping off the machine and landing flat on your feet, blushing wildly and somewhat out of breath. 

Soonyoung, the poor boy, was sprinting through the park, stopping awkwardly where you and Jeonghan had been standing. He was out of breath and had a wild look in his eyes, like he was being chased by some supernatural monster. 

“Belinda is back! Get back to your coasters!” If he’d noticed your philandering he certainly didn’t mention it, breaking into a sprint again the second the words had left his lips. 

“Shit, thank you, Soonyoung!” Jeonghan yelled, receiving only a limp thumbs-up from the trackstar in response. Jeonghan grabbed your hand and the two of you ran back to The Pirate Swing as fast as your legs could take you. 

Your heart fluttered at your interlocked hands again, and you stared at them, focused on them, as the world became a blurred mess around you. His warmth streamed into you.

You couldn’t even look at him the rest of the shift. Something about his confrontation stirred a mimicking phenomenon in you. Did you want to fuck Jeonghan? You did, you realized, and thus you were unable to raise your gaze from the floor, pressing yourself against the wall to be far enough away from him, that he couldn’t touch your thigh again. He didn’t. He just let your cheeks blaze and pressed buttons and talked to kids, and he even waved at Belinda when she walked by, and she smiled wide and waved back. 

You went home at 9 PM, shirt too tight around your chest, and chest too tight around your heart. You simply couldn’t believe it, because not only did you want to fuck Jeonghan;

You had a fucking crush on him. _____________________________

Having a crush on Yoon Jeonghan was maybe the worst revelation you’d had in your life.

You’d kept all the things you admired about him hidden under the veil of your shirt; he was sleazy and gross and he smoked weed at work and had a certain disregard for child safety. But, and there was always a but, you realized, he was also witty and easy to talk to, and it was cute when he was happy or he got excited about something, and he was so damn charismatic, and you realized you would do anything to see him with that childlike joy again. 

The worst part was that Jeonghan did not like you back. In fact, you couldn’t even imagine him liking anyone. He thought you were hot and wanted to fuck and that was the end of it. All the ways you cared about him were unreciprocated. He did not care to see you happy. He did not care for the twinkle in your eyes when you were excited. He liked your tits in your shirt and was working his fingers up, day by day, to touch you. Yoon Jeonghan did not like you back. 

Three days of work passed, three days of being muted and awkward around him. Jeonghan’s shine was not dulled by your lack though. The kids loved him, Belinda loved him, and he didn’t love anyone back - just let himself be showered in admiration. He was greedy like that. He took all the love and gave none out.

On this particular day, all you did was lay in your bed before work, willing time to stop so you wouldn’t have to go. Legs flopped on top of your bedsheets, work shirt on and cap on your bedside. You waited.

You waited with a metal ball in your stomach, rolling around and causing a ruckus. It rested heavy there, rolling to and fro and grazing your heart from time to time, and it hurt. 

Maybe the reason it felt this bad was because you did it to yourself. Of course, Jeonghan wouldn’t like you back. He was Jeonghan. And yet, you’d had your guard down and his effortless charms had worked their way into your brain. You wondered how many girls had been in the same exact position as you; being graced with Jeonghan’s presence, being smitten by it, and now lying in bed, realizing the admiration would never be bounced back to them. 

You went to work. 

In the damn shirt, you walked in through the staff-door and journeyed towards The Pirate Swing. 

There were so many people that day, you could hardly believe your eyes. The queues were mile-long stretches, and every pathway was spotted with body after body, walls of families, crowds swarming like insects. It was enough to induce a slight panic. 

“It’s good that you’re here, Titty-shirt,” Jeonghan said, when you walked into the booth beside him. He had a bit of a wild look in his eye and he was chewing on a banana. You stood by the door of the booth, looking out at the queue - a genuine queue? To The Pirate Swing? - as the boat swung catastrophically behind you. “We’re fucking busy.” 

You hummed, then turned your head to him. He had sat down, seemingly exhausted and pouting a little. 

“You brought a packed lunch?” you asked, nodding towards the banana in his hand and he looked up at you. His cheeky smile made you want to die. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, I stole this from Seungkwan,” he said and you laughed, and you hated that he made you laugh. The walls of the booth muffled the loud, indistinct buzz and shielded you from the chaos. The flimsy, windowed walls had never felt as intimate. 

“It’s gonna be a shitty day,” you declared ceremoniously. He grunted something in agreement, voice strangled by the now finished banana. Forever himself, he discarded the peel on the corner of the control panel, among his ziploc of weed and empty cans. 

It was a shitty day.

The constant swarming of people, crying children, the non-stop screech of rusted roller coaster tracks; everything brewed together into a pounding headache, as you and Jeonghan hunched together in the booth. Beads of sweat collected on your skin, where the unforgiving sun streamed through the windows. 

Around 8 PM you’d had just about enough. Your head was pounding, you were hungry, and most terribly you were sad. You were sad, sitting next to Jeonghan on the dirty, hard floor of the booth, and you could cry every time he said something snarky and lewd to you. He would never like you and you were a fool for ever letting yourself get attached. 

The day was constant work, constant talking to kids and putting on an energetic front. Finally the crowd seemed to thin out. Slowly but surely, the suburban families returned home and only a few people remained, and the night time glowed soft and warm. 

“Dude,” Jeonghan said, neck craned to look at his phone. With most of the guests gone, he’d finally gotten a chance to waste away on his phone, putting his mouth to his makeshift bong and smoking pot. You kept the booth-door open to let the smoke out. “Wanna go see a crowd of teenagers dunk Soonyoung? Junhui just texted me.” 

You were so tired. Every inch of your body yearned to relax where you sat, cross legged on the metal floor. With dark, sunken eyes and no courtesy left, you simply shook your head. 

“You sure?” he asked, eyebrows raised. You were just tired enough to miss the small frown on his lips. 

“I’m tired, you just go.” 

Jeonghan shrugged then and stood up. He left the bong on the floor and stepped over you to exit. 

“I’ll be back ASAP!” he yelled out, and you didn’t even try to look at him, to call something witty back. You just sat. 

And as if it weren’t the last thing you needed today, just thirty minutes before closing, a woman and her son strolled up The Pirate Swing. You saw them, eyes glazing with worry as you flickered your head to Jeonghan’s empty chair.

“We want a ride!” cawed the woman, holding her son by the hand. You scrambled to your feet, stuttering as you dusted off your pants. 

“Uh, I-” hopeful, you looked around, hoping to see Jeonghan and his long, poodle-y hair somewhere near. The pathways were deserted. “I-I actually can’t-” 

Not waiting for an explanation, the woman clucked once more: “You’re still open, aren’t ya?” 

You nodded, tiredness painted thick and greasy on your face. “Yes, we are, um, open, but I-” 

“Well, then give us a ride?!” 

This woman was going to be the death of you. Why were they even here now right before closing? You closed your eyes, collecting yourself and mustering each ounce of patience you had left. 

“I’m not allowed to because I’m new-” 

“Well, where is the operator? Why are you here if you don’t know how it works!” 

“He’s, uh,” your face fell, “He’s using the bathroom right no-” 

You’re not even sure why you lied. 

“Alright,” she huffed, strained and impatient. “Well, you just ruined me and my son’s night!” 

She tugged her blonde kid by the hand and began to turn around, grumbling with a red face. 

“I’m so sorry, but- it’s a matter of safety-” 

“Next time just say you don’t know how to do your job!” she yelled over her shoulder, mean glare coming out over her shapely glasses. Then she was jiggling away with a pouting child. 

Your mouth fell open in shock. A part of you wanted to be angry - a part of you was angry - but you found yourself weighed down and sliding down the wall of the booth with a much heavier feeling; you were exhausted. 

This was the last straw for tonight, you decided, resolve melting like a dropped ice cream. Booth door half-creaked open and weed vapor in the air, you buried your head in your hands and began to cry. It was small. It was not loud and sorrowful, it was small and petty. Nothing grand about crying on the dirty floor at your workplace. Sniffles and single, wet tears and a quivering lip, all dying out in the soft glow of the fairy light decorating the park.

“Y/n?” 

“Shit,” you lifted your head from your hands, wiping hard on your reddened cheeks. Jeonghan was standing in the open door, looking down at you on the floor.

“Sorry, uh-” 

“Why are you crying?” 

You paused, hands fiddling with the collar of your shirt and effectively covering your breasts. Your breath was shaky and snotty, eyelashes coated in tears. Red patches your skin around your puffy eyes, and your lips pressed into a thin line. 

Jeonghan did not look like himself when you looked up at him. It must have been a completely different person, you decided, because his features had  tightened and screwed into an expression you had never even seen a hint of before: concern. 

It looked so utterly foreign on his face - there was always a lightness to his expression, a joking, teasing look, but now he was frowning and his brows were furrowed and his eyes were big and red and round. It made  you feel small and frail. You didn’t like seeing him like that; unwell. But it seemed that feeling was mutual. 

“Um,” you began, voice hoarse and shuddering like a frail old fence-gate, that’s been slammed shut. “I’ve just had a shitty fucking day and- this woman came and wanted to ride and she was just so fucking mean when I told her I couldn’t..” 

Telling it all again made you feel so pathetic, it wracked another sob from you, hurdling past your lips. You caught it in your hand, pressing it to your mouth and squeezing your eyes shut up. 

God, you were pathetic. 

But your heavy, heavy eyelashes blinked open and you looked up to see Jeonghan’s expression softened into something else entirely;

Guilt.

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately. 

“No, it’s fine-”

He dropped to his knees in front of you, now at your level and up close, so you could see every tensed muscle and every strain on his beautiful face. 

“I’m sorry I left you alone,” he said solemnly and for the first time since you’d met him, Jeonghan was merely expressing his regret, not bartering for some sort of gain. His words were dripping with sincerity and it was so strange, you had to laugh.

“What?” he asked, a small grin growing on his face. That was more familiar. 

“I just- I’ve never seen you so serious, it’s okay, Jeonghan, I forgive you-” 

He broke into a laugh as well, rhythmic clucks dancing through the air from the booth, and it immediately cheered you up: he was beautiful and practically glowing, a small rim of light encapsulating him. 

“I’m very serious, I think,” he said. You rolled your puffy, old eyes. 

There was a significant pause. 

Your head lolled over and your gaze landed once more on the makeshift bong by the chair, now abandoned. It reminded you of how different you were. You tried too hard because you liked when people liked you, you were a hard worker, your shirt was too tight. Your shirt was too tight and that’s what had landed you in this situation. 

“Can I…” you trailed off, daring to look at him again. “Can I smoke some of your weed?” 

Jeonghan’s face was practically split in half the way he was smiling. There was something akin to triumph in his eyes, but it was almost fatally overpowered by sheer, bubbling, striking adoration. It made you blush. 

“Of course, babe, I thought you’d never ask,” he breathed, still smiling when he scrambled forward for the bong and stretched out his arm to finger at the control panel, finally feeling the soft plastic and snatching it down to the floor with you. 

“Just put your mouth to the can, baby, I’ll light it for you,” he giggled giddily, scrambling for the lighter in his pocket. 

“I know how it works,” you tried to sound stern, but you were smiling and your eyes were twinkling. 

Jeonghan messily pinched off a nugget of weed and placed it on the gridded holes in the can (which he had pricked with his work badge; “Hi, my name is Jeonghan!”), and you placed it to your mouth, while he held the lighter to it. 

“You’re so hardcore,” he said sarcastically, face close to yours as he flicked the lighter, sending a warm flame onto the can, so the nugget lit ablaze. 

“Shut up,” you said, and then you inhaled and the flame went out and turned into a glow, and warm, crisp smoke traveled down your throat, leaving it sore and burned. It felt great. 

You held it in for a moment, then exhaled, and Jeonghan watched eagerly as your chest rose and fell under the restricting fabric of your shirt. 

You and Jeonghan sat side by side for the last half hour, smoking together, eyes turning red and breaths turning sour and casting laughs into the night air. There was a warm buzz in your chest, a low drum, and you basked in the proximity to him, in how the heat of his body met yours in a fierce battle, at how he caught your eye when he joked, and how he smiled when you laughed. Your responsibilities melted away; your shirt felt looser. 

“We’re closing now,” you hummed after a while, somehow lighter and heavier at the same time. Your eyelids felt heavy and your cheeks were warm from giggling. Jeonghan placed his hand on your wrist, squeezing and tearing your eyes to his. 

“I have such a good idea right now,” he grinned lazily and you couldn't help but echo it. His eyes were red and half-lidded, and his voice was groggy from the smoke. He had run his hand through his hair one too many times and now it was puffier, poodlier than normal. He looked so handsome, you thought, studying the tan from many days in the sun. You figured he didn’t use sunscreen. 

“What is it?” you breathed.

“Come on, come with me!” 

Then the two of you were sneaking from building to building and giggling indiscreetly, two hunched silhouettes becoming one with the backs of buildings. Jeonghan insisted the two of you go to the toddler playground (Sunshine Dance Club, as it were called), because, in his words: “those dumb prick security guards never bother to actually check it”. He pulled you into the pastel green, red, blue, and yellow dreamscape, pulling you up a wooden tower, where you would be shielded by the railing. 

The two of you sat against the railing and waited while a security guard checked the place before closing. 

The mischief had made the two of you even more giggly, scratchy throats producing choppy snickering, as you leaned into each other on the wood, breathing in each other’s air. You liked being so close to him, you thought, and you were almost high enough to just spit it out. The distant stream of light overhead revealed his pores, but you liked those too. 

“Shut up, shut up,” Jeonghan whispered at one point. “I think he might be coming!”

“You’ve said that three times-” 

His hand clasped over your mouth and he fought not to laugh at the surprise in your eyes. Sure enough, this time he was right, as you heard booted footsteps in the distance, and the beam of a flashlight danced across the sloping and bouncing playground. 

You held your breath, not only because you feared, for the first time that night, getting caught, but also because Jeonghan had leaned so close to you, that you could see every stirred acrylic in his eye, every color of brown, swirly sundae. 

Both of you stopped laughing and stared at each other. 

His hand dropped from your lips. 

“I have cotton mouth,” he whispered, footsteps fading away. You couldn’t tell if it was the weed or what, but the air seemed thicker and you felt heavier, like imaginary hands were tugging you down. Jeonghan was no better - you couldn’t quite place the emotion on his glowing face. He almost seemed vulnerable.

“Me too,” you whispered, breathless. 

A pause.

His eyes flickered down to your lips, pink and plush.

“Can I kiss you?” 

You were almost bristling for a moment in pure surprise, before you recollected yourself and nodded eagerly.

“Yeah.” 

You thought his lips would smash into yours; you thought he would conquer you, because that would simply be the most Jeonghan-thing he could, to take what was his, to be cheeky and horny and sleazy.

To your utmost surprise, his hand was shaking when he lifted it, brushing so softly, so gently across the skin of your neck, resting on the back of it, cold from the icy, night breeze. His hand kissed the tips of your hair, and he gently slid it up, breath shaking, as he stared at your lips. Then he leaned in. 

His lips were soft like the bouncy castle on the edge of the playground, so impossibly gentle and flowing and warm. He breathed out shakily against your skin, eyes squeezed shut. Had you seen it, you would’ve almost believed that the kiss pained him, with the furrowed brows, but you didn’t, and it wasn’t painful at all, it was just that his heart was exploding and so was yours. Tender and slow, that was what it was, and you had never thought you’d use words like that to describe him.

A moment of entangled lips, slow making out and warm air covering your skin, his hand in your hair. The Sunshine Dance Club was filled with the sound of spit.

Then he pulled away, breath still shaking, but now, less vulnerable. His lips curled into a smile, spreading that childlike joy on his face. It made you smile as well. 

“That was-” he shook his head at himself, cringing. Then he restarted: “Can I show you something?” 

You chuckled, cheeks heavily flushed and eyes twinkling. “What is it?” 

The cheekiness returned to his eyes, as he scrambled to his feet: “A surprise.” 

And once again the two of you were giggling through the park, this time hand in hand, looking over your shoulders for the security guard that by this time had definitely gone home. The halted steps over the cobbled paths echoed in the dead, empty park. 

It would’ve been a strange feeling - seeing everything closed and dark and empty, every inch usually crammed with people strangely void - had you not been entirely consumed by Jeonghan’s presence. His hand in yours, his laugh, his starry eyes, his face softening when he looked at you.

Jeonghan led you into Belinda’s office (he had a key because he was her favorite, he said), allowing you to sit on the edge of her desk, while he sauntered off into an attached room. You sat there, overhead light dull and buzzing, and basked in the log cabin aesthetics. Your chest was warm.

Then, from beyond the other room, sounding much further away and thereby being much bigger than you had initially imagined the attached room to be, you heard the mechanical sound of several switches. They sounded heavy and important, having a sort of resonance that continued into your room, where Belinda’s desk chair was spun halfway. 

“Jeonghan?” you called, a twinge of worry in your voice. “What did you do?” 

He came jogging back into the office, all wide grinned and puffy-eyed. 

“You’ll see.” 

Once again he grabbed onto your hand, pulling you off the desk and barging out of the doorway.

The night air enveloped you completely, stealing you away from the warmth of the office, kissing your warm skin, as you stood on the cobble. The feeling was so great, you almost missed what Jeonghan had done.

It was beautiful. 

The switches had turned on the lights everywhere. In every color imaginable, illuminating dramatically sloping tracks in the distance, fairy lights on the pathways, signs re-lit, and the whole park before your eyes seemed to have become a disco-ball, sending faint streaks into the star-spotted sky like aurora borealis. 

You, now red and green and yellow and blue, let out a disbelieving laugh, smiling wide. You squeezed his hand, unable to communicate further. There was something about it that left you entirely speechless. It was an inability to overcome and conquer the lights before you - your eyes feasted on them much too eagerly. 

“What do you think?” 

Jeonghan was looking at you. 

“It’s-” you sucked in a breath, trying to compose a sudden sincerity you felt. You looked over at him. “It’s so pretty, Jeonghan. It’s really beautiful.” 

“I knew you would like it,” he murmured happily, body turned to yours. You turned to him as well. 

There was a moment of silence. The two of you basked in the light and in the gentle glow and the cool night, and in each other. 

“Thank you for cheering me up,” you said and pursed your lips. He smiled in a gentle way. It looked nice on him. 

“It’s nothing,” he said, “we were having fun.” 

The conversation lulled again, and while you turned your head back to the light show, the flickering lights and the ombre, Jeonghan continued looking at you. 

You felt his eyes on you, and you turned to him, shyly: “You should look at the beautiful lights.”

He shook his head, lips twisting upwards: “No.. Not right now…” And that was all he said.

The words left a bit of a void in you, like a black hole sunk in your stomach and you turned to him curiously. Jeonghan sensed your confusion, because he licked his lips and gave you a knowing smile, and then explained. 

“I wanna kiss you again, love.”

And his voice was so angelic, such a grave contrast to the boy you’d come to know, but he’d been so strange tonight. Your first kiss had been so tender, now he was looking at you and his pupils were dilated and a smirk spread across his face, and you needed to know something; just one thing, before you threw yourself at him, and gave to him, something you would not be able to take back. 

“Do you just wanna fuck me?” your voice echoed off the walls of the empty park, resounding accusingly. He laughed.

“Of course, I wanna fuck you, baby,” he laughed a little, shaking his head in disbelief. You stayed staring at him, bristling. “You’re hot as shit.” 

“No, I mean,” you paused, because suddenly your heart was climbing into your throat and it seemed like everything you’d worried about was true, that you were just another girl that was hexed by his charms. “Do you just wanna fuck me?” 

His smirk dropped. There was a moment where all you could hear was wind and the electrical whirring of the many, many lights, draining energy from the earth by the second. 

“Do you honestly think I’d do this for just any girl I wanted to fuck?” 

“I-”

“I thought you were smarter than that, N/n,” his lips spread once more in a smile, but this one seemed more fitting on his face - condescending and confident. Whatever vulnerability had hung in the air was replaced by warmer, thicker danger. Was it the weed making you feel this way? On edge or excited?

“I just-” you stammered, feeling bashful suddenly. Did that mean he liked you? Yes, that meant he liked you. You had truly not even considered the possibility, not really thought it through the way you had the negative outcome, so now you were standing and you didn’t know how to respond. A stuttering, blubbering mess of red cheeks and avoidant eyes. “I just- I thought you just- because you talk so much about my boobs-” 

“Shhhh,” he shushed you. The cocky motherfucker actually shushed you, staring you down in a way that made you feel like prey and taking two steps forward, and closing the gap between you. He was so, so close to you, chest inches away from yours and leaning his face down to tilt his head at you. 

“You’re so cute, baby,” he cooed, eyes dancing around your face. 

You and him watched it, as one lean hand lifted itself to your chest, tightly wrapped in polyester-fabric. You sucked in a breath. His fingers lightly grazed it, trailing over the soft plushness of it. Then he cupped it, experimentally, like feeling the weight of it in his hand. You whimpered pathetically. 

“Hm,” he hummed, ripping his gaze from your tits very briefly at the noise, “you sound so pretty.”

In an effort to steal more noises from your pretty lips, his delicate thumb rubbed over your nipple, watching it harden under the fabric with a bemused smirk. Your breathing became heavy and shaky. 

“Can we– please?” you whined, but he only tutted, watching the fat crook under his finger.

“Hang on, sweetheart, I’m having my fun,” he said, nonchalantly, another hand snaking up to your other tit. “Been waiting for this since the first time I saw you.”

You couldn’t help but whimper quietly, his caresses and his intense gaze sending electricity straight to your core. You fingers wrapped around his forearms where they flexed, as he kneaded your chest eagerly. 

“That’s right,” he whispered and leaned into you, eyes half lidded and lips wet from spit. “Be a good girl and let me play with your pretty titties.” 

Then he kissed you again, groaning into your mouth at the weight of your tits in his hands. His groping became more rough and hurried, as he bit your lip and slipped his tongue in your mouth. 

“Fuck, baby, need to get your shirt off, it’s so tight,” he groaned, licking into your mouth. You whined, back arching into his hand. “Poor baby, shirt so tight it’s strangling your pretty tits.” 

“Jeonghan, please!” You cried, putting one hand on his chest to push him away from you. He pulled away, lips red and swollen and cheeks delightfully flushed. 

“Okay, baby,” he whispered, comfortingly. “Okay, okay, I’ll take care of you, sweetheart.” 

You could cry. The way he was touching you so intimately, but refusing to snake his hand down to your burning core, where you could feel yourself fucking dripping. Your body was on fire and your voice was hoarse from the weed that still coursed through your body. 

“Please, please,” you mumbled, and it was desperate enough that Jeonghan pulled his hands from your chest (which took more willpower than he was willing to admit), sliding them over your back and pulling you into him. You nosed into the crook of his neck, sighing happily. 

“Alright, baby,” He breathed, hand in your hair. You felt his neck crane, looking around. 

“Come with me, baby, I know just where to go.” 

You didn’t even have time to whine that you didn’t want to go anywhere, you wanted him to touch you. Jeonghan grabbed your hand and crossed the pathway, and you saw the yellow, lit-up sign for the funhouse before you disappeared into the entrance. 

The first room had a large circular hallway, and when you stepped onto the red plastic, it rolled a little. You and Jeonghan both stumbled rockily, and you nosedived into his chest. He laughed, steadying you with warm fingers on your waist. “Silly girl,” his voice cooed in your ear. 

“Jeonghan, please touch me-” 

“We’re almost there, baby,” he said, and he was being a little annoying, because he’d just played with your boobs and made you so fucking wet that your panties were sticking to your folds, and now he was trudging you through the hallways of a funhouse. You both skiddered out of the circular hallway with much trouble. 

The next room was slanted, and in your intoxicated mind, this was more than a challenge. The whole room was blue and your knuckles became celeste, as you gripped the slanted railing. 

“Jeonghan, I can’t-” 

Not another word out of your lips, before Jeonghan was scooping you up in his arms, walking with seemingly no problem through the room. “Shit!” you yelped when he did so, but he only smiled at you, a mixture of adoration and teasing. He ran with you, his bride, through a black and white doorway. 

The next room was the mirror maze, and Jeonghan’s face lit up at the sight of it. 

“We’re here!” he panted giddily, gently lowering you. You found your footing and looked around, a little speechless at how quickly he’d constructed this plan. There were at least 20 different angles of you, and you cringed at your own disheveled appearance and how your tiny shirt dug into your skin. A hall of reflection, the roof and flooring was pitch black and only you and him existed in the void, copycats at every corner.

You saw Jeonghan in the mirror, walking up behind you. He was smirking, planting his head on your shoulder and peering up at you, as his hands caressed your waist, riding up your shirt and exposing your stomach 20 times over. You hated to say it, but seeing his veiny, big hands on you made your breath hitch. 

“Was it not worth it, hmm?” he sang innocently, blinking at you with a bunched up cheek on your shoulder. His sleazy hands worked the fabric upwards, just under the impressive bump of your chest. 

His eyes flicked over to the most nearby mirror. Breath becoming shaky, his hands lifted the shirt, finally, over your chest, exposing your simple, black bra and the soft skin of your tits. You could breathe easier, without the fabric digging into your chest. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, soft hands immediately dipping inwards to touch over the skin. “Shit, you’re so perfect,” his voice was strangled, all composure gone as he looked at your chest with something akin to wonder. 

You moaned, feeling his dick, fully fucking hard from just playing with your soft mounds, grinding into your ass. Like a horny teenage boy, he moaned shakily, big hands covering your boobs and squeezing, and rutting into you from behind. As much as you wanted him to touch you, you couldn’t help but enjoy the sight of Jeonghan so utterly fucked out, using your body to pleasure himself. It was so erotic, the way his pretty face twisted in place and his fingers dug into the fat of your chest, panting into your neck. Then the sight untangled itself from your body.

“Sorry, sorry,” he was out of breath, removing his hips from your ass. “I got too caught up.” 

“It’s okay-”

He spun you around, pushing your body against the mirror. You stood back to back with your reflection. 

“No, it’s not,” he breathed, working your shirt the rest of the way off hastily. You lifted your arms to help the fabric off. 

You very barely registered Jeonghan snaking your pants off, and then his own clothes. You leaned your head on the mirror and you could finally breathe without the tight shirt, and you somehow felt stronger, not vulnerable like you would have expected. And when your eyes flicked to another mirror and you saw Jeonghan shirtless too, you realized the two of you were much more similar now. 

Jeonghan was standing in his boxers now, and you in your panties. 

“You know, I always thought you’d be more composed during sex,” you mused, returning your focus to him and smiling teasingly, because even now he was transfixed on your bare chest, heaving for air. Jeonghan scoffed, seemingly genuinely offended by this. 

“It’s not my fault your fat fucking rack has been staring at me through that tiny fucking shirt every day,” he spat, and in a sort of retaliation he cupped your pussy through your panties. 

Finally, he touched your cunt, and God, was it worth the wait, because it shot straight through your stomach, even the slightest touch on the cold, wet fabric. Jeonghan grinned cockily at the state of your underwear. 

“You’re one to talk,” he teased. “Your pussy is fucking weeping for me.” 

You moaned and your back twisted against the cold surface of the mirror, as Jeonghan slipped his finger upwards to circle your clit slowly. 

“N-ngh, fuck..” 

“There you go,” he said in fake sympathy, pouting, and even with his hand on your clit, you could almost believe it, because he just looked that angelic and pure. “Finally your greedy cunt has my hand, hm? Bet you’ve been thinking about this since we met.” 

He couldn’t help himself. He trailed his free up to your chest again. It just looked so delectable, unblemished skin, jiggling at every twitch and shake from you, and nipples hardened to pebbles. “I’ve been thinking about you since we met,” he sighed happily, pinching the nipples between his fingers and relishing in your strangled whine. 

Jeonghan slipped his hand in your panties, scoffing to himself at just how fucking wet you were, leaking from your hole like a slut, when his finger prodded at it. 

“P-Please, Jeonghan, please, fuck-” 

Your plea was cut off by Jeonghan’s hand gripping your throat. He smirked at your tortured expression, one hand circling your hole and the other wrapped around your neck, thumb climbing up your chin to rest on your lip.

“What do you want?” he tilted his head challengingly. You gulped, face flushed and baby hairs sticking to your sweat-gleamy face. 

“I-I want you to finger me,” you mustered, building up all the courage you could to hold eye contact with him and his lopsided grin. He raised his eyebrows, feigning surprise. 

“Really?” he sang, “you want gross, sleazy, perverted Jeonghan’s fingers up your tight, pink pussy?” 

You squeezed your eyes shut. Of course, all those moments of shaming him for thirsting over you. Now you were basically fucking naked, tits perked up from your arched back and writhing under him for just a single finger in your glistening hole. 

“Jeonghan, I’m sorry-” 

His thumb on your lip tugged downwards, effectively muffling your words and shushing you. He watched your pretty lip bend to the will of his thumb, humming. 

“Then say it,” he shrugged.

“Wha?” your speech was slurred by his heavy thumb.

“Say you want gross, sleazy, perverted Jeonghan’s fingers up your tight, pink pussy,” he repeated, acting exasperated, like it was your fault for not being able to keep up. Legs spread and utterly naked, you flushed and felt dumb, and you felt even dumber when you began to speak, and his thumb stayed where it was, weighing down your lip.

“I-I wan’ gross, sleazy, perverted Jeonghan’s fingers up my tight, pink pussy,” you slurred. Somehow the embarrassment translated into a wave of slick exciting your hole and landing on Jeonghan’s hand. He grinned at your obedience, hand pushing up so his thumb entered your mouth, pressing down on your tongue and the rest of his hand cradled your face. 

“Good girl,” he purred, head craned down to look at you, suckling his thumb with wide eyes. He finally heeded your request, two fingers pushing into your sopping heat. “Now suck on my thumb like the good, big-titted girl you fucking are while I make you cum.” 

He was immediately bullying his fingers in and out of you, curling them. Drool escaped where your lips wrapped around his thumb, as you moaned on it, feeling him poke and prod at your tongue with an evil smirk on his pretty face. You saw his dick print straining against his boxers in the corner of your vision.

“Been waiting for this pussy to be mine,” hummed Jeonghan, long eyelashes coming over his eyes when he looked down at you. “You know, if you’d been a little more cooperative I could’ve had my cock in you everyday for the past week.” 

You sobbed around his thumb, panting for air through your nose. His fingers felt so good, pistoning into you and so thin you could feel the bulge of each crooking knuckle churning in and out. His thumb sneaked back up to rub your clit again, and you clawed at his shoulders, trying to stabilize your suddenly shaking legs. 

Jeonghan let out the most erotic, guttural moan you’d ever heard, when he watched drool slip from your swollen, red lips and languidly ooze on your trembling chest. His face twisted in pleasure at the sight of them, becoming all shiny and slicked up from your own spit. 

“Fuck, you’re so pathetic. Can’t believe you’re fucking drooling all over your tits,” he spat, cheeks flushed as he leaned back to look at them, all pretty and slick and glowing under the maze’s fluorescent tubes. He slipped his thumb from your mouth to begin smearing the spit all over your skin. 

Your cunt pulsed around his fingers, clenching and unclenching as something in your belly tightened. You heaved for air, moaning loudly into the maze and practically crying. 

“F-Fuck, Hannie, f-feels s’ good!” you whined, chest thrashing under his needy hands. He lifted his gaze to smile at you, where he was crooked over to look closely at your spit-slick boobs. 

“I know, baby, I know. Cum on my fingers, now, m’kay?” He smiled cheekily, pressing especially hard on your clit. You saw white, orgasm so potent, you almost didn’t even register how Jeonghan dived into your chest, wrapping his lips around one of your nipples 

The wet, smacking of his lips and his pleased humming into the soft skin only spurred on your orgasm, as your cum coated Jeonghan’s fingers. His nose, buried in the flesh of your tit, breathed out a dam of warm air into it. 

His fingers stilled within you, slowly pulling out, while he continued to lap at your chest, warm tongue on your areola. You tried to catch your breath, but it was hard with how he moaned around your fucking tit, sucking and smacking his lips, while holding you to him. You cried out softly when he nibbled at it, to which he finally pulled away, smiling teasingly. 

There was something about the way he was so shameless about it, that almost made you feel even more ashamed, especially when you saw your form in the mirror, and how wet and red your boob was from his insistent sucking. You blushed deeply. 

“You gettin’ shy on me now?” he tapped your cheek, eyes twinkling. 

“Not used to seeing myself,” you mumbled sheepishly. Jeonghan’s ever lust-filled gaze was overtaken with a very deep, fundamental adoration. His smile became genuine - not teasing nor in feigned sympathy. Despite being the sexiest person he’d ever met, Jeonghan found you so severely cute in that moment, all heaved breaths and glossy lips and rosy cheeks.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, tapping your nose. The action would’ve been annoying were not entirely too fond of him at this moment. His eyes wandered, trailing down your collarbones and back to your cleavage. Then returned the lust: “Beautiful, pretty, gorgeous girl with big, bouncing fuckin’ tits.” 

His fascination with them was genuinely insane, but you thought he was pretty and sweet, so you let him marvel.

As if he could never get enough, he reached out one hand and cupped your tit again. 

“Are you gonna be a good girl and let me fuck your pretty tits?” Jeonghan asked, experimentally pressing the mounds together and licking his lips at the sight. He had to swallow (and he would never admit this) because the idea actually had him salivating. 

“Yes, Hannie,” you said sweetly, because although you really wanted his dick inside you, he had that twinkle in his eye that made your heart burst, and, indeed, you would do anything to keep the starlight blazing in his pupils. Jeonghan looked up with raised brows - this time, the surprise was not feigned. Swiftly, he grabbed your head and kissed you, deeply and appreciatively licking into your mouth. 

“Good girl,” he murmured, rowing the two of you away from the mirror-wall with his tongue down your throat. “Good fucking girl.” 

He pulled away from you, frantically looking around, and you simply waited for his command. He began to crawl onto the floor, lying down on the hard, sleek black flooring, resting on his elbows. 

“C’mere,” was all he said, and you sat down on top of him, confused. He wantonly pushed you by your shoulder so you rested further down, while he lifted his hip to free his cock. 

It was long and right by your fucking face. 

Impossibly pretty and pink near the tip, it oozed sticky, white liquid, dripping down the veiny side, and now you were salivating, because you almost wanted to take it in your mouth and suck his soul out. 

“Shit,” he groaned, studying your face next to his hard, heavy dick with a tortured expression on his face. It seemed his thoughts had traveled the same road as yours, because when he spoke, he said: “There’s so much I wanna do to you, doll. Give me another couple shifts, I’ll have your cum all over the fucking park.” 

Without another word, he leaned forward and grabbed each of your tits, hovering just below where his dick extended out, proud and tall like a gothic church. You helped by crawling further over his tan body, lying down on your stomach with your chest raised up. 

Jeonghan enclosed your tits around his dick, breath shaking and eyes blinking shut. The sounds he released were angelic, wetting and rewetting his fiery lips, and he struggled to keep his eyes open from the pleasure. He didn’t want to close them though, because the sight of you was insane. 

You were so pretty, smiling in adoration where you laid between his legs. Prettiest girl in the world, he thought, just letting him bounce your fat tits up and down his shaft like a good, obedient girl. Your rack was like a fucking cloud around him, jerking him off and spurting pre-cum on the already slick skin. 

“S-Shit, you’re so fucking- pretty-” he stuttered, breath trembling and face flushed. From every angle he saw you, perfect, pretty, cute and sweet you. Every version of you in the mirror was perfect, he realized, every copycat a perfect picture. 

“You’re pretty,” you mused, wrapping your hand around the lower part of his shaft where your tits didn’t quite reach and squeezing it. Jeonghan moaned, stammering the breathy noise. He gulped then. 

“I-I’m gonna cum, shit-” he sucked in a harsh breath. He could not believe how lovely you were, how witty and funny and sweet and how big your fucking tits were bouncing up and down around his cock. “C-Can I cum on them, baby?” 

“Of course, Hannie,” you obeyed sweetly, watching how he desperately bucked his hips upwards. Squeezing your hand around the base of his cock, you let out a final admission to help him cum: “Want you to cum on my tits, Hannie, want it so bad.”

Sure enough, it was that easy, because without warning long ropes of thick, white cum spurted into the valley of your breasts and climbed up to your collarbones and neck. Jeonghan cried out when he came, eyes finally squeezing totally shut and hips stuttering into your chest. He sounded angelic, even with his voice hoarse from the weed and grunting. 

You let him calm down, waited until his pants turned into soft, regular breaths, and released his now flaccid cock from your cleavage. 

“Oh shit, baby,” he sighed happily. “Come up here.” 

You crawled up to his chest, curling into his open arms and feeling him under your cheek. Your legs entangled on the funhouse floor, mirrors a little foggy from the sweat and the sex. It was perfect, lying in his chest, having him, knowing he wanted you and liked you. Perfectly timeless, you draped over each other limply. 

Or almost perfect. 

You wiggled your hips away from his body, hoping then he wouldn’t notice how you were still leaking from your poor, puffy hole. Jeonghan frowned when you did so, though, both hands grabbing your waist and tilting his head down to look at you. 

“What is it, baby?” he asked.

You looked away bashfully, shaking your head, but Jeonghan gripped your face in one hand, just as condescending as his thumb had been earlier: “You’re covered in my cum, baby. You’re not getting shy on me now. Tell Hannie what’s troubling you.” 

His voice was stern. You tightened your lips the best you could with his hand squeezing your cheeks together.

“I just..” you were embarrassed again, with how your words became muffled and slurred by his flexed hand. He paid it no mind though, looking at you intently to continue. 

“YouweresoprettyearlierIgotwetagain.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut. From beyond the dark void, you heard Jeonghan laughing. You opened your eyes and he removed his hand from your face, instead brushing it through your hair lovingly. 

You were gonna get whiplash with how lovingly he looked at you, how sweetly and with so much wonder and adoration; and how it stood in such a stark contrast to the words that left his mouth: 

“Baby, you just get up and bounce your fat tiddies around a little bit, I promise you, I’ll get hard in the next five fucking minutes. Then you can get my cock in your cute, greedy pussy. How’s that sound?”

Really fucking good.

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 · · · · 𝙸𝚇. 𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕 ║ ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡⓔⓓ

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 || 𝚗 𝚊 𝚟 𝚒 𝚐 𝚊 𝚝 𝚒 𝚘 𝚗 || 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x fem!OC/reader

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | CHAPTER CONTENT: this chapter contains a sensitive content warning (please refer to the dedicated warning below), POV switching, soft!Joel, protective!Joel, mental/emotional/financial abuse, trauma responses, high functioning alcoholism, angst, hurt/comfort | WORD COUNT: 13k

| CHAPTER SUMMARY: The storm rolls in.

Please read with caution if you have difficulties with works concerning domestic violence and abuse. This chapter contains several depictions and discussions of graphic violence. Highly sensitive portions WILL BE MARKED with my sensitive material banner if you wish to skip the more challenging portions. The sensitive material banner looks like this:

April Fool’s Day felt like a very fitting start to the month. Every day lately had felt like one massive joke the universe was playing on you, repeating ad nauseam and never letting you forget just how stupid you were. The extent to which you’d fucked things up with Joel had illuminated your shortcomings so brightly that it nearly burned everything else out. You’d gone so full throttle with your defensiveness that you risked severing the entire relationship during your first real fight.

The fact that it was entirely avoidable made it all the more humiliating. Of course, avoiding it would’ve required you to not be so damn defensive over everything, holding things so close to your chest that they ended up crushing your ribcage and making you implode on yourself.  

The shame in the aftermath was almost immediate, starting before you’d even walked all the way home, and it had only flourished since. You’d responded like a child - petulant and overreactive. Like you were nothing more than an injured animal backed into a corner, all bristled fur and warning snaps of teeth before finally striking when pushed too far.

But you hadn’t been backed into a corner, and Joel had simply sought understanding and connection. The trust he’d asked you to grant him was something he’d more than earned by this point, but you had still rebuffed his kindness and treated him just the same as someone acting in bad faith. A brief moment of retrospection made it obvious his usually coolheadedness slipped in the moment after being shaken up by your disclosure about what had actually happened on New Year’s Eve.

Of course he wasn’t himself after learning that you’d been carrying around such a jarring experience. Of course he’d begun to worry what else you might be shouldering on your own if you were capable of hiding such an upsetting event. Of course he’d reacted by pressing you for an assurance that there wasn’t anything else you were dealing with on your own – especially when he was right there and wanted to help.

He’d toed that line for months around you and had finally crossed it no more than a hair, and you’d gone nuclear. It had been too much, but, the further removed from the fight you got, the more you realized it was always going to be too much. It wouldn’t have mattered if he’d walked on eggshells or barged right in with it. Your inability to handle his push for emotional intimacy was inevitable, and you never even put in the effort beforehand to counteract any of your spiraling. You could’ve at least had a plan. You could’ve at least had something to fall back on. But you didn’t. You’d failed yourself and, maybe worse, failed Joel. 

You’d barely spoken to him the entire week following. Too much anger seated in your chest. Angry at him for prying. Angry at yourself for not giving him the trust he’d earned. Angry at all the life experiences you’d accumulated that made it impossible to just behave like a normal fucking person for once.

Just like he’d done the whole time you’d known him, Joel let you dictate where things went from here. He gave you the space you were clearly signaling for, and you wish he’d force your hand. Call your bluff. Not give you the option to avoid him. You wish he’d put his foot down and demand you get over yourself and your pride and whatever else was holding you back. Make things get back to normal. But of course he would never disrespect your autonomy like that. He’d already apologized for poorly vocalized feelings on his part and pressuring you for information when you clearly weren’t comfortable sharing it. 

You, on the other hand, were too much of a coward to apologize.

What if you apologized and he realized just how crazy you’d acted? What if acknowledging your faults only highlighted them to the point he realized you were never going to grow past the broken person you are? What if by speaking on all your shortcomings he realized he was wasting his time on somebody who was too far gone? Too much of a lost cause? Too undeserving of someone like him?

So, you didn’t apologize. You don’t acknowledge it. You just keep the two of you in an emotionally stunted purgatory. When you kissed him good morning and goodnight, it felt so reserved and loaded. It was like all the life had been sucked out of your energy together. Like you’d sucked all the good out of this relationship just like the emotional vampire you were. The shame spiral was hollowing you from the inside out, and you didn’t know how to make it stop.

You were already on week 3 of fucking up you and Joel’s relationship, and you wanted to slam your head into the wall until you stopped acting like this. Why were you acting like this? Not only was it completely draining, but you had put yourself right back into that cycle of not chasing happiness and going after a better life. 

It took every ounce of willpower you possessed to keep your cool with your dad, but your anger was steadily chipping away at whatever sanity you had left because his girlfriend — no, fiancé — Denise had shifted wedding planning into top gear and made it a sort of forced group activity whenever she was over, which unfortunately was happening more and more. She’d been making herself quite cozy in your house lately and especially when her kids were at after school clubs or spring break sleepaway camps.

While you cooked everyone dinner, cleared the table, and started on the dishes, she set up shop right in the middle of everything with her tacky venue pamphlets, hideous color palette cards, pricing charts for cakes, and all other assortment of wedding planning staples. You were looped into all of it by default as you stood at the sink washing dish after dish and putting leftovers into containers.

You bitterly wondered to yourself why she wasn’t the one cooking the meals and cleaning up after everybody since she was so desperate to be your dad’s wife. If she wanted to play house so bad, why not start right now and spare you the chore of all this mundane labor and forced interaction?

It had never been a mystery what your dad saw in her. She was an attractive woman who fulfilled the role of beautiful wife with two kids young enough that they could be “trained up” with a bit of effort. It was the redo for the perfect nuclear family that your mom, brother, and yourself had never been able to uphold. It made your stomach twist to think of how your dad would no doubt take all the mistakes he’d made with you all – namely, not being harsh or strict enough – and correct them with this second try. 

What Denise saw in him became a little more clear with night after night of inane, one-sided conversations she held with your dad somewhere nearby throwing her a bored hum of agreement every now and then. It was clear that she was projecting her idealizations of a man onto your father rather than seeing what was in front of her. The way she didn’t even seem to care if he answered her or seemed interested made it obvious that any man could be sitting in his place. He was her little paper doll to play house and happily ever after with.

She was so lost in her willed delusions that she was missing the writing on the wall. You had no doubt this time around with a wife and kids that your dad’s corrections would be swift and fierce. Denise was so busy projecting her dream life onto him that she didn’t even realize the horrors waiting for her and her children in the near future. 

Would you have to be there to witness your dad destroy another three lives? Would you have to watch him overpower and break down more children? Would you be the silent, complicit counterpart in all this, having learned to keep quiet if you want to survive? 

You start to feel nauseous imagining the looks of panic in their eyes, settling on you to please save them and watching their faces drop and contort when they realize you can’t. You’re stuck here, too. This is your prison, too, and has been for a very long time.

“Are you even listening?” Denise snips.

You whip around to find her looking at you expectantly. Your dad wasn’t sitting at the table anymore. Denise held a trifold pamphlet in her hand, but you couldn’t see what it was about.

“Are you talking to me?”

“Well who else would I be talking to?” she drones with an eye roll. “You’ve really got your head in the clouds today, huh?”

You grit your teeth at her blatant impoliteness but hold your tongue as best you can. “I must not have heard you over doing the dishes,” you say pointedly.

She’s already got her focus on the pamphlet again and hardly acknowledges your remark. “Well put that thing down for a minute and let me ask you about this.”

You rest the soggy sponge on the edge of the sink and dry your hands on the towel hanging from the stove. Your brain was just going through the motions as it tried to multitask and figure out what on earth she could possibly have to ask you about. You’re not sure you’ve ever held an entire conversation with just her. Usually your dad was hovering around, no doubt making sure you didn’t say the wrong thing and incriminate him.

She motions for you to sit without glancing up, and you settle into the chair across the table from her. “Uh, what exactly did you want to talk about?”

“I need to make sure we can count on you for the wedding party. We’re working on the lists right now, and I don’t want to put you on there if it’s going to be a problem.” She pins you with a haughty look and crosses her legs and arms.

You sit in silence for a moment, stunned at the idea that you’d ever willingly take part in this stupid marriage. “Uhhhh, I’m not really sure what you mean by that.”

She rolls her eyes again and shakes her head like she’s already talked this over with you a million times. “What I mean is,” she huffs with a sour look, “the people in your dad’s life seem to have a bad habit of just…. running off and leaving their responsibilities in the dust. I want your word that you are going to actually be reliable and not blow the whole thing off the day of just because you get a wild hair up your ass.”

It takes a while for her words to register. The charge of them felt too audacious to have actually come out of her mouth. Had she really just said that? It barely sinks in before she’s talking again.

“So? Are you going to give me your word that you’re not going to skip town so famously like your mom and Calum?” Her eyebrow is arched so high it almost reaches her hairline. She leans forward and snaps her finger in the air as if you need to be yanked from some inattentive state. “Hello? I’m talking to you!”

“Go fuck yourself,” you say quietly.

“What was that?” she asks, turning her head slightly to hear you.

“I said,” you repeat louder, “GO. FUCK. YOURSELF.”

She gasps and drops back against her chair, hand clutched over her heart. “Excuse me?!” “I don’t want anything to do with your sham of a wedding,” you seethe. “I don’t want anything to do with this entire stupid marriage that’s just going to end up in the gutter because you’re such a shallow, vapid bitch that you can’t even see what you’re dragging yourself and your kids into. You’re a shitty mom and I guess a shitty wife since this is gonna be your second marriage. Failed the first time. Gonna fail again.”

Denise sits in a stunned silence before her look of shock morphs into a furious indignation. You cut her off before she can even think to speak negatively about your brother again.

“So to answer your question, Denise: NO. You can’t count on me to be there. I wouldn’t waste my time on somebody who’s so far beneath me and my brother. Keep his name out of your disgusting mouth and spend more time worrying about what sort of hell you’re about to drag your kids into.”

Your chest heaves with adrenaline, fists balled tight, as she jumps up from her chair and rounds on you. She shoves a shaky finger in your face and hisses, “How dare you!”

You swat her hand away and stand your ground. She’s not much taller than you, and, much to your morbid amusement, she’s patently nervous to engage in such a confrontational, physical way.

“What the fuck is goin’ on in here?” your dad thunders.

You spin around and lock eyes with him. Your face must be a dead giveaway because his own darkens with a foreboding anger. Denise swipes her things from the table and shoves them into the tote bag hanging off one of the chairs before shouldering past you, sniffling loudly, and stopping in front of your dad in the doorway. 

“She doesn’t even show you any respect, so I don’t know why I thought there’d be any for me.” 

She looks back at you with an expression of pure disdain and straightens herself taller. “I’m not staying a single night in this house if she’s going to be here,” she declares before stomping past your dad and down the hallway to the front door.

He calls her name, but she doesn’t stop. Her disregard for his instruction seems to surprise him. He chases after her out of the house and leaves you standing in the kitchen. Your head is pounding, and everything is a little fuzzy around the edges. Your chest bounces up and down with stilted breaths, and your entire body begins to tremble with the realization of what you’ve just done. You hadn’t meant to unleash all of that on her, but something about her mentioning Calum was the last straw.

It never felt quite right sticking up for yourself. You were never convinced it was worth it – that you were worth it. Too much trouble for too little of a person. But Calum? He was someone worth sticking up for. Despite having virtually no interaction at all with him, Denise felt qualified to make outlandish statements and character judgements about him. Maybe she felt emboldened because he wasn’t here to defend himself, but you couldn’t just let his name drip from her mouth like a poison she was trying to spit out.

You hear her car engine roar to life. The peal of her tires sound all the way down the street until it fades away completely. You unclench your hands and run your clammy palms against your jeans. The silence grows louder as you wait for your father to come back inside and address you. Your eyes dart to the back door for a split second. 

Should you run? Did you have time? Could you just bolt and run to Joel’s?

The heavy creak of footfall in the hallway makes you jump. Your dad walks wordlessly past the doorway and heads into the garage. You stand frozen on the spot, bewildered at his decision to not even confront you about making Denise upset and speaking negatively about him. Was he going to make you wait it out? A sort of psychological torture knowing that his reprimand was inevitable?

His footsteps grow louder as he stalks back to the kitchen with a large glass bottle in tow. He eyes you as he takes a large pull from it before setting it aside on the counter. Your fists instinctively clench again as he calmly approaches you. Without a word or a warning, he draws his arm back and forcefully strikes you across the face with an open hand hit. The impact of it knocks you off balance, and you catch yourself before dropping to the floor.

“Get up.” His voice is a monotone, distant reverberation.

You shakily prop yourself up from the tiles and stand up again. Even though you knew it was coming, the second hit still catches you off guard. You crash into the floor hard this time – so haphazardly that your knees are stinging just as badly as your face.

“Get up,” he repeats in the same dead tone.

You shake your head. You lock your vision to the tiles beneath you, too frightened of making eye contact with him should he consider it some sort of challenge of his dominance. You hear the bottle clink against the counter after he takes another large gulp. You track his dress shoes as they get closer.

“No? You can’t face the consequences of your choices?” he derides.

He doesn’t wait for an answer. The thick sole of his shoe connects with the meat of your hip, sending a sharp shooting pain down your leg. Your mouth opens in silent wheeze. Somehow amidst all of this you still don’t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing you scream. He kicks you again, forcing you onto your back, and you stare blankly up at him. The ceiling lights illuminating him from above cast a shadow across his face, but you can make out the hard edge of his jaw where it pulls into a sneer.

The vice grip of his hand encircles your bicep, and he wrenches you up with it just as his other hand balls into a fist and strikes you twice in the face. A shrill noise fills your ears like a bell’s been wrung, and white speckles dance in your vision. You taste the metallic bite of blood before you feel it drip from your nose and mouth. You’re too disoriented to realize you’ve been hoisted up onto the table until you feel the wiry cinch of his fingers closing in around your throat like a vice.

“You think you call the shots,” he hisses. “You don’t call the fuckin’ shots.”

He grips your throat tighter and throttles it for what is probably a few seconds but feels like an eternity.

“ The only reason you’re even allowed to breathe is because I let you.” To emphasize his point, he squeezes hard enough that you start choking and coughing against the pressure. Your fingers work fruitlessly against his hold, and he lets go just as black begins to fog your vision. You scramble for the hallway, your brain screaming at you to run run run. Your entire body snaps backward, and you hazily gather that he grabbed your hair and yanked you downward.

“Running away from your problems, huh?” he tuts. “Just like your mom and brother.”

Your hands are clamped around his forearm, but it doesn’t do much to loosen his grip on your hair where the hold of it makes your scalp prickle.

“Well, you don’t get to give up and run off like they did, so how about we clear a few things up, hm? Here’s how this is gonna go from here on out,” he fumes.

His eyes bore into yours, but there’s nothing more than an angry void staring back at you. Even the vicious wrath and violence consuming him are not enough to bring life to his eyes. You swallow hard and feel the sting of your skin where he’d just been choking you. He jerks you around like a sad little puppet and effortlessly maneuvers you across the room to the sink. Droplets of blood fall and bloom into the dirty water. You plant your hands onto the edge for the tiny bit of leverage you can manage, but he threads his arm through your elbows and captures them behind your own back and against his chest. You can only go where he directs you to go, and that place is head first into the dirty water. 

You gasped as your face plummeted but managed to hold your breath just before the wide cast of his palm held it submerged. You puff out a blast of air and suck another one in the second your mouth rises above the liquid.

“You are going to apologize to Denise,” he spits.

He slams your head under the water again rougher this time, and your face knocks against plates and glasses before coming up again.

“You will not embarrass me.”

You don’t close your eyes in time and get a heavy, soapy wash in them. They sting and burn, but your arms aren’t free to wipe it away. You splutter and wheeze, desperate to center yourself and keep as calm a mind as possible. It was hard to think beyond the primal instincts of catching and holding your breath. Apparently your survival instincts are vexing to your dad because the next time he sends you under, he grabs and twists one of your wrists while simultaneously digging a knee into the soft curve of your inner thigh. You scream at the surprise pain, gurgling and inhaling water in the process.

You’re still shrieking and coughing when he brings you up, and he screams in your ear. “SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

You flinch and whimper but manage to choke back frightened sobs.

“If you ever embarrass me like that again, you might never come back up from that water. Understand?” It’s said like a twisting knife through your ribs, and you wordlessly nod your understanding.

“You realize nobody would give a shit if you were dead? You know how long you’d have to be missing for someone to realize it and go lookin’ for you?”

“Dad, please,” you whisper. “Please don’t.” You’re not sure what you’re asking of him other than to not hurt you anymore tonight.

He huffs a humorless laugh and shakes his head. “Un-fucking-believable.”

He flings you across the room, sending you flying into the table and chairs. They screech and clatter around your bumbling body, and you don’t have the energy to fight the fall. You lie in a crumpled heap halfway under the table and suck in generous lungfuls of air.

“Clean this mess up and fix your face,” he barks before gripping his precious bottle of liquor and ambling down the hall and up the stairs. 

The reality of what just happened begins to register. Your body throbs all over. Your chest is tight, and your breaths feel harder to take. Your body shakes with the effort of getting yourself off the floor. Little drops of blood fall from your nose. You grab up a handful of paper towels and shove them against your face. The applied pressure drowns out the quiet little cries that are wedged in your throat. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to take normal breaths, but the adrenaline slamming through your veins practically demands your inhales barely make it past your windpipe.

Everything hurts. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to move. It hurts to cry. Your mind goes a bit numb as you quietly right the upturned chairs, wipe up the dirty floor, and clear out the sink. Your hair and face drips water onto the floor you just dried.  You can’t say how much time has passed, but it’s dark outside now. Upstairs is quiet. You pray he’s drank himself to sleep. Your mind is chaotic and sluggish all at once, and pulling a cohesive thought together feels impossible.

A deep part of you just wants to go to sleep and not be conscious for any of this. The louder, bigger part of you is ringing every alarm bell in your mind. This was just like the time you thought your dad was going to kill Calum in front of you. It was the same feeling of fear, except this time you held it for yourself.

Calum. He said go to Joel’s. He’d made you promise that you’d go to Joel’s if you needed to. 

You want to. 

You’re going to.

But what if your dad finds out? What if he shows up to Miller Contracting offices? What if he finds Joel’s house? Did he own a firearm? You don’t think he does. But what if he did? Would he hurt Joel for intervening?

Your brain fires off a million miles a minute, but none of it is helpful. Your phone buzzes on the dresser. It’s Joel. You hit the big red button and shoot him a text.

You: I don’t feel good. I can’t come to work tomorrow. Sorry.

He calls again, and you decline again.

Joel: Please answer the phone. Do you need anything? You: I’m ok You: I just rly need to sleep rn Joel: Please call me tomorrow morning when you wake up! You: ok I will Joel: Get some sleep. Please tell me if you need anything.

You set the phone back down and sink down onto the edge of the bed. Your head feels heavy in your hands. Your body gives way and slumps to the floor. You lay there so long you feel the impression of whatever you landed on pressing into your arm. You crawl to your dresser and pull yourself up to look at the clock.

11pm.

You slink quietly to the bathroom and run the tap. You should probably shower, but you don’t want to risk waking your dad. You look at yourself in the mirror for the first time and burst into a fresh wave of tears. You bury your head into a washcloth and cry. You cry until you can’t anymore. The crying makes your face even puffier. You douse the washcloth in ice cold water and press it against your face. It’s not enough to offset the swelling. It’s going to look even worse tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

Would your dad even remember any of this in the morning? Worse yet, would he feel like he hadn’t gotten his message across the first time and come back to make a firmer point?

A shudder rolls through your body. You can’t stay here. You can’t be here. He might kill you. He wants you dead. He might try to kill you the next time. There will be a next time. The next time could be the last time. You can’t stay here. You can’t be here.

You clean yourself up as best you can and change into a hoodie and clothes that aren’t soiled with blood. Your hands shake and make it hard to hold the bobby pin steady while you unscrew a few vents and retrieve the small amounts of money you’d been diverting over the past several months. You have enough to stay somewhere for a little bit. You cram what belongings you can into a backpack and threadbare dufflebag. The rest will have to get left behind.

Your head is empty and buzzing. The night air smarts against your busted lip, throbbing nose, and puffy eye. Your legs are a lead weight, each step forward harder than the last. The shed door feels impossibly heavy and strains muscles you’re pretty sure you’ve never used before. The effort of mounting the bike almost makes you cry again. The muscle spasms and sheer exhaustion make it difficult to steer. You bike slowly but surely to the rundown, affordable motel you’d passed enough times to have the location burned into your brain. There certainly weren't enough reserves there to have found lodging any other way.

The front desk clerk barely gives you a second look as she slides you a room key. Paying cash makes things easier. You aren’t even sure the credit machine is working anyway. Her lazy drawl curls into your ear: there’s some vending machines on the righthand side of the building if you’re hungry or thirsty. You give a curt nod and wobble to your room. It smells moldy and is full of dust. You lock the door and collapse into the bed. Dawn bleeds on the horizon.

Joel anxiously passes your house on his way to the office. Nothing seems amiss. Maybe you really were just feeling under the weather and needed a day to rest. Your texts last night were so curt, and the declined calls did little to ease his worry. You hadn’t texted him this morning like you’d said you would. Maybe you were still asleep.

You’d been off ever since that argument. He’d apologized for overstepping your boundary, but things hadn’t gone back to normal. You’d been pulling away ever since. He was afraid you were going to break things off entirely, find a different job, find a new life without him . . .

It’s almost noon, and you still haven’t replied to the text he sent this morning just to check up on how you were doing. The anxiety makes his stomach clench so tight he can’t even eat lunch. It just about bottoms out when you text later that afternoon to say you weren’t going to be able to make it in tomorrow either. You don’t respond when he calls. It rings and rings and rings before going to voicemail. Last night you’d at least hit the decline button and sent him to voicemail after the second ring.

Something was wrong.

To hell with boundaries. He needed to check on you. He needed to see for himself that you were okay. If you were upset with him and planning on breaking things off with him, he at least wanted a chance to beg and plead for you to hear him out and keep trying. He’d do anything you asked. He’d do anything to make things right.

Your dad’s car is in the driveway when Joel pulls up and parks along the curb. He knocks on the door – three firm raps – and waits. A few seconds pass before your dad swings the door open, a waft of grain alcohol emanating from him with the motion. Your dad looks surprised for a split second before pulling his face together into a tight sneer.

“Joel Miller,” he drawls. He drags it out like the punchline to an unspoken joke.

“Sorry to interrupt your evening activities—” Joel deadpans before getting cut off.

“You here to get the rest of her shit, huh?” he scoffs.

The callous lilt in his voice instantly raises Joel’s hackles. Dread pours into his bloodstream. Where were you? What had happened? Were you okay?

“Yeah. S’pose I am,” he responds tightly.

Your dad mutters something about “not brave enough to handle her own messes” under his breath and gestures broadly for Joel to enter. He stumbles down the hall, pausing at one point to steady himself, before waving Joel off into your room.

“S’all yours, pal,” he slurs.

Joel pushes past him and takes in the disheveled state of your room. It was clear that you’d left in a hurry. Anger swells in his chest as he pieces together what at this point is undeniable. How long had you been living in this? Why hadn’t you told him? He’s sick to his stomach knowing he could’ve helped if you’d just let him. He’s angry with himself for not demanding you let him help.

He gathers up what’s left of your things, but there’s nothing to pack it in. He improvises with some plastic construction bags from his truck. 

Your dad hovers and sways in the hallway, snorting loudly at the bags. “Yeah, that’s about right,” he chortles.

“What’s that now?” Joel grits out.

“Couldn't help but-but laugh at the garbage bags. Just very fitting,” he notes with a theatrical shrug. 

Joel shakes his head, not following the wet brained commentary spilling out.

“Garbage for garbage,” your dad clarifies in a nasty tone.

Joel feels like he could grind his jaw to ash with how tightly it's clamped. He’s held his tongue long enough.

“Could say the same about you havin’ nothin’ to offer,” he bites back. “A big nothin’ of a man who has nothin’ to offer either of his kids. Two kids that have done worlds beyond what seems possible considering the absolute shit hand they were dealt with having parents like you.”

The look on your dad’s face sours instantly. “Y’know, I’m not sure what the ‘arrangement’ is between the two of you, but I’ll just say I’m glad she’s somebody else’s problem now. Best of luck with that one. Even her own mom never even looked back when she left. My ex was dumb as shit, but she was smart enough to know neither of those kids are easy to love.”

Joel draws himself up to full height and towers over this poor excuse of a man and a father. He considers kicking in a big patch of drywall in the hallway or maybe even your dad’s head for a split second, just to fuck something up. Just to send a message. Just to show dominance and sow the seed of fear. Just enough to make your dad uncertain of his own safety.

But he doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction or waste any more time here. He needs to figure out where you are and if you’re okay. The last of the plastic bags are shoved into the bed of the truck and into the seat. He starts up the engine and shifts it into drive.

“You got anything to say to her, you go through me,” Joel growls out the driver side window without bothering to make eye contact. 

“Oh, don’t worry. I already cut her line today,” he laughs from the porch. “Should be cut off by now or at least by tomorrow. Couldn’t call her even if I was dumb enough to want that kinda thing.”

Joel doesn’t bother saying anything else. He waits until he’s parked in his own driveway before pulling his phone out and calling you. No answer. He calls four more times with no answer. Every time it just rings and rings and rings until sending him over to voicemail. There’s no new texts from you. He starts to panic.

Joel: Please just let me know you’re okay.

He placates himself with the thought that maybe you went to Kenzie’s. She didn’t live too far away if memory served him correctly. He unloads your things from the truck and haphazardly sets them down in the living room. A work email pops up, but he ignores it. He goes straight for the text notification bubble and breathes a sigh of relief to see it’s from you.

You: I’m ok You: just need to rest more You: hopefully will be better over the weekend You: sorry for having to call out

He stews over what he should say. Were you hiding from him, too? Were you getting out of the city? Where were you?

The same work email comes through a second time. Then a third. Then a fourth. Joel clicks on it and reads the vague, nondescript request from some woman named Jasmine to please reach out to her about an urgent matter concerning her parents’ flooded basement. He hasn’t done a basement in a while. This lady’s gotta have the wrong contracting company, and, by the looks of it, she’s not going to stop pestering him until he responds.

Joel sighs and taps the number she gave. It rings twice before it goes through. He wants to get this conversation over with as fast as possible and send this Jasmine woman on her way and in the right direction of whichever contractor it is that’s actually responsible for her parents’ basement.

“Hey there, just giving you a call back from an email you sent. I’m not sure you’ve got the right compa–”

“Sorry, is this Joel Miller?” she interrupts.

“Yes, ma’am, and I’m one of the owners of Miller Contracting. Like I was sayin’, I think you’ve got–”

“Hi, sorry again, but I wasn’t sure how else to get a hold of you.”

Joel’s throat suddenly feels tight. “Who is this?”

“My name’s Jasmine. You don’t know me, but I’m Calum’s girlfriend. I think you know his sister? That’s why I’m calling,” she explains.

“Is she with you? Is she okay?” he abruptly prods.

The line is quiet for a moment, and then a deflated reply, “No. No, she’s not. I was calling because–”

There’s some muffled conversation coming through, and Joel talks loudly into the receiver. “Hello? HELLO?”

“Yes, hi. I’m still here. Sorry. That’s Calum. He’s a little worried is all. He hasn’t been able to get a hold of her, and—”

The line is a fuzzy static for a few beats before a male voice comes through. “Joel? This is Calum. Man, I haven’t heard from her, and I was trying to think of how to get in contact with you. Jazzy thought of sending the email. You haven’t heard from her? She didn’t respond to any of my texts yesterday, and when I tried calling her earlier she didn’t pick up. It’s not like her. I’m getting fuckin’ nervous, man.”

“She responded to my texts last night and today, but she didn’t say much. Said she needed a few days off from work but didn’t say why. Just that she wasn’t feelin’ good.”

“So you haven’t seen her?” Calum presses, sounding more panicked by the second. “When’s the last time you saw her? Heard from her?”

“No, I haven’t seen her today. I went by your house to check on her, but she wasn’t there. Your dad was shitfaced. Most of her stuff was gone. He assumed I was there to get the rest of it, so I just went with it. I don’t know where she went, but it’s pretty clear she left the house for good.”

There’s a muffled conversation on the other end, and Joel strains to listen to it. Bits of “Calum, baby, you have to stay calm, okay?” and anxious sounding responses each time is all he can make out.

“Joel, man, please–”

“Listen to me, kid. I’m gonna go find her, okay? You listening to what I’m sayin’? You hear me?”

“Y-Yeah, I hear you,” Calum stammers. “I just– you don’t know everything about what’s going on. It’s… it’s not a good situation.”

“I gathered as much,” Joel lightly corrects. “Give me your number and Jasmine’s number. I’m gonna get to the bottom of this and make sure she’s safe, alright? I’ll get in touch with one of you to let you know when I find her, and I promise you she’s safe with me, okay?”

“Thank you,” Calum breathes.

Joel jots down the multiple numbers Jasmine gives him – “just in case” –  and, after giving another round of assurances, ends the call. He takes the time to center himself and calm his racing thoughts. He wasn’t going to be effective in locating you if his mind was shooting off every second. The device location feature on all the work phones springs to mind, but his search comes up empty. He knows someone who could help him figure it out, though.

“Dad?” Sarah’s voice comes through. “What’s up? Shouldn’t you be in bed by now, gramps?”

“Uh, yeah. Probably. Very funny. Listen, I need your help with somethin’.”

“Is everything okay?” she asks, voice shifting into concern.

“Sort of.”

He explains the situation without the more worrisome details and is feeling like he’s finally getting somewhere when she walks him through the steps and helps him locate the dingy motel a short drive away where your location pin is highlighted.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, baby girl?”

“Look, I know I was kinda… I know I was sort of hinting at it with some jokes when you were here helping with our kitchen – and I’m not saying I know everything about your, um, situation with her – but what exactly is the plan? I mean, does she want to be found? Because if you go looking for her but she doesn’t want to be found….”

Her loaded silence hangs heavy over the line. Joel understands. If he inserts himself into a situation where he’s not welcome, he could land himself in trouble or just make things worse.

He lets out a heavy exhale. “I think if anything I can’t live with the idea of her being out there scared and by herself.”

“I get that, dad, but what if… look, just- just be careful, okay?”

“I promise I will, baby girl. I’ll shoot you a text when I get this sorted out, alright?”

“Okay. Just please be careful, and, like, get Uncle Tommy to help you or something if you need it, okay? I don’t want you getting hurt.”

It warms his heart to hear how protective she is. “I’m not gonna get hurt. I just need to get to the bottom of all this. I swear I’ll text you when I get word of somethin’, okay?”

“Okay. Love you, dad. Be safe.”

“Love you, too, baby girl.”

The pitter patter of rain snaps against the window as the call ends and quickly picks up into a full blown shower within minutes. The windshield wipers on his truck can barely keep up with the downpour, but thankfully it’s not a long drive to your location pin. The bright orange doors with peeling paint all look alike in the wet blur of the storm. He can’t even make out room numbers. 

Between the late hour and the storm, there’s not a lot of movement. He considers knocking on doors until he finds you, but he doesn’t much want to get the front desk or cops called on him for disturbing the lodgers. He wants to get out and walk around just to feel like he’s doing something productive, but that didn’t seem like that great of an idea, either. So, he waits. And waits. And waits. The storm picks up and stalls in a waning cycle. A few people answer their doors for food deliveries or step outside for a smoke, but he’s only eliminated a handful of possible rooms that could be yours.

It would’ve taken you a long time to get here by walking, so he assumes you biked. It was unlikely you’d leave that outside, though, given this wasn’t the best area. It was sure to be stolen if left unattended. There really isn’t much separating the rooms from the parking lot and nearby street. The thought of you being here by yourself, practically out in the open, made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It wasn’t an ideal layout for privacy and protection if your dad wanted to find you and somehow managed to figure out where you were.

You haven’t responded to any of Joel’s most recent texts and calls. He dims his phone and sighs. A crack of thunder makes him flinch, drawing his attention to a dimly lit hallway he hadn’t noticed before. His insides get tight when he starts to wonder if you’d even gotten a room at all. What if you were just huddled up in some random hallway because you didn’t have enough money for a room?

That singular thought is all it takes to get him jumping out of his truck and making a beeline for the flickering hallway. The buzz of old vending machines grows louder as he approaches. A small figure stands in front of the machines, hugging tightly around their torso as they look over the offerings. The smaller frame skewed feminine in build, but it was far enough away that he couldn’t be certain. The last thing he wanted to do was give some poor, unsuspecting woman a scare.

Joel kept his distance and pretended to be on his phone, although he wasn’t even certain the person could see him from where he was loitering between a minivan and a tall truck. They seemed skittish and distracted as they grabbed their dispensed snack and scurried back across the parking lot. He wanted to yell out your name, just in case, but that would frighten the already jumpy person regardless of who it was. Thinking quickly, Joel pulled out his phone and tapped your contact icon. The figure paused just as they got to their door and tugged a glowing phone from their pocket. A quick tap and the screen went black – just as Joel’s did.

The figure slipped through the room door and quickly closed it behind them. It could’ve been a coincidence, but this was the closest thing to finding you that he’d come across all night. With a renewed determination, Joel strode quickly across the lot and towards the room.

The rain had finally let up enough for you to wander over to the vending machines. Your face – along with pretty much everything else – was still sore, but the bag of flavored popcorn you got was as soft a food as you could find to settle your gnawing stomach. You hadn’t eaten or drank much of anything due to the discomfort of moving your jaw and chewing. Your stomach gurgles on cue and reminds you that the tense ache crawling up the nape of your neck is probably going to get worse if you don’t get some water and food soon.

The bag slips from your hand at the first gentle knock on the door.

At first you thought you were hearing things, maybe from low blood sugar or lack of sleep over the past couple of days, but then a second firmer knock came. Your legs froze to the spot. How had your dad found you? What was he going to do? Were the people who’d been staying in the room next door still there? Would they be able to hear you if you called for help? You should’ve answered Joel’s call that just came through instead of hitting the decline button.

“Baby, it’s Joel. Are you in there? Sweetheart, if that’s you in there, please just let me talk to ya.”

A sharp gasp jerks your entire chest as it culls into your lungs. Without even thinking, your body propels itself towards the door and towards Joel – towards safety.

“Joel?” you ask in near disbelief. “Is it really you?”

“It’s me, sweetheart. Been lookin’ for you. Been worried sick,” comes the muffled response.

You begin unlocking the door but pause when you remember the current state of your swollen and bruised figure.

Misunderstanding your hesitance as not wanting to see him, he offers, “I know you want space, but… just-just a minute is all I’m askin’. Just give me five minutes and I’ll be outta your hair. I swear it.”

Your heart plummets to the floor knowing he believes you don’t want him here. “No, it’s not that. I want to let you in. It’s just….” You struggle to find the words. “Listen, I need you to close your eyes, okay? Promise me you’ll close your eyes and keep them shut the entire time.”

There’s a loaded silence on the other side of the door. You can only imagine the confusion of such a request, but you aren’t sure how else to go about this.

“I’ll keep ‘em shut. I won’t even touch you, baby. I swear I’ll keep my distance, okay? I swear it.”

“Okay. I’m– I’ll open up the door for you now, so close your eyes, okay?”

“They’re closed.”

You draw in a deep exhale and brace yourself for the interaction ahead. No more secrets. No more hiding. No more lying. You pull the door open and want to crumple into him right then and there. Big, broad, and safe. Waiting for you. Came looking for you even though it’d been storming for hours now.

You gingerly grasp his hand and lead him inside, shutting the door closed behind you. His nose wrinkles at the damp smell of the dingy room that you’ve become nose blind to at this point. You guide him to the edge of the bed where his knees hit and prompt him to sit. He reaches for your other hand and gently holds them in his own.

“Sorry. Know I’m not supposed’ta touch you. Just need to feel that you’re really here. Been worried about you.”

“That’s okay,” you whisper. “You can hold my hands. You can hold me. It’s okay.”

“How come I can hold you but I can’t see you?” he hedges.

“That’s… hard to answer.”

“Hm. Got anything to do with your room lookin’ like a bat flew outta hell?”

Your stomach clenches uncomfortably. “How do you know that?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “Went to check on you. Like I said, I got worried. Your dad answered the door and assumed I was there to get the rest of your things, which I did.”

“Did he… Did my dad say anything?”

“Nothin’ worth repeating,” he huffs humorlessly. “Just some shit about turnin’ your phone off. Told him if he ever wanted to talk to you he had to do it through me.”

“Y-You said that?”

“Yeah. I did. And I meant it.”

A velvety, piercing thread of emotion weaves around your ribcage at his words, and you’re overcome with the magnitude of just how much this man in front of you cares about you.

He shifts uncomfortably and clears his throat. “I really wanna see you, sweetheart. I wanna see you and hold you. I just need to hold you tight for a minute. Please.”

“Joel,”  you choke out in a flare of trepidation and warning of what happens once he sees you. “You have to promise me, Joel. You have to promise that you won’t have some big reaction. I really don’t think I could handle that right now.”

His brow crunches together like he’s recognizing that whatever he’s imagined is probably not bad enough. “I promise.”

“Okay,” you breathe. “You can– You can open your eyes.”

His lids barely flutter apart before his jaw sets hard, eyes going into a muted fury as he takes in your constellation of bruising and swelling. He dips his head and nods a few times as if he’s gathering himself, honoring your request that he not have some huge response.

“This happen a lot?” he grits in a low, dangerous tone.

You shrug and ignore the hot feeling growing behind your eyes. “Been a while since it was physical.”

“Is he–Did he–Did he touch you any other kind of way?” His question catches like it burned his throat on the way up. He looks up again, eyes boring into yours.

“No.” You shake your head and drop your gaze. “No, nothing like that. Just, uh, knocked me around a little. Shook me up to make a point, I guess.”

“Do you–Are you hurt?” He grimaces at his own inane question.

You shoot him a humorless smile and shrug your shoulders again. “Feel better than I did this morning, I guess.”

“Did you go anywhere? Were you seen by somebody? A doctor?” he presses.

You shake your head and squeeze his hands tighter. “No. Just, um, just came here right after. Got some ice from the machine in the lobby and got most of the swelling under control. Don’t think there’s anything so fucked up that I felt like it would justify a stupid expensive emergency room visit.”

“I’ll pay for it. I don’t care. Whatever it is, I’ll cover it.”

The impulse to reject his offer springs up, but you let the dismissal die on your tongue. If you wanted to honor this newfound trust in your relationship, you had to have the actions to back it up. You weren’t going to hide anymore. You weren’t going to ignore and rebuff ever offer to care for you. You weren’t going to weather the storm alone.

“Only if you’re, you know-only if you’re sure. If you want, we can go in the morning. I’ll go with you tomorrow. I, um, appreciate you offering to pay.”

He can’t conceal the brief astonishment of your amiable acceptance, and it quickly bleeds into elated relief. “Yeah, of course, sweetheart. Okay. Good. Yeah, we’ll go tomorrow and get you looked over. Make sure everything is okay.”

You lean into him, arms vining around his broad torso, and sink into the asylum of his embrace. “Can I stay with you tonight?” you whisper.

His body tenses as he pulls back to see your face, wearing an expression of confusion on his own. “What do you mean ‘stay for the night’? We’re goin’ home tonight, you and me. You understand what I’m sayin’?”

“Your home?”

“No. Our home,” he reasserts. “So let’s grab your stuff and get the hell outta here. Let’s go home.”

You bury your head in your hands in an effort to stimy the swell of emotion threatening to overcome you. He shushes and pries your defensive veil away, laying a tender path of small kisses along your forehead.

“None of that. Not anymore. No more hiding, okay?”

Your body mindlessly lists into his hold, and you allow some of your weight to shift to him. “Okay.”

It’s late enough into the night that the lobby isn’t busy, but that doesn’t stop Joel from constantly glancing up from his phone to make sure you’re alright. He closes out the text window to Sarah and opens up a new thread to Jasmine and Calum before sending them a quick update that he found you, you’re safe, and you’ll be with him. He hesitates to add anything more before discussing it with you first.

Now that he knows it’s you, he watches the skittish, hesitant way you move about. Hugging closer to yourself as you talk with the clerk who looks like the only thing of interest to her at the moment is ending the conversation as soon as possible so she can step outside for a cigarette. He can’t see your face, but just the way you hold yourself looks like some part of you has been extinguished. He hopes it’s just the stress and exhaustion from whatever happened between you and your dad and not something that has taken root in you and altered you. He doesn’t think he could forgive himself for not insisting to check on you sooner if that were the case.

The drive home is hushed and calm despite the frantic energy of relief flowing from you both. When he cuts the engine in the driveway, you reach out and stop him before he can get out.

“Hey,” you say softly. He stills and soaks up your tired, buoyed demeanor. “Thank you for coming to find me.”

He swallows hard and nods, thumb smoothing over your fingers in gentle, tentative strokes. “Thank you for lettin’ me in.”

You both know he doesn’t just mean through the motel door.

“I know it ain’t easy,” he adds in a hush.

You dip your head in quiet agreement. “It’s not. But sometimes it’s easier than others, you know? If it’s–If it’s the right person.”

He brings your hand to his lips and presses a chaste kiss there. “I do.”

He studies you for another moment and nods. “Let’s get you inside so I can get some food in you.”

You don’t say anything about the black bags full of your things scattered about the living room, but he wishes he’d taken a few seconds more to make it look less chaotic. He wishes he knew how to explain to you that sharing a home is something he would choose and isn’t just something that happened as a result of misfortune in your life. He’d choose you a thousand times over, any day of the week.

He subdues his reaction when you tell him the softer the food the better because of your injured jaw and face. He whips up some scrambled eggs and sliced banana and even cooks another egg when you’re still hungry. You have an odd look on your face when he takes the dirty dishes to the sink, leaving them to be scrubbed clean in the morning when you’ve both had some rest.

When you’ve made it to the upstairs hallway, the look on your face when he offers you the guest bedroom is almost comical. “Just wanna make it clear you’re not, you know, obligated to, uh, to stay in my bed with me,” he explains. Your face softens as you insist that you absolutely want to stay with him. He tries to not let on how elated he is to hear that. He rifles through the medicine cabinet and makes you take something for the pain and the swelling.

“Do you think I could get a quick shower? I just– I feel so gross, actually. I didn’t really notice in the motel, but I think between the state of the room and the lack of food I didn’t really notice.”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

He shows you his setup in the main bath and grabs fresh towels and washcloths. His heart pinches when you wince trying to get undressed. 

“Do you mind?” you ask and gesture to the hoodie engulfing you.

He crouches down to shimmy it from the bottom up even though his knees scream in protest. While you work the top half, he helps you out of your pants and panties. He has to fight back all the anger ballooning at the sight of your body covered in red marks and bruising. He heaves a sigh and stands again, only to freeze when he sees the telltale maroon ring of clenched hands around your neck.

“Did he fuckin’–” he cuts himself short and turns his head away until he can regain his composure. “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him if I ever see him again.”

“Joel,” you caution – a soft reminder that a hostile reaction, even if it’s not directed at you, is not what you need right now.

His hands are pinned to his hips as he paces around the bathroom trying to reign in his disgust and anger for your father. He shakes his head and wipes his brow, pinching the bridge of his nose while he takes deep breaths. He’s brought back to reality and what should be his focus when he hears the water start up.

“Sorry, baby. M’sorry, I got beside myself for a minute there,” he atones. “Here, lemme get you situated.”

He adjusts the controls until a pleasantly warm spray is falling into the stall. You take his hand when you enter and let out a small, placid sigh at the soothing water. He helps get you washed up, making sure to be extra delicate around all the injured swaths on your body. You sway contentedly under his care and the warmth of the shower, and it nearly makes him misty eyed that you’re trusting him with this.

You appear to be slipping into a relaxed state when you tilt your head and get an unexpected spray of water into your mouth and nose. Joel isn’t sure if it was just the surprise of it or if it actually stung your nostrils, but your reaction is borderline panicked over it.

“Hey, whoa whoa.”

“Sorry. Sorry,” you sputter, eyes clenched shut. “Just got freaked out for a second. Sorry.”

Something in the distressed bend of your words gives him pause. “Tell me what I need to change. I want you to be comfortable. Is the spray too strong? Do you want me to adjust it?”

You shake your head, fat drops of water falling from your face and blending in with tears that have finally broken free from the edge of your lashes. You sniff loudly and turn your face away, and that’s when realization hits Joel like a ton of bricks.

“What the fuck did he do to you, baby?” He can’t begin to imagine what on earth that monster did to have you go from such a peaceful spot into full blown panic.

“I don’t want to say. It’s just gonna upset you.”

“You can tell me. You can tell me anything. I won’t get upset with you. I won’t get upset. You can tell me,” he insists.

Your wet, wide eyes slide over to meet his, and thankfully whatever you see makes you feel safe enough to voice it.

“Part of our… argument,” you begin in a shaky breath, “was by the kitchen sink.”

His eyes narrow slightly at the fear creeping into your voice, and a bad feeling starts brewing in his gut. He thinks back to a little earlier when your expression was indiscernible as he cleared the dishes.

“It was so scary, Joel,” you whisper, barely audible above the sound of the streaming water.

“Tell me. You can tell me.” He cups a hand along your jaw and strokes the purple and green patches of your skin with his thumb.

“He kept… He was holding me under the water. In the sink. Where I had been doing the dishes,” you choke out.

“Jesus christ,” he heaves, wrapping his arms around your dripping wet body and drawing you into a gentle hold.

“I thought he was going to drown me,” you sob.

“You’re safe now, sweetheart. You’re safe, you’re safe,” he repeats in a calming chant. “He’s not gonna get to you ever again, you hear me? You never have to be afraid of that again.”

Joel’s shirt and one leg of his pants are completely soaked by the time he manages to calm you down. He guides you out of the shower, towel dries you, dresses you in an old, soft t-shirt and pair of boxers, brushes your teeth, and gets you snuggled into bed. That same sense of gratitude of you letting him help you washes over him as you cuddle into and sniff his comforter, whining softly like a tired little kitten in need of a midday nap.

He makes quick work of peeling the wet clothes from his skin, brushing his teeth, and crawling into bed. He’s dead tired and realizes a moment too late that he’s gotten into bed completely naked. Any indication that you’re offended or think he’s trying to put a move on you now of all times goes out the window when your eyes flutter open and you pull him closer.

“You’re so warm,” you mumble sleepily into his shoulder.

He breathes a little laugh from his nose at how precious you are. “Go to sleep. We can talk more in the morning.”

“M’kay,” you slur back. You flatten your bodies together, arms wrapped around his middle, and start to drift off.

Joel watches you and strokes your cheek until you’re asleep. He tries to not stew in the hatred and rage he feels for what your dad did to you. It’s probably for the best that he didn’t know the full extent of the situation when he went to your house and collected your things. He’d have beaten him to a pulp, if not worse.

His stomach felt rancid at the fleeting relief it had been to hear that the brutalization hadn’t gone past physical assault. And to think you’d phrased this as “a little knocking around” in the grand scheme of things. It made him nauseous to entertain the reality of what you’ve been living with all these months. No, years.

Joel wanted to kick himself for asking such a stupid question in the motel: are you hurt? Of course you’re hurt. How could you not be with all the nasty purpling patches blending into bits of puffed flesh that hadn’t fully recovered from the swelling? How could you possibly be okay after fleeing your own home in the middle of the night just to avoid another violent attack by your own father? After he toyed with the idea of killing you?

Guilt clung to Joel like a too tight second skin. He could’ve done something if he’d known. He could’ve gotten you out of this situation, helped you avoid it altogether, if only he’d just pushed for you to tell him the truth. If only he’d shown you or proved somehow that you could trust him. He watches your eyes dance behind your lids, and he prays your dreams are peaceful.

“I’m never gonna let him hurt you again. You’re never gonna be hurt like that ever again. I won’t let it happen. You’re safe with me,” he whispers into your ear. “I love you.”

He kisses your temple softly and pulls you into the cocoon of his arms. You can’t hear him, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not a promise that can be kept without action, and he intends to show you he will keep it until the day he dies.

It’s the heat bordering on furnace that stirs you. Soft little breaths from Joel’s open mouth puff against your forehead. Your eyes droop a little, the cradle of his body so intoxicating that it practically lures you back to sleep. Warmth engulfs you in an entirely different way now, waking up in a safe place with a sanctuary of a person. Even through your muddled mind, you know you’ve never experienced this before in such a profound way.

The loud gurgle of your stomach wakes him with an amused, confused smile.

“Mmmm sounds like somebody needs suh’more eggs,” he gently teases.

“That actually sounds good,” you admit.

His eyes peel open at that, and his grin broadens. “Yeah? You gonna let me cook ya somethin’?”

“Yeah.” You nibble your bottom lip in a shy grin and immediately wince at the sensitivity of your teeth against your healing split lip.

“Careful, baby,” he cautions with a pinched brow. He runs his thumb tenderly against your lip and presses a small kiss there.

You nod an acknowledgement and snuggle your face into his chest, fingers grazing through the little gray and brown bits of hair in the middle of it. “What time is it?”

“Don’t matter. You don’t worry about what time it is or what day it is or any of that. You just focus on relaxing and feelin’ better.”

You snort at his cliche girl dad answer and throw him a sarcastic “sir, yes, sir” for good measure. His eyes brighten at the first bit of genuine levity you’ve shown since he found you at the motel.

“We’ll get you somethin’ to eat and then get you checked out by a doc, okay?”

You remember last night’s promise to be seen by a medical provider and groan. “Alright,” you concede with a sigh.

“That’s my girl,” he beams.

Just as he had offered, Joel whips up some scrambled eggs, bacon, and sliced banana for the both of you. You busy yourself with finding something comfortable to wear and get dressed. Breakfast is a quiet affair with Joel spending most of it fussing over you. He makes you take another pill for the pain and swelling. He sets you up in the living room to finish your water and juice without any explanation, although the clinking of dishes from the kitchen gives you a pretty decent guess that he wanted you away from the potential trigger of it.

You don’t ask where he’s taking you to be seen. You trust him to make that decision for you, even if it’s a bit nerve wracking to relinquish that sort of control. He pulls into a mostly empty lot next to a newer looking building with a large sign that reads CORBITT HEALTH SYSTEMS URGENT CARE. The woman at the patient intake station looks warily between your appearance and Joel’s contrasting broad, strong frame. It hadn’t occurred to you until this moment that people were going to assume he had done this to you. Joel shouldering any of the blame for your current state made you sick to your stomach.

“Can my friend come back with me? To help me?” you blurt out in some effort to absolve him of the unmerited charge.

She doesn’t look entirely convinced, but she doesn’t eye him as coldly now that you’ve insinuated this isn’t a significant other. “Sure. Assuming you don’t have any life threatening medical concerns, fill this out and get it back to me.”

You try to concentrate on the form, but it hurts to pinch your fingers tight enough to hold the pen. Joel wordlessly takes the clipboard and pen from you and quietly fills out what he can while you supply him with the rest. He turns the clipboard in for you, and it’s soon after that you’re called back. The series of waiting rooms is making you anxious, but at least there’s two chairs side by side so you don’t have to hoist yourself up onto that crinkly papered examination table.

“Thought she was gonna set me on fire with some telepathic brain powers,” he chuckles low and quiet. He jerks his head back towards the direction of the main waiting area.

“I hate that she assumed you did this,” you huff.

“Can’t really blame her, though, to be fair.” He shrugs it off, considerate to almost a fault. “It’s kinda the norm for the asshole who did it bein’ the same one breathin’ down your neck so you can’t talk to anybody in private.”

“But you didn’t do it,” you protest, growing more and more irritated at the idea of him bearing the brunt of responsibility for this.

“No, I didn’t,” he agrees softly. “And you’re never gonna go through anything like that ever again.”

His hand finds yours and gives it a gentle squeeze.

“You’re really gunning for Boyfriend of the Century Award, you know that?” you tease.

A loose, jubilant smile spreads across his mouth.

“What?” you ask. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“‘Boyfriend’, huh?” he repeats with a practically beatific glow.

“Oh,” you exhale in a laugh. “Uh. Yeah. I mean, if that’s… okay with you? We don’t have to do names or anything. I didn’t think when I– it just came out.”

He snorts and shakes his head, dipping to press his mouth faintly against yours. “More’n okay with me, sweetheart.”

You don’t know what you ever did to deserve this man. The memory of you telling Joel you didn’t need him or anybody else echoes like a ghost in your mind. 

“Joel?”

“Yeah?”

“I-I don’t think I’m too good for help from people.” You shift awkwardly in your seat but hold yourself to be present in the conversation. “I know I need your help.”

“Where’s this comin’ from?” “I just.. when we had that fight, and I said I didn’t need anybody… It’s not true. I need you. I want you, and I need you in my life.”

“That makes two of us.” He raises your hand to his lips and plants tiny pecks on each knuckle. You turn your hand to cradle his jaw and lean forward.

“I was scared. I was so scared you were going to find out and then leave like everybody else.”

He rests his hand atop yours and bends his head to kiss your wrist, working his way up your arm as far as your sleeve will allow. “Not gonna happen,” he says plainly. “I’m not goin’ anywhere unless you’re comin’ with me.”

Before you can get too caught up in his declaration of commitment, a quick knock at the door signals it’s your turn to be seen. At one point during the appointment, the provider informs you some tests will need to be conducted to make sure there’s no internal injuries, and you both leave Joel to sit in the room while they guide you into the hallway towards the bathrooms to start with a urine test. You round the corner with them but stop short of the restrooms when they turn to face you and speak in a low tone.

“I wanted to speak with you privately,” they inform you. “Is the person who gave you these injuries here with you today?”

The question rattles you more than you expected. You certainly hadn’t anticipated the topic to come up in the middle of the hallway between rooms. There it was again – that assumption of Joel being your abuser. You do your best to hide your irritation. You know they’re simply doing their job. When you don’t answer, they rephrase it.

“Do you have any concerns leaving with the person accompanying you today?”

You shake your head, too nervous you’ll snap at them for accusing Joel. He didn’t deserve this. Every part of you knows this person is just doing their due diligence, but Joel didn’t deserve to be viewed as some abusive scumbag.

Your patience wears thin after the third delicately worded question regarding your current safety with Joel. “He wasn’t the one that did this,” you snip. “If you really need to know that bad, it was my dad, alright? Joel made sure I don’t have to go back, so can you please stop acting like he’s the fucking monster here?”

Their eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but they quickly fix their expression to the placid, neutral one from before. “Ma’am, I really intended no offense with my question. Our goal is to make sure you are not in immediate danger. We have resources like emergency housing or crisis intervention for people in those situations, and it is my duty to you as my patient to determine whether or not those resources would be helpful to you,” they explain calmly.

You sigh a long exhale and shut your eyes. “Sorry,” you mumble. “I-I know you’re just trying to do your job. I appreciate it. I do.”

They accept your awkward apology and move on with the appointment. You end up actually having to pee into a cup as well as go through some imaging to check for breaks or concussions and everything in between. When you finally wind up back to your room, you tell Joel what the practitioner had said to you in the hallway. He of course lauds the artful intervention – “that’s actually so smart because it doesn’t raise any suspicion from whoever is here with you.”

It turns out you’ve got a fractured nose that needed to be aligned and packed, but it should heal without any need for surgical intervention. With your nose splint in place and prescription for pain medication in hand, you and Joel stop by the checkout desk. You grimace at the paperwork the woman slides over to Joel. You don’t even want to think about how much today cost you. Well, how much it cost Joel. You probably couldn’t even begin to cover the cost of it. The topic of medical bills whips your brain into an alarming train of thought.

“Joel.”

“Yeah? What’s wrong?” He stops midway through opening the truck door for you.

“We need to go to the bank,” you practically choke out.

His expression hardens in understanding. Your joint account. The one your dad’s email is linked to that you don’t even have the password to. The one you can’t close without both parties consenting but either party can withdraw any amount at will. 

The drive there is tense and quiet. The woman at the teller window nearly gets a verbal lashing from you when she glances hesitantly between you and Joel, doing the exact same thing the patient intake woman had done at the urgent care. Thankfully Joel ushers you off to the side before you can give her a piece of your mind. A different woman comes round with a dubious glance at Joel and leads you both to her office.

Your heart lurches as you force yourself to calmly and politely explain that you need to access your account and transfer the money into a new, single user account. Her fingernails clack loudly on the keyboard, her mouth drawing up to a worried pout.

“Was this something you and the joint account holder had discussed?” she wonders aloud with a tone that doesn’t sound very promising for you.

“No,” you answer flatly. “Is there a problem? I thought I could transfer the money without his authorization?”

“Well, yes, you could.” She fidgets in her seat nervously and folds her hands on the desk before leveling you with an uneasy look. “I asked because I assumed there must have been some previous discussion with perhaps a … miscommunication between the two of you about who would be initiating that action.” You stare blankly at her, not grasping what she’s trying to explain, but you don’t have time for her to dance around the subject. “Look, I’m not trying to be rude, but—”

She glances Joel’s direction like she’s looking for someone to help her out. You turn to see his face pulled into a stony frown.

“So he already transferred it to his personal account,” he grits.

“Ah, yes, that would–ahem–that would be correct,” she confirms.

All the blood drains from your face as it dawns on you. Your dad got here first. He drained your account. The only money you have to your name is what you were able to hide in the vents and escape with. You’re aware that Joel has continued the conversation, but you don’t make any of it out. Everything sounds and feels like you're underwater.

His warm hand covers yours, a reassuring stroke of his thumb against your trembling fingers. “I’m gonna get this paperwork started for your new account, okay?” You blink a few times and realize he’s been given the document for you to open your own account. It seems silly to open an account when you’ve got no money to put into it, but Joel doesn’t seem deterred by this distressing turn of events.

You give a jerky nod and take a deep breath. “Okay.”

It was hard to see this dismal end of a situation as the new life chapter that it was, but as you watched Joel scribble his address – your address now, too – into the banking form for a new account, you at least knew wherever you were headed with him was better than what you were leaving behind.

Thank you all so much for your patience on this one. It was a tough chapter to write, but I'm really proud of myself for sticking with it until I worked through it. Thank you all so much for reading!

If you or someone you know is experiencing domestic abuse, the National Domestic Violence Hotline has a 24/7 hotline that can be reached at 1-800-799-SAFE (7233). There are also chat and text options available through the site.

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Bar Realizations

Charles Xavier x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut

a/n: I’ve had this story in my notes drafts for a hot minute but I never posted it but now I feel like I should.

ALSO!!! I HAVE TO START A NEW F1 &F2 MASTERLIST SO BE ON THE LOOKOUT FOR THAT!!!!

Follow my instagram account (THATS STRICTLY FOR THIS BLOG) for updates on when i post and fun stuff like that!

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Marvel Masterlist

I had always known I was different. From the time I was little, strange things happened around me. Objects moved without cause, emotions surged uncontrollably, and the whispers in my head never ceased. When I discovered the full extent of my powers, I knew I needed help—someone who could guide me. That's when I met Charles Xavier.

He was young, kind, and immensely powerful. His ability to control and influence minds was unparalleled, but it was his patience and understanding that drew me in. He offered to help me harness my abilities, and I accepted, desperate to gain control over the chaos within me.

The process was grueling. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, filled with intense training sessions, meditation, and mental exercises. There were moments when I wanted to give up, when the weight of my powers felt too heavy to bear. But Charles was always there, encouraging me, pushing me to my limits, and teaching me to master my abilities. Over time, our relationship deepened. I found myself drawn to him, not just because he was my mentor, but because of who he was—compassionate, intelligent, and incredibly attractive.

One evening, after a particularly challenging session, Charles suggested we take a break. “How about we go out for drinks? Just the two of us,” he said, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief.

My heart skipped a beat. Was this a date? Did he feel the same way about me as I did about him? Trying to contain my excitement, I agreed, and we made our way to a cozy bar in town.

The atmosphere was perfect—dim lights, soft music, and a sense of intimacy that made my pulse quicken. We sat at a corner table, and for a while, everything felt perfect. We laughed, talked about everything and nothing, and I felt closer to him than ever before.

But then, she appeared. A tall, confident blonde with a predatory smile. She sauntered over to our table and immediately latched onto Charles, ignoring my presence entirely. “Hey, handsome,” she purred, placing a hand on his arm. “Mind if I join you?”

Charles tried to gently extricate himself from her grasp. “Actually, we’re on a date,” he said, nodding towards me.

The blonde glanced at me and scoffed. “Yeah, right. Like he’d ever go out with you.”

The words stung, and anger flared within me. How dare she dismiss me so easily? I felt a surge of energy, the familiar tingle of my powers awakening. Discreetly, I focused on her, channeling my emotions into a subtle spell. Suddenly, the blonde started babbling, spilling embarrassing secrets about herself.

“I can't believe I lost my job today,” she blurted out, her eyes wide with horror. “And my ex dumped me because I cheated on him. Oh my god, why am I saying this?”

She turned and fled, humiliated, leaving Charles and me alone once more. I felt a pang of satisfaction, but it was short-lived. Charles turned to me, his expression serious.

“Did you use your powers?” he asked quietly.

Guilt washed over me, and I nodded. “I’m sorry. I just... I don’t know. I felt jealous, possessive. I wanted you all to myself.”

Charles sighed and suggested we head back to the school. The drive back was silent, the weight of my actions pressing down on me. Had I ruined everything? As we pulled up to the mansion, I couldn’t bear the silence any longer.

“Charles, I’m sorry,” I said, my voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to lose control. I just... I care about you so much, and seeing her with you made me feel... threatened.”

He remained silent, his face unreadable. As we entered the mansion, I turned to head to my room, wanting to escape the shame and disappointment I felt.

But then, I heard his voice in my mind. “Y/N, I’m not mad or disappointed. In fact, I’m feeling quite the opposite. That was the hottest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

I stopped in my tracks, my heart racing. Turning around, I saw him standing there, a faint smile playing on his lips. Before I knew it, Charles closed the distance between us, his lips crushing against mine in a passionate kiss.

My body responded immediately to his touch, my desire for him igniting like wildfire. I moaned into his mouth, my hands roaming over his strong chest as I returned his kiss eagerly. Charles' taste and touch were addictive, and I already knew I would never get enough of him.

Guided by pure instinct, Charles backed me up against a wall, his lips never leaving mine as he reached behind me to open a nearby door. Still kissing me deeply, he backed us into his bedroom, our mouths fused together.

Breaking the kiss briefly, Charles growled softly, his breath hot against my ear, "Get on the bed, baby." His voice was thick with desire, and I felt my core clench at the commanding tone he was taking with me. I wanted him to take control, to show me just how much he wanted me.

I did exactly as I was told, my heart pounding in my chest as I climbed onto the bed and looked up at Charles expectantly. He reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head and discarding it, revealing his muscled chest and abs.

My mouth watered at the sight, my eyes roaming over his defined body as I licked her lips subconsciously.

Charles kicked off his shoes and undid his jeans, pushing them down along with his boxers, his hard length springing free. Pre-cum glistened at the tip, and my pussy clenched at the sight, my own clothes feeling too tight and restricting.

"Take your clothes off for me, baby," Charles demanded, his voice hoarse as he watched her intently. "Show me that beautiful body."

I sat up, my hands shaking slightly as I lifted my top over my head, revealing my lace bra and the swell of my breasts. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my jeans, shimmying out of them, and then slowly stepped out of my panties, now completely naked and on display for Charles.

He groaned, his eyes raking over my body, taking in my breasts and smooth pussy. "You're fucking gorgeous, you know that?" He took a step closer, reaching out to trail a finger along my inner thigh, his touch sending shivers through me.

"Charles..." I whimpered, my voice filled with need. I had spread my legs slightly, inviting him to touch me where I wanted and needed it the most.

As if reading my mind, Charles smiled wickedly, lowering himself between my thighs. He nuzzled my creamy thighs with his face, placing soft kisses along my sensitive skin as he made his way closer to my core.

I sighed, my hands threading through his hair as I savored the feel of his lips and tongue on my skin.

"Mmm, you taste so sweet," Charles murmured against my pussy, his warm breath teasing me. He kissed my inner thighs again before finally zeroing in on my center, his tongue snaking out to lick a long, slow stripe along my slit.

I cried out, my hips bucking involuntarily as I felt his tongue swipe through my folds, collecting my essence. "Oh God, Charles!"

Encouraged by my reaction, Charles gently gripped my thighs, spreading me open further to give him better access. He swirled his tongue around my clit before sucking it into his mouth, flicking it with the tip of his tongue. At the same time, he inserted two fingers into my dripping core, curling them just right to hit that sweet spot inside me.

"Fuck, yes!" I moaned, my body writhing on the bed as Charles ate me out with skill and enthusiasm.

My hands grasped the bedsheets as she surrendered to the waves of pleasure washing over me. Charles devoured me eagerly, clearly enjoying the sweet nectar I was offering him.

It didn't take long for me to climax, my walls clenching around Charles' fingers as I cried out his name.

Charles hummed in satisfaction, licking and lapping up my juices as I rode out my orgasm. But he didn't stop there, continuing to work his magic with his tongue and fingers until I was trembling with sensitivity.

"Please... I can't take any more," I panted, my body still throbbing from the intense orgasms. "I need to taste you now."

With a grin, Charles withdrew his fingers and tongue, giving me a moment to catch my breath. Then he climbed up the bed, positioning himself above me. I reached for his throbbing cock, wrapping my hand around the shaft and stroking him slowly as I guided him to my waiting mouth.

I swirled my tongue around the engorged head, tasting the salty pre-cum before taking him deep into my mouth. Charles hissed, his hips bucking slightly as he threaded his fingers through my hair, gently guiding me as I sucked him off.

I took my time, swirling my tongue around his length, sucking and bobbing my head as I looked up at him through my lashes. I loved the power I felt in this position, knowing that I could bring this strong, powerful mutant to his knees with just my mouth.

"Fuck, Y/N... that feels so good," Charles groaned, his hips picking up a slight rhythm as he gently fucked my face.

I hummed in response, the vibration making Charles grit his teeth. He couldn't hold back anymore; he wanted to feel the tight heat of my mouth around him as he came. With a low growl, he began to thrust into my mouth, his pace quickening as he chased his release.

"Fuck my face, Charles," I moaned, loving the feel of his hard length sliding between my lips. "Cum for me."

my dirty words sent Charles over the edge, and with a hoarse cry, he spilled down my throat, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself into my eager mouth.

I savored the taste of him, swallowing every drop he gave me as he rode out his intense orgasm.

We lay together for a moment, catching our breath, before Charles gently withdrew from her mouth, a satisfied smile on his face. "You are amazing, baby."

The comment made me blush, a happy warmth spreading through me as I reached up to kiss him. "Your turn to lay back and enjoy the ride."

With a twinkle in his eye, Charles lay back on the bed, his hard cock standing proud as he watched me straddle him. I smiled wickedly, reaching for a condom from the bedside drawer before rolling it onto him with ease.

I took my time, rubbing my slick folds against his length as I teased us both. Charles hissed, his hips bucking slightly as he tried to urge me down onto him. "Tease," he accused playfully, reaching up to tweak my nipples, making me gasp.

"Impatient," I retorted, aligning myself with him before slowly sinking down, taking him deep inside me. We both groaned, I threw my head back as I savored the feel of him stretching me.

Charles' hands gripped my hips, guiding me as I began to ride him, my tits bouncing with each bounce.

The sound of our skin slapping together filled the room as I picked up the pace, my hips moving in perfect rhythm. Charles thrust up to meet me, his hands squeezing the flesh of my ass as he helped to guide me onto him.

"You feel so good, baby," Charles panted, his eyes closed in ecstasy. "So wet and tight."

I moaned, my head falling forward as I got lost in the sensations. Charles' cock hit all the right spots inside me, and I could feel my orgasm building already.

Reaching between us, I started to rub my clit in tight circles as I rode him harder, my breath coming in short gasps. "Oh, fuck... I'm gonna cum, Charles."

"Cum for me, baby," Charles urged, his voice thick with his own desire. "Let me feel you squeeze my cock with that tight pussy."

As if on cue, my walls clenched around him, my juices flowing as I cried out his name. Charles groaned, his hips snapping up to meet mine as he thrust into me one last time, spilling himself into the condom.

Our bodies shuddered together as we rode out our intense, mutual orgasm.

Collapsing onto his chest, I felt Charles' arms wrap around me, holding me close. We were both sweaty and sticky, but the post-coital glow and the feeling of satisfaction made it all worth it.

"That was incredible," I murmured, placing a soft kiss on his chest.

Charles smiled, his hand gently tracing invisible circles on my back. "It certainly was. But we're not done yet."

I lifted my head to look at him, a mischievous glint in my eye. "Oh, really? And what did you have in mind?"

Charles' gaze darkened with desire. "I want to try something different. Something a little wilder."

Intrigued, I bit my lip. "Like what?"

Charles rolled them over, pressing a kiss to my neck. "You'll see," he whispered, his hand reaching down to stroke my slick folds. "But first, I want to taste you again."

————

My first Marvel story!!!!

Taglist:

@hiireadstuff @dark-night-sky-99 @rougekiki @dhanihamidi @eddieharrington @tallrock35

[tinytennisskirt]

Rematch

ex situationship patrick x reader

summary: you and patrick used to be the epitome of casual. aside from a few things... he was cheating on his girlfriend with you and all you could do from then on was hate him. eight years later, you work together. you're forced to share transportation and stay at the same hotels. The close proximity isn't much good for two people who have gotten by on avoidance. And it only becomes harder to avoid certain words. and certain actions.

warnings: smut! mentions of sex, unprotected sex. enemies to lovers- hateful words, slight miscommunication (through hating so much), a lot of swearing. somewhat edited...

“You’re hitting on my sister?” You said, overhearing him as you approached the outside gate of the tennis court. You walked over, knocking Patrick in the chest with your racket. That sly son of a bitch didn’t budge an inch. “You know she’s only nineteen? And she’s a fucking lesbian you absolute idiot.” You followed up. He just grinned. 

“I didn’t know she was any of those things,” he shrugged, hands up in surrender. “You don’t look alike. She’s actually pretty.” 

You rolled your eyes. You knew he didn’t mean what he said but still said it. “Fuck you, Zweig.”

“You used to like that, you know,” he said, grin widening to something evil. You didn’t know how he could stand in front of you and say the stupid shit he was saying, seemingly unabashed. 

“That’s enough,” your sister said to both you and him. Your racket didn’t waiver from the place it rested against his chest. You kept that warning in your eyes. “Y/N, he didn’t know. And he wasn’t inappropriate. He just said my swing was good with a weird tone.” 

“Weird tone?” Patrick repeated.

You smiled just a bit at that. “It’s better than good. You know- you are the same guy you were eight years ago somehow. Grow up and go away, Zweig,” you said, glaring at Patrick. And to think you were the sweet one in your family. It was all fun and tennis until Patrick was around. He wasn’t exactly an ex, but someone who frequented the bed in your dorm room eight years ago at Stanford. He was a drug of choice, a situational type of person who when visiting his friend Art Donaldson, would also visit you, a few dorms down. 

It was hot. He’d be sneaking around with you at parties, finding unoccupied rooms to kiss you with a force that usually winded you, wide hands on your waist, holding you close against a wall, a door, and sometimes the floor. If he saw you in the cafeteria all it took was a glance at you to communicate exactly which stall in the bathroom to meet him in while he excused himself from Art and Tashi Duncan. He’d be in your room late at night making you finish in three different ways and walking back to his friend’s room at four in the morning. 

Sometimes you’d make out for hours on end with only touching, but all of it, every action, every trace of his finger, every word was all traced with lust. Sometimes you swore he liked you, lingering after you both had finished, still grazing his hands over the curve of your hip, kissing your forehead, tucking your hair behind your ear… It was supposed to be casual, you reminded yourself. He was too attached. 

The funny thing was, you’d been in Stanford tennis too, a hometown prodigy with a father successful in the tennis world. Tashi called nepotism and you never got along, but you and Tashi never hated each other more when she found out you were fucking her boyfriend. If you had known you wouldn’t have been doing it, but the damage was done and there was no apology for a girl who fucked her knee up after a big fight with Patrick. No apology could include the extent of how sorry you were without telling her what for. 

And you met with Patrick just to yell at him. He was a shitty person with shitty morals and you made sure he knew that. And even in all the yelling, you still fucked him in your car. But that was the last time. The second your lips disconnected for the last time, it was supposed to be the last time you spoke to him. And it was simple. “Fuck you. You’re an asshole, I never want to see you again.” His eyebrows furrowed as you collected your clothes and disappeared back home. 

It went well, not seeing him again. He stopped visiting his friend who had sided with Tashi, he had no reason to come around. But he picked up a job coaching in the area you moved to seven years later. Your boss was a powerful woman and the pay was amazing, so Patrick became your coworker and you put up with that. And it was awful, but you scheduled yourself away from him and your paths only crossed at meetings and maybe once every few months, but it was still too much. You made do with the few words you had to give him, but other than that you stayed far away, and rightfully so. The only conversations you’d had in all of the year you’d been around him again were easy jabs, quips, argumentative things. But for the sake of your job, it didn’t go farther than easy insults. You still hated him for what he did, for how he used you when he was seeing Tashi. For how he treated you when he had a whole girlfriend waiting for him after hours. You weren’t proud of what you did and he was just a living reminder of something that haunted you. 

He was this adult douchebag-type now- you swore you saw him with two different women at the cafe you passed on your way to work. You could mind your business, but it was fucked to know he hadn’t changed. Eight years and no change. So yeah, Patrick talking to your sister, granted- step-sister, was something you had to nip in the bud. 

Patrick nodded, his jaw tensing. “Your sister here is my student today.” He said, gesturing to the split court. Sometimes split courts happened, but you’d only been paired with him on one once. “The list here says so.” He uncrumpled a piece of paper from his pocket and pointed at her name. 

“So you’ll switch me. Easy,” You stated, trying all you could not to hit him with another insult. Your sister picked up her rackets, moving to your side so Patrick didn’t have a say. It was your turn to smile. “You’re lucky I don’t fucking report you.” You added. 

“You’d miss having me around too much, I don’t think you have it in you,” He replied. 

You narrowed your eyes, “Get a grip.” You said, turning away from him. You heard his low chuckle as he called your student over. You rubbed your face while you walked to the other side, trying to wipe away the feeling you’d lost brain cells just talking to him. This was why you didn’t engage with him- it never went well. “Sorry.” You apologized to your sister. 

“It’s fine, honestly. He’s such a dick.” 

“I know,” you sighed. “I’m unfortunately cursed with knowing when Patrick has the intention to flirt. He’s fucking obvious.” You said, grabbing a ball. 

Your sister laughed. “He was coming on a little weird. To be fair I think he thought I was some random girl outside the court. But this is why I don’t date men.” 

You were glad you didn’t have to see him for another two months. You continued to train your sister as the other girls you were training had all fallen off. Your company made sure to only train the most competitive of girls and that was your sister for sure. She was amazing- not better than you- but amazing. When the time came for another Junior US Open, she was the perfect candidate for it. Your company, your boss, she usually sent two, booked them and their trainer a room at an amazing nearby hotel, paid for travel and food and gave a spending bonus for the hard work and you were hoping to god that it was your sister. You’d lost the Junior US Open to a twisted ankle- and Tashi Duncan and it would be amazing to see your sister go and win. 

She had worked so hard for it. And finally, your boss called all the trainers in for a meeting. There were ten of you, some with two students, most with only one, but you all sat in the fluorescent-lit room in front of the projector that projected the logo of the company on the white wall. Your boss thanked you all for coming and congratulated all of you on all your amazing seasons and work coaching the students. Talking about the best of the best. Eventually came to the portion where she would name the two students who were going to the open, the two that were going on the trip. 

And she said your sister's name. Your chest filled with excitement and happiness and pride and obviously you had to contain it. You were going back to the Junior US Open, it was an amazing way to get her name out there as a player and make everything all worthwhile. You started thinking up creative ways to tell her, thinking about the company limo on the way up, thinking about how to increase training all crossing your mind. “-And Simon Abernathy.” She added. For the boy's division. His name was familiar. 

And it was no wonder. Patrick clapped once out of success and you felt your eye twitch just a bit. It was his student, it was Patrick’s student, which meant you’d be with him this entire trip. He would be one of the only people you knew out that way- and it would be just him, you, and your students. There was only one word and it slipped out of your mouth quietly enough to go unnoticed. “Fuck.” You avoided Patrick’s gaze, but you just knew he had that big stupid grin on his face. 

When the car pulled up outside of your apartment, you insisted on putting your own bag in the trunk. It was just how you were. You were first to be picked up and it was always fun to be in a limo. A road trip was still a road trip, two days to be specific and it would have been something to look forward to if it wasn’t for him. Thank god you picked up your sister next, then Simon, then Patrick. You and your sister were far too engaged in your conversation to think about the boys on the other end. You talked about training, and game day, and you went over what it was like when you competed. 

The day passed by, book in hand, iPod on, and earbuds plugged in. You stopped once for lunch and another for gas but at the end of the night you were at a nice motel. Nothing like the motels you knew when you were in the Junior Open. In this motel, everything worked properly, smelled nice, and was actually clean. Patrick, unloading his bag for the night passed you yours and you said the only word you’d said to him all day- “Thanks.”

You and your sister hung out in your motel room, two-bed, talking about the day. She lay like a starfish on her bed, but she rolled over to face you as you pulled on your pajama shirt. “You never told me why you hate Patrick so much.” She said, eyes wide. You just groaned and rolled onto your back. “Come on. You obviously know each other from something.” 

“I will be so honest with you, I am too tired to get into it,” You said. “I just… ugh.” 

“It’s fine- like you don’t have to give me all the details, I just want to know why.” She replied, moving to sit on the edge of your bed. “You guys dated, right?” 

You covered your face, “Not exactly.” 

“Okay, so? What happened? I’m nineteen, Y/N, come on.” 

You hated talking about it, you hated admitting it. Knowing that he was one of the few men in the world to ever touch you but the only one who had left impact, left you wanting in his wake, the only one to make you finish… It was crazy, it was despicable. You hated remembering it had only ever been him to touch you right. And now you were admitting it to your sister. “Casual… sex. Friends, almost. Mostly the benefits.” You said, trying to keep it simple. Her eyes widened even larger. “Turns out he was cheating on his girlfriend with me.”

“He’s just a dick,” she nodded, understanding. “I’m so sorry, that must have put you in an awful position.” 

“I felt awful, I still feel awful,” you told her. “One of the worst things I’ve ever done.” 

“I get that,” she nodded. “Was he any good anyways?” 

You hated the question. “No.” You lied. “Awful.” 

She laughed, “Makes sense.” You knew she had more questions but didn’t want to pry. Besides, you were both tired. She showered before bed and by the time she got out, you were asleep, waiting for the next day of the road trip to be over. In the morning you showered, tied your hair up, and got into the car again with your sister. Patrick and Simon were doing their own things as the car got back onto the road. 

You continued listening to music, looking out the window, shutting out the sounds of the car. Your sister watched you change the song three times, but when her gaze shifted back to the conversation with Simon, she noticed Patrick’s eyes on you. Knowing what she knew now, she hated him just a little bit more. She watched him for a bit and he didn’t look away, so she addressed him to take his attention off of you before you noticed. 

That night at another motel, your sister was much too tired to stay up watching the motel television bullshit with you and passed right out on top of her covers. You fixed that, obviously, but after getting into bed yourself you let an hour pass with no sleep. You just couldn’t, no matter what you tried. At that point, you said fuck it and put your bathing suit on. The motel had a hot tub and a pool and maybe a quick swim could tire you out. You wrapped yourself in a towel and headed out to where the motel pool was. The lights from within the pool gave off a sort of aquamarine tint to the things around it- it was the only source of light aside from the ones lining the wall of the motel and the shining motel sign that flashed gold and red. It was perfectly dim and the night was perfectly still, just as the empty pool was. You put your towel to the side and waded in, pulling your hair up into some lazy updo so it wouldn’t get soaked in pool water. You were barely up to your shoulders when his voice spoke up, “It’s a bit late to swim, don’t you think? Isn’t it your thing to get an early sleep for an early start?” He asked. Patrick was in the hot tub, you’d completely missed him. 

“Maybe when I was playing or when I’m coaching, but we’re in the middle of nowhere with no court in sight.” You replied. “Can I just enjoy my swim, please? I won’t bother you if you don’t bother me.” 

“Fair,” he replied. You could hardly see him in the dim of the pool lights, but you could make out his figure, arm draped over the edge of the hot tub like he was reversing a car. “Since you said please.” 

“Uh huh,” You replied. You didn’t stay for as long as you intended. Being alone anywhere with him was too gross for comfort. Neither he nor you said goodnight when you went back to your room, showered, and fell asleep.

The next stretch of road was the last before the hotel. You were set up nicely and you thanked the concierge boys who helped you with your bags as you went to the front desk to retrieve your room keys, everything dealt with already by your boss. You handed the keys out. “Here’s how this is going to work. There’s a week before the Junior Open and this hotel, even if it comes across as luxury, it’s here so you can get a good, safe, comfortable rest on the days leading up. If Patrick and I have nothing on the schedule for you, you’re free to roam around the local area, however, curfew is 11. Please check your emails for the daily schedule.” 

Simon nodded and Patrick looked like he didn’t pay any attention- why would he anyway? “Sounds good,” Your sister smiled. “And we get our own rooms?” 

“We have the second-to-top floor suite. It’s like four hotel rooms joined into one, attached to a main bathroom, living room, place to eat, and a kitchen. Kind of like a house with a four-person hotel hallway built in.” You said. You were so excited to finally lock yourself away in your hotel room with a book and not have to sit in a car with Patrick for hours at a time. Sure, he’d be nearby but the hotel and its amenities would make for an amazing way to keep yourself far from him. He plucked his key card out of your hand and as he passed, you could smell his cologne. 

The room was amazing and the view was even more beautiful. There was a balcony in the suite as well as in your room, but the joined balcony beat that one out for a better view. You curled up in your super comfortable hotel bed with your book and finished it before dinner. Your sister came in and out wondering what she should wear to the Junior Open, already stressing about that because she didn’t want to stress about the actual game. You helped for a bit, then you went out to the main room. 

“Simon, do you have dinner plans?” You asked him. He was on the couch playing with some portable video game device. 

“Nah, I was thinking room service. My parents gave me a hundred to spend.” He said. 

You nodded, “I was thinking the same thing.” Your sister agreed, busy going through her schedule. So you ordered room service for everyone, sending Simon to go see what Patrick wanted. You were surprised he even stuck around the room and wasn’t at the casino downstairs or out at some club already. Dirtbag activities. 

The next day was a late start, but you and your sister went down to the hotel gyms to work out a bit before going to the hotel courts to practice. Three days until the game. You practiced all methods, swings, serves, and Patrick and Simon practiced in the next court over. Then you went separate ways for lunch just to meet back after at the court. You were done around four so you didn’t overdo it and the rest of the night was free. You and your sister continued to talk strategy and gossip over cranberry juice in the main room of the suite and you were vaguely aware of Patrick sitting in the corner going through his phone, his hand on his head, elbow resting on his knee. He looked up at one point, meeting your eyes and you looked away. The price you paid for being curious. Your sister and Simon, both tired from the day went to their rooms a little early. You decided to get dressed properly and head downstairs to the casino and play a few hands of whatever games they had going. 

You adjusted the length of your skirt as you sat down at the table and took part in everything happening. You were dealt in and in only a small amount of time, you had a good amount of money owed to you. You were definitely on a roll. “Didn’t know you gambled,” Patrick said, sitting beside you on the empty stool. You groaned out loud, rolling your eyes. “You're good, too, what is this, around $400?” 

“$700, and what are you doing here?” 

“I can’t enjoy the casino?” 

“You couldn’t enjoy any other game?” You asked, not even caring to look his way. You raised your hand to signal the dealer to let you out of the game. 

Patrick waved the dealer off and turned to face you better, “Don’t stop just because I’m here. And I like this game- my favourite one, actually, and the only table that has it.” He told you. You looked at him, hoping your eyes would burn through him. But he looked maybe half genuine, aside from the smirk. It was your favourite game too. 

“You’re just going to lose to me, you know that, right?”

“I’m okay with that,” he smiled and his eyes met yours. “Or, I’m okay with you thinking that. Say goodbye to your $700.” His grin slowly crawled up his face.

“Uh-huh?” You laughed at him as he got himself dealt into the game. It was a laugh of disbelief- one, that he thought he could win and two, that he was really that sure. “You’re really still that sure of yourself?” 

“Still? You think I’m sure of myself?” 

“It’s not a compliment, Zweig.” Your laughing at him died down just a little, you couldn’t maintain it when he was just such a fucking loser.

“I am that sure of myself.” He replied. “You don’t think I can?” 

You shook your head and spoke firmly. No. I don’t think you can.” Your tongue pressed against your cheek and you pushed all your winnings to the centre, eyes not leaving his. “Try me.” Anything to put him in his place, truly. You could taste the win in your mouth the way it handed itself to you on a platter. And Patrick put a little extra money in on top of yours and the other player’s, eyes not leaving yours. But he did end up looking away first and the hand began. 

He had good cards and knew how to play them, but yours were better and you knew how to use them to their fullest potential. You placed yours down and they were better and the hand was about to go to you, but at the very last moment, unexpectedly, another player had a card just above yours and it was over, just like that. The man swept away your winnings and you just scoffed. 

“You were that sure of yourself?” Patrick replied. “Nice.” 

“Nice? Asshole.” You got up from your chair and grabbed your purse, ready to move on to another game at another table and let him enjoy his ‘favourite’. “My cards were above yours anyway.” You said as your face passed his. He just grinned as you walked away. 

You were good at other games, thank god. It wasn’t all lost money. You won another $350 by midnight and decided to stop and leave behind the men who had been hitting on you during the last few hands of poker. You were happy with the winnings and the fact Patrick hadn’t been seen the rest of your night. It was a good distraction either way. 

You bought yourself a bottle of iced tea with your winnings and walked over to the elevator, pressing the button to go up to the suite and using your key card to confirm it. It was just your luck that Patrick walked into the elevator. “You have your own keycard, you know that, right?” You sighed, turning away from him and pulling out your phone to pay attention to anything else as the doors closed, locking you in there with him.

He held it up, then shoved it into his pocket. “So did you end up winning your money back? I watched your games, you’re not all that great at poker. I don’t think a career in gambling is in the cards.”

“I think I missed the part where I asked, Zweig.” You stated, folding your arms. “And I think you missed all of the context clues that tell you that I don’t want to talk to you.” 

“You’re so angry,” he remarked, leaning against the metal elevator wall. “Isn’t it exhausting?” 

“Not as exhausting as talking to you.” 

“Fuck you,” he replied. 

You turned to look at him, pausing a beat just to look at him in disbelief. “You used to like that, you know?” 

“You’re not better than me for anything that happened after. You knew I cheated and you still fucked me after, you remember that one?” 

“It wasn’t very memorable,” You chuckled to yourself even though it was one of the biggest lies you’d ever told anyone. He’d put you in a corner. Of course, you knew you weren’t better than him for that last time. It haunted you, but not much more than the entirety of it haunted you. His lips against your lips, his lips against your skin, his lips between your thighs, they were memories that acted like ghosts. All of it was wrong, every kiss, every touch. It was sickening to remember that it wasn’t just you- and that it wasn’t just Tashi either. It was memorable, all of it, but for all the wrong and right reasons, and those right reasons were ten times more haunting because it was so wrong that it felt right. You knew Patrick sensed the lie but you couldn’t act like it. “I can be civil with you, Zweig, if you leave me alone like you have the past year or so. I don’t want to talk to you, why can’t you get that through your head?” 

He was silent, just staring at you, no grin on his face, not even a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. And as soon as the elevator doors opened, he funneled out and right up to his room. You let out a breath and blinked a few times to recalibrate. You took your melatonin, changed, washed up, and headed to bed. 

The next day he kept up exactly that. He didn’t address you, he hardly even looked at you and even if he did, you didn’t notice, you were far too busy. The Junior US Open was tomorrow. You woke up your sister at dawn to go to a hotel aquafit class and then dry off and hit the court. Patrick was there with Simon running east swing drills and you got your sister working hard. She was more than ready, you knew that, but you also knew that giving her any break would make her believe that you didn’t think so, so you kept her going. 

Simon called to you and your sister. “Doubles? For fun, before lunch?” He asked, walking over. Patrick stared at the ground as he walked over just a few steps behind. Poor guy didn’t know the vendetta both you and your sister had against Patrick. She nodded, so you nodded. You hadn’t played in a match in a while, honestly. It was all training and hitting the ball back and forth. 

You stood opposite Patrick on the court and it reminded you of a time when you had played him and Art next to Tashi, for fun. How you didn’t know they were together was beyond you, but you did remember how Art looked at her. You had to blink a few times to get the imagery out of your head as Simon served the ball. You were lucky your sister was on it. 

Patrick still played rough, swinging hard just to challenge your sister a bit. You appreciated the push from him if you were honest. She needed it. It was a good game and there were a few flop swings from you and Patrick that were laughable. You laughed more at him than yourself but he didn’t seem to mind it at all. He just dribbled the ball and served it back to you to hit it over to Simon, etc. 

Your sister watched how Patrick’s eyes stayed on you when the ball was over with Simon being served. She couldn’t help but think it was a little weird how he seemed to be fighting a smile and she followed up with wondering why. And you didn’t notice at all. 

Lunch was good, but you were back to it until dinner, then at the gym after dinner doing a bit of yoga. Your sister turned to you, “He knows that you don’t like him?” She asked. You hated knowing who ‘he’ was. 

“Mhm,” You hummed, stretching upward.

“He doesn’t act like he cares very much.” 

You looked over at her, “I don’t care if he cares. And he’s had around seven years to not care about any repercussions, so that’s just on the passage of time.” 

She moved into downward dog, “Have you talked about it?” 

“No.” You answered. “Kind of. When it had just happened. But that was all I ever said to him about it.” You disregarded last night. “He knows what he did was wrong and I don’t let him forget.” Your mind slipped back to what it felt to lay in his arms afterward, the way he kissed your hair and still cupped your face, the way all of it was wrong, the entire time. And how it felt to feel his hand trail against your skin as you pulled yourself away from him that very last time in your car. 

She clicked her tongue, “I can’t believe you have to work with him. Couldn’t you get him fired for so many things?” 

You nodded, but it hadn’t ever occurred to you why you hadn’t. It would have been simple, a collection of evidence and a complaint and surely he’d be out, but you hadn’t done anything like it. “I could.” You replied. “But I’m not that much of a bitch.” 

“You’re never a bitch,” your sister laughed. “You only become one when he’s around.” 

It was true. And later that night the only hint of Patrick there was, was the eye contact you made with him on the way up to your room. He sat on the couch on his phone while you exited the balcony with your cup of tea. Then it was early bed- the Junior US Open was tomorrow. 

That rolled around all too quickly. You got your sister up early for a massage and a stretch, you ordered her a protein shake as she stressed the entire time. You only spoke in affirmations all morning as you double and triple-checked that she had everything she needed, rackets, water, food, etc. The day was warm with a perfect cool breeze that was gentle enough to play tennis in. You tried not to let the stress of the day get to you as you were driven to the courts. You reminded your sister of all she trained for and she was more than excited, she was bouncing more than the tennis balls were around the court as she warmed up. She wasn’t on until later, so you hit the ball back and forth to pass the time outside. 

Game in game out she was a winner and she knew it, winning her games consecutively. 

In between, you watched Simon’s games and he did well until he didn’t, falling behind. Your sister continued later and by the time she was on the very last game, you knew she was a winner. You were on the sidelines cheering her on. She won, of course, she won. 

She came right to you and hugged you tightly, thanking you for everything. It was an amazing victory and nothing could ruin it. 

The car ride back to the hotel was your sister just yapping uncontrollably about the details of her game to poor Simon, who had not won. She was so excited about it, she was talking endlessly. Patrick was engaging with her at her own speed and you were tired, it was a good thing someone could do with all that she had to say. 

She had the biggest nap of her life when she got back to the hotel room. She was almost asleep in the car and she was lucky she made it to bed. You had a nap on her hotel room couch, that’s how tired you were as well. It was a big day. You woke up around seven pm, but she was still dead asleep. You snuck out quietly and into your room. You’d finished your book, your phone was boring, and Simon honestly wasn’t the best company so you showered the day off, dried your hair, put your makeup on and got dressed again. 

Just a black skirt and a comfortable black long-sleeved shirt, some jewelry you liked, and a bit of sparkle to your eyeshadow. You deserved it. All that and some easy kitten heels and you headed downstairs to the restaurant and bar. It was beautiful, warmly lit and dim, stained glass between the bar and the kitchen casting the light through the panes in different colours across the bar. You ordered a vodka cranberry and ate the lime out of it first. 

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing here all alone?” A man said. It wasn’t any man you knew, but a stranger. He came from behind you, old, but not too old, and a little bit handsome aside from the obvious aging. “I’ve never seen a pretty woman alone at a hotel bar. Hotel bars are for the straggling men, lost in the city. Like that one over there,” he said, pointing to the other end of the bar. You weren’t sure why your stomach flipped when you saw it was Patrick. He didn’t seem to see you, but he sat there at the bar with a short glass of what you knew was whiskey, swirling it around, his head resting against his fist. He was wearing a black t-shirt and black pants, having changed from earlier as well. “Now what’s your story, I’m curious.” 

You turned your attention back to the handsome older man. “Tennis,” you told him. And it sparked up a conversation that was really more insightful than the being hit on that you were expecting- not that you weren’t bought drinks by two other men at the bar who smirked from where they sat at a booth. The man seemed to be in his early sixties with some good things to say and you listened intently, not noticing Patrick’s eyes on you from where he sat. 

It was good to talk to someone so removed from the tennis world who had so much to say about investing in stocks and surprisingly, you didn’t hate it. You sipped your drink, getting a little surprised at the attention you were getting and it was something new. The night continued with more men hitting on you, trying to sit with you… You weren’t the most beautiful woman ever but you weren’t ugly… this was a lot either way. The night continued to pass. 

When Patrick got up, you noticed it, he locked eyes with you, raising his eyebrows and chuckling. At what? At you? You watched his tongue press into his cheek before he pointed at you on his way by… it took a moment to realize what exactly it was he was pointing at until you looked down. Your shirt with only a few buttons at the top, had all of the buttons undone and you had somehow not noticed. Your bra was on display like a hooker or like some common whore and you knew Patrick’s chuckle was at exactly that. 

“Fuck!” You said, turning away from the man and getting up without explaining a thing. You must have looked a little crazy. Patrick laughed out loud as he passed you; your anger and embarrassment got the best of you. Your voice became genuine, “Did you know the whole time?” 

He looked at you, looking at the hand that covered the undone buttons, “Almost, yeah.” You didn’t want to be angry, instead, you just stayed humiliated, your eyebrows furrowing. You couldn’t be mad, not now. So many paid-for drinks you didn’t even drink and so many compliments you’d taken so graciously and you didn’t know and he did? “I thought maybe it was on purpose, though. Maybe if I haven’t changed, you haven’t either.” He said. And now you could be angry. He couldn’t be unaffected, he couldn’t be normal. What he meant by what he said was that you were a slut. And that wasn’t fair.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that and let it go because you’re drunk.” You said, straightening yourself out, trying to shake him off. “Not because you’re just an asshole who can’t mind his own business.” 

“I know my business- it’s you who came to the bar after me, today. If you wanted space so badly, why follow me?” 

“Follow you? Don’t flatter yourself, Zweig.” Your conversation moved just a few steps outside the hotel bar and into a corner of the vast lobby. You chuckled at the fact he really thought so. “I wanted a drink so I got a drink, like an adult who goes to a bar, I didn’t know these are your moping grounds.” 

He shook his head, rolling his eyes, “And you wanted civil?” 

“Everything you say is so completely self-absorbed. You’re obsessed with yourself, honestly get a fucking room. It’s disgusting how much you want to fuck yourself, pardon my reaction to it.”

He just grinned, “Yeah, okay, have fun with your senior citizen, how’s the bra thing working out for you?” 

You shook your head, tone changing again, “That- I didn’t know. I’m mortified.” 

“I’m sure. You know most women who are trying to gold dig go for a more subtle route.” He said, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes. 

“That’s enough,” You snapped. “That’s enough. You’ve been drinking, I’m not arguing with you over something so stupid as the buttons on my shirt. You’re not worth it. You’re not worth a second of my time, you are so beneath me, I am so past you. You are so pathetic, thinking I still give a fuck about what you think of me.” 

“That’s what you think of me? I’m pathetic. You say you don’t care but you seem to care an awful fucking lot.” That terrible fucking grin was so aggravating. 

“Then you’re delusional. Grow up, honestly. I asked you to leave me alone, not slut shame me for some stupid buttons. How much would it have cost your ego to have told me that my buttons were undone? I hate you but I would have had the decency to tell you if this was you in this situation. Fuck!” You ran your hand through your hair and the argument paused for a beat, then two. You breathed out heavily, turning, your hand still on your chest. And you just started walking toward the elevator. What else could you do but just walk away? He was the problem but you became one too when you were with him. It was almost unavoidable when everything he said upset you for reasons both explainable and inexplicable. You had no control over it all, you just had too much to say, so much internalized rage for what you’d done, for the position he’d put you in all those years ago. You were glad the elevator was empty as you scanned for the suite and the doors closed, but the elevator didn’t move, it just made a clunking noise and you knew, as the doors opened again, that there was no escape from this personal hell. Thank god you only had a day and a half left here with him, you thought, as the doors let him into the elevator with you. 

“Walk away like you had no part in that, yeah,” he said, moving to his side of the elevator. You groaned out loud, rolling your eyes so far back it hurt. “Reminds me of the other time you did the same thing.” 

“Was last night not enough?” You laughed in genuine disbelief. “You put me in a disgusting position that nobody should have to be in. You cheated! On your perfect girlfriend! With me, over and over and over and I had no idea because you didn’t have the decency to tell either of us.” 

“I was also nineteen years old!” He retaliated. “You expected me to have my shit all sorted out? I’m sorry I wasn’t a five-year-plan type of guy!” 

“That’s a crazy take when not cheating is one of the easiest things to do.” You laughed, scoffing when you caught your breath. “You used me.” 

Another beat, his eyes softened just in the slightest. “I didn’t use you.” He replied. “For what? For sex?” 

You guessed he didn’t need you for that. The elevator became uncomfortable as it rose between floors. Both of your hands fell to your sides, the top of your shirt falling open again unnoticed. You just blinked at his words, looking away. But no, what? You went right back into it, “Then why? Tell me that you weren’t just selfish, keeping two girls around to satisfy yourself beyond the regular needs of a man. Tell me that you weren’t only thinking about yourself and not the feelings of both your own girlfriend and the girl you’d sneak out to see. You made me some fucking mistress! The other woman, I didn’t know I was the other woman, can you imagine what finding that out feels like? The guilt? The shame? Tell me you weren’t just selfish.” 

“Not everything comes down to that. You’re seeing this how you want to see it. You are at fault, you are not innocent in this. You knew and you still fucked me and-” Patrick hit the pause elevator button and you just glared. “No matter what you said to me afterward, you still did it. None of this is linear or organized, it just fucking happened. You are not the victim you say you are, you deserve a good portion of that guilt because you fucked me, even after, no matter what you’ve done to shut that part out.” He said. You felt the fire behind your own eyes. 

“I haven’t shut it out, I’ve grown past it. What you did is still wrong.” 

“I know that! I know that- I ended up with nothing when it was all said and done. I was fine with not having Tashi, but-” he paused and pressed a hand to his temple for just a half-second. “You’re still so angry! It’s hard to believe you’ve grown past it when you’re still reminding me of one of the biggest mistakes I’ve made constantly.” 

You scoffed again, “I’m sorry you can’t deal with your own problems and the shit you put on me still haunts me. How is it you get to live it down and I don’t?” 

“I haven’t fucking lived it down.” 

“Pathetic.” 

“Fuck you. Honestly.” He said. “I made a mistake as a teenager, I don’t know how to go back and fix how I felt about you. I can’t take anything back so I don’t know what you want me to do here. Was I selfish? Yeah, I was. You’re right. Does that make you feel better about yourself? Do you feel like less of a victim now? I’m so sure of myself, yeah, okay, at least I haven’t tricked myself into believing I disliked how wrong it felt.”

You blinked hard and hit the elevator button again so it would begin to move once again. “You think I liked it?” 

“I think you did. I think some part of you hated Tashi and you liked the fact you could have me once more for good measure. I think that is what ‘haunts’ you. That you liked it.” He said. And the elevator doors opened to the empty main room of the suite. You stepped out the second you could, trying to get away from this so desperately. “I admit I’m selfish so you can admit that. Or at least try and admit it to yourself.” 

At those words, you tossed your purse on the couch and turned on your kitten heel. You walked right back up to him and pressed your pointer finger to his chest. “You are still so fucking self-absorbed that you think I liked being your side-chick or whatever the hell I was to you? You think so highly of yourself- you’re presenting yourself as a thing to be had between girls? Some trophy? A prize?”

“You weren’t so special either.” He lied. As if he didn’t like you, truly like you, more than he liked Tashi, unfortunately. His mistake was trying to balance things while he figured out how to tell you that he wanted you. Tashi loved tennis more than anything, she was mean and she was cold and she was hard to please but you in his bed, you were warm in more ways than one and you always listened and you weren’t all about tennis the way she was. And he liked you- genuinely liked you. But he went about it entirely wrong. He told you that you weren’t special but you were. You always were. He watched your eyebrows furrow at his words and more bitter things came out of his mouth, “And you said you couldn’t give a fuck what I thought of you.” 

“You’re not worth my time. Fuck you, Zweig. Fuck you and your self-obsession. Get a grip, get a life, and get over yourself.” You pressed your finger hard into his chest and let your hand fall to your side, eyes meeting his, the fire in your eyes reflecting in his own. “Fuck you. You’re an asshole.” The stare lingered before you shook your head, just disbelieving in this entire stupid conversation. It felt like talking in circles. Pointless. You’d never see his point and he would never see yours. He just looked at you like nothing you said meant anything and was only to provoke him when it wasn’t. He made it feel pointless. And you were fuming, so fucking angry. He matched that as well, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths. So you just turned and walked right into your hotel room, shutting the door behind you. 

What a fucking waste of time and breath, you thought. He wasn’t worth it. Any of it. You just breathed out, hearing his hotel room door shut next to yours. You pressed your hand to your forehead, letting out a second sigh as you thought about just how stupid he was, deflecting, avoiding. You were glad you were out of the heat of that moment. If you’d been out there any longer yelling at him who knows what you would have done? Or said. The number of times you’d said ‘fuck you’ were uncountable and you hated who he made you. You weren’t this person he made you- you were kind and sweet and gentle and patient but right now all you knew was this person he turned you into. He was just so disgusting and so self-centered and you couldn’t get past what he’d done and he never elaborated on what he meant by ‘I don’t know how to go back and fix how I felt about you’. Fuck, he just made you so fucking angry and it really was exhausting being around him. Dredging these things back up. Him and his fucking ego, really. 

You weren’t exactly sure just what you were going to say to him, the conversation felt final, but there had to be some reason you opened the door to your hotel room again. Took your back off of the door, turned again, buttons on the shirt still very open, and you opened the door by some possession of the mind and it was just coincidence that when you looked up, Patrick stared back at you, standing outside your door like he was about to knock. Your eyes met his and it was easy to see that there was still fire in his eyes the same as there was in your own. It was only a few seconds, maybe ten, maybe fifteen and he stood there and so did you, wordlessly. Silence, empty, just blinking and breathing and silence. Before the mutual crash of him stepping toward you, grabbing your face, and kissing you hard. You had met him in the middle just between your doorframe, and your hands immediately found themselves flat against his back, fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt. No other thoughts.

He kissed you like he meant it, with all of the hateful things that you had said still very much on the tongue that swiped past his own. And it was desperate, the way you kissed- hot, heavy, so passionate, too passionate. Your back was against the stretch of the wall just inside your room as he pressed you to it and him against you. The door shut beside you and it was a good thing. So much feeling, so much hate and so much time, so much weight in his kiss but it was as easy as breathing. 

He held your face between large hands that slowly slid down to your jaw, one of them down your neck, his body pressed so closely to yours that you thought maybe you’d start sinking through the wall against your back. His hand traveled downwards and you let it as his hand went around your neck, not pressing, not squeezing, just placement. It sent chills through your whole body though your bodies only radiated pure heat. Small sounds escaped both of your lips, small hums, as his hand slid down and over the exposed bra from your undone buttons. His hand cupped your chest, not too rough, but definitely without being gentle. None of this was gentle. 

You popped your knee out just a bit as he pressed himself against you so that when he did, he felt it. He groaned just a bit as you then took a step off the wall, pressing him to the wall opposite the small entrance to the hotel room. Still so desperate, still so in need, his hand still on your chest and one of your hands traveling to rest on his jaw while- as he began to take off your shirt- your other hand slid down his chest to break the waistband of his pants, just gently rimming it with your pinkie finger before undoing the button of his pants. His lips didn’t leave yours even as you slid your hand down into them. He was hard, he was so hard and in this desperation even you didn’t have the time to think. You didn’t want the time to think as your shirt was pulled over your head between the sound Patrick made into your mouth. 

All of this hatred just seeped out of your skin at a scalding temperature as you pressed yourself against him, your hand gripping him harder, he didn’t waste another second gaining back his leverage, kissing you as you walked over to your bed. He kicked off his pants and in seconds he was on you, really on you, over you. Climbing over you in your bra and little black skirt. Your hand left his boxers and you began to pull at his t-shirt, all of your actions desperate and wanting and his lips were on your neck, his hand resting at the base of it again, moving your hair aside. Gentle, but starving. His skin against yours, hands trailing all over your body, one of them deciding to drop down between your legs. With only a touch of his finger against the inner of your thigh, you opened them just a little so that very same finger could gently press against you where you needed it. This was too gentle, in a world that wasn’t gentle, so when you kissed Patrick harder he knew to cut the bullshit. You weren’t delicate, he didn’t need to act like it. He pulled your underwear to the side to gently rub circles into your clit and easily slipped his other finger inside of you, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from you. 

You hated how it was almost familiar, his pattern of heavy breathing and his fingers pumping inside of you with that careful curving middle finger hitting that perfect spot inside of you. You hated how it sent a flush over your whole body and made you feel almost euphoric like he was some sort of drug. His fingers curled inside of you, moving up and down as he went half in, half out, his thumb on your clit like it was the easiest thing and it probably was- he had good practice. You were moaning as quietly as you could, breathily against his skin before without warning, he cut that out too, just to pull your underwear down from inside the skirt and you kicked it off somewhere far away. His fingers went to resume his actions, but he wasn’t so lucky to go back to something so easy. 

With a swift rocking motion, you were able flip yourselves over so now you were on top of him. You pulled your hair to the side as you bent down to kiss him now, feeling his hard dick against you, still hidden by his boxers. You kissed him, still fast, still hot, still in need as you slowly rolled your hips against him, causing him to groan out into your mouth just the same way you just had when his fingers were inside of you. And in seconds he was getting rid of his boxers and his dick was standing, waiting. He was so hard, still so in need, he almost pushed you down onto it but you didn’t want to waste any time either, moving down just a bit while his hands began sliding down your bare waist, resting on your hips, his eyes meeting yours for what felt like the first time since you’d crashed against each other at the door. His mouth was just a little open, eyes on you like you were everything, and it felt like a pause but it was only half a second. 

He kissed you again, just as hungry, his lips meeting yours in such a sickeningly sweet way but it was all so fast, his tongue in your mouth in a way you had not forgotten. A kiss only broken by the moan that slipped between both of your lips as you sank down onto him. His fingertips dug into the flesh of your ass, pushing just gently as he filled you entirely. You hated that with all the men you’d been with since, none of them had ever filled you the way he did. And that hate was momentum enough to begin to move up and down, hips rocking with his guiding force. “Fuck…” he said through his heavy breathing as you rode him, moaning in response as the rocking turned to a slight bounce, his hips lifting to meet you halfway. 

It was so all-consuming, the feeling. Like some hot flush in your body every up and down was worthy of the extreme rush of the perfect feeling of him. Fucking yourself on him, his hands tight on your hips, pulling you up and down harder, faster, as your hair fell into your face time and time again. This desperate sex got more desperate as Patrick made a move to regain his control, flipping you onto your back without even pulling out. You grinned breathlessly as his hands moved back to your jaw to kiss you all the same, not letting up on how hard he kissed you while he began to fuck you harder than before. Your legs wrapped around his body and his arm propping him up rested just beside your head and you needed each other more than anything it was violent, the way his body met yours rapidly, perfectly. It was a mixture of breathing hard, whispers of ‘fuck’ and ‘god’ and skin and the moans you tried to suppress along with his own. 

Your eyes rolled back as he fucked you. It felt like nothing had ever compared, like nothing could even come close to this feeling. It felt like you were losing all sense of the world outside the bedroom, being fucked truly dumb and numb to any other part of this, not the morals, not your principles. Nothing else mattered aside from this violent show of passion. His hand now on your waist, yours around his neck and his eyes met yours again. 

Barely open, in this world of lust, he looked back at you through his eyelashes like none of this was happening. You couldn’t see fire in his eyes anymore. His eyes were more showing water, still, calm, despite his actions and despite it all. Things slowed. And he kissed you again, slower, as his thrusts continued with the same power and the same force. Your hands slid into his hair and there was nothing you wanted more in this moment than the kiss… Somehow ignoring the outside world for sex became ignoring the sex for the kiss. You wouldn’t breathe if you didn’t have to. “Mm- I’m so close, fuck,” he mumbled over your lips, mouth opening just a bit as he picked up the pace and your fingers closed in fists of his hair as a new wave of pleasure completely overtook all of your thinking. 

“Uh huh,” You nodded, using your hands to kiss him again, to keep him close to you as his thrusts got sloppy and more spaced but still hard as finished. His moans mixed with your own as he slowed to a stop. “Fuck…” You sighed heavily. It was over, it was over, it was over and you were a mess underneath him. Your makeup all fucked up, your hair ruffled, your body sticky from the sweat of it all. Nearly-naked, almost entirely, under Patrick, of all people. You would have to deal with the high and it’s comedown, its consequences. 

The consequence seemed to be not having anything witty or hateful to say to him as he moved to lay next to you, rubbing his face, obviously thinking this over the same way you were. You propped yourself up on your elbow and looked at him, really looked at him. And all he had for you was that stupid, arrogant grin. But it made you laugh. And for the first time in all of the times he had ever fucked you and left after dating back eight years- he reached over and pulled you into another kiss, silencing your giggle. A real kiss, hands staying put on your jaw, your hand gently pressed again his bare chest. The high was gone but the comedown was cushioned in a way you had never felt before. You couldn’t hate someone who kissed you this way with nobody waiting for him at home. Like pieces falling into place, after eight years, there was the first kiss with no intention of sex. 

You couldn’t hate how right it felt with nothing about it having to feel wrong. It was surprising, how different it felt. The consequence was that you liked it. 

And on the way home, your sister knew something had shifted. You sat closer to him than you ever allowed, he addressed you when he had something to say and it was just all too normal. There was another night at the motel where you’d ended up talking everything out with Patrick, finding out how he really felt about things without the need for argument. He confessed to just about everything before the night of conversation ended with you both a little bit too close. Your eyes met his in the glow of the motel pool you sat next to and before any other words were said, his hand slid around the back of your neck and he kissed you again. You didn’t have sex that night. But you ended up in his arms, your hair being tucked behind your ear, his fingers tracing patterns over your thigh. 

Your sister knew something was up for sure when you returned to the motel room around 4am, but she didn’t question it. The biggest tell was that you were your regular, sweet self again. That and you had stopped calling him Zweig. There wasn’t any need to dwell on the past, you’d both decided. He was forgiven over a few cups of coffee. And your past actions felt less like something haunting... more like a mistake from the end of your teenage years.

It truly was exhausting feeling so much and not letting it serve a true purpose, you both found. You began to recognize that not everything formed in the fires of lust stayed on fire forever. It was better to succumb to the still waters that his eyes reminded you of. You liked this rematch, it was one of the best games you'd ever played.

[creepercraftguy]

My thoughts on BOWSER VS EGGMAN

This was easily my most hyped matchup thus far. Knowing that we were getting Bowser Vs Eggman this year, I was definitely more excited for this compared to Bardock Vs Omni-Man.

This matchup carries a fucking legacy with it. These are the two most notorious video game villains of all time, and the chance to see them actually bash against each other is something that, for Death Battle, has been a long time coming.

But was the episode good and did it live up to the hype? Let's see.

Everything is under the cut as per normal, because I will be spoiling the episode:

Okay. Short answer?

Yes.

Yes it did.

You want to know what my biggest regret for this fight was in general? The fact that I didn't think to grab a goddamn bucket of popcorn before I watched it because MY GOD.

I!

JUST!

WATCHED!

SOME!

CINEMMMAAAAA!

I'm gonna talk about this in the order that I normally talk about this, which means I'm gonna start by talking about the analysis, but...to be perfectly honest, I don't really CARE about the analysis this time, lol.

I think it's because it's honestly VERY hard to come by someone who DOESN'T know who either of these guys are and what they can do. Like I said, they're easily the two most notorious and well-known video game villains to ever exist. Even if you're not a gamer, no doubt you know who Mario and Sonic are, and by extention, you should also realistically know who Bowser and Dr. Eggman are.

With that said, I didn't really have a problem with either of these analyses besides the fact that they're a little hard to follow. They were intuitive, but it also just kind of felt like STATS STATS STATS NUMBERS MORE STATS MORE LORE STATS LORE LORE LORE!

Besides the overabundance of lore squishing and stat squishing, it's all good and kind of fun, especially in the editing.

Also, for Bowsers segment, it surprises me just how little time they spend talking about Kamek, despite how in the post-analysis, Boomstick mentions that Kamek is one of the largest reasons why Bowsers army triumphed.

And in Eggman's analysis, they brought up the Hard-Boiled Heavies and...I didn't even see them in the fight the first time I watched it.

Most of the limelight in terms of the minions was given to Kamek, Metal Sonic, Bowser Jr. and Sage, and that's kind of what I wanted anyway, but still, why bring them up if they're not going to show up?

And I expect this, and this isn't a nitpick at all, but there are several points where they talk about resources that don't really matter, because they're never actually used in the fight. They CAN use everything, but we'd be here forever if they did, it ultimately comes down to what's their best kit, and who's best kit is better.

But with that said, I will be coming back to this in the post analysis because there's something else that's kind of important that I need to mention.

Either way, what's most important to me with the analysis and post analysis is that bost combatants are respected, and made out to be as powerful as they can be, and for this battle, that was done very well.

Even listening to the stats, it didn't give me a clear indication of who was going to win in the end, and I actually think that's a good thing because it makes me more hyped for the fight.

Okay, NOW we talk about the fight! YES YES and more YESSSS!

I just want to take a moment to talk about the animator for this fight, MORO. With these analyses, I don't really talk about the actual animators behind Death Battle, because I treat all of them with an equal amount of respect, and I will only talk about the actual animator if the battle itself stands out.

And trust me. THIS stands OUT!

I said in my previous analysis of Joker Vs Giorno that I was really hoping that MORO would blow it out of the park with his battle, because that's what I cared about most of all, and holy fucking hell he DID IT and he DID IT WELL!

MORO first started working with Death Battle in Season 10, and no doubt bringing him on to work on the show was one of the best decisions that Death Battle have made in their entire run. Bill Cipher Vs Discord, Gojo Vs Makima, and Stitch Vs Rocket are just a few of his previous battles, and all of them were hype as fuck.

This one is EASILY the most hype though. The way everything happens in this fight, well...I could break it down and...you know what? I think I WILL!

Especially considering that...well, I can't speak FOR him, of course, but I get the feeling that MORO really loved animating this fight, because the thing I wanted to say about the post-analysis is that it features fully-animated scenes of the alternate outcomes, and a post-battle scene of Eggman's forces signing up for Bowser's army, which we haven't seen in YEARS.

I doubt MORO NEEDED to make these scenes, but he still did it because he cared so much about exploring these alternate outcomes, and covering everything that they discussed in the analysis, so they could go over all of them in the post analysis.

Because there are so many ways this fight could have gone, and thanks to this gigachad of an animator, we got to see all of them.

Okay, but the fight itself, and what we DID see in the MAIN sequence. Yeah...It's GODLY!

Something I absolutely loved about this fight was that going into it, we all knew that this was going to be an all out battle of armies, and everyone leading up to this was "This is less of a battle, and more of a war."

And goddamn it FELT like one!

The ambiance of this entire fight, from beginning to end, felt so goddamn chaotic and...honestly FRIGHTENING! Like, this goes above and beyond just the simple cartoonish antics of the Mario and Sonic series. This fight is fucking GRITTY, and EMOTIONAL! With stuff like the grey sky, the copious amounts of destruction that comes as a result of the fighting, the rain, the ambiance, etc.

And no, that's not me memeing. This generally felt like a short war flick, just with silly superpowers in it. There's genuinely a climactic and emotional weight to this fight, and one thing I noticed upon rewatching is that this lacks something that Death Battle is famous for, and yet it still manages to be a fantastic battle anyway:

Blood.

The lack of blood in this episode is pretty surprising, because when the characters die, they die in ways that replicate their deaths in the original games; i.e. kind of just popping out of existence. Even when Metal Sonic runs Bowser through post-transformation, there's no blood. Bowser just collapses to the ground.

And I actually don't mind it!

I genuinely think that even if this is a war, and it feels like a war thanks to the ambiance, if there was loads of blood, it would actually take away from the experience for me. The lack of blood doesn't reduce the impact of what's going on for me, and I think if there was this much gore, they'd be trying too hard. They were trying to make a spectacle of Mario's arch-enemy and Sonic's arch-enemy and their respective armies brawling each other, and they damn well succeeded.

This is very much backed up by the voice acting from everybody, which in general is very well done. Only three characters; Bowser, Eggman, and Sage, (Metal Sonic gets I think ONE line) speak in this. I don't actually know who voiced Sage, but they do a very good job, but even more importantly is Arthur Romeo as Eggman.

I don't know if Romeo was intending to go this route, but I really like that his Eggman impression is more reminiscent of Deem Bristow instead of Mike Pollock. I love Mike Pollock as Eggman, don't get me wrong, but Deem Bristow (for those who don't know, Bristow is the one who voiced Eggman in the Adventure games) really works for this fight because it's not the kind of scenario where Eggman would be the kooky villain that he is in a lot of the modern games, where it's kind of funny to see him fail.

This fight is treated VERY seriously, and the voice really works for it. As for Bowsers' VA, Zack Watkins (an animator who has been with Death Battle for a long time now, with his first animated fight being Batman Vs Captain America) his voice is pitch-shifted because...well, it HAS to be, because you can't really reach that low gruff voice if you don't. But when he DOES get a good line, he sells it really well. The highlight for me is Bowsers rage after Junior gets whomped by Metal.

The fight admittedly starts very weirdly, even if it's pretty funny. I think what was supposed to be going on is Eggman tricked Bowser into thinking he was marrying Peach so that he could get all of his forces in one place to wipe them out at once, which is admittedly cool in concept, but for me at least, I didn't get that on the first watch. It felt more to me like Eggman pulled a prank on Bowser, then announced that he was going to take over the Mushroom Kingdom.

Also, I know that people weren't very happy about the Snapcube reference, but...what's the problem with it? It's a neat reference, but you're not supposed to linger on it.

But yeah, in case I haven't sold it hard enough yet, this fight is brilliant from the establishing shot that shows the two armies and when they launch themselves at each other, right until the end when Bowser deals the final blow. MORO absolutely KILLED IT, and I CANNOT stress that enough.

Like, genuinely, there was so much stellar animation, and so much emotional weight, power, and feeling to this fight that it genuinely made me tear up a little, and I'm not joking. Like I already said, this was CINEMA, there is no other way to express it.

Side note: I genuinely wasn't expecting Infinite to be in this fight, but its hilarious how he shows up for about...10 seconds, does his bullshit, then dies almost immediately, and I...do NOT care, lol.

Honestly, had Infinite been in the fight any longer than he was, I might not have liked it as much. So to have him here to establish how Eggman has the Phantom Ruby and little more was honestly the perfect way to go about it, especially since we get a brief "clash" (I'm hesitant to call it that because King Boo basically just one-taps him) between Infinite and King Boo with their similar abilities.

And I love how in this scene, you can really see the difference between Bowser and Eggman in that, instead of trying to find a way to fight back against Infinite's control, Bowser is instead using his dark magic to protect his minions, and it's up to King Boo to take Infinite out.

That doesn't only show me how much Bowser cares about his minions like they're his family, but also that he TRUSTS them, because to me, it felt like he knew he couldn't take out Infinite without sacrificing his men, but trusted King Boo to do it.

Both Bowser and Eggman are written masterfully in this episode, and I'm glad because they are already such phenomenal characters on their own, and to show both of them for who they really are inside is wonderful, especially if it's done in a way that is this subtle that it doesn't take away from the action.

Just...GOD I LOVED THIS EPISODE!

I don't want to go into a full breakdown, because we might be here for a while, but beyond this opening sequence that shows how both of these sides are treating this war, here's a list of other moments in the fight that I think were absolutely godlike. And keep in mind this is just a FEW stand-out moments for me personally:

Metal Sonic's transformation into Neo Metal Sonic, and the step he does towards the camera before he pounds Bowser's ass.

The scene where Bowser Jr. turns Bowser into Fury Bowser, and Bowser's "SHOWTIME...!" as he transforms. As I said, even if his voice is pitch-shifted, and even if he lacks in the dialogue department compared to Eggman, when Zack Watkins delivered a line, he delivered it in a pristine package with a nice little bow wrap.

Sage throwing a legion of robots at Fury Bowser, and Kamek building a war of pipes to block it - Absolutely mindblowing choreography.

My absolute favourite moment in the fight: Metal Sonic Vs Shadow Mario, being a nice callback to Mario Vs Sonic, and Bowsers reaction when Junior gets knocked to the floor and is badly hurt. The rage in his voice and the blast he lets out that absolutely DECIMATES not just Metal Sonic, but creates a black hole that wipes out most of Eggman's fleet is so Dragon Ball-like.

Bowser shielding his ENTIRE ARMY against the Death Egg blast! THIS is the moment that made me tear up! Like, how could you NOT root for Bowser after this!? The guy absorbed the full blast to prevent his minions from getting annihilated, to the point where it completely shed his skin off his body and almost killed him, but he held his ground because he would rather have DIED than let his army; the people he CARES ABOUT, get wiped out by Eggman. And then the motherfucker comes back swinging anyway and ENDS that bald bastard!

Eggman's death isn't climactic for the death itself, but for what Bowser does to him during the sequence, as well as the actual setting. Again, the animation and choreography for this episode is godlike, but this shot at the end when Bowser is reassembling himself as Dry Bowser ready to deal the final hit, it's important to note that Bowser has his son at his feet, and his minions rallying behind him. They are in the middle of a warzone, many of their comerades have died, and yet they are STILL WITH HIM! And as for Eggman, he has no one. Not even Sage is there anymore. And as Bowser sucks him in for the final blow, Eggman exhausts all of his options, and Bowser counters all of them. Bowser's final line might as well have been "YOU'RE FUCKED!" because yeah, he just was, and Bowser let him know it regardless. (Also, it's revealed in the end that Kamek also survived, despite being knocked into the horizon by Metal Sonic.)

Alas, despite all this grandeur, I have one minor complaint. Granted, it's not a huge one, and it doesn't affect my overall opinion of the fight, but I still feel like I should bring it up.

I understand that it's next to impossible for every single one of these minions to get a time in the limelight, but what was important for me going into it was that Junior, Kamek, Metal Sonic, and Sage all got some time in the limelight to absolutely kick ass.

And most of them did...except Sage.

It's not like Sage did nothing, but compared to Bowser Jr. and Metal Sonic especially, she didn't really do an awful lot beyond throw things, block an attack, and activate the Death Egg when Eggman told her to. Metal was doing most of the fighting and yeah, okay, Metal is built for combat while Sage isn't, but Sage can still fight. I would have absolutely loved to see Bowser's son throw hands with Eggman's daughter though.

Again, it's not enough to completely throw my opinion to the wayside, but had Sage been given more to do, that would have made this episode absolutely perfect.

And overall, my least favourite part about this fight, genuinely, is that it ENDED!

Like, I KNOW these can't go on for more than a few minutes but I didn't want this fight to stop. I could watch a whole MOVIE about these two armies going at it.

More specifically I would watch it if MORO was the one animating it. But again, the guy has done MORE than enough.

And of course, the last thing that I have yet to talk about is the music.

My god the music, especially when it hits in the fight. Remember how I said my favourite moments in this fight were when Bowser rages over Junior, then blocks the Death Egg? A big part of what made those scenes so phenomenal is that the music went full-capital HARD for those scenes!

Like...Brandon Yates! HOW does he DO it!?

I genuinely think Brandon Yates is one of the best music composers of all time, and that's not even an exageration. I love all of the work he does for Death Battle and I love all the work outside of it. I love that the Death Battle crew are lucky enough to have found this man because he, and Therewolf Media too, are a massive part of why the Death Battle fights are so enjoyable to watch. Music makes these fights so good, and the modern episodes are so much better compared to the old episodes where they had to use other audio.

Also, I'm not gonna ignore Victor Borbo and Tyler Anderson who sung the vocals for the track, because they together are, medium, 50% of the reason why it absolutely slaps.

Final thoughts: When this fight was coming out, I genuinely expected that Eggman would win it. But now that I've actually watched this episode, and I got to see Eggman and Bowser at their full potential and doing everything they can to destroy each other, I actually think that had Bowser lost, I wouldn't have been as satisfied.

As they said in the post analysis, Bowser actually cares about his minions. Eggman doesn't, except for Sage. And as I pointed out, there are several points in the fight where Bowser actively tries to protect his minions over trying to take out Eggman's. When he defends them against the Phantom Ruby and Infinite, and then when he shields all of them from the Death Egg. And they REPAY that loyalty and kindness in the end, and are with Bowser during the final blow.

I was rooting for Bowser, but betting Eggman, but after this whole fight ended, I don't care what anyone else has to say about the stats, or whether things add up or not. That Koopa King EARNED and DESERVED THAT W!

It's honestly hilarious how I'm both a Persona fan and a JoJo fan, and Joker Vs Giorno didn't captivate me NEARLY as much as this spectacle did. It's not that I think Joker Vs Giorno is bad; I rewatched it a dozen times. But this fight is hands down the best fight they've done in YEARS! I think it even beats out my top contenders from Season 10.

My last note is the next time:

Okay, I wasn't expecting the 2024 finale to be such a meme matchup, but...I know that this was a thing that people kind of wanted to see, but I'm genuinely curious HOW they scale this with any kind of logic.

My current bet is on the Imposters because they actually kill things and have stuff in their bodies and equipment that are designed to kill, and the Fall Guys are just stupid beans that get knocked around a lot.

So my biggest thoughts about this are 1) how the fuck to you stage a fight between them, and 2) What kind of stats do you calculate?

Like, as a meme, I like this fight, but now that it's an official episode? I don't know, man. I really don't know how to feel about it.

Teaser was hilarious though.

Final score for Eggman and Bowser? 10 out of goddamn 10.

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (iii)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky at his little shit supreme, obnoxious reader, cryptids, graveyards

A/N: good evening. i am fighting demons (tummy ache). comments and feedback are always appreciated thank u for the love on the series so far i adore u guys sm <;33

Previous part || Series masterlist

A few days after the first video goes up, Bucky returns from his run to a SHIELD file taped to his door.  

He opens to a black and white photo of him from back in the day, and a page full of his details. Full name, blood group, previous addresses, aliases, best colours to match his undertone, favourite Gilmore Girl boyfriend. 

He flips the page to the section on his known connections, only for a sheet of paper to fall out. Sharpie sprawled haphazardly across it, in big red letters. 

NO AUNT. 

BITCH.

He bites back a grin.

The video does reasonably well. Not record breaking numbers or anything, but for once there aren’t TikToks of people counting how many times he blinks to make sure he’s an actual human. 

Always a man of his word, though he has regretted it every single time, he agrees to a second video. It follows after a disgraceful bout of bitching and even pleading, but a few hours later, he resigns himself to his fate silently. 

That is until the schedule for the next video shoot is posted to the server, and he sees it’s at night. 

The night he uses to sleep. The night.

Before he can even type out his rejection, his door receives four sharp knocks. He doesn’t even need to open it to know who it was.  

It’s like you could read his thoughts. Probably could. He doesn’t know the extent of your telekinesis. 

In your hands is a large cardboard box and on your face is a stupidly big grin. 

“Good evening,” you greet. 

“Tell me the show’s getting cancelled,” he says. 

“Nope. We–” you announce, reaching into the box and shoving something onto his chest, “--are going on a trip. Demon hunting.”

“Demon hunting?” 

“To Westley Cemetery,” you add, letting the box tumble onto the floor as you grip its contents. “To catch the Westley Cemetery Cryptid.”

“What the hell is the Westley Cemetery Cryptid?” Bucky demands.

“Creature that lives in the cemetery, watches people from the trees and runs after you if you’re there too long. No known kills, but a couple of scratches and spooks,” you list off. 

His face twists. “That’s not a real thing.”

“Uh, yes it is.” You rest a hand on your hip. “My sources told me so.”

“Who are your sources?”

“Twitter.”

Bucky stares at you without a word.

“It’s totally real. It’s got a Wikia page and everything,” you argue against his complete silence. “I believe in it.”

“That means nothing.”

“Rude.” You glare pointedly. “Anyway, point is, we’re going out tonight to the cemetery and we’re gonna catch this thing on tape.”

Bucky tracks your gaze to finally look down at what you’ve shoved into his hands. It’s a headband, with two cameras attached to it, one facing your face and the other outward. Night vision, he guesses. 

He sighs. “How long? An hour?” 

“Was Hamlet written in an hour? Was Sharknado filmed in an hour?” you exclaim. “Great art takes time. We’re staying out there as long as we need to. So help me, we will emerge victorious.”

Bucky stares at you. “Two hours.”

“Seven.”

“Thirty minutes.”

“Your will is weak and your spirit is cowardly.” You return his fixed look with equal intensity, if not more, which he didn't think was possible. “Three hours.”

“Deal.”

“Great.” You stick your hand out, and he grabs on firmly. “See you at 1am.”

“1am?!”

It is 1am, it is cold and Bucky is miserable. 

But he’s there. In the cemetery. With the stupid camera rig on his head. 

You offer him whiskey to warm him up, and he agrees. 

You then tell him you don’t actually have any because you didn’t think he’d accept.

He hates it here.

The wind whistles around the both of you. The eerie silence is only compounded by the fact that he can’t see anything beyond a certain point. The night is especially dark and there is no moonlight.

He trudges through the patchy grass, dry leaves crunching under his boots.

The camera being so close to his face along with the fact that you wouldn’t stop singing the same three fucking lines of the song over and over again, makes him want to tear his hair out.

“That thing’s not gonna get near us if you don’t shut up,” he grumbles.

“Nonsense,” you hum. “I’m a goddamn delight. He’s gonna be trippin’ over himself to get to me.”

“He doesn’t exist.”

“He definitely does, and you know what? I bet your shit vibes are gonna attract him. Moth to flame and all that. Karmic justice.” 

Bucky stares straight ahead, swerving to avoid running into cracked tombstones. 

You go back to singing, but worse this time. 

“What if we don’t get anything?” he interrupts, to protect his sanity. “No one wants to watch a bunch of people just walk around the dark for 20 minutes.”

There’s no response. 

It takes a second for Bucky to realise the singing’s stopped too.

He stops in his tracks, head swivelling to look for you.

“The fuck…” he mutters. 

In the cemetery, he is truly alone for a moment. Silent, other than wrought iron gates creaking in the far distance. 

The leaves of the tree above him rustle.

Bucky looks up, squinting against the darkness. 

Against the stillness of the night, he sees it. A figure stands tall on the branches of the tree, silhouette obscured by the leaves. 

It leers down at him, unmoving.

Bucky doesn’t even flinch.

“Very funny,” he says. “Hilarious.”

“We’ll fake it,” the figure calls from above. “If we don’t get any footage, I’ll just get on up there and fuck around and you record.”

“Get down,” he demands. “We’re not faking footage.”

If this show had to die this way, so be it.

“Bore,” you boo, lowering yourself to the ground with ease. “If I didn't know any better, I’d say you don’t want to be a part of this series.”

“I don’t.”

“Anyway,” you say obnoxiously, “we won’t have to. There is definitely a cryptid here. I can feel it in my bones.”

“We’re halfway through the graveyard and there’s nothing here,” he shoots back. “We should call it quits.”

“You’re right,” you say, to his surprise. “We need to cover more ground. Let’s split up.”

That is most definitely not what he was saying.

But you start singing again and so Bucky agrees faster than you finish the same stupid third line for the hundredth time that hour.

Bucky is a man of dignity.

Less than five minutes later, he gives up.

He takes a seat against the trunk of a tall tree, in a relatively open clearing. 

He figures if he just takes a nap then the two hours would pass by quicker. 

Bucky has no idea where you’ve gone. The lack of light doesn’t help, even with his advanced vision. 

He crosses his arms behind his head and settles back, eyes closing. 

Not even a second later, he wants to rip his hair out when the stupid song you were singing reintroduces itself in his head.

“For fuck’s sake,” he groans. 

The tree he’s leaning against shifts ever so slightly.

His eyes fly open, but he doesn’t move an inch.

Instinctually, his breathing slows and his ears tune in to pick up even the faintest sounds.

The draft whispers, and he knows for a fact that something is above him.

A branch cracks. 

“Go away,” Bucky says loudly. 

A second passes. 

And then another. 

“You’re supposed to be looking for the thing,” you shout.

“It’ll find me if it wants to.” He shifts to make himself more comfortable. “I’m givin’ him a real shot here.” 

“You didn’t even look up.”

“Didn’t have to.”

“He could have been above you.”

“But he wasn’t.” Bucky’s eyes close again. 

“You’re terrible.” It comes back muffled, and branches shift. “I’m headin’ that way. One of us has to put some effort into this.”

“Joy. Knock yourself out.”

The trunk moves under his muscles again and Bucky lets out a small exhale, settling back into the position he was in.

Until he hears you singing in the distance. Same three lines, same off-key tune.

Bucky drags his palm across his face. 

An hour passes. 

Unlike his original plan, he does not sleep.

He instead recounts every element he remembers from the periodic table. 

Replays every Dodgers game from his childhood, and then gets mad at their shift. 

Then he tries to recollect every fact he knows about you so far. Mutant, captured and experimented on, broke free several years before him. Met Nat along the way and befriended her. Telekinesis, slowed aging. Escape artist. Wedding videographer. Allegedly.

He just doesn’t get how you’re so goddamn chirpy all the time, given that he’d been through something similar and come out the way he had. 

It had taken him a month to say anything to anyone other than Steve. You went out for brunch with Sam the same weekend you showed up at the compound.

He doesn’t get you.

Speaking of which, he hasn’t actually seen you in a while. 

He checks the time on his watch. Nearly 3am.

He had a fucking workout in the morning and no lizard-man was going to be the cause for Steve outrunning him.

He pushes himself off the ground with a groan, and stretches out his sore limbs. Definitely too old for lying around a cemetery beyond midnight.

He calls out your name loudly, and then again, before waiting. 

He hears bells ringing in the distance. 

Bucky looks up.

In the shadows of the trees, he comes face to face with the same sight as before. A figure, standing on the branches.  

“There’s nothing here,” he calls out, sighing. “Can we just leave?”

The twigs creek, and for a second he thinks you’re going to fall. 

“Already told you I’m not faking footage, get down from there,” he repeats. “I’m leaving. I’ll see you at the gate.”

The leaves shuffle around before he hears branches break. 

Something you say gets obscured by your movement, but you disappear again. He thinks that maybe you were cursing him out, and deservedly so. He just couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

He rolls his eyes, but starts making his way to the entrance of the graveyard.

The walk back is faster, and he holds back a yawn as the gates start creeping up on the horizon. 

There’s no sign of you. He half thinks you ditched him here and went back to the compound. Or fell off the tree and were just laying there. 

But he decides to wait, leaning against the exposed concrete wall. 

Eyes closed, he rubs his temples and decides that if you’re not here in the next thirty seconds, he’ll just–

“Hey,” you greeet from right in front of him.

“Where the hell did you go?” he demands. 

You blink at him, before holding up a wrapper. 

“Got a sandwich. I was hungry. The diner was real nice too, I spent like half an hour talkin’ to the owner.”

He stares at you. “You just left to get a sandwich?”

“Yeah, and I got you one, too,” you reply, tossing him a paper bag. “You’re welcome. God bless that man, but those things aren’t cheap.”

“You’ve not been here for the last half hour?”  

“I mean, I spent like ten minutes looking.” You shrug, taking another bite. “All I got was a bunch of grass.”

Ten minutes. Bucky had sat under the stupid tree for an hour. 

“So you just left,” he says dryly.

“Yes,” you reply like it’s not even worth debating. “Besides, if anyone could find a cryptid it’d be you. A fellow cryptid.”

Bucky spins on his heel to leave.

“You’re welcome for dinner,” you call out, and he can hear you laugh.

He flips you the finger, and regrets it a second later when your singing resumes.

The sandwich is good. He appreciates it.

He even manages to keep pace with Steve the next morning. 

What he doesn’t appreciate is coming back to fifteen missed calls and four video calls from you.

From: co-host (TGS)

can you pick up 

From: co-host (TGS)

i know you have nothing going on in your life you are bitchless

Bucky switches off his phone for the next three hours. 

Finally, it’s a threat that you will show up at his door again and Bucky finally video calls you back that evening. 

“What,” he states.

“Took you long enough,” you huff, sitting up to adjust the camera. In the middle of the ordeal, Bucky sees your laptop open.

“What do you want?” he repeats.

“The team sent over the videos from last night,” you tell him. “At some point in the video you said ‘we’re not faking footage, get down from there.”

“Yeah.”

He hears you play the footage faintly in the background, almost to substantiate your point. He cringes at the sound of his own voice.  

“Who were you talking to?” 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Heard you in the trees. Figured you climbed up there again.”

“Ah.” You click your tongue. “Interesting.”

“What.”

You hum. “See, that wasn’t me.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow. “Yes, it was.”

“No, it wasn’t,” you say calmly. “I’d left to get dinner way before all that.”

“Right.”

“I’m serious. Got the timestamp on my video to prove it.” You look up at him through the camera finally. “So who were you actually talking to, Barnes?”

Bucky’s nose twitches.

“Bye,” he says shortly.

“Dude,” he hears you laugh loudly through the phone. “I fuckin’ told you you’d attract these things, you–”

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

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Next part

[crisiscutie]

Can I request a scenario where darling knew young Sephiroth and she likes to tease him for being shorter than her. They part ways due to their work, but meet again after several years.

But this time, darling is surprised by how tall Sephiroth is, like waaaay taller than her and now he enjoys teasing her back.

The Ever Cutie and his big sister/nee-san darling prompt? On my birthday!? 💜 Let's get right into this.

You've known Sephiroth since you were both little kids, with you being four years older. You two were allowed to occasionally play with each other.

Your mother, a dedicated scientist, played a crucial role in the development of the new generation of SOLDIER. Among the subjects, Sephiroth stood out, she had been studying him a lot with other scientists.

Sephiroth's deep attachment to you had grown to such an extent that he had even once secretly followed you and your mother home after your playdate. He vanished from the building without a trace, leaving everyone wondering how he did it. Your mother got so much in trouble for it when she returned him.

It's a funny incident that the two of you and everyone around you loved reminiscing about as time goes on.

You knew from an early age that Sephiroth lacked normalcy in his life, so you do your best to introduce it to him, whenever you can.

During lunch times, you indulged him with your secret stashes of candies and other treats, while also introducing him to games like hide and seek, that evoked his hunting instincts from his training. (You had to get him out of that mindset when it was time to play)

After Sephiroth has shown so much promise, the older generation of SOLDIERS started to get phased out, them mostly being gone by your teens.

You yourself were offered a mentorship role for Sephiroth and other new SOLDIERS because of your mother. Nepotism for the win, right?

By the virtue of being older than him AND an early bloomer, you just had to poke fun at Sephy and his height when you hit your teens. In your eyes, he will always be your sweet little brother.

His habit of bumping into you due to the height difference always made him so flushed and flustered, especially when you tease him about it.

During your late teens, it was a little easier to give him some normalcy by inviting him over to your apartment for dinner and other activities, as you had more opportunities to do so. You definitely weren't responsible for his love of lasagna. Nope.

One unforgettable day, etched in your memory, was when his eyes sparkled with joy as he noticed the change in your eye color. ou were happy that you finally got your mako injections, and to your relief, your body adapted well to them. You had to show Sephiroth your new mako eyes.

Unbeknownst to you, this brought him comfort, as he realized he now shared a resemblance to a loved one. It made him feel like he belonged. Like he can actually be your younger brother.

Later on, your time together became less as Sephiroth trained and you focused on your own growth as a SOLDIER and a mentor those younger than you.

After Sephiroth deployed to Rhadore, you saw little to none of him in the following years. You were both sad, but also understood your separation was necessary for your duties.

During a mission briefing years later, you couldn't believe your eyes when you saw your sweet little brother, who had an unusual growth spurt. You knew he changed greatly, but it was still a whiplash from the young boy he once was.

From a distance, it appeared as though he had not only grown a whole foot taller, but had also let his silver hair grow out, it now nearly reaching his ankles. His physique had become more muscular, and he had become the most famous person in the entire world.

It was impossible for you not to feel a sense of pride for him.

But there's no way he'd recognize you after everything that's happened to him in the past years.

Yet after the briefing, you heard someone unexpectedly call your name. As you turned around, your eyes met his strapped, muscular chest.

Without any warning, his eyes lit up mischievously, transforming his surprise into a playful expression.

"You're shorter than I remembered, darling."

Your face turned red and pouty.

"I'm not short! You're just too tall now!" You said, as you playfully hit his chest.

You were wearing heels and somehow Sephiroth STILL towered over you.

Without warning, you pulled him into a heartfelt hug afterward, your tears of joy trailing down his chest.

He seemed taken aback by the sudden hug as his hands hovered around your waist, but he secretly appreciated it.

You two had little time to catch up, as Sephiroth had to deploy for his next mission. But the memory of this reunion will be enough to hold him over until next time you two meet...

By the way, it may just be me, but Young EC Sephy doesn't seem that particularly short going by his battle model. Anyways, I love this AU and wouldn't mind working on it more for EC/7R verse.

[beanbagstab]

My current Sonamy headcanons! 💖💙

These are mostly based off official content as well as what I’ve extrapolate from irl changes to the characters n such

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1) Believing in Amy is the closest Sonic gets to believing in fate 

2) Sonic feels similarly to sinking in water to how he feels “falling in love”. He feels a loss of control in a way he’s not entirely comfortable with or even sure he likes but he finds it exciting nonetheless

3) Amy compares herself to Sonic too much and sees herself as weak as a result 

4) Sonic hates being vulnerable so he helps the weak

5) Amy is uniquely capable of seeing right through Sonic and that makes him feel vulnerable

6) Even if she is helpful, most strangers see Amy as annoying, her friends love her tho

7) Sonic is the first real person in her life to put up with Amy and she attached to him so much because of it

8) Both realize they’re trans early in childhood but Sonic never had a word for it until later in life 

9) Sonic is Demi and Bi-Romantic but goes unlabeled for most of his life. He’s known what he’s about since he was fairly young tho

10) Amy is Allo and Bi but had not really thought about until meeting Sonic, she goes to pride events when she can

11) Amy developed attachment and abandonment issues that don’t go away even after they begin to date 

12) Amy and Sonic have a weak telepathic connection that functions more like a sixth sense Sonic is less aware of it than Amy is and he doesn’t really question it

13) Amy actually has no idea how she is able to sense Sonic’s presence (she chalks it up to girlish intuition)

14) Sonic usually has a very good awareness of his surroundings but somehow Amy always manages to catch him off guard 

15) No matter how angry or aggressive Amy gets with him, Sonic’s danger sense has never gone off because of her

16) Even after they started dating, Sonic isn’t entirely sure if he ‘loves’ Amy the way she ‘loves’ him but as long as they’re happy he doesn’t really care 

17) Amy realized Sonic’s on the aroace spectrum before he did 

18) Sonic is secretly worried that one day Amy will fall out of love with him 

19) Sonic believes that Amy knows him better than he knows himself but Amy feels like there’s so much she still doesn’t know about him 

20) Amy is very perceptive and empathetic but Sonic is the hardest person for her to read 

21) Sonic is likewise very perceptive but lacks the same level of empathy as Amy 

22) Amy looks at Sonic like he hung the stars and Sonic would do anything to keep that look on her face 

23) Sonic doesn’t get jealous easily but when he does he gets very jealous 

24) Amy does get jealous easily but it quickly fizzes out to either anger or sadness 

25) A lot of people have a crush on Sonic but the only crush he’s ever really been affected by is Amy’s 

26) Sonic loves to live. Amy lives to love 

27) Amy is constantly trying to prove to herself that she’s worthy of Sonic’s love and attention 

28) Sonic can be selfish when it comes to Amy’s affections 

29) After/if Tails gets a partner Sonic ‘moves out’ and ‘moves in’ with Amy to give them more privacy 

30) Sonic is consciously more gentle with Amy and Amy is unconsciously more rough with Sonic 

31) After years of becoming more used to physical touch with/ from Amy he is almost completely unaffected by it which leads to Amy trying to find new ways to fluster/ tease him 

32) Meeting Amy as kids gave Sonic the patience and empathy he needed that lead him to allow Tails to follow him later 

33) Even if Amy didn’t want him to, Sonic would still rush in to save her. 

34) When Sonic is upset Amy is the first one able to tell the difference from his usual demeanor  

35) They almost never have serious arguments but when they do they both are quick to forgive 

36) Sonic considers himself very lucky to be the one who Amy fell in love with

37) To Sonic, Amy is truly a “good person” to the extent that he trust her moral compass with very little, if any, push back 

38) Sonic and Amy are both orphans

38) Sonic is an introvert and Amy is an extrovert 

39) Sonic is very bad at expressing his more negative/complex/vulnerable emotions

40) Amy often gets ahead of herself, overestimating her abilities which sometimes pay off and sometimes get her in a lot of trouble 

41) Sonic thinks Amy’s tenacity is amazing and fun but sometimes it worries him too

42) Sonic’s impatience as a kid stems from him being so used to being the strongest/ most capable person around 

43) Sonic gets less reckless as he grows but he gets very reckless when his emotions are high 

44) Amy: heeheehee (aka cute giggles)

Sonic: heheheheheHAHAHAHAHA (aka chuckles into full on cackling)

45) Even when they’re old, Sonic and Amy still act like teens in love- teasing each other and chasing each other around, new people are kinda weirded out but friends are very used to it by then

46) Sonic is so used to Amy telling him how she feels directly that he would have no idea what to do if she decided to clam up and suppress her own feelings. It would upset and unnerve him- he’d feel in the dark.

[haveihitanerve]

not a completed fic but... also not a fic i think i will ever complete so.. have this?

Alfred… had never grown fond of her. Not in the way Bruce and Duke and Damian and even Dick had. Not in the way Cass and Tim had.

Alfred had put Tim in the mask, draped the cape around his shoulders, begged him to take up the mantle and save Bruce. But he hadn’t done that for Steph. He had never liked Steph.

She hadn’t known to what extent, until she had forgotten to lock up her utility belt one night. She could’ve come back in the morning, but Bruce would’ve noticed, and she didn’t want to give him another reason why she wasn’t worthy as Robin. She was certain Tim had never forgotten to lock up his belt at the end of the day.

But Bruce had been in the cave when she had snuck down the stairs, and despite her skill, the skill he had now taught her, he always knew she was there. Maybe it was something he taught all his- the kids. All the robins. A way to hide from everyone but him.

So she had waited, crouched beside the door, her legs growing numb as she waited for him to finish and leave. That was when Alfred had come.

“Master Bruce. Your dinner is cold.”

“I’ll be there in a second Alf.” Bruce returned, fingers flying across the keys.

“She ate an hour ago.” Alfred threw out, emphasis on the she. Emphasis on not using her name. Stephanie’s fingers dug into her thighs. Bruce’s fingers stilled.

“Do you have something to say, Alfred?” He asked. Steph could hear the control in his voice, the measured tone he was using. The tone he used with her when she did something wrong and he wanted her to discover for herself what it was and how to do it better.

He was just like that, wanting her to learn on her own, to not rely on him, to not hear his reprimand but rather his pride when she figured it out. Alfred was quiet.

“She is not Tim.” Bruce said, his voice gentler.

“I know.” Alfred returned. “And that is the problem.” Steph bit her lip as her fingernails drew blood. Tears stained her eyes and she blinked them back.

“What would you have me do?” Bruce asked, and his voice was measured again, though Steph could hear him getting angry. “Kick her out? Return her to the street? Let her run around Gotham alone?”

“He is!” Alfred yelled back. Bruce’s control snapped and he stood, turning to his butler.

“Tim made his choice.” He hissed. “And as much as I want him back he is not coming back. That is not my fault, no more than it is hers.” He snarled. Steph almost gasped. Bruce was… defending her. She blinked the tears back again.

“Stephanie is not to blame for Tim leaving. I need a Robin.” Bruce said quietly, voice firm and hard. “And she stepped up. Not unlike Jason. Not unlike Tim. I cannot make you love her, I cannot make you like her. But you will give her the respect she is due.”

In all her work with Bruce, Stephanie did not think she had ever once heard him actually give Alfred an order. Alfred nodded stiffly, and turned, stalking back up the stairs.

Bruce slumped back into his chair. Steph hardly dared to breathe, but his eyes found her anyway. “I’m sorry.” She whispered. Bruce looked at her tiredly.

“For what?” His voice was soft. Quiet.

“For not being him. For not being good enough.”

“Oh Steph,” Bruce sighed, standing, and grabbed her utility belt, locking it up in her locker. “I never wanted you to be Tim.”  He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her hair, before following his butler up the stairs.

Steph remained there, crouched in the corner, and finally let the tears fall.

[voxofthevoid]

Like I said in my preliminary post about the chapter, my initial impression of JJK 268 was positive but lukewarm—kind of “okay, that’s decent but full of holes.” Then I made the mistake of thinking about it too much, and now my opinion is more like “that’s ass actually.”

Unflattering assessment of JJK 268 and the current state of the story to follow—stop reading here if you don’t want to see that.

There were two things I liked—and still like, to a certain extent—about the chapter: Yuuji’s final conversation with Sukuna and Gojou’s final letters. But past the initial approval, I’m finding severe issues with those as well.

The Letters

To tackle the lesser evil first, the letters are quite in character for Gojou, and the one to Megumi is on point. It’s perfect. The one to Nobara is where it falls apart. Her mother is a non-entity; her entire flashback has focused on her friendships, with Saori in particular. Her family is absent from the page/screen, and all we get are passing mentions hinting at her family dynamics. So why the fuck is that what Gojou’s letter focuses on?

I know the answer; there’s nothing else for him to tell her. They’re not close and barely know each other, so there’s no substance to their relationship the way there is with Gojou and Yuuji or Gojou and Megumi. What would have made a good letter to her was Saori’s address/number—but Gojou can’t reasonably give her that because there’s no feasible way he’d have known about Saori. Nobara sure as shit wouldn’t have told him. So it feels like Gege tacked on information about a random absent mother because the letter had to say something and this complements Megumi’s letter. It just falls flat as fuck because nobody cares, least of all Nobara herself.

What I think could have worked without having Gojou act out of character was a joke or some bullshit about her coma—something that shows his faith/hope that she’d wake up and be well without becoming emotional or trite. They weren’t close, but she was still a student he cared for. There are ways to show that without pulling a random family member into the equation.

Sukuna and Yuuji

Where do I even start?

In isolation, I adored the conversation they had at the end. It allows both of their personalities as well as their relationship to shine and stay true to themselves while delivering a powerful final exchange. There are several angles to it that fascinate me, especially the contrast between how nightmarish Yuuji's offer truly is and how tenderly he proposes it.

But how the fuck did they get there?

Specifically, how’d Yuuji go from trying to rip out Sukuna’s heart at the end of JJK 260 to being willing to give Sukuna a second chance to be his prisoner/companion until their mutual death? JJK 265 and even 266 lay out his reasoning, but how and when did he get to that point? Yuuji’s final attitude toward Sukuna has both empathy and sympathy: (i) he realizes that he and Sukuna were both shouldering curses out of their control and that it may have been nurture as much as nature that made them what they are, and (ii) he believes that Sukuna deserves a chance to be more than a cursed existence.

We never see why or how he develops these beliefs. A throwaway line from Sukuna about being a wretched child isn’t enough for Yuuji to write Heian era fanfiction in his head; frankly, Yuuji’s not the type. The only option is the much-referenced but so-far unused “resonance” giving Yuuji actual insights into Sukuna’s emotions or backstory, but we don’t see that. We don’t even get hints of that. Yuuji’s willing to tear Sukuna apart and then he’s willing to coexist with him. Forget missing steps, there’s an entire missing floor here.

I’m all for stories that require the reader to engage in inference and analysis, but you still need solid material to prompt such conclusions. JJK is lacking that. There are hints of it. You can squint and see the building blocks of Yuuji’s eventual mindset. But it feels like entire chapters are missing between his attitude in 260 and 265 and also between 265 and 268.

The Fingers

You know how Sukuna’s death only being possible via a vessel has been a driving factor behind the entire plot? Well, I guess we can just ignore that. Just pull him out and let him disintegrate as a lump—problem solved. Even the remaining finger isn’t a problem anymore! That’d have made sense given it’s still only one finger—although even one-finger Sukuna is immensely powerful and might be an issue in the future, if the next generations are weaker than the current one. But instead, it’s framed as that finger not even having the power to connect to Sukuna’s soul at all. Even that’s acceptable in isolation, except this entire thing contradicts how the fingers and Sukuna’s existence have been framed until this point.

Just a few chapters ago, Sukuna was vomiting up fingers as the connection between his soul and Megumi’s body was assaulted. Hell, he swallowed them right back. The natural conclusion here would be that tearing him from Megumi’s body would result in four fingers—Yuuji’s little finger and three original Sukuna fingers—containing some 95% of Sukuna’s soul/power. It also meant someone would need to die to vanquish Sukuna because a vessel was necessary. The question was whether it’d be Megumi or Yuuji.

The answer, apparently, is that you don’t need a vessel at all. Yuuji’s offer to him is framed as him giving Sukuna grace—sure, he’d be caged in and then die with Yuuji sooner or later, likely sooner, but Yuuji's still offering him a longer life. And then Sukuna dies without a vessel. So what was the point of it all? The change is flimsily justified while contradicting the very premise of the story, and not only does it make Sukuna’s end underwhelming, but it also cheapens all the pain and horror until this point.

Tonal Dissonance

This chapter feels like two halves of two different chapters stitched together. Compare the aftermath of the Shibuya Incident to this aftermath—where’s the gravity, the grief? The end of the battle doesn’t get time to settle before the trio are back together, healed and happy.

Happy endings and tragic endings are both good endings—when they’re well crafted and cohesive. And JJK hasn’t ended yet, but the battle with Sukuna did, and we jump right into an aftermath that has no respect for the severity and devastation of the fight that preceded it. Seeing Yuuji, Megumi, and Nobara happy makes me feel nothing; it doesn’t even seem part of the same story. We see no hints of Megumi or Nobara really acknowledging everything that happened while they were possessed and unconscious, respectively. There’s no real sense of consequence either, which is just jarring after all the character deaths and associated emotions in the previous chapters.

The thing is, I think this could have been mitigated by shifting Megumi’s waking and what follows into a new chapter. It wouldn’t fix the timeline issues—it looks like Megumi’s waking several hours, maybe a day or two max, after the fight ended—but it’d be less abrupt. Follow Uraume’s death with a long pan of Shinjuku and maybe snapshots of what the survivors are up to: Yuuji gathering up Megumi’s conscious body; the state of Yuuta, Toudou, and Hana, as well as the remaining sorcerers who were involved in the fight; a quick look at the colonies and the incarnated/awakened sorcerers Kenjaku didn’t manage to kill. Just something to let the end of the fight sink in—a proper transition.

Honestly, I feel like Gege’s ticking off a few boxes in their outline to get this story done with. Maybe it’s burnout, maybe it’s loss of interest; I don’t know. But the end result is that there’s the shape of a story—an arc, an ending—that could have been incredible but is instead a sad, disintegrating lump on the ground, much like Sukuna was in the end.

There are three more chapters, so I assume some of my remaining questions or issues will be addressed, like the terms of the Kenjaku–Sukuna binding vow, the state of Japanese society, the fate of the surviving CG players and the CG itself, the Tengen fetus that’s presumably still inside Megumi, etc. They may even address some of the inconsistencies and ambiguities raised above. But this entire arc has already suffered from an excess of post-hoc explanations, and more of that won’t really make it a stronger or better story.

[ultrone]

𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗞 𝗠𝗘 𝗗𝗢𝗪𝗡 ┊ 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗎𝗇𝖺 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗑 𝗃𝖾𝖿𝖿'𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋

synopsis (request). shauna comes over to jeff's place to hook up, completely unaware that his younger sister, you, are home too. she gets mad at him for saying he was home alone, since you obviously realized that they're having an affair. shauna begs you not to tell jackie about it, and you agree, but only under one condition.

cw. himbo jeff, cheating, shauna's first time with a girl, minors dni; smut with plot, power bottom reader, soft top shauna, corruption (?), strap-on use, cum-filled strap, riding, oral.

wc. 4.4k

It was 10:30 pm. You were lying on your stomach in bed, enjoying a lollipop and flipping through a magazine you had purchased earlier in the day. As you listened to music playing from your speaker, you suddenly heard a knock at the door. However, you chose to ignore it and continued with your own activities.

A second knock followed.

"Jeff, get the door!" you called out to your older brother, but received no response. Another, louder knock echoed through the house.

“Jesus christ,” you muttered with annoyance, rising from the bed and making your way downstairs towards the door. As you approached the door, frustrated with your lazy brother for not answering it, you muttered under your breath, “asshole.”

Your parents were not home that day as they were both away on a business trip for two days. This meant that the person at the door was either one of Jeff's friends or the pizza you both had ordered earlier.

As you unlocked and opened the door, expecting to see Randy, you were taken aback by a pair of big, mesmerizing brown eyes—belonging to Shauna Shipman. Shauna was the best friend of your brother's girlfriend. You often spotted her around university, hanging out with your brother's group of friends or in the hallways, but the two of you had never spoken before. It's not like you had a reason to, considering they were two years older than you. You also knew of her because Jackie frequently mentioned her when she came over, but that was the extent of your knowledge about Shauna.

But now, as she stood right in front of you, you began to realize how pretty she actually was—something that had never crossed your mind before. Her big brown eyes were beautiful, with a hint of melancholy lingering within them. Her lips were plump, soft, and had a gentle redness to them. Her hair was pulled back, with two strands gracefully falling on either side of her face, framing it perfectly. She wore a white shirt layered with a dark red flannel on top, along with ripped jeans and black converse shoes. If you had known she looked like this all along, you would have definitely tried to hit.

Why is she here, though? Are Jeff and her even that close?

Just as you were about to speak, a voice came from behind you.

"Shauna! Hey!" Your brother responded, accompanied by his characteristic charming smile and tone.

You turned around and stepped aside, so as not to be in the way.

"Hey, Jeff," Shauna greeted him with a smile, although she seemed a bit tense, as if she hadn't expected you to be there.

"Come on in," he said casually. "This is my younger sister, Y/n. I'm sure you've seen her around," he added as Shauna entered and Jeff closed the door behind her.

"Yeah... Nice to meet you, Y/n," she replied with a forced smile, still showing traces of uneasiness on her face.

"Hey," you greeted with a fake smile.

"Well, we're heading upstairs to work on a project. Can you open the door for the pizza when it arrives?" Jeff said, gesturing for Shauna to follow him up the stairs.

"Work on a project, huh?" You chuckled incredulously. You weren't sure if it was the overpowering scent of his cologne, the fact that he had just showered, or simply that it was already 10:30 pm on a Saturday night. But you knew for certain that those two weren't going upstairs to study. Poor Jackie, you thought. You and Jackie only interacted when Jeff was around, and you were aware of her apparent sassy demeanor at school. However, she had always been kind to you, and you appreciated her. You also knew how much she cared about Shauna. So, the fact that your brother and she were up to who knows what behind Jackie's back made you sympathize with her.

Shauna paled at your words, realizing that she had messed up—she knew that coming over to Jeff's house was already a huge risk, and now you had caught her in the act. When Jeff mentioned that his parents were out and he was home alone, she certainly didn't expect you to be there.

"Uh... what?" Jeff responded, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. "Just because I have an academic alert doesn't mean I don't study," he retorted.

"Yeah, sure," you replied, rolling your eyes at his feeble attempt to cover up his lie.

"Anyway, get the pizza," he instructed, before finally heading up the stairs, with Shauna following closely behind.

Leaning against the front door, you sucked on your lollipop slowly, observing them with narrowed eyes as they made their way to their destination. As Shauna reached the last step, she turned to glance at you, concern evident on her face, but quickly averted her gaze back to Jeff and continued following him.

"I can't do this," Shauna said abruptly, breaking her kiss with Jeff and getting off him, hastily putting on her shoes.

"What's the problem?" he asked with a puzzled expression.

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me your sister was here?" she asked, annoyed, trying to keep her voice down.

"Because it doesn't matter," Jeff replied dismissively, as if Shauna was being unreasonable. "You two don't even know each other, so what's the big deal?" he added nonchalantly.

"You don't know what the big deal is? Are you kidding me?" Shauna asked incredulously. "She knows Jackie, Jeff. What if she says something?" she said, her words laced with deep concern.

"She won't," Jeff assured her, his tone overly confident.

"Stop being so damn casual about it. Do you even care at all?" Shauna questioned, her frustration evident.

"Well, if you were so concerned, maybe you shouldn't have slept with your best friend's boyfriend in the first place," he retorted.

"Fuck you, Jeff." Those were Shauna's parting words as she slammed the door behind her, making her way to the bathroom outside. She needed to wash her face, feeling suffocated and unable to think clearly.

Shauna locked the door behind her and turned on the sink, allowing the cold water to flow. Placing her hands on the sink, she took deep breaths, attempting to regain her composure. Rolling up the sleeves of her flannel, she splashed her face with water, trying to clear her mind and focus on the sensation of the cold water against her warm skin.

Feeling calmer now, she started to contemplate her situation. She couldn't afford to let Jackie find out, she just couldn't. She had to ensure that you wouldn't utter a single word. Determined, she decided that she wouldn't leave the house until she was certain that she had convinced you to keep quiet.

Knowing Jeff, he was probably going to end up jerking off and taking a nap until you woke him up for the pizza's arrival. That gave Shauna enough time to sort things out and talk to you. Taking another deep breath, she dried her face and hands, then stepped out of the bathroom, resolute in her decision to find you.

However, it didn't take her long because the moment she stepped outside, she ran into you. You were walking towards your room with a plate full of piping-hot pizza. Of course, you intended to let the rest of it cool down before informing your brother that the pizza had already arrived. It was the least you could do to honor Jackie—letting your brother chew on a dry and soggy microwaved slice of pizza.

"Had a good time?" you asked teasingly, finding it funny how Shauna was clearly shitting her pants.

"It's not what it looks like," she responded defensively.

"Oh, really? So, did an evil vacuum attack you? Or is there another reason for that mark on your neck?" you inquired sarcastically, chuckling as you observed her hurriedly trying to cover it with her hand—a clear sign that she hadn't noticed it when looking at herself in the mirror.

With that, you left her standing there, looking foolish, and made your way to your room. Closing the door behind you, you settled onto your bed. Picking up the remote control from your nightstand, you turned on your 16-inch Sony TV, positioned right in front of your bed. As you flicked it on, MTV appeared on the screen, and you decided to leave it there, in the mood for watching some music videos.

Just as you were about to take a bite of the delicious, piping-hot pizza you had been eagerly waiting for, you were taken by surprise when your door suddenly opened and someone quickly stepped inside, closing it behind them.

"Uhh… Come on in, I guess," you said, looking at Shauna with a clear expression of confusion, slowly moving the pizza away from your mouth and placing it back down on the plate.

"Can we talk?" she asked, her expression serious and filled with concern.

"Well, since you're already here," you replied suggestively, gesturing for her to start speaking.

"I just..." she began, unsure of what to say. Letting out a sigh, she continued, "Look, I know how this looks, but please, don't tell Jackie," she pleaded, getting straight to the point.

"About what? That you're sleeping with her boyfriend?" you responded challengingly, raising your eyebrows—an unexpected retort.

Taken aback by your blunt remark, she replied with embarrassment, scratching the back of her neck. "Y-yeah," she stammered, clearly flustered.

“And why should I do that?” you asked, slowly sitting up on your bed.

She approached, standing in front of the bed frame, trying to gather her thoughts. Just as she struggled to respond, you spoke up again.

“We’re not even friends, and if anything, I’m closer to Jackie. So, what do I gain from helping you?” you questioned, shifting from a sitting position to kneeling, slowly moving towards her, directly facing her standing figure.

"Don't think of it as helping me, think of Jeff. If you say something, you'll ruin his relationship," she urged, attempting to sound convincing.

You chuckled, confusing her with your response. Helping Jeff? Yeah, right. Destroying him sounded more like something you would want to do. Deep down, Jeff wasn't a terrible person, but he was incredibly dumb and purposely annoying. Despite his charm, he could be a real jerk at times, bossing you around and treating you more like a maid than his younger sister. You were tired of his bullshit. So, you started to contemplate things.

Jeff clearly didn't care about his relationship. Well, maybe he cared a little, mostly for appearances. Being popular himself and dating the soccer team's captain seemed like a good look. But you knew that as soon as you ended his current relationship, he would find another girl in no time. However, destroying his little affair? That would truly crush him. It wasn't because he cared about Shauna, but rather because cheating on Jackie with her best friend gave him a sense of power and superiority. By unraveling this secret and possibly exposing it, you would strip away his most treasured source of validation. And that's exactly what you planned to do.

You wouldn't act immediately, though. No, you would be cautious. You knew that it wouldn't be enough to expose him; you needed him to know that all along, while he thought he was getting away with his little scheme, you were right there, secretly enjoying it as much as him. So, with confident yet cautious hands, you slid your hands to Shauna's sides, gripping her belt loops, slowly pulling her a bit closer, and you spoke.

“I think I know a way you could keep me quiet,” you said, your thumb gently brushing against the line of her jeans, grazing her skin, while your breath mingled with hers.

Nervous yet intrigued, she replied in a trembling whisper, "And what would that be?"

"This," you declared, pulling her closer by the belt loops and sealing your lips together in a bruising, intense kiss. Your tongues immediately mixed together, and you could feel Shauna’s breath increasing as her hands found their way against the sides of your face. As her soft lips moved against yours, you grasped her face with one of your hands, pinching her cheeks and gently pushing her away to catch your breath. Locking eyes with her, you held the intense gaze for a moment.

“I want you to fuck me,” you said hastily, your eyes dilated as you looked at her, mouth partially opened.

Under different circumstances, Shauna would have declined. Despite fucking Jeff frequently, she wasn't the type to sleep around casually; she had always been somewhat reserved. However, she felt trapped. It was either this or risking her friendship with Jackie. Nevertheless, if she were being honest with herself, she wasn't entirely opposed to the idea. She had never been with another girl before, but the thought had been lingering in the back of her mind for a while now, though she had always been apprehensive about exploring that aspect of herself. However, here you were, presenting her with an opportunity to experiment, and not only that, but you were also undeniably attractive. And to be honest, you were a better kisser than Jeff, she thought. So, without further hesitation, she pulled you back into another addictive kiss, this time with a bit more force, causing the both of you to fall onto the bed.

As your mouths continued to explore each other's, you gradually moved further up until your head rested on the pillows. Her lips seemed to grow in intensity as her thigh wedged between yours and began pressing against your center. Slowly rubbing against it, you started to take off her flannel shirt and then her shirt, discarding them on the floor. In response, she assisted you in yanking off your pajama shirt which joined the other pieces of clothing.

You moaned into her mouth as you felt her cool fingertips graze your skin, slipping beneath the fabric of your bra to caress and tease your nipples. You hastily unbuttoned her jeans before abruptly halting, a wave of desire blossoming in the back of your mind. 

Breaking the kiss for a moment, you glanced to your left, reaching out to open the nightstand’s cabinet and rummage through its contents. As you did so, Shauna's eyes fixated on the exposed, tender skin on your neck, and could not help but start giving it sloppy kisses, gently nipping and sucking at it as her fingers kept playing with your now swollen nipples. She was enjoying this a bit too much.

"Here, put this on," you instructed, handing her the double-ended cum-filled strap-on. She pulled away from your neck and looked at it with wide eyes, obviously never having seen one before. You couldn't help but find her puzzled expression endearing, deciding to help her out.

You asked her to take off her jeans, which she did immediately, dropping them on the ground. You were sitting on the bed with your legs wide open, with her kneeling between them in just her lingerie. Your hands moved to her waist, grasping it as you started placing slow and sloppy kisses from her chest down to her abdomen. Then, your hands moved down to her thighs, beginning to rub against them in a gentle yet seductive manner.

Shauna's fingers were intertwined in your hair, her face hovering above yours. As her breath hitched and she pressed her lips together tightly to stifle any moan, she could feel the dampness of her underwear beginning to grow.

You reached the hem of her underwear and slowly caressed the flesh right above it with your tongue, before biting down on the fabric. You used your hands to push down the sides, exposing a large, dark, damp area in the middle.

"You're so wet," you murmured against her skin as you tilted your head to look up at her. You gave her one last kiss on the abdomen before sitting back up. "That's good," you said, helping her slide off her underwear. Taking advantage of the closeness, you whisked away the clothes that were still covering each other's bodies, throwing them onto the heap of clothes on the floor.

You tenderly held her shoulders and guided her to lay down on the bed, positioning her legs with your hands and pushing them apart so you could get a glimpse of her glistening, wet cunt. You couldn't help but lick your lips at the sight.

You grabbed hold of the abandoned strap-on and slid it up her legs. "Are you ready?" You asked, looking intently at her nervous yet intrigued stare. She nodded, indicating that she was ready. Once she was ready, you gradually inserted the toy inside her, making her moan at the delicious stretch. You then wrapped the strap around her waist to lock it in place.

Her brown eyes were dilated, filled with desire as they locked onto yours. Her cheeks were flushed, and she pressed the back of her hand against her mouth, trying to stifle any sounds. Her chest rose and fell with each breath, and her physique was truly captivating; all that soccer practice had certainly paid off.

The sight of her already sweaty, toned body glistening and her muscles slowly contracting with anticipation ignited a burning sensation in your center, and you felt as if waiting another second would cause you to burst into flames.

You climbed onto her body and aligned your opening with her cock, letting yourself sink onto it. “Oh fuck—,” you groaned as your walls stretched out and adjusted to Shauna’s girth inside you. At the same time, she felt the other end of the strap deliciously pressing against her cervix, and bit down on the back of her hand to muffle her moans. She then reached out for the bed sheets, gripping them tightly and releasing a low groan.

Once your walls adjusted to fit her cock snugly, you held onto her shoulders for stability and moved up and down at a swift speed. Every time your body fell on the faux cock, the other end went deep inside her, moving against her tight walls and hitting her right on the g-spot. "Y'like this, huh?" you breathlessly inquired, shifting the intensity of your thrusts from shallow up-and-down motions to deeper front-to-back movements, gliding your palms from her shoulders down her collarbones. She could only moan and nod in agreement, her attention firmly locked to the sensation of your grasp around her throat and the pleasure of having her body penetrated.

She released her white-knuckled grip on your bed sheets, and instead placed her hands on your breasts. Her fingertips caressed them with a light touch while she rolled your nipples between her thumbs and fingertips. As you kept riding the length of her cock, moving your hips back and forth to pleasing effect, you felt yourself getting stretched more and more as she pushed deeper inside of you. Slippery smacking noises echoed off the walls, and you couldn’t believe Jeff was still sleeping through it. “Mmh- feels so fuckin’ good,” Shauna let out in pleasure. It had never felt this good with your brother, it was like losing her virginity all over again, and she couldn’t get enough of it.

Your vision began to fuzz out as Shauna changed the pace, gripping your hips to hold you in place and thrusting with aggression. You felt every inch of her slide in and out of you with ease, your slickness running down your legs and onto her abdomen. Your breaths became shallower and faster as her cock stroked against your g-spot and kept thumping against your cervix over and over. "I-I'm gonna cum," Shauna uttered breathily, her eyes glazing over and her mouth agape, tongue nearly falling out. Her hips were moving rapidly as her motions became more desperate and sloppy. You released her neck and put your palms on top of hers, grasping them firmly as you attempted to keep up with her movements, making them deeper.

“Don’t cum yet, wait for me,” you begged as warmness spread throughout your body from her relentless pounding. “I want you to fill me up as I cum,” you pleaded with a desperate edge to your voice, but the thought of filling you up made her lose control right away. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” she cried out with a final push, her eyes fluttering as a warm liquid oozed from both sides of the strap-on. As you were filled up, your body tensed and your clench tightened around her girth. You threw your head back in pleasure as her thickness surged through your walls and her hands clung to your waist.

Exhausted, you let your naked body collapse onto hers as you both laid there, cockwarming the strap. You remain still for a few minutes, allowing your breaths to slow down.

When your heart rate became slower, you placed your hands on either side of her head and slightly lifted yourself up, gazing down as she blearily opened her eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, glistening with sweat, and her lips quivered.

“I told you not to cum yet,” you said in a low and husky voice.

“I’m sorry,” she answered sheepishly, unsure of what else to say.

You reached out and ran your hand gently along her cheek, then lightly stroked her lower lip with your thumb. “I want you to clean me up,” you said as you moistened your own lips, making it clear that this was not a request but rather a statement.

Shauna despised how Jackie would boss her around, making her feel like a lapdog, a mere sidekick. It truly got on her nerves. However, your self-assuredness and the way you confidently took charge aroused her. You were instructing her on what to do, yet you also empowered her to carry it out in her own way. You were guiding her, yet she felt in control. And she absolutely loved it.

Your lower body rose until the faux penis was entirely out of your pussy, cum dripping from it. You crawled upwards on Shauna’s body, until your legs were on either side of her face, and your glistening wet pussy and thighs were facing directly at her. The lack of experience evident in her eyes. 

"Don't worry, I'll walk you through it," You tried to give her some assurance, letting her know you would help her out. Her body seemed to ease up under your words.

She took the lead and embraced your thighs with her hands, pulling you closer as her hands stroked your thighs. You responded by pressing your hips downward and settling your pussy over her open mouth. And her lips immediately began to kiss your cunt passionately with open-mouthed kisses, taking in every inch of your wetness.

With each kiss, she seemed to become more confident, pushing her tongue further into you as she ran it up and down with long strokes. Her hand moved from your hips to cup your ass, pulling it closer to her mouth in between licking sessions. She expertly explored every inch of you with her tongue, leaving you breathless.

Not long after, she began circling your clitoris with the tip of her tongue, sending shivers down your body. "Fuck Shauna," you moaned out, "you're so fuckin’ good at this," you said, making her moan at the praise. You pushed your pussy impossibly closer against her mouth, wanting more of her lips and tongue against your clit. The vibrations of her moans cursed through your clit like electricity, making it spasm with need. You grabbed the back of Shauna's head as she lapped hungrily at your most sensitive spot, crying out as the orgasmic energy built up inside of you.

Your body quivered as the orgasm finally hit you, and your grip on Shauna's hair tightened further with each wave that crashed through your being. You gasped for breath as the pleasure raced through, until finally it started to ebb away. She released you from her grasp, but not before giving one final kiss to your still quivering inner walls.

After the bliss of your orgasm finally subsided, Shauna pulled away and looked up at you with a satisfied smile. "Was that good?" she asked timidly, her voice husky from exertion. You could only nod in agreement, completely overwhelmed by the intensity of it all. 

Without a word spoken between you both, you shifted and laid down beside her on the bed. You snuggled against her body and watched as she slowly undid the strap around her waist and slowly pulled it out of her pussy. Her breathing gradually returned to its steady rhythm as she laid the strap on your nightstand.

Once you had finally calmed down, you reverted back to your usual sarcastic demeanor. "You were better than I expected," you joked.

"Fuck you," she replied, playfully nudging your arm.

"No, but seriously, you were amazing," you said sincerely, turning to look at her and giving her a gentle smile.

Your words made her heart flutter, and just as she was about to respond, you interrupted the sweet moment. "You were good enough to keep me quiet for a while, at least until we meet again," you said, causing her eyebrows to raise in surprise. “What? Don’t tell me Jeff makes you feel this good,” you remarked, staring at her with a serious expression.

"Of course he doesn't. He lasts like 3 seconds and then falls asleep," she replied with a chuckle, causing you to burst into laughter.

"Of course he does," you replied, both of you laughing at his expense.

Silence fell between you again as you lay side by side, finding comfort in the quietness, both of you gazing up at the ceiling. Shauna turned out to be nicer than you had initially thought; she was growing on you. Despite the complicated situation with Jackie and your brother, which had led you to think of her as a bitch, you realized she was actually more reserved than you had assumed.

"Hey," you spoke up, catching her attention and making her turn to look at you once more. "Do you want to stay the night?" you asked shyly, "It's already pretty late," you explained.

A faint blush tinged her cheeks, barely noticeable, as a fluttering feeling returned to her chest.

"The pizza arrived an hour ago. We can watch a movie and finish the whole box before Jeff wakes up," you suggested, a mischievous smile crossing your face. "He'll get so pissed," you chuckled at the thought.

She laughed too. "Sounds good, I'm in," she replied, giving you a gentle smile.

[crossthread]

Okay I swear to God I hope the directors of avatar (the alien movie) sees this post somehow but the whole reason the way of water flopped so badly is cause it was written over 10 years ago. So I like avatar. I thought it was a cool concept and good characters and overall a solid action movie. But the characterisation is just a dacade old man. It's really outdated. It instantly turned me off when Jake was seen to be a 'hardass' to his kids, and having them call him Sir, and have Neytiri taking kind of a secondary role as the 'peacekeeper' parent who goes 'but your dad loves you, he just wants you safe' bullshit trope that's just really not what this generation is looking for rn.

Emotionally mature parents is what's on topic rn. Dad's that step up and know what they're doing and don't have the 2000s 'military hardass emotionally distant' bullcrap. Just look at all the other movies and shows with family themes that did really fucking well. The Last of Us. Ultraman: Rising. Nimona. Even Maleficent, which I think is one of the earliest movies of this trope that's well known. They did well for a reason. You can't make Jake Sully a bad father and think the current audience will dig it. All of his kids, one way or another felt the pressure of living up to their dad's expectations, and im sure, whether he really loves them. And I assure you for all intents and purposes it felt like Neteyam died thinking he wasnt enough. You can't have those 'your dad loves you but he just doesn't know how to show it' bullshit anymore and expect the audience to like or even relate to that character cause a lot of us don't take that shit anymore from our own parents. A lot of millennials are actively trying to be present and good parents to their kids. So yeah. The way Jake Sully, and to a certain extent, Neytiri were characterised is probably one of the biggest reasons this entire movie flopped. It could have been great. But it isn't. And I kind of hate it actually.

My point is: if there's gonna be a third movie, the best bet to make sure it doesn't follow the way of waters footsteps is to overhaul a lot of the characterisation and plot. See what the audience wants rn, and what they audience relates to. It was clear the writing to that movie was old as balls and gen z or gen alpha don't take that shit man. Give us good parents

Edit: okay as someone pointed it out it wasn't actually a 'flop' flop because they grossed by over a billion or smth in the box office I think but to be fair half this post has been sitting in my drafts for like 2 years and I wrote this soon after I watched it back then, and a LOT of people werent that happy with it. But yall know what I mean. I waited for this movie for 10 years and all I felt was this low simmering disappointment because it could have been so good, but it wasn't.