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agent-cupcake · 8 months ago

Text

Flashbang

Chapter 9 Part 1- August Moon

Spotify Playlist / All Chapters / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 /Chapter 7/ Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 pt.1 / Chapter 9 pt.2 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12

Pairing: One Piece Live Action Buggy x f! Reader

Synopsis: Waking up in yet another unfortunate circumstance, your mind strays to thinking of things you would rather forget.

Warnings: Explicit smut, child abuse

Word Count: 8.6k

Notes: This chapter started to get really long really quickly. Rather than postponing again and posting a 20k+ word chapter, there will be a part two. It’s a different format than other chapters, but the show did flashback arcs so why can't I?

“August Moon, laid just for you, steady, ready, smile like his, until it's out of sight. Don't undo the true chance that chooses you Face to face with a new day So simple it seemed, you dare to dream impossibly, risking its rarity of ‘I'll do it now' Black and blissful, tumbling, I wake, I sleep, it feeds me Fate may rule you and heart it fools you to lose your sanity”

It wasn’t the simple process of recalling how you ended up bound on the floor in the dark, or even trying to figure out how to escape the confinement. It was a million memories dancing through your head all at once, an entire lifetime fogged up with anesthetic playing out in your aching head.

All it took was a little doubt, right? A little confusion. And then you weren’t you, a person who had lived and failed and tried and been hurt over and over. A woman who had done unspeakable things and made unfathomable choices. You were her. A girl too small for her age, a girl whose bones poked out from her pallid skin. Her cheeks weren’t round and rosy, they were hollow and gaunt. She stared solemnly with eyes that seemed too large for her face, as glassy as those of a doll. In stark contrast to the finery of her nursery, she wore dirty pajamas and had unwashed hair.

That was you. From a life you didn’t want to remember, filled with so many things you couldn’t forget.

You remembered how cold it always was when Dad was gone. You remembered the feeling of hunger gnawing at your stomach. You were too young to know how to feed yourself or get warmer clothes, you only understood that your tummy hurt and you couldn’t stop shivering and that Mom didn’t want you to leave your room. You remembered sitting on your floor with your doll, quietly playing by yourself. Her name was Peach. She was your sister and your best friend.

More anything else, more than the fear or the sadness or the longing or the pain, you remembered Mom’s voice. She was singing and you could remember that song so clearly that you dreamed of it years and years and years later. Her melancholic melody floated down the dark, cold hall. The house had been silent since Dad left on a trip. He was a doctor, which meant he had to take care of people. Mom hadn’t been feeling well. She called it morning sickness, even though she seemed to get even sicker at night. She threw up a lot, and she said her head and back hurt. She said she needed to rest, which was why you weren’t allowed to leave your room unless she said.

But now she was singing.

Thinking about it for a moment, you put your doll Peach into her bed to be comfortable and safe while you were gone, pulling the little blankets up around her chin so she didn’t get cold. The house was always so cold. You left your room, your sock-covered feet making no noise on the wood floors. Mom’s voice was every bit as beautiful as she was, even when it was haunting and sad.

When you peeked around the doorway into the room she and Dad shared, you saw her sitting on the window bench, watching the lifeless gray sky. She was covered in something dark and wet, like she had spilled a drink. It puddled in her lap and coated her hands, dried on the edges but saturated so heavily in the middle that it still glistened like wet ink. You watched as tears slid down the side of her face, dripping from her chin. They kept falling, even as she sang.

“Momma?” you asked softly, suddenly uneasy. “Momma, what happened?”

She stopped singing, looking towards you with hazy eyes. Her face was drained of all color, her cheeks gaunt and hair a mess of flyaways. She held out her hand for you. Whatever was on her lap had dried on her skin, flaking off like rust from her fingers.

Blood. It was blood, you could smell it now. The vile metallic tang nearly choked you.

“Momma, you’re hurt,” you said, crossing the room and taking her hand without a second thought. Dried blood smeared over your hand. Her skin was ice cold.

Her pale lips parted to say something, her chest swelling with a breath, but nothing came out. She just looked confused, her brow pinching and fresh tears forming in her eyes.

“Mommy, you’re bleeding,” you insisted, feeling very cold inside. Dad wasn’t home, and you didn’t know who else could help.

“Why was it you?” she asked, looking lost. “A girl. A daughter. Why are you the only one to make it? If you were a son—if I had a son…” She put her other hand on her stomach. “It was a son, I know it was.”

“Momma?”

She blinked, her eyes focusing as if only just noticing you. Quick, like you had burned her, she dropped your hand.

“Draw me a bath,” she said, a sharpness you recognized very well returning to her voice. “I am fine, this is… Fine. Don’t tell your father about this.”

“Yes, mommy.”

There were many things Mom didn’t want dad to know, things about her. Later in life, she told you to hide things about you from him. But that came later.

From back then, you could remember very clearly that Mom and dad fought a lot. Sometimes it seemed like all they did was fight, and then Dad would leave on a ship, and then it was just you and Mom. When he got home, things would be fine at first, but that peace never lasted very long.

You could hear them in the den. It was a fight that had been brewing for a while. Mom was shouting in a shrill tone, but Dad only ever talked quietly. His voice came out in a low rumble that demanded absolute attention, like rolling thunder. Just as fearsome too.

You wanted to go upstairs, but that would mean going through the den and you didn’t dare interrupt them. Instead, you held Peach tight in your arms and covered your ears to block out their voices and waited for the storm to pass.

She shouted. He spoke. There was thumping. Mom screamed twice. And then a heavy silence fell upon the house. The clock seemed to tick even louder in the absence of their voices.

Did that mean it was over with? You crawled out of your hiding place, softly walking down the hall until you got to the arch leading into the den. Light from the crackling fire within illuminated a little halo into the hall, but there was no warmth to the orange glow.

Hardly daring to breathe, you peeked inside. Mom laid in a broken heap on the floor. She was bleeding. It gushed out of her nose, pooling on the hardwood. Her eye was already swelling and she cradled her stomach. Her shoulders shivered with little hitching sobs.

You didn’t see Dad anywhere, so you tentatively entered, walking as softly as you could.

“Mommy?” you asked, approaching her slowly.

Dad said your name from the stairs, making you jump. Mom whimpered.

“Leave your mother alone,” he told you as he came down. “It’s time for bed.”

“But mommy—”

“Now,” he said, his eyes narrowing.

You knew better than to argue with him when he used that tone of voice. You looked back at Mom, feeling sick. She was in pain, you knew she was. But Dad would help her, wouldn’t he? He was a doctor.

“Goodnight mommy,” you said, petting her head. “I love you.”

Her only response was a weak sob.

“Didn’t you hear that, birdie?” Dad said. “Your daughter said goodnight.”

Mom let out a shaky breath, looking up at you. “Goodnight, baby.”

“Okay, come on, sweet girl,” Dad said. “It’s late.”

Nervously, you crossed the room to the stairs where Dad stood. He didn’t look upset anymore, you could almost believe that nothing bad had happened. When you started to pass him, he held out an arm to stop you.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asked.

You looked up at him, confused and anxious.

“I think I deserve a goodnight kiss from my sweet little girl,” he clarified warmly, leaning down to scoop you up into his arms. You stiffened up, squeezing Peach to your chest.

“Goodnight, daddy,” you said, kissing his cheek. He smiled, brushing your hair behind your ear.

“Don’t you worry. Things are going to be better from now on,” he told you. “Right, birdie?”

“Yes,” Mom answered, her voice pained.

Dad let out a heavy breath, nodding. “I hate that it has to be like this, but it’s for the best. I’ve been too easy on you girls for too long, and it’s my responsibility to take care of it.” He closed his eyes for a second, pressing his face against your neck. You held your breath.

“My sweet little girl,” he said, pulling back. “I love you. You know that, don’t you? I love you both.”

“I love you too, daddy.”

He kissed your forehead before setting you down, ruffling your hair.

“Alright, mommy and I have to talk. You better be in bed by the time we’re done, okay? I’ll check.”

“Yes, daddy,” you said.

As soon as his attention was off of you, you went up the stairs. You remembered being too small to take them properly, it was more of a climb than anything. A tiring climb. And then it was down the cold hall into your room, and straight onto your bed. You pulled the blanket up to cover both you and Peach and held the pillow around your ears to shield them.

You remembered many nights just like that, huddled with your doll in the stifled dark, waiting to fall asleep because it was the only escape you had.

28 Days Earlier

It was your own upset whine that woke you up to something approximating consciousness, and then you became aware of several things in quick succession. You were in Buggy’s bed, cradled in his arms with your back against his chest, you were both naked, he was touching you, and what was most probably his erection was pressing against your thighs. You squirmed, confused, catching a glimpse of his nose and smile when you twisted your head around, before pressing your face back into the pillow with a soft groan.

Your head hurt. Actually, several things hurt. It took you a few seconds to grasp what was real. Last night, going to the Maison Rouge, getting drunk, the bathroom, having dinner, getting carried back onto the ship, and then everything else.

At least that explained your headache.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Buggy said cheerfully. Fitting that the one morning you wanted to sleep he would be awake and in good spirits.

Your only response was a harsh gasp when he rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger just a little too hard.

“You are awake right?” he asked.

“Mmmhmm,” you agreed.

“Good. I didn’t want to stick it in while you were still snoozin’.”

You made a confused sound. Most of your functional brain was focused on the way he was touching you, one hand holding you against him while the other shamelessly groped your chest.

“Cap’mm Buggy, what’re you-”

“Don’t get all weird about it,” he said, releasing you to sit up. Blinking groggily, you rolled onto your back to watch him grab a bottle he’d wedged between the other pillows. His makeup was all faded and smeared because you hadn’t taken it off last night, the sparkles dusting down his cheeks. “I’m gonna be gentle.”

“Oil?” you asked, confused as he uncapped it with his teeth and poured some onto his palm.

“Yeah, you were fuckin’ soaking last night, you’re probably all tapped out,” he said with a smile, clarifying some things by tossing off the blanket to stroke his cock, coating it in oil. This was a dream, it had to be. Buggy looked at you, his smile exchanged for a look of impatience. “You’re welcome.”

“Thank you,” you said automatically, although you still felt like this had to be a dream.

Buggy rolled his eyes, stroking his cock one more time for good measure. “Quit gawkin’ and lay down.”

You laid back down, too sleepy to argue. Not that you would. Surprising you somewhat, Buggy laid down too, rolling you onto your side so you were spooning again.

You tried to twist around, confused about what he wanted. You thought you understood, but this was different. New.

“Lift your leg up,” Buggy told you. After a second of trying to understand what he meant, you did and he pulled you down enough for him to get his cock between your legs.

Oh.

Your breathing immediately picked up. Excitement? Nerves? You couldn’t tell the difference clearly enough to know. You didn’t fight him, your fingers digging into the sheets as he ran the slick head through your folds back and forth until it caught. The feeling made you shudder, your stomach flipping.

“See?” Buggy teased. “You loooove this.”

“Don’t we,” you began to say, speaking more because you felt like you needed to say something than because you meant it, “don’t we need to get up and… um…”

“And what?”

You tried to string together a coherent response, but it got lost as Buggy began to push into you, your argument disintegrating around his cock. The oil made it so smooth, he barely had to work it in, just pushing and pushing until you were full.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said, his voice smug even though it was strained and hoarse.

If you were going to object in the first place, all of your thoughts disappeared when he moaned right into your ear. The sound was almost as potent as the feeling of him inside of you, you couldn’t help but tighten up around him, letting out a little whimper. Buggy laughed, rolling his hips lazily.

“We’re on vacation, babydoll. Just relax.”

When you and Buggy finally got out of bed, it was later than was at all reasonable and you were already worn out. Conversely, Buggy seemed to be full of energy. You got a look at yourself in the mirror, shocked and a little disgusted by the sight. There was only so much that could be done to salvage your appearance. Your hair seemed unable to take any other shape than an utterly disastrous nest, and the smears of makeup didn’t respond to water no matter how hard you scrubbed. Your bandana was on the other ship too. Since you were out a pair of very nice panties and the only clothes you had was last night’s red dress, you borrowed a loose linen shirt of his.

It did absolutely nothing to cover the worst of the damage—the bright red marks covering your neck from ear to collarbones. Some were very clearly bite marks with indents of teeth, others were less distinct splotches of red, and a few were just bruises.

“Sheesh, you look wrecked,” Buggy said, which was a little unfair. His makeup was smeared and he needed a shave and to tame the wild blue mess of his hair, but he didn’t look sickly the way you did. There was a brightness to his eyes, an energy you didn’t think you ever had.

“‘s not that bad,” you said, covering your neck with your hair.

“Come here, let me get a better look,” he said, dropping into his chair. You obeyed with halting steps, coming to a stop where you were more or less at eye level. Buggy didn’t look into your eye though, prying your hands from your neck and pushing your hair back to appreciate the work he’d done. “Some of my finest work, if I do say so myself.”

You couldn’t look at his face, staring off to the side. You didn’t want to think about what you did last night, the things you said and did and agreed to. You are mine.

How embarrassing.

Your reaction made Buggy frown. “What’s that look for?” he asked. “You said I could do anything I wanted.”

“‘s embarrassing,” you muttered. “But that… It’s fine, really. Do you want me to-” You gestured to your chin and neck.

Buggy ran a hand over his face, sighing. “Fine,” he said. “Makeup first, though. Somebody forgot to take care of that last night.”

You frowned because that wasn’t your fault which made him laugh, his mood smoothed over just like that.

Taking off his makeup was a very familiar process by now, as was preparing everything to shave his facial hair. You wished that the fulfillment of whatever twisted desires you had would have cured you of your preoccupation with Buggy’s face and neck, yet you found yourself as interested as ever. At the very least, you got through it without incident before wiping the remaining shaving cream off and applying the aftershave, appreciating his smooth skin. Maybe that was selfish.

“I just realized,” you said as you were cleaning the blade before returning the razor to its case. “I can’t cut you, can I? Because of your… your thing.”

“My thing?” he repeated, holding up a mirror to see if you had done a good enough job.

“Your Devil Fruit… thing,” you clarified.

“You just realized that?” Buggy asked. You couldn’t tell if his tone was amused or derisive. Both, probably.

“I thought the reason you didn’t let me at first is because you thought I would cut you,” you explained, turning around to put everything away. “Because you didn’t trust me.”

“Yeah, I didn’t trust that you wouldn’t do a shitty job.”

“I don’t think people would notice either way,” you said. “They’ll be too distracted by-”

“By what?” Buggy asked sharply.

“Your cheekbones and jaw,” you said, hoping it sounded like a normal complement and not creepy. “You know? They’re pretty enough that I don’t think a bit of hair or anything would matter.”

“You were going to say they’d be too distracted by my nose, weren’t you,” he accused. You looked over your shoulder at him, surprised to see his simmering rage.

“I wasn’t,” you told him, frowning. “You don’t even have hair there, it wouldn’t make sense.”

“What you said doesn’t make any sense either.”

“I, um,” you stammered, confused. “That’s not what I mean, sir. I swear.”

“Whatever,” Buggy said, standing up and going into the bathroom. You couldn’t tell how seriously he was upset by the perceived slight. Sometimes Buggy got really angry, but sometimes he seemed to forget it as soon as it happened.

While he was gone, you finished cleaning up the shaving supplies before stripping the bedding. By the time he emerged, you still hadn’t decided if you were meant to apologize or not.

“Do you want me to go get breakfast?” you asked, fidgeting awkwardly.

“Ew, no,” Buggy said, wincing as he tied a kerchief around his hair. “Never eat ship food if you can avoid it.”

“Then�� Can I stay here with you?” you asked.

He grabbed his makeup case and sat back in his chair. “I doubt anyone else wants you.”

You sat on the end of his bed. The morning activities really had worn you out in a way they didn’t seem to for him, and you felt a little gross to be sitting there covered in a film of sexual grime, but it was better than being alone. Much, much better.

“How long will we stay in Lafitte, Captain Buggy?” you asked, looking out the window. It was another lovely day.

“Until I say we’re leaving,” he answered, focused on his makeup. He was very good at it, painting on the shapes quickly and efficiently. You felt warm while watching him, like you could relax because you weren’t alone, because he wanted you by him.

“It’s creepy when you stare at me like that,” Buggy said, bringing your musings to an abrupt halt.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you said.

He smirked, adding the finishing touches to the blue around his eyes before powdering it like Pippa had with your makeup.

“Okay, new rules!” Buggy declared when he was done, standing up. “You,” he pointed at you, “do not leave the ship without me. You don't talk to anybody that’s not me. Really, just, only do what I tell you to do. Daddy dearest doesn’t have any proof that we’ve got you yet and I’d like to keep it that way. You’re gonna lay low, keep your head down, and not do anything stupid. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” you said, nodding, your stomach tied in knots at the reminder.

You helped Buggy get dressed, but your mind was preoccupied with thoughts of your dad. He wouldn’t be thrown off that easily, not from getting you back and not from pirates. You weren’t sure why you managed to convince yourself he would be.

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” Buggy asked with something like bitterness in his voice. “The Surgeon.”

“I guess.”

“Well don’t. I won’t let that crusty bastard take you back,” Buggy told you, rolling his eyes. “That’d be such a waste, I’ve got your pussy all broken in and everything.”

Your face scrunched in disgust while Buggy laughed, ruffling your messy hair to make it messier. You wanted to give him a hug before he left, but you couldn’t think of a way to make that seem appropriate.

“I’ll bring you back something nice to eat, okay, babydoll?”

“Will you be gone very long?” you asked, hoping you didn’t sound desperate and knowing you did.

“I’ll be back before you know it. If you’re good and you get all your chores done, I’ll get blondie to dress you up so we can go out.”

Once Buggy left, you went to the berth to find a high necked sweater to cover the marks on your neck and get cleaned up. Although it had only been two days and you hadn’t even been on this ship very long in the first place, you had the sensation of being home. Or, being someplace more homey. Whatever your feelings, it was better.

Although it was late for it, people were still hanging around getting a cold breakfast. You wouldn’t have thought so many people would stick around but, apparently, it was payday. Everybody got a split of what had been plundered from the Dolce and those involved got more for the other ship.

Mohji handed out the money while Richie watched everybody’s bowls very sharply. You didn’t expect anything, Captain Buggy hadn’t really mentioned payment, but you still got a cut. It was strange to get money from a man who had only recently seen you locked up in the brig and called you hostage, but in the absence of the Chief of Staff, it was up to Mohji.

“You look shocked,” Marty said as everybody dispersed. “He didn’t short you, did he?”

“No, nothing like that. It’s just… I’ve never had this much money,” you admitted. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

“You’re a pirate,” he said. “You go out and blow it all on booze and hookers.”

“Captain Buggy said I’m not allowed to leave the ship. Also I…” You frowned. “I don’t think I’d do that anyway. Is that what you do?”

“Before you think too harshly of me, girly,” Marty said. “Don’cha think it’s better to pay a girl who’s clean than to catch something?”

You nodded like you understood. “That’s true. And I would never, ever judge you,” you told him.

Marty smiled, shaking his head in amusement.

“By the way, do you, um, do you know where Mr. Cabaji is?”

“Captain Buggy sent him off on some mission,” Marty said.

“Oh, that’s good then,” you said, more relieved than you should have been. Cabaji was smart and strong and capable, and if something happened to him somebody would have mentioned it.

It looked like Marty was going to ask you something, but he was cut off by a familiar voice. “Did Mr. Mohji pay you?” Pippa asked, making you jump. She had approached from your left blindspot, and you hadn’t been paying enough attention to check.

“He did. I was just advising her on how best to spend it,” Marty told Pippa.

“We’re going shopping, obviously,” she said.

You frowned. “Captain Buggy said I’m not allowed to leave the ship without him.”

“You can’t keep wearing my hand-me-downs. He must know that. If he doesn’t trust me, then Marty will come along to keep us safe.”

“He will?” Marty asked.

“If it’s for a good cause,” Pippa said, smiling and batting her eyelashes at him. He clearly wasn’t charmed by her, rolling his eyes.

“Maybe another day,” you told her. “I’ll ask him later.”

She sighed. “Fine. There are things I need to get while we’re here anyway.”

“Do you wanna go get something to eat first?” Marty asked. “I can’t stomach any more salted meat.”

“It’s too early to start drinking,” Pippa said.

“Start?” Marty asked, pulling a flask out of his pocket. She rolled her eyes.

“I’ll see you two later then?” you said.

“Shame you can’t come along. Sorry, girly.”

“It’s okay,” you said, smiling reassuringly. “I’m fine here.”

Neither looked like they entirely believed you, but nobody would argue with rules Captain Buggy set out. That was, if nothing else, the strongest unifier among the crew.

They left, and you focused your attention on getting your chores done. First, however, you stopped by the clinic, but Crina wasn’t there.

Without anything else to keep you occupied, you tidied up Captain Buggy’s cabin. In your absence, he had made a mess of it. Even though you were not in an entirely different position than you had been yesterday, you felt peaceful while cleaning. Now that you had a taste of his absence, you knew how dire it was that you did whatever you could to stay with him.

You weren’t sure how you were going to do that, but you were going to figure it out, and you were going to be very, very good at it.

The way you were tied up was simple. Hands secured behind your back with plain rope, and your ankles bound in the same way. Your head ached painfully, swimming in the thick fog. A drug? It felt like it. That was the only thing that could separate you from reality so thoroughly.

You remembered the first time you were ever knocked out with a general anesthetic. It was because you broke your arm, but it didn’t heal right because you weren’t strong enough. Your parents told everyone you broke it because you tripped, but you remembered what happened. You wished you didn’t. You wished you remembered running and falling, that would be so much better.

But that wasn’t what happened.

Miss Frizzy was the children’s teacher. Barley was too small to need more than a few teachers, and everybody had to learn together with different books. Dad said it was different in places with more people. You wondered if that would be nice, but you liked Miss Frizzy. She had long, dark hair that was very straight and sleek. She was young like Mom, and very pretty like Mom. You liked that she was nice, and that she smelled like vanilla, and that she gave you lunch when Mom forgot to pack yours. Sometimes, in the most secret place of your brain that you would never tell to anybody ever, you wished that Miss Frizzy was your mom.

School was over, but you had to stay because Miss Frizzy asked your mom to come into the classroom. Since it was an adult conversation, they set you outside the room in the hallway to wait. They thought you didn’t hear them, but you did. Miss Frizzy gave you a book of hidden object pictures, but you had no desire to find quilted stars or a rocking horse. You sat Peach in your lap so she could look at the pictures while you listened to the adult conversation.

“I am… concerned about your daughter,” Miss Frizzy said.

“What did she do?” Mom asked sharply in her ‘be careful’ voice, the scary one that let you know she was getting upset, the one that made your spine tingle.

“She didn’t do anything. I just wanted to discuss her social development. I’ve noticed a few things that are a little worrisome.”

“Like what?”

“She’s around the age that we’d expect to see more verbal communication. The difficulty with kids her age is usually trying to get them to stop telling you what they’re thinking or feeling, but she’s the opposite.”

“I’m sorry, are you telling me there’s something wrong with my daughter because she’s better behaved than other children?”

“No, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with her. I wanted to ask for your opinion on what I might do to make her more comfortable—what is her behavior like at home?”

“That’s not your business.”

“It’s just that, with kids like her, it’s important to encourage confidence and self expression.”

“She’s not well, you know that, don’t you?” Mom said. “That’s why she’s shy. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“No, there’s not. But I would like to help her socialize, especially with the kids in her class. This is a very important time for social development.”

“Well what am I supposed to do?”

There was a beat of silence before Miss Frizzy spoke. “Social behaviors are learned,” she finally said, “I worry she’s not in an environment that makes her feel comfortable or safe to express herself.”

“Safe?” Mom demanded, her voice raising. “What is that supposed mean? You think she’s afraid to express herself because of me? It is not your business to tell me how to raise my daughter. And you know what? You ought to be careful if you’re going to be making these sorts of insinuations. You know who my husband is.”

“I’m not insinuating anything,” Miss Frizzy said.

“I am her mother. I know what’s best for her.”

It was quiet for a moment. A very long moment. “I’m worried that’s not entirely the case,” Miss Frizzy said softly.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Ilse Frisby,” Mom said, her voice mean and sharp like a knife.

Miss Frizzy tried to say more, but Mom emerged from the office.

“We’re leaving,” she told you with the type of look that you knew better than to argue against. You stood up immediately with Peach tucked beneath your arm, accidentally dropping the book. Rather than waiting for you to pick it up, she grabbed your bicep. Too tight. You winced, scrambling along to keep up with her as she dragged you out of the school building.

When you were out of sight, Mom rounded on you, her expression dark. “What did you say to her?”

“Nothing, momma,” you said, out of breath from having to walk so fast, your arm aching from the way she’d been dragging you.

“You said something to her, I know you did. You told her I’m a bad mother, didn’t you?”

“No, momma, no, no,” you denied, shaking your head and fighting your tears. You didn’t want to cry, but you couldn’t help the reaction in the face of her rage. You didn’t exactly understand the adult conversation, but you understood it had upset Mom. Really, really upset her. You squeezed Peach against your chest for comfort.

“You did, you had to have said something. You’re such an ungrateful brat. Do you have any idea how much I sacrifice for you? For you. And then you go to that-that woman and you tell her that I’m a bad mother? You owe me everything, and instead you just…”

Tears finally welled up in your eyes, you couldn’t fight them anymore.

“Oh, you’re gonna cry now?” Mom demanded. “Fine, go tell that woman how bad of a mother I am, go cry to her and tell her lies about our family.”

“No,” you said, your voice getting all stopped up in your swollen throat. “No, I’m sorry, momma, I’m sorry.”

“No, go. Go tell her all about what a terrible mother I am!” She used her grip on your arm to push you back towards the school building. Peach dropped first, falling into the dirt, and you felt something give out and there was a terrible crunching cracking noise and then you fell onto the ground too, scraping your knees across the dirt and rocks. Blood roared in your ears and you stopped crying because the pain punched everything out of you. It screamed up from your arm, but you couldn’t make a sound.

Tears and snot dripped from your face and darkened little spots in the dirt and you couldn’t breathe and mom was talking more but you couldn’t hear her. She dropped onto the ground beside you and looked at your arm. It looked wrong. It hurt so much you felt sick.

“Oh, my baby, no, no no no,” she cooed, gently pulling you against her, her voice so soft. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. You know that, don’t you? I didn’t mean it. I’m so sorry, baby. I love you, I love you so—”

Your arm had to be set and put in a plaster. The surgery and anesthetic came later.

“Your mother loves you,” Dad told you that night. “She loves you very much. You know she didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You nodded, holding Peach even tighter with your good arm. When you dropped her earlier, she broke. There was a faint fissure going down her face, right over her pretty glass eye. That hurt almost as bad as your arm.

“She worries about you,” Dad said. “We both do. What you did is not alright. You do not tell people about what happens at home. That is not appropriate. Do you understand?”

You didn’t think you had, but why else would Miss Frizzy say those things? Why else would Mom get so upset? You made a mistake, and there was only one answer. “Yes, daddy,” you said softly.

Those words made you feel hollow inside. The last time you said them was when you were trying to convince him to stay because even if you were miserable, you weren’t sure if you wanted to leave him.

Yes, daddy.

In a twisted way, that memory wrapped right back around to your first time with Buggy. Most of your life you thought you would probably die a virgin. Sex was dirty, and gross, and made you feel bad about yourself. How old were you when you came to that conclusion? Nine? Ten? You remembered the girl who told you. Her name was Harper.

Harper’s family lived on a small dairy farm on the edge of town. In a town full of fishermen, you thought cows were cooler, but Harper said it wasn’t much different at all. Just like them, she had to wake up long before dawn and work for hours before coming to school. The only difference was that she smelled like the barn while the boys who worked on the boats smelled like fish.

She was the only one in your school around the same age as you. Around the same age. Harper was six months older. Months that grew longer when you factored in the height difference, which seemed to get more substantial every week. She used those months and inches as the primary reason for why you had to listen to her and do what she told you to do. Mainly that included letting her take your toys, colored pencils, and hair ribbons and only playing games that she liked. It also meant, probably on account of those six months of extra experience, that Harper knew a lot of grown-up things that you didn’t.

An overcast sky loomed above, a sharp wind churning up the smell of brine and salty sea air below. You and Harper lived in the same direction from the school, so you would walk together to the big fork in the road. Then you went up the hill and she went around. Both of you were sniffling and bundled up tightly. Made worse by the wind, the cold got under your coat and nestled there, an inescapable chill.

“We should make a get well soon card for Dawn,” you said. You had heard that afternoon that she would be out of school for a few months, she’d come down with something bad. You knew all about that.

Harper snorted out a laugh. “Dawn isn’t sick.”

You looked at her, frowning. “What do you mean?”

Harper looked at you with an expression you knew well. A mixture of pity and superiority, like you were stupid, or at the very least woefully naive. “She’s pregnant.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” Harper insisted testily. “My sister told me. She said that Dawn’s a slut. She’ll do it with any handsome sailor so now she’s pregnant.”

“Oh,” you said.

Harper smiled. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

You mulled that over, trying to divine her meaning from words alone. Slut was bad, you knew that much at least. But the rest, you weren’t so sure. Harper obviously wanted you to ask her. She liked doing that. You always felt so stupid not knowing all of the grown-up things that she did.

“I guess not,” you finally allowed.

“She had sex. That’s how babies are made,” Harper said imperiously, like she was teaching you a very important lesson. “That’s where they both get naked and a man puts his penis in the lady’s down-there parts. Boys have different bits, they stick out. It’s like this-” She held up her hand in the shape of a circle, slowly putting her finger through it to demonstrate. “And then the girl gets pregnant.”

Your face screwed up with disgust. “No way.”

“Yes way. That’s how you were made,” Harper said crossly. “Your mom and dad had sex and then you were born. And that’s what Dawn did.”

“How do you know that?” you asked her, still reluctant to believe something so gross and taboo.

“My mom told me in case a creepy pervert tries to touch my privates or chest. I’m starting to get breasts, you know. I’ll need to wear a bra soon, and that’s when boys want to have sex.”

Harper said that a lot, talking about how she would need a bra soon, but you didn’t think her chest looked any different. You didn’t tell her that though, because then she said you were jealous because she was taller and looked older than you did. You weren’t jealous. If having a bra made boys pay attention to you, you’d rather not. And the whole idea of sex just seemed gross. Probably Harper was lying, she did that sometimes. And if she wasn’t, that was worse.

But you didn’t say any of that, you just agreed, and then you told her goodbye at the big fork and made your way up the hill thinking about lots of icky, uncomfortable things you would really rather not.

24 Days Earlier

For you, clothes had always been somewhat of an afterthought. It wasn’t a matter of money. Dad didn’t like to see you wearing anything especially ostentatious or too flattering, he said that it would attract attention and make you look cheap. That, combined with your propensity to get cold, meant that you wore a lot of the shapeless sweaters Pippa hated so much.

Not anymore.

After a shockingly quick run through of the first shop, Pippa sent you into the changing room with several outfits at the ready. You were still reeling from the newness of it all. Without her, you never would have been able to pick out anything, there were far too many options.

Taking in a deep breath, you started with a white buttoned shirt. It had a sweetheart neckline and long, frilly sleeves. It was paired with a pair of pinstriped bloomer shorts, the kind that were meant to be seen rather than hidden beneath a skirt. Unlike everything you had worn previously—except for the red dress—both items were fit for your size. It was a lovely outfit. And then you looked in the mirror, remembering your problem.

“Pippa, I can’t wear this shirt right now,” you said doubtfully.

“What are you talking about?” Pippa asked, opening the curtain. You immediately covered your neck. She looked you up and down, her eyes relentlessly critical. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing,” you said. “Just…” When you didn’t elaborate, trying to think of a way to explain the problem, she grabbed your wrist to pull your hand from your neck, revealing the marks littering your skin. The ones from the other night had only just begun to fade, and Buggy had decided to add more that morning “So you don’t forget.”

Whatever that was supposed to mean.

“Was he trying to eat you?” Pippa asked, her tone so matter-of-fact you almost weren’t sure if she was joking or not.

“I…” You huffed, shaking your head. “Did you get anything with a high neckline?”

“I doubt Captain Buggy wants you to cover them up.”

“How do you know that?” you asked doubtfully.

“That’s how men are.” She shook her head, a little amused. “Marking their territory. He doesn’t want anybody else trying to play with his toy.”

You frowned. “Don’t say it like that.”

“You don’t need to be embarrassed, I’m not judging you for getting in with the captain. If I thought I could get away with it, maybe I’d try the same thing.”

“With Captain Buggy?” you asked sharply, your voice raised with the higher bend of defensive jealousy.

“Relax,” Pippa said, looking a little surprised by your reaction. “He’s clearly got a type, and he’s certainly not mine.”

“Sorry, that’s not what I…” You fumbled on the apology, unsure of what you were apologizing for exactly. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re getting that outfit, try on the black skirt with suspenders next,” Pippa told you, unruffled, “it should go with that shirt.”

She left the changing booth, closing the curtain. You couldn’t stifle your embarrassment about your reaction, and then thinking about the other night, caught on the worry that you may have embarrassed yourself even worse while drunk. What worried you, more than anything, was her motivation for helping you so much. Did it really make sense that she would like you when you behaved like that?

You thought about that as you rifled through the hangers, finding the aforementioned skirt fairly quickly. It was one of the few black pieces among lots of white and red.

“Pippa,” you asked while you got out of the pinstripe shorts, relying on the safety of hiding behind the curtain to muster the courage to ask. “Are we friends?”

“What?” she called.

“Are we friends?” you asked again, more insistent. The skirt was shorter than you expected, you would have to wear something underneath it otherwise your panties definitely would show. “You’re not just doing this because Captain Buggy and I are… you know.”

“Oh, that,” Pippa said. “I won’t lie, that’s why I helped you at first, but now… I like you. It’s hard to find somebody who’s willing to let me dress them up, especially someone like you. I could never get away with wearing clothes like this.”

You emerged from behind the curtain, awkwardly tugging on the hem of the skirt. Luckily, there weren’t many people in the store to see your bite-covered neck.

“See? You look adorable. I can’t pull off the cutesy style,” Pippa said with no small amount of wistfulness. “You can wear those lacy bloomers I gave you under that. You’ll need stockings too.”

“You really don’t think it’s too short?” you asked.

She gave you a flat look. “Do you know the luxury of being short?”

“I don’t think there are any.”

“If you wear that skirt, nobody’s gonna be even a little scandalized. If I wore something that short, it would be a problem. Enjoy it.”

You weren’t sure that was true, but it was a cute outfit.

The other things you tried on weren’t as successful, but Pippa said that was fine. As soon as you paid, she was dragging you into another shop. Things proceeded in pretty much the same way. While you were busy eying up a dress to decide if you liked it or not, Pippa was compiling an armful of clothes for you to try before shuffling you into the changing room.

“There’s a few plain cotton dresses, you can pair them with the corset tops or sweaters. Try those first, it’ll be good to have a few on hand,”

You picked through the hangers, looking for white cotton but finding a mass of white tulle and shiny sateen. You pulled it out, realizing that it was a dress. The skirts and sleeves were absurdly voluminous.

“What’s this white dress?” you asked.

“That’s yours. For the show,” Pippa said. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“It is,” you agreed, although your hesitance was plain. “You said it’s for me?”

“Yep.”

“You don’t think… I mean, if I wear this, I’ll look like a kid, don’t you think?”

“I think,” she said, “you’ll look like a doll. You don’t have to try it on right now, I’ll need to alter it anyway. Just try those cotton dresses.”

“Oh yeah, right,” you said, trying very hard to not think about why she bought you a dress for the show.

After that, you visited a few other boutiques, ending the spree with a trip to a store that only sold underwear. As embarrassing as you found that one, it was necessary. Pippa said you had to ‘maximize your assets.’ What that really meant was wearing bras that had padding in them. Although they weren’t comfortable, you were a little excited about it. Now more than ever you were aware of how deficient you were.

It was late afternoon as the two of you made your way back to the ship. Shopping was oddly exhausting, as was carrying all the bags.

The question occurred to you while you were shopping for underwear, and now it burned on your tongue. You knew you needed to do it. You had to ask, the only other person you could think to ask was Crina but you got the feeling she wouldn’t react as well. And Pippa said she was your friend.

“Pippa… Can I ask you something and you never tell anybody ever?”

“Is it about sex?” she asked absently.

You flushed hot, all the way to your ears. “Yes.”

“Go ahead.”

“I know what a, um, a blowjob is, but I don’t know… how.”

“What are you asking me?” she asked, her eyes flicking towards you for a moment.

“I was wondering if you did, and if you could… I don’t know, do you have any advice or anything?” Hearing your own words made them a thousand times worse. You shook your head fast enough to make the twintails swish, grimacing. “Nevermind, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, it’s okay. I just had to make sure,” she told you. “You know how to give a handjob, right?”

You blinked, freezing up in the face of that question as you realized that maybe you misunderstood what was meant by that last time you used the term. “Um...”

“Stroking his cock with your hand,” she said.

“Oh! Oh, I guess.” You had definitely misunderstood what that term meant last time you used it.

“That, but you add your mouth. Lick, suck, bob your head on the end while you jerk him off. If you’re having trouble with getting the rhythm, ask him to help you out.”

You nodded, trying to commit that all to memory while avoiding combusting on the spot out of embarrassment. “Okay, and, um… I can’t fit it all the way in my mouth. When he tried to, I choked.”

“You’d want to practice suppressing your gag reflex,” she explained casually, unconcerned with the subject or the idea that people walking past could hear her. “Some people can do it, some can’t.”

“What if I can’t?”

“You’re overthinking this,” Pippa said. “If you seem like you’re having the time of your life worshiping his cock, it doesn’t matter how deep you can take it.”

“That sounds… really embarrassing,” you admitted, catching sight of Buggy’s ship. That was good, your arms were burning from carrying so many bags.

“It doesn’t have to be,” Pippa said. “Sex should be fun.”

“It is!” you said quickly, defensive. “I just… I’m so… I feel disgusting, you know? And I don’t know what to say or do during and then after it makes me want to, I don’t know…” You shook your head, trying to think of a good way to phrase it. “I wanna peel off my skin or something. Do you ever feel that way?”

“No,” Pippa said, looking at you with a frown.

“Oh, um, I mean…” You forced a laugh. “I think I’m just being silly, I’m sorry.”

Pippa nodded. Neither of you brought it up again.

“I’ve got a special move for taking people down,” Buggy said over dinner that night. He brought it back to the ship for you rather than letting you go into town again. You liked that better anyway, when it was just you and Buggy. “I won’t spoil anything, but by the time I’m done, the sorry sucker’s nothin’ but chunks on the road. I’ll show you one day, it’ll blow your mind.”

You thought about that for a moment, looking at your plate. “Does it, um, does it bother you at all?” you asked. “Killing people.”

“Why would it?” he asked out of the side of his mouth, talking through a big bite of fish.

“I… I don’t know. You’re taking away another person’s life. Everything they were, everything they could be, all of that is gone because—because of you.”

Buggy rolled his eyes. “Babydoll, it’s not that big a deal. If they die, it was their fault for being in my way.”

You nodded. “My dad used to say that he never killed anybody. He only killed pirates.”

“Funny, I’ve only killed idiots.”

As desperately as you wanted to be able to think like that, you weren’t sure you could ever excuse yourself in that way. You wished you could be strong like Buggy, that you could adopt such an easy point of view. If you could, you would be better.

“Okay,” Buggy said, dropping his fork onto his empty plate and leaning back to pick his teeth with his knife. “I’m ready for the show.”

“Show?” you asked.

“You went shopping today, didn’t you? As my little protégé, the way you look represents me. I gotta know you’re meeting certain standards.”

“It’s just like what Pippa was giving me before,” you said, oddly embarrassed by the idea of putting on clothes just to show Buggy, “but now everything fits.”

“Didja get new undies?”

Your lips twisted up in an embarrassed smile, a little giggle bubbling out of your mouth. Buggy had seen you in all states of undress, you weren’t sure how you could manage to still feel so shy.

“I mean,” he said, gesturing towards you with the blade of his knife, “it’s a real shame about what happened to the ones from the other night. You gotta be more careful, babydoll.”

You wanted to point out that it was his fault for ripping them because he wasn’t patient, but you had a feeling he’d just turn that around on you anyway.

“I did,” you said. “Get new stuff, I mean.”

“Great,” Buggy said, dropping his knife and clapping his hands together. “Let’s start with that.”

#opla buggy #opla buggy x reader #buggy x reader #one piece live action #buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #my writing #flashbang #not sfw #its been a bad week hopefully things will be better for next chapter

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serafiel-jacobs · 9 months ago

Text

Delusion (Fanfic)

One shot 💛

After Carlo dies, Geppetto slowly starts losing his sanity, desperately trying to put together the pieces of his fractured mind.

Geppetto was in a rush to get to the Monad Charity House, it was late, hoping he didn’t miss his son’s graduation, why does he always tend to prioritize his stupid job? This is so unfair to Carlo, he promised him yesterday he would be there on time, he even gave him that necklace as a promise.

He broke his promise.

He needs to find a way to make it up to him, he is always letting Carlo down, he needs to show him how he loves him no matter what, but first he needs to apologize.

When he gets there, something is wrong, terribly wrong, the police are there, there are doctors, he is desperately trying to get inside but they won’t let him. Geppetto starts shaking, people are coming out of the place in protected suits, and people are being carried away from the place, some barely alive, most dead, he starts praying, he has to see Carlo, he needs to see him again.

And he does, someone has his son in his arms and Geppetto feels despair, the body of his dead son is the last thing he sees before passing out.

——-

“Geppetto”

Someone is trying to talk with him, a coworker.

“I understand these past few months have been hard”

It’s hard to process to Geppetto what he is hearing, has it really been months? How many? One? Two?

“But it’s almost been half a year since Carlo died”

His heart sinks, Carlo is dead, his son is…. No, Carlo isn’t dead, his son isn’t gone, Carlo is-

“You have to pull yourself together, you are the director of the workshop union”

Geppetto’s mind can only understand bits and pieces from the conversation, something about the workplace, something about how he is supposed to be a leader, something about how others don’t think he can….

——

Antonia is staring at him strangely and he doesn’t understand why.

“Why is-“

His mind blocks the rest of the sentence, it’s something about Carlo’s funeral, the closed casket.

“Maybe it’s in my mind” Antonia whispered, “I could have sworn the casket sounded hollow”

Geppetto has a pounding headache, the body, there is no body because

Because

——-

He has the bottles in his hands, the liquids that were so hard for him to obtain, he had to make calls, he had to ask for favors. Geppetto hears a woman’s voice.

“Just in case you forget, I wrote down the specific use of each” She looks intrigued, “This project of yours must be secret but I just have to ask, why do you need the embalming fluid?”

Did he make an excuse? Or did he even respond to the question?

—-

Geppetto is crying and desperately apologizing over and over again to Carlo, he is promising he will help, that he will save him, that they can be a happy family, that he would be a good father, that he would do anything for him.

Carlo is holding his hand, Geppetto sees his son’s face, Carlo can’t speak but his brown eyes show a deep sadness, he is trying to tell him something, and Carlo is pleading with him. Pleading for what?

Geppetto doesn’t understand, what he does understand is that he made a promise to his son, and this time, he won’t break it.

—-

Venigni is trying to reassure him, both were spending time together, both of them were supposed to be relaxing.

“Please friend ignore those sorts of comments”

Did someone say something to him? Geppetto takes a sip of his drink, trying to remember what was said yet no matter how hard he tried he simply couldn’t.

“Just because you are a man that doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to show emotions” Venigni asked to spend time with him; everything, everyone had become so overwhelming.

“I want you to know that-“

Venigni is trying again to reassure him, although Geppetto can’t listen to him, the only thing, the only one he has his mind is Carlo.

—-

Geppetto is lying on the couch of his home when he gets the first call.

Then another and another.

It’s his coworkers, it’s the police, the alchemists…

Everyone is frantic, they want answers, they don’t know how this happened, it makes no sense, the grand covenant was supposed to bind them, this should have never happened. They ask questions, questions that he can’t answer.

After all, he can’t remember why he started the frenzy.

—-

“I’m doing this for Carlo, I’m doing this for Carlo”

Geppetto hears the words frantically being spoken, but they aren’t coming out of his mouth this time. There are tears in Romeo’s eyes, he is gasping for air because of the pain. Geppetto is on autopilot, working on the body, the plan, the deal that was made.

Hours pass, the process is hard and complicated. Geppetto managed to do it, he managed to turn the young man into a puppet.

So he apologizes to Romeo.

Romeo feels agonizing pain, Geppetto keeps apologizing, Romeo grabs his hand and applies pressure, he is hurting him, he can feel one of his fingers being fractured, but Geppetto doesn’t complain, he deserves this, for being a horrible father, for being a horrible person.

Finally, Romeo lets go, looking at his body, looking at what he has become, then Geppetto pulls something out of his pocket, the pendant now in Romeo’s chest as he sets the necklace in place.

It’s the one he gave to his son, the one Carlo gave to Romeo. Geppetto knows that he deserves to have it more than him.

—-

He is knocking at Antonia’s doorstep in the middle of the night, obviously, she is confused at first, but then her expression changes to one of fear and worry.

“Geppetto what happened?!”

He told her it was an accident, that he was working with something at home and accidentally hurt himself. How he didn’t want to see a doctor or go to the hospital, they were all too busy with those with the petrification disease anyway.

She is helping her by disinfecting the cuts that are all over his left arm, and grabbing alcohol to wipe around the injuries.

“What exactly where you working on?”

Geppetto dances around the question, he makes excuses, and he tries for Antonia not to know the truth. Antonia already doesn't look very convinced.

The cuts look too clean, too methodical to be an accident, Antonia asked once more what occurred.

He lied to her like he has been lying to everyone all this time, how he lies to himself that he is fine.

——

Oh my God…. Carlo… what did I do to you?

His sweet son, his sweet boy is almost unrecognizable, tubes are coming out of his back, his skin is completely gray, and his face is.

His face is.

Carlo applies more force, his son has him pinned to the ground, he has something sharp in his hand. Carlo puts the blade in his neck, but Geppetto doesn’t try to fight back and doesn’t try to calm Carlo down.

The only thing he can do is apologize.

Carlo stops what he is doing, a tear falling from his deformed face, now Carlo is the one apologizing, but he is asking something out of his father.

“Father….”

Carlo’s voice is completely different, it’s raspy, it almost sounds like a scream, and it doesn’t sound like his son’s voice at all.

“Please… let me-“

No no no, he loves Carlo but he can’t do that, he can’t let him go, he can’t let him die again, he has to save him, he will save him.

—-

This is it, he is going to die, he locks himself in that carriage but with the weapon is only a matter of time before the stalker uses it to break the door and get to him.

That’s went suddenly he hears the sound of a battle outside, the stalker falling dead on the floor saying his last words. Geppetto comes out and looks at his son.

It’s Carlo, somehow he woke up in his new body, without the need for his help. The body he made for him so that he wouldn’t be in pain anymore, he only had to take part of his Ergo and put it inside the new heart.

Geppetto finally meets his son again, his precious son.

Whoever Geppetto can’t shake this strange feeling something is wrong, Carlo is smiling at him with his blue eyes, did Carlo have blue eyes? Why did I give him blue eyes?

Eyes like mine.

And freckles, Carlo didn’t have freckles, did he forget what his own son looks like?

Geppetto ignores those feelings in the back of his mind, he is just grateful that Carlo is safe and sound again, it’s hard but he has to ask a favor of him, but Carlo gives him a sweet smile and nods, like a good boy his son is eager to do what he tells him.

—-

Geppetto is preparing to leave for work while doing so, he can hear a few coworkers talking behind his back.

“Is he leaving work early again?”

“Apparently something reminded him of Carlo”

Geppetto is trying his hardest to pull himself together, trying to ignore them.

“Look I get that losing family is hard but come on, this is the third time this month he breaks down crying”

“I agree, he is a grown man, life is unfair he needs to get over it”

Lately, he has been hearing the same things, people starting to lose their respect for him, people who don’t want him to be the leader of the workshop union anymore.

The union he started, the union where he did everything to make it become the place it is, the factory that creates the puppets he invented, the ones that led Krat to an era of prosperity.

The union he hates, the work he despises. The worthless job that took his son away from him.

No, it’s all his fault, he is the one who prioritized it over Carlo, over his only son. The many goals he missed in his life, how he abandoned him at that boarding school, all because he is an idiot. What kind of worthless father puts his work over his family?

Not anymore, not ever again.

——

Geppetto feels the scythe up to his neck there is fire all around the stage, Carlo is hurt yet even then, he is desperately grabbing Romeo, begging him to stop.

“You are pathetic”

Romeo’s voice is back to normal, his glowing red eye fixed on him, he lowers the weapon, Pinocchio looks relieved and goes to his father's side.

Romeo’s words become incomprehensible again, this time because Geppetto’s mind is blocking them. The next thing he knows is that they are all back in Hotel Krat, everyone but his son is mad at him. It doesn’t matter, Geppetto fixes Romeo until his puppet body is back to normal, as normal as it can be in that condition.

Carlo is grabbing his long black hair, his son feeling tense, not used to everyone yelling, not understanding why everyone was so mad at his father.

Geppetto looks at Pinocchio, he tells him that he did something bad, something horrible. Pinocchio doesn’t care he hugs his father because he loves him.

Even if Geppetto knows doesn’t deserve that love.

—-

It’s not enough, it’s not enough Ergo.

He stole a good amount from the ones used at the factory. It’s not working, why isn’t it working?

Geppetto does the calculations again, he reads books and investigates the nature of Ergo. He needs more but how much more?

A ridiculous amount, an amount of Ergo he simply can’t get in his hands, dozens of people would have to die to get that much.

He looks at the black box, Carlo is resting in there, the box is special, he doesn’t remember how he did it but Carlo is no longer enraged, it’s almost as if his son is resting. Although Carlo can’t truly rest, the pain is too unbearable for his poor son.

The pain, what kind of father allows his son to be in pain? He can’t let Carlo suffer, he has failed his son so many times.

Geppetto has an idea, a horrible idea, he is ready, ready to set the entire world on fire if it’s necessary, the only one that truly matters is Carlo.

He asks his son for forgiveness again, then he asks God to forgive him as he activates Law 0.

——

Carlo returned with the painting in his hands. Geppetto had no idea the Black Rabbit Brotherhood had stolen it, he stared at the painting, he almost wanted to cry, he needed to stop crying he is a grown man, he can’t cry, specially not in front of his son, so he apologizes for getting sentimental.

He asks Pinocchio if there is something wrong, he doesn’t mean to make him feel uncomfortable. Geppetto knows that he has to be more careful, unlike Carlo, Pinocchio is a little sensitive, the only thing he does is end up worrying him too much.

Geppetto tells Carlo to be a good boy and to be careful out there, he can’t lose him, he can’t lose him again.

As Pinocchio is leaving, Geppetto looks at the painting, again this feeling that something is wrong comes back. He just spoke with his son, why does it feel odd? Why does it feel like…

——

Antonia looked furious at him, she wanted to have a word in private.

“I want to know what the hell you were thinking”

She isn’t shouting, her calm anger is somehow worse.

“I almost had a heart attack seeing him, why did you-“

Geppetto makes up an excuse, someone had to save everyone from this mess, someone had to save them from this mess. The mess he created.

Antonia looks away for a moment, she looks tired, and stressed, can anyone really blame her? She is dying.

“Geppetto are you okay?”

Her voice sounds sweet and caring, she wants to know the truth because she wants to help him.

Geppetto says he is fine, how many times has he lied to her by now?

—-

There is blood in Geppetto’s hands.

His blood.

How did this happen? Why did it happen?

He looks at his left arm, there are more cuts than before, this time Antonia would get too suspicious so he cleans himself, he cleans the mess he made. When he is done Geppetto goes to bed, in the morning he starts to get ready for work, he looks at his arm, there is something that wasn’t there before, words that were slashed in his skin.

Camille I’m…

He can’t make up the rest of the words, there are more cuts, and his arm now truly looks as if he suffered an accident, filled with wounds, his wrist red, black, and blue.

——

Geppetto is hugging his son tightly, he is shaking and crying, begging him for forgiveness.

Pinocchio looks at his father confused, not understanding what’s going on, not understanding what his father did wrong. He is saying that he is an awful father, that he is only making the same mistakes over and over again, how he loves him, how he wants him to be someone he isn’t.

Then Geppetto grabs his chest, a piercing pain he cannot handle, he falls onto the floor, his son is now the one who is crying shaking him because he doesn’t know what to do, that’s odd… he remembers Carlo once told him that they taught him how to do CPR at school, something they teach all stalkers in training.

Geppetto is gasping for air, the last thing he hears is his son screaming for help.

——

“Mr. Geppetto you had a heart attack”

He is in a hospital, he was brought here from his workplace.

“Thankfully you didn’t go into cardiac arrest, however, this is very serious”

The doctor asks him questions about his family’s medical history, and about how he has been feeling in the past few days.

“Well you are an older man and it seems likely that could be the cause, although it might be that external factors are making it worse, is there anything stressful in your life currently happening?”

Geppetto is a liar, a good liar, how can he not be after the many web of lies he has pulled? The doctor believes his lies and he is discharged from the hospital before they perform a full examination. Geppetto feels relieved, when he is home he touches his chest, then he looks at his left arm, the one they didn’t examine.

There is another message slit in his wrist, before he can read it he starts feeling exhausted, so he decides to go to bed and rest, he goes to his room, the box is in his bed, it’s a little hard sleeping next to it since it takes so much space, but not having Carlo by his side was killing him.

And now, his heart is killing him.

——

“Can you make them stop?”

Venigni was asking Geppetto to make the puppets stop the frenzy, so he did, it was very simple, only having to activate Law 0 and undue his command.

Romeo is watching from afar but looks away, he mainly stays away from everyone, he can’t look at anyone, specially not at Pinocchio.

“At least… at least the only thing to worry about now is the carcasses”

Venigni can’t look at Geppetto either, not after what his friend had done, Geppetto makes his way to leave, to be alone in that room as he had always been while staying inside Hotel Krat.

He barely talks to anyone, besides it’s not as if he deserves their compassion.

A few minutes pass before Venigni goes to see him. He is trying to talk with him, but this time Venigni is the one apologizing to him, saying that he should have seen how much pain he was in, saying that he should have helped him when he was at his lowest.

Geppetto doesn’t respond, he can’t respond, his mind is somewhere else, his sanity completely fractured, Venigni gets closer to him, asking if he is okay, then he tells him not to answer that because it’s a stupid question since he is clearly not okay.

Like the liar he is Geppetto does respond and tells Venigni that he is okay, it’s a stupid lie, an obvious lie, and Venigni and everyone else can see it.

Venigni looks away again, Geppetto can tell that Venigni feels helpless, that he doesn’t know what to do to help him.

His friend can’t help him, it’s too late for that.

——

Geppetto is trapped in that cell, Simon had come to see him, to try and gloat about his victory, to mock him.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Simon looks annoyed at first, but he stares at Geppetto who is in a terrible state, Geppetto is on autopilot, living because he has to, talking because he has to, and nothing he does feels natural anymore.

“How unfortunate, Geppetto the genius inventor losing his mind”

Simon is now smiling, he opens the cell, and with confidence he makes his way to Geppetto and grabs his shoulders with force, making direct eye contact.

“Your son is dead Geppetto, and it’s all your fault”

Geppetto breaks down crying, Simon looks happy, he mocks him again, he doesn’t stop. He reminds Geppetto of every time he could have spent with his son, every achievement he missed.

The graduation he missed.

“You could at the very least have died with him, what kind of father doesn’t go to his son’s graduation?”

Simon lets go of him, and Geppetto covers his face with his hands sobbing, completely breaking down. Completely defeated, Simon is right, the man who killed his son by spreading that disease is right.

—-

Geppetto is lying in one of the couches of Hotel Krat. He is too exhausted to open his eyes, still, he hears what everyone else is saying, Carlo is thanking Romeo, apparently, he was the one to save his life.

“Hey it’s okay, please don’t cry”

Pinocchio is sobbing, Romeo is reassuring him, trying to make him feel better. That’s why they are best friends, Geppetto knows how Romeo always stood by Carlo’s side. Pinocchio then asks why Romeo hates his father, and why he is always so cold towards him. Geppetto can hear Romeo give out a sigh.

“I can’t even hate your father anymore, I just… I just pity him”

Pinocchio doesn’t understand why, everything is overwhelming him, everything is too much, he barely understands the world around him, barely understands what’s happening most of the time and he always has to go outside to fight, to save everyone because no one else can.

“Even if your father is sick, he loves you, like he loved-“

Geppetto’s mind can’t hear that last sentence. He opens his eyes, is exhausted, and looks at both of them, his son going to his side, his son kneeling next to him, Carlo making direct eye contact as Geppetto gently touches his son’s face.

“Pinocchio I’m…”

He wants to say he is sorry however Geppetto then gasps for air, the pain in his chest starting to come back. Everyone is rushing to his side, everyone wants to help him, help a monster like him who caused so much pain to others.

——

Geppetto can hear the elevator descending, his son making his way towards him.

Carlo has his pinned to the ground again, he opened the box, he shouldn’t have, opening it only made Carlo be in pain. Carlo is asking why he is stuck in the past, why he can’t move on, and why he always says the same things. How everything his father says doesn’t make sense anymore.

Everything sounds like a broken record, everyone lives until they go away and the truth is he doesn’t know anything.

Not anymore.

It’s him who says the same thing over and over again, why does he beg for forgiveness if he doesn’t deserve it?

Geppetto can see the arm of god on the floor, he stares at Carlo more closely, did he use it on himself? His son no longer looks disfigured, he looks like a normal corpse, the same way as the day he died, no, he doesn't look the same, his limbs are still mechanical, at least… at least looks somewhat normal again.

Still, that doesn’t satisfy Geppetto, he needs to have his son back, his real boy.

“I want to die”

This time, his brain doesn’t block out his son’s words. Carlo asks why, why he did all of this, why he can’t simply let him be at peace. What the hell in the world does he want from him?

“I don’t want the world” Geppetto’s voice doesn’t feel like his voice anymore, it sounds hollow, devoid of life, “I just want you back”

——

Geppetto hears purring, he looks up to see Spring sitting at his desk, the cat staring at him curiously.

He isn’t a cat person, still he pets the small animal who rubs her head in his hand. The cat’s head is now stained with his blood.

His arm is dripping blood, when did he hurt himself again? This is bad, he grabs something to clean up the cat, and it somehow works, looking like a strange stain, hopefully, everyone would think she got dirty wandering around.

As for his arm, he washes it and changes his bloody shirt. He takes a look at his arm, he can no longer recognize it, he remembers years ago at the factory, someone had an accident and their arm looked sort of like how he does now. Completely filled with cuts, slashes, and bruises, most parts of it are black, the necrosis taking a tool on his body.

Geppetto stares at the arm, and the first message he ever wrote to himself is now completely unrecognizable, as for the second one, he tries really hard and makes the words out, or rather, makes the word out.

Help.

—-

He is at a work meeting, and all the high-ranking members of the union are there, all of them speaking to him, he has known them for many years but at this moment he can't recognize their voices, he can't tell who is who anymore.

“Geppetto we are very concerned about your health, considering the previous event”

Geppetto assures them that he is fine, that he can work perfectly fine.

“I know you think you can, let’s be realistic, you can’t”

The words cut like a dagger, and Geppetto stays quiet.

“We think it’s best if you were to retire early”

Geppetto wants to speak up this time, but he cannot because he is interrupted.

“Please don’t try to argue against this decision, Geppetto you have to be honest here”

No, he is capable of doing this, he can-

“Also we wouldn’t want to you know… affect more your state of mind”

He isn't crazy, he hasn’t lost his mind, he is okay, he can work perfectly fine, he can bring Carlo back. So he tries to argue against this.

“Oh for the love of God, Geppetto you have to resign, we can’t have the leader of our union breaking down over every small detail that might even remind him of his son, Carlo is dead, move on already!”

There is shouting directed at the man who said those words, “You didn’t have to say it like that”; “You didn’t didn’t have to be so blunt”; “You didn’t have to be so harsh, think of his heart”

Geppetto says how he understands, they looked relieved, almost as if they all had wanted to say the same thing. There is an agreement, that he will resign willingly by the end of the month.

He is getting ready to leave, when he is by the front door one of his coworkers stops him.

“Geppetto wait before you go, we just realized a shipment of Ergo is missing can you-“

He leaves, he doesn’t care anymore, it’s not like they will find out it was him, plus they are already firing him, this job isn’t worth it anymore and Carlo needs more Ergo to survive.

——

The door of the cell is being opened, his son is here to rescue him. Frantically asking him if he is okay, hugging him tightly and Geppetto hugs his son back.

Geppetto asks if he is a good father, and the boy says yes, he says that no matter what he will always love him. Then he starts shaking him, he starts asking him what’s wrong if his heart hurts again.

“Who are you?” Geppetto doesn’t know who he is speaking with anymore, this is his son but what is his son’s name?

“Father it’s me!” His son says frantically, “It’s me P-“

Carlo looks strange, why is his hair white?

Geppetto knows he is getting old, although he should be able to recognize his son by this age, it should take at least a few more years before he truly starts to lose his memory. Carlo tells him he should rest, that there is a stargazer nearby, and that he should go back to Hotel Krat.

He can’t go back to Hotel Krat, Geppetto knows that Pinocchio is worried but there is one last thing he must do, he has to grab the black box, he has to free Carlo from this nightmare.

—-

Antonia told him to come downstairs, and that she needed to speak with him. This time she is tired, she demands an answer, a real answer, and doesn’t tolerate Geppetto’s lies, she wants to know the truth. Yes, she blames herself for not reaching out more, however, Geppetto didn’t make anything better by constantly lying about his feelings. Now he is lying again when everyone knows that he is an emotional mess. Antonia starts getting desperate, and angry and asks him if he is truly happy with himself with this delusional web of lies.

“I haven’t been happy one fucking minute of my life since Carlo died”

Antonia is speechless, she had never heard Geppetto curse, much less at her. Now she feels guilty, guilty because knowing the truth was only making things worse for Geppetto. She tried speaking to him again but he ignored her, he went back upstairs. Refusing to talk with anyone, he has to push them away.

Despite his love for Carlo the only thing he did was hurt him, they don’t understand, and he has to push them away, he doesn’t want their care, he doesn’t want them near him. He doesn’t want anyone he loves to suffer again because of him.

They don’t need me here.

—-

“Son, I know you are there”

Pinocchio was outside the Opera House, he was going towards the stargazer when he saw his father staring at the statue outside the place, Pinocchio decided to hide to see what his father was doing, unfortunately, it didn’t work.

The clouds in the sky began to look gray, drops of water going around with the humid air.

Pinocchio got closer to his father, he couldn't tell if there were tears on his face or if it was the drops of rain.

“Do you miss her?”

His father asked, Pinocchio looked uncomfortable, he had read the inscription in the statue before.

“No, you don’t miss her, you’ve never met her”

Pinocchio faintly smiled, his father remembering he wasn’t his brother, the boy grabbed his father’s hand; his father looked confused, Pinocchio touched the stargazer to bring him back to Hotel Krat, it was not safe there for him.

—-

Geppetto stole the artifact, the arm of god.

The alchemists underestimated him, he now had everything in place, the P organ to collect Ergo, the hand to bring him back as he was before, and the puppet.

Geppetto knows that puppets tend to awake to their previous self with the Ergo used, he wanted to make Carlo comfortable so he made the puppet body exactly like his.

The only thing missing was what he needed to make modifications to the heart, the automaton police offer was the key, he just needed to get there and use Law 0 to break him apart and get what he needed.

He turns to look at him, resting in peace in that chair, he gently touches his son’s face and promises he will be back.

As Geppetto is walking away, he can’t help but wonder what would happen if he used the arm on Carlo’s real body now, could that ease the pain? Could that make him look somewhat normal?

No, he has to be methodical, all of this has to be perfect, according to plan.

——

“Father please don’t die, please don’t die!”

Carlo has his hands on his chest, giving him chest compressions, Geppetto can see Pinocchio right behind him, kneeling next to him, his son is… praying, he didn’t know Pinocchio knew how to pray.

Geppetto fully gains consciousness, despite that, he feels an impending sense of doom, his time has finally come to an end. Carlo is apologizing for getting mad, saying that he didn’t mean to, saying that he does love him, Pinocchio is saying that he loves him as well, that he doesn’t want to lose him either, too many have died, and he can’t die as well.

“Pinocchio… Carlo…” Geppetto struggles to get the words out, “I… love you both… please…”

One last time, one last apology, “I’m… sorry”

Geppetto gives out his final breath, the last thing he ever sees, the last true memory of his fractured mind is his Ergo being split in half as it floats towards each of his sons, their P organs absorbing it, as each of his sons hold him in their arms together. His other senses begin to die as well, his body becoming cold and weak, the numbness, his heart taking his final beats.

In the end, only his hearing remains and he hears those last words, words that he doesn’t deserve from them.

Their forgiveness.

#lies of p #lop #liesofp #lies of p game #lies of p fanfic #ao3 link #this is in ao3 too #lies of p geppetto #lies of p pinocchio #lies of p carlo #lies of p romeo #lies of p venigni #lies of p antonia #lies of p simon

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proxylynn · 8 months ago

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Lynsie and Adam headcanon lore

[I might draw this out one day, but in case I don't, there's this scene I thought up as to why Adam and Lynsie are cool despite all red signs pointing at why they shouldn't be friends.

Adam, looking to be rid of boredom and remembering "that dragon chick was pretty chill", hits Lynsie up for some hang time and maybe score. Lynsie accepts out of the reasoning that it would be showing goodwill to Heaven and Adam seemed easy to get info out of if his ego was stroked even slightly. So already, both are trying to use each other in personal power plays.

What changes is, at some point during the evening, they get to talking and things get slightly heated and she slips out a line that gets his attention. She begrudgingly expounds when he pesters her about it...explaining her past.

"I envy you, you know. You were made, given the world, and allowed to keep it. When I was created, the world was mine but it was empty. I had no one. All there was was the dirt I walked upon, the air I soared through, and the water I submerged in. I existed for less than a day, yet it was meaningless and hollow. Then, without warning or reason, it was all taken away. They shoved me into a pit and expected me to fade away. Like I was a mistake. A mistake they wanted to forget making. But...But they did make me. I'm here. There had to be a reason for my being. So why? What did I do wrong? Why did they forsake me?"

Her getting unintentionally emotional like this triggers flashbacks in Adam. How he was made in Eden with a partner that was his own but she left him. He gets a second partner who is made for him and with part of him, yet even she would leave him. They never gave him a real reason for this abandonment that made sense to him. How could they not want to be with him? They were made for him! So why...Why did they leave him? What did he do that was so wrong? Why was he alone? It gets to him and pierces through his walls with uncomfortable ease and he crumbles along with her.

"Fuck...Fuck! Why did you have to say stupid shit like that?! Dumb bitch! Fuck! Damn it! *sniffles* Damn it..."

They end up bawling for a good while, venting out pain long held. By the night's end, there's a new level of respect between them. Neither going for goals they sought before and just letting this be a normal thing. Now they meet up every now and then to "go drinking" but it's really just them being buds and talking shit about their issues in a weirdly therapeutic way. They are both catty bitches and frat bros rolled in one when together. It's cute.

Lute is highly suspicious of these moments when he pulls a disappearing act to be at Lynsie's place. I imagine him getting busted by Lute after he returns home late and she's been waiting there all night like a crazy bitch on a stakeout to chew him out for being irresponsible.]

#lore #adam x oc #hazbin hotel oc #hazbin hotel #hazbin adam #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin lute

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colormepurplex2 · 2 years ago

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Your Guardian Angel | Slow Dance In The Kitchen

↳ Seokjin x f.Reader ⤜ Friends/Lovers ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 8,698 ⚠️ Self-deprecation, talk of past abuse, physical altercation including punching/kneeing that results in an arrest, drinking, and some sugary sweet soft fluffy smut

⇽Previous Chapter ◅ Back to chapter list

"I will never let you fall I'll stand up with you forever I'll be there for you through it all Even if saving you sends me to heaven"

Red Jumpsuit Apparatus - Your Guardian Angel

Last night was a blur. You don't remember falling asleep, much less being carried to your bed. Only it's not your bed. You wake to find yourself wrapped in unfamiliar sheets, a warm body pressed against your back. There is light streaming in from between the drawn curtains. It barely provides enough light for you to see your surroundings but after a few moments on the edge of panic, you realize you're in Jin's bed. Which only means the body you can feel so warmly pressed against your back must be your best friend.

Perhaps he can sense you're awake. Just as soon as the realization dawns on you, he's moving away. You curl tighter into a ball on your side, pulling your knees to your chest. You can hear him moving around, the blankets being tossed back and the mattress shifting as he gets up. If you concentrate hard enough you can still feel the phantom of warmth along your back. There is a dull ache behind your closed eyes and you can feel the subtle burn in your nose letting you know tears are not far away. But, you don't want to cry, not anymore. So, you try to will yourself back to sleep instead.

You're not sure how long you sleep for, as you drift in and out only periodically waking to Jin holding a straw to your chapped and cracked lips. It hurts to swallow, your throat raw from all the crying. At one point Jin offers you a few capsules, some aspirin maybe. Everything hurts and nothing makes sense. What did happen last night?

Maybe you're being dramatic. Perhaps it's ridiculous for a grown adult to be wallowing like this. Though, if you're being honest with yourself, you're not sure what kind of grown adult would let themselves go through what you have. It always seems that when you've been thrown out and broken up with is the only time you can see a little through the fog. You finally have a little clarity. It's a bitterness that makes you both love and hate yourself.

After all, if you know it's wrong, why do you keep doing it? Why do you keep going back? Oh, right. You've been so desperate for acceptance and love that you latched on to the first person to show you even the slightest bit of romantic interest. Sure, you could probably blame that on a loveless childhood or any other number of emotional ineptitudes. But, that always seems like the cop-out, the easy excuse.

Maybe...in reality, in some sick and twisted way, you enjoy it. The bruises are like a map across your skin, telling a story of where you've been and where you're going. Without them, you lose a sense of identity, purpose. The marks are an affirmation of love. They're like a poem, forever written on your heart reminding you that at least someone loves you. Because, after all, tough love is still love.

At one point, you find yourself absently rubbing your hands along your arms, tracing over your atlas of tender skin. You freeze, fingers digging in as your heart pounds, only now realizing that Jin must have changed you into one of his large t-shirts before putting you to bed. You fear for a moment what your boyfriend will do knowing Jin undressed you. The thought doesn't linger long, replaced by the hollow ache in your chest when you remember you no longer have a boyfriend so it doesn't matter.

The light coming in from the curtains is gone. Jin rouses you, prodding at your lips with the tip of the straw. "Wake up."

You wet your lips with the tip of your tongue before parting them and accepting the straw. At first, drinking while laying down caused you to cough and sputter. Now, though, you barely raise your head as you take a few small mouthfuls. "Thank you," you whisper, letting the straw fall from between your lips.

"You can thank me by eating something." This isn't the first time he's brought up food. You're just honestly not sure if you could stomach anything other than the periodic water right now.

You shake your head, ready to bury yourself back under the blankets and sleep some more. Jin makes a disgruntled noise which is followed by the soft clack of the glass of water being set on the bedside table. You count your breaths, waiting for him to leave.

One.

Two.

Three.

Fo-

"Hey!" you yell as the blankets are snatched off your curled-up form. "Jin! Stop!" Your throat is raw, making your voice come out like gravel.

"Come on, you need a shower and a good meal."

You stare up at him from beneath your lashes. He's dressed in a long-sleeve blue shirt and black sweats. The faint smell of beef broth soup tickles your nose now that it's not buried beneath the blankets. As if to accentuate his statement your stomach rumbles loudly. Traitor.

"Can't I just wallow in peace?" You mumble, wrapping your arms around yourself. You still feel like you might fall apart at the seams if you move too much.

You catch the slightest raise of his eyebrow before he's breaking out into a warm laugh. "I know you better than that. Tell me honestly, do you really want to be alone?"

You open your mouth to express that you, in fact, do...but your heart clenches at the thought. Do you? "I-...well, no."

Jin's weight dips the mattress beside you as he perches on the edge. "Come on, then." He opens his arms, hands gesturing for you.

As soon as you start moving, he's there. His arms come around you, pulling you up and against him. Large hands with warm palms you feel press against your back through the oversized shirt. He smells like chamomile and orange peel, a scent that floods in memories of your time in college together. Any time you were feeling down Jin would make you chamomile tea with a hint of orange. It was his way of saying 'it's okay, I'm here' and it always was okay after that.

"I'm sorry," you murmur into his chest, squeezing your eyes shut in order to try not to cry.

You can feel more than see him shaking his head. "None of that." He strokes your hair softly, letting the strands glide between his fingers. "You're going to get through this. I promise you will. I know it sucks now, but brighter days are ahead."

He helps you stand, bracing you as your knees wobble from being bent up for so long. His eyes don't wander or linger where they shouldn’t as he helps you step into a pair of shorts. It’s such an apparent contrast to the way most men would be. You watch him, really taking in the way he moves. You're not sure you ever really noticed how attentive he is with you, hands hovering to help at the first sign of need. Have you really been blind to this all along?

You're silent as you muse over your friendship with Jin. You try to pick out similar instances, looking for any sign you may have overlooked in the past. He follows you down the hallway and into the kitchen, far enough behind you that he's not crowding you but still close enough to catch you if you stumble. How close to you does he normally walk?

Jin helps you sit on one of the barstools at the counter. The smooth wooden surface is chilly against the backs of your thighs, but it's not wholly unpleasant. You focus on the feeling, letting it be a reminder that you can feel something other than hurt right now. Your best friend moves around the tiny kitchen. He turns the knob on the stove, bringing the heat back up to rewarm the soup he made. He's quiet as he goes through the familiar motions of making you a meal and you continue to watch him.

Has he always given you larger portions of rice than he gives himself? He sets a steaming mug in front of you before going back to ladling the beef soup into bowls alongside the rice. Your hands cup around the mug, soaking in the heat it puts off. Your eyes finally leave Jin for a moment as they drop to the mug. It's the same mug you've had for years, the same one he served you tea in when you were in college. It's also the only mug in your cabinet that doesn't have some sort of chip in it. You both talk all the time about buying new ones, but the old ones hold far too many precious memories. Does he always give you the only mug without a chip in it? Surely he's used it before, too...right? You're trying to recall a time you've seen him use this mug but Jin setting the bowls of soup and rice in front of you pulls you from your thoughts.

"Have you ever used this mug?" You blurt out, startling him.

"What?"

"This mug," you gesture to it, "do you use it?"

He looks confused. "Umm...I don’t, no, why?"

You make a noncommittal noise, waving off his question. Not something you really want to explain right now...just in case you're wrong. He can't possibly...last night wasn't...

"This smells amazing." You nod toward the bowl of soup.

"It's your favorite." He smiles, setting his own bowl on the counter beside you. "There is plenty more if you're still hungry after that. Is there anything else you need?" When you don't answer he looks up at you, meeting your stare. "Hello?"

Has he always had such broad shoulders? When is the last time he got his hair cut? It's at just the length you think looks best on him, not too long but not too short, it frames his forehead nicely. "Hmm?" You realize he had asked you something.

"Do you need anything else?" He repeats.

You clear your throat, bringing your attention to the soup and forcing your eyes from assessing him any further. "No, no, I'm fine. This is fine."

"You feeling okay?"

You shrug a shoulder, studying the chunks of beef and potato floating in the bowl in front of you. "Yeah. 'm okay."

He snorts a soft laugh. "You'll be better than okay once you actually eat. Hurry before it gets cold."

It tastes as heavenly as you remember. The slight tang and saltiness from the broth make your jaw tick slightly and you silently curse yourself for not eating anything sooner. The last time this happened you locked yourself in your room and didn't eat for three days straight. Your spoon stops halfway to your mouth as you recall it, just a few months ago actually. Was it really so recent? The soup tastes slightly bitter as you complete the arch into your mouth. Bitter thoughts breed a bitter taste. You drop your spoon back into the bowl and blow out your cheeks in frustration, this soup deserves better than your dark mood.

In an effort to focus on something else you ask, "did you get the beef from the market down the street?"

Jin settles onto the barstool next to you. "I did. They were having a sale so I picked up a few things. Would you believe they actually had kiwis this time?" he looks at you with a sparkle in his eye but it quickly dims. "I'm sorry, I should have thought to grab you some, I know how much you like them." His eyes drop to his soup and he ladles a spoonful into his mouth.

No. No, he shouldn't have. He was right in not buying them for you. He used to, though. He used to buy all of your favorites every week at the market. Until he got tired of throwing it all away because it would spoil since you were never home to eat any of it.

You chew your bottom lip, thinking. "It's okay. Maybe they'll have them next time we go," you offer.

"We?" he mumbles under his breath. You barely catch it. In fact, you probably wouldn't have if you weren't trying to hang on to any and all sounds coming from him now. "Yeah, maybe." He glances up at you for a second before going back to his soup.

A few more absent bites go tasteless down your throat. Why do you feel so terrible? Not even about your breakup, but about...Jin? You cut your gaze to the side, watching him out of the corner of your eye. Has his tongue always peeked out between his lips after every few bites of food he takes? A stray drop of broth escapes the corner of his mouth and you watch as it traces a line down his chin. Before you realize what you're doing, your thumb swipes at the errant drop before it can drip onto his shirt.

He flinches back from your touch as if you burned him. "Sorry, you had...broth."

"Thanks. It's okay, I was just so lost in my thoughts that you kind of scared me." He chuckles softly, fingers of his freehand tapping against the countertop in a nervous way.

You chew a bite of rice before asking, " want to share your thoughts?"

Jin snorts another laugh. "Yeah, that's not happening."

Now you're really intrigued.

"Hey, friends don't have secrets."

He looks pointedly at you. "Not happening."

You poke out your bottom lip, giving him your best pout. "Come on, Jinnie, it'll make me feel better."

"That...that might not be true," he huffs out in a rush. He abandons his spoon in the soup bowl, bringing his hand to his face and pinching the bridge of his nose like he's warding off a headache.

You don't know why your heart beats a little faster and you feel slightly lightheaded by his statement. What exactly is he thinking? What about it wouldn't make you feel better?

"What is it?" You need to know. You have to know.

He licks his lips nervously, pushing aside his soup and rice before turning on the stool to face you. You mirror him, turning so your knees are pressed against his. Jin reaches out and grabs up both of your hands in his. His hands dwarf yours, completely closing around them in a soft embrace of somewhat unexpected warmth.

"Last night. What do you remember about last night?"

You're confused. "Well...I mean, I guess-" you pause, thinking, what do you remember? The breakup, obviously. Coming home, yes. Yelling at Jin, yup. You wince a little at that last thought. Jin said...he said...well, friends can love each other right? "Everything? I think? Is there something, in particular, I'm supposed to remember?"

"Do you remember what I told you?"

"Well, yeah, and I love you, too, of cour-"

"Stop." He releases your hands, shoving his into his hair as he shakes his head.

You slowly close your mouth, waiting.

"This is exactly why I didn't want to talk about it. It's not right...it's too soon." He sighs, smoothing out his hair and dropping his hands into his lap. "I love you. I've realized that for a while now. What I'm thinking about is despite how much I love you, I know you don't love me." you open your mouth to protest but he throws a hand up, silencing you. "I know what comes next, I know how this story goes," he continues, "and even though I know you won't choose me, I'm still going to be here for you. I'm still going to choose you because that's what you deserve. You know exactly how I feel about him and what he does to you, what he puts you through. In the end, there is only so much I can do because ultimately you're your own person, a person I care about, but a person who has to make their own decisions. You will always be my best friend, you will always be the girl- woman, that I think of when someone asks me if I believe there's such a thing as perfection."

"I'm not perfect," you utter meekly. You blink back the tears welling in your eyes and your fingernails dig into your palms as you clench your hands into fists in your lap.

He gives you a sad smile. "Don't you see? That's exactly what he wants you to think." Jin takes a deep breath, schooling his features back into a neutral state. "I'm sorry, can we not talk about this anymore?"

You swallow thickly, still fighting the burn in your nose and behind your eyes that says tears are coming. "Sure, yeah, of course."

Jin turns in his seat, going back to his abandoned and probably cold-by-now meal. Your heart aches as you watch him, your knees oddly numb without his pressed against them. You can tell he's intentionally not looking at you, focusing on his food just as much as he's focusing on not continuing this conversation. He doesn't want to get hurt...again.

________________________________

The next week goes by in a fog. Each day you feel a little better, but your head is still full of cotton most of the time. You're lucky Jin seems to bounce back to his normal self. If it wasn't for him you probably wouldn't have finished your marketing presentation on time.

You slump down in your office chair, staring blankly at the computer screen. It was hard to breathe, standing in front of your boss and colleagues trying to act like nothing was wrong as you mindlessly recited your parts of the presentation. But, it's done with and Vaughn signed off on it and had it sent for publication.

It was agreed everyone would be going out after work to have drinks. It's Friday night and your boss just thumbs up'd what could be a career-changing project. You should be more amped, excited...yet, you're just floating. You're tempted to cancel, tell Mina and Linny you're not feeling up for it, but you know it'll be hot office gossip next week if you do so. And honestly, you'd rather avoid that than the discomfort of going out tonight. Besides, Jin will be there, as it's just as much his big night as it is yours. He's made you chamomile and orange tea every night this week, just a single cup, in the same non-chipped mug as always. There have been few casual and cordial conversations between the two of you at home, but otherwise, it's been nothing but business.

That hasn't stopped you from creating and keeping a mental log, though. You've made note of each and every little thing Jin does for you...or just in general. The way he stops mid-laugh to put on a serious face just to melt back into laughter is one of your favorites. You don't know if you've ever really appreciated just how funny and quirky he can be.

He's put on muscle. Not that you've really been particularly paying attention to that. Not much, at least, that's what you tell yourself. But, you can't help but not notice the way his shirt tugs at his shoulders when he moves his arms or the way the muscles in his thighs pull tight the fabric of his slacks. No, you absolutely do not really notice those things.

You're lost in thoughts of black slacks and button-downs when a knock sounds at your office door. "Sorry, yep, hello? Come in!" You quickly straighten up in your seat, smoothing the front of your shirt and dress pants absentmindedly as the door swings open.

"Hey, Vaughn said we can head out early if we want, so we have time to change before meeting at Reno's in a few hours," Jin explains, peeking just his head into your office.

You nod. "Okay, great, I'll gather my things."

He purses his lips for a second. "You okay?"

Clearing your throat only seems to add to his suspicion. "Y-yeah, uh- yeah, I'm great. Just a little tired is all," you lie.

You know he can tell you're lying, but he doesn't press any further. "Hmm, alright. Well, the first round is on me. Meet me out front in five?"

"Yeah, that works."

It doesn't take you long to gather your things, shoving everything into your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. You're glad you decided to wear a pantsuit and flats today, not sure you'd be up for the walk home in anything else. In all honesty, you really are kind of tired. Sleep has been pretty elusive, except instead of staying up thinking about your ex and the breakup, you've found yourself lying awake at night thinking about...Jin.

After a few nights of this, you finally admitted to yourself that you have feelings for him. Or rather, you did at one point. Growing up, he was your first crush, your prom date, and your first kiss- despite how awkward it was, spin the bottle in Danny Lee's basement still counts. Jin never showed any interest in you, though, always treating you like a sister as opposed to someone he wanted to date. You both joked about it, even through college, but that's all it ever was...a joke. Until it wasn't...isn't?

You can admit that had you known about the way he felt, you might not have started dating him. Though, that train of thought seems like a derailment waiting to happen. If you hadn't started dating him would Jin have ever actually been honest in his feelings? Would you have been? At what point did Jin realize he liked you? Only after the fact? After it was too late? When did you stop having feelings for him? Did you stop?

The thoughts drift away as you push open the front door and step out onto the sidewalk. Jin is waiting for you. He has his hands in his pockets, turned slightly away from the door so he doesn't notice you at first. Your eyes trace along his side profile, filing away the curve of his lips and the slope of his nose. Just another note to add to your mental log.

"Oh, hey!" He finally turns and notices you. There is a momentary pang of guilt as you realize what you were subconsciously doing. You feel weird sometimes, thinking about Jin the way you do...but ever since your conversation a week ago you can't seem to shake it.

"Hey." You smile at him, willing some warmth into it. It works, bringing his own smile to his face. A handsome smile. "Ready to go?"

"Absolutely!" Without even asking, he takes your bag, slinging it to mirror his over his other shoulder. Something he's done every day you've ever walked home together from work. It was something you had almost forgotten about, until this week, since it had been so long since you'd walked home together before that.

You fall into a comfortable pace beside him, listening to him talk about wanting to try a new mixed drink that Reno's is supposed to have tonight. Something that Mina told him about which apparently tastes like sour skittles.

The conversation and ease of being around Jin have you feeling a little better about tonight. Though, as you're digging through the clothes in your closet, that feeling begins to diminish rapidly.

"Fuck," you huff under your breath as you get to the end of your clothes for the fifth time, still coming away empty-handed.

"Having some trouble?" Jin asks, startling you, from your doorway.

You flick an annoyed hand at your closet. "Why don't I have cute clothes?"

Jin rolls his eyes before stepping into your room. "You do, you just have to actually want to wear them." He stops beside you and begins to peruse your clothes. A few items get pulled out and tossed on your bed. You watch as the filmy black material of a dress flutters onto your duvet.

"Jin, I can't possibly wear those things." You snatch up the dress, shaking it out. It's a simple black dress, but extremely short and strapless. You've worn it before and it looks great on you. But now? Now...you can't possibly. It's just not right, women shouldn't dress like this.

He glances at you over his shoulder, hands stilling on your clothes. "Why not? It looks great on you."

"It's not appropriate," you mumble, tossing the dress back onto your bed.

That brings him around to face you. For the first time since he walked into your room, you're actually able to take in his full outfit. He's wearing a pair of tight black slacks, black leather boots, and an emerald long-sleeve knit sweater. He looks unbelievably handsome.

"Not appropriate? Says who?"

"Oh, well...umm...," you fumble for an explanation. It just is, isn't it? "It's just too short and stuff, y'know?"

"Too short?" he parrots back. "It's not like your ass is going to be hanging out. It's a perfectly fine length and makes your legs look amazing."

Your cheeks color at his words. "Really?"

"Yes. Now, put it on so I can prove it to you."

You pick up the discarded dress, rubbing the fabric between your fingers. “Fine.” You look up at him expectantly. He raises an eyebrow at you. “Well?” You flutter your fingers in the air at him. “Are you going to just stand there?”

He laughs, a delightful and tickling sound that makes you smile. “With as many times as I’ve seen you naked?”

“That…that’s different!” You object between laughs. Drunk you and sober you are completely different situations. He turns back toward your closet, shoulders still shaking with silent laughter.

“Hurry up, we don’t have much more time before we need to leave,” he comments, hands going back to browsing your clothes.

You quickly strip off your work clothes, pausing with the dress in your hand. You glance down at your plain tan bra and panties. The bra will have to come off, but should you change your underwear, too? Maybe something a little sexier, to go with this dress, would be good. You giggle at the thought. You feel…naughty? Liberated? Free?

Stepping over to your dresser on the other side of your bed you grab out a cute but comfortable strip of black lace. It doesn’t take long for you to redress yourself. You clear your throat as you settle the dress over your hips. “Well?”

Jin turns and looks at you. A slow smile turns up the corners of his lips. “Amazing, just like I said. Your legs look a mile long and absolutely delectable.”

Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes. “Okay, okay, okay. You win.”

“Of course I win, I get to spend the evening with you.” His reply is stated simply, but it does something to you. Your heart stutters and you feel…butterflies?

Your brain can't really form a response so you just smile and continue getting ready. Jin hands you a cropped gold blazer to go over the dress along with a pair of black Mary Jane pumps with a gold chain accent. He helps you add some gentle waves to your hair, his hands moving deftly with the curling rod. You watch him chat animatedly, about how fun it's going to be seeing Vaughn in a 'normal' environment, through the mirror in your bathroom as he finishes your hair and you put the final touches on your makeup.

You're glad most of your bruises have faded. The darker ones are easily covered with concealer and makeup. Jin's eyes narrow as he watches you dot and pat the liquid along your neck and arms. You haven't talked about it since before and you're grateful he doesn't choose now to try to. Tonight is supposed to be all about fun.

"Thank you," you whisper, leaning up on your toes to press a soft kiss to his cheek once you're both ready and standing by the door to leave.

He winks at you. "Let's go have some fun. We earned this!"

You're not sure you would consider it fun, surrounded by sweaty bodies and music so loud you can barely hear yourself think. But, Jin makes it feel not so bad. He keeps his word by buying the first round of shots. The small and seemingly innocuous shot glass packed a bit more of a punch than you were anticipating. It really does taste like sour skittles, but you're certain it's to blame for the warmth you feel in your cheeks.

Drinking, going out as a whole for that matter, isn't exactly something you've done in a long time. Well, ever since...no, we're not thinking about him. Not tonight.

"Having fun?" You ask a breathless Jin as he slumps into the booth beside you. You had volunteered to table-sit, keeping an eye on drinks while everyone else enjoyed a round on the dance floor.

"Mmm, would be loads more fun if you'd join us." He nods toward your other coworkers still dancing. Jin snorts a laugh. "It's weird, huh? No tie, no business suit, he almost looks like a real person."

It really is something else seeing your boss, Vaughn, in a setting outside of work. He's old enough to be your grandfather, but he seems to have lost at least fifteen years while on the dance floor. He insisted he'd only stay for one dance, one drink, and then he'd be leaving. Apparently, his wife is none too keen on him being here. If his loud cheers and obnoxious laugh are anything of an indicator, you can kind of see why.

You shrug. "He's just having enough fun for the both of us."

Jin is about to make a snarky comment about fun when he's cut off by Vaughn slapping his hand on the table. Under his palm are a few large bills, definitely enough to cover drinks for the remainder of the night. He leans in and projects his voice so you can both hear him over the music. "You've all earned it, but especially you two. Without your hard work, we wouldn't have gotten the Armon deal off the ground. Thank you, have some fun for me tonight. Gotta get going, Joi is out front waiting for me."

He shimmies his hips and shoulders as he makes his way to the door, waving to your coworkers as he passes them on the dance floor.

"You heard the man, boss' orders. You have to have fun now." Jin grabs your hand, pulling you out of the booth behind him.

"Wait! What about our drinks?" You tug futilely against his grip as he leads you closer to the dance floor.

He glances back at you over his shoulder. "We'll just get new ones!" he shouts.

You don't have time to try and argue as you're suddenly engulfed with bodies. Your grip tightens on Jin's hand, holding him as tightly as he's holding you. It feels nice, your hand secured within his, it makes you feel safe.

There isn't much use in having a conversation, the music drowning everything out. So, you just follow Jin's lead. He stops near Linny and Mina, offering them a smile before holding up your clasped hand and shaking it in victory. You can't really hear their laughter, but you see their smiles and for once, it seems like any animosities between you and the other ladies in the office have been put to rest for the night.

You're not really sure what you were expecting, but Jin's hands on your hips definitely weren't it. It's only awkward at first, as he tries to move your hips one way but your body pushes the other. He giggles, shaking his head. You finally get the rhythm, hips moving in sync with the music and his hands. You haven't danced like this since college, but it eventually becomes familiar again and you start to enjoy yourself.

Jin is a good dancer. He's all long limbs and broad shoulders but the way he moves his body, hips rolling and feet moving to the beat, entrances you. You find yourself moving with him, body flush to his. He's taller than you, even with your heels, but you still seem to fit perfectly against him.

Jin grabs your hands and laces his fingers with yours, twirling you around so your back is against his front. "Whoa!" You let out a startled laugh and you catch a glimpse of a smile before you're facing the other direction. He brings his hands, still holding yours, to rest on your hips. Your fingers tighten within his as he begins to sway your hips from side to side, intimately aware of how your ass brushes the front of his slacks.

"This dress really is amazing on you." Jin's breath is hot against your neck as he leans in close enough so you can hear him. Even with flushed heat beneath your skin, you shiver.

You're just about to thank him when suddenly you're being snatched to the side. A hand fists into your hair, making you crane your neck painfully to the side. Tears instantly threaten to ruin your makeup as you whimper. Your heart thunders in your chest, staring up into the cold and menacing eyes of your ex.

You hear Jin yelling, his words lost on your ears. The only thing you hear is "Whore." The word is laced with so much venom it curdles your insides. "I knew it! You stupid fucking bitch," he roars, voice echoing well over the music. Or maybe you're just so used to these words your brain doesn't need to actually hear them in order to know what his lips are forming.

Your world shifts again as your ex is pushed by someone. Jin. You cry out as fingers are ripped from your hair, taking strands with them. The force knocks you down, your knees biting hard into the wooden dance floor. You scramble, trying to stand as you're jostled more by the bodies surrounding you. People are moving, yelling, trying to get away from what you can catch only glimpses of.

Your ex has a fistful of Jin's shirt. Another flash. Fist connecting to a jaw. You scream, fighting hard to gain your feet. Another flash. Knee connecting to a midsection. Finally, you stumble upright, throwing yourself past the few people in your way. A punch meant to catch Jin in the ribs catches you instead, right to the chest. Air leaves your lungs in a burning whoosh.

"No!" Jin catches you as you're knocked back from the hit, his yell echoing too loudly in your ears.

"Let me go! Fucking let me go!" You can hear your ex roaring even louder.

You cough a few times, throat feeling raw and lungs burning as you try to suck in air. Jin cradles you against his chest, eyes frantically searching your face. You see his lip is busted, blood dotting his chin.

A security officer places his hand on Jin's shoulder. His eyes drop to you. "You okay, m'am?"

"I'm fine," you choke out. Over the officer's shoulder, you see your ex being hauled away by two other officers, their muscles straining as he fights them the whole way. Suddenly the music is cut and the lights come up.

"Come with me. Please." The officer smiles apologetically. Jin nods, slipping an arm around you to help you follow the officer. You're led toward the front entrance, where they took your ex as well. "Police have been called, do you want to explain what happened?" The security officer asks as you step out onto the sidewalk. You catch a glimpse of your ex with the other officers further down.

You dart your tongue out to wet your lips, which you notice are trembling. "Umm," you start but have to stop to clear your throat, you nod down the sidewalk toward your ex, "he's ugh, m-my ex. We split a week ago...not on good terms," you trail off, trying to think of what else to say without saying too much. The last thing you need is to incur more of his wrath. No. Why does that matter!? Never again.

"He's an abuser," Jin states sadly. All the sweating and dancing made the concealer cover your arms and neck fade a little. Jin pulls the collar of your blazer aside gently. "The guy is a monster. We were dancing and the next thing I know he's ripping her away by the hair and screaming that she's a whore. Then he punched me, kneed me in the stomach, and tried to punch me again but ended up punching her instead."

You can still feel the ache in your chest every time you take a breath. You're pretty sure nothing is broken, except maybe your pride. "M'am, is that true?"

It's embarrassing. You're not sure if you should be mad at Jin for telling someone your secret, but part of you feels...grateful? Grateful that someone else finally knows, too. You take a slow, calming breath, drawing up your strength and resolve. "Yes. That's true." You state with more power and conviction than you think you ever have uttered before. He is an abuser and you're no longer a victim, you're a survivor.

You have to wait for the police to show up. It seems like it takes forever to give your statement and exchange information with the authorities. The entire ride home you keep playing the scene of your ex being loaded into the back of a squad car over and over in your head. Part of you got into that car with him, you know that. But it's the part of you that you no longer want, the victim, the helpless girl afraid of the big bad wolf. No, you no longer want that to be part of who you are...you have a new story now.

Jin has you sit on your bathroom counter so he can get a proper look at your chest. The fist connected just below your collarbone on the left side. The only indicator of anything having happened is the slight tenderness you feel when you touch it. You know it'll bruise over the next few days, but at least nothing is broken. You and Jin both had waved off the offer of medical assistance, though you wish Jin hadn't. His lip looks pretty bad.

"I'm sorry," Jin breaks the silence in the bathroom after he's satisfied your chest is okay.

"What do we say about apologizing?" You tease, trying to lighten the mood.

You see him roll his eyes before he drops down to grab the first aid kit from under your sink. "Not funny," he mutters into the cabinet.

"Seriously, don't apologize. There is no way anyone could have known that would happen tonight."

"Yeah, but if I would have just hit him back, maybe he wouldn't have been able to accidentally hit you," Jin huffs as he sets the kit on the counter beside you.

You shake your head. "No. Absolutely not. As much as I hate that you didn't defend yourself, in a way I'm glad you didn't. Had you actually punched him back, you might have been taken in, too. Just as guilty of assault as he is...the justice system is weird like that sometimes, you know."

Jin scoffs but nods begrudgingly. "I know." He opens the kit and begins to grab out a few small things to clean up his lip.

"Ah, hey, no. It's my turn to play nurse." You hop down from the sink and pat where you were just sitting. "Come on, take a seat."

He stares at you for a moment before complying, legs long enough he can almost still reach the floor. He relaxes, leaning forward with his hands resting on his knees. "You think it'll leave a scar?"

You begin by cleaning away the dried blood dotting his chin, slowly moving up to the split in his lip. "Scar or not, you'll still be just as handsome," you murmur, eyes trained on your hand. He winces as you gently clean his lip. The split isn't nearly as bad as you initially thought, but it's still tender and will take a few days to heal. "I'm sorry this happened to you." You whisper sadly, feeling tears well up in your eyes. This is your fault...isn't it?

"Hey, hey, no." Jin cups your cheeks, bringing your face up so you're looking at him. His thumbs softly brush your cheeks, catching the tears that escape. "I would accept this a million times over if it means you're safe, if it means it's me and not you. That, I swea-"

"I love you." It escapes from you before you can stop it.

Jin stares at you, mouth still open mid-word. "-r it. What?"

"It's true. I do. It's all I've been able to think about." You ramble, words tumbling so fast.

He shakes his head. "Don't say something you don't mea-"

Your lips silence him. You need him to know you mean it. You mean this more than any words can even begin to express. Perhaps it's a mistake to be kissing your best friend. Or more so a mistake to be kissing someone who just recently got punched in the mouth. But damn if it doesn't make all the problems seemingly disappear.

You're pushed up on your toes, hands gripping Jin's as they cup your face still. His lips are soft, just as lush and inviting as you remember from Danny Lee’s basement all those years ago. Even with the split in his lip, they're the best lips you've ever kissed. There is no tongue, no raging inferno. No, not really. Instead, there is passion, a simmering and pulsing softness that has you melting against him.

"I mean it," you breathe the words, a soft exhale as your lips part from his.

You can hear him swallow audibly. His warm breath fanning over your face, still just inches from his. "That's...I mean...". You can tell he's now fumbling for words, trying to make sense of your confession. One he surely thought he would never hear.

"Shh." The sound barely escapes you before your lips are on his again.

Your hands move from on top of his, sliding into his hair to secure him closer. You tentatively run the tip of your tongue along the seam of his lips, a wordless question. He sucks in a breath through his nose as he parts his lips in welcome. The softest moan is shared between you as your tongues meet for the first time. There was definitely no tongue during spin the bottle.

The simmering passion morphs into a searing heat. There is a faint sweetness on his tongue. You explore his mouth, mapping it out in your mind. It’s the perfect map to replace the atlas on your skin, the one you thought once represented who you were. This new map, complete with a legend of all your favorite things, emblazons itself on your heart.

This…this is true love, true happiness.

Right?

You can tell it takes effort for him to pull away. He sucks in a few shallow breaths, tongue swiping over his lips as he tries to gather his thoughts. “This isn’t right.”

Your muscles go rigid, fingers aching as they try not to twist in his hair at that utterance. Movements sluggish and fractured you separate from him, choosing to fist your hands by your sides instead. His drop from your face as you take another step back from him, your back hitting the bathroom wall bringing you up short.

There is anguish in his face like he wishes nothing more than to be able to reach out and snag his words back. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, scrubbing a hand over your eyes lest he see the tears threatening there. “I shouldn’t have…I thought you wanted…no, no, I’m sorry.”

Are you mistaken? Did you dream up his confession from a week ago? The revisited confession over beef broth soup? You shake your head, trying to dispel the confusion but it just lodges in harder. The bathroom is too small, you feel like you might crawl out of your own skin if you don’t get out right this second. Casting one last glance at Jin sitting on your sink, you lunge for the door and throw it open. You spill into your room, shrugging out of the gold blazer and letting it fall to the floor. Your skin is on fire, thoughts swirling like a wildfire.

Of course you’d somehow fuck this up, too. Worthless as always. You’re trembling, standing in the middle of your room. Your thoughts are so loud you don’t hear Jin walk up behind you. A cold chill runs through you, dousing the inferno…the cold realization that you may have just very well ruined the one good thing in your life, the one consistent thing that has always been a beacon in the darkness.

Your hand flies to your mouth following a ragged breath that turns into a muffled wail. How could you be this dense…this thoughtless! Selfish. That’s right, selfish. Foolish…and utterly heartbroken.

“Shh, shh.” Jin coos, his strong arms wrapping around you from behind.

His actions just make you cry harder. Your eyes are squeezed shut so tightly they ache. The hand over your mouth turns into a tight fist and you latch on, teeth grinding against your own skin. You feel your knees give out and if it wasn’t for Jin’s arms around you, you’d be a puddle on the floor.

“I—don’t—deserve—you,” you choke out between sobs that rattle your chest.

“No, you deserve so much better than me,” he whispers into your hair. Oh, the audacity of this man. How can he say that? “I should have protected you better, I should have whisked you away from that nightmare a long time ago…but I was too much of a coward, scared of rejection, so much that I let you fall into the hands of a monster.”

You want to tell him he’s being ridiculous. None of this is his fault, none. But as you turn in his arms to do so, he envelopes you. Swift hands, hard chest, strong arms, and soft lips. The words, the thoughts, cease to exist. He kisses you like it’s the first time. Like it’s the last time. Like he’s trying to erase the last two years, kissing away the pain and hurt. His lips say he’s sorry and he’ll never let you go again.

“I love you,” you gasp out, breath stolen by the intense and hungry kiss.

He pulls back, just for a moment. His eyes are glowing coals, shining with so much compassion and unfiltered adoration…for you. “I love you.”

You’ve never heard those words uttered with so much fever or certainty. A new chill runs through you, one that is both hot and cold, one that makes your toes tingle and your heart hammer hard in your chest. Do you dare? Is this real? Maybe another kiss, just to be sure. Yeah, a kiss sounds perfect.

Your hands find purchase on his shoulders, fingers threading into the hair at the nape of his neck. It doesn’t take much encouragement, none at all really, to bring him back to your mouth. He is the embodiment of hunger, passion, and desire as he consumes you. Maybe it’s the dizzying way he kisses you or the years of suppressed wanting, but before you realize what you’re doing, you’re pushing him back onto your bed. You follow him down, bouncing softly as his back hits the mattress and your chest goes flush with his.

The filmy black dress rides up your hips as you bring your knees to either side of his hips. So much for your ass not hanging out. As if that realization were an invitation, Jin’s hands slide along your thighs and come to rest just where they meet the underside of your ass. His hesitation is clear but it sends a little shiver down your spine that he’s even contemplating it.

“Touch me, please,” you encourage, lips parting from his to trail soft kisses along his jaw.

Permission granted, his hands grip you. His fingers knead gently and he lets out a surprising groan. He never applies too much pressure, never makes it hurt. Jin is slow, methodical, and oh so sweet as he tenderly explores to create a map of his own.

It’s endearing how fumbling his hands are as he helps you take off your dress. You both giggle breathlessly as you fumble just as much trying to pull off his sweater and unbuckle his slacks. You’re drawn to him, eyes always searching and yearning for his gaze. A gaze that pierces through you, filling up all the hollow crevices within. He’s not just a smooth spackling trying to cover up your cracks, only to flake off in the future. He’s the hot iron that melds your pieces together…making you whole again.

Tentative touches turn to familiar connections. His body is warm, inviting despite the hard muscles and planes. He’s divine, a treasure to behold. Never did you imagine his skin would be so flawless, so smooth and sumptuous. You take turns worshiping one another. Everything is soft, sensual, and utterly, utterly perfect.

He draws you to him, arms caging you in. One hand cradles the back of your head and the other is secured around your waist. His back rests against your mountain of pillows, legs splayed across your bed. There is no fight for power, no struggle to not drown in someone else’s dominance. It’s a slow dance of equals. He leads, but you follow without floundering.

There are no words. None are needed. Your body communicates with his, he knows exactly what you want before you do. Answering every beckoning from within. The moment you settle against his lap, the feeling of his naked body beneath you, everything goes fuzzy. It’s not the fuzziness of disassociation, but the fluffy clouds of contentment.

You move slowly, letting your bodies learn one another. The moment his hard length is pressing into your heat you’re both gasping, your breaths mingling between you.

He utters your name. It’s soft, barely heard, but it’s all it takes. You’ll do anything to hear it again. You begin to undulate your hips, rocking against his lap so your walls rub and squeeze around him as he’s buried impossibly deep. You know it won't be long, the slow build is almost more than you can handle. You’re so in tune with him, making you ache and crave more at the same time.

“Fu- uh,” a soft half-curse escapes with his next breath before it morphs into a moan of your name. You can tell he’s close, the way his arms flex around you and pull you closer still. Your thighs tremble with the resistance you’re trying to maintain, you want this to last…to never end. But, you’re also focusing on making more mental notes. You watch the way his pulse flutters, the way small drops of perspiration glide down the column of his neck. The soft pants and moans that emanate from him are a symphony now forever ingrained into the soundtrack of your life. Just where it belongs.

Your hips stutter, orgasm imminent. It only takes a few more rolls of your body against his before you’re both coming undone. Jin’s groan is something you’ll never forget. There is a primal and untethered way that he kisses you through your orgasm, lips locking against yours as he swallows your cries of ecstasy.

This is only the beginning. Well, a beginning. One of many. Really, it’s just a continuation of your already existing story. A story that goes farther back than any other in your life. Jin is familiarity, comfort. A true beacon in the darkness. He’s the wind that chases away the smoke, the water that quenches your parched throat…the slow dance in the kitchen when you’re 80, the happy ending- your happy ending.

⇽Previous Chapter ◅ Back to chapter list

◅ Back to Master List ©️ 2022-01-09 ColorMePurplex2

#bts #bts fanfic #bts seokjin #bts jin #bts fluff #bts angst #bts smut #seokjin fluff #seokjin angst #seokjin smut #bts friends to lovers #seokjin x reader #seokjin x you #bts non idol au #bts dark au #bangtanwritershq #seokjin fanfic

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purefandomonium · 1 year ago

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The WIP That Started It All...

Reconnection--or, the original Connection was supposed to be a two-part short story. Part 1 was years after and Part 2 was going to be a look at how the MC and Red met. Due to a handful of people actually wanting to see it, I'll post it. It's wildly different from the story now and I likely won't be using it with the current version, but I still like it. There's a lot of parts I kept and used for Connection.

Basically, Leanne--who is unnamed here as I hadn't gotten that far with her character yet--finds herself perpetually lamenting the loss of her friend, Glitchy Red.

Story below the cut and some more info at the bottom of the post.

It’s been years since they last spoke. Several. She can’t even remember the last thing they talked about. All she remembers are his last words, the way he enunciated each one, the way every syllable cut into her very being—not because the words were cold and harsh, but because they were true. And truth really did hurt.

It just didn’t hurt as much as the hole that never could be filled. She is finding that out now as she sits at her desk and stares out the apartment window. The sky is a vast swath of gray. An endless monotone like her mood lately.

And she often finds herself wondering: for what? What’s so bad about her life? She lives in a nice place, has access to fresh food, clean clothes, and a very well paying job. She knows she’s living a lot of people’s dreams right now. So why is it suddenly feeling so hollow?

Because regardless of who it is, the company just never feels the same.

She stands and stretches, intending to work the stiffness out of her joints by grabbing a drink from the fridge and maybe a snack. A glance at the clock confirms it’s been several hours since she’s last eaten something, let alone gone to the bathroom. She should stop being so careless with her well-being. He used to always scold her for that. A part of her still misses the concern. No one she knows now is ever perceptive enough to see through the mask. He was the only one who seemed anywhere near her wavelength, even if he didn’t always show it politely.

There she goes again, getting lost in thought over someone she should’ve forgotten about years ago. So much has happened since then too. She finds herself staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she absently washes her hands. She’s older now, no longer the wide-eyed child with too many hopes and dreams and too much spare time. She has a stable career now, she’s on good terms with most of her coworkers and even has a handful of decent friends. She’s all grown up, so to speak.

She realizes how long she’s been distracted by her reverie when she feels the friction from her wrinkled fingertips and finally shuts the water off.

Dammit.

She should be proud of herself for her accomplishments. After all, who else is going to be? Her parents? She huffs out a dry laugh at the thought. Then she thinks about whether or not he would be upset if she reaches out to him to see. Would he be proud of how she’s turned her life around? Or would he be disappointed she was going back on her word just to ask him something so foolish?

She takes a bite out of the granola bar she can’t remember grabbing—let alone buying—as she contemplates the fantasy. Truth be told, she never really has kept her word. After all, she’s been letting his memory haunt the back of her mind for years. She just couldn’t bring herself to let him go and still can’t.

Too sentimental, he used to say. She seemed to have a bad habit of letting herself get attached to things.

She washes down the snack with some water and starts to walk back to her office. She has a website to finish, after all. The client was a long-standing one and she doesn’t want to let them down. They were paying far too handsomely for that.

She sits at her computer for a few more hours, making minimal progress. Finally, at around eleven pm, she calls it quits. There’s just no stopping it now, really. Her programming skills have grown immensely. She’s taken apart enough computers and the like to develop a full understanding of how they tick. She also knows she’s just as stupid now in regards to using common sense as she was back then.

He asked her to make something of herself and stop worrying about him. He told her to let him go and let his memory fade for her own sake, and his. He said he was tired and couldn’t go on.

Even now, after all these years, she knows the last part was a lie. He was tired, yes. They both were at the time. However, despite all his claims, he was never that kind of tired. Not after they became something like friends.

She finds her gaze locked in the direction of her bedroom closet despite the walls between them. She knows the exact spot where the old thing rests, stored in a box and buried beneath several other belongings and fallen clothes, the internal hardware likely dead by now.

Because while she could never bring herself to forget him, she had enough honor and respect to leave him be.

Not anymore, it seems. Her legs carry her to source of all this nonsense and she’s never felt more pathetic in her entire life. How hopeless she is, to do this. But she can’t take it anymore. It’s been eating at her for so long now she’s sure there isn’t much left. She almost smirks as she compares the thought to her feelings of emptiness and finally understands where they come from.

That’s one thing he’s always given her: understanding.

Moving aside the items covering the box, she picks it up with quivering hands and stares at it. What’s she going to do if it doesn’t work? Would she finally be able to forget him then? Or would she snap back into the thinking of her younger self and see it as a challenge?

What if it does work? What would she say to his surprised visage, no doubt disappointed at her hopeless attachment issues?

What should she say to herself for this?

Shaking her head, she forces herself to open the box and remove the item. The heavily-modified GameBoy is exactly as it was when she stored it. It’s just been so long ago that she has to stare in disbelief at how young she must have been. The thing feels absolutely dwarfed by her hands despite the bulkier-than-usual build her tinkering had created.

She’s clearly no longer a child, and yet she still feels helpless as ever.

She moves to sit on her bed as she debates her next move. She could—should—just put the thing back and finally respect his wishes of forgetting him. Move on with her life. Yet she knows she’d never be able to do that. Maybe that’s what he wanted and what he felt was best, but that just isn’t for her. It had never really been an option in the first place, had it?

She finds the extension outlet between the bed and nightstand and plugs in the old charger. The GameBoy lets a single light glow, the modified charger still functioning despite its age. Steeling herself, she flicks the switch to on and watches in stunned silence as the screen actually lights up.

It boots up as normal, and when given the option, she hits continue with the slightest hesitation.

Would he remember her? What if he was angry? How would she feel if he’d had no issue forgetting her?

All of that gets washed away when the game loads in the level. Standing in—what was this place again? It’s been too long… She squints at the small screen.

Cinnabar? Yes, that’s the name. The player sprite simply stands there, idle, while the world goes about its business around him and music plays cheerfully in the background.

She remembers how broken everything had been when she’d first gotten the cartridge, how disappointed she’d been at having saved up for something only to get ripped off in the end. She’d been determined to get some kind of enjoyment out of it though. So she forced herself through the constant bugs and crashes. Forced the game to try again each time because she was not going to let the minor setback of a hacked copy ruin one of the only sources of fun she’d had at the time.

And when the broken, corrupted mess of a game had essentially told her to fuck off with her meddling, well, it had been the rocky start of something akin to an unlikely friendship.

A friendship that seems well and truly dead, if the lack of interaction is anything to go by. For all intents and purposes, if the game is running fine after all this time, the additional equipment she rigged onto the console should be too. The small, cheap camera she’d removed from an early cell phone may have lousy quality, but that doesn’t mean it can’t make out her face. The same goes for the microphone and speaker setup.

Looking at it now, it’s a miracle she was ever able to get any of it working. The setup is messy, poorly coordinated and practically held together by dreams, rubber-bands and tape. Not too unlike the game itself. The battery is well done though, somehow un-corroded and still working. She just can’t say the same about the rest of the workmanship. Her skills have certainly come a long way.

That fact doesn’t make the sinking feeling in her stomach lessen. Is he even still there? What if lying dormant for so long had…

She refuses to let that thought gain any traction. The thought of him simply being too angry to even speak with her resonates much better than the previous one.

“I’m sorry,” she says. It’s so soft she doubts the crappy mic even picks it up. She grips the game a little tighter and fights back the stinging in her eyes.

“…It’s you…”

The voice is garbled, distorted, and it clips in an unnatural manner. The music cuts out.

The camera watches her lift her head, blink, and then hastily wipe away the tears that spill over. She’s older now. Much older. If he has to guess, he’d go with at least thirty. Her misty eyes are the same denim gray they’ve always been, her hair is longer and lighter but still messily tied in a half-assed ponytail.

She looks both relieved and terrified to hear his voice.

All she can manage is a miserable sniffle. Pathetic. She’s spent all this time moping and the only thing she can do now is cry. She chokes out another apology—this one riddled with sobs—as the pixels on the screen shift into an image she hasn’t seen in a very long time.

“Why do you keep apologizing?” His expression is that of confusion mixed with concern.

“Be… Because I can’t—I couldn’t keep my promise. I-I’m sorry… I know you said to just forget but I…” She’s too pathetic. She hasn’t grown out of the naive and hopeless child at all. It feels like she’s taken a hundred steps back.

Red can only watch as she loses whatever control she has left and collapses into a fit of tears. The game sits in her lap and he’s privy to more than a few droplets landing on the screen.

If he’s being honest, he’s shocked to see her like this. Shocked to see her at all, really. He expected to wake up in the hands of some nostalgia-ridden brat who was looking to break apart the game for ‘old time’s sake.’ You know, the usual. He didn’t think he’d ever see her again after their last interaction. He thought his words would’ve driven the point home and she would’ve moved on.

Seeing her now, like this, makes him realize it was a foolish thing to ask.

“You keep that up and you’ll short out my circuits,” he says to the shaking form. He’d give her a hug if he could.

She sucks in a breath and tries to reign her tears in long enough to actually look at him. Most of her hair has come loose from her raking her fingers through it as she cried and she can feel the puffiness beneath her eyes.

“I see you still don’t know how hair ties work,” he remarks.

“How can you be so nonchalant?”

He shrugs. “You’re acting like I don’t know you.”

“…I thought you might’ve forgotten about me for moment there.”

“Yeah,” he drawls, the sound full of broken static. “I guess we’re both pretty bad at that, huh?”

Despite her prior breakdown, she feels a small smile pull on her lips. She uses her shirt to wipe the wetness off the screen and game, careful not let any of it get too close to the ports or buttons.

“So… How have things been?” He knows how ridiculous it sounds, but he’s never been good at what to say in moments of distress like this one. So he tries to get her mind off it instead.

She’s secretly always been thankful for this little tactic of his. They both know what he’s doing, but it always seems to work. “Things have been… nice,” she says once she’s sure her breath won’t hitch anymore. “I uh, I got a job as a software engineer and web designer.”

“As you should. You’ve always been good at fixing broken things.” He smiles at her light blush. “How long has it been?”

She sighs, though not out of sadness. “Oh, I don’t know. Something like… Twelve years?” It’s much longer than she’d initially been willing to admit. Why has she been lying to herself like this?

He hums, distracted by his thoughts. Wondering aloud, he says, “Who’d have thought I would’ve lasted this long?”

It’s her turn to shrug.

“I have to admit; I’m glad it was you who turned this old thing on. I couldn’t quite believe it at first. To think you held onto me for all this time…” He trails off, lost again.

“I’m sorry, Red.”

“You keep saying that,” he says as he snaps back to reality. “Stop it.”

For a moment she’s transported back to her old room, in her old house when she still lived with her parents, a child with an idiotic sense of curiosity and too much alone time.

The player sprite faced the screen—as best it could from the top-down view, anyway—and the glitched out text box emanated an anger that would’ve been terrifying if it had been anyone else but her reading it.

RED: YOu kEep brEAkIng iT. JuST LeAVE. Why ARe yOU DOiNg tHis?

What else did she have to do other than figure this clearly-not-just-a-hack game out? She was certain she could help him somehow.

RED: Go AWay alREady.

She moved the player sprite left and right, quickly.

RED: ObNoxIOUS brAt.

RED: STOP IT!

Even now, despite the wildly different circumstances, his voice still holds the same commanding ferocity it had before it was even a voice. Of course, she isn’t any more inclined to listen to him now than she was when they first ‘met.’

He sees the argument forming and stops it before it can begin. “I know what I said to you and I know how you felt about it. I’m the one who should be apologizing. I never should’ve asked you to forget about me like that. How could you? After everything… You deserved to have a friend and I’m sorry.”

She’s at a loss for words.

Red takes full advantage of it. “It was a selfish thing to ask anyway. I told you to forget me back then because I figured at some point you would’ve outgrown me anyway. I thought it would hurt less if I was the one to make it happen rather than us growing apart. After everything we’ve been through and all the stuff you’ve done for me…” There’s static as he sighs. “It would’ve hurt to eventually be cast aside once you got older and life started getting in the way. Not that I’m not used to it… But it would’ve hurt a lot worse coming from you.”

She feels tears threatening to break free again, but this time she keeps them in check. For now.

“So… I’m sorry… I’m sorry I ever said all that stuff to you.” He watches her expression falter, sees the internal struggle she has to keep from crying again as a pang of guilt hits him right in the heart he technically doesn’t have.

After an agonizing battle with her emotions, she takes a deep breath, counts to ten, and releases it. “You don’t have to apologize, Red. As a matter of fact, the stuff you said to me helped a lot. It really helped me get my life in order.”

His expression changes to surprise as she gives a genuine smile. There’s a broken and tinny garble from the speaker, some mix between a Pokemon cry and the distorted bark of broken code failing to process. His image distorts for a moment before shifting into a neutral expression, albeit one still showing a bit of astonishment.

“Don’t hurt yourself now,” she chuckles quietly, “it’s not that serious. I just meant to say that you were right about it. I couldn’t sit around and hold onto you forever. That’s no way to live. And even though you’ve been taking up space rent-free in the back of my mind for sometime now, that never stopped me from putting other things first. If not for that, I wouldn’t have any of this.”

He’s silent for a long while, observing. He finally allows himself to smile. “You’re still just as weird as ever,” he remarks, a clipped chuckle escaping him. “I suppose some things just don’t change, huh?”

“You’re one to talk,” she snarks back, the tightness in her chest dissipating. “You looked like you might crash from too many words being thrown your way. Not to mention how long it took you to show up…”

“Do you have any idea what twelve years of lying dormant feels like? I had to ‘stretch my legs,’ so to speak.”

“You’d think a nap like that would’ve cleared up enough memory for you to function correctly. I guess that whopping twelve megabytes of RAM isn’t doing you any favors.”

“You’re the one who only gave me twelve megabytes of RAM!”

She throws her hands up in an exasperated gesture, though she’s the furthest thing from it. “Well I’m sorry I wasn’t working with a high salary at the time. Don’t worry, now that I’m a real software engineer and have money, I’ll give you a whole eight gigs.”

They go back and forth like this, like they always had, for quite some time. Eventually, the joking around gets old and they go back to discussing how much has changed. She tells Red everything, from how she struggled to work her way though enough schooling to get a degree and then a job in the tech field. She tells him how grueling it was to work her way up, especially being new and a woman, and in between the comments he finds himself hating how he wasn’t there to help her through it. Still, he’s proud of her and what she’s done for herself. He makes that very clear. He’s glad him and his stupidity didn’t hold her back.

She doesn’t mind that Red wasn’t at her side the whole way through. Things surely would’ve gotten a bit difficult to explain at times, for one thing, and it was also good for her to go out on her own. It was hard at first, but then she got over it and clawed her way up the ladder. She’s met so many great people along the way, and while their company was never going to be like Red’s, it was good to have something different.

She’s proud of herself and all she’s accomplished. After all this time, she’s never felt so in control of her own thoughts and feelings. She finally understands what all this had been doing to her. She thought she was feeling stuck because she was hopelessly trapped in a never-ending spiral about being unable to forget a childhood memory. Now, she knows it’s because she was denying herself an old friend. Is the entire situation unorthodox and a touch unhealthy? Yes and maybe. But it doesn’t change the fact that she feels a strong sense of relief at having him back.

Because that’s something he’s always given her: Understanding.

And there you have it folks, the start of my brainrot. Like I said before, there's a lot of stuff I pulled from this when working on Connection. And the relationship between 'Leanne' and Red here is going to be much the same for them in Connection. Two unlikely friends who suffer from loneliness, lol. I wrote this in one go and then boom! Connection happened and I kind of just left this aside. Still, I enjoyed it and I still like it even now. The whole idea was that the MC needed to grow up and stop clinging to an entity trapped in a game, but then she feels like she lost someone special. Which she did, but it's different because it's not a death. He's literally there the whole time, she just waits so long trying to get over it that it eats at her. Idk, this kinda just happened as I went along.

#my writing #glitchy red #pokepasta #the og connection that started it all #if it weren't for this it wouldn't exist #neither would all my other iterations

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ortizselene · 7 months ago

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Selene feels like she's suspended in air, watching Kieran, waiting for an answer, the memories of her and Kaia pressing at her mind incessantly, something warm and gauzy: threaded with that sweet, innocent camaraderie of girlhood.

'She’s doing really good.'

Her shoulders relax. Some pang strikes inside her, the beat of a hollow drum, thinking about how ... distant, it all felt. Kaia was doing really good. They'd cornered Kieran on the couch, shaped up his nail-bed and trimmed his cuticles while shrieking with laughter, they'd strolled Neiman Marcus together and Kaia was doing really good.

Why hadn't she ever texted Kaia. Texted either of them.

Why is Selene responsible for so much of her own misery.

'She’s an actress,'

'She was in this Off-Broadway show last year. She was an understudy, but she’s doing great. She’s in a lot of acting classes, and she auditions for stuff all the time.'

Nostalgia, longing, regret. It's a bitter cocktail Selene swallows, the ice water doing little to dilute this sense of fucking shame coating her mouth. Kaia had been in a show— and Selene had had no idea.

She'd lost so much of what had mattered in her life.

All she wants to do now is fold the younger girl into a hug.

"That's incredible." She smiles, despite the maelstrom inside her, but it's true. "Your sister always had star quality." A beat, in which Selene remembers the strength of Kaia's smile, that sunny aura that always used to radiate from her. "I'm sure I'll see her in something soon."

Selene would no doubt also run into her soon; as Kane's fiance. Nausea seeps back into her stomach like cold oil, and she no longer has much appetite for the bread.

There's alcohol soon, however, and Selene manages an earnest chuckle at Kieran's question, the inflection of his voice when he asks about Charlotte Tilbury.

Rizz. Another word that sounds foreign in his mouth, foreign to them both, makes her insides tense with laughter as they sat at this artfully arranged table, experts of the stock market and industry, puzzling over words that tasted like nothing in her mouth. Matty would probably know them.

'Charlotte Tillbury and rizz. I think this is elder abuse, you know. I could report you to HR.'

Selene takes a long drink from her cocktail. 'Hmphs', around the solid sphere of ice. She could taste the reposado, the tiny grains of salt clinging to her tongue.

She wonders if Kieran can see the spark of fondness that must be present in in her eyes.

"I think the ADEA only applies when you're older than forty." Another sip. God. It was fucking good. Who knew parental rebellion tasted so crisp; thank god Kieran had convinced her of this. "And it certainly holds less weight since we're the same age."

She smiles around the rim; thinks about how she might have reached forward to push at his shoulder, exclaim that they were both elderly, both woefully behind on the times.

If she hadn't failed her best friend; if she had texted him, even once, during that great absence between them, they wouldn't be here. Instead Selene would rest the point of her elbow on his shoulder. Lean down over him and shove her phone in her face, say 'Look at his. Look at what my cousin just sent me.'

Kieran would make a face. Demand that Selene never subject him to something so brainless again, and then she'd laugh and laugh and rest her cheekbone atop the crown of his head.

They used to touch each other like that every day. With breathtaking casualness.

What could she do now, as Kane's fiance? What could Selene do now that Kieran would even want; would he recoil from a hug? Would he find the press of her hand against his shoulder obnoxious, abrasive?

Maybe he thought it all childish now; the way she would practically hang off him in college. Maybe it was embarrassing now, to him.

What if he had a woman in his life?

What if Kieran had a woman in his life.

To prevent herself from gazing longingly at his shoulder, or perhaps having a panic attack while investigating that last train of thought, Selene props up her menu, makes a point to glance past the apertifs and onto the main courses; yellowfin tuna, with citrus fern, strip loin and sauce roquefort. No doubt fresh. No doubt a little heavy, when they had ... so much left to do at the office.

"God. I don't know. I might break work lunch etiquette and order pomme frites or something. Or maybe just a sandwich..."

When Selene asked if Kaia was doing good, there was a pang in Kieran’s chest that he couldn’t avoid. He felt his mouth dry out and suddenly struggled to swallow the bit of bread that he was eating. Kaia and Selene. The memories flooded back in an instant. A torrent of nostalgia pouring into his chest cavity, and there was nothing that Kieran could do to stop it.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Kieran missed his friend, Selene. He missed the ease of their conversation. Just as quickly as the emotion re-surfaced, Kieran buried it back down, the same way he had over the years. Anytime Kieran missed her, he ignored it, pretended that he didn’t – because it was easier than facing the reality that he’d lost her.

“She’s doing really good.”

Kieran was afraid of saying more. He was afraid that the words would fail him, and his throat would get all tight, and Selene would realize that he still missed that week in June when Kaia went to stay with him.

Another polite smile, even if Kieran was dying inside.

He took a sip of the cold water, looking for relief in the drink, the same way he had with the hot coffee.

“She’s an actress,” Kieran finally said. And Selene was just a co-worker. He could tell her about Kaia, pretending that the history between them was nonexistent. Selene was just a co-worker, he kept repeating. “She was in this Off-Broadway show last year. She was an understudy, but she’s doing great. She’s in a lot of acting classes, and she auditions for stuff all the time.”

And then – a pang of guilt, for all of the space between him and Kaia lately. Separated by an entire ocean, and Kieran hadn’t even texted her that he was back home.

Kieran could ignore all of this, though. He’d been an expert at it all of his life. Hiding the way his father made him feel, hiding the anxiety that came with the possibility of fucking up at work.

“Who is Charlotte Tillbury?”

There. That let Selene know everything that she needed to about his make up knowledge. The server arrived, placing their drinks at the table, letting them know that he’d return in just a few moments with their appetizers and to take their order.

“Rizz?”

Kieran reached for his margarita. He held the glass atop of the table, shifting it in the palm of his hand. Finally, he squeezed the lemon wedge onto his drink, and took a sip.

Alcohol. Alcohol always helped when Kieran was having a difficult time. It was refreshing and sweet.

“I’ve never heard anyone use that word in my life,” he admitted a little sheepishly. Was he getting old? Kieran. Almost thirty years old. When he was in college, Vine was still a thing. Six second videos. And now, this generation had … TikTok, and rizz?

"Charlotte Tillbury and rizz. I think this is elder abuse, you know. I could report you to HR."

Kieran was finding it difficult not to smile around Selene too much. He just had to keep it professional. A friendly lunch date. Um– a lunch meeting, between two colleagues.

"Have you decided what you want from the menu?"

Kieran hadn't. He hadn't even taken a look yet.

#SELENE ORDER MORE ALCOHOL YOU SHOULD GET DRUNK AND CONFESS YOUR LOVE NOW !!!!!#char: kieran #para1

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thesundaycoffeeclub · 1 year ago

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Worst Case Sundays And How To Save Them

Sometimes all you need is five million dollars.

Sundays are tricky: Sometimes you drift through the day starting with long steam showers and (boozy) brunches. Then, a coffee to go for a walk around the neighbourhood. After that, a quick phone call with your best friend. To close things out, you get the medium-rare Steak Frites with some comforting gratin dauphinois at the brasserie around the corner.

You end up in bed around 10 pm watching Friends. A peaceful Sunday.

And then, there are other Sundays: The ones that chose violence.

You wake up after a night of bad sleep thinking the last Dirty Martini was a bit toodirty. Also, there’s a highly suspicious amount of work emails in your inbox that seem to need your attention right away. You check Slack and see that some channels have been going off overnight. The WhatsApp notification badge shows a bold red anxiety-inducing seventy-nine (79).

This is going to be fun!

You make your way to the kitchen while your whole body starts to adjust. You feel like this is your very first day on earth and you haven’t entirely figured out how anything works really. Thank God, coffee is here to save the day, and as the caffeine kicks in you remember how to human again.

Next up: a hot shower followed by a very swift skincare routine because nobody ever needed to look nice on a Sunday that is already a shitshow around 9 am.

Then, reality hits you.

Not-so-close friends start texting you - or worse: calling you - just to update you about stuff you don’t really care about. Slack hasn’t calmed down. The number next to the Unread tab of your inbox makes you want to quit immediately. Oh, and the not so politically-correct story you posted last night may have put off a few followers, at least that’s what you read into the amount of unread DMs. Sprinkle a few hyprocritical Tweets and hollow LinkedIn posts on top of all that and you’re one click away from booking a one-way ticket to Costa Rica, departing in two hours.

Oh, did I forget to mention the group chat you explicitly didn’t want any part of that has been trying to organize a bachelors/bachelorette party for the past three weeks?

Happy Sunday!

That is when you realize you’ve got to hit the breaks.

You quickly skim through your inbox, respond to the most important emails and Slack chats. You block some slots for update calls with the team on Monday, you reach out to your boss and team members to make sure everything is under control.

You delete the not so woke story that did not land as good as you hoped. Next, you bring your friend to his/her senses after he/she has been overthinking about double-texting his/her very toxic date who clearly doesn’t give two (2) shits about him/her and didn’t even manage to send a quick Good Night text after last nights drinks.

It’s been a rouch Worst Sunday Scenario - and although you already know that some of the issues you’re dealing with today may be even more pressing tomorrow, you feel like there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.

At around 4 pm you’re confident how you managed todays clusterfuck. The largest fires have been put out. It’s time to save what’s left from your Sunday.

You decide to take a walk, hoping you’ll get at least 3,000 steps in (without having the slightest idea why people are counting their steps in the first place). You hit play on the latest episode of your favourite podcast, get a fresh juice, and make your way to the park.

On an empty bench facing the afternoon sun you close your eyes and begin to daydream about what it would be like if this would be, say, sunny Malibu instead of dusty Berlin … what it would be like if this would be a Limoncello Spritz on the porch of your million-dollar multi-acre sea-view mansion instead of an overpriced green juice in a plastic cup on a dirty bench in a poorly maintained park … what it would be like if this would be your very own garden, so wild and lush you’d need a minimum of three (3) gardeners to take care of it.

Well, sometimes you can’t have it all, can you?

Despite the very unlikely case of becoming filthy rich and moving to Malibu, you should still take a look at this The New York Times series, called What You Get: It showcases real estate listings in the most sophisticated areas in the U.S.

Just in case. To be prepared.

These awfully expensive listings make for great visual inspiration and Sunday daydreaming. And we’re here for it. Now, go check out these $5 Million Homes in California.

Although you’re scrolling through the stunning homes on a shattered iPhone sitting on a dirty bench, sucking on a dissolving paper straw you lean back and think:

Life ain’t too bad after all.

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ashlingnarcos · 3 years ago

Text

The Dancer

Ramón Arellano Félix/Reader, Kitty Paez/Reader, Implied Other Ships

Tags: party girl, bittersweet, this is kind of about finding freedom in your own inability to control the future but also kind of about the Narcojuniors being hot and silly and also kind of about Benjamín being a good dad

Length: 1.7k

A living legend among the Narcojuniors, word has it that you’ve fucked every sibling in the Arellano Félix family. That’s not true. It is, however, almost true…

The nightclub is your natural habitat: lights purple, blue, green strobing your face, sweat slicking back tendrils of hair to your face, fringe of your dress flirting along your legs, dancing, always dancing. You can dance alone, but why would you, when there are so many ready partners? You go to sleep at four, five in the morning, wake up in hotel rooms and other people’s houses, sometimes alone and sometimes not. Either way, you slip out of bed and go stand on the balcony (there is nearly always a balcony), sipping coffee in a silk slip, in a man’s button-down, in nothing at all, just sunlight.

Your worst enemy is boredom, and your best friend—well, what does that matter? Isn’t it enough to stand silhouetted in the archway just before the party begins, isn’t it enough to be greeted eagerly and warmly by people who like you—to be liked everywhere you go? Youth and beauty will do a lot for you, but then there’s the recklessness. You’re not reckless exactly like many of the other Narcojuniors, maybe because you came from another place. While their parents are judges, politicians, businessmen, yours is a general, a hard army man who came up from nothing and took you and your family with him. He doesn’t speak to you any more. You don’t need him to, either. You’ve learned what there is to learn from the man. If you drive a getaway car—and you don’t make it a habit, but hey, shit happens—you drive with both hands on the wheel, nimble, icy-veined. If you end up facing a leering threat—and you don’t make it a habit either, but jungles breed predators—you make your escape fast and light, and sic your attack dog as soon as you can find one.

Speaking of. Here’s two of yours, winding their way through the party to you, no doubt intent on hello kisses. They look like a matched pair, like they coordinated outfits—and honestly, knowing these ridiculous boys, the probably did. Kitty’s in a black suit with crimson shirt, and Ramón’s black and gold silk shirt is unbuttoned enough to catch your attention with the hollow at the base of his throat, a familiar spot. You grin at him through the crowd, remembering, savoring the last of your drink and the attention.

If people think you’re attached, they’re mistaken, but they tend to assume that you’re Ramon’s girl, and that has a little bit of truth to it.You could never work as a long-term, monogamous thing—he’s too rash and reckless even for you, and you’re too hard to pin down for him—but fucking hell, the sex. There’s hardly a wedding or a birthday party that goes by without you taking him to some coatroom, some back hallway, burying your hands in his hair and while he fucks you against the wall. Yeah, he gets jealous, a lot. There’s nothing he can do about it, is there? You’ve never made him promises, have you? If he wants to get angry, all the better—then he fucks you like he’s got something to prove, kisses your neck so hard it leaves marks that you won’t hide in the morning. You never do him the honor of getting jealous in return. That’s not your style. But you enjoy his moods when they come.

And Kitty? He’s actually the closest you have to a regular, mostly because he’s never once tried to tighten a collar round your neck like the rest. He takes everything easy, doesn’t mind it when you slip in out of his house like a cat, pilfer his closet, disappear for a week then show up in his bed sans explanation; in fact, he seems to enjoy the lack of obligations there. It’s off and on, but he never takes you for granted, which is a rare combination. For a guy who likes to pop his collar, he can be very nearly a gentleman: if you’re driving along a coastline on vacation, he’ll buy you flowers at a roadside stand, and sometimes, if you haven’t come twice in one night, he takes it personally and gets on his knees. And he makes you laugh. You need that.

Like right now. After they reach you, and get their kisses, Ramón asks you if you’re coming after the party to see Pancho’s birthday present. Kitty is already digging into his back pocket to get a picture of it, and both of them look at you all expectant and proud as you squint at it, then start howling with laughter.

In the picture, there’s the ruins of an old bungalow, roof caved in and one wall completely destroyed. Right next to it is an incongruously tall crane bearing a huge wrecking ball. Hanging dangerously high from the crane, like it’s monkey bars are Ramón and Kitty, grinning like kids.

“We had to test drive it,” Ramón, by way of explanation.

“Of course,” you say, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, mocking him. “It makes sense. I, too, like to light my cigarette using a fucking grenade.”

“No, it’s a symbol,” says Ramón earnestly. It’s so funny and kind of sweet, the way this man still wants your approval for everything after all this time. “We’re going to knock down the Paraíso hotel so Pancho can build a new one. To expand his—what was it?”

“Portfolio,” Kitty says, just dryly enough that you can tell he knows exactly how funny it is that Ramón has somehow got it into his head to concern himself with investment diversification. Bless him.

“That,” says Ramón triumphantly. “Expand his portfolio.”

“Right,” you say. “And it’s just a tiny little bonus that you get to knock down fifteen stories’ worth of building while you’re at it.”

“Exactly.” Both of them beam at you.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you say, “but I have to run an errand after this. Wait for me?”

“Of course.”

You watch them go with fondness, finishing your drink. The two of them are always cooking up mad schemes—or Ramón is trying to cook them up, while Kitty’s mostly along for the ride, and it never ceases to entertain you, whether they succeed or (which is more common) go awry. You’re often invited to participate, but you never do, preferring just to watch. Maybe that’s one of the reasons the Arellano Félix family let you into their circle so easily. Your lack of interest in making money, gaining power, arranging the future makes you far less of a threat. It’s that, and the pussy. And, for a couple of them—for Enedina, you think—something more. Something few people perceive unless they spend time with you. You’ve got a couple rules. That makes you safer in some ways than anyone else who swears to well-behaved, monogamous devotion.

See, word has it that you’ve fucked every sibling in the Arellano Félix family, right? But there’s an exception to the rule, and it’s not Enedina. It’s Benjamín. There he is at your elbow now, looking faintly miserable in the background of his brother’s birthday party, offering half-heartedly to get you a drink refill. You decline, and ask him what’s wrong instead. His daughter, he says, Ruth, out of the country for some treatment. He says out of the country like it hurts him.

Let’s be honest, when you first met the family, you had Benjamín on your to do list. At that time, you didn’t quite see him as a man so much as an adventure. But when he speaks of his daughter, you always remember that Benjamín is something rarer than a powerful man; he’s a decent father. You won’t make that harder for him. You belong to the streets, but you’ve got a full fucking soul.

You offer Benjamín some small sympathy, and he takes it politely, as though it’s nothing, as though you can’t understand. And it’s that, that politeness without emotion coming from him, that politeness without any connection, that brings out of you your one secret to life. The thing you haven’t told any of the people you bed (and never will).

Her name was Maribel, and she was your sister. Twin sister. You used to share everything: same genes, same clothes, and the same heart condition, the one that took her before her twentieth birthday. The same disease that may someday suddenly take you. Any day now.

It’s rewarding, seeing that look on his face: that he knows now you understand. There is a comfort in it, in being two people standing in the same space who both know exactly how much of this world they control—that is to say, none of it. There’s a companionship.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Why mourn?” you say. “We can mourn when we’re dead. Until then…” You incline your head to the party: drinks, laughter, dancing, family, strings of gorgeous lights webbing a constellation above it all. Until then there’s life. But he doesn’t understand it. You can tell, looking at his face, he doesn’t understand it, though he longs to. He still knows fear. Maybe it’s bred into him, maybe it’s a side effect of his responsibilities, but he’ll never learn the lesson you learned. Fear is for other people. You wish you could teach it to him.

You lean in, and he doesn’t pull away. You kiss him on the cheek, and you see his chest rise and fall in one convulsive breath. You have him then. But you’re not going to do it. There’s Ruth the younger to consider, inextricably tied to Ruth the elder. And so you put a gentle hand on his shoulder and slip away into the party, leaving him with an empty glass and the smell of your perfume.

You know the life you want, and it’s the sort of life that has, later that night, a joyous, drug-fuelled threesome with Kitty and Ramón. It’s the sort of life with no attachments, no excuses, nothing due—the sort of life you can slip in and out of like one of your silk dresses, when the time comes. All you have is the present, and so you bite into it like a ripe fruit, licking up the juice running down your fingers. Other women can keep their their careers, their husbands, their children, their futures, all the rest of it—you wake up to fresh flowers in your bedroom and you know who sent them, you know that you are loved, you are alive, and tonight, there will be dancing.

#Narcos Mexico #Narcos Mexico fanfiction #Narcos Mexico imagine #Ramón Arellano Félix x Reader #ramón arellano félix #Kitty Paez x Reader #Kitty Paez #benjamín arellano félix #as always this is fiction based on the fictional show #and as always i am feeling so normal and so fine!!! a;dfkjaslfjd

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queeniecook · 2 years ago

Text

March 9

It’s late evening in Forgotten Hollow as James chases after his wife, who is swiftly moving towards the foyer of the Straud Mansion.

“Where are you off to?” James questions, he feels something has been up with his bride. She’s been even more antsy about him revealing her to the Vatores. He’s not ready quite yet for that step.

The female vampire can feel irritation flooding through her body, the black veins popping up on her cheeks as she briefly shifts to her dark form. Not only due to her husbands question but at the sight of Asa. She hates how he treated her sister and wishes to stake him herself.

“I’m going around the grounds for a walk. That’s the only place I’m allowed to go, after all.” She bites out.

“Look, dear, I know you want to get your revenge on Caleb and Lilith but timing is everything.” James reminds her.

“I know, James.” Is her reply, she says this calmly. She doesn’t want to argue with him too much, he’s already been watching her like a hawk for some reason.

“I like your new earrings.” James compliments her, he notices them peeking out through her hair. In reality – he wants to know where she got them. He didn’t buy them for her.

“Thank you.” She replies poiletly before making her exit from the mansion.

James turns to Asa after his wife leaves the room. “Did you buy her earrings?!”

Asa, who had been practicing making drinks at the bar, almost dropped a bottle of very expensive liquor in response to James’ sudden question.

“I bought them for her!” The count declares, thoroughly annoyed. He just wants to play his haunting pipe organ music in peace. He’s lying of course. He knows who bought them. Annalise Blake.

James turns to Vladislaus in total shock. “Why would you buy MY wife earrings?”

The count doesn’t bother to even look at the warlock “A pretty female deserves pretty things. You should remember that and loosen your purse strings once in a full moon.”

Pipe organ music resumes as James stands there, thinking over the situation.

The woman actually does make one small lap around the estate, just in case James looks out a window. When she feels it’s safe, she pauses at the exit of the estate. She does something very human – she breathes in the crisp night air. She can almost remember how it felt to do that as a mortal. It no longer feels the same. This just fuels her hatred even more.

She feels better once she’s inside Annalise’s home, chatting with her sister. Annalise went back to practicing medicine full time today. She had stopped when she became a vampire, not feeling she could safely treat humans.

“It was amazing to be back! Now that my blood lust is under control I think being a vampire will actually help me in treating people.” Annalise raves excitedly. She feels she’s reclaimed something she had to give up. Something she thought she might never get back, outside of helping Vera and Caleb months ago.

Annalise’s older sister smiles at her. “I’m truly happy for you, Annalise.”

“Do you ever think you’ll go back to being in the space program?” She asks the vampire beside her. There’s a huge pause in the conversation.

“It’s been so long….I loved it. I really did. The science of it. The wonder. Seeing the stars.” The older sister sadly reminisces. “But I was a different person then. I was human then. At least with your profession, not as much time has passed.”

Annalise quietly nods her head. She feels incredibly sad for her half sister. Pretty much everything was taken away from her. Her career, her family and friends – her life.

The topic gets changed to an upcoming medical convention Annalise has to attend out of town. Way too soon for both women, it’s time for the older sister to leave.

“Your bath has been ran, Madame. May I get you anything else?” Lurch asks the beauty before him. He’s always had a crush on Annalise from the moment he met her. Originally, he was Asa’s butler. Naturally when Asa showed what a weasel he is, he pledged his loyalty to Miss Annalise.

“No thank you.” She pauses “Mr. Lurch, I don’t think my sister has told me the whole truth.”

#the grant legacy #annalise blake #mystery woman #james #asa blake #frances lurch #vladislaus straud #ts4 legacy #generation 2 #ts 4 #sims 4 #ts4 story #sims4 story #sims4 storytelling #forgotten hollow #Vlad hates organ blockers

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angelguk · 3 years ago

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omg so i sent in an ask re angst jock jk n oc ! but then i also realized its highly possible these 2 break up at one point while in uni mostly bc of the "are we dating bc its convenient" kinda dilemma and then it just pushes them apart bc they think theyre losing theirselves while being in such a close relationship,,,cue save ur tears by theweeknd BUT i just know when they grow up a lil bit more, theyll end up together <3

here we go! (the beginning of the end....may be...)

didn’t include save your tears as the soundtrack but may haps for the follow-up :3

pairing: jock!jk and oc

warnings: angst, yes the break-up scene, jaykay being an ass (a very huge one motivated by his own insecurities and selfishness – translation: he’d rather break her heart and carry that weight than be the heartbroken one), chayoung is no longer Seed of Doubt but something else (still up for debate but she’s fairly nice here), not edited but hey atp that’s part of my branding (also i would like everyone to consider that oc is not the greatest gf ever like guys don’t hate jk alone!!)

soundtrack: bags, clairo + stay, gracie abrams + say you know, alina baraz

(titled — honeymoon fades)

Jeongguk’s contact name hasn’t lit up the screen of your phone for six days now and you haven’t seen his face for just as long. It’s weird to go from constant incessant communication to complete and utter radio silence. Not a single meme deposited in your Instagram inbox, no random notification from his Twitter. Just silence, quiet brewing silence.

It breaks two days later when Chayoung finds you coddled under your duvet, mouth stuffed with the saccharine sweetness of mint chocolate. (Jeongguk kept a stash of it at your place but who was around to eat it anymore apart from you?).

“And why do you look like you live in a dumpster?” She’d hummed, ripping open the curtains you’d involuntarily welded shut.

“Because that’s how I feel inside,” you’d retorted, pushing aside your laptop. The screen is stuck with an image of an idiotic character named Nabi kissing the spawn of Satan. You hope for her sake it works out. Chayoung had huffed at your response, fondly whacking your head with a stray pillow.

“Well get over that feeling cause we’re going out tonight.” A declaration, the fierceness in her feline eyes a warning that you’re not allowed to even think of saying no. That doesn’t mean you hadn’t tried – sorrowful eyes and pouted lips as you begged her to spare you. But Chayoung is a force of nature, one that could easily wreak havoc on your delicateness. And she does though, with a string of comments that propels you out of the miserable burrow you’d dug up.

“You’re killing everyone, you know?” She’d supplied, yanking open your closet. “You’re sulking, Jeongguk is shutting down. He’s said like five words since this whole...thing...you have going on.”

You couldn’t help but scoff at that, toying with the corner of the large grey shirt donned on your body. Jeongguk’s shirt. One of his favourites actually. You’d thought about stealing it after spying it on his obsessively neat laundry pile, but after seeing your wandering eyes he’d given it to you instead.

“He always does that,” you’d said after Chayoung had whipped her head in your direction, curved eyebrows perplexed. “I mean, shut down. It’s his emotional response to things that bother him. Complete detachment so it hurts less.”

She had just stared at you, a long meaningful look at left your skin prickled.

“Huh.”

“What do you mean ‘huh’?”

A measured step forward, her body weight sinking into the edge of your mattress a moment later. “I mean, you know him so well.”

“Of course I do he’s my best-friend,” you’d said, indignation coating your words

“No–No you're not getting me. You know him. You know he wouldn’t make the move to reconcile–”

“But he should!”

“You told him to go away! He’s trying to listen to you even though he’s hurting!”

And maybe that was it, that simple implication that you were causing him pain that had you pausing, reviewing the things you’d said to him – the things you’d felt.

“But,” a timid rebuttal, “I just–I just need him to show me that he cares.”

“He does,” Chayoung had returned. “So much. And he misses you. He’s probably just afraid that you don’t feel the same.”

“But I do! He knows this.”

“Does he?” A question in her eyes, one that you’re afraid you know the honest answer to.

You say things and never mean them, he had said, eyes hard.

That had hurt you but perhaps he was right, there are things you hadn’t told him, feelings you hadn’t truly expressed. And Jeongguk had always been good to you, so understanding and caring, trying to fill the places were you lacked. Wasn’t he the one who planned the majority of your dates? Remembered all the important milestones of your relationship while you contributed the bare minimum. You hadn’t even told Chayoung about the surprise he had planned for your one-year anniversary, the shame of your own choice hanging heavy over your head.

So that’s why you’re here, staring at the back of his head forlornly as the music drifts around you, flashing florescent lights bathing him a hazy glory. He hasn’t seen you yet (something you’re thankful for because oddly enough you feel sick to your stomach). It feels like you’re skating on thin ice, waiting for the impending crack to sound through your heart, ice water swallowing you whole immediately. Chayoung is the one who pushes you forward, gingerly plucking the idle drink from your hand, Jimin aiding her efforts with a soft smile your way.

It’s time for you to try the way Jeongguk has, put aside that bumbling ego that oversees your actions and adopt the humility he’s always granted you.

“Go,” she murmurs. “He misses you.”

And God you hope he does because you’ve missed him too.

Except the moment his honey eyes land on you you know he hasn’t.

“Jeongguk,” you mumble. Yoonoh is frozen beside him, concerned gaze flicking between your faces. Your own eyes are stuck on him, the shape of his nose, the curve of his lips, the subtle hint of the dimple in his cheeks.

You’ve missed him, and it slips from your heart and brims in your eyes, vision blurry as your blink those stray tears back inside.

“Hi,” you add, when his silence doesn’t break.

“I should probably go,” Yoonoh lets out, awkward words bumping into the wall of tension standing firm between you to. He settles a hand on Jeongguk’s shoulder, sending him a look that feels loaded. “See you guys later, right?”

You nod, finally noticing the lump clogging your throat. “Yeah, sure.” Jeongguk just hums, the edge of his cup caught between his lips. Yoonoh flees within seconds, leaving you to wade through this alone.

“I–I know you’re not happy with me right now, but please, can we just talk?” He blinks at you, it feels like a premonition. “Please?”

“Okay.” The simple word fills you, like a hollow you weren’t aware of finally found the cure needed.

“Okay,” a small smile on your lips. Jeongguk’s face is still unreadable. He guides you up and away from the deafening sound of the song bleeding from the speakers, into an empty room, the door closing behind him muting the music and giving way to the own pounding in your head. Nobody says anything for a second, both of you navigating this uncharted territory of animosity. Until Jeongguk sighs, melting into the bed at the centre of the room. You follow suit, allocating enough space between the two of you. You’ve ever had to do that before.

“You said you wanted to talk?” Jeongguk finally cuts through it, eyes unforgiving when he glances at you.

“I did! I do–Just Jeongguk,” you can’t help it drifting out. “I miss you.”

Nothing, not even a flicker in his eyes. He eyes shift to the floor instead. “Okay. I that what you wanted to say?”

“No–No not just that! I’ve missed you Jeongguk and I’m sorry. I’m sorry that i went off on you like that and I’m sorry I haven’t been the best towards you and I’m sorry that I’ve made you feel like I didn’t care about you–or made you feel like the things I said or did had no meaning behind them. Because they do–they do because I love you. I love you so so much and I’m sorry if I made it seem like otherwise.” You automatically extend out for him, hoping to grasp on his thing floating to fast away from you. Jeongguk shifts and you hand tumbles down to the empty space between you instead, halted by his hesitance.

His head drops into his palms a second later, a broken exhale leaving his lips. The motion cause the silver bracelet on his wrist to slip down the length of his arm. It jolts something in you. Jeongguk had given you a matching one but you’d ripped it off after the last argument and hadn’t considered putting it back on. But Jeongguk was still wearing his.

“Do you really?”

“What?” He’s staring at you know, doe eyes cloudy.

“Do you really love me?” There, that stupid evil vile question that you thought you had the answer to but the words vanish in your head the longer he looks at you.

“I do–what? What are you implying? Of course, I do.”

“Of course, you do,” Jeongguk echoes. His eyes turn to the window located over his shoulder. You can see his head working through something, and you’re suddenly terrified fingertips itching to wander through his curls and coax those thoughts from his head.

“Jeongguk? What the hell are you talking about? Talk to me, please.”

He sighs again, at it feels like your heart splinters. A sudden shake of his head and Jeongguk twists back to face you, a silent tear falling down his cheek.

“You don’t love me.”

“Wh–What are you talking about? I do! And how can you decide my feelings for me?”

“No. You don’t love me the way you think you do–the way you should.” It feels like he’s saying it to more than you, like he’s saying it to himself. “Maybe this the wrong choice to make. You know. Maybe we shouldn’t have done this.”

You shatter just like that, shards on the floor as you stare him, this person that you thought you knew. And maybe the feeling is mutual because Jeongguk is staring at you in a similar way, searching for the courage to say the words you know lie in his heart. Like a loaded cannon, waiting for the match to strike and leave you lying in pieces.

“I think we should break–"

“No,” you cut him off with an adamance that you didn’t know existed until right then. “No, you’re not gonna say that and we are not doing this.”

His eyes narrow then, jaw set. “This is not about ‘us’, I’m doing what’s right for me.”

“How is that right? Huh, Jeongguk? Don’t you care about this? Don’t you care about me?”

He looks away then, ignoring your questions, his throat stuck.

“Jeongguk...” You reach out again, and he allows it, shoulders sinking with the weight of your hand on them. “Don’t you care about me?”

Another heavy exhale, his eyes blinking hard. “I do. And that’s why this won’t work, not the way it should at least. I really think we should end this, or at least reconsider the reasons why we’re together. You say you love me–you say you always have but really–really think about it. About me and us and what we are. I’m sorry, I really am but I just can’t do this anymore.”

He rises then, your outstretched hand tumbling down to the empty space he’d left behind. You can’t move it, can’t breathe, your heart hurtling out of your chest and onto the ground where it lies, fragmented beyond repair and bleeding bare. You glance up through tears, watch him open his mouth and then it and look away.

“Do you mean it?” You finally ask, and his eyes snap to you. He knows what you’re saying. There’s a pause that stretches out for eternity, coloured by the sound of the ringing in your head.

“Maybe.” It cuts right through you, lodging itself deep with intent. And then you just have to nod, swallow the scream clawing at your throat. He murmurs one more apology before his feet carry him away, and you watch, forlorn as you burn his frame into your memory, as your whole world walks out the door.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #au: jock!jaykay #i really abused the hyphen in this but oh well

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lily-drake · 3 years ago

Text

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO TIMOTHY JACKSON DRAKE-WAYNE, THE BEST BAT BOY OF THEM ALL!!! YOU CAN’T CHANGE MY MIND!!!!!!

Happy Birthday Tim

Tim never really cared for his birthday, afterall nobody ever remembered it, and he doubted that Bruce would care. He had never shown much of an interest in him, which was fine since he wasn’t supposed to get close to him. His entire job as Robin was to make sure Batman didn’t go crazy, he wasn’t supposed to get attached. So he didn’t, at least that’s what he told himself. It was around 10:45 PM when Tim went upstairs at Alfred’s request. Timidly the 14 year old walked into the kitchen only to be met with a small white cake. Upon closer inspection the cake had red and green letting that spelled out in neat scroll, “Happy Birthday Timothy” with perfectly cut strawberries decorating the sides. Tim stared at the cake in awe, he’d never been given a birthday cake before, except at galas; but that didn’t count as he wasn’t really aloud to eat any.

“Good to see you up here Master Timothy. Happy birthday young sir. I apologize for the others absence, but I’m afraid that they are ‘busy’.”

Tim swiftlet lifted up his arms in a placating manner,

“Oh no, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it, I wouldn’t want to bother anyone.”

Alfred gave him a small smile and nodded.

“Well, I believe that it is time for a bit of cake.”

Alfred walked around the counter and pulled out a plate, for, and knife before he cut a large piece and plated it. Tim held back tears as he took his first bite of the cake. This was the best cake he had ever had, and this was definitely his favorite birthday.

*******

Tim stared at the computer screen in front of him trying to figure out what he was missing. He was tired, he hadn’t slept in a few days, and he was on his 8th cup of coffee from that hour alone.

“Tim, come with me!”

Dick said, suddenly on his right side. Out of habit he turned and threw a punch at him. Dick quickly ducked and laughed.

“Your getting faster baby bird.”

Tim sighed and rolled his eyes turning back to the computer.

“What do you need, Dick?”

He asked typing something onto the screen and scrunching his brow in frustration at the facts in front of him. Dick rolled his eyes and sighed before he grabbed Tim and pulled him from the computer chair and onto his feet. Tim groaned and tried to pull away in protest, but Dick overpowered him and he was dragged up the stairs. Tim looked around to see where he was so he could make a quick escape if necessary. When he looked forward again he saw he was being dragged to one of the main room doors. He was thinking and going through all of the things he could have missed or forgotten, but nothing came to mind. When the door opened the lights were off until they suddenly turned on and loud voices screamed,

“Happy birthday!”

From all around the room. Tim blinked a few times everything catching up to him as he looked around and saw his family; Bruce, Alfred, Barbara, Stephanie, Cass, and Dick all around him. The room was covered in decorations and on the table sat a decent sized 3 tier cake, just like the one he had had when turned fourteen, but bigger. Tim ran through his memory and tried to recall what the date was and froze. Oh, it was his 16th birthday, he had forgotten all about it. He was pulled out of his stooped by Steph grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the table were 16 candles lined the rim of the cake and in the center it said, “Happy 16th Birthday Tim!” in the neatest cursive with a robin made of frosting right below it. There was also neatly plated and perfectly made sushi on another table near them. Tim smiled as everyone began to sing happy birthday to him and when he was done he blew out the candles happy and content with his day. There was so much warmth that spread through his chest as he talked and ate cake with his family. So much joy that surrounded the manor, he even saw Bruce smile. Tim didn’t need to wish for anything, he was happy, and that’s all he could ever wish for.

*******

Tim looked at his watch and frowned. He was now officially 19, but it didn’t matter, nothing mattered much now. He was alone in Paris training with Lady Shiva, and his family didn’t care. They were the ones who kicked him out afterall, he wasn’t wanted. He sat under a shady tree bench in the park and watched as people talked and interacted with eachother. It was peaceful, but that didn’t fill the hollowness he felt in his chest. As he stood and began to walk away he felt someone crash into him and fell foreword, someone landing on his back. Quickly the person got up and began to call out apologies obviously embarrassed. Tim got up and turned around and came face to face with a girl about his age with dark black hair that tinted blue in the light and show startlingly bright bluebell eyes. The girl was still talking and he wasn’t sure if she had even breathed yet.

“Hey, it’s ok. Don’t worry about it.”

The girl immediately bit her lip and bowed her head as she tried to hide her face. Tim smiled at the girl who was slightly shorter than him.

“I’m Tim.”

He said casually as he held out his hand. The girl gave an awkward smile before excepting his hand and giving it a firm shake.

“Marinette. Sorry again.”

“It’s nice to meet you Marinette. Do you know where any good coffee shops are, I haven’t slept in a while and I really need a pick me up to finish my things.”

Marinette lit up and nodded.

“I totally understand. I design and commissions keep me up all night half the time. I live in a bakery and have concocted the best wake up coffee. My friends say it’s very dangerous and I’m going to kill myself with it one day, but all well. Why sleep when you can get things done?!”

Tim smiled at the girl as she began to walk and talk. She was cute and was very dramatic in the way she spoke and expressed herself. They walked across the street to a small bakery, the one Marinette must live in, and walked to the front where a short Asian woman stood near the register. When the woman saw Marinette her smile grew as she welcomed them.

“I’m gonna make one of my specials for him!”

Marinette called out as she went to the back and started making some kind of coffee concoction. The woman rolled her eyes, but she still held an amused smile.

“Hello, I’m Sabine. Please choose a sweet, you’ll need it if you’re going to drink her “Miracle Cure”, as the college students like to call it.”

“Thank miss. Please, call me Tim.”

He said giving her a small smile back as he browsed the selection. In the display he noticed lots of animal themed treats and smiled. There were many ladybug and cat themed ones as well as an orange fox, a turtle, a bee, a blue snake, a monkey, and a red dragon. It was an interesting choice of animals and he wondered if they were important in some way here. He found a small tarte aux fruits with an assortment of fruits that formed the red dragon. When he looked up he saw the woman waiting for him still wearing her friendly smile.

“Could I please have the Tarte aux fruits du dragon please?”

“Of course dear.”

Carefully she opened the door to the refrigerated case and grabbed one of the fruit tarts and carefully put it in a small box. Tim went to the register right as Marinette had finished and placed the large drink in front of him. He pulled out his wallet but was stopped by Marinette’s hand.

“Nope, on the house. An apology for earlier.”

She said with a bright smile. Tim was shocked and felt a warmth he hadn’t felt in years begin to bloom once again. He gently took the coffee from her hands and carefully picked up the small box with a plastic fork atop it.

“Thank you, Marinette. That’s very kind of you.”

Her smile brightened and before Tim could stop or even think of what he was saying the words had already left his mouth,

“If you’re free, do you want to walk around Paris with me?”

Marinette blinked for a moment shocked, but then smiled again and nodded.

“Sure, that sounds nice!”

She took off the apron she had been wearing while making the coffee and hung it up on a wrack before walking out from behind the counter snd grabbing his arm and almost dragging him out the door. When she realized what she was doing she quickly dropped it slightly blushing and scratched the back of her neck in embarrassment.

“S-sorry. I should have asked first.”

Tim snickered a little, she was adorable.

“No it’s fine, so where to first?”

Tim asked as he gently placed the tart in his satchel and sipped the coffee. When he did he felt his mind begin to clear and he felt more awake than he had in a long time. He understood why it was called Miracle Cure now, this stuff was amazing!

“Well, where were you thinking of?”

“I was thinking of going to the Arc de Triomphe then head towards the Effiel Tower.”

Marinette beamed and nodded and began to walk towards the Arc de Triomphe. She knew the path by heart as she often went there for inspiration. The two talked the whole way there and bonded over their love of coffee and insomniac tendencies. As they arrived at their first destination the sat on the steps and watched people pass them. Tim pulled out the small tart and began to slowly eat it and smiled. It tasted like Alfred’s cooking, though he didn’t want to admit that this might just be a bit better. He glanced over at Marinette and noticed that she now had a sketchbook out and was drawing something. He didn’t want to disturb her as he didn’t like being interrupted when he was really into something and let her draw as he watched the people. Suddenly there was a loud crash. He looked up and was shocked to see a giant child walking around smashing and destroying buildings. He looked over and saw that Marinette had disappeared and he began to panic.

He stood up and began to move so he could get a better place to watch and analyze what was happening so that he could see if he needed to interfere. He watched silently from a roof and saw a bunch of people begin to surround the child all with the same theme. His mind flashed to the animals in the bakery and connected the dots as he glanced at all of the different people in animal costumes. He watched as the Ladybug ordered everyone on the plan and on what to do which lead him to believe that she was the leader of this group. It only took a few minutes and he watched the cat hero completely destroy a toy car from the giant child’s hand and a purple feather and butterfly flew out. The ladybug hero quickly caught them and released them into the air. She threw the object she had summoned into the air and he watched in amazement as thousands, maybe millions, of small ladybugs flew around the damage done and repaired all of it, including the bodies that had not been moving moments ago.

Tim ran back to the Arc de Triomphe and waited there to see if Marinette would come back. It took a few minutes and then he saw her figure running towards him with panic and worry.

“Tim, I’m so sorry! Are you ok? I shouldn’t have left like that, I’m so sorry.”

Tim gave her an awkward smile and nodded.

“It’s fine, you came back afterall.”

She smiled at him and he lifted his arm out for her to take,

“Shall we continue our walk Mademoiselle?”

Tim asked with a slight bow. Marinette giggled and gave a small curtsy before she placed her hand atop of his.

“Why of course Monsieur.”

They both laughed as they walked. They enjoyed the silence for a bit before Tim asked what had happened.

Marinette gave him a sad sigh and explained the situation that had been happening in Paris for about 4 years now. Tim was shocked that this hadn’t made it to the Justuce League, especially if it had been happening for four entire years. Tim asked a few more questions that Marinette happily answered and they felt happy and content in the warm companionable silence. Tim thought of all of his past birthdays, and he knew that this one was on the top 5 best list of his favorite birthdays.

#HAPPY BIRTHDAY TIMOTHY JACKSON DRAKE-WAYNE!!!!!!!!!#Tim Drake #Dick Grayson #Maribat #marinette dupen chang #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #mlb x batman #timinette #timari #romantic timinette #Bruce Wayne #alfred pennyworth #Tim is best robin #Fight me

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tacticaldiary · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! I love your writing! 💕 I was wondering if I could request a Kageyama x reader where he accidentally neglects the reader and says something overly harsh, but with a happy ending.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here it is! :)

Unintentional Neglect

Pairing: Reader x Kageyama Tobio

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

He doesn’t realise how wrapped up in the world he’s gotten. Now he realises that he’s been neglecting the one thing he calls his world.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The quiet click of the door shutting pulls back Y/N from the brink of sleep. Sitting up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she turns towards the door and frowns slowly when she sees him. Leaning back on the couch, she waits for him to enter the living room and spot her.

Kageyama slips off his shoes and glances at the clock. 11 pm. Running a hand through his sweaty hair, he walks into the living room, a little surprised to see Y/N awake, looking at him expectantly.

“You didn’t check your phone?” She asks quietly, a little upset that he hadn’t even greeted her.

He shakes his head and pulls his phone out of his pocket. The screen lights up and his eyes widen a little as he sees the missed calls and text messages. They had started at 6 pm. “I was busy. Can’t really check my phone at practise.”

“Practise ended at 5, Tobio.” She shakes her head. He had forgotten. “You said you would be here...you forgot, didn’t you?”

“Forgot?” He asks half-heartedly, moving to place his bag next to one of the tables. He was exhausted, honestly. He had been wrapped up in volleyball for the past several hours, having been practising a new technique with Hinata. He doesn’t recall forgetting anything.

“Yes, forgot. You know how excited I was about this.” She stands up and grabs two rectangular pieces of paper from the table. Moving over to him, he holds them out for him to see. Concert tickets. Y/N had been looking forward to this for months. To think that Kageyama had just...forgotten stung a lot. They hadn’t been seeing each other a lot for the past week, since he was practicing late at night. There had been several occasions where she had to fall asleep and wake up without him. As if he was never there. No one could blame her for starting to feel lonely.

Y/N understood what she was getting herself into when they started dating, she knew volleyball was a priority for him, but she thought that after their whole 3 years of dating, she would hold some importance to him. More than this.

He’s confused for a second, before he spots the tickets. He immediately feels guilty. Y/N would understand, right? She had never complained before, why would she start now? He sighs, tiredly and shakes his head.

“It’s not a big deal, we can go next time.” He starts walking past her towards their shared room. “Next time?” His dismissal, as if she was overreacting pisses her off. She moves in front of him, blocking his path so he stops in his tracks. He looks at her with an annoyed expression, as if he had been the one to wait up for him. Like he was the one who had spent hours convincing himself that his partner hadn’t forgotten and was just running late. As if he was the one feeling neglected. “Don’t brush this off, Tobio.” A small scowl graces her face. “I waited for you, for hours, but you never showed up!” “Y/N...just-stop.” he brings a hand up to his temple. He really wasn’t in the mood to argue. He just wanted to take a shower and slip into bed and sleep.

“No! I haven’t seen you at all in the past week and you know how excited I was for this! How could you just...forget?” “I just did. Get over it. It wasn’t anything important.” He snaps, bringing his hand down to his side and glaring at her. His reaction only makes her more furious. Why was he the one getting mad at her?

“That’s not the point!” She exclaims loudly. “You just- you’re so caught up in everything it just seems like you don’t have time for me anymore...”

“You know I have to practise and-” “I do know! I’m the one who waits up for you, who makes sure there’s something in the microwave if you’re hungry when you come home!” She raises her voice, frustrated. Tears prickle the corner of her eyes. “I’m the one who has to be alone and miss you and-”

“I never asked for you to do any of those things!” He raises his voice to overpower her’s, a scowl on his face. “Maybe if you weren’t so goddamn clingy all the time, you would be fine!” He yells.

There's a beat of silence. “I’m not-” her voice is quieter.

“You are- you don’t have to be with me 24/7, Y/N. You’re acting like you’ll die if you don’t have my attention for a few hours. It’s pathetic.” He scoffs, not thinking about what he’s actually saying. He’s tired and irritable and would rather be anywhere but here.

Silence. The silence is tense. After a few seconds, where both of them are trying to catch their breath, a ripping sound cuts through the emptiness. Y/N throws the pieces of the ticket at him and walks straight past him towards their room, leaving him alone, standing there.

Kageyama grits his teeth and shakes his head. He’s never been one to deal with situations like this calmly. It wasn’t a big deal.

Needless to say, when he steps into their room after showering, he’s shocked to see Y/N crying into her pillow, her small sniffles being muffled by the fabric. He was never good with handling people crying. A wave of guilt washes over him when he realises he's the cause of her tears. Moving over to sit on the other side of the bed, he reaches over and places a hand on her shoulder, to which Y/N tenses.

“Forget it.” She says, before he can. Her voice is hollow and bitter and it makes him nearly wince. “I get it. I’ll try not to be so overbearing.”

There’s silence, then she hears the bed creak as he lays down and tugs on her shoulder to roll her over to face him. She sighs and lets him, letting out a small squeak of surprise when he pulls her into his chest.

“I’m sorry for yelling...and forgetting.” he mutters into her hair, to which she nods quietly. Having time to think about it, he feels like shit for making her cry and acting like he did, but he can’t think properly right now, sleep clouding his mind. They’re both pulled to unconsciousness a few quiet minutes later.

When Kageyama wakes up, Y/N is gone. It’s the weekend, so they usually slept in late and woke up together, so he was a little confused.

When he walks into the kitchen, he sees Y/n drinking a cup of coffee at the dining table, scrolling through her phone. She greets him with a smile, but makes no move towards him.

“Good morning!” She says in her usual morning chipper voice.

“Morning.” He yawns, moving to get his own cup of caffeine.

They had agreed to meet a couple of their friends for lunch that day...and Kageyama could not be more frustrated throughout the whole outing. It had started in the car, when he parked in the parking lot and leaned over to steal a kiss from Y/N, who promptly leaned away and got out of the car. Frowning, he had brushed it off and followed suit. She hadn’t held his hand or looped an arm around his like she usually did.

Then, instead of slipping into the seat next to him like she usually would, Y/N had opted to sit next to Tsukishima of all people. She had barely acknowledged him the whole time, shooting him the occasional glance when he talked. When he leaned over to grab her hand, she had squeezed it once and let go quickly, snaking her hand in front of her instead. It was frustrating. It was like she was avoiding him on purpose.

The car ride back was silent, but them actually reaching home was even worse. Instead of pulling him to the couch to cuddle and maybe watch a movie like she usually did, Y/N immediately starts getting...ready?

“Where are you going?” he inquires, leaning against the doorframe to the bedroom, where she was fussing over her shirt.

“Out with some friends...to a concert.” She says the last part quietly. “They refunded my tickets and I didn’t have anyone to ask, so my friends offered to go with me.” she gives him a small smile.

“You could have asked me.” “I did.” She says a little too quickly, her eyes darting to meet his in the mirror she was looking in. “If you remember that-”

“I do-”

“-I didn’t want to assume you’d want to go with me.” She says simply grabbing her bag, and turning to look at him. She’d have to get past him to leave. Her statement catches his attention and he furrows his eyebrows.

“What? Why wouldn’t I want to go with you?”

She shrugs.

“Y/N...” He pushes himself off the doorframe. “You’ve been acting strange all day.” “Isn’t that what you wanted?” a small scowl creeps up her face.

“I-...What do you mean?” he frowns.

“Forget it.” she shakes her head, moving to get past him, but stops with a huff when he blocks her path.

“Why would I want you to act like that, act so...distant?”

“Tobio, it’s nothing, just drop it.”

“It’s obviously something. You’ve never pushed me away like this before-”

“It’s better than being clingy, isn’t it?” She finally exclaims. “You don’t get to complain now. Not when I’m trying to be better.”

“What are you talking about?” Suddenly, she wants to punch something, frustration bubbling up inside her. “You say you don’t like me being clingy, but then act like this and ask why I’m not doing what you told me not to do! Make up your mind, Tobio, because I’m not going to be ‘pathetic’ any longer.”

Pathetic? She wasn’t....shit. Last night’s conversation comes crashing back down on him.

He takes in a shaky breath. “You’re not pathetic, Y/N” he says quietly, to which Y/N shakes her head.

“Actually, according to you-”

“I’m sorry.” he blurts out, cutting her off. In three strides, he has his hands on her shoulders, looking at her with a certain urgency in his eyes. “I didn’t mean anything I said last night, I swear.” When she still looks dubious, he continues. “I was tired and-and irritated and I took it out on you and I apologise.”

He hates Y/N being this distant. He missed touching and hugging her. “I miss you.” he admits.

There’s a second of silence. “You do?”

“Obviously.” he scoffs a little. “Oh...I thought you’d be happier if I wasn’t there all the time.”

“Don’t be an idiot.” he pulls her into a hug to which she relaxes. “I apologise.”

She hums, not being used to him showing affection thi blatantly. It felt nice. “It just feels like...sometimes you don’t have time for me, that the your so caught up in everything that I don’t even matter anymore...”

His grip tightens. “I didn’t mean to neglect you like that. It won’t happen again, I promise.” He mumbles into her hair.

“It better not.” She says, sighing when they start to sway gently.

He would try his best to be there. For Y/N.

Requests are Open and Appreciated!

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eureka-its-zico · 4 years ago

Text

Damage

Request: You meet JB in a bar and have a one-night stand

A/N: My friend has asked me for JB fics none stop. I haven’t been able to finish one, because I get stuck in my head and think everything is trash. I think this one is okay, at best. I’ve edited as much as my eyes can stand. Either way, she seemed to enjoy it. I hope you all enjoy it in some way too. Much Love, Jenn

p.s. It’s named Damage because I literally had the song of the same name from H.E.R playing on repeat the entire time.

Jaebum X Reader

Genre: SmUt

Words:5534

Warnings: semi-public sex, rough play, some ass-slaping - you get the picture -

There was a time that the idea of sleeping with a complete stranger from a bar would’ve never crossed your mind. It wasn’t that you were a prude. A part of you secretly wanted to know what it felt like to be so overwhelmed by another that they made you less cautious and more adventurous. No one ever seemed able to stir that emotion in you, however.

Until you’d met JB.

Now, as his fingers traced across your skin, his lips kissed at the hollow of your neck, you couldn’t imagine an alternate universe where you didn’t say yes. Where you weren’t pressed into the backseat of a stuffy cab not caring that you had an audience while JB’s hand made its way between your thighs. His mouth hungrily lapping up your moan as his fingers slid under the edge of your panties.

A part of you should’ve felt embarrassed. You were passengers in this cab. The obvious audience of the older man up front would’ve normally made you shove his hand away with your cheeks pink; pretending to care if they watched.

But JB was a force you weren’t used to. One that threatened to consume you and god, did you want to be consumed.

EARLIER

————————-

“Come on, Y/N. You can’t be sad forever about that asshole.”

Your fingers skimmed the paper of your beer smearing an image of a heart in the condensation. Your teeth drawing in your bottom lip as you thought about what your friend was saying. Of course, she was right. It was two weeks, give or take, since you broke up with Mark. You’d had your days of wallowing, eating copious amounts of ice cream, and crying on the couch watching rom-coms and asking why can’t your life be like this?

There wasn’t any doubt your ex wasn’t off doing the same. Hell, he’d made sure to take pictures of his latest escapades and made sure to share it to his social media. Not that you were looking at any of it or anything.

“You’re right,” you huffed out in defeat.

Why was it so hard to let him go? It wasn’t like he’d had such a hard time deciding to end your relationship.

“I’m sorry. What was that? Can you say it a little louder for me please I’m hard of hearing.”

You shot her a look of disbelief that sent her head falling back with laughter.

“This one time you might be a little bit right.”

You took a swig of your drink to hide your own smile.

“Plus, how can you be sad over that loser when the hottest dude is five feet away.”

You followed her eyes to see what had her making such a bold claim. There were plenty of good looking men and women in the bar. How could one person possibly hold the title when your opinion could be different?

It wasn’t.

You found him easily. No longer needing the guide of your friend to find who it was that’d caught her attention. And sweet Jesus he was hands down the best looking in the room.

He was leaning up against the wall. His eyes half crescent moons as he smiled. One hand holding a beer that was close to his lips as he replied back to whatever his friend said. You shamelessly watched how his lips wrapped around the bottle to take a drink. The sharpness of his jaw and the expanse of his neck.

You wanted to know what he looked like with his mouth on you and tasting the sweetness between your thighs.

The desire for it caused your legs to squeeze together to give yourself any sort of friction. Your mind still going over the fantasy you were creating with him in the starring role. Suddenly, he was looking back at you. A harsh blush rose to your cheeks at being caught but refused to look away.

God! What am I doing?!

You’ve never been the one to make the first move. Of any kind. Eye contact felt like a first move of showing interest, but you were more than interested and a part of you wondered if he could see it. See that even this far between your spaces in the bar how badly you wanted to know how he tasted.

A gasp brought your attention back to the position of your friend. Her mouth agape in shock but that threatened to spill into a smile at any moment.

“Hollleeeeey shit! Did you just give that guy ‘fuck me eyes’ from across the bar?”

You scoffed at the idea before shooting a cautionary look back in his direction. Using your elbows that were on the top of the bar you swiveled yourself to face the many rows of liquor. Fighting the urge to look back at him again or acknowledge your friend bouncing in her seat.

“Yes you fuckin did!”

Your reply was a quick swig of your drink as you tried your best not to grimace at the taste. You’d been babysitting it too long and now it was lukewarm.

“I've had my heart broken. I’m not dead,” you replied.

“Let’s go over and talk to them!”

Your head whipped in her direction so fast you swore you’d ended up with whiplash. Yes, you were looking. And yes, this man did provoke unholy fantasies, but that didn’t mean you were ready to be that close.

“You’re joking.”

“Nope. I think this will be good for you.”

She ignored your burst of panic and waved down the bartender who acknowledged her sooner than you would’ve liked.

“What can I get you ladies.”

“Two shots of tequila, please.”

“What are you doing?”

She wiggled her brows at you and rubbed her shoulder up against yours. Her weak attempt to pump you up with excitement for whatever diabolical thing she’d planned.

“Just a little liquid courage before we head on over.”

“Heading towards the door, you mean.”

Your words came out as a grumble. A pout setting in as the bartender set down the small glasses in front of the two of you. Which she quickly slid hers to click beside yours.

“You, my lovely friend, are going to have both.”

“Are you trying to give me alcohol poisoning?”

“Nope. Just trying to help you get some guiltless sex with a stranger.”

“Wow. You’re so amazing,” you deadpanned. Your hand snacking out to grab one of the shot glasses downing the first one. You were sure the reaction you were having looked like a cartoon character. God, this stuff was disgusting. “I’m pretty sure that stuff causes forest fires.”

The bartender offered you a lemon, amusement flashing in his eyes. You were hoping he could see the thank you in yours with your mouth shoved full of lemon.

You left it sitting in your mouth; teeth clenched tight against the softness and the peel exposed between your lips. You wondered if this was picture worthy and received your answer moments later when your friends’ camera flashed in your face. Your vision erupting in sparks of dark spots that left you unable to see.

“Sorry. I couldn’t help it.”

With the peel still held between your lips you made a face at her. Her mouth opened to reply, and suddenly it closed. Her eyes wide and darting from you to whoever was now perched beside you.

You remembered you still had a shot left and decided it was time to meet your fate. Your legs moved to turn you to sit straight on the stool when you realized someone was beside you at the bar. In perfect horror movie fashion, you glanced at your right and saw the man who’d caused your need for liquid courage.

He was just there. His body casually leaning against the bar with an air of coolness that didn’t seem forced. He was talking with the bartender. The two of them locked in a conversation like they were old friends and catching up. Maybe they were.

Up close he was even more striking. His hair was perfectly slicked back to make it appear short, but it was anything but. The gel he’d used was beginning to wear off and displayed hair that was beginning to fall into his eyes.

You wanted to run your hands through it. To grip it as you rode his tongue.

It felt like he must have had a sensation of what you were thinking. He ended his conversation and turned to look at you. A spark of laughter lit up the dark brown of his eyes and you swore you were swooning in your chair.

“I see you must really like lemons.”

Your brow furrowed as you wondered what the hell he could be talking about. He must have caught on to your confusion and patted a single digit against the lemon peel still peaking like a smile between your lips. Your eyes shot wide with horror as you not too gracefully spit it out onto the napkin.

“Oh...my...god,” you whispered at the wood of the bar. Praying that the floor would open up and swallow you whole.

“Hi!” Your friend shot an arm over you with her hand extended for him to shake. “My name’s Vanessa. This is my lovely friend, Y/N. The lemon sucker.”

Your head jerked in her direction and you hoped she could see how much you wish you could hit her.

The man beside you, however, looked nothing but amused and took Vanessa’s hand. You couldn’t keep your eyes from looking at his fingers; the way it practically covered all of hers.

“Nice to meet you both.”

He released her hand and shocked you by leaving his hand open and waiting for you to take. You glanced up at him and then back down to his hand. You took it without waiting too long, because you didn’t want him to think you were rude, or worse, weirder than he probably already did. The minute your hands folded around the other you swore it was electric.

“My name’s Jaebum. Everyone calls me JB, for short.”

Jaebum. JB. You would call him whatever he wanted. His voice was soft as he spoke and forced you to move closer to hear him. You wondered if that’d been his plan. It was the only thing you could think of as his thumb caressed over the knuckles of your hand before he took it away.

You dropped your hand down to the side of your skirt and fought not to rub it against the fabric. The attraction you felt for JB was something that’d come unexpected and you found yourself inexperienced. It felt overwhelming this need to touch him. To be touched in return. To know how he sounded with your lips wrapped around his cock and those same hands on the back of your head. Bending you over and smacking your ass until it was cherry red.

You were still staring at each other as these devilish thoughts played out in your head. His eyes roamed your face and you wondered what he saw there. If JB could see the dirty scenarios he held the starring role in. His gaze slid over you from the tips of your toes, over the exposed legs from your skirt, your chest, and back up to your face.

There was no denying he’d thought of his own scenario with you in mind. His pupils fully blown with lust when he brought his eyes back up to you. Your pulse thudded wildly as you struggled to remember how to properly breathe.

“Did you girls want to come back over to our table?” The question was meant for both Vanessa and you, but when he asked his gaze never left you. He only looked away to point to his indicated spot. “It’s just me and a couple of my friends. I promise, we aren’t weird or anything.”

A bright smile spread across his lips and if you weren’t swooning earlier, you were definitely doing it now. You were nodding your head yes, unsure if you could trust yourself to talk. Vanessa, unfortunately, didn’t seem to have that issue.

“That would be amazing and so good for her. Her boyfriend just broke up with her. She’s very vulnerable.”

Oh. My. God. Was she winking like an idiot?

You looked back at her and couldn’t keep the horror off of her face. Luckily, JB laughed it off. He reached out to grab the drinks he’d ordered and motioned with his head for you girls to follow. You waited for Vanessa to start forward before you fell into step beside her. Your arm shooting out to wrap itself around hers just so you could use it to pull her in tight.

“What in the hell was that!?”

“I’m trying to help you here. Most men love the idea of a girl on the rebound.”

“Because they think they’re easy, Nessa.”

“Precisely.”

She flicked her finger up like she’d just made a great discovery. The only thing she was about to discover was that you were, in fact, desperate but for a whole other reason.

No part of you could remember your ex looking at JB. And while the idea of any sort of relationship with him, physical or otherwise, made you excited there was still that small voice in your head. The not so fun responsible part of you reminded you that you didn’t know him. He could be a weird pervert or a serial killer. Ninety-nine percent of serial killers were usually attractive.

You let out a sigh not sure how to tell her nicely to butt out.

“Just, help me less. Ok?”

She regarded you for a moment. Her arm peeling itself out of yours before bringing you in quickly for a one-armed hug.

“Alright. Girl Scouts honor I won’t say anything else.”

“Thank you!”

And you meant it. Lord knew she only meant well, but in the end it came off embarrassing. Like the two of you were sixteen and in high school again. With you passing notes to all the boys you liked because you were too damn nervous to say anything to their face. You thought it was romantic. In reality, it just seemed well, kinda awkward.

The two of you stood beside the pool table and you did your best not to fidget with your bag. The weight of six new sets of eyes made you feel like an animal in a zoo.

“Guys, this is Vanessa and Y/N. I invited them over to hang out with us. If that’s cool.”

The friends all seemed to go from caution to excitement at seeing you in two point five seconds. All of them agreeing it was cool, and waving you all over to find a chair to sit in.

You were following Vanessa to seats in between two of his friends, when a soft hand on your arm stopped you. You knew without looking it was JB. Your body reacting instantly to his touch as if it’d been set on fire.

“You can sit next to me. If you’d like.”

“I’d like that very much.”

Your voice was breathy. Like you were telling him a secret the two of you only needed to hear. The chair in question that sat beside his own, was inches from him. So close that when you sat down your knees were next one another.

He regarded you briefly before he turned his attention back to his group. His arm snaking around your chair to rest on its back. You were aware that it was a show of dominance. Of signaling to his friends and anyone else who cared to look that you were his. The thought of it sent a thrill through your body of being claimed. Only wishing he would claim you another way too.

JB’s group of friends were fun and easy to get a long with. One of them in particular, Hyun-Bae, was incredibly funny. He told stories that were entertaining and knew when to use his humor to make everyone laugh. It was enough to make you almost forget the man beside you. Almost.

You weren’t sure when it had happened, but somewhere between everyone talking, JB’s hand that’d rested comfortably on the back of your chair had moved. His fingers brushed along your skin from your shoulder to collarbone. Each stroke deliberate; sexual and not. Like he could read that you found it comforting but also craved his touch.

You ached with the urge to kiss him. To taste the liquor on his tongue. All those times you turned to imagine yourself leaning in and doing just that, you’d met his gaze. The two of you shared a look of knowing and wondered if he’d just been waiting for you to close the last inches of space between you. You were looking at each other now; eyes hungrily glancing at the others lips.

You wanted to be brave. To just close that space and tell him just to take you home. Screw this dance of cat and mouse. You didn’t want to be chased. You wanted to be owned.

Instead, a soft, “Excuse me,” came from you as you rose up from your chair. You couldn’t get your feet to walk fast enough to the bathroom. You were moving so fast you practically took someone out on the way inside. Getting inside the bathroom, you quickly shut the door and turned the lock.

You were instantly greeted by your reflection in the dirty, marker-ridden, mirror. What you could see of yourself was defeated. A huff of frustration left you as you removed your bag from your shoulder and placed it on the hook on the back of the door. Your feet scuffing the ground as you took a somber approach to the sink.

You told Vanessa you could do this. You didn’t need help to tell a hot guy you wanted him to fuck you until your legs were far past jello and more like liquid. And every time you were given the opportunity to do something at all, you backed out.

You rested your hands on the sink and leaned in. Examining your makeup and how very un-messy it was.

“Note to self: just fuckin do it.”

Yup. The greatest of pep talks.

You weren’t ready to leave the sanctity of the bathroom but a knock sounded on the door. Reminding you very quickly that there were actual people who probably needed to use it. You moved to pick up your bag when another knock came.

“Yea, yea I’m coming. Chill.”

When you opened the door, however, JB was just there. His body pushing into the bathroom causing you to step back to give him room. He closed the door without looking back. His body fully facing you as the door clicked closed behind him.

“JB? Sorry I was just using the restroom-”

“Is that what that was? I mostly heard talking; no flushing.”

His lips spread in an amused smile no doubt at your expense. Your eyes were probably as white as the moon. How long had he been waiting out here?

“Sorry. I just got a little impatient waiting for you.”

In one fluid motion, his arm snaked around your back, and brought you to his chest. JB was prepared for you and his other hand was already holding your face giving him the perfect leverage to crash his mouth down on yours. The moment your lips met that electricity you’d felt earlier flared back to life. This time, it flared across your skin and sparked in every spot he touched.

The kiss started out a brush of lips and soon became more. His tongue danced at the edge of your bottom lip and you gladly opened up to him. Your hands plunging to make a mess of his perfectly gelled hair at the same time his tongue slipped inside your mouth.

You were eager to respond. Eager to caress his tongue with yours. His mouth tasted of the bittersweet liquor he’d sipped on for the last hour. Suddenly, the overwhelming urge to taste yourself on his lips made your body ache to be touched in other places. For your fantasies of his mouth on you to begin here. You didn’t care where.

JB seemed to understand what you needed. He broke from the kiss fast and turned you around. His body pressed against your back and his hands at the edge of your skirt. You watched in the mirror as he moved your skirt up to your hips exposing your thong to the room.

He watched you, his lips hovering over your ear before giving it a playful nip, and those same hands were now laced in the strings. JB moved back just enough to squat down so his hands could move them down your legs until he reached your ankles.

“Step out.”

You followed his command without question. Your head tilting back to watch the little bit of cloth he held in his hand get scrunched up even smaller and placed inside the front pocket of his jeans. His eyes looked up to meet yours, and your body froze with anticipation. Whatever he would ask you to do, you knew you would comply.

“Spread your legs.”

The demand in his voice was feverish. His own need on display as his hand caressed up your calf until it was between your thighs. A finger teasingly moved across your opening, causing a soft gasp to exit from your lips. You did as you were instructed and waited until you heard an approving, “Hm,” from his lips.

The room swelled as the anticipation grew. The reflection you’d seen moments ago was washed away and the woman who’d taken her place was eager and ready to offer up her own demands.

JB moved to stand on his feet with his hands traveling along the curve of your legs and up onto your hips. There his fingers dug into the soft flesh as he leaned into your back, his eyes on yours in the mirror, as he spoke into your ear, “Place your hands on the sink.”

“Spank me first.”

A shiver of shock ran through you. You couldn’t believe you’d said it, but after your request had left you, you’d refused to take it back. Your body craved to be reprimanded by his hands and the smirk on his lips told you plainly he was more than happy to oblige.

“Beg for it.”

“Please spank me. Please, JB.”

His hand curled up to wrap around your throat as his index finger danced at the edge of your lips.

“How bad do you want it?”

“I want I-“

The smack reverberated like thunder in the small room. The sting was instant and beautiful. The heat between your legs was aching and your ass jetted against his jeans for any kind of friction. JB stepped back, denying you any form of relief, and landed another smack on your exposed cheek.

This one made your knees wobble as the pleasure rolled through you. Your hands on the sink was the only thing that saved you from showing him what he’d done.

“You love that don’t you?”

JB already knew you did, but he wanted to hear you. He needed to hear you say how much you loved feeling his hand leaving its mark, red and angry, on your skin.

“Yes,” you gasped. “It feels so good.”

He landed another smack and you couldn’t keep yourself quiet anymore. Your moan loud and aching like your pussy. Luckily, his hand was still on your throat and silenced you by placing his fingers in your mouth. You sucked on them immediately and this time you could feel JB rut against your ass. The hardness of his cock pressed against the fabric of his jeans gave away just how turned on he was at your bathroom escapades.

He pulled his fingers free from your mouth and, with the same fingers, slick and wet, placed it between your legs. The two digits moving to slide between your folds. First, scissoring around your clit; caressing the delicate bud until you gave him the moan he worked for.

When the soft sound left you JB slid them deep inside you causing the noise to become louder. A shudder ran through your body as you backed up into him.

His fingers removed themselves suddenly, and you couldn’t keep the disappointment from escaping you. A whine you were sure sounded like you were close to tears. JB gave your ass another smack and all it did was drive the need inside you closer to madness.

His hands planted themselves onto your ass and you felt him kneel down. Those two strategically placed hands lifting up the flesh there leaving your pussy exposed and aching in his view. Your hands were gripping the porcelain of the sink so tight you’d thought it’d crack. Your body trembling in anticipation of what he might do and the need to cover yourself up playing tug-of-war in your head.

The idea of any sort of hiding vanished when his mouth planted itself between your legs. His tongue snaking out to flick across your clit made you back up to greet his mouth. JB quickly took that moment to slide his tongue from clit to ass. The sensation was so foreign and new to you, you weren’t sure if you should be embarrassed, but the pleasure you got quickly washed the thought away.

JB gave you no time to pull yourself together. His face was back between your legs with an eager tongue to lick up every last drop. His tongue swirled around your clit and sent light flicks when you were least expecting it. Each time your legs threatened to crumble, but JB held you there with steady hands.

His tongue explored you thoroughly and put to his memory what made your knees weak. What caused a soft mulling sound of need to claw up from your throat. And what caused your grip on the sink to become almost violent.

Between each languid lick his tongue would find itself taking long strides all the way up and back down to your peak. Your body had now grown accustomed to the new sensation, and you welcomed it greedily as you pushed back against his face.

When JB knew you were so close to your sweet release he focused his tongue more on your swollen bud. Each new caress of his tongue gradually made it harder for your arms to hold you up. For your legs to keep from shaking uncontrollably.

Your orgasm continued to grow; blossoming between your folds with an ache that your body felt. You were so, so close and with a final thrust of his tongue you felt your world spin and that sweet heat between your legs finally sent shockwaves all over your body.

You came moaning so loud anyone else would’ve thought you were screaming. Your head thrown back and riding the sensation of his greedy mouth taking everything you had to offer.

When his lips finally released from you, your body was still coming down from your orgasm. The loud panting that came from you as you leaned against the sink completely spent. You watched in the mirror as he pulled a golden foil packet from his pocket. His eyes sinfully watching you as he ripped it carefully with his teeth. JB’s finger moved quickly to take out the slick rubber from the packet and begin to work it down his shaft.

You’d been so consumed with recovering from his tongue that you hadn’t realized when he’d taken his cock out of his jeans that were now shameless at his ankles. He put a few fingers inside your wetness that caused you to gasp. Your body was still recovering from what had just taken place.

He used your cum to lubricate himself and placed himself at your entrance. Already the tip of him stretching you out with the delicious sting that told you he was thick. You couldn’t wait.

You moved to push back into him to help him inside and he pulled away. His hand smacking down on your ass making you even more eager.

“Patience is a virtue.”

He tried to be funny, but his voice was deep and throaty with his own lust. You were close to pleading with him again like before, but he let it be known quickly he had no intentions to wait.

JB slid inside you and you felt your pussy stretch to accommodate him. The feel of him making your breath catch. His girth much thicker than you’d imagined, and your body shook from the pleasure of feeling yourself stretch around him.

His thrusts started off slow until he knew you’d had enough time. His hands found an anchor on your hips and used them to pull you in to meet his hips. A string of curse words fell from your mouth as your hips rocked back into him.

Each movement felt like he was going deeper. JB’s hands on the cheeks of your ass kept you spread open to him and left no friction to catch his thrusts. Every single one was felt as he buried himself inside you in a rhythmic timing that left you moaning.

You caught your reflection in the mirror, and glanced over to watch him as he worked. The way his hips bucked up only to be brought down. His hands stationed on your hips and bruising the flesh there as his grip got tighter. JB looked up and caught a glimpse of you in the mirror. His eyes locked with yours as he continued that unrelenting pace.

He removed a hand from your ass and used it to wrap back around your neck. When he knew he had a good grip, he used it to pull you close to his chest. The angle of him in this new position somehow made him feel like he was pushing into your gut.

Your mouth opened to make another sound, a moan or a scream you weren’t sure which, when that hand in your throat tilted your mouth towards him. His own came crashing down on your lips with his tongue that tasted of you slipping inside. You eagerly opened your mouth to him, and your tongue quickly moved to get a taste.

JB deepened the kiss as his hips began to thrust harder into you. The movement building up your orgasm with each brutal movement until it threatened to spill over.

“You taste so good with me on your lips.”

Your words fell earnest from your lips. You meant every one of them. You’d never tasted yourself so pretty on anyone else’s lips. JB obliged as he took your lips back. His mouth silenced another moan as his last free hand found its way back to your clit. Your body jumped at the added sensation. Your mouth tore away from his as another moan dripped from your lips.

You were so close. You could fill yourself ready to cum if only he would let you. JB must have been close too, because his thrusts started becoming more violent and sporadic. Hitting in all the right places.

At the same time as his fingers made small circles around your clit, a singular hard thrust of his hips sent his cock deep inside you. Your vision erupted in a sea of white. Your orgasm sent your body rutting back against him.

He rode your orgasm and somehow made it grow in intensity as he continued to move his hips. His own breathing going ragged as you felt him finally release into you.

When you both were able to breathe again, you’d realized you were laying over the sink. JB’s forehead resting on your back as you both struggled to regain your composure.

JB was the first to move. The first to begin the arduous process of cleaning up. Like a voyeur, you watched him as he threw away the spent rubber and tuck himself back inside his jeans. A smirk creased your lips when you noticed he now had noticeable wet spots on his tee shirt.

“You know, I don’t even know anything about you.”

You weren’t sure why you made the comment or why it mattered. You’d just had sex with the man in a damn bar bathroom. But JB didn’t seem to mind. His own smile curling his lips as he salvaged what he could of his hair.

“What would you like to know?”

“Well,” you began as you started to situate your skirt. “What’s your favorite color?”

It was a silly question. By the look on JB’s face, he knew it was, but he humored you anyways.

“It used to be blue, but I think red might be a new favorite.”

“Why is that?”

You were wondering where your panties had gone until you spied a bit of the black cloth hanging from his pocket. JB walked over to you in a few steps and planted a soft kiss down on your lips. One that spoke plainly, this wouldn’t be the last time you’d see each other.

“Because it currently matches the color of your ass.”

JB was out the door and in the bar’s hallway before you’d even got a chance to respond.

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