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chososdiscordkitten · 2 months

Text

I'm Stuck!

artist: yunonoai on twt

Synopsis: Gojo buys new washing machines nd chooses a shitty placement for em ⸜( ´ ꒳ ` )⸝

Pairing: Gojo x Fem!Reader Content: smut, implied reader is thicker than a snicker, established relationship, teasing, r gets stuck between a wall nd said machines, dirty talk, multiple orgasms (f), a sprinkle of manhandling, he refuses to admit he's wrong, cream pie

(a.n) if u wanna see what I picture- look at this

MDNI

When you first moved in with Gojo, you became all too aware of the fact that he was very particular about his design choices. Almost all your suggestions were vetoed the minute you would offer them.

And when the cheap washing machines that came with his apartment broke; You saw this as an opportunity to control at least one room in the now-shared apartment.

You stood beside Satoru in the laundry room- eyeing the small space and telling him, “If you put them here,” referencing the back wall of the rectangle room, “-it’ll feel more open.” you pointed at the wall. Looking at his pensive expression.

Gojo was just petty enough to ignore your suggestion. Holding a measuring tape and looking at the 28-inch mark. “The website says they’re this big-” looking up at you as he measured.

Even if you were kinda right- Satoru wanted to put the washer and dryer pair on the opposite side. Leaving only the entrance of the small room- and a small gap between the wall and the massive machines.

You parted your lips- about to speak. Remembering the photo Satoru had shown you of the machines- far better and more modern than the old ones that opened at the top.

These new ones had doors that opened outwards- and as you looked at the gap between where the machines would go, and where the wall was. You were sure they wouldn’t be able to open fully.

But you held your tongue- knowing Satoru would mull it over for a few days before telling you that you were right.

The space was small- sure. But you were sure it was enough space to fit through, and besides, how long would Satoru let those machines sit in the wrong place before calling someone to help switch their placement.

On the day of delivery, Satoru looked at the machines as though they were his pride and joy, like he was the one who did all the washing in the house.

The way the handymen looked at your idiot boyfriend was laugh-worthy. “They’ll go against that wall”, he instructed.

You were sure the men struggled more in placing them where Satoru instructed than if they just flipped them and pushed them to the back wall.

Satoru generously tipped them for their efforts, and once they left, you stood at the small doorway. Looking at the washing machines placed against the wall as though it were a laundromat.

“I hate saying it-” he clicked his tongue, leaning against the machine and looking at you smugly. “But I told you so~”

You grinned- amused at how right he thought he was. You winced, “Do me a favor real quick-” fighting off the laugh about to rumble from your chest. “Open one of the doors.”

Satoru furrowed his eyebrows at your request, dragging a hand down to the circular door. Smugly popping it open, only to hear it ding against the wall. You puffed a small laugh from your nose at how his face fell.

“And..” you started, walking towards him and fwipping your hand up and down- guiding him to move.

Stepping into the small gap between the machine and the wall with the door open, and letting a small giggle leave your lips as your thick thighs pressed against the metal.

Satoru looked down at your hips that were flush against the machine- he measured how much space the machines took up. But Gojo didn’t account for the space you would need to do laundry properly.

You turned your head, looking at him over your shoulder. Watching him pull his lips to the side, thinking up some snide remark about how he was still right.

Even a week after having those machines in the most inconvenient place- Satoru refused to admit he was wrong. He refused to call the handymen back and have them move the machines where you told him to.

You were more affected by his mistake than he was. Bothersome little doors that had hit you more times than you could count when they would bounce off the wall.

And all the times you would feel your hips brush against the open machines- you would furrow your eyebrows. Recalling how petty he could be.

Truth being- Satoru hadn’t called the handymen to fix the minor problem because when you first stepped into the small space of the laundry room- Seeing your thighs press against the machine made him hope you would get stuck one day.

As though he had manifested it- the day came.

You were doing laundry per usual- struggling with the stupid doors and growing more and more irritated by the second.

And when you thought you were finally finished- slamming the dryers door shut and hearing it whirr.

You turned around to see a discarded sock on the ground, thinking nothing of it and stepping back into the small space- hips pressed against the slightly protruding door of the dryer. Picking up the sock with a small huff.

Straightening back up and aiming to take a step back. Only to feel resistance from the wall- you tried shifting with even more strength. Only for the wall and machine to refuse to let you go.

You looked to the machine- recalling all the times this very same scenario had happened. Wondering what went wrong this time. And seeing the clear plastic bubble-like door trap your hips. Add that with the bending- causing your hips to widen in the slightest.

You sighed- frustrated that you had actually managed to get stuck in the small space. You tried a few more steps- a small wiggle, a aimed step back- nothing worked.

And wearing mini shorts- practically underwear that left your plush thighs exposed against the wall and the plastic door. Knowing it would only hurt if you pushed yourself out.

You held the stupid black sock in your hand as you contemplated calling out to the idiot that waited for you in the living room.

You shouted his name once- waiting a few seconds to see if he would come running to see what was wrong.

Only Satoru was sat with a handful of unfolded socks in his lap, watching the show you normally watched together- so focused on the scene playing out before him.

You closed your eyes- cringing at the cliche you were in. Calling his name once more- with more urgency and a gruff to it. That’s what pulled Satoru from his focus on the tv show.

His hand reached for the remote and pressed pause- trying to determine if he was just imagining things or if you actually called out to him.

And when you called out to him a third time, Satoru tossed the socks from his lap and ran to the laundry room. All the urgency in the world.

Worried you had seen a bug, or a home invasion- or every single dangerous thing he could picture happening. Running into the room asking you what was wro-

His lips parted in amazement once he saw your bottom trapped between the machine’s door and the wall. Staring at your exposed thighs and the crease of your ass.

“Don’t just stand there- go get some baby oil or something to get me ou-” Satoru reached a hand out to your bottom, causing you to silence your directions. His cheeks flushed and eyes glimmering full of the possibilities.

Satoru sighed and smiled, looking up to the ceiling with closed eyes to thank the deity that had granted him his wish.

Looking back down to your ass- slightly bent and you trying to reach a hand back to push him off, all but telling him again to go get something to help you out.

But knowing your boyfriend and his peculiar tastes- this was brewing in his mind from the minute he saw your hips against the small space.

“I prayed for this.” he whispered, earning a small ‘what?’ to leave your lips.

Satoru placed both of his hands on your bottom, his long fingers sliding beneath the light fabric of your shorts. Softly groping at the skin and peaked his eyebrows. You only clenched your jaw and closed your eyes.

Hearing the ramblings of the man behind you. “You should’ve just listened to me.” you scoffed, planting your hands on the wall in front of you as though Gojo was doing a body search, trailing his fingers down your clothed core.

His eyes dimmed- watching the light goosebumps form on your skin, lightly pressing his fingers against the little mound beneath your shorts. Earning a small exhale laced with a whimper to leave your lips. His other hand groped firmly at your ass, enjoying the view below him.

“No. I know now I was right not to listen to you.” Satoru grinned menacingly, watching your hips try to shift against the whirring machine next to you.

The tips of his fingers against your clothed core making you let out a shivering huff. “You still want me to help you out?~” Gojo asked- too smug to be considered as a genuine offer.

Satoru made light circles on the little mound at the top of your cunt- shivers running down your thighs as you tried to muster the words.

“You must’ve planned this-” he scoffed, trailing his fingers to the side of your shorts. A small damp spot formed on them, telling Gojo all he needed to know. “Prancing around all day wearing this-”

You parted your mouth- feeling the cool air hit your dampening cunt that pulsed with every accusation he spouted at you.

Satoru sucked his teeth- placing the tips of his fingers on your clit, causing a small gasp to fall from your throat. You let out a ragged breath, his fingers starting small circles against you.

Trying to keep your legs from buckling at the slow pace Satoru held. A small ‘tsk’ left his lips, full of feigned disappointment. “Tryna tempt me allll day.” The smile evident in his tone.

You only breathed a small whimper at his words- knowing it wasn’t true, but what state were you in to deny it?

“M’pretty sure I saw your pretty pussy a handful of times~” he purred- fastening his pace in the slightest.

Your breathing took up in pace- trying not to let out the small moans Satoru was pulling from you with every small circle he made against you.

The bulge in Gojo’s bottoms grew with every little whimper you let out- his hard cock twitching beneath the fabric as soft moans left your lips, landing in his ears as harmonies.

“If you wanted me to fuck you that badly-” he hummed, quickening his fingers and hearing the low squelches coming from your cunt. Knees threatening to buckle as Satoru trailed the hand on your ass up your slightly arched back, pushing up the hem of your t-shirt.

“All you had to do was ask, baby.” he cooed, watching your hands on the wall start to slip as your moans became louder, feeling Gojo’s hard bulge pressing against your ass. Desperate to get some kind of friction, whereas you- were desperate to finish.

An orgasm so close it had one of your eyes shut and the other threatening to follow its movements- “You didn’t have to scheme up ways for me to fuck you.” he teased, trying to dig your fingers into the wall as Satoru watched you come undone, cunt clenching around nothing.

Feeling your core pulse onto his fingertips, small shivering sighs leave your lungs as he works you down an orgasm. You steady your breathing- becoming more aware of Gojo’s bulge pressing onto your plump bottom.

You clenched your teeth- Satoru’s fingers trailing from your clit down to the source of the slick that coated his digits. The other resting on your side to stabilize you. Wouldn’t want you to come unstuck too soon now.

You were glad you were faced away from him- your vision bordering on going double and the heat rising to your cheeks just thinking about the cliche you were in. Thinking of how easily accessible you were to him at that moment.

You started feeling his fingers dip into your entrance- too slow and far too eager to prep you. “Just-” you huffed, feeling his hand halt its movements.

“Just. Fuck me.”

Quiet- but clear enough for Satoru to hear you.

Huffed and urged as you said it- it made Satoru realize you were unwilling to go through his teasing prep- and in no possession of the patience needed for it.

Gojo bit his lip slightly, being able to see the tenseness in your shoulders- it wasn’t about him having a good time anymore. No, your tone made it sound like he was depriving you of something.

Satoru wasted no more than a second in tucking the hem of his shirt between his pearly teeth- a smile on the corners of his lips as he watched you writhe. All but telling him to hurry with the puffs of frustration leaving your lips.

Though his mouth was busy trying to hold his shirt up- his messied hand pulled from your cunt and landed on the band of his shorts, you could hear the muffled giggles of amusement leaving Gojo’s lips as he slapped the tip of his cock onto your ass.

Leaky as he was, Gojo still wanted to hear the words from your lips. “Tellme-m’right” he spoke with clenched teeth- muffled and barely legible and in a smug tone.

You scoffed- biting your lip and peaking up your eyebrows. Knowing Satoru is just petty enough to pull away from you and jack off till he spurt his mess onto your ass. “You were right.” you mumbled, earning Satoru to release the shirt from his teeth with a smile.

“What was that?” lightly tapping your entrance with his tip as your hands pressed onto the wall again- planted to stay upright.

You sighed. “You were right, ‘toru-” you spoke clearly, earning an appeased hum from Satoru.

Taking his hand from his base- quickly taking off his t-shirt and lining himself up with your cunt. The only thought in his mind was praising himself for what a good idea the machine’s placement was.

The second he slowly pressed his tip past your entrance- both you and Gojo could feel the difference between when you would be prepped compared to now.

Soft ringing in your ears as you let out a soft moan, a light sting pulsing in your cunt as he eased himself into you.

And Gojo- he swore he could cum right then and there had it been up to him. His eyes threatened to fall back into a soft roll as a groan tried leaving his throat. Falling from his lips with the sound of a whimper laced in it.

Even if Satoru had slid inside of you countless times- it always made his go vision blurry. Never getting used to how warm and welcoming your cunt always felt against his cock.

Satoru spouted a curse- mixed with a whimper as he held onto your ass, bracing himself as he felt your cunt suck him in.

With clenched teeth- “S-so fuckin’ tight-” he gruffed- making sure to give you enough time to get used to the light sting before he pulled his cock from you. Hands gripping too harshly on the malleable skin of your ass.

His cock felt a light breeze hit the skin lathered with your essence, wasting little time before thrusting back into you- setting a slow but deep pace.

Shutting your eyes tight as Satoru’s thrusts caused your hips to move against the harsh plastic and the wall.

A few more rolls of his hips were all you had to spare- “Satoru I’m gonna fall-” you huffed, feeling his hands grope at your ass firmly- some attempts to assure you that you wouldn’t.

A light sheen of sweat formed on your thigh, causing you to actually start slipping with every little thrust Satoru rolled against you.

Though he was whining behind you, he could feel your hips start to give against the machine’s door.

Gojo mustered all the strength he could, dragging his cock from you. Allowing his leaking tip to kiss your entrance ever so slightly as he gave a hard yank against your hips.

Hearing a low grunt of relief as you felt yourself come loose-only for Satoru’s hands to move you to the free edge of the machine quickly, aligning himself up with your entrance again.

Pressing his heaving chest against your back- bending you over as his head rested the crook of your neck. Clenching his teeth with a low whimper- your hands planted against the whirring machine- bracing for him to bottom out.

Only Satoru planted a hand atop yours- grasping it lightly as he slid himself in slowly.

A sharp exhale took the form of a whimper as it left Gojo’s lips, invading your ear as you raised yourself onto your tiptoes. Giving his cock a new angle, his flushed tip nudging your sweet spot.

A choked moan left your lips, the hand on your ass rising to your neck. Pulling you back to his chest and forcing your back into a harsher arch.

Satoru sped up his pace- barely pulling out and prodding the spongy gspot his cock curved into. Barely pulling his hips from your ass with frustrated whimpers leaving his lips.

His hand mindlessly rising to the side of your face- your parted lips huffing out small whimpers welcoming his fingers. Hooking the digits that brought you to your first orgasm, onto the side of your mouth as he tried to keep a steady pace.

You could feel he was still holding back- unknowing why he insisted on keeping a medium pace with his thrusts. You clenched your walls around him in the slightest- “F-faster ‘toru,” you huffed, slightly muffled from his fingers in your mouth- earning for his hips to halt and his hands to raise.

Satoru gulped- his cheeks flushed and ears hot as his hands hooked onto the ditches of your elbows. Pulling your arms back in tandem with dragging his cock out.

Gojo knew that whenever you bark an order, you were giving him permission to do what every part of his brain was yelling at him to do.

And as he felt the very tip of his cock reach the taut circle of your entrance- he clenched his teeth, inhaling before pushing himself in.

His thrusts were rough- too deep as your shoulder blades pressed against each other- clearer moans falling from your lips. Satoru’s forearms pulling you back with every harsh thrust- unpatterned and sloppy as he whined into your ear.

Your calves started tingling from being raised on the tips of your toes. And almost as though Satoru heard you- he released one of your arms and reached down to your thigh.

A smile took shape in a huff- “Up we go~” he grinned with a breathless tinge.

Assisting you in resting it on the top of the machine, now easily at level with his rough hips. The foot on the ground barely touched the tile- half of your body on top of the machine as Satoru grabbed a handful of ass. Biting his lip as he looked down to your cunt linked with him.

With every tenacious thrust Satoru rolled against you- he watched your ass bounce.

And as though it was instinct, Gojo pulled his gripping hand from your ass and gave you a firm spank.

You whimpered in response- shutting your eyes and muttering a strained, “Fffuck!” his hand soothing the warmth rising onto your bottom- clenching his teeth with muffled groans leaving his pursed lips.

Your hands pressing onto the top of the machine as some sort of attempt to brace for Satoru’s quick drilling hips. Keeping yourself up on your forearms as his hand gripped the malleable skin of your ass. Groaning harsher and harsher as he felt his orgasm build in his tummy.

Satoru knew you were close too- the moans you spewed were now shorter and more breathy. Your cunt twitching around him every other thrust-

“Say m’right.” clenched teeth and a low tone as his thrusts became even more sloppy- bordering on raising himself from the ground from how harshly he was pushing you onto the machine.

Gojo stopped his thrusts- nuzzling himself inside of you entirely. And staying still- knocking the air from your lungs with a gasp- “Say.” pulling his cock , “I’m.” a firm thrust, “Right.” urging you to with every deep thrust.

You whimpered, knowing he was barely bumping his tip against your gspot on purpose.

“You’re r-ri-” he continued his fast pace again- the words trying to make their way out of your lips.

Satoru grunted with an amused smile- “I’m-” he sighed, “I’m what?” out of breath and edging himself.

You bit your lip, the knot in your stomach slowly slipping with every little thrust.

Feeling his unforgiving hips nudge you closer and closer against the wall. Your jaw went slack-jawed as he refused to give you a second to answer.

All it took was another firm spank to push you over an orgasm- cunt spasming around him as he grunted. Sudden tightness sucking him in with every pull he did.

“You’re righ- fuck-” you moaned, “You’reright-” babbling as Satoru let out a breathy giggle. More than pleased with your mindless prattling.

As Gojo succumbed to his own orgasm- you groaned lightly, feeling his seed coat your walls. Warmth filling your cunt as your eyes fluttered closed.

Satoru rode himself down with slower thrusts, still reaching as deep as he could- but slowing them.

Wincing softly as his tip got a shock of overstimulation, heavily breathing as he eased his hands from you.

Leaning over your ass and placing his forehead onto the center of your shoulder blades.

“Call the delivery men,” you breathed- sighing softly as Satoru rested himself atop you. “And tell them to move them.” you demanded- knowing that if they stayed the way they were now- more little instances like these would keep happening.

Satoru huffed against your clothed spine. “You just said,” taking a breath and feeling his heart pound in his chest. “-that I was right?” keeping a teasing tone as you tried easing off the machine.

Wondering how on earth Gojo managed to shift you from the floor to the top of the washer.

I luv him sm <3

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xveenusx · 3 months

Text

Wanted

Paring(s): JJ maybank x fem!reader

Summary: in a world where someone had everything, she still got treated like she was nothing. all she wanted was to be wanted.

Authors note: I wanted this piece piece to be as real as possible. It's not simple, its messy. We've all gone back to that one person we know we shouldn't just because being alone seemed worse. Also she gets absolutely railed so that helps. So please be kind to her lmfao.

Rating: smut, 18+, mdni, ANGST

Song rec: making the bed by olivia rodrigo

Part 1: Guilty

Bored.

I was so incredibly bored. I leaned against the built in bar as I watched Topper and Kelce take body shots off some tourists they invited. The loud bass of the music did little to tune out the annoying voice of Amy Culpo, who stood next to me, and rattled on about my mother’s latest line.

“I mean, it’s absolutely stunning.” I know it is. I was there when she designed it. “Any chance you have tickets to her next show?”

Ah, there it was. The brutal truth he reminded me of all those months ago. Every interaction was a strategic move to climbing the next prong on the social ladder. Everyone always wanted something.

I used to fight that notion. I thought I was better than them because I actually cared about other people. My wealth did not define me nor how I treated other people, but despite every effort I made both before and after him, I realized none of it mattered.

I couldn’t escape my wealth. It was permanently engraved into my body and no matter how hard I tried to scrub, it wouldn’t go away. I’ve now fully embraced that ugly truth and decided that I might as well use it to my advantage. I almost always had something that others wanted and I just had to figure out what they were willing to give. I didn’t need any more money, but there were things that were far more valuable. Favors, tickets to the hottest openings, plane rides. Since everyone already saw me as a spoiled little rich girl, I might as well play the part.

‘Depends. Are those last season MIU MIU?” I asked, tossing a look at the shoes on her feet.

“There from the season before-“ I pulled a face at her words. Before last season? I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing anything last season let alone the season before.

“Oh honey, if those are two seasons old, then I highly doubt you have anything I want.” The shocked look on her face dulled the aching pain that seemed to permanently reside in my chest.

“I can charter a plane-“

I raised my hand to silence her. “You don’t have your own?”

What was she even doing here?

This was a new little project of mine. I tossed away all those societal niceties that did little for me in the end. I still couldn’t get anyone to stay. This was much more fun. You’d be surprised by how much stuff you could get away with if you cut out all the bullshit.

Amy’s cheeks flushed red and maybe once I’d have felt bad or be disgusted by how I was treating her but I was numb. I realized nothing really mattered. Whether I was nice or rude, people all wanted the same things from me. At least this way, I could armor myself.

“There’s my pretty girl.” Warm hands curled around my waist, tugging me against a hard body.

I rolled my eyes. I wasn't his anything, Rafe knew that but he’s always had a flare for the dramatics. Tom Ford’s Noir de Noir filled my nose as I swatted at his hands, hands that I’ve grown quite familiar with.

“You left me.” I shot him a bratty look, one he met head on with a smile. Amy still stood there awkwardly, clearing her throat in an obvious attempt to gain my attention.

I turned around in Rafe’s arms, debating my next move. Almost immediately his chin came to rest on the top of my head while his arms curled around my front.

My eyes shot one last distasteful look at her outfit, before tossing out my arm in the opposite direction. “Shoo.”

She huffed before stomping away but not before shooting me one final glare. A look that would have made me cry before, but now it simply dinged off the impenetrable armor I’ve suited myself with.

“I was hoping it’d build character, but clearly that didn’t work.” I could hear the smile in his words as he pressed a kiss on the top of my head.

“The entire conversation was dull. She didn’t even have a jet, plus her shoes were two seasons ago.” I shuddered in disgust. Could never be me.

Rafe clutched his chest in mock disgust,”Not two seasons.”

I let out a huff, my chest going warm at the teasing glint in his eye.

There was no spark. There were no butterflies. Just familiarity and warmth. It was safe. We both knew what this was and expected nothing more. For now, we were just having fun. Despite the fact that I spent most nights at his place and rarely found myself without him.

I’ve found somewhat of a friend in Rafe. Someone to share the burden of being from a family like ours. He understood me. He enjoyed shiny things just as I did.

We spent a lot of our time going to the mainland because the idea of running into him still sent me to my knees. This was a small island. One that he was spending all his time running around with her instead of me. Rafe never said a word about it, never mentioned his sister or her pogue friends. And for that, maybe I do love him a little.

“You make fun of me now, but you’d still be wearing polo shirts and plaid shorts if it weren’t for me.” My hands smooth down the front of his linen light blue shirt, the first several buttons open paired with some black Gucci slacks and a black belt from Dolce & Gabbana. He no longer looked like a frat douche but a member of upper class society.

The same can’t be said about his friends.

“C’mon. Top and Kelce want us over there.” Rafe grasped my hand and tugged me in the direction of drunken yells. I pursed my lips but trudged behind him. The idea of being thrown up on was less than appealing, but being by myself was even less appealing.

“Hey guys.” Rafe nodded at them, taking a seat on the adjacent couch, a table with all sorts of drugs littered on it in between them.

The pair of them were obliterated, both their pupils blown wide and their speech slurred. That didn’t stop them from tossing me a sloppy grin and shouting a greeting.

The spot next to Rafe was vacant but on the other end was a couple gnawing each other's faces off that had me scrunching my nose up in disgust. He surely didn’t expect me to sit next to that?

He didn’t even bat an eye, instead Rafe patted his lap, tugging at my hand to sit down. “Wanna drink, baby?”

I nodded, deciding to once again indulge. It was better than feeling that stabbing pain that burned in my chest. It was a horrible solution but one that Rafe always supported, in fact he often took part in self-destructing with me. We were done with trying to be perfect for parents who couldn’t give less of a fuck.

A red solo cup with a familiar yellow concoction was waved in front of me. The pungent scent of tequila burned my nose and I shot him a secret smile. Rafe’s blue eyes narrowed in on me, glued on my smile before he shook his head in amusement.

“That’s the kinda night we’re going for?” He asked, his hand slowly gripping my thigh.

“Unless you don’t want to?” I sighed dramatically, pushing his dark blonde strands back from his face, something I knew he loved.

“If I ever say no to that question, feel free to shoot me.”

A giggle escaped my lips as I tapped my cup against his before bringing it to my lips, tilting my head back and zeroing it out.

The tequila left a burning trail down my stomach that I welcomed. It meant I was one step closer to not feeling anything at all.

“Another?” Rafe’s eyes pointed at my now empty cup and I nodded.

Being responsible was so overrated.

Lifting his hand up, almost immediately two younger boys, about 16, appear. Rafe pointed at me, muttering something before the pair nodded and took off.

I raised my eyebrow at him, confused.

He just shrugged, leaning forward to touch the golden pendant that hung from my neck. “I promised them tickets to the Charleston basketball game if they did whatever I said.”

“Why?”

“I was bored,” He hummed in response,”This is new, it’s pretty..”

I smiled back at him, the very picture of nonchalance, before replying,”Thank you. You bought it for me.”

His ocean eyes rested on me, the infatuation clear as day that had my stomach clenching. “Course I did. I have great taste.”

Rafe gave me his card about two months ago, not that I needed it, but he enjoyed taking care of me and I didnt mind. Plus, whenever he made me mad, I made sure to run the bill up, hoping for some type of reaction but it only left him amused.

Nerves gnawed at my stomach at the intense eye contact. Maybe the lines have blurred slightly. Clearing my throat to try and break the tension, I tossed my hair over my shoulder. “Want to see what else you bought me?”

“Enlighten me.”

I flashed him my freshly manicured nails, “What do you think?”

Rafe caught my hand, a half smile painted on his face, and kissed it. “Is that passion pink?”

“It’s actually bubblegum blush.”

“Beautiful, baby. I love it.” His words burned into my chest.

It was hard to describe. His approval had butterflies thrumming in my stomach. Maybe it was because we were stuck in similar situations, but his approval suddenly meant something to me. Being with him meant I wasn’t alone.

“You know we’re right here, right?” Topper's voice cut through the tension and I let out a laugh, relieved to look away.

“Fuck off.” Rafe laughed, regaining his composure as well.

Topper leaned forward holding out a black AMEX for me to take. My eyes paused on the card before shooting him a flat look.

“Are you kidding?”

Topper gave me a blank look, not a thought behind those eyes.

I rolled my eyes and stuck my nose up in mock outrage. “Rafe does it for me.”

The annoyed look on Topper’s face sent a thrill through my body. He was the easiest to rile up and Rafe knew it as he hid his chuckle with a quick cough.

The hand on my bare thigh slowly drew circles, the action almost unconscious, which had my brain blanking. It was a relief to not think. To not remember. To not feel.

“Are your hands broken?”

“No. I’m too pretty.” I shrugged, batting my lashes at him.

Topper openly scowled at me, his eyes dropping to where Rafe’s hands held me tightly. “What happened to the nice little girl who cried about everything?”

“Lay off.” Rafe snipped, leaning forward and snatching the AMEX out of his hand. His movements were quick and precise, with ease that only came with experience.

He separated the coke into three lines, one for me and two for him, just like always.

Bending over, I snorted the line quickly. Turning to hand Rafe the hundred dollar bill, his fingers dust off any remaining powder off my nose, before he bent over and did the same.

I leaned back into Rafe, the mixture of the tequila and the sting of the coke had me feeling sublime. It was a perfect balance. The alcohol got me warm and buzzed while the coke kept me awake and alert, an upper and a downer, a perfect description for every emotion in my body.

“I grew up.”

Topper hummed. “You certainly did.”

For the next hour, my mind never drifted to him. I enjoyed having thoughts that were my own, that didn’t revolve around him. Instead, my thoughts focused on the man below me. Rafe was always touching me. Even more so than usual, his hand never left my body once. If I let go of his hand to reach for my drink, he’s just moved it to my thigh. It was almost possessive which was odd, we didn’t do possessive.

Every couple moments, he’d pause in the middle of a conversation to press small kisses anywhere his lips could reach. It seemed performative, but I just couldn’t prove it.

“You’re thinking too hard.” His hot breath hot against the shell of my ear.

I said nothing for a moment before licking my lips and muttering,”Are you okay? You seem more clingy than usual?”

He just nodded, pulling me to his hard chest, his eyes darting to the side. “I just like having you with me.”

The sentiment was sweet and my heart tugged at his words. But, I couldn’t let go of the feeling that I was missing something. “I like having you with me too.” I allowed myself to give him a sliver of vulnerability, something I’ve avoided like plague, because it was true. He made living just a bit easier.

My head began to spin as I felt the lines of our odd friendship begin to blur. I knew neither of us would admit the sudden shift but it was there. I could tell with each lingering gaze and those secret touches. Maybe there was something here. I just had to give in.

“I’m glad you came to your senses,” He responded, but once again his eyes are not on mine but darting around me.

“What does that have to do with anything?” My voice comes out hushed, hoping it would get him to lower his voice.

My smile from his previous confession dimmed. Nerves slowly began to surface as I tried to read between the lines.

“You do belong with me, at least that's what you scream every night, isn’t that right baby?” He was boasting, loud enough to have his boys give him lame-ass high fives.

The small burst of happiness curdled like old milk in my stomach. I wasn’t a prude, not by a long shot, but I was a private person. Rafe knew this and he was still flaunting our private moments in a way that made me feel dirty.

“Stop talking about me like that.” I said, “What’s gotten into you?”

I felt Rafe go rigid under me. Frowning, I tilted my head back to make sure he was alright but his eyes were glued ahead.

“Rafe, I’m here for my stuff. Where did you say you put it again?”

My head turned and my stomach did a backflip. Sarah stood at the entrance of the room, looking immensely uncomfortable.

John B stood behind her, his big brown puppy-like eyes widened at the sight of me on Rafe’s lap. Or maybe it was because of the coke laid out in front of me?

But wherever he was, JJ wasn’t far behind. John B whispered something in Sarah’s ear, her eyes jumped to me for a split second before returning to his. She nodded and John B made a beeline for the other room.

I let out a choked laugh. I’m sure he was going to report back to his little lap dog. What were they even doing here in the first place? It’s not like Rafe knew-

My brain clicked into place. The constant need to touch me and the over the top PDA was because he was here. Rafe knew he was here and wanted to rub it in his face.

Rafe’s words were never for me. They were for him.

None of this was real. Not the endearing names, not the proclamations of affection. An ice bucket of realization poured over me and I felt like a fool. A fool for thinking that somebody else could want me, could maybe even love me.

Fuck this. Fuck both of them.

“You knew.” I accused, shoving his hands off of my body.

Rafe said nothing, but the flicker in his eyes gave him away. I wasn’t safe with him either. Embarrassment oozed into me, the feeling painstakingly familiar. We agreed to never make each other feel this way since our parents did it enough, but he did it to me.

Don’t think. Don’t feel.

Snatching the cup out of his hand, I forced it down, gulp by gulp, wincing at the burn. Straight tequila. “Babe-“

“Shut up.” I hissed, moving off his lap and shoving Topper to move over. Everyone always wanted something from me.

They never just wanted me.

Maybe I was defective. I had to be.

JJ didn’t love me when I was me. When I cared about other people and sacrificed pieces of my happiness for them.

Rafe didn’t love me now. When I was a spoiled brat who treated everyone like a transaction.

It didn’t matter if I was nice or a total raging bitch. Either way, I couldn't get anyone to love me.

I was just the stepping stone they used before they found the person they really wanted to be with. I was just there to make them feel good about themselves. For them to take and take just to toss me aside when they were done. Leaving me a shell of a person with no one, not even myself.

I guess, I was impossible to love.

“Line it up, Topper.”

“Can I at least get a please?”

“Be lucky that I’m even talking to you.”

Topper scoffed but did what I asked, lining up two lines of chalky white powder. “There you go, princess:”

A rolled hundred dollar bill was held out in front of me. Plucking it out of his fingers. I bent over the table. Don’t think. Don’t feel.

Dragging the cylinder bill down the crystal snow powder I’ve grown to love, I inhaled deeply. The chemicals flowing through the nose. I could practically feel the coke dissolving into my bloodstream, my body vibrating in response.

Dropping the bill on the table, I tilt my head back, begging my brain to shut off. I closed my eyes and chose to focus on the beat of the music that had my heart thrumming in my chest.

Then it happened.

All the air in the room was sucked up. The hair behind my neck stood up and my body suddenly awakened in a way it hadn’t in months.

My body recognized him before my brain did. The moment I opened my eyes, his eyes clashed with mine.

JJ.

It was like seeing him for the first time, a memory I thought I would never get the chance to feel again.

Heavy set blonde brows framed his bright blue eyes beautifully, the strong cut jaw that was currently clenched, and his lips soft and pouty, tightly pressed in a flat line. This face, his beautiful face, wouldn’t be complete without some mark. A bruise, a soft purple and yellow hue, decorated his cheek bone. His bottom lip busted.

He was so beautiful.

My body reacted before my brain could follow. I stood up quickly, too quickly that the blood rushed to my head and the room seemed to spin.

God, he was beautiful. And I fucking hated him for it. He was supposed to be like me, a complete and total mess, but instead, he looked the same, even better actually.

That thought alone had me ready to jump off the balcony.

My movements were clumsy and I drunkenly stumbled while standing still, his eyes clocking that in seconds.

Despite the loud music, I noticed the silence coming from the couch.

My eyes jumped to Rafe. All the laughter around us died off and everyone was exchanging nervous looks. It didn’t take a genius to read the room and the situation I’ve somehow managed to put myself in.

Blue eyes flickered between the two of us. It cracked my chest open wide and opened the floodgates I’ve been trying so hard to keep closed.

The crushing inescapable weight of shame hit me first. I was plastered, obviously so, and high as a kite. The evidence of what I’d been doing displayed out in front of me like a flashing sign. And I was fucking the one guy he hated.

It was unreasonable, I know. He left me and even pushed me in the direction of the one guy he hated and yet, I was the one feeling bad. He hasn’t even opened his mouth yet and it’s been turned onto me. But love never makes sense. It made the most sane people lose every coherent thought, I was the prime example.

“You should probably go, bro.” Rafe said, his tone was anything but.

He moved from his spot on the couch and stopped beside me. Rafe shoved a hand in one pocket while the other reached for mine, but I folded my arms across my chest. Mostly because I was mad at him, but a part of me didn’t want JJ seeing that.

JJ didn’t spare him a second glance.

He had on a dark blue short sleeve button down shirt with black cargos and chunky black boots on his feet. A backwards red hat settled nicely on the blonde mass of wavy hair and his shark necklace hanging against the exposed part of his chest.

It was so JJ. All of it, right down to the colorful bracelets that littered his wrists.

A hand grasped my chin and tilted up. I held my breath. His fingers slid along my jaw and he rubbed his thumb over the skin. His eyes felt like lasers, honing in on every detail of my face.

I swallowed audibly. JJ leaned in closer, bringing his height down to mine. His thumb brushed a soft stroke below my nose while his lips brushed against my ear.

“You had a little something on your nose.”

JJ let go of my face, his expression hard. Then he brushed past me, leaving a gaping wound in his wake.

Tears burned behind my closed eyes. He didn’t need to say it because I already knew what he was thinking. Sure, JJ smoked some weed but he never touched any of the hard stuff, not wanting to pick up the same habits as his dad. Hard drugs were a hard limit for him and he found me snorting several lines of it.

I went and became the very thing he hated, just like he wanted. It didn’t feel as satisfying as I thought it would. Instead, I felt like I lost another piece of myself.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I said to Rafe, finally gathering the courage to open my eyes.

He shuffled beside me. “Him being here wasn’t going to change anything.”

We both knew that was a lie.

“It’s him, Rafe. It changes everything for me.”

Rafe scoffed and shook his head. “You’re really going to try and go back to that?”

“I’m not saying that-” I spluttered out, outraged as his voice continued to carry across the room.

“He didn’t want you.”

People around us began to whisper, their heads huddled together with their phones out. Wet hot tears threatened to fall as the control I took months to master began to unravel.

“Yeah, well you don’t either.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Before he got here, everything was perfect.”

“I’m not stupid. You think I didn’t notice what you were doing? That wasn’t for us, that was for him.”

“I didn't mean for you to think I was using you-“

I gripped his chin, and pulled his face down to my height, my eyes brimming with angry tears. “You don’t use me. I use you.” I shoved his face back, needing to collect my composure.

Everyone’s eyes were on us and I was desperate to save face. It was the only thing I had left.

“Get the fucking picture?”

“Crystal clear.” He responded through gritted teeth, his eyes hard.

“If you want a whore, go buy one.”

Rafe cleared his throat, his face iced over. “I thought that’s what I was already doing.”

I stood there for a moment, not understanding what I did to deserve to be treated like this by not one man but two. I felt like an idiot. Like the stupidest fucking person on this god forsaken planet.

Two hours ago, I thought that maybe Rafe had feelings for me and played with the idea of exploring that with him. And now, I was a gold digging whore.

I felt another piece of my heart break off, mourning the loss of the only friendship I really had.

Pressing my hair down with my hands, I look down to fix my dress, swallowing as I went, hoping to pull myself together and buy some time.

“I’m glad to hear how little you think of me.” I sent him a sad smile,” I guess I’m keeping up with everyone’s expectations.”

I stepped around him, heading to the direction of the bar, the adrenaline from all the excitement having effectively killed my buzz.

Staring at the bottles of liquor on the counter had me frowning, all being some bottom shelf brand I’ve never heard of. I moved around the bar to the cabinets behind it, looking for the good tequila. It was the least Rafe could do seeing as though he just blew up whatever the fuck we were doing.

Spotting the only tequila I drank, I grabbed the entire handle. Twisting the top off, I tossed it aside carelessly before taking a healthy swig. Then another. And another.

I stumbled into another room, shoving people out of my way. I ignored the angry shouts because I was way past the point of caring. I just-I just wanted to see him.

As if someone heard my thoughts, I spotted JJ leaning against a wall with a lit joint dangled between his fingers and a beer in the other.

He had so much charisma, it demanded the attention of the room. People gravitated towards him all the time but he refused to see himself that way.

Even now, he stood surrounded by several people, including a girl who was too close for my liking, and they were hanging onto every word. All of their bodies angled towards him, nodding along. The people around them curiously moving in to hear more of the story that had so many of them laughing.

It was almost ironic. It was the point I was trying to prove all those months ago. Kooks vs. Pouges was bullshit. Because, right now JJ is telling a story to a bunch of Kooks who were eating it right up. Neither parties cared about their status, they just wanted to socialize and have fun.

Why couldn’t he see that?

The organ in my chest began to flutter, the butterflies erupting in my stomach at his nearness. Panic began to set in. I thought I’d pushed it all down.

All it took was seeing him. Just once. For the last couple months of progress to be thrown out the window. I made sure to not feel anything anymore, because the alternative destroyed me. And yet, there he stood, looking like every dream I’ve ever had, and completely disarming my very being with one look.

I never wanted to feel that way again. My heart was open and my soul was bared, but I was naive. I thought love was supposed to be empowering. But really, it was poison. It slowly entered your bloodstream, coating every vein before slowly taking over every organ. It leaked into your brain and made you lose all common sense. The poison tricked you into thinking that certain treatment was okay because at least they were here. At least, they still wanted to be with you because they love you, right?

But eventually, like all things lacking an antidote, it began to cut off your oxygen. It curled around your lungs and squeezed until you gasped for breath with tears staining your face. It didn’t matter how much you screamed and shouted, nothing came out. The last organ it takes over is your heart. That silly little organ who was so trusting begins to pump faster, desperately trying to get that oxygen to your brain, because maybe then you’ll finally be able to think clearly. But in the end, it slows down. Each pump is slower than the last until finally it comes to a stop. The heart broke.

It’s the closest thing to dying I’ve ever experienced.

It was like drowning on dry land.

His words did not leave me dented, but destroyed.

I lost my sense of myself. I lost my identity. I put on a performance every time I left my house, wanting to see just how far I could get away with treating people the same way they treat me.

At first it didn’t feel good, but now I didn’t feel anything at all. Or so I thought until I saw him again. And I just want to see that he was doing okay and maybe, if I can admit it, to see if he still loved me, however little that may be.

I watched from my spot on the other side of the room as the crowd began to disperse, leaving JJ with some blonde. I vaguely recognized her from a shoot for one of my mom’s brands. I believe her parents worked in the fashion industry as well. Which would have been fine, had she not said something that had him give her one of those rare smiles, the ones he used to give me in private.

Nausea roiled in my stomach, maybe it was all the tequila or maybe it was seeing him smile at someone else when all I wanted was for him to smile at me.

She leaned into him, a coy smile played her lips, running her fingers down the shirt I bought him, which basically made it mine. And I hated when people touched my things.

The mix of tequila and coke emboldened me. I found my feet moving in their direction before I could stop myself.

“I wouldn't waste your time.” I could not get myself to stop talking.

“Why’s that?” The blonde’s eyes narrowed, her cheaply manicured hand resting on JJ’s bicep.

“JJ doesn’t go for kooks or so I’ve been told.”

“Maybe he just didn’t go for you.” Oh, how cute.

“Oh honey,” I sighed dramatically and took one step towards her, tilting my head to the side, dragging my eyes up her body, in obvious distaste. “Are you new here?”

“Well, yeah but-“ She tried to explain.

Clearly, she needed a run through on how the social ladder worked here. I was at the top and everyone else was at the bottom.

“Your mom works for some brand from Paris right?” I watched as her eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

“She does. We moved here because she’s doing a collab with-“

“With my mom.”

“So I suggest you take your hand off of him,” I smiled on cue, my tone dipped in sugar before batting my eyelashes at her innocently,” Unless you want her blacklisted?”

I could see her debating what to do. She didn’t know if I was bluffing but she'd learn rather quickly just how far I was willing to go.

“Hmm, cute shoes.” I hummed, “Chanel?”

She nodded, apprehension on her face.

“Won’t be able to buy those anymore if your mom doesn’t have a job.”

Her hand fell and satisfaction settled into my like molten lava. “You can go now.”

The blonde pursed her lips and stalked off, leaving me alone with JJ. “Trying a new type”

“And what type would that be?”

“Desperate.”

JJ tipped his mouth, saluting me before taking a sip of his drink. His eyes already glazed over from the joint in his hand.

“A thank you would be nice?” I muttered, taking another pull from my tequila. I couldn’t talk to him sober or I’d lose my nerve.

“A thank you?” He appeared almost amused, adjusting his red hat.

“Yeah, I just saved you.”

“I didn't realize I needed saving.”

“Self-preservation was never really your strong suit was it?”

JJ laughed, his eyes straying to the bottle cradled in my arms. “I could say the same thing, Princess.”

Fuck him for calling me that. So what, I’ve learned to indulge just a little. It made everything in my life a little more manageable.

“It’s called having fun, JJ.” Pouting as he snatched the bottle from arms just as I went to take another shot. “Since when did you become the responsible one?”

JJ leveled me with an unamused stare.

I huffed, blowing a stray strand of hair out of my face. “Tough crowd.”

JJ snorted, pushing the leaves of a nearby plant back before dumping the remaining tequila. My mouth dropped open as he wasted every last drop of my liquid courage.

How the hell was I going to talk to him now?

I pursed my lips, “That was mean.”

“I’m doing what your boyfriend should have done an hour ago.” His gaze fixed on my face, the intense stare causing my cheeks to turn red. God, would he stop staring at me?

“He doesn’t tell me what to do.”

“Then he shouldn’t have left you alone.” His tone laced with annoyance, “You have all these fuckers staring at you and you’re wasted.”

I tilted my head back to stare up at him, the annoyance I knew came from a place of panic. That was just how JJ was wired.

“So you’re in love with me?” Someone come arrest me, because I cannot keep my mouth closed.

JJ shook his head clearly fighting back a smile. “You’re so crazy.”

“What else could that mean?” I asked truthfully and I knew I had a love struck smile on my face. One that I’ve only given to one man in my life and he stood in front of me.

I just wanted to be near him. I wanted to hear his laugh and see him smile.

His face softened at my words. “Are you okay? Does he take care of you?”

“Of course, I’m okay. Why do you ask?”

“Only one of us is fucking loaded.”

I rolled my eyes and plucked the joint from his fingers. “Correct me if I’m wrong, and we both know I rarely am, are you not high too?”

“Not from cocaine.”

“Already back to judging so soon?” I mused, taking a hit off the joint, the familiar stinging sensation wrapped around my lungs and squeezed. “Careful, I might think you care.”

Kill me now. Thank god, he took away the tequila.

“Who said I ever stopped?” My heart lurched in my throat.

I blew the smoke out slowly, my fogged up brain rushing to keep up with his words.

Someone stumbled in front of me, slamming into my shoulder sending me flying forward into JJ’s arms. Something cold and wet splattered onto me, the bitter liquid dripping down my legs.

“Are you blind?” I shouted, shoving another drunk party goer off me. Looked like a tourist.

She held her hands up in apology.

“I’m so sorry. Here, let me help.” To my absolute horror, this fucking tourist used a napkin and went to scrub the stain. Are these people animals? This was custom versace.

“Stop!” My cheeks flushed, from the weed or from my constant streak of bad luck. “Clearly, you’ve never owned anything worth keeping but this is Versace, you dick.”

I needed to go home before I burned this entire house down.

“Is that how you talk to people now?”

I let out a loud groan. “Oh fuck off, JJ.”

I shoved him away from me, before grabbing the skirt of my dress and heading into the nearest bathroom, which just so happened to be Rafe’s.

In reality, I just needed to get away from him. I needed my hands to be busy so that I couldn't grab his face and kiss him. Because I really wanted to do that.

The sound of footsteps have my eyes widening in panic as I take in my ruined dress. All because of that blonde asshole next to me, if he hadn’t showed up, I’d still have my tequila and my sanity.

“I wanted to talk.”

I made a noise at the back of my throat. That didn’t sound like JJ at all.

“Fine, whatever. Close the door.” I didn’t need a million other people to see me lose my shit. I was already at my quota for the day.

Jj stared at me with a confused look. “Close the door.” I nearly shout as the footsteps get closer but he moves just as quickly and slammed it shut, putting the lock in place.

“I just got this piece too.” I grumbled, huffing at the stained skirt. It was the Medusa 95’ Cut Out Mini dress in a stunning pastel pink. And now ruined with a beer stain from that horrible girl outside.

“I remember this one.” JJ spoke from behind me. Of course he did. He remembered everything I bought.

He always demanded fashion shows after all my shopping trips. He knew nothing about clothes but he always paid attention to me. He used to sit for hours while I prattled on and on about clothes.

“Unzip me?”

“I’m sorry?” He choked out, setting his beer down.

“I need to clean it before it stains. Unzip me.”

In hindsight, I was goading him. I wanted to see what he would do. I could tell he was already on edge since seeing me with Rafe. I wondered what a little push would do.

Neither of us moved for a beat. JJ puffed out a breath from his cheeks before he walked toward me slowly. I remained stock still, watching his every move in the mirror. “It’s not like you haven’t seen it all before.”

My heart fluttered at his nearness. Something I wanted since the minute he turned around and left. Home, I wanted my home back.

I jumped up at the feel of his warm breath against the back of my neck, goosebumps rising instantly. The tug of the zipper had me swallowing the lump in my throat. His other finger caressing every inch of skin, the zipper surrendered.

The sound of the zipper stopped but he never dropped his hand. Instead, I watched as JJ swallowed before lifting his head, those storming blue eyes connecting with mine in the mirror.

I stood on my Magda Butrym Appliquéd satin sandals and a flimsy pair of tiny panties.

“I feel like this is a test.” I watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.

“Is it?” I mused, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“Yeah and I’m failing.”

The pads of his thumb brushed along my bottom lip, dragging it down slowly. My lips parted as a soft whimper escaped.

“You’re still so beautiful, it hurts.” He murmured, almost angry with the revelation.

Blistering hot satisfaction dripped over me.

JJ’s other hand grazed my bare back, the contact immediately chasing my back to arch. Sparks of sensitivity erupted from my skin as my body trembled with hot desire.

His hand moved higher, gripping onto my hair before wrapping the long strands around his hand, tugging my head back, demanding my attention.

He stared at me with heavy lids, eyes like ocean blue blades. My body began to heat up.

JJ’s eyes dropped back to my lips causing me to the lick them quickly. He backed me up against the Jack and Jill sink, my back resting against the cool granite counter.

I blinked slowly, making the decision for him, angling my head up and smashing my lips to his.

A groan ripped from his chest as he met my kiss with the same crippling desperation. His rough hands dropped from my face to my hips, his nails digging crescent shaped marks in the skin.

My legs began to slightly shake as his tongue finally brushed against mine. Oxygen was something neither of us needed as we fed off each other's energy.

His tongue licked and twirled around my own, another moan vibrating between us. JJ’s large hand trailed up skin, goosebumps appearing in its wake, before locking around my throat.

His grip was strong, not enough to cut off my oxygen but enough to garner my attention. He pulled me up to my tippy toes by my neck, my nipples brushing against the rough fabric of his shirt making me gasp at the contact. His mouth clashed with mine once more, his lips wrapped around my tongue, sucking gently before pulling back and biting out a curse.

My hands were desperate as they began to unbutton his shirt quickly, pushing the fabric off his shoulders. JJ whipped off the shirt just as my hands began reaching for his shorts, my fingers fumbling with the button.

The laugh he let out was devastating. His smile was purely lethal for my heart. “We got all the time in the world, princess.”

My stomach clenched at the nickname he gave me all those years ago. But, we didn’t. We both knew this moment would end the minute we came to our senses.

JJ unbuttoned his pants and dropped them in one smooth movement before pressing his warm body against mine once more.

“Up, baby.” My arms wrapped around his neck immediately, my nose grazing his. JJ gripped my thighs tight as he placed me on top of the counter.

He rested the palm of his hands on either side of me, enclosing my frame, daring me to move. JJ leaned down, his lips leaving phantom kisses along my collarbone, nipping as he went along. He stopped at the swell of my breasts, both hands encasing my heavy aching breasts before pressing them together.

He pressed scorching hot, open-mouthed kisses on every inch of exposed skin. His tongue pressing against my swollen nipples before closing around one and giving a strong suck. I was a mess beneath him, my chest heaving with heavy pants.

He nipped and tugged at the soft flesh of my breasts, leaving small purple love bites scattered on my chest. He pressed a kiss on each one, a pleased hum echoing within the bathroom.

JJ dropped to his knees slowly, each hand running down my bare legs. I wanted to see him.

I leaned back on the palm of my hands and arched my back in a teasing invitation. Pulling my legs from his grasp, I propped my feet up on the counter, but kept my knees bent, the tops touching.

The utter obsession that painted his face had me biting down on my lip hard enough to draw blood. “Please, Jayj.”

He stood stock still, similar to a statue. It looked like he almost stopped breathing as I slowly pushed my knees apart. I was drenched, I could feel myself soaking the skimpy fabric of my thong, my thighs glistening with the evidence of my arousal.

JJ’s eyes went black, locking in on my wet pussy before jumping back up to me. His hands found my thighs and roughly dug into the skin to keep my legs from closing.

He leaned forward, his index finger hooking the front of my thong before curling the fabric and tugging it up roughly between my lips. “Fuck.” I mewled, watching as he pressed his face between my legs and inhaled deeply.

I could feel my clit throbbing, needing to be touched. With one more tug, JJ slaps the side of my thigh, having me lift my hips up to take the last piece of fabric off my body. An insatiable grin formed on his face that went straight to my clit.

The first touch onto my lips had my hips shooting off the counter, his touch like electricity. He blew a breath against the aching skin, his hot mouth watering at the sight of me. Two fingers pushed apart my drenched folds, rubbing against the sensitive skin again and again, turning me into a mindless puddle.

He smirked at my trembling legs. “You okay, baby?”

“Fuck off.” I responded through gritted teeth, trying to gather myself.

He dipped forward, gathering saliva before slowly spitting it out, the stream of spit pattering against my spread lips. The sound was obscene.

“That’s not very nice.”

Tears of frustration began to build up as I discarded my hands into those loose blonde strands, knocking his hat off. “You love it.”

The grin he sent me was feral and I knew this was exactly what I needed. “I sure do, princess.”

He enclosed his mouth against my swollen clit and sucked roughly, a loud shout erupting from the depths of my chest. JJ parted my lips again, forcing his tongue inside and out, again and again, devouring every inch of my pussy.

My cunt clenched against his tongue making him moan loudly. My body was burning as he swirled his tongue along the bundle of nerves once more. Another cry left me as I tried to find something to grab onto. His tongue lapped up all the fluids that continued to come out and I found myself forgetting how to breathe.

I pushed his face deeper, grinding against his nose that continuously rubbed against my clit, my fingers tugging at his hair, needing a release. The knot in my lower stomach began to tighten as I whispered his name again and again like a prayer. The sound of my breathy pleas spur him on as he slipped two fingers in my pussy, meeting no resistance.

The squelching noises had me throwing my head back against the mirror which had begun to fog up. I clenched around his large fingers that rubbed against my sensitive walls wanting him to lose control.

JJ curled his fingers upward causing my knees to buckle and my mind go blank. I was close and he knew based on the tremors the shook my legs. I could barely hold myself up as everything went fuzzy.

A choked moan escaped my lips that curled into a ‘o’ as his mouth sucked that rigid spot of flesh while his fingers continued to hammer into me. The invisible band snapped and as a wave of pleasure washed over me. My body finally began to relax as I tried to catch my breath, my chest rising and falling dramatically.

I spared a glance at him. JJ’s eyes were low, eyes pitch black and glued to my face, and his cheeks flushed red. He looked pussy drunk.

“Looks like I have to clean you up.” He mumbled against the flesh of my thighs. My eyes rolled to the back of my head as his hot tongue began to catch all the arousal that dripped down my thighs. I was sensitive and tried to move back, but his hands locked around my thighs to keep them open. Shives forced their way up my spine as he lapped all my fluids up, humming as he went along, not leaving one bit of skin untouched. JJ pressed one last kiss before pulling back and licking his lips.

My heart hammered through my chest and vaguely though my haze of pleasure did I hear a murmur.

“Huh?” I felt him smile against my thigh, clearly finding my delirious state funny.

“Barry, man, have you seen her?” Rafe’s voice drifted under the door.

I froze at the sound of his voice, my eyes darting to JJ who just smirked from his spot between my legs.

“She’s right here, man.” JJ whispered, straightening up to press a kiss on the crown of my head. I shook my head at him, my eyes wide with a silent plea, but JJ disregarded it.

“She’s a little busy at the moment.”

I shook my head, pressing my palm against his mouth, his next words coming out muffled. He never knew when to shut up. The last thing I needed was Rafe finding us in his bathroom.

I kept my hand on JJ’s mouth until footsteps faded and we were alone once again.

JJ nipped at the palm of my hands, his tongue slipping out. My face screwed up as I let out a squeal, “Ew, Jayj.”

“Shouldn’t have tried to shut me up to protect your boyfriend’s feelings.” He said the words lightly, but I could hear the slight edge in his tone.

Pushing him off my softly, I hopped off the counter with shaky legs. “Since when do you care about Rafe’s feelings?”

I winced as I tried to take a step, my knees nearly knocking together from the aftershock. JJ always left me a shaking disheveled mess afterwards, but I felt lighter, because he was looking at me the way he used to.

And, I wanted that to last just a bit longer.

“I don’t care about his feelings-“ He scoffed, before pausing at the teasing smile on my lips. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Too easy.” I let out a shriek of laughter as JJ's arms wrapped around my waist, lifting me up in the air.

That was how I found myself sweaty, pressed against Rafe’s sheets, struggling to breathe. The violent sound of skin slapping echoing in the room, my raspy moans intertwining with his hot pants.

One of JJ’s hands gripped the back of my head, pinning me to the mattress, the other pushing down on my back, forming a deep arch, to pull his cock in deeper.

I couldn’t register anything he was muttering as he bottomed out since of me, my mind go blank. My walls spasmed against him with each rut of his hip, sucking him back in every time he pulled back.

I was soaked, my pussy dripping around him. The sopping wet noises spurring him on, his pace quickening with those deep purposeful strokes.

I couldn’t focus on anything but him. The smell; the feel of him. The way his cock continued to brush against my cervix made me borderline delicious.

“Fuck,” JJ shuddered, rolling his hips in and out of my pussy had me clamping around him once more, a tidal wave beginning to build up inside me.

I whimper left me, the coil in my stomach pulling tight as I searched for a release. The tip of his cock pressed into me repeatedly, forcing my legs to shake once more.

My hands searched for something to hold onto as I tried to anchor myself from being drowned in pleasure. “J. J, I-I cant-I’m gonna-“

I felt his pace begin to pick him, his cock twitching inside me as he continued his movements, grinding his hips against the globes of my ass, until there was no space between us.

It was like he was imprinting himself into my skin. Like he didn’t want me to forget him.

As if I could ever forget JJ Maybank.

My whines got louder, his words becoming more and more depraved. His large calloused hands ran all over my body like he was etching it to memory.

Quick and quiet gasps bled from my parted lips, as he hammered into me from behind, his hands lacing with mine against the sheets.

The coil in my stomach snapped, white flash blinding my vision, this orgasim more intense than the first. I could feel myself coating his hips and upper thighs, fluids dripping on the sheets.

I could hear JJ’s voice whine, he began to babble nonsense under his breath, with each languid thrust.

My heartbeat was in my ears as I pushed my hips back to match his thrusts, wanting him to finish despite all my sensitivity coming to head. His nails dug my hips, my cunt suffocating as he continued to grunt his cock into me.

“Fuck, Kiara.” His grunt echoed in the room.

Kiara?

I went numb. I couldn’t breathe-I couldn’t, I needed-

Bile coated my throat as whatever childish hope I had shriveled up in my chest. So I laid there, not knowing what to do, as JJ continued to pump in and out of me, but the soft intimacy we shared before dissipated.

Why did no one ever pick me? Why didn’t anyone want me?

I let my body go limp even though everything in me wanted to shove him off, but I just couldn’t get myself to move.

That was all it took for JJ to realize the slip of his tongue. JJ froze behind me as I shoved my face into my arms and choked on a gut wrenching sob.

“Fuck, I-hold on,” JJ’s panick was audible as he slowly pulled out of me. I cupped my mouth to try and muffle the scream I wanted to let out.

His blue eyes widened in horror at his mistake but it was too late. The words were already burned into my mind, replaying on a torturous loop.

JJ’s hand reached out for me, but I shrank back, scrambling to the headboard, desperate to put distance between us.

I curled into myself, pressing my back hard against the headboard, willing for myself to disappear.

“What did you just call me?” My chin wobbled. I tried to remind myself to breathe but with each inhale, my lungs were saturated with pain.

“I-That was an accident.” He stuttered, raking his hands through his hair roughly.

“Get out.”

“It just slipped out, I didn’t mean it.”

“Get the hell out, JJ.” I yelled, and pointed at the door with a shaky finger.

Like I said, his words never dented me, no they completely destroyed me. They cut me like a freshly honed razor blade.

And I was going to die of blood loss if I didn’t get him to leave this room. He had no problem leaving me then, why was he fighting it now?

Was he thinking about her the whole time he was inside me?

Thought after thought haunted me. Was he comparing our bodies? Was he comparing the sex?

Mortification had my stomach churning as I debated what to do next. My body was wound tight, on the verge of hyperventilating.

Did he love her? Did he love her like he used to love me? Did he fuck her the way he fucked me?

I hated him. Before him, none of these thoughts would have crossed my mind. I may have been alone but at least I liked who I was. I never would have questioned myself the way I am now. But after him, the only thing I hated more than him was myself.

“Was Kiara not available,” I murmured, “so you came to the one person you knew would say yes?”

JJ didn’t find my joke funny. The air was tense, as if we were trapped in a steamed up bathroom, making each breath harder than the last.

“Kie and I aren’t together.”

“JJ, you know where the door is. Use it.”

“I don’t want to leave.” He shook his head, his eyes flickering with something heavy.

“You had no problem doing it before.”

“That was-“ JJ squeezed his eyes shut, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

He shuffled closer to my body, but still wasn't touching me. I nibbled on my bottom lip and wiped the remaining tears from my cheeks hastily.

“I’m sorry.” He said, clearing his throat. “I am so so sorry.”

I lost my grip completely as those eyes perverted mine. His eyes were so blue, it was easy to get lost in them.

Words couldn’t find their way out of my mouth. With wary eyes, I watched as he stood up and disappeared in the bathroom before appearing again with his shirt.

JJ reached for me before pausing, his eyes asking a silent question. I nodded, forcing myself to loosen the grip I had on the sheets.

I let him put the shirt on me, its protection better than the flimsy sheet. JJ dropped his head on my chest, his tan arms wrapped around my waist, curling himself into me.

“I’m sorry.”

I was sorry too. I waited for months for him to be back in my arms, but he ruined every independent thought I had. I couldn’t stop the overthinking. I couldn’t stop the pain.

I was hurting too, but I was the one comforting him. I was always the one comforting him. What about me?

I laid on the soft sheets and stared up at the ceiling. Our heavy breathing echoing in an otherwise silent room. His heavy arm tossed over naked torso, his fingers softly tracing the curve. The whisper of his breath caressing the nape of my neck where his face was buried. The familiar tickle of his golden strands brushing against my nose, his coconut shampoo wafting my senses.

The JJ induced haze began to clear up and the ugliness began to set in.

A single tear escaped my eye, its trailing burning it’s way down the side of my face. I loved him. Even after he willingly abandoned me. After he humiliated me in front of everyone. After he called me her name.

I couldn’t cut him out. It didn’t matter what he did to me, the minute we’re within the same vicinity, my self preservation disappeared. Then I was left, treading water in the middle of a storm, with nothing but a life jacket.

I had no one to blame but myself in this situation. I knew how he spoke to me, how easily he left me, how embarrassed he was of me. But he just smiled and it was like everything melted away.

I so badly wanted to feel again, but not like this.

So all I can do is lay here. In this bed. With a boy who made me hate the kind person that I was.

I made my bed. I didn’t realize this was how I’d feel when I lied in it. I turned into someone I hated. And suddenly I was bone-tired, exhaustion suffocating my lungs. I had no idea who I was and I was tired of being someone I wasn’t.

“Where are my clothes?” I said. God, I needed to leave this room before Rafe found me.

“I wasn’t really focused on that part, babe.” JJ mumbled, burrowing himself deeper into my side.

My stomach lurched. I thought I’d feel different. I thought that maybe this would fix everything. That in some deluded way, we would get back together and everything else didn’t matter. Like he didn’t leave me standing at the party after stomping on my chest.

“I need them.” I mumbled. I choked down the need to throw up. The feel of our sweat coating my body and his soft breaths against my skin had me almost hyperventilating.

Home, he used to be home. But, I’ve never felt like more of a stranger than in his arms right now. This was no longer my home.

Kook pussy. Daddy issues.

I fucked up. Fuck, I fucked up.

This only made me feel worse. I was good enough to fuck, but not enough to stay.

“What are you in such a hurry for?” His fingers paused their persistent movement.

“I have to get back-“

“To who?” JJ snapped.

I moved to sit up, dragging the sheet with me as I avoided his gaze. “You know who.”

He didn’t need to know that Rafe and I basically ended. I just wanted him to hurt in the same way I did.

He let out a scoff. “You can’t be serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“This isn’t like you-“

“You left. You don’t know who I am anymore.”

“Clearly,” he chuckled under his breath, “But suddenly Rafe does?”

I shrugged. “He’s my friend.”

“I don’t give a fuck who he is-“

I tuned him out. I was too busy trying to get his actual voice out of my head.

Kiara. Not me. Kiara. Not me.

It had taken every bit of strength to not chase after him that day. To not call and text, begging for him to give me the time of day. And I know, I know I should be stronger. I know I should have said good riddance and moved on, but love was never simple.

When I saw him tonight, I thought that maybe it was fate. So all the waiting, all the practice of self control paid off because he came back. But, was this what was waiting for me?

“You slept with me,” I said, “ but you’re thinking about her?”

I didn’t want to know the answer, but I had to ask it. It was just one of a million questions I had since the day he walked away. Was there something I could have done differently?

I was wracking my brain to see where I had gone wrong, but maybe I just fell in love with the wrong person.

“From what I hear, you don’t care about anything these days. Why would you care about this?” I couldn’t detect any emotion in his words, just cold hard facts.

I really was out here exceeding everyone’s expectations of me.

But, he had to know that when it came to him, I always cared too much. That’s why his words caused another jagged piece of my heart to puncture my chest.

“Why would I care?” I whispered, shaking my head at him. “Are you listening to yourself?”

Had I deluded myself so much into thinking we experienced the same love in our relationship? How could he even question that. Everything I did was always for him.

“I care about you, that never changed.”

Something pained flickered through his gaze. “Care about me? Yet your fucking Rafe Cameron.”

“You’re mad about that?” I choked on a humorless laugh,”Let me jog your memory real quick since apparently you’ve got amnesia, you were the one that told me to be with him.”

“Well, I didn’t think you’d actually do that to me.”

I threw my arms up in the air, exasperated,”Then why say it at all? Wait, I forgot who I’m talking to. You’re the king of saying shit you don’t mean.”

“Saying shit and actually doing it are two different things.”

“Well, you did do it Jayj.” My lungs hitched.

His jaw tightened, tension seeping out of him in waves.

“You left. You did the one thing you promised you’d never do. You didn’t even look back as you did it.” I shouted, tears blurring my vision as my body continued to shake from adrenaline. “All because what? Rafe hurt your feelings? Because I have more money than you?”

I wanted to understand him. I thought I did once, but the more I thought about our breakup the more I saw it had nothing to do with me. And everything to do with him.

“Do me a favor and grow up. This is the real world. You’d swap places with any one of us in a second if you could.”

JJ narrowed his eyes. “I don’t want any part of your world. I thought I made that clear.”

“I’m aware. But I was there, remember? For every bonfire, for every boat ride with you and your friends. What was it you guys said again?” It rushed out of me, “to going full kook?”

He watched me stoically, his fingers tugging at his bracelets.

“I guess you’re the only one that can have the money in the relationship?” I raised my eyebrow at him, waiting for him to respond.

The beautiful blonde boy that seeped into my bloodstream and made me love him. But, ruined us in the process. He destroyed everything he touched.

He pressed the heel of his palms against his eyes,

“What happened?”

“You want to know what happened? You fucking happened.”

That familiar anger flared in his eyes and I knew exactly what he was going to do. What he always did to me, but this time, I wasn’t going to let him erase me. Not again.

“Let’s talk about who you turned into?” JJ spat vehemently. “What? Rafe buys you a nice purse and you’re suddenly snorting lines of coke?”

“It was actually a couple purses.”

JJ shot daggers at me. “So what? You’re proud of that?” No, I only wanted someone to care about me if I died.

“I’m only doing what you told me, I’m sorry you don’t like the person you turned me into.”

I didn’t like her much either. But, JJ never gave me more and I realized he would never give me more, no matter how much I pushed. No matter how hard I tried to get him to see that I was the one he should be with.

It pained me that it took all of this for me to realize that there were parts of JJ he would never let anyone have.

“Why are you still here?” I said quietly. “I’m not going to let you sit here and make me feel like shit for how I chose to cope with what you broke.”

I was done giving the men in my life power over me. I needed to stand on my own two feet even if that meant I had to do it alone.

“Feel like shit?” JJ nodded his head with mock outrage,” Princess, you just let me fuck you in your boyfriend’s bed. I think you feel like shit already.”

He was right, but I still recoiled back at the venom he spat at me. I sagged with exhaustion. He was just lashing out the way he always did.

“I didn’t know, JJ.” My voice cracked. “I-I didn’t know. I just did what I thought I was supposed to do.”

JJ’s head snapped up at the waver in my voice. His ocean eyes showed a clear battle, one I knew he’d lose. “S-Sometimes it just felt like I wasn’t good enough.”

His confession broke me. I knew the thoughts that ravaged his brain only because those same thoughts now drown in mine.

My fingers twisted the hem of the shirt that my body was swimming in, a nervous tic I never got rid of. “But I never said that to you, you listened to everyone but me. You were more than enough.”

A tortured look passed his face, like the obvious miscommunication had disrupted everything. “I thought I was being paraded around to prove a point.”

I roughly wiped the tears that kept falling, “It’s okay to not want to struggle for everything in your life, JJ. You were exhausted and I just wanted to help you.”

“I didn’t know. I-just didn’t know.” I continued to repeat. And I didn't. I had no experience with love. I wanted him to have the world since he was born with less than most people I knew, yet he deserved so much more.

“You let your friends help you, I don’t understand how I was any different.”

His blonde hair was sticking up in multiple directions, a clear sign of his obvious distress. "Because they’re my family."

Irremediable sorrow burrowed in my chest. "But, I was your family too."

I felt layers of grief his me in waves, quick and hard, one after the other as I came to terms with the fact that JJ never considered me any part of his family.

"You were the only family I ever had. I thought I was your family.” I sniffled, my ribs began to ache from the constant crying.

A loud crack had me jump back as Rafe bursted into the room, chest heaving from exertion. He paused, his eyes locking in on the messed up sheets before dragging over to me and scanning my disheveled appearance.

I thought we hit a milestone. JJ finally started talking and letting me know exactly what was going on in that brain of his. And maybe, that would be enough for me, for now. This all happened because JJ didn’t know how to communicate and I knew that wasn’t his fault, but at one point he needed to grow up.

I was willing to hold his hand while he did it. But I watched as JJ’s eyes clocked the necklace Rafe wore with my initials. His gaze narrowed at the purse in his hand and my car keys in the other.

The jealousy was evident in the way he rolled his shoulders back, his face granite. “Cute necklace.”

Rafe smirked, tilting his head to the side. “Thanks. It looks even better swinging in her face.”

JJ’s cool demeanor dropped, his blue eyes darkened into a brewing storm. “Enjoy my seconds, bro.” He clapped Rafe on the chest.

My heart popped in my chest at his words, another bandage would do little to fix the shards that once resembled a heart. And, I knew then, that JJ confirmed the conclusion I just came to myself.

“JJ?”

“What?”

“You were right. I do deserve better than you.”

Loving him cost me something much greater: myself.

I couldn’t continue to hide myself in any man that told me pretty words. I was no longer my own person, just a mere extension of them. One that they treated poorly and only took out when they were bored. I was always willing to do what they would never do for me.

I was just a girl, in love with an extraordinary boy who couldn’t see past all the things he was not.

I walked over to where Rafe was, forcing myself to remember his cruel words also. It was the only way I could get myself to walk out of here. My eyes lingered on the necklace for a second before I pulled my keys from his grasp and grabbed my purse.

I wore nothing but JJ’s shirt, but at the moment I couldn’t care less. I left my clothes in Rafe’s bathroom, deciding it was better to leave them then spend another second in either of their soul sucking presence. I could always buy another dress.

I couldn’t buy another me. Not if I kept letting these boys break me.

This time, I was the one that never looked back.

Side note: I WROTE THIS THREE TIMES so pls pls pls be nice to me. I tried to incorporate a lot of people's ideas. I know the OC is very wishy washy but she's so real for that.

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cinnaminsvga · 1 month

Text

Harana | Jungkook

harana (n.): the act of wooing someone by serenading them

→ summary:

Unwilling to settle down with you after five years of dating, Jeon Jungkook decides to break up to chase after his dreams. In the aftermath, you leave your hometown, desperate to forget your past and relearn what it means to be on your own. Two years later while on your way to work, you pass by a familiar voice singing songs about a girl he had left behind.

{or alternatively: Jungkook still sings the love songs that he wrote for you. He still means them, too.}

→ genre: busker!au, exes to lovers, angst, humor → warnings: jimin is insane and kinda crude (he has some issues going on), jungkook is a pathetic wet bunny but he's trying his best, oc has So Many Problems, so much arguing and yearning, ambiguous ending??? but my god there is hope!! the humanity of it all!! → words: 16.1K → a/n: HOLY SHIT IM BACK (kinda) and happy new year!! yeah ok its march but im relearning how to form coherent sentences so be patient ;w; this is the first installment of my hfoh series that i teased a LONG time ago... i made it a resolution to complete this series by the end of the year before i kms (Keep Myself Safe) so here's to a brand new year :D (oh god @ universe pls be kind)

part of the “heart full of hugot” series

Two days before the incident, your shower nozzle decides to explode.

Okay, you have to admit that statement is a little misleading. Shower nozzles, in all its nonsentience, do not randomly decide to explode no matter how much you try to defend yourself to your landlord. Maybe your grip had been a little too harsh that morning, or maybe hanging 5 pounds of hair products on the handle had been a bit too much for the old sport to handle. Or maybe, just maybe, the universe was warning you about the incident.

Whatever it was, it doesn’t erase the fact that your shower would be out of commission for the next week or so (though your landlord seems adamant about prolonging your suffering as long as possible). Until then, you’re going to have to find some other ways to keep the grease and grime from building on you. Heavens know that you already have a thriving ecosystem living in the back of your couch—you don’t need another one growing under your armpits.

Lucky for you, you have friends. More importantly, you have friends who have showers. There is one problem though—all your friends live on the other side of the country.

It’s been two years since you moved to the Big City™️, but you have done little to grow your social network. Call it introversion or depression, either way, you have no more contacts on your phone than you did when you left your hometown. Well, except for one person, if you could even consider him one. Frankly, you didn’t have a choice.

“Welcome to my humble abode, stinky,” Jimin greets you as you enter his house. Your nose is instantly assaulted by the smell of Bath & Body Works® Sweet Pea, reminding you once more why you didn’t consider him a friend.

“Hey,” you reply gruffly, shucking your ratty shoes near his entrance. Your shoes look incredibly out of place amidst the sea of designer Chelsea boots and a singular pair of thigh-high heels. You take a glance at his living room, already feeling worse about yourself tenfold.

You had met Park Jimin by complete accident, much like how his mother probably felt when she first saw him too. You had never known anyone quite as… interesting as him, to put it lightly.

When you got your job as a hostess for a luxury bar and restaurant, you figured you wouldn’t make many friends with your coworkers. Everyone was so… pretty, but in the shiny, untouchable sort of way. Almost all of the servers were as gorgeous as the models you’d see in magazines. You hadn’t known that the owners only hired a certain “demographic” of people for their restaurant, and you were equal parts flattered and disgusted that you’d somehow made it (though you suppose your bullshitting skills were all to thank).

Unsurprisingly, even the bartenders were gorgeous, including one Park Jimin. He did have an aura to him that screamed “I’m a cut above the rest and I know it,” but that could just be the gold chains dripping down his neck. You almost mistook him as one of the patrons who mistakenly made his way behind the bar, and knowing the sort of clientele you’ve had to deal with so far, you wouldn’t have been surprised. It took a couple of weeks before you finally found out who he was (and what his fucking problem was).

Jimin was a part-time bartender with a full-time job as a bitch a self-made entrepreneur. Which is to say, he sold… tasteful photos of himself on the internet. You had nothing against his line of work. In fact, you would go far as to say you didn’t give a shit what he did outside of your shared workspace. But if there’s one thing Jimin is, it’s that he hates being ignored.

So when you were adamant about not oohing and aahing at everything that makes Park Jimin perfect, he made it his self-appointed mission to befriend you. Or at least that’s what he claims, but given how he treats you lesser than the shit that cakes his cheeks, you have a lot of doubts. Perhaps he’s never made an effort to make a friend, hence his inexperience with being a decent human being. Or perhaps he’s just an asshole, but who is to say? The point is: he’s the only person you knew in this godforsaken city who would likely allow you to use his shower without being awkward about it and that’s that.

The worst part about being an acquaintance with Park Jimin was that he lived in the richest area of Downtown but he wasn’t old money, that’s for sure. His entire essence screamed overconsumption, and his myriad of little trinkets littered across his apartment confirmed your previous assessment. You wouldn’t be surprised if you opened his freezer and found ten types of ice sorted assorted by color and shape like the extra bitch that he was.

He made his money through sheer force, and it would have impressed you if he wasn’t, you know. Him.

“Bathroom is over there. I placed a towel and other shower amenities that you can borrow,” he says pointing to a door with a large “FART ZONE: ENTER WITH CAUTION” sign taped to it. You don’t ask.

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You wait patiently for his out-of-pocket comment.

Like clockwork, Jimin smirks. “Sure thing. I gave you the super heavy-duty stuff. Figured you’d burn a hole through my expensive towels with how stinky you are, with your yeasty cu—”

“Aaaand I’ll be done in a few minutes. Thanks again Jimin,” you interrupt, making your way to the bathroom and slamming the door with as much force as you can muster. You hear something fall as the door shuts, and you vaguely hear Jimin mutter something about his “fart zone” signage.

You begin to prepare your shower routine, humming lowly as you go about your business. You try to ignore the suffocating scent of ten million diffusers entering your nostrils, wondering for the umpteenth time if Jimin is suffering from long-term olfactory dysfunction.

“Focus, Y/N. The quicker you shower, the quicker you can get the fuck out of here,” you whisper to yourself. However, in your haste, you knock over Jimin’s towel by accident. When the towel falls, a sheet of sandpaper slips out from underneath it, and you stare bemusedly until it finally hits you.

“YOU ARE SUCH A LITTLE BITCH!”

From behind the door, you can hear Jimin’s infamous cackle. “Did you find the loofah? I got it just for you, darling!” he shouts back through his laughter, and you just grumble back in response. How on earth no one has strangled him to death, you have no idea.

“Whatever. I’m gonna shower now! Go beat off or whatever the fuck you do in your spare time,” you grouse, stripping as quickly as possible.

When the first droplets of water hit your body, you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. You had both anticipated and dreaded going to Jimin’s house, but you desperately needed the shower. So you go through your routine, trying to find some semblance of relaxation throughout the process. However, it seems that Jimin was yearning for a little bit of attention as he chose to recline on the other side of the door and chat your ear off. Peace was never an option, it seems.

“Hey, Y/N! So why haven’t I seen you at work recently?” Jimin hollers from his living room. Despite the wall separating you, his voice manages to retain its volume.

You squirt a large glob of Jimin’s (expensive) conditioner onto your hands. “What do you mean? I go to work every day. You were the one who hasn’t been clocking in.”

You can hear Jimin scoff. “Um, correction! I went to work last Friday, which so happened to be your day off. If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed you were avoiding me.”

And right you are, you think. But instead, you say, “Yeah, what a coincidence. I’ll be back to my regular schedule on Monday, though.”

“So that means you didn’t see the Justin Bieber wannabe stationed outside the restaurant then?” Jimin asks, voice miffed. “The guy suddenly sat down by the entrance window and a whole damn crowd started to appear! The absolute nerve of these people—don’t they know Park Jimin was just past the doors?”

This provokes Jimin to go on his long epic soliloquy, which you’ve learned to drown out over the past two years. He could go on hour-long tirades if he wanted, and any interruption from you would just bounce off his nonfunctioning ears. And so, you allow his voice to fall to the back of your mind, similar to white noise if it wasn’t so grating.

However, this was likely your greatest mistake. If you hadn’t been so exhausted, or if Park Jimin hadn’t been so damn annoying all the time, or if the stars had aligned just right… Maybe you would have been forewarned about the incident. It’s as if the universe was screaming at you to pay attention, but alas… You were standing on the proverbial highway, unbeknownst to the incoming traffic because you had your metaphorical AirPods on.

So there you are, completely showered but none the wiser to your impending doom, naively looking to the future with unsuspecting eyes. Even if you had known of what was to come, would avoiding it even be possible? In hindsight, you suppose not, but you still kick yourself for being so blind. If only you’d steeled your heart, then maybe you wouldn’t have felt like vomiting in front of a crowd of innocent bystanders the very next day.

xxx

Monday comes and your shower still isn’t fixed. Jimin makes the benevolent gesture of allowing you to use his shower in the meantime, though you’ll only partake in his offer as minimally as possible. He does mention that he’ll need at least an hour’s notice, warning you about “accidental voyeurism.” You shudder to think of what sort of horror you might find if you did visit him without warning, and you pray for the continued well-being of your retinas.

On your way to work, you’re too busy watching cute videos of animals to notice the unusual flock of people idling close to your workplace. When you get closer, however, the growing commotion is enough to rip your gaze away from your phone, and the sight of the large crowd makes you stop in your tracks.

It is 4 pm and the usual line of waiting patrons should not start piling up for another three hours, so this confuses you more than anything. You shuffle closer, squinting at the crowd until you notice that they aren’t lined up at all; instead, they have congregated into a large circle, but you are too far to see what they are surrounding.

An accident? You worry, wondering if something terrible happened. You tiptoe above the heads of people, subtly moving forward to take a better look. Curse you and your curiosity. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself to see something grotesque or astonishing, but instead…

It’s worse.

Inching closer, you can begin to hear a soft thrumming of a guitar and a gentle singing voice that causes alarm bells to ring in your ears. The warm melody digs up old memories of a time long past: of ballads sung outside your childhood bedroom window, of promises whispered under Spiderman sheets, of tender caresses tucking stray hairs behind your ears… They flood your senses, but all you can feel is dread.

It can’t be who you think it is. You accidentally elbow a guy on your way to get closer, unsteadying his grip on his phone.

“Hey, watch it! I’m filming a totally not-staged TikTok over here!” He yells, but you can hardly pay attention to him when you feel unnaturally drawn to come closer, still.

You’re nearly at the front, with just a couple of teenagers standing between you and the (not-so) mysterious street performer. But the distance is enough, and your breath catches. You can see him—

Black hair partially hidden under a bucket hat. Boots bigger than Pangaea and a pair of eyes equally as large. Dark ink snaking down his arms, peeking out from under oversized sleeves. Piercings that could rival Park Jimin on a good day. He isn’t facing you, but you can still see his big doe eyes, gentle sloping nose, and pretty lips stretched into a handsome smile.

Your heart is thundering in your chest. This can’t be happening, you panic. After two whole years of rebuilding and reshaping yourself, relearning how to be yourself and not… not just his girlfriend.

Jeon Jungkook stands before you, busking in front of your workplace of all locations. The universe could not have been any crueler to you.

You—you had been known as nothing more than Jeon Jungkook’s high school sweetheart. Buried memories of snide comments from jealous teen girls fill your mind, reminding you of the time when you were coined a simple side piece to the main attraction. Decor, as they would call you. Nothing more than a girl who happened to snag Jungkook before people realized he was going to turn… hot. A hot guy who could sing. An inevitable chic magnet, as they would call him.

And now, years later after much therapy and soul searching, your worst nightmare is standing in front of you in the flesh. This is what you will eventually dub the incident.

At that moment, however, there is little to no time to dwell on naming this ongoing core memory. All you can feel is the adrenaline pumping through your veins, as well as the nausea rising up your throat. You stumble backward, blatantly shoving onlookers away as you struggle to find some air to breathe. In hindsight, you probably should have backed away as subtly as possible, but you hope that your dyed hair might be different enough that Jungkook wouldn’t know it was you if he had glanced your way.

Even when you stagger towards your work establishment, the walls cannot perfectly muffle his soothing singing. You can’t make out the lyrics to his song too well, but his unmistakable voice is hard to ignore. Working as a hostess, your station is also coincidentally as close to the door as possible for maximum torture.

This can’t get any worse, you think as your mind races with conflicting emotions. You thought you had moved on, thought you were past the pain and the memories, but seeing Jungkook again, unexpectedly, stirs up a storm of feelings you thought were buried deep. Anger, hurt, betrayal—all rush to the surface, threatening to overwhelm you.

But there is no time to unpack all that baggage right now. Time will continue to march on, and your job is still on the line. How can you have the time to have a mental breakdown when you were still living paycheck to paycheck?

But even as you try to push Jungkook out of your mind, his voice echoes in your ears, his image burned into your memory. It's as if the universe is laughing at your misery, reminding you that despite all your supposed growth, you are still just you.

Painfully and pathetically you.

As you struggle to pull yourself together, a familiarly loud voice rings outside the edge of your consciousness. “Hey, Y/N! Fancy seeing you here…” Jimin greets you, his usual jovial demeanor halting midway when he sees your panicked expression. He clears his throat, perplexed. “Umm… Are you alright there, girl? You’re looking a little pale.”

You do not even have the mental capacity to wonder why Park Jimin was miraculously early to his shift, nor why he seems genuinely worried for you. Rather, all you can do is wave him off and use what little time you have before the restaurant opens to steel yourself for hours of melodious torture.

“I’m fine, Park. You should get to work,” you grit out, wiping your sweaty palms on your uniform. Normally, Jimin would have teased you about the obvious wrinkles on your skirt.

“You’re not the boss of me,” Jimin huffs, always the contrarian. He thinks better of it, however, and softens his tone. “Are you feeling sick or something? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

You freeze, perhaps giving yourself away a little. “I’m fine,” you repeat.

“You know, if you refuse to elaborate, I’m going to have to retract your shower privileges,” Jimin taunts with a smirk.

You feel a migraine growing by your temple, making you wince. God, why must men be the source of all your problems?

“I’m just… a little annoyed by the busker outside the restaurant,” you eventually admit, trying to be vague. Unfortunately for you, Jimin hates beating around the bush and would never take your crap if he knows something is up.

Unable to withstand the weight of his unimpressed stare, you clarify, “He was someone I used to know, that’s all.” You aren’t going to be any more specific than that, though you imagine Jimin gets the picture. You zip your lips, hoping to whoever is causing you pain that Jimin would somehow let the matter drop and leave you to your misery.

You brace yourself for his onslaught of questioning to come, and… it doesn’t happen. Instead, when you glance at Jimin, he is mysteriously stone faced. You wait for him to speak for what feels like a few minutes, but he doesn’t show any signs of wanting to tease or ridicule you. He simply watches you with a pensive expression. You can barely stop yourself from staring back at him, slack-jawed at his silence.

Of course, you aren’t just going to question your luck, or what little you have at least. So, you stay silent back and fidget uncomfortably.

Finally, Jimin seems to snap out of his strange reverie. He fixes you with a bizarrely sympathetic grin, patting you affectionately on the back. “I see… Well, if you ever need a drink tonight, head over to the bar for a little sip. I got you covered,” is all he says in response before sashaying away.

That was so fucking weird. You want to chase after him, perhaps beat the truth out of him. Jimin is nothing but a scheming dick, and you aren’t about to let him roam free with such sensitive information about yourself. Just as you’re about to stomp his ass (perhaps to relieve some of the building tension from your weary soul), your manager pops his head from his office door.

“Y/N! Make sure you’re logged into the booking system. There’s going to be a party of 20 coming in about an hour,” he reminds you, shooting you an apologetic look. You nod back with a sigh, swiping the booking tablet from the hostess desk and scrolling through the logs. Sure enough, it is going to be a busy night despite being a Monday evening. Perhaps a little busier than usual, in fact.

Whatever. You will use whatever distraction you can get, and perhaps the approaching noise from the restaurant patrons will be enough to drown out the sound of his voice.

You aren’t religious by any means, but you pray to whatever higher power exists that Jeon Jungkook doesn’t somehow decide to enter the restaurant. Stay outside, you plead. Outside the restaurant and your life, if possible.

Throughout the evening, you do your best to push aside the memories that threaten to resurface. You greet customers with a smile, lead them to their tables, and ensure their dining experience is pleasant despite the anxiety poisoning your insides. It's a routine you've perfected over time, a shield against the chaos of your emotions.

As the night wears on, you can feel Jimin's eyes on you from across the restaurant. You sneak glances back at him, and you blanch at his pitying gaze. If the restaurant had been slightly less crowded, you would have flipped him off.

He’s probably enjoying my suffering, you think darkly. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction, you straighten up and do your best to appear more unaffected. Just as you do so, you can hear Jungkook perfectly hitting a soulful high note.

“I’m so sorry for thinking I was strong,” you whisper to the universe. “Forgive me for my insolence.” You clench your fist in anguish, ignoring the confused looks from the customers in front of you.

By the time your shift comes to a close, you are completely and utterly drained. You feel like a snail that has been continuously salted over the past eight hours, and you cannot help but cheer in relief when the clock finally strikes two in the morning. You have to wait for the last few diners to make their leave, but otherwise you are ready to let your bed swallow you whole.

You stand by your hostess desk, leaning your head against it with a defeated sigh. Jungkook’s voice had died down only a few minutes ago, and you hope that by this point he has mercifully left the premises. You want to take a peek to make sure, but just as you’re about to make your way to the door, you feel a hand on your shoulder stop you in your tracks.

“‘Sup, bitch.” Jimin still has that weird, pitying gaze pointed at you, though his words don’t match it. “Are you okay to go home alone tonight? I can bring your dumb ass home if you want.”

You shove his hand away, ready to bite his head off when you think better of it. If Jimin drives you home, then that lowers the chances of seeing Jungkook down to pretty much zero.

“You know what? Thanks,” you grouse. Jimin smiles at you winningly, and the image of it brings a shiver down your spine. You hit him, creeped out. “Hey. Stop that, will you? You’re being really weird?”

Jimin scoffs, crossing his arms. “Me? Weird? At least I don’t look like a damn firework ready to explode just because my cringelord ex-boyfriend is singing sappy love songs outside—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you seethe, stomping on his foot. He yelps in pain and slaps your shoulder in retaliation.

“Ouch! Watch your ogre feet! My shoes are worth twice your monthly rent I’ll have you know,” he bristles. He breathes deeply, likely finding his inner calm (which you doubt exists). “But because I’m so nice, I’ll ignore your earlier transgression and blame it on your underdeveloped amygdala.”

You don’t know what’s more surprising: the fact that Jimin knew what an amygdala was or that he was forgiving you in the first place. “Whatever. Let’s finish closing up and then head out. I’m exhausted.”

You make quick work of your task and when you’re ready to head out, Jimin is already waiting by the backdoor. He’s twirling his car keys with a finger and gestures for you to follow him. As you make your way to his car in the back parking lot, you catch sight of a lone figure standing next to a beat-up pickup truck. He’s leaning against it, his hands busy tuning a battered guitar.

Your breath hitches, and you immediately feel nauseous. Of course the incident has yet to end. The night is young, after all.

Jimin accidentally slams the backdoor closed, and the noise wrenches Jungkook’s attention away from his ministrations. Immediately, his eyes lock with Jimin before finally turning to you.

Your heart skips a beat as he gazes at you, your mind racing with a hurricane of emotions. You hadn’t expected to see him again so soon, especially not after the tumultuous encounter earlier in the day. What did you say earlier? That “the chances of seeing Jungkook was down to pretty much zero”?

The chances of seeing Jungkook is low, but never zero, your mind unhelpfully supplies.

There is a long period of awkward silence. Jungkook has his mouth slightly agape, his hand subconsciously lowering his guitar to rest against his truck. To your left, Jimin’s breathing quickens slightly. You, on the other hand, are trying your best not to projectile vomit in this damned parking lot.

Jungkook is the one who decides to break the delicate silence. “Is that you…?” he calls out hesitantly.

Don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my—

“Y/N,” Jimin interjects. His gaze is steel cold, uncharacteristic of the carefree boy. He slings an arm around your shoulders, gently nudging you towards his car. With your view still fixed on Jungkook, you miss the way Jimin shoots the other boy with a playful smirk. “C’mon, babe. Let’s go home.”

His words startle both you and Jungkook. “Wha—? Jimin?” you splutter, flushing at his flirtatious undertone. You want to curse him out for his strange behavior, but all the shock has left you mute.

Jimin all but shoves you into the passenger seat. But just as he’s about to slam the car door, you hear Jungkook call out your name. It’s fleeting and quiet, but you heard him crystal clear.

It breaks your spirit to hear him say your name. For a moment, you feel as though you are floating.

When was the last time he called your name? And so softly, too? If you could replay that moment over and over, would you be able to catch some signs of tenderness in his voice? When you close your eyes later that night, would your dreams show you that he had been gazing at you with yearning? Was any of it true?

As Jimin starts the car and pulls away from the curb, you steal one last glance out the window, only to find Jungkook staring at you with an arm outstretched. You continue to watch him until his figure disappears into the night.

You are quietly immersed in your own thoughts, the whirlwind of emotions intensifying your persistent migraine. Unaccustomed to silence, Jimin decides to give his unsolicited two cents, as per usual.

“Geez. Didn’t know you were into the whole starving artist type. If I’d known, then maybe I’d stop trying to brag about my fortune to you,” Jimin scoffs. “If loser buskers like him impress you, then maybe I should—”

“Would you shut the fuck up for once in your fucking life!” You explode, whirling to face him with a glare. Jimin has the audacity to flinch, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the road.

“What the fuck? Why the hell are you mad at me?”

“What the hell was that back there? ‘C’mon babe.’” You mimic his voice with a sneer. “Why on earth would you do that? Now he thinks that we…”

“Why do you care what he thinks? He’s your ex, remember?” Jimin cuts you off, but you can’t even refute him. He continues, “Figured as much. And judging by how spooked you’ve looked all day, I have to assume that he was an asshole, right? Why else would you accept my offer for a ride home if you really wanted to avoid seeing him?”

You shrink under his accurate assumptions. Damn, were you really that easy to read? “I… I mean, yeah but…” You clear your throat, still feeling wronged by him. “You didn’t have to act like a weird prick in front of him!”

Without warning, the floodgates burst forth. You begin to ramble, the thoughts that have been weighing you down pouring out of you in waves. “Jungkook was my ex, yeah. But he wasn’t an asshole. On the contrary, he was really sweet. The nicest guy in my school, at least. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, that sort of person. I dated him all throughout high school and he was a great partner.”

Jimin hums skeptically. “Then why the messy break-up?”

“It wasn’t messy!” You retort defensively.

“Could’ve fooled me!” Jimin snorts. “I also frequently act like a trembling kitten when I see my exes,” he says sarcastically.

You ignore him. “The reason we broke it off was because he wanted to pursue his dreams to become a singer after high school and I wanted to do other things. It was a mutual break-up! Honestly, I’m glad that we did. Too many girls wanted him and all the unwanted attention was getting on my nerves. I was glad to find a reason to end it all,” you explain, hoping you didn’t sound as shaky as you felt. What you said was mostly true, though you left out the important bits to yourself. Mostly to save some of your dignity intact. (Truthfully, you just didn’t want to admit things you weren’t ready to face.)

“Then if you’re so glad, why do you look like you wanted to shit yourself? It ain’t adding up,” Jimin fires back.

“It’s just—” you stammer, trying to find a reason why you were so bent out of shape after seeing him. “I-I was caught off guard, I guess. I knew he was pursuing his dreams to sing and all, so I expected him to leave the country. I wasn’t expecting to see him outside where I work, of all places,” you mutter lamely. You have your head bowed, biting your lips from the nerves. Again, you weren’t totally lying.

Jimin is silent for a moment, contemplating your admission. When he looks so calm like this, it’s hard to get a read on what he’s thinking. As Jimin speeds down the highway, the street lights illuminate his face in a strange way, and for once, he looks like a stranger. His steely expression makes you nervous, for some reason.

Eventually, he asks you a question you would never have expected. “And he just let you go?”

You pause. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Jimin huffs, irritated. “He just up and left without a fight? If I were him, I would have…” he trails off, his jaw clenching.

You don’t know where this Jimin came from. Under the moonlight, Jimin looks livid, but that can’t be right. Jimin, mad for you? Sure, you’ve seen his anger directed towards you, but this? Everything’s gotten so complicated, and you are just about ready to succumb to sleep and hope to wake from this nightmare.

The rest of the drive to your house is silent, save for the sounds coming from passing cars. Jimin pulls up to your apartment complex, his mysterious anger finally subsiding.

Just as you’re about to reach for the car door handle, Jimin places a hand on your shoulder. “Listen, Y/N. I’ll talk to management tomorrow morning. I know the manager well enough that I can probably convince him to do something about that ex of yours. He’s busking on private property, so it should be easy to get rid of him,” Jimin says, tone serious. He swallows, and for a moment you think he looks a little nervous. “If that’s what you want, I guess.”

His kindness scares you. You want to tease him, ask him where Mr. Bitchy and his $2000 Chelsea boots had gone. Anything to make this air of severe sincerity to abate. This new Jimin feels suffocating. But instead, you nod your head stiffly.

Jimin makes a pained expression for a moment, but it’s quickly replaced by his usual playful smirk. He slaps you upside the head, laughing heartily at your stunned face.

“Get some rest, babe. I’ll see you tomorrow evening,” he chuckles, reaching over to open the door for you. You scramble out into the cold city air, taking one last look back at him through his window.

He rolls it down, leaning forward to flash a toothy grin at you. “Hey, stop with all the angst, pookie. Wouldn’t want my favorite toy to get sick from overthinking. Who else would I bother at work if not you?”

You snort, both endeared and irritated in equal measure. He’s right. Everything was going back to normal tomorrow, you’re sure of it. You flip him off with a cheeky grin before making your way to your apartment.

Everything is going to be okay. Jimin says he’ll do something about it, and for whatever reason, you feel like you can trust him on this. Surely good fortune was soon to be upon you.

xxx

Jimin had texted you while you were still sleeping:

Spoke to Manager Jeong about your little problem. He said he’ll deal with him.

You breathe a sigh of relief, your body feeling significantly lighter. Your sleep last night had been tumultuous and restless. You feel more tired than you did when you went to bed, but all your weariness fades once you read Jimin’s text.

Once you make it to work, you find that management has gotten rid of Jungkook somehow. Added with the fact that your landlord has promised to look into repairing your shower (no guarantees, but you want to stay optimistic), today has been significantly better compared to yesterday. You even catch yourself humming as you set up your workstation, a small smile gracing your lips.

Jimin has a later shift this evening, and you find that you are somewhat disappointed for once. Your overwhelming gratitude is surely the only reason, otherwise you would never admit to wanting to see him at any given time.

You are in the midst of texting Jimin about all the good news when your manager passes by your desk. You are quick to pocket your phone away from his prying eyes, ready to defend that you aren’t slacking off… but his demeanor does not reveal any ire. In fact, he looks rather pleased for once.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jeong. What’s up?” you ask, suspicious. You instinctively fold your hands behind your back; it is a subconscious effort on your part to keep your distance from him. Something about your manager always gives you a bad feeling when he looks a little too happy.

He grins widely. “Everything is going splendidly, Ms. Y/N. In fact, I think today might just be our lucky day!”

Never during your time working here has his and your luck ever coincided. “Our lucky day?” you echo.

“Why, yes! I spoke with your lovely friend and coworker Jimin this morning,” he starts, and immediately your alarm bells ring. You don’t even bother correcting him about the ‘friend’ part like you normally would. He continues, “He gave me a brilliant idea about the busker who had been performing in front of the restaurant the past two days.”

You nod slowly, not quite understanding. “Yes… The busker has been quite… the spectacle,” you say carefully. Somehow, you know calling Jungkook a ‘nuisance’ would have been the wrong choice in this instance.

Manager Jeong beams. “Exactly! You must have noticed the amount of people we served yesterday despite being a Monday. Additionally, almost all of those new customers requested outdoor seating no less!”

You feel the world tilt on its axis. What is he on abou—?

“What are you talking about?” you exhale.

“Don’t you think it would be even better for business if we got that busker to perform inside the restaurant? Why, it’s a brilliant idea and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it first! Our live band has always been missing something special, and perhaps a vocal accompaniment is the exact answer to our problem! Think about it, the atmosphere would be…”

Manager Jeong continues to prattle animatedly about his plans to your unhearing ears. There must be static or cotton plugging your head because you cannot possibly understand anything he is saying. Jungkook? Inside? Performing at your restaurant? But Jimin said he had spoken to the manager about getting Jungkook away from you! None of this makes sense.

“That makes no sense,” you verbalize, unknowingly cutting Manager Jeong from his monologue. He halts in surprise, as if now just realizing you were standing there (much less capable of interrupting or disagreeing with him). When he snaps out of it, you sense that familiarly sinister aura emerging from him in waves. You belatedly realize he must have mistaken your outburst as antagonistic.

“Well, Ms. Y/N. Whether it makes sense or not, we have hired Mr. Jeon to perform live at the bar stage for the next four weeknights. If, for some unknowable reason, I am incorrect,” he pauses to emphasize his words, “then his services will be promptly terminated. However, judging by his popularity from simply standing out in the cold and singing silly love songs, I am sure that worry is unwarranted.”

Behind you, the telltale sound of the main door swinging open catches you even more off guard. You do not even have the chance to turn to face the newcomer, only managing to register the gust of cold wind that accompanies their entry.

And so, you hear him before you see him.

“Hello?” Jeon Jungkook greets quietly.

Even without turning, you can imagine how he looks, how he stands, how he feels, how he tastes—

Manager Jeong claps his hands gleefully. “Splendid timing! Speak of the devil…” The older man nearly skips towards Jungkook like a youthful school girl, accompanied by his uncharacteristic squeals of excitement.

You can feel his gaze on you, almost tangibly. With nothing but your shreds of dignity left intact, you force yourself to face him.

He’s still so tall, is all your mind can helpfully supply as you stand feet away from your high school sweetheart for the first time in two years. He’s still wearing the same bucket hat from the night before, semi-shielding him from view. Despite that, you catch a small flash of white graze his bottom lip as he chews the soft flesh nervously.

“Hi, Y/N.” He addresses you directly, completely overlooking your manager without a single glance. Despite his hat, he still has his eyes lasered on you, as if not quite believing you were there. You hate how his attention makes you shiver all the same.

Even though he ignored your manager (which would have been a major dispute had you done the same), Jungkook still receives a friendly handshake in return. “Mr. Jeon! I’m surprised you know Ms. Y/N, though I’m sure you must have spoken with her when she was escorting guests to the outdoor seating the other day.”

You had actually gotten your co-hostess to seat all the outdoor seatings yesterday, but you weren’t going to mention that.

Manager Jeong claps him on the back, inadvertently causing Jungkook to stumble forward closer to you. He looks up at you then, eyes bugging out of their sockets like a rabbit caught in a bear trap. You stagger backwards in turn, barely concealing the anxiety on your face. Oh fucking hell.

Your manager is none the wiser, of course. “Well, this makes my job much easier! Since you’re both acquainted, I’ll let Y/N show you the ropes. The band doesn’t start their set until later in the evening, but you’re free to take a look at the stage and other parts of our facility in the meantime,” he says, chuffed. Meanwhile, Jungkook looks like he’s been shot by a freeze ray.

Then, your manager points a sharper gaze at you. “Ms. Y/N, treat our super star well. I know you won’t disappoint me.”

Fucking superstar… You can only nod in defeat. “Y-Yes, sir…” you whisper, clenching your uniform with your fists. It is the only way to keep them from shaking like a leaf. You watch as his figure disappears behind his office door, leaving you to fend for yourself. Powerless, you train your gaze to the floor, unwilling to meet Jungkook’s eyes.

But the nerves are taking control of your body, screaming at you to eject, eject, eject!

“Sorry, I have to go to the toilet,” you splutter quickly, almost tripping over yourself on the way to the restroom. You dimly wonder if Jungkook is going to think you’re leaving to throw up, but you can’t find any self-respect left to care. All you need is air and space to breathe—preferably away from him.

You slam open the stall, hardly checking to see if anyone else is around before locking the door shut. You sit on the toilet, plant your face between your knees, and scream.

Should you go home and use sickness as an excuse? But even if you did, you still had shifts every weeknight. You would have to see him eventually. You can pray all you want that Jungkook will be fired by the end of the week, but even your delusional mind can never fathom the idea that anyone would willingly want to send Jeon Jungkook away. Plus, you remember that the regular band that plays at the restaurant has been wanting to get a singer to accompany them for ages, and you know just how damn affable he can be. They are going to love him, and you hate him for that.

It is clear to you that there is no other option:

You pull out your phone to quickly open up Indeed on your browser, frantically hunting for any openings that might fit your measly qualifications. However, you have to pause in your search to deliberate. Wouldn’t it be better to move out of the country? You had been so naive to think that moving cities was enough distance between you and Jungkook—going across the ocean is the obvious answer. Should you start up your Duolingo lessons again and hope that you can somehow survive in a different continent with only a few dollars to your name?

You shut your phone in despair. Whether or not your plans of escape are feasible or not, in the short term, you are stuck with having to suck it up and just learn to ignore your ex-boyfriend’s presence. Surely you can force out a fake smile or two, especially with how much practice you’ve gotten after working with unbearably entitled customers.

Taking a step outside of the restroom stall, you head to the sink to splash some cold on your face. You stare at the mirror, confronted by a girl who looks two seconds away from having a Netflix Original-esque meltdown. You rake your fingers through your hair, doing your best to look like you aren’t about to rush into incoming traffic. To no one's surprise, it doesn't work.

“Okay, I got this. Just pretend like he’s just some guy, because at the end of the day, he is just some guy,” you mutter to your reflection. She looks back at you unconvinced. “He may have broken my heart into little bite size pieces, but who cares! HE’S JUST A GUY!” You repeat the phrase over and over again like a lunatic, in a desperate attempt to cognitively alter your brain chemistry.

At that moment, one of the other stalls in the restroom creaks open, and a girl you recognize who works as one of the dishwashers walks out. You both have a silent eye conversation as she quietly studies your crazed expression and crumpled work uniform.

Eventually, she awkwardly clears her throat, pointing to the only sink in the restroom. “Uh, sorry to hear about your, uh, guy problem. Could I use the sink please?”

You hastily back away, allowing her to take your spot. You don’t even have the energy to apologize for your spectacle, just bowing sheepishly to her before making your way back to the main hall. If she rats you out to the rest of your coworkers, then that gives you another reason to move out of the country. Maybe you should consider a name change while you’re at it.

When you exit the restroom, you half expect Jungkook to be waiting for you by the door, but find that he isn’t anywhere nearby. He isn’t by your hostess station either, and you thank your lucky stars for once. Even if your manager had asked you to show him around, you’re sure that Jungkook can find his way around just fine. Plus, the stage is at the corner of the restaurant and is sufficiently far enough that you wouldn’t have to make eye contact with him if you were careful.

You don’t know which greater entity has been messing with your sanity these past few days, but you hope that they can show you mercy just once—a brief reprieve, if anything.

You clasp your hands in prayer. I’ll eat more vegetables, I’ll remember to floss, I’ll call my parents from time to time… Just please let me survive tonight.

“Remember, Y/N… He’s just some guy,” you reiterate through gritted teeth. If a passing coworker happens to overhear your demented chanting, then you pay them no mind.

You walk towards the entrance, flipping the sign to open. You feel like a video game character when you glance at the clock, which signals the start of your shift. You can imagine the red bold text hovering above your head: 8 more hours until freedom.

This is just like playing Five Nights at Freddy’s, except you’ve only watched the movie and you suspect your life is probably worse than whatever Josh Hutcherson had to survive through.

You take a couple heaving breaths to brace yourself for what will be the longest eight hours of your life. You’ll show Jungkook just how well-adjusted and mature you’ve become. You are a professional, and not even a boy with angelic vocals will make you crumble. After all, what’s the worst he can do?

xxx

He could, in fact, do a lot worse than you thought.

“I have many regrets being born at all,” you mutter bleakly, three hours into your shift.

Jungkook had started singing only an hour ago, so you had been filled with false confidence at first when the restaurant was filled with nothing but ambient chatter and soothing jazz music. You felt more and more confident as the minutes ticked by and your anxiety slowly melted away. You even forgot that he was somewhere in the back, likely warming up or whatever it is that singers did before a performance.

However, your brief moment of courage shatters almost immediately when Jungkook finally takes the stage.

At first, you did your best to tune out his voice, but it’s especially hard when whoever was in charge of the sound system decided to crank his volume to an excruciating level. You wanted desperately to grab some napkins and shove them in your ears, but you suspected that your customers (and manager) would be unappreciative of that gesture. And so there you lay, forced to wallow in Jungkook’s melodious singing like a criminal strapped to an electric chair.

But how much more pleasant an electric chair would be! Why on earth was Jungkook so adamant to sing sad love songs the entire time? Why couldn’t he be like his other singing contemporaries, who loved to write songs about getting bitches and making money? At the very least, even if he wasn’t quite a platinum selling artist just yet, surely he was constantly sharing beds with anyone he pleases? Couldn’t he sing about that?!

(In the back of your mind, you wonder if it would be less painful to learn that Jungkook has slept with multiple people… Because then, it would mean that he had moved on while you stood alone on your island, stranded and yearning.)

You didn’t want to think too deeply about his lyrics. However, you're only human. So when your mind barrier failed and you caught snippets of his singing, you noticed a pattern. There was always a girl in his songs. She was omnipresent, and Jungkook was always pleading for her. Begging and aching and wanting. But most all… he was always repenting. In every song, he always whispered a pious apology.

You feared what would happen if you turned around in those moments of weakness. You were terrified of admitting something, of letting words spill that had been trapped in your throat for the better part of two years.

Lucky for you, salvation comes in the form of one Park Jimin. Though, can you even count him as your savior when he had also inadvertently caused your demise?

Jimin doesn’t even have a shift today, so you’re more than surprised when his bright blonde head stumbles through the restaurant doors. His expensive coat is askew and his signature designer shades are nowhere to be found. He is panic incarnate—an expression you have never seen on his face before.

“Holy fuck,” he greets, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. His profanity startles the elderly couple waiting to be seated, their glares menacingly sharp. To his credit, Jimin doesn’t even seem phased.

In lieu of an answer, you gesture vaguely behind you. You can imagine how dejected you must look. “Holy fuck indeed,” you sigh.

It takes a moment for Jimin to regain his bearings. He straightens up and pats down his coat, but his hair is still tousled by the wind. If not for the fact that he has a car, you might have thought he had run all the way here.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t know this was going to happen,” he starts, genuinely remorseful. “I texted Manager Jeong this morning and he said he’d get your ex to leave, but I didn’t think he’d offer the damn bastard a job!”

“Mind your language, Park. I’m still at work,” you scold. You try your best to ignore the scrutinizing gaze of the elderly couple. You lower your voice. “And don’t apologize. I know you’re an asshole, but I doubt you’d actually prey on my downfall like this. I know you’re not into public humiliation.”

Jimin brightens slightly at your joke, but he still looks like a guilty puppy who'd been caught shitting on the carpet. “Yeah, well. I happen to enjoy tormenting you and I won’t let some upstart Charlie Puth wannabe ruin your life. That’s my job.”

You smile wryly at him. “Well, that’s too bad. Jungkook’s been singing for a few hours now and I’m pretty sure Manager Jeong is going to keep him long-term. He might have broken my heart, but damn does he have vocals. I'm sure you'll have plenty competition when it comes to 'who can make Y/N's life feel like hell.'”

Jimin doesn't smile back, but instead studies your face for a moment. Then:

“Do you think if I offer to suck Manager Jeong off, he’ll fire him?”

“What the fuck?” You nearly yell out in surprise, your jaw dropping to the floor. Judging by his serious scowl, you know he's actually considering it. By now, the elderly couple waiting to be seated have left the premises.

Jimin continues, unperturbed. “I know he secretly wants me, based on how his wife seems to have a personal vendetta against me. He definitely wants a taste of my bus—.”

“Stop, I get it!” You wave your hands to make him shut up, heat rising up your cheeks. “Never say that string of words to me ever again. You have just inflicted ten years of suffering onto my poor brain.”

“Hey, I’m just offering solutions here!” Jimin pouts.

You stare at him, unimpressed. “Save it. You tried solving my problems already, so let’s just accept the fact that there’s nothing else for me to do but to suck it up. It’s time for me to put on my big girl pants for a change.”

“I mean, I could do all the sucking instead, but you’re being a little bitch about it,” Jimin mumbles. He’s lucky you didn’t hear him this time, lest you give him something to really whine about.

“Anyway, I guess this is my life now. Nothing to do except hope that he never tries to interact with me or I can find another job,” you shrug.

Over your shoulder, Jimin fixes Jungkook with an icy glare that is cold enough to give you the shivers. For the first time that entire night, you hazard a glance back at the stage, finding that Jungkook is already looking back at you.

You whip your head back forward, perspiration forming down your back. For fuck’s sake, this guy.

“Well, let me know if he tries anything. I’ll beat that little freak into the floor if he tries so much as breathing the same air as you.” Jimin huffs, puffing up his chest with false bravado. You can’t help but laugh at his empty threat, knowing that Jungkook could probably bench press Jimin without breaking a sweat. Jimin's muscles are only for aesthetics, after all.

“Don’t worry, he hasn’t actually spoken to me actually. He can keep singing his sad little love songs, I really don’t mind,” you say, like a liar. Jimin snorts, wholly unconvinced.

“Well, if you need me, I’m heading to the bar to grab a drink so I can stare at your ex uncomfortably until he leaves. See you!” Jimin bids you farewell with a cheery grin as he skips a little too happily inside the restaurant.

Why'd you have to befriend the largest lunatic in the city? You massage your forehead with a groan, willing away your growing headache.

The rest of the night trickles away like molasses. Jungkook continues to sing his heart out, save for an hour intermission where he presumably takes a short break. In his absence, you hear Jimin guffaw loudly, his laughter too sharp to be considered happy. You faintly hear Jungkook shy stutters in response, and you momentarily consider running in to interrupt.

Why? Did you want to save Jungkook from Jimin’s unnecessary harassment? It’s not like Jimin is doing it out nowhere, he was just trying to be… a good friend?

You pause to ponder. As much as you hate to admit it, you know why you want to help Jungkook. But Jimin on the other hand? Why did he want to help you? Questions begin flowing through your head like a whirlwind, and your nausea increases. God, when was your next therapy appointment again?

You save those questions for another day. As you look at your watch, there are only thirty minutes left until two in the morning. You tap your foot impatiently, smiling curtly at departing customers as the restaurant slowly emptied. As they left, you overhear some of your regulars giggling amongst themselves, whispering about the cute new singer and his charming demeanor.

The last nail on your coffin has been hammered. Yeah, Jungkook isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

With the restaurant closing soon, it sounds like Jungkook is ready to end his set as well.

Throughout the night, Jungkook rarely made a point to speak. The only time he didn’t sing was when he quietly introduced the title of his next song and the band swiftly began the first opening notes. For his last song, however, Jungkook decided to give a little more backstory for his final song.

“Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for listening to me for the night,” Jungkook says with a soft voice, his tone awfully shy despite his powerful belting throughout the evening. The few customers left give him a warm round of applause, and you hear the familiar sound of his timid giggles spill from the restaurant speakers.

“This will be my final song for the night. Most of the songs I sang today were covers, but this one is an original. I…” He hesitates for a moment, and something pulls you to turn despite the alarm bells ringing in your ears. You face him, and just like earlier in the evening, he is already looking back at you.

This time, you don’t look away; he does. His eyes flit to the ceiling, and he licks his lips from nerves. “I… I wrote this song a long while ago. I’ve never sang it in public before and I never thought it would ever see the light of day. Until, well…”

He stops again. This time, he gestures to the guitarist in the band, silently asking to borrow it. With a guitar in hand, he smiles a little more confidently at the small crowd of people. He begins strumming the first few notes, and your heart stops. “I hope everyone had a pleasant evening. Get home safe and have a great rest of your week. My name is Jungkook, and this last song is called…”

Before he can sing the first line of his song, you make a break for it.

You slam the restaurant doors open, and the stinging cold air immediately pierces their fangs into your skin. Your coat is still inside, but you can’t bring yourself to reenter. You take a long breath, the chill barely registering in your mind with how loudly your heart is pounding in your ears.

Hearing the opening to that song was enough to bring you back in time, three years ago:

You are in his childhood bedroom, his walls littered with concert posters and his floor a mess with unfolded laundry and guitar picks. The afternoon sun is streaming through his windows, bathing him in gold. You have an exam the next day and he has cram school to go to, but you’ve both chucked your books somewhere on his desk, left forgotten.

He has his eyes closed, concentrated. You’re both on his small twin bed, squished together side by side and thighs touching. You have your head on his shoulder and he has his hands on his guitar. He strums a few chords experimentally and sings a melody that only the two of you know.

(Not anymore.)

“Are you writing a new song?” you ask, voice a little scratchy. Neither of you had spoken for the past few hours, just basking in the setting sun and Jungkook’s indistinct strumming. But now, his chords sound more sure, more certain of something.

“Yeah, I just thought of it,” he hums. He opens his eyes a smidge, a smitten smile on his lips. You mirror him.

“What’s it about this time?”

His brows furrow. “I’ve been trying to write about other stuff, you know? Namjoon-hyung tells me it’s important that songs have meaning and impact.” He pauses in his strumming, looking a little conflicted. “And I get what he means. Art is all about saying something, but… I can’t help that there’s only one thing I ever want to talk about. Is that so wrong?”

You chuckle, understanding what he means. You nudge your head against his cheek, grinning from ear to ear. The fluttering in your chest has become routine to you at this point, but he somehow always knows how to increase it tenfold. “God, you’re such a sweet talker. Really, Koo. There’s no need to serenade with love songs—I’m already yours.”

He looks back at you, brimming with tender affection. “I know,” he responds. Then, he takes a pen from his bedside table, and begins writing.

During those years of dating him, you always thought that If he was a waterfall, then you were a teaspoon. You desperately tried to be enough for him, but you’re barely able to fathom the depth of his devotion. Everything about him was excessive, and you could seldom understand how he managed to contain himself. He was born to share himself, to tear bits of his soul so that the world may understand him, love him. His songs were a testament that he was trying to do that, and you always felt so lucky to be able to receive him, wholly and fully.

How cruel was it that Jungkook uses that same song to rip open the barely healed scab on your heart, leaving you bare and stinging and raw all over again.

You have no idea how long you've stood there in the cold. It must have been barely a few minutes when Jimin finds his way to you. He wordlessly shrugs his coat off and places it on your shoulders, but you make no move to acknowledge him.

You hope your silence is enough for Jimin to infer that you are not in a conversational mood, but he’s nothing if not impatient. He forcibly pulls you to face him, his hands warm even through your clothing.

“Hey, you good? Did something happen?” He asks with barely concealed irritation, but it’s not directed at you. Still, you flinch at his scathing tone, shrinking in on yourself. In your daze, you vaguely notice his resemblance to an angry baby chick.

“It’s nothing. Go back inside, I’ll be right there,” you mumble lamely, weakly pushing him back towards the restaurant. Jimin does not budge, instead leveling you with a hard stare. This time, you’re sure his irritation is for you.

“You idiot, you literally ran out like someone was out to get you. Of course it’s not nothing,” he grouses.

You sigh tiredly, shaking your head at him. “We can talk later. It’s almost closing time and I just want to go home and sleep.”

Before Jimin can argue further, the door to the restaurant opens once more, but it isn’t a leaving customer.

“What the fuck? What are you doing out here?” Jimin all but shouts at Jungkook. He holds up an accusatory finger at him and uses his other hand to nudge you behind him as if to shield you.

Jungkook winces, instinctively stepping back. Despite being a few inches taller than Jimin, Jungkook’s timidness makes him look smaller. “I… I was just worried about her—”

“Don’t you have a song to finish in there? Talk about professional,” Jimin spits out. Jimin maneuvers you so that Jungkook can’t see you, but you manage to catch sight of how his gaze follows you unfailingly.

“I finished up my set. It’s closing time.” Jungkook responds coolly. He’s still a little quiet, but you can sense some of his natural composure rising to the surface. When he needs to be, Jungkook has been known to stand his ground—usually when it comes to matters involving you.

At this time of the night and after hours of mental torture, the last thing you need is to watch your two worst nightmares duke it out in front of your work establishment. You are beyond exhausted, and you hardly have the fortitude to withstand another minute of their voices ringing in your ears.

Your eyes well up with tears of frustration, causing the two boys to freeze up in panic. You don’t give them the chance to fuss over you; instead, you haphazardly wipe your cheeks before roughly pushing them back towards the restaurant.

“Get back to work, you idiots.” Your voice sounds warbled even to your own ears, but you push past your overwhelming emotions in favor of getting back inside to close up. Hell, you might even call in sick tomorrow, just so you can cry pathetically into your bowl of cereal in solitude.

“I’m not even on the clock today!” Jimin complains faintly, but you only push him harder.

When you all reenter, you walk back to your desk and pointedly ignore the two of them until they awkwardly float away from your orbit. Despite the distance they give you, their gazes are still fixed plainly on you and they feel like knives digging into your back.

Eventually, all the final customers of the day take their leave, and your remaining coworkers start dimming the lights and bidding their goodbyes. From the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook bowing respectfully to the band, who were giving him friendly pats on the back for a job well done. Jimin walks toward you, his car keys dangling from his left pinky.

“No thanks. I’ll take the bus home today,” you declare before he can offer a ride. Jimin opens his mouth like a goldfish, flapping his lips dumbly as he stares at you in shock. You have no idea why he’s so surprised, given how you’ve been making it obvious that you need some space.

He looks like he wants to argue again, but thinks better of it. A singular moment of restraint from Park Jimin, which is an act you once thought impossible. Maybe he does care about you more than you thought.

He stiffly nods at you, shoving his hands and keys into his pockets. He still has a frown on his face when he tells you to text him when you get home. You flip him off with a shaky smirk in response, a feeble attempt to bring some levity back to your now tense relationship. It works a little, and Jimin brightens up significantly. How simple-minded of him.

With a flippant wave, you leave work and head towards your bus stop. At this hour of the night, the streets are mostly dim, save for some street lamps and bars that stay open longer than your restaurant. There are always some people milling about, enough that you never feel too on edge about how late it is. Still, your bus stop is often empty, leaving you to mull over your thoughts in peace.

You are in the midst of jamming your earbuds into your ear when a presence makes itself known beside you.

Is it possible to go through the five stages of grief in under a second? You suppose not, but it’s hard to tell what sort of emotions swim through you when you come face to face with Jeon Jungkook again.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you mutter under your breath. You pause the song playing on your phone to glare at him with as much venom as you can muster.

Jungkook holds up his hands in surrender, doe eyes wide like prey. “I-I’m heading home too! I’m not following you, I swear!”

You groan internally. Figures that you and Jungkook take the same bus home. But hold on— “Don’t you have a car? I remember you were parked near the restaurant the other night,” you note, squinting at him.

Jungkook looks sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. That car was my hyung’s. He lets me borrow it sometimes, but he needed it tonight.”

“Sure…” You level him with a skeptical frown. You remember his hyung, but don’t recall him ever owning a car. You aren’t even sure that his Namjoon-hyung is allowed by the country to drive a car, much less own one.

He could be lying, but you don’t want to give him an excuse to continue any conversation. So, you busy yourself with your phone and keep your head bowed away from him.

When the bus arrives, Jungkook makes it a point to sit a few rows behind you. Thankfully, he has a better understanding of social cues than a certain Park that you know. He leaves you alone, but your entire body still feels like a rope pulled taut. You have to convince yourself not to look behind you, your morbid curiosity scratching your insides raw.

You are in the home stretch now, and it’ll only be a few more minutes before you get to your stop and make your way to your safe haven. Hell resumes the next day and the next, but at the very least you’ll have your home to yourself. No one could take that away from you.

Again, this is where you learn that tempting fate is never a good idea.

When you exit the bus at your stop, you can hear his footsteps following you. It’s hard not to notice, especially when his large and distracting boots make such a distinct racket that makes him so Jungkook.

You hasten your pace towards your apartment complex, your shoulders hunched and hands shoved into your coat pockets in an attempt to hinder the bile rising from your stomach. He had promised that he wasn’t following you, but that proclamation seems to be standing on feeble legs with how long he’s been on your tail now.

Your street is filled with rows of low-rise apartment buildings, so you hope that if anything happens, you can yell as loud as you can and alert some compassionate neighbor to come to your aid. (Not that you think he would ever physically harm you, but… You can’t say the same about your mental state.)

Your home is just two buildings away from where you are, but Jungkook still seems determined to follow you to the end. You all but skip the remaining feet to your apartment entrance, your breath coming out in puffs as you finally muster up the courage to face your supposed stalker and give him a piece of your mind.

“If this is some convoluted way for you to find out where I live, then you aren’t being very subtle about it,” you say, your chin held up high despite the growing urge to vomit pathetically in front of your ex-boyfriend. You have your hand rested on the doorknob, just a moment’s notice away from bolting into your house if the need for a quick getaway arises.

To your surprise, Jungkook wasn’t following you as closely as you expected. He had stopped trailing you about two buildings down, his own hand poised on the door with a look of genuine shock.

You both stand there, staring at each other as mutual understanding dawns on the two of you.

Everyday, the universe learns of more creative ways to be cruel.

“Oh…” Jungkook’s voice falters. He looks simultaneously frightened and amazed, as if he too finds this entire situation unbelievably harsh. He swallows thickly, looking at you and back to his door in quick succession. “Well… This is a strange coincidence,” he murmurs.

You want to believe that this was his entire fault, that Jungkook had somehow managed to track you down to haunt you for the rest of your days. You want to believe that he’s a crazed stalker who is willing to find where you work and live so that every hour of your wretched life is filled with nothing but reminders of what-could-have-beens. You just want someone to blame instead of just the cosmos—you want someone tangible to hate so that your suffering can be given some sort of identity. You want to give your mourning and hurt a name so that you can learn how to heal.

You want to believe all of that, but it’s hard to do so when Jungkook looks so incredibly uncomfortable, as if he’d rather melt into the shadows and never be seen again.

In all your memories, you have never seen Jungkook look so small.

You heave a big sigh, your fingers grasping the door knob so tightly that you half-expect it to be dented from the force. You linger for a moment, your mouth opening but nothing spills out.

What is there to say? What do you say to an ex-boyfriend that you haven’t seen in two years, who is suddenly so deeply entwined in your life once more? Do you tell him goodnight? Tell him to stay away? Tell him to come home with you?

Jungkook looks equally as conflicted. His lips are pursed tight with words left unsaid. You aren’t sure whether you want to punch the confession out of his mouth or seal them up forever. It feels like eons before he finally breaks the silence with a mirthless laugh.

“I… I just wanted to say—back at the restaurant. When I sang that last song,” Jungkook begins, and his voice feels loud because of how empty the streets are. For a moment, you are reminded of a cathedral you once visited during a vacation, how sacred silence can be. The world holds its breath, waiting for him to speak.

“I meant it all. Every word. Every lyric. I never stopped…”

He trails off, shrugging his shoulders. He stares at you helplessly, but you don’t know what to say. You don’t want to listen any more, but your feet are planted to the ground. You’re frozen like a deer in headlights, forced to brace against him as he crashes into you.

He continues, “And when we broke up back then… I never wanted that to happen. You broke it off before we could even try something—and I hated how I didn’t fight for you harder. I let you misunderstand me because I was afraid you wouldn’t want to stick around if I didn’t succeed. I convinced myself that I was holding you down, but I never gave you—us—a chance. I never stopped regretting it since.”

“Me? Break up with you?” You echo incredulously. That statement is enough to break you from your trance, the telltale signs of indignation rising up your chest. “How dare you suggest—Me? You were the one who broke up with me, asshole! You were the one who broke my heart and decided to up and leave to god knows where! Only to miraculously respawn right next to me, groveling at my feet with sad love songs as if that’s enough for me to forgive and forget? Fucking entitled bastard,” you seethe.

Somehow, Jungkook manages to shrink more, like a bunny with his tail tucked between his legs. “Yes, you’re right that I broke your heart but… When I told you I was moving away to try and become a singer, it was always with the intention of staying together. I know it would have been difficult, but I wanted you to be with me through thick and thin. But when you misunderstood and took it as a break up, I let you go because, well… I was scared that it would happen eventually. Who wants to date a broke busking fool anyway?”

He laughs, but it sounds watery. He sniffles, and you hope it's only because of the cold. “I tried looking for you, but you blocked me everywhere and no one from back home seemed to know where you went. So I just accepted that we’d never see each other again… Until a few days ago, that is.”

A misunderstanding? Is that what everything boils down to? Years of trying to build yourself back up again, relearning what it means to be happy—all the fallen domino pieces in your life trailing back to a single moment in time? All because Jungkook was scared that you didn't love him enough?

You’ve never felt angrier in your life. You fear what you might say if you continue to stand outside there, face to face with the singular person strong enough to whittle you down to the bone. Jeon Jungkook is all soft smiles and sweet songs, but how come he’s always able to knock you off your axis? Few people on this earth can stitch you up and break you down in equal measure, but somehow, Jungkook manages to do all that and more.

Then, comes the guilt. Had it been all your fault? That you hadn't returned his love in equal measure? Had you secretly given up on the hope of being on his level? Always looking down on yourself: unable to move past your insecurities. Were you terrified of being his side piece, his girlfriend, forever?

Who are you, even? And where do you stand?

(Beside him, is what you want to answer. You don't know if that's the right choice.)

You can’t bear to look at him, least of all answer him. Without another word, you shove your house key into the door before slamming it shut despite the late hour. If you awaken any neighbors, you’ll apologize later. For now, all you require is sleep and hope that this has been all a terrible nightmare.

xxx

Reality is a bitter pill to swallow.

Jeon Jungkook continues to sing at the restaurant, and after only two days of repeat stellar performances, your manager decides to promote him as the official vocalist for the band. It hurts to admit that you're not the least bit surprised; you might have a hard time looking at him, but you can never deny his talent.

His song list has added a larger variety of genres ever since his first performance. That is to say, he isn’t always singing about lost loves and tragic couples every night. Perhaps it is due to some requests from customers or his other bandmates, but it doesn’t stop him from sprinkling one or two love songs into the mix.

He doesn’t sing any original songs ever again. That, at least, is a small mercy. He doesn’t make any moves to speak with you either, despite the daily awkward trips back home after the end of your shifts. Whether that’s because he’s given up on you (again), or he’s waiting for you to make the first move, you don’t know. Frankly, you don’t think you have the energy (nor courage) to do anything about it.

It’s a few weeks after Jungkook’s first performance at the restaurant, and closing time is approaching. You appreciate Friday nights the most because it means you’ll have two consecutive days to relax and avoid your problems. It’s also the busiest night of the week, when white-collar workers decide to drink and eat for as long as the night allows them. Busier nights mean more distractions, and you’re willing to deal with twenty Karens over one Jungkook.

During nights like these, your manager occasionally asks you to fulfill some waitress duties when there aren’t enough hands on deck. Normally you’d hate it, but earning the extra tips is enough to keep your grumbling to a minimum To this day, your landlord has yet to do anything about your broken shower, and you’ve finally conceded to the fact that you’ll have to be the one to do something about it.

As you inform the customers in your area that the last call for orders is approaching, you sneak a glance at the bar to see Jimin dutifully performing his job. That is to say, he’s flirting up a storm, getting women and men alike to blush from head to toe as he serves their drinks with a salacious smirk.

What a swindler, you think to yourself, snorting when he makes eye contact with you. He gives you a cheeky salute, mouthing something as he gestures to the back door.

Despite the semi-fight the two of you had all those weeks ago, Jimin was never one to argue about the same topic two days in a row. When you saw him the next day after your confrontation with Jungkook, Jimin was back to all smiles. You still catch him sending death glares towards Jungkook on most nights, but he doesn’t bring up the matter with you anymore. For that reason, you’ve gratefully settled back into your weird, banterful friendship with him. Even if there’s still a lingering tension between the two of you that you refuse to acknowledge.

You nod thankfully back at him, excited to go to his house and take a much needed shower. At this point, going to his house has become second nature to you, and it gives you an excuse to not see Jungkook at your regular bus stop every day. You have half a mind to never fix your shower for that reason, but of course there is still the problem of having to deal with Jimin every time you need to bathe. You hardly consider yourself an impatient person, but Jimin likes to toe the line far more often than necessary.

You’re down to your last two tables before you can close up shop when your manager suddenly barrels right into your path. You nearly drop your tray of dirty dishes to the floor, holding in a loud yelp as your suspiciously stern-faced manager halts you in place.

“Ms. Y/N, may I have a word with you for a moment? It’s regarding your paycheck for the month,” he barks, lips downturned. He appears disgruntled about something, and it sends a worried shiver down your spine. And here you thought Fridays are meant to be fun. He doesn’t wait for you to reply before he stalks back to his office, an unspoken command for you to follow.

You unload your dishes in the kitchen before making your way to his office. The small, dark room is cramped with overflowing file folders and coupons from multiple take-out places. You accidentally step on a stack of papers, and upon further inspection, seem to be a pile of applications for new hires. You distinctly remember complaining to him months prior about being understaffed and him replying that no inquiries were coming in.

As you approach, your manager shuffles through your coworkers pay stubs, and you notice yours and Jungkook’s on top of the piles.

Manager Jeong clears his throat. “Well, Y/N. It seems to be your lucky day. As you know, we split the tips based on your hours and what sort of duties you fulfill. With the new hire we have as our in-house singer, we’ve had to split it one way more to accommodate his arrival. However, he has recently requested to me that his portion be reallocated… to you, Ms. Y/N.”

Your jaw drops immediately. “I-I don’t understand, Manager Jeong,” you sputter.

Manager Jeong snorts, bemused by your reaction. “Don’t understand? Well, I suppose you’ll have to ask Mr. Jeon if you want his reasoning. Regardless, since we normally deposit your salary straight to your bank account, would it be alright if I hand you his tips in cash for now? He only informed me about his request an hour ago, and the accountant has already clocked out for the week.”

All you can do is nod dumbly back at him. With a huff, your manager presses a white envelope into your hands before promptly ushering you out of his office. “Well, that's settled. Out you go! Have a good weekend, Ms. Y/N. Don’t forget to lock the register before you leave!” He calls out before slamming his door in your face.

It takes you a moment to reanimate back to life. You stare at the white envelope for a long while, unable to fathom the scribbled out name of Jeon Jungkook replaced with your own name. Then, you crumple it into your fist before stomping over to where Jungkook and the rest of the band are in the middle of packing it up for the night.

Jungkook looks up from his guitar case when he senses you fast approaching. For a fleeting second, a smile graces his handsome face before it’s smacked away by your crumpled envelope.

“Keep your fucking cash, Jungkook. What the hell is your problem?” You fume, cheeks heating from agitation. Jungkook splutters for a moment, prying the envelope away from his face and looking at it in bewilderment. When he sees it clearly, recognition dawns on his face, followed by guilt.

“It’s just… my way of saying sorry, I guess.” He answers you meekly, neck flushing red in embarrassment. Behind him, the rest of the band grow silent at the scene before them, and you debate on telling them to mind their own business when they quicken their pace to leave.

“Well, keep your apology to yourself. There’s nothing to apologize for,” you correct him with a frown. To offer an apology is to offer accountability. You aren’t sure if you’re ready to hear him say that.

“No, it’s a sorry for… using you, I suppose.”

“Using me?” You repeat, dumbfounded. “For what?”

Jungkook smiles wryly back at you. “For inspiration?” he clarifies. For being the reason I can sing? He leaves that part unsaid, but you can almost imagine him saying it.

You feel heat rising to your cheeks again, but this time you aren’t quite sure if it’s from embarrassment, anger… or something else.

Unable to conjure up a response to his simple confession, you stomp away from him with a pounding heart and shaking hands. You continue the rest of your closing shift routine instinctually, your body moving on autopilot as Jungkook’s words continue to ring inside your head. When all is said and done, Jimin makes his way to your station with a questioning stare, but you wave him off in favor of stomping ahead of him to the parking lot.

In his car, Jimin rattles off about his latest exploits and purchases, his grating voice a comfort for once. You hum noncommittally during his stories when appropriate, but you suppose your usual indifference feels different, even to Jimin's untrained ears.

At his house, you drift to his bathroom immediately. You already have a shirt button undone by the time you get a handle on the door when Jimin’s hand stops you in place. You can feel his warmth emanating against your back as he slowly pulls the bathroom door close. With a tired sigh, you reluctantly turn to face him and find him standing closer than you expected.

He has an arm resting above your head, effectively caging you. You feel your shoulders sag. Damn, here comes another confrontation. Why can’t everyone just leave you alone?!

“Talk to me,” he says. No, he demands.

You push him away weakly, but he hardly budges. “Nothing to talk about,” you lie. Had you no filter, you’d be word vomiting all over the place ages ago.

Jimin groans, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Enough with the emotional constipation. I’m here to listen, alright? No teasing or anything, I’m all ears and maybe a shoulder to cry on. Just don’t stain my Chanel top too bad,” he jokes.

You puff out a short breath—a sorry excuse for a laugh. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to talk about it, and that’s that.”

“It’ll make you feel a lot better, though,” he offers.

You scoff. “What makes you think that? What if I just want to ignore all my problems forever and never grow from it? Is that so bad?”

Jimin pushes himself away from you, raising his hands in mock defeat. “You’re so fucking annoying. Can you stop running away from your problems and talk to me? Hell, talk to Jungkook for all I care! Just stop being a doormat and speak your mind for once in your damn life!”

“What are you, my therapist?” You brush past him, shower all but forgotten. You begin toeing your shoes back on, ready to head home tired and smelly. At the very least, you won’t have to deal with this stupid annoying asshole any longer.

Jimin strides back towards you, but for once he doesn’t do anything to forcibly stop you. Jimin has always been gruff with you, not afraid to push and pull you in any which direction. It’s part of the reason why you can’t take him seriously, even though you’ve recently realized why he was always being such a prick towards you—

“Yeah, I’m not your therapist. But for better or for worse, I’m your friend and I—I fucking care about you, alright? And it sucks seeing that good-for-nothing stick his nose in your business and act like he can do anything without any repercussions.”

Is Jimin being for real right now? “With how often you look at yourself in the mirror, you’d think you’d be better at introspection,” is all you say to that. You shove your feet into your shoes, not caring that you’ve probably put them on wrong. Maybe it’s because it’s Friday and the fatigue from the week has finally settled deep in your bones, but you can’t help but leave one last scathing remark to drive the final nail in the coffin.

“You know, if you were a little nicer to me, maybe I would talk to you. Hell, maybe I’d like you back. But no, just keep being your domineering, asshole self and I’ll keep being the same fucking doormat bitch you know and love,” you spit, turning towards the door and away from his face. You’re not even curious to see how he reacts. “I don’t need protection, alright? When I tell you to stay out of my business, you stay out of it. So don’t try and pretend to be my knight in shining armor.”

There’s an ocean of silence, enough to hear a pin drop. The urge to apologize surges to the surface, but you stamp it down. He’s petty all the time, so now it’s your turn.

Okay, maybe that’s a little too mean on your part, but you’re exhausted. Perhaps it is true when they say you should never act on your anger when it’s past midnight. But can anyone blame you? You’re only a girl, and girls need to snap too.

When he responds, his voice sounds weak. Park Jimin, weak? It's almost unthinkable. "Why don't you trust me?"

Isn't it obvious? you want to say. But some mercy remains within you. You'll pick up the pieces another time. Instead, you rasp out, “Good night, Park. I’ll see you on Monday.”

The walk of shame back to your house is long and arduous. Your phone dings thrice, likely signaling texts from Jimin, but you turn it off without checking for sure. For once, the weight on your shoulders is slightly lighter. You huff out a dry laugh, realizing belatedly that maybe Jimin is right—maybe speaking your mind has its benefits.

There’s a small park in your neighborhood that you always pass by. You don’t remember the last time you spared it a second glance, but this time you notice a lone figure swinging back and forth, arching dangerously higher than what you would consider safe. From a distance, all you can make out are the person’s comically bright boots, and you have a sinking suspicion you know who it is without seeing their face.

Cosmos, or whoever it is that controls my life, why must you braid our strings of fate so tightly? You ask, but as always, it refuses to reply.

Against your better judgment, your feet bring you closer towards him. He has his back towards you, his feet pumping him higher and higher and you half expect him to swing in a perfect arc like a gymnast on parallel bars. You have to keep your distance a bit, lest you get the wind knocked out of you by his signature stompers.

You clear your throat, and the boy stops mid-swing and nearly catapults himself into the spongey, playground floor. Hunched over and wheezing, Jungkook directs his shocked eyes at you with a comical stare.

You raise a hand in greeting. A peace offering, maybe. “Hello—”

“I swear I’m not stalking you!” Jungkook interrupts as he scrambles to his feet. He bows deeply in remorse, the action so endearingly him. “S-sorry, I’ll make my way home now…”

“I don’t own the park, Jungkook. I was just saying hello…” You snort, wringing your hands uncomfortably. You grind your shoes into the ground, the sound of crunching leaves breaking the still air. “A-and… to say sorry, for earlier.”

“Sorry?” Jungkook repeats, confused. When he realizes what you mean, he waves his hands frantically. “No, no! Don’t be sorry! It was my fault for being so inconsiderate. I understand how you might misconstrue my actions, and I made things more awkward. I’ll consider your feelings more in the future…”

In the future… You cough, unwilling to meet his bright and honest gaze. If you stare too long, you fear you might go blind.

“I come here to the park often, when I feel too cramped inside my apartment,” Jungkook explains, frantic energy radiating off him in waves. He’s gesticulating too much, a clear sign that he’s trying to hide his nerves. You remember how he would do the same thing in high school, whenever he had to present his projects in front of the class.

You hold a hand up, a weak attempt to get him to calm down. “I’m not here to interrogate you. I just wanted to…” What is it that you wanted to do?

The two of you just stand awkwardly like that, similar to a few weeks ago when you discovered you were neighbors. You’re grasping at straws in your head, both conflicted for wanting to tell him something and running away. Even if you were to talk to him, what would you say? There’s a reason you told Jimin you didn’t want to talk—frankly, it’s mostly because you have no idea what to say or feel.

But you do know, the universe responds.

I ask you questions all the time, and this is how you respond?

Either that, or you’re going insane, the universe remarks.

Jungkook pulls out his phone, his fingers fumbling as he unlocks it. He takes a furtive step towards you, but thinks better of it. There’s a few feet of distance between you, but it feels like worlds apart. Close and yet so far. You recall how you’d easily pull him towards you in the past, how being together felt as natural as breathing.

“I know you absolutely hated it the last time I played my original song at the restaurant, so I refrained from performing any ever since that night. But that didn’t stop me from writing them. I was fine with keeping them locked in a vault forever, but…” He hesitates, searching you for any signs of discomfort. When he sees the carefully blank look on your face, he continues with trepidation.

“Can I try a song for you? You don’t have to say yes, and you’re free to tell me to fuck off and I’ll never even look at you ever again. Just…” He flails one last time, a choked sob making its escape from his throat.

Are you hopeless for wanting to say yes? Or were you reverting back to your old self who relied on him and believed in him so heavily? If you wanted him out of your life for good, you would have quit your job at the first sight of him. Maybe you were masochistic. Or maybe were you hopeful for a new start, a chance to rekindle a relationship that you’ve secretly always wanted to repair.

You have so much life ahead of you. Many more mistakes will be made and maybe they’ll haunt you when you’re older. But would it really be such a terrible gamble to take one more chance?

You nod, and seal your fate.

He presses play, and the soft strumming of a guitar fills the empty playground air.

Not for the first time, you wonder how it can be so easy for Jungkook to be so… honest. He spills his heart in every song that he writes, and you know he’s never been a great liar. He can’t help it, being genuine is in his DNA. This crashing waterfall, this boy with overflowing emotions—he sings what he thinks but feels terrified because of it. You might not understand his honesty, but you know that fear. You know it all too well.

He beholds himself to you—raw and unfiltered. A little battered and bruised, but still Jungkook. Behind everything, still the boy you’ve been yearning for.

Maybe this song is what will give you enough confidence to admit everything to him, too. As you stand there, listening to his mellow voice sing confessions to no one but you and the stars, you think you grow a little more courageous that day.

Maybe you won’t be able to tell him tonight. Maybe not tomorrow, nor next week either. But as you gaze back at his hopeful eyes, you know deep in your heart that you’ll find the words you’ve been looking for.

“I’ll keep waiting for you, if you let me.” Jungkook’s voice floats gently to you, and settles in your open palms. This time, you don’t let go

xxx

Months later, Jungkook stops working at the restaurant when an offer from a major record company arrives in his mail. Apparently, a big shot from the local radio station had pitched him to an employee at that company and they were all pleasantly surprised to find a hidden gem at a random bar and restaurant.

In your apartment, you stare outside your window and to where his home is—well, where it was. You wonder if he finished packing his things, ready to make the big move tomorrow. You stand up with a stretch, sparing a glance at your still broken shower. It would be nice to have one more shower at his place… And after that? Maybe you should start looking for a nicer apartment; somewhere far away might be nice.

Your phone rings, and you see his contact photo light up your screen. With a smile, you answer.

“Come over, if you want. I won’t make you,” Jungkook assures you.

You laugh lightly, already halfway out the door.

#bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts reader insert #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bangtan #bts #bts fanfic

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queers-gambit · 5 months

Text

Love What You've Done with the Place

song by Rascal Flatts

prompt: he's never been a man built for relationships, until you come into his life. now, the house feels like a home.

pairing: Tangerine x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Bullet Train

word count: 1.8k+

warnings: more brain rot rambles, probably cursing, NOT edited, very docile, fluff, romance, hardened men being simps.

It started with clothes. Just a few, here and there; left behind, forgotten, purposefully stuffed in his dresser for when you stayed the nights. He didn't mind, in fact, Tangerine encouraged you to bring whatever you felt comfortable with leaving since he hated how early you'd leave in the mornings to get ready for work. He found his mornings were peaceful when you were around; neither rushed, both content, starting your days on high notes with each other.

So, he made the decision and found an old sitting-vanity for you. He put it in his bedroom simply because he was fascinated with the hair and make-up process; thinking it was incredible that women had such skill. When he came home about 3 months ago, he noticed your vanity when he first got home from a particularly difficult mission. Your chair was draped in an old university tee shirt, and he smiled.

It was like watching your comfort grow and it warmed something deep in Tangerine's heart. Your make-up wasn't always in a neat array, sometimes just left from a quick touch-up; making the house feel more like a home.

Tangerine also bought a strainer for the shower's drain to catch your hair. He didn't get angry like previous boyfriends did when he found strands of your hair left behind - not on purpose or by some gross standard, but it was natural that hair shed in a shower and not every single strand could be picked up. So, to make life easier, he just quietly bought the hair trap, placed it, removed whatever empty bottles from the shower, and went about his day. But then he started to notice your hair left other places.

His counters, his sink, the floor, your vanity, his bed sheets and pillows.

Tangerine had his issues with possessiveness in the past, but this wasn't remotely similar. No, Tangerine found himself smiling when he would find your hair in his clothes; thinking it was funny, almost like a mark or badge of honor to designate him as yours. It was a brief thought, but Tangerine actually felt giddy by the idea of people just knowing he was off the market 'cause his lady's hair was clung to his suit jackets.

He liked it. He really did. He'd not admit it aloud, but he liked it.

Tangerine wasn't the most humble man in the world, but he certainly liked to flash what was his. Golden jewelry, expensive, tailored suits, shining Italian leather shoes. And now, you, the woman who invaded his heart and head - and now his home. He adored showing you off, feeling affirmed and invigorated by the longing glances men threw your way, and while he expected jealousy from other women, they seemed more impressed by your beauty and grace as well.

He remembers one night, after a several weeks long mission, he just wanted to hold you. His throat was a little choked up when he called you, knowing you were at home after reading an earlier text. So, you rushed over in the middle of the night and he'd yet to let you go home - three days later.

"You've gonna have to let me out of bed sometime," you smiled playfully. "I have work tomorrow - and no, I'm not calling out again."

"C'mon, love, don't leave me alone," he whispered, looking like a beaten down puppy. The mission was much harder than he'd let on, but Lemon usually always filled you in. He thought it was important for you to know certain details that Tangerine was sure to omit, knowing those were the details that haunted him.

"I'll be back after my shift," you promised, nuzzling his nose with your own. "I also need new panties and clean clothes."

He sighed, "Some in there," he pointed to his closet now.

"What?" You giggled.

"You've left enough behind, got a bit of a collection goin', yeah?" He smiled softly, wrapping you back up in his arms. With a sigh, he relented, "I'll let yah go to work, love, just... Need this a bit longer."

You obliged, but the next day, you were gone before he woke up. With a frown, Tangerine dropped back onto the bed - but inhaled deeply when his nose buried into your pillow. He hummed in pleasure, feeling himself brim with contentment, bringing the fluffy item to his chest and nuzzling it; your perfume left behind to soothe him.

Was Tangerine clingy? Oh, for sure! He didn't think so, but you knew better. The contract killer liked you close, liked his hands on you; even if it was just a hand on your waist or a nose near your neck. He missed you when gone, but he usually held himself back from texting you all day - wanting you to be able to focus on your job.

But that day? He was inept, just wanting you; wondering if he paid you the same salary, if you'd consider just staying home. So, he texted you several times.

This obviously threw you off a little, knowing him better than himself most days. But he just missed you, so, you sent a selfie - promising you missed him too and would be home right after work.

He saved the photo and tried not to dwell on how you said you'd "be home" and not "come to his place". He had to take a few moments to calm down, feeling his heart zing with unfamiliarity - but not being afraid of it like he had been when you first started dating. He could recognize he was happy, that he was excited to see you everyday, and that the idea of coming home to you was far too appealing to ignore any longer.

It seemed neither of you needed to actually have an official conversation about living together. Lemon didn't mind, in fact, he was the one who insisted you have your own key; adoring you and whatever affect you had on his emotionally constipated brother. So, some mornings, Tangerine wasn't surprised to find a slightly damp towel left hanging in the bathroom, nor by the make-up on his counter - you using that mirror because of the fluorescent lighting. He never put it back, he didn't move it - he liked seeing it. It meant you were still here, and the idea of it being gone made his stomach knot with anxiety. He also wasn't surprised when he went to use the shampoo you insisted would help his curls flourish (you were right), only to find it damn-near empty. His shower gel, too.

When you came home that evening, you had Target bags in hand; replacing whatever was empty, making Tangerine grin to himself by how in-sync he felt with you. He'd never had a connection such as this, only ever feeling close enough to Lemon, but you changed everything for them both.

How Tangerine ended up with someone courteous was truly beyond either of them. Someone kind, caring, adventurous, sweeter than pie - someone definitely out of Tangerine's league, something he never let himself forget. He adored you to your core - thinking someone such as you should never have gotten tangled up in someone like him, but he knew, if the time ever came, he'd never be able to let you go. In fact, most days, he had to convince himself not to just pick you up and carry you around while he did chores or ran errands.

The very idea of losing you sent his heart into his stomach; hallowing his chest in a harrowing fashion that made it hard to breathe. Just a week or two ago, Lemon found Tangerine in the kitchen, hand to his chest as if he couldn't catch his breath, heaving for air; his worry spiking, but quickly realizing what was wrong.

"Bruv, you've gotta breathe - calm down," he tried to coax. "You're having a panic attack, you've gotta just focus on breathing."

"Fuck off with that!"

"Seriously, man," Lemon insisted, catching Tangerine in a vulnerable state enough that he actually listened without much of a fight. When Tan seemed a little more under control of his own emotions, Lemon asked, "What the hell happened?"

Tangerine shook his head, "Nothing t'worry 'bout - "

"Bullshit," Lemon snapped. "I've never seen yah like that, mate, the fuck happened?"

It was embarrassing, but Tangerine managed to answer, "Just... Just started thinking that if she ever left me, I'd fucking crumble, mate."

This made Lemon frown, "She's not gonna leave you, man. You know that. The girl's madly in love with you, yeah? Like madly in love - like to a degree it makes her stupid in the head, all right? Obviously, you too," he chuckled, shaking his head as he affectionately ran a hand over the back of Tan's head. "You're workin' yourself up, 's all right. You don't have to think about that - ever - 'cause she's it for you, mate. Yeah? Hear me? She ain't goin' nowhere, not without you."

Tangerine needed the assurance. Being alone after having a taste of your love felt impossible to Tan now, something he was never bothered by before. Seriously, why give a fuck about a relationship when he had his brother? Someone who loved him unconditionally and wouldn't leave? And then he met you and understood why people gave fucks about relationships.

It was as if every room you ever entered was brightened up simply by your smile. Your laugh wasn't always the most ladylike, but it was genuine and true and always made Tangerine smile to himself. During any public outing, Tan was always close - we've established this - but he liked to play a small game. One of your love languages was physical touch, so, you liked kissing him if even just for a single second. He was aware of your lipstick, feeling the tacky substance stain his cheek, but he wouldn't wipe it off. His game was to see how long it'd take before someone would point it out; his reputation didn't always warrant others to feel secure enough to speak up. Some nights, Lemon would motion to his cheek, and other nights, you'd return home, remove your make-up, and swipe make-up remover over his cheek to clear the color away.

However, it wasn't often you ventured in public due to Tangerine's innate introverted nature. You went if The Agency made it mandatory or if you were feeling stir crazy, but majority nights, Lemon would find you both lounged on the couch in various positions.

Sometimes, you'd be watching a movie together or binging a show. Other times, you were reading a book while Tangerine poured over paperwork. And once or twice, Lemon's come home to find you belly laughing and playfully scolding Tangerine as he tried to paint your toe nails. It was a homey sight to Lemon: seeing his brother so in love and at ease, hearing your laughter, the entire flat filled with warm smells of burning candles and homemade meals.

It wasn't evident at first, but with you laying in Tangerine's arms, clothes left on the floor, bellies full of whatever meal you had prepared that evening, favorite show playing on the bedroom TV, he realized that he loved what you had done with the place.

requesting rules and masterlist

Bullet Train masterlist

#tangerine #tangerine bullet train #bullet train tangerine #tangerine imagine #tangerine oneshot #tangerine x you #tangerine x reader #tangerine x fem!reader #tangerine x f!reader #tangerine x female!reader #bullet train #bullet train movie #bullet train 2022 #tangerine atj #atj tangerine #atj #atj character

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klemen-tine · 2 months

Text

Blowing Raspberries

Batfam x Male!Reader Platonic

@jaythes1mp Sorry this took so long and is not all in one part! But here is the first half.

TW: Break in, Child Abuse (not the Batfam), and neglect

Publicly, Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson is the oldest Wayne sibling. Taken in by Bruce Wayne at 8-years-old, he is the first child and the oldest. In the eyes of the law and adoption papers. In the eyes of the Wayne family however, the oldest sibling title belongs to Y/N L/N. Similar to the Drakes, the L/N’s live on the other side of the Waynes, and similar to Tim, Y/N had been left home alone… a lot.

Which meant he was over, a lot. So much so, he had his own room, Alfred made him a plate for every meal, and he was aware of their little nightly activities. Y/N L/N was a needed normalcy within the Manor, reminding them that there is more to life outside of crime fighting.

“Did you see that new cafe?” Y/N asked, looking into Dick’s exhausted eyes while resting his chest against Jason’s head. Dick shook his head, “No. Why?” Y/N pouted, “Because you guys literally broke their windows last night.” Jason winced, remembering the shattering of glass and wide-eyed stares as he handled some thugs.

“Please tell me that isn’t the cafe you wanted to go to today.” Dick buried his head in his hands and begged every deity that it was not that cafe. Y/N has been talking about it for weeks and finally found a time where all their schedules aligned so they could do it.

“It was.” Jason and Dick groaned while Y/N stared at them with an annoyed expression. His arms that were wrapped around Jason tightened in a mocking chokehold, knowing that if Jason wanted to he could easily get out and have Y/N pinned. Dick groaned again, “Is… is there somewhere else you want to try?”

“Not really.” ‘Fuck!’ Jason and Dick stared at one another, trying to figure out a way to still have this day with Y/N. If they don’t hurry, the vultures will swoop in and suggest something that will catch Y/N’s attention and–

“Y/N, how about we got to the petting zoo.”

“Dami!”

“Buzz off short stack!” Y/N thumped Jason’s head with his chin, “Don’t talk to Dami like that.” The youngest Wayne smiled victoriously while his two older brothers glared at him. Dick looked offended and Jason was actually ready to strangle him. Y/N shook his head, “Dami, aren’t we going on Friday? I’m picking you up from school to go.” Damian scrunched his nose, “We can go twice.”

Y/N couldn’t help but to chuckle, “Hmmm, those rabbits are cute.” Jason’s grip tightened, “The new bookstore in downtown! There’s a new bookstore that is supposed to have a cafe attached to it.” Damian scowled at Dick perked up, “Yeah, I forgot about that.” Y/N hummed, staring at Jason in concern, “Jay, you hate downtown.” It’s full of rich snobs and people who have nothing better to do than walk the streets in designer clothing.

Jason made a face, “It’s our day with you, I’m fine with it as long as you’re there.” Dick gagged and Damian looked ready to chuck a knife at him. Y/N blinked at the younger man in shock before laughing, “That’s cute, okay. Let’s go there then.” He released Jason from his hold, unwrapping his arms from Jason’s neck and standing tall. Dick smiled at Y/N, who was talking to a pouting Damian and ruffling slicked back hair.

“Alright, Y/N, I'm assuming you’re ready.” Unlike the Wayne brothers who had a father that did not care why they landed on the NEWS or magazine as long as they didn’t kill anyone, Y/N’s father was different. For someone who was always gone, he had a firm hold and opinions on Y/N’s life.

Bruce may not care that his kids go out looking like they haven’t showered in three days, but Y/N’s dad has ordered the maids to get rid of all the ripped jeans Y/N had because the paparazzi made an opinion on them when Y/N wore them. Jason remembers listening in on that call, and numerous other calls from Mr. L/N, as he hollered at his child he did not care about.

“You are a L/N! If you still want that last name then you will dress like a L/N!”

Unlike Dick and Jason who are dressed in jeans, Y/N is dressed in slacks and a nice polo shirt. His hair was clean and styled and the shoes he wore still shined. The aesthetic is called ‘old money’ and boy did Y/N have that. He and the Wayne siblings have become the newest trend setters in Gotham.

Whenever the paparazzi caught them together it was always Old Gotham vs New Gotham. Slacks vs Jeans. Hair combed vs natural. Clean vs Rugged. L/N vs Wayne.

They were the topic whenever they were out together, which was a lot. The only reason Mr. L/N hasn’t said anything is probably because Bruce is keeping his mouth shut about the child-neglect and abandonment. Point is, seeing the Wayne kids and L/N son together wasn’t odd, in fact there were jokes of Bruce Wayne adopting him, but they still always turned heads.

“Y/N, I am telling you that is a horrible choice and you’re not gonna like it.” Said young man raised an eyebrow at Jason and tutted disappointedly, “Jay, you haven’t even read it.” The guy motioned at the cover, “Look at it! Dick! Come ‘ere and look at it!” The other made only a side glance at it and sighed, “Y/N… this is only going to lead to problems.”

“It is literally a book about romance.” Jason screwed up his face, like someone had shoved a lemon down his throat, “But like… young adult romance. Read the classics.”

“I have read the classics. You have read me the classics. I read them in class and if I have to read how Ms. Elizabeth Barnett falls in love with Mr. Darcy one more time I’m actually going to throw myself in traffic.” Dick agreed with Y/N on that, remembering all the time he had to read the damn book.

“It's Elizabeth Bennett.”

“Jay, I swear to God.”

“Are you sure you read them because there’s no way someone who’s read them would get that name wrong.”

“Little wing–”

“–Dickie, maybe. But not anybody else.”

“–Excuse you.” Y/N snorted at the now bickering brothers, watching in amusement as Dick pulled Jason’s ear and Jason to Dick’s hair. Sighing, Y/N stepped between the two. Y/N L/N is possibly the only person, other than Alfred, who would dare do such a thing. Fear was absent on his face as he calmly walked into the dog fight, and helped release their bites with gentle tugs and stern words.

“Enough. The line is picking up at the cafe, so let's checkout and head over.” Y/N is the person who quells the fights and mends the bonds. The only person in the Manor that knew how to communicate their feelings and help others realize and communicate theirs.

He is the kind, patient, and understanding older brother of the Batfam. Always paying attention to other’s needs and always willing to listen to someone vent their frustrations and offer sound advice. Y/N is –

“–And what about the company?! How come the sales are low this month?”

“Father, they are riding average, it’s just the last month was a boom because–”

“I don’t care about last month! Why are the sales low this month?!”

– not Bruce Wayne’s ward, and therefore there isn’t much he can say in this scenario. Bruce listened and watched Y/N slouch as Mr. L/N continued to scream and berate him from across the world. He watched the exhaustion take over Y/N’s features and the way his forehead creased, Bruce knows that a headache is now present.

“If you still want the company then you better act like it! Enough of prancing around like the money you spend is yours!” Y/N is grateful his father hung up after that, because Y/N had a clapback to that and he’s sure his father would fly back from wherever he is just to smack him around for saying it.

Setting his phone down on the coffee table, the weight of the conversation making his shoulders sag and melt into the armchair with a huff. Bruce chuckled at the pout, “For what it is worth, fluctuating prices are normal in businesses. As long as it doesn’t go too low, you are fine.” Y/N smiled at the man, fixing his posture and picking up the mug of coffee.

“You heard all of that?” The man can still remember when he first met Y/N. The property alarm was triggered, and when Bruce and Alfred went out to investigate, an 8-year-old Y/N was there, his hands holding the wild raspberries and his cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk.

He huffed at the memory, making Y/N give him a weird look. Bruce had been grateful to Y/N’s impromptu trespassing, because when Dick came into his care, a now 10-year-old Y/N had welcomed the traumatized and blubbering 8-year-old. Something Bruce had little to no idea how to handle.

Then Jason came and that was a wild ride, followed by Steph, then Tim, and now Damian. That's just the Robins. It doesn’t include the others that have become family but never took the Robin mantle. Y/N had been there through it all, and welcomed each one with a smile and open arms. At the same time giving Bruce a raised eyebrow and icy glare that screamed, ‘Really? Another child?’

Y/N never faulted Bruce for his lack of communication, but he did let the man know repeatedly that while words may start fires, they can also put them out. Y/N had laid it on him one time, after a particular nasty fight with Dick and Jason.

“For a man who loves using his vocabulary to start arguments you sure don’t have the vocabulary to fix them. What are you, a toddler?”

Mending things with Y/N is always easy, because Y/N does not hold grudges. Not to mention having the emotional intelligence of a therapist, Y/N was always in-tuned to his emotions and whether he was projecting or not. Or if anyone else was. Living in a manor filled with people who have traumatic backstories and skeletons in the closets, Y/N has become the voice of reason and unbiased opinions. Similar to Alfred, just without the sass.

“Do you still like raspberries?” Bruce asked, and Y/N nodded, “You ask this every time a celebration of some sort comes up and the answer is always the same. Yes, I still love raspberries.” Y/N had once confided to Bruce, over a glass of wine, how he had asked his father if he could paint the bookshelves in his room. Little did Mr. L/N know that the color would be burgundy, the closest color to a raspberry he could get without poking someone’s eye out, and when his father found out he had the bookshelves removed and set ablaze.

Y/N got his ass handed to him when Mr. L/N came back from his trip, and was then prohibited from decorating his room without prior approval of design and permission.

Bruce had the bookshelves in Y/N’s room in the manor painted burgundy, and when Y/N saw them, it was like watching a child be told that they were not the bad child. The relief and the path to healing across his face as he took in the bookshelves.

The man watched Y/N sip his cup of coffee, watching how exhaustion seemed to seep off of him like cologne and fill the air with his tired and somewhat annoyed state. Phone calls from Mr. L/N we’re never received well by anybody, and Jason and Tim have more than once thought about sending the hateful man a few messages. Damian offered to ambush him when he came home.

Y/N quickly shot those down.

Tim came from nowhere, his face screwed tight and body tense. Y/N gave him a once over, before making space for the college student on the couch. He gave him a worried look-over, “Is everything alright?” Tim melted into Y/N’s side, huffing and grumbling about something.

Bruce’s phone vibrated, and it was a message from Tim sent before he got down here.

‘It’s in Cabo.’ Bruce huffed, already knowing that if Tim was listening then so was everyone else. Referring to Mr. L/N as an ‘it’ seemed to be everyone’s favorite pastime. Everyone but Y/N’s, but as long as it wasn’t said around him then it was fine.

“You’re going to the Gala, right?” Tim asked and Y/N nodded, “Of course, when have I ever missed one?” Tim continued to grumble a bit, but relaxed into Y/N’s side as he ran his fingers through Tim’s messy hair. God he loves it when Y/N does this. There was barely anything better than Y/N’s head massages, easily lulling him to a calm state as everyone mentally prepared for the Gala tonight.

When Y/N had turned 13, that is when he started showing up to the Galas representing L/N Industries, and he would be in Bruce’s care while there. Whoever Bruce met, Y/N was expected to make a great impression. Bruce never missed the way Y/N would sometimes stare at the Wayne kids in jealousy as they got to do whatever they want, while he is forced to be an adult and try to win other adults over.

Then forced to be yelled at afterwards by his father on the phone afterwards for something miniscule. Either someone commented on a piece of clothing, or how he wasn’t smiling, anything that was negative Y/N got yelled at for. It was like Mr. L/N didn’t know how to do anything else other than yell at his child.

Tim took no offense when the fingers in his hair stopped moving, and Y/N’s body became limp. The other was knocked out on the couch, napping away the stress and enjoying the weekend. Unlike Tim who had Bruce’s help when managing Wayne Enterprises, Y/N is all on his own. Learning from his dad’s assistant, and also Bruce’s, Y/N was basically alone when his father had forced him to take the mantle. In face only, because as far as Mr. L/N was concerned, the company’s profit was still his profit. None of it going to Y/N, except as a monthly allowance.

Jason had once said he should just stop managing the company, and if his father loved it enough, then he’ll take over. Y/N chuckled-the bags under his eyes were deep and he had just gotten over a stress cold- and he said that although his father may care a lot about the profit, it was his late mother’s company and he wouldn’t want to embarrass her soul by purposefully failing.

However, now all that company did was cause him stress and make him sick more frequently. Bruce had said it was probably stress from his father, and not so much the company, but that didn’t stop them all from wishing the company would just go away.

Tim looked up Y/N through his eyelashes, taking in the similar dark circles they both shared and how Y/N looks paler than usual, and he knows that Y/N’s health would only get worse if they targeted the company. His oldest brother would do everything in his power to keep the company afloat, and it would be devastating on both sides. Y/N would run himself ragged trying to keep it alive and that would mean less time with them.

“Let him rest, Tim. He needs it.” Everyone has asked Bruce if he plans to do something. However, there isn’t much Bruce can do now that Y/N is an adult. He’s offered a room in a manor for Y/N to stay at forever, but Y/N has always been a bit hesitant about leaving the L/N’s home. Bruce can understand why.

Aged blue eyes observed the steady rise and fall of Y/N’s chest, and he wondered if there was anything that could convince Y/N to stay here.

++++

“Mr. L/N, what a surprise.” A surprise it is too, because instead of Y/N being here, it is his father. The one who was in Cabo earlier today. The man smiled, looking nothing like Y/N’s, and he held out a hand, “It has been a while. I figured it was time to show my face and give my son a rest.” Dick stared at Mr. L/N in shock and weariness, not liking how he said ‘his son.’ If it was a jab at Bruce, it didn’t land. Brucie Wayne, the social bug he was, laughed and clapped his hand on Mr. L/N’s shoulder.

“Is Y/N not showing up?” The man’s eyebrow twitched, “No, unfortunately he felt under the weather so he’s taking a break.” Dick’s eyes narrowed, and Bruce’s smile faltered, “Is that so? How unfortunate, he’s fun to talk to.” Mr. L/N’s smile tightened, “Indeed.”

The Gala was tense, at least it was for the Wayne family, because Y/N never misses a Gala. Never. Dick saved a slice of raspberry cheesecake, for when Y/N comes over tomorrow. He’s going to be upset that he missed a fresh slice, but knowing Y/N, he’ll worry about missing the Gala. The cheesecake will act as reassurance that no one is mad. They just had to wait until tomorrow, when Y/N will show up.

Only he didn’t. Dick can’t remember the last time he hasn’t seen Y/N in a 24-hour period, but he does know that he didn’t like it. Almost like there was a force keeping his shoulders tight and chest heavy. Looking around, he could already see the effects it was having on others.

He didn’t answer his phone, and when they called the L/N Manor, it was one of the maids picking up and stating that Y/N was either out, sleeping, or feeling under the weather. Which doesn’t make sense because when Y/N is sick, he is always over at the Wayne manor. No one makes a better chicken noodle soup than Alfred.

They let it go. Maybe Y/N wants to be home because his dad is home?

Then the next day, there was still no Y/N. Not a text message, not a phone call, complete radio silence. Following radio silence while on patrol, radio silence from Y/N had to be one of the more terrifying forms of silence.

There was nothing. His father left late last night, and usually that would mean Y/N would be over. He would be over complaining about his dad and how he needs to work harder. He’d get a stress cold that would last for two days before he would be back to normal.

Every phone call, every text message going unanswered.

‘Y/N, I swear I’m about to break into your house. Please answer.’ The threat was real and Dick meant every word. He’s talked Jason, Damian, and surprisingly Tim from doing it but now four days of radio silence was enough to make even Bruce stir-crazy. Batman has become a little more violent throughout the week, and Bruce Wayne a little more stressed looking.

‘Hey! Sorry for the silence, I’m just not feeling too well. I’ll see you in another few days.’ Everyone read the text message, and everyone’s mind filled with the same idea.

“Honestly, with how often he’s with us you’d think he knows better than to lie.” Damian’s nose scrunched, eyeing the message as if it spit in his face. Tim shrugged, “It just means he’s hiding something.”

Bruce said nothing, falling into the role of silent protector.

“You are not actually going over in your Bat costume are you?”

In the L/N Manor

Y/N walked the dark hallways back to his room. Under his arm was a book and in his other hand was a cup of coffee, still steaming and warming his fingers. The lightning that occasionally flashed filled the area with white light, casting long shadows and creating an eerie atmosphere.

When Y/N was younger, he used to sprint back to his room. He hated how dark and silent the hallways are, reminding him that he is alone in a place that does not want him. When he whispered to Dick that he was scared of the lightning, Dick had told Bruce and sure enough Y/N would be spending nights at the Wayne manor whenever it was forecasted to thunderstorm.

Y/N had gotten over the fear, but he still occasionally slept over when the forecast predicted rain. Just because he no longer feared it, didn’t mean he liked it.

Pausing to look out the window like some gothic prince trapped in a tower, Y/N recalled the argument he had with his dad. The older L/N making a surprise visit and berating his child when he first saw him and when he left. Y/N wondered if with the allowance he was given, if he could just move out. Apartments in the upper end of Gotham were expensive, and he’d never hear the end of it if he moved to East Gotham.

Not to mention, if he did leave to move out on his own, he’d be further from the Wayne family. Sure, Jason and Dick live on their own, and it wasn’t like Tim or Damian needed him around all the time, but it was home for him.

Maybe, he’s the one that needs them.

Lightning flashed and there was another reflection in the window.

“Ahhh!” Y/N threw his cup of coffee at the stranger behind him, and only paused in throwing the book when he saw the familiar cowl.

“Bruce! What the hell?! Oh my God, oh my God, I think I just lost like 10 years of my life.” Y/N clasped a hand over his heart, trying to calm the organ. Taking deep breaths, he finally managed to steady his heart beat and scrunched his nose at the older man. To which, Bruce Wayne glared back, “What happened to your face?”

‘Oh shit.’ Y/N sighed, “Nothing Bruce. I just fell, but what are you doing in my house? Did…did you break in?” Y/N tried to get around the taller and bigger man, but Bruce grabbed his arm. He spun Y/N around and thanks to the flash of lightning, Bruce’s jaw clenched at the fading bruises on Y/N’s face.

“Did F/N do this?”

“Bruce, I told you I just fell.” The lenses on the cowl narrowed, and Y/N saw the frown grow on the man’s face. Sighing, Y/N scrunched nose and winced when a bruise scrunched with it, “Honestly though Bruce, how did you even get in here? No, how did you even guess this hallway?”

“You’re rooms this way.”

“Ahhhhh!” Y/N screamed and ran into Bruce’s side for protection against the voice.

“Dick! Ho-wha- why are you here?!”

“We were worried.” This time Y/N only flinched, and whirled around to see Damian in the Robin costume. He gaped at the pre-teen, “Oh my God, you all are just spawning out of nowhere.” Damian grabbed his hand, and Y/N couldn’t help but to hold the youngest’s hand. Muscle memory.

“Y/N, you’re face,” Dick whispered, gently tracing the swollen and discolored skin, “We thought you were sick.” Y/N smiled, leaning into the palm of Dick’s hand, “I was. I’m just getting over it, as for the bruises… Like I was telling Bruce, I just fell.”

Damian’s grip on Y/N’s hand tightened and the oldest sibling smiled down at him, “What’s wrong Dami?” The youngest gave a small glare through the lenses of the Robin mask, “I find your lies insulting and belittling, Y/N. The truth would be appreciated before things get more drastic.”

“...Excuse me?” Y/N tried to remove his hand from Damian’s grip, and panicked when Robin refused to let go.

“Y/N, please be honest. What happened?” Dick, in his Nightwing costume, rested his hands on Y/N's shoulders and tried to coax the truth out of the person he sees as his oldest brother. It only made the other tense, and tried to get out of Damian’s grip.

“Guys, you’re scaring me.”

“Y/N, what happened?” Bruce’s voice did nothing to ease the fear that Y/N was experiencing, and for the first time ever in the time he’s known the Wayne family, Y/N didn’t want to be around them. He struggled some more to get away from them, but with Robin’s grip on his hand, Nightwing’s hands on his shoulders, and Batman’s gaze keeping him in place, Y/N found it harder to move.

Batman sighed, and with a nod that Y/N would have missed if he wasn’t focused on the man, Nightwing’s hand moved closer to Y/N’s neck. The other’s eyes widened, his one free hand moving to stop Nightwing.

“Wa-”

“Good night, Y/N.” His vision went dark and the only thing he registered was a pair of arms catching him before his body hit the floor.

++++

Y/N woke with a start, in a very familiar room, with raspberry painted bookshelves and dark sheets. His arms shot up to his face, and bandages rested on his cheeks. Looking at his arm and seeing the sleeves of his pajama pants, Y/N closed his eyes in misery and knew that if he were to lift the sleeves, there would be bandages.

Sitting up, Y/N grunted and rested his forehead in his hand.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

“Jay…” Y/N watched the other carefully, watching the taller and bigger man silently move across the room to sit next to him. His nose scrunched, “Your brothers and father have some explaining to do. Where are they?” Jason shrugged, “Out. Don’t worry about that, but Y/N, why did you hide this from us?” Y/N stared at Jason for a bit, processing the question and sighing irritably.

“Cause it's not a big deal. This was the only time and–”

“One time is still too many times!” Jason yelled, startling Y/N. Wide E/C eyes stared into Jason’s furious blue eyes, the slightest hint of green starting to slowly take over. Y/N gulped, “Jason, it’s fine. I am here now, right?” He reached out and grasped Jason’s larger hand, watching the other calm down with deep breaths. Those blue eyes of his seem to fall on every bandage across Y/N’s face, before looking back down at their clasped hands.

“Everyone was a mess, you know that right?” Y/N chuckled at him, chalking it up to Jason being overdramatic, “You guys are too funny. I know me going radio silent wasn’t appreciated, but you don’t need to guilt trip me further.”

“I’m not joking around, Y/N. Everyone was a mess.” There was something in Jason’s tone that had Y/N pausing. His E/C eyes landed on Jason and watched how those eyes continued to glow green. The larger man took a deep breath and seemed to calm whatever raging thoughts he was having, “But it's fine now, because you are here.” Y/N furrowed his brow, but smiled nevertheless, “Yeah.”

Silence overtook the room and Y/N is still unsure how to proceed. It wasn’t rare for the Batfamily to be a bit… dramatic. For fucks sake Bruce dresses as a giant furry and terrorizes criminals. However, there was something in Jason’s tone that had Y/N stilling. Contemplating his next words and wondering if they were the correct ones to say.

“You’re awake.” Y/N’s head snapped to the door and standing there was Damian. He gave a smile to the youngest Wayne, “Damian, you're not one to usually enter without knocking.” The youngest strolled over and eyes Jason’s and Y/N’s hands, “I heard you two talking and figured it would be okay if I entered.” Y/N pursed his lips, “Well, true but Dami you should still–”

“Father wants to talk to you, after dinner.” Green eyes met E/C and there it was again. A glint of something sinister lurking underneath the green. Y/N gulped and outstretched an arm. His palms up like he was approaching a dog, asking to pet it. Damian took the invitation and fell into Y/N’s embrace. Crawling onto Y/N’s bed and into the space underneath Y/N’s arm and against his chest, Damian nuzzled into the space with a content smile.

Y/N felt his heart rate spike, something alerting him that he is surrounding himself with something dangerous. Which is preposterous. Yeah, Damian was a little psychotic and so was Jason, but they wouldn’t harm Y/N. They wouldn’t hurt anyone that didn’t deserve it.

Yet, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling of something being wrong.

“When is dinner, Dami?” The younger boy hummed, “At 5:30.” Y/N glanced at the clock reading 5:25. Sighing, gently nudged the two away, “C’mon we have five minutes. Alfred will be upset with us for being late.” Damian grumbled while Jason outwardly expressed his discontent. When Y/N fully stood up, he noted that his clothes were different.

“Who… who changed me?” Jason shrugged and Damian continued walking. Y/N looked back down at the sweatpants he was now wearing and the oversized shirt. None of which are his.

“I-I should change first–”

“C’mon Y/N, no one cares.”

“Indeed, Drake has shown up before looking horrid. You look wonderful, like always.” Y/N said nothing to address those comments, but the time clicking on the clock had Y/N forgoing dressing and instead grabbing his house slippers. Damian was quick to grab his hand and Jason walked behind like he was protecting Y/N from something.

The walk was silent, and there were some bruises on Y/N’s body that had him wincing sometimes. Nevertheless, when the sound of chatter began to echo through the halls, Y/N controlled his expressions and braced for the question and answers he wanted.

“Well, look who finally woke up,” Dick joked and Y/N rolled his eyes, “I don’t want to hear that from the people who broke into my house.” He said it as a jest, but some part of Y/N wanted to mean every word he said. The three culprits didn’t even pretend to look guilty.

Y/N gave Bruce a pointed look, he busied himself by pouring himself, Y/N, Dick, and Jason wine. Damian released Y/N’s hand to go sit at his respective seat, between Tim and Bruce, while Y/N took his between Bruce’s and Dick’s. Dick smiled at him, “Happy to have you at dinner. They have been quiet for the past few days.”

“If that is your way of saying I talk too much Dick, may I remind you who is the reason we had to enact a five minute quiet period during meals before.” The man laughed, unbothered by that little fact being thrown into the air.

Dinner continued with the usual chatter, arguments, snide remarks, and dirty looks. Y/N’s absence was barely brought up, and instead he got filled in about what he missed while he was radio-silent. No one questioned the bruises on his face, or the now open secret that Y/N had tried to keep quiet about.

“Y/N, please see me in my studies.” Bruce gently squeezed Y/N’s shoulder and Y/N followed, thanking Alfred as he did so and waving to all the brothers. The walk was tense, and something kept stirring in Y/N’s stomach that he was walking into something dangerous. Not a trap, because a trap means Y/N didn’t see it or feel it coming. However, he can feel this one. He can feel this one coming, something that would have his life changing, and yet he still kept walking forward. It’s the Waynes. His family.

They wouldn’t do anything he didn’t like.

Bruce’s study was as dark and aesthetic as Y/N remembers. A dark oak wood desk, bookshelves, the laptop and monitors, and papers. Y/N rarely set foot in here, mainly because there was never a need to, but he remembers being young and playing hide-n-seek in here with Dick.

Bruce turned and gently cupped Y/N’s bruised face, turning it slightly to take in each discolored patch of skin and open wounds. Y/N smiled, “Bruce, it’s fine. I’m fine. You and everyone else are just being overdramatic.”

“Is that what all of this is? Us overreacting?” Y/N gave a nervous chuckle at Bruce’s tone, one he’s heard when the man was Batman.

“I mean, considering you broke into my house, that seems excessive.” Bruce released Y/N’s face and walked behind his desk, and motioned to a stack of papers.

“Y/N, if entering your home is considered excessive, then I don’t know how you are going to handle this.”

“Break in, Bruce. It was a break in, and what are you talking about?” Y/N picked up the paper, and quickly scanned the document. Bruce watched the color drain from Y/N’s face and horror take over those bright E/C eyes. They flickered from the top of the page back to the bottom, and then to Bruce and back to the paper.

Y/N’s mouth opened and closed, trying to form words he was desperate to say.

Wayne Enterprise Acquires L/N Industries

Bought. Bruce bought L/N Industries. Bruce bought the company from Y/N’s father, because Y/N isn’t the owner, and there is no way in hell that Y/N would have ever signed off on that. His mother’s company, now just a part of the Wayne monopoly.

“Wha-what is- Why- Bruce! Bruce, what the hell is this?” Eyes filled with betrayal and anger as Y/N glared at Bruce. The man sighed, “It is as it says. L/N Industries in now under Wayne Enterprise-”

“But why?! You’ve never shown any interest in the company.” Bruce wasn’t interested in L/N Industries. Wayne Enterprise was not a monopoly, and they didn’t buy companies unless that company was already going bankrupt. Bruce was interested in Y/N’s health, and vengeance.

“Don’t take it personally, because it's not at you.” Y/N rolled his eyes, “It sure feels like it. Bruce, you know what this company means to me, you can’t just–”

“Well I did.” Bruce met Y/N’s gaze head on, “The company is not in your name, you do not reap the profits, this acquisition was not a jab at you.” Y/N knows who it's a jab at, and he understands why Bruce is angry. However, it does not excuse the fact that this was a jab at the L/N family.

Y/N clenched his jaw, “There’s no way he just signed it over like that.” Bruce handed him another piece of paper and sure enough, there was his father’s signature. Y/N stared at the inked lines, wondering just how had Bruce gotten that signature so quickly.

“Blackmail really makes people move faster than the Flash.”

“Wha… what blackmail?” Bruce raised an eyebrow and Y/N closed his eyes in misery, “Bruce, I get it. I do. He’s not a good father, but you didn’t have to buy the company. He’s literally going to ret-”

“You and I both know he would never retire. You would be working to the bone for him while he reaps all the profit.” Y/N rolls his eyes, and opens his mouth to say something but Bruce cuts him off, “Do NOT roll your eyes at me! Y/N this is serious.”

Momentarily taken aback by the tone of voice, Y/N stared at a fuming Bruce. He processed the reaction and felt the heat in his stomach return, “Excuse you! You literally bought my family’s company, kind of if not really kidnapped me, and broke into my home! I have every right to be upset, let alone roll my eyes at you.”

“That place wasn’t your home and you know it.”

“Doesn’t change anything! That's like saying a break-in at a hotel room doesn’t count because the person doesn’t live in the hotel room.” Y/N could feel his heart rate pick up, and the reality of it all began setting in.

“Holy shit. Fucking hell Bruce.”

“Language.”

“Do not ‘language’ me! Bruce, what the actual hell! All of this is way out of proportion for what happened.” Bruce slammed his hands on his desk, making some papers fly and the cup holding his pens fell. Blue eyes filled with rage glared at Y/N, “You can’t even say what happened! He hit you, Y/N. He beat you like a dog, and animal abusers still go to jail. He’s getting off with only losing the company.

“And I know that those bruises are the only ones we do see!” Y/N glared at Bruce, fighting back tears and biting his lips. Bruce sighed, his shoulders deflating and a pained expression on his face. He walked around the desk and hugged Y/N, bringing his son close, “Y/N, I’m sorry. I am. You’ll still be running the company, and will have a final say in things. It's just… God, Y/N. Not hearing from you and then seeing you like that...” Bruce took a deep breath, trying to control his emotions, "It was terrifying, Y/N. How could I let you stay there when all of that was done to you?"

Y/N wrapped his arms around Bruce, ignoring the feeling of dread of doing so. He ignored how Bruce’s arms tightened around him, “Oh Y/N, please. Please stay here where you are safe.”

He didn’t want to admit that it sounded more of an order than a request. This was Bruce! His father in everything but blood and paper.

“Just… just please don’t do that again.”

“It won’t happen again. I promise.”

______________________________________________________________

Not a whole lot of Yandere, but thats why there will be two parts! Not just one.

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