#I have a drawer just for my red lippies
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one thing you all need to know about me is that I love red lipstick more than I love some people I I know
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The Senator and the Hunter (Cad Bane x reader)
{masterlist}
Warnings: some suggestive dialogue
Notes: Cad Bane fluff! Cad Bane fluff! Cad Bane fluff! Cad Bane fluff! CAD BANE FLUFF!
I wanted this to be gender-neutral but there aren’t any pet names in the Durese language that are gender-neutral.
Can we do away with ‘beautiful’ being used in a feminine sense? I call mountains beautiful and I don’t think they’re ladies. Let beautiful be neutral.
Tags: @lifelikefae Here ya go! :D
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Swish, swish, swish, the fabric of your pant legs brushing against each other echoed in the tense room inhabited only by you. Your brow hurt from being furrowed for so long, your bottom lip had been worried into oblivion, and your previously expertly styled hair had been mussed as if you’d just rolled out of bed. You were sure that if someone from the speedway looked into your office right now they would see some scowling, pacing hermit who was frustrated at the galaxy and the datapad in their hands. That is if anyone was able to see into the tinted windows of the senate building.
You hadn’t had any clue how long you’d spent on this one bill but guessing 72 standard hours didn’t feel too far off. A part of you wanted to be angry that you’d had to spend so long on the bill proposed by Bail Organa but the other part reasoned that it was a necessity if you wanted your voice to be heard amongst the cacophonous shouting of the other senators. It was an important bill, after all, it was one that would determine whether or not more clones were supposed to be purchased. Still, back and forth you walked: the light, royal blue fabric of your pants following the movements. It was a miracle you hadn’t worn a hole in the rug.
With a tired sigh, you lowered the datapad to tap against your thigh while one hand shot to pinch the bridge of your nose. Your eyes were starting to burn. Maybe it was time to call it quits? tell Bail you would have to vote against him unless the Jedi made significant process in the days leading up to the vote? You didn’t know.
A blaring sound cut through your deliberation, startling you enough to toss the datapad as the room was bathed in red and metal shutters slid down over the large windows. The previously tired sigh took a turn to be frustrated instead. A lockdown was not something you wanted to deal with right now. As calmly as your tired body would allow you moved to your desk to retrieve the small pistol you kept in the top drawer and tucked it into the back pocket of your slacks before moving to the designated hiding place in your office. You had just punched in the code to the small safe room when a thud sounded from behind you. You froze, hand shooting to the pistol in an instant as you hid yourself behind the curtains that concealed the door to the safe room.
The intruder’s steps could still be heard over the annoying blare of the siren which told you they were approaching and doing so swiftly. With a small click, you took the pistol off safety. The intruder froze on the other side of the curtain-the only indicator of where they were being the quiet sound of shifting fabric. Wanting to get the drop on whoever had decided that breaking into the senate building and specifically your office was a good idea, you itched your hand forward to grasp the fabric of the curtains so you could rip it out of the way. There was a click on the other side of the curtain and you launched into action. The deep red fabric was forced out of your way as you raised the pistol high, ready to fire at whoever was standing in your office. What you weren’t expecting was the sight of two familiar pistols being pointed right back at you. You followed the guns up the arms that pointed them till your eyes locked with a set of crimson ones.
“Cad.” You sighed.
“Senator.” He responded, his familiar modulated drawl dancing over your ears. You remained like that for a few seconds, just staring at each other as though daring the other to make a move. Cad would be the first. Without looking away from you, he lowered his pistols and returned them to their holsters before pressing a few buttons on his wrist to turn off the alarm-the red emergency light going away with it although the windows remained shuttered and the door was still probably locked. Still, you followed his lead and put your own weapon back.
“Cad,” you sighed again and stepped towards him, “What were you doing? I could have shot you!” You tried to rebuke him though you knew it would be a futile effort.
“Not with that aim.” Cad replied in a smooth tone, crossing his arms as he did. You mimicked his posture though with an added pout.
“Hey, I’m getting better!” You whinged, earning a disbelieving huff from the bounty hunter. “You didn’t answer my question though. What are you doing here?”
“I felt like paying my senator a visit.” He continued in that smooth, unperturbed tone-as though breaking into the senate building wasn’t a massive violation of Republic law-as he moved back into the main section of your office. You followed behind the bounty hunter with a rather dopey smile on your face despite the situation. You wiped it from your lips though as soon as Bane turned around, determined to keep up the facade.
You cleared your throat. “I wasn’t aware I was representing Duro now.” The reply slipped from you with ease, a stark contrast to the early days with Bane when you would never dare to tease him.
“Don’t get lippy with me, mulk.” Cad narrowed his eyes and took a step closer to you.
“I’ll get lippy with whoever I please, hud.” You sassed right back with hands on your hips as you also took a step forward. If Cad Bane had a nose, your own would be bumping against it. “Especially, if they decide to interrupt me while I’m working.” You raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to challenge you. “I don’t interfere with your work, love, so please don’t interfere with mine.”
“Please,” Cad huffed again though with an added smirk that told you he’d found your attempts at rebuking him amusing, “I was watching ya early, jewel, you clearly needed a distraction.”
Your eyebrow raised a little higher. “Watching me? Charming, Cad.” You shook your head and stepped back to make your way to your desk. “You really know how to make a senator swoon, baniss.” You tried to hide the mirth that permeated your voice with a forceful plop into your seat although you were certain the seasoned bounty hunter could still hear it.
Cad chuckled, the sound so warm and deep that it made your heart flutter, as he leaned over to catch the arms of your chair. “Just the one, izrin.” Cad smirked and dipped his head enough to catch your lips with his. You melted into him, hands sliding up his arms till you could loop them around his neck. Cad groaned and pressed forward, ignoring the somewhat awkward pose he was in as he leaned down to kiss you. It was unbelievable how much you’d missed each other in the brief time apart. You pulled back to catch your breath, smiling as you did so, and nonchalantly plucked Bane’s hat off his head.
“I’m glad you’re back, love, but was all this necessary?” You asked, holding his hat in one hand and using the other to vaguely gesture to the windows. “You couldn’t have sent me a message telling me to meet you somewhere or something less...conspicuous?” You asked as you continued to fiddle with his hat, even going so far as to place it on your head.
Bane watched you carefully as you messed with his most iconic article of clothing. “‘Thought I’d try and impress ya.” He simpered with a shrug.
You rolled your eyes at him-of course he just wanted to show off. “You don’t need to impress me, baniss. You know that, right?”
“I know,” Cad stood up and stretched, fixing the door with a bored stare that had you questioning if he still had it locked, “just felt like it.” There was a pause before he turned back to you and gave you a once over. “You look cute in my hat.” You tilted your head-Cad called you a lot of things: sexy, beautiful, hot, and breathtaking being the primaries when it came to commenting on your appearance but cute was a new one. It prompted you to look up at the brim of the hat.
“Thanks, though I don’t think it really goes with my outfit.” You laughed. You had to look ridiculous clad in dark blue slacks, a white sweater, and your boyfriend’s large, leather wide-brimmed hat.
“Please, you could wear anything and you’d still look good.” The bounty hunter looked away as he said that and you smiled. Cad Bane was hard to read even on a good day but you’d been together long enough to know that the only thing that could make the man nervous was complimenting you. It was a bizarre effect you had on him and one that Cad didn’t always know how to handle. One of the ways he hid it though was by looking away from you. Smirking like the loth-cat that got the cream, you stood up and strode towards him till you could wrap your arms around his waist. He stiffened up before placing his hands over your own.
“Thank you, my love. I’d say the same but I prefer you wearing nothing.” You practically purred into his back, just waiting to hear how he’d follow that up.
“Oh, jewel, those are dangerous words.” He murmured and turned around in your arms to grasp your shoulders. One of his hands came up to grasp your chin. “Anyone could walk in and see us.”
“How’s it dangerous…” You began as you plucked Bane’s hat off your head and placed it back on his. You brought your hands down to grab at the lapels of his coat to pull him down to your height. “If you’re the one controlling the door?” As if on cue, a knock sounded on the metal door and the familiar sound of a clone calling out interrupted you. With a sigh and roll of your eyes you pulled away from Cad and made your way to the door. Before you got to it though, you sent him a pointed look that had the bounty hunter sighing and pressing another button on his wrist to unlock it so you could send the clone on his way. With that taken care of and the metal coverings and lockdown dismissed as a glitch the door slid shut and you were once again left alone with Cad. There was the familiar beep to alert you that the door had locked. As slowly as you could, you spun around to face the room again.
Only to find that Cad had moved to your desk chair just so he could kick his boots up on your desk. “Well, senator. You up for a little danger?”
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Translations-
baniss-handsome
hud-hunter
izrin-beautiful
mulk-speaker, politician
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What lippy are you wearing in your pic? It looks like a classic true red and an amazing shade on you. I’m having a hard time finding one that doesn’t have too much blue if that makes sense.
Hello! Thank you!! It’s Dior Ultra Rogue in Ultra Love. I love a true red too! Prefer those that lean orange or tomato. I can recommend a few red-reds if you like! Just have to dig through my drawer. X
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As You Are, Part 8*
A/N: Finally posting this replacement part that the Nipple Police deemed too naughty for Tumblr.
I am also replacing my awful banner with this gorgeous art by @giggleberts. Thank you, dearest!!!!!
Logan had sneaked away and called you just before your alarm was set to go off again. You only spoke for a few minutes but it reassured you that he was taking whatever you had seriously. This would have been the perfect time to cool things off and reconsider the cons of being together without the incredible heat that existed between you distracting you, but if he was weighing his options, apparently there were more pros than cons at this point.
And you were as infatuated as ever, but now with a little more knowledge of who he was and genuine affection added in to the mix. Logan was unlike any man you had ever met. He was funny, smart, sexy and so inappropriate. You should probably be offended by some of the things he had said to you but he was so damned cute about it. He could charm the panties off a nun with that mischievous smile, and if he added a wink the Mother Superior would probably join in for a threesome.
Yeah, you were in deep and getting deeper.
The morning flew by. You were busy with work and that was how you liked it. You had sent a few texts to Logan throughout the day but for the most part you had been buried in your cube with headphones on, researching and writing.
You had no plans for the weekend because you hadn’t returned calls or texts all week as you had been completely engrossed in Logan. That would need to change, of course. You had good friends and your life couldn’t be put on hold for a man, he would need to fit in with your friends and…oh my, your family. Could Logan behave around family?
You decided to do some grocery shopping and laundry that night. You couldn’t live on Chinese leftovers forever, though statistically they would spoil before they ran out.
Logan had said he would probably have to go out drinking after meetings as it was a cultural thing, so you figured you either wouldn’t talk to him much or he’d drunk dial you. You were kind of hoping for the drunk dial as you had a feeling Logan was hilarious when plowed.
Your phone rang as you had settled in on the couch with a book and you grabbed it and saw Future Husband. Why hadn’t you changed that yet?
“Hi Logan,” you answered happily.
“Hey, what’re you doing?”
“Reading and doing laundry. How’d you sleep?”
“Lousy. Weird dreams. You doing anything this weekend?”
“Nope.”
“Too bad you’re not doing me.”
“That is too bad. But there’s plenty of time for that when you get back,” you said cheerfully.
“I don’t have to be anywhere for a couple hours. Video chat?”
“I am not having video sex with you, Logan,” you answered matter-of-factly.
Logan laughed. “You know me so well. And we’ve only been together a couple months.”
“Four days.”
“Like I said, couple months and we still haven’t had sex.”
“I bet we have in your mind.”
“Like we haven’t in yours. Remember, I know what a dirty girl you are, now.”
“This is true. You do inspire some pretty lewd thoughts. In fact, I’m guessing that you’re doing one of my lewd thoughts even as we speak.”
“And what do you think I’m doing?”
“Hmmm whatever could you be doing?” you said as if you didn’t know perfectly well what his long, sexy fingers were doing.
“Oh no, gotta say it if you wanna see it.”
“Well, this isn’t video chat. And I wanna see it in person. So I can see up close and personal. And taste.”
“Y/N,” he groaned. “That is so hot. Your mouth has been driving me crazy. I keep picturing your lips wrapped around my cock and I get a hard-on wherever I am. And the way you rubbed your tongue…ughh it felt so fucking perfect.”
“That was just a quickie. Not my best work, to be honest.”
“Then I might die with my cock in your mouth.”
“Like hell. I have a lot of other plans for you, babe.”
“Oh God please tell me,” he said, his voice getting breathless.
“Rather show you.”
“I can’t believe I’m fucking stuck on another continent. Hop a plane. Seriously, I’ll buy you a ticket.”
“Do you know when you’ll be home yet?” you asked hopefully.
“No. Hopefully Tuesday or Wednesday. I need to play fucking etiquette games and they haven’t even told me what the problem is yet. I am so fucking frustrated.”
“I can’t imagine. So you should relax now. Talk to me. About anything.”
“Anything?”
“Yup.”
“Tell me what you’re wearing.”
You laughed and said, “Baggy t-shirt and gym shorts.”
“Panties?”
“Yes.”
“Describe.”
“Logan…”
“Youuuuu said anything. I wanna talk about your panties.”
“Fine. White cotton granny panties.”
“Bullshit, I didn’t see a single pair of white cotton in your underwear drawer.”
“Logan Delos! You went through my underwear drawer?”
“Y/N Y/L/N you thought I wouldn’t?”
“Eh. OK, good point. They’re purple boyshorts.”
“Nice.”
“And you, darling? What panties are you wearing?”
“Ha! I’m not.”
“OK underwear.”
“Still not. I don’t wear them to bed.”
“You did at my house.”
“What would you have done if I slept naked?”
“Run screaming.”
“So I kept ‘em on.”
“That was very considerate of you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Show me your tits.”
“Not that considerate.”
“It’s almost like you don’t care that I have my hand on my hard cock, stroking it and –”
“Logan!”
“Hmmmm?” he asked innocently.
“Did I mention that you have the biggest cock I’ve seen in person?”
“Noooo,” he groaned. “Good to know.”
“Yeah. You are going to stretch me out, baby.”
“Fuck yeah, you’re gonna be so tight.”
“I’m going to lick, kiss and bite every inch of your body.”
“I can’t wait to eat that pussy of yours. I’m gonna make you beg for my cock.”
“Mmmm how about I beg now?”
“Yeah lemme hear that, baby,” he groaned.
“Please, Logan, please fuck me with your big, hard cock. I wanna feel you inside me deeper than I’ve ever been fucked.”
“Aaahhh fuck Y/N baby gonna fuck you so hard,” Logan moaned, panting.
“I’m going to wrap my legs around you and hold you in me until I cum all over your cock.”
“Oh yeah baby, I wanna feel you cum while I pound that pussy.”
“Then I wanna feel all that hot cum inside me when you can’t take it anymore and you shoot your load in my wet pussy.”
Logan came then with a shout of your name and a series of loud groans.
“Goddamn Logan, you are so fucking hot. I have never wanted a man like I want you.”
“Fuck. There’s a load of cum all over me that says you’re the hot one.”
“I want it.”
“You’re going to get more than you can handle.”
“Now I wish it had been video chat. I want to see. What are you doing to me, Logan?”
“Hopefully making you as fucking horny as you make me,” he said, still a little short of breath.
“Well that goes without saying.”
“I didn’t hear you get off.”
“No, I want you to feel me get off the first time.”
“You trying to get me hard again?”
“You said you had a couple hours,” you answered mischievously. “And I do have this fantasy of riding your cock…”
“Scratch that, I don’t think I’m going to get soft to need you to get me hard again.”
“Mmmmm yummy,” you sighed. You listened to his breathing even out, could feel him relax after his orgasm.
“Was that true? About me being the biggest?”
“Oh God yes.”
“I’ll also be the best,” he said arrogantly.
“Of that I have no doubt.” you replied. “So we’re in bed together, you just came, I’m sure I did…what are we doing?”
“Shower. Possibly shower sex.”
“Then what?”
“I’m not a cuddler, Y/N.”
“You aren’t?” you asked in complete surprise.
“Nope.”
“Thennnnn…what was watching TV on the sofa with my head on your chest? And what was sleeping together without sex?”
Logan didn’t respond for a moment. “Huh. You turned me into a cuddler.”
“Really,” you said skeptically. “You seemed pre-loaded with a cuddle mod when I got you.”
“Nerd.”
“Cuddler.”
“I will cuddle with you after sex, but if you tell anyone I’ll deny it.”
“I can live with that. Nobody else has to know that you’re sweet.”
“Sweet?? Fuck that, I am not sweet. I’m a cold-hearted manwhore,” Logan said, sounding offended. “If you think we’re gonna sync up our periods or something, you got the wrong guy.”
“Um, OK.”
“I gotta go clean up. Call ya back.”
“Ok –”
When your phone rang a bit later you let it go to voicemail. You weren’t in the mood for Logan’s constant resistance to any kind of feelings.
You texted a couple friends and found that they were out at a club celebrating a promotion. You quickly tossed your phone on the table to charge while you went and got dressed for clubbing.
You chose a skin-tight black mini skirt and red draped backless top with criss-crossed spaghetti straps in back and sky high red heels. Your makeup was perfect with winged eyeliner and bright red lippy. Your hair you left down in soft waves.
And just to be a bitch you took a full length selfie in front of your mirror and texted it to Logan with the message, Going out with friends. TTYL.
Logan’s first instinct when he got the text was to throw his phone across the room. Controlling that urge, he looked at you making a kissy face at the mirror and drew the conclusion that you were done with his bullshit. So much for ‘probably.’
Were you going to go find someone and bring him home to fuck because Logan had hung up on you? Logan’s next instinct was to go find someone to fuck and send you a pic. Two can play the selfie game.
Except…he didn’t want to go fuck someone else. You were in his blood, he wanted you. And he definitely didn’t want you fucking anyone else.
L: I’m sorry I was a dick and now you’re going out with your friends instead of talking to me. I deserve it. Have fun. You look beautiful.
You got the text in the back of the taxi on the way to the club. You would rather be home with Logan, or at least talking to him. But you knew that Logan would trample any woman who didn’t stand up to him once in a while. You refused to be a doormat no matter how crazy you were about him.
Y: Not here to serve you. I will have fun. Thanks for the compliment.
L: Babe…I don’t know what kind of temper you have yet, but I know what I’d do here and I’m gonna ask you not to.
Y: I know exactly what you’d do. And you’d send me a selfie while you did it. Right?
L: Yeah
Y: I’m not you.
L: I know
Y: TTYL
“Fuck!” Logan screamed in frustration. Why was this shit happening when he was 10 time zones away? He looked at the time and realized he had to get ready for a barbecue at the Aoki CEO’s home. He wanted to get on a plane and go grab you and drag you off to a deserted island so no other man could touch you or look at you.
He decided he needed to move the etiquette bullshit along. He needed to get home to his life now that he had a chance at one.
You didn’t have fun. You tried to dance with your friends and had a few too many drinks, even danced with a guy for a minute when he started dancing with you, but when he put his hands on your hips you pulled away and sat back down. His hands were wrong. You only wanted Logan’s hands on you.
You only wanted Logan.
Which was completely impractical and just begging for a broken heart. Why would you fall for the least suitable human on the planet to give you what you dreamed of: someone who would love you and think of you first thing when he wakes up and last thing before he goes to sleep, and all the rest of that romantic crap? He would never settle down with one woman.
It might be time to accept that and put him in the past.
“Hey,” your friend Kate said. “You’ve been quiet tonight. Who’s the guy?”
You smiled a little. Kate had known you since high school. You had roomed together at college and you were as close as sisters. Needless to say, Kate had been through every relationship you’d ever had with you and she could read you.
“I met him earlier this week.”
“And you’re already this sad? Honey, that doesn’t sound good.”
“I know.”
“Who is he? Where’d you meet him.”
You walked outside together so you could hear each other talk and you told her everything, ending with Logan’s diatribe of being a cold-hearted manwhore when you called him sweet, followed by his subsequent request that you not go fuck someone else for revenge.
“Well he sounds like a hot mess,” Kate said after a moment of silence.
You laughed way harder than the joke called for, letting out some of your pent up emotions. Then you walked over to another girl and paid her $10 for a cigarette and came back to a disapproving Kate.
“I’m completely, head over heels mad about him, Kate. I look at him and I see forever. And it’s ridiculous! I’m not like this!”
“No, you aren’t,” Kate said speculatively. “You don’t do impulsive. You never have. But this guy got to you.”
You nodded and said, “I have no idea what he sees in me. I am nothing like any of the women he usually dates. And he says that’s part of what attracted him. And I’m as mean to him as everyone else, so he knows I’m a smartass. He’s gorgeous and smart and funny and sexy and his smile is just perfection. He could get any woman he wanted. And he told me he’s been an asshole to women in the past. What about me would make him change that?”
“What about you wouldn’t? Maybe he sees what I do. You’re beautiful and smart and funny and brave and real! Plus I’m guessing he sees a few things I don’t. Coz I don’t want to have sex with you.”
You laughed a little at her joke.
“Sweetie, you’re more than enough for any man. Any issues that he has are his, not yours.”
“Thanks, but if I want to be with him and he pushes me away, pretty sure that’s about me.”
“No, not really. I mean, you said his family is messed up right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, we all know boys with Mama issues are nightmares.”
“Ha. Yeah we’ve both had our share of Mama’s boys.”
“But this is the opposite. He’s not running because nobody can love him like Mommy…he’s running before you can leave him, like Mommy did.”
You shrugged, “The results are the same. He runs and bangs any of the dozens of women that are available to him at any given time and I wind up with my heart in a million pieces because I actually care for the jackass.”
Kate put her arm around you and you laid your head on her shoulder. You still didn’t have a clue but at least you weren’t alone.
You decided to head home. Kate stayed outside with you until your Uber got there and hugged you and put you in the car with a promise to come by for coffee tomorrow.
You looked at you phone for the first time since you had arrived at the bar. There were a couple texts from Logan and one had an attachment. You opened the text and saw a selfie of Logan pouting with his lower lip stuck out
that had the caption, “I’m sorry :(“ and the body of the text said Unsolicited dick pic.
And you laughed.
L: Don’t give up on me yet
Y: Let me know when I should, OK?
Logan grabbed his phone from his pocket when he felt your text and relief flooded his body. Despite the faux pas of looking at his phone at a social event, he tapped out an answer.
L: Can’t say that I will. I think you’re too good for me.
Y: Don’t be a dumbass. I might love you some day.
L: I got downgraded from pretty sure, huh?
Y: When you get home I’ll let you make it up to me.
L: I plan to. You’ve been upgraded to pretty sure.
Y: Damn, shitty timing for you.
L: I’m sorry. I don’t mean to push you away.
Y: You do a fucking dead-on impression of it.
L: Are you still out?
Y: On my way home.
L: Already?
Y: This guy I really like hurt my feelings and put me in a shitty mood. Didn’t feel like dancing.
L: My girlfriend had a similar issue earlier.
Girlfriend?
Y: WTF Logan you have a girlfriend??? You fucking asshole. I swear to Christ you keep finding new ways to destroy me. If you can tear me up this much in less than a week then your girlfriend has all my sympathy. Go fuck yourself. I am so done with you.
You powered your phone down and put it in your bag, utterly disgusted with the tears streaming down your cheeks.
L: Jesus Christ Y/N I meant YOU!! You are my girlfriend!!!!
Your Uber pulled up in front of your building and you climbed out and stormed into your apartment. You left your phone on the charger in the living room and then got ready for bed.
Your pillow smelled like Logan. You flung it across the room and slept fitfully without it.
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backyard - did you ever have an imaginary friend? peaches - do you have a skincare routine? lollipop - favorite makeup products? clouds - describe one of your favorite dreams?
Backyard - I had a lot of imaginary friends but not like OC imaginary friends, they were all whoever my favorite characters were at the time. I was real close buds with the og Voltron team particularly XD
Peaches - Listen, I LOVE skincare products but I am terrible at establishing a routine with them. I have a drawer full of lotions, cleansers, and treatments but the most routine I do is just wash with something mild and moisturize, moisturize, moisturize. Right now I've been using a Korean egg white cleanser to help my enormous oily pores and a gel moisturizer from E.L.F. because it's hydrating but not greasy.
Lollipop - I tend to go pretty light most of the time because I'm so oily that foundations slide right off, and primer makes me feel cakey. Right now I usually wear IT Cosmetics CC cream with SPF or Wet & Wild tinted moisturizer, Too Faced Tickled Peach eyeshadow palette, Too Faced Better Than Sex mascara, NYX Butter lip gloss in Tiramisu, and some kind of brow mascara... probably NYX. That red liquid lippie you see in all my selfies is Stila Stay All Day Liquid Lipstick in Beso -- that one is probably my number one favorite product but I'd go without lipstick before I go without mascara. My natural lashes are blond so I look really weird and tired without mascara, LMAO.
Clouds - Apart from the Jean dreams that will probably become fics at one time or another :D there is one recurring dream I have where I'm on a very posh, old cruise ship, like everything is velvet, crystal, mahogany -- and for some reason none of the other guests on the ship understand that there is a massive dragon in the bowels of the ship. At first I'm terrified of it but if I keep dreaming it long enough I manage to strike an uneasy alliance with the dragon because these people have harnessed him to the ship to be its engine and I just want to set him free. Weirdest dream I've had but it's so vivid and the plot is the same every time.
Thanks for asking!
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The Sephora at Takashimaya just re-opened and I managed to snag this ultra cute limited-edition MatteTrance lipstick trio by Pat McGrath Labs! Currently, there are two trios to choose from. Skin Show (1995, Omi, and Flesh 3) has more neutral shades that you can wear everyday, and Colour Blitz is made up of two bright reds and an electric pink (Elson, Obsessed, and Full Panic respectively). I particularly love the packaging for this one - the glitter that is packed in the kit is so extra but I just wanna douse my entire drawer with it.
Off the bat, I think that the Skin Show trio is a good kit to get if you’re interested in trying out Pat McGrath, especially since it just got released in Singapore. The set of three is priced at 39 SGD, which is really reasonable when the regular lipsticks go at 54 SGD each.
Although the price was a steal, I wasn’t particularly impressed with the quality of these mini-sized lipsticks. The salesperson in the store did warn me that the tubes are plastic and are not of the same quality as the regular-sized lipsticks. However, when I got around to opening the packaged, I realised that the lipstick tubes weren’t snugly sitting in their containers. My entire Omi lipstick actually fell out of the tube when I opened it (you can see that the lipstick looks a little scratched up in the picture below). There’s also this weird frosted sheen at the bottom of the Omi and Flesh 3 lipsticks, which spooked me out a little. I checked online reviews from Sephora.com and it turns out that several others have had similar problems, so if you’re thinking of getting this, there is a chance you might get these little defects in your trio.
Formula wise, I have to say that the MatteTrance lipsticks are too matte for my liking. They don’t exactly pull too rough on your lips, but it dries down pretty matte and I always prefer my lipsticks to be a little more velvety in texture. There was also this crumbly sensation when I rubbed my lips together after application, which usually happens when lipsticks are too drying on the lips.
Out of the three, I would say I like 1995 best. It’s touted as a warm, light nude, but on me it pulls pretty dark. It also is a lot pinker on my lips than on the arm swatch. Omi is a mid-tone rose and the colour was just so pretty in the tube! It was definitely pinker than 1995, which I don’t foresee myself wearing too often because I generally prefer brown-based lipsticks. Lastly, Flesh 3 was sort of interesting. It is a brown rose that pulled off very dark on my skin, but I liked the sultriness of it. Although I don’t think I pull off dark lips very well, but I think this lipstick would be perfect if you’re planning for a girl’s night out.
Overall though, I was really blown away by the price but ultimately still (kinda) disappointed in the trio. Even though the lippies are mini-sized and not meant to have the same exact quality as the full-sized products, I think Pat McGrath Labs can spare a little more effort to improve the quality of these kits. Especially when these trios could be the first product people try from Pat McGrath Labs - it doesn’t exactly scream “luxe” when the trial kits are so badly produced. Although I am still excited to try out her other products i.e. the LuxeTrance lipsticks, I think I might wait for a bit before purchasing them because I am still a little scarred by this first impression.
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This World Is A Total Waste Of Makeup But I’ve Gotta Have It Anyway
I recently reorganized my makeup into a plastic three shelf organizer. There’s so much makeup that the drawers fall through. And I’ve got overstock in two other containers. Yes, I’ve got a problem. Makeup has me, heart and soul just like it has so many other girls wearing carefully curated faces on Instagram, like how long did that face take and let’s hope she used a damn good makeup setting spray so it doesn’t all slide off when she smiles. I’m obsessed and I have so much that I know it will go bad before I use it all but I never deny myself the gift of a pick me up in the form of a new eyeliner or highlighter. I have about 40 red lipsticks, yes, that’s just red. I likely have over 100 lipsticks in total but I’m too lazy to do an inventory in the form of an Excel spreadsheet. I recently was blessed by the drugstore gods with an amazing clearout which happened when I had been double-blessed by my tax refund. My heart was all a-flutter and so full of joy as I fumbled through containers of products that were marked for clearance. For once in a long time, I was filled to the brim and I don’t mean fulfilled like getting the job I’ve been searching for for all my life, I mean filled as in she got her drug of choice. I do most of my shopping if not all of products that are on clearance. I don’t have much of a say in what I wear either as that all comes to me second hand. I’m styled by the universe and it doesn’t ask me how I feel about that. I was in seventh heaven as I selected some lippies, eyeliners, mascaras and concealers that were all about $3.50 each or priced for the 90′s, ahem, priced for what I can afford. There’s nothing like sitting in the car and just staring at my newfound treasures, admiring them from every angle and taking them all in in all their beauty. I love smelling the formulas that become my new fave smell. I can never have too many mascaras, eyeliners or any makeup that is black. It feels good to wear my darkness on my face, after all my name does mean black and dark and I love everything about that. I mean my writing lives up to that description, can I get a witness, does anyone agree? When I get a good makeup haul, I feel some kind of feelings that I don’t feel too often in my sorrowful life. When it’s priced at last chances prices, I feel even better. I bond with makeup like nothing else. It really is my best friend, my only friend. I have more of it than I can likely ever use and it fills something up inside of me whenever I buy more. It’s like an itch that always needs scratching, and too much is never enough. Makeup does something for me that nothing else can ever come close to doing. But why do I wear it if we live in a world where no one looks at each other in the eye? I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately and wondering why I love my make so much if it all comes off at the end of the day and isn’t doing anything for me. No one sees any value in each other, no one wants to know anyone else in our very fragmented society. No one talks to each other nor do they want to be social if it’s not part of work or something. I don’t have friends or a boyfriend and I know since I never have money and a stable life, I’m not getting them anytime soon. It’s people’s nature to turn away from others and not to each other. It’s the modern way to avoid and not approach. Being as isolated as I am, I feel particularly invisible even with makeup on. I know I’m pretty but never feel seen. Or seen by the right sets of eyes. I know I was born for another time. I don’t deserve to live in the type of world we live in today. I don’t deserve to be ignored and never have conversation and never know what it’s like to belong. Makeup has me, that’s for sure and I’ll always love it but it’s sad that it doesn’t do shit for me and it likely never will all because we’re a shit society. This day and every day is a total waste of makeup. If there’s one and only one consolation in all of this, at least I get most of my products at more than half off.
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If you own a lot of makeup, organizing it can get difficult. Even if you have a designated area to store it all, somehow it still ends up scattered everywhere. (Don’t get me started on finding tubes of lipstick in random bags.) That’s why thousands of beauty lovers have turned to the Ikee Design Makeup Cosmetic Organizer to help them get all their mascara and concealer in order.
The acrylic organizer is a stackable two-piece set featuring a tray and drawers. It comes in a variety of designs, colors (including clear, pink, and purple), and sizes. The tray portion includes 12 lipstick slots and four other compartments, and you can choose between four to 15 drawers. It’s the second best-selling cosmetic display case on the site (following this rotating makeup organizer), and prices start at just $14.50.
Buy It! Ikee Design Makeup Cosmetics Organizer, $14.50–$29.99; amazon.com
Over 5,300 shoppers give the organizer five stars, saying it “adds a touch of bling and sophistication” to their vanities, and even saves them time getting ready in the morning.
“This organizer was literally everything I could have wanted it to be. I have my foundations, primers, lippies, eyeliners, tools, eyeshadows, highlighters, and bronzers stored in ,” one shopper wrote. “Everything is stored nicely and looks super glam and I’m obsessed. It’s super sturdy, easy to clean and looks cohesive with my glass top vanity. I love that this is so affordable compared to organizer companies that charge almost a hundred dollars for organizers like these.”
And if you’re unsure of what exactly the Ikee Design organizer can hold, one customer highlighted that it’s big enough for “Colourpop Liquid Lipsticks and Lippie Stix, as well as the NYX Liquid Suedes and Soft Matte Lip Creams, Too Faced Melted Mattes, Ofra Liquid Lipsticks,” plus “chubby crayons like the Revlon Balm Stains and NYX Simply Reds.”
If you’ve been looking for a new way to organize your cosmetics collection, it sounds like the Ikee Design Makeup Cosmetic Organizer might just be the way to go.
from PEOPLE.com https://ift.tt/376Wxq2
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Beauty Test Drive - Battle of the brands, glosses edition. If you know me personally (or follow my *Instagram Stories) then you are aware of my love for lips makeup. I raided my beauty drawer and came up with two glosses that I wanted to put toe to toe (or cap to cap, rather). Today's corrivals are the {relatively} new *Pure Color Envy Paint-On Liquid LipColor* from Estée Lauder (.23 Fl. oz/7 mL C38$) vs. Annabelle's *BIGSHOW Lacquer Lip Lacquer (C$9.95) LLLLET'S GET READY TO BEAUTY RUMBLE! Note: This is not a first impressions post. These products have been on the market for a minute and I have been using them both for a while now. They the are closest two that I could find in my vanity as far as textures/functions. This is simply for comparison purposes ;) Note #2: What works for me may not work for you and vice-versa. Opinions are like belly buttons: everybody has one :D Now that the notices are out of the way, let's get to the lippies showdown, shall we? We shall! Keeping the pucker hydrated is an crucial step towards soft-as-a-baby's-butt lips. Before I made sure to moisturize them with my LipFusionXXL plumping primer from Fusion Beauty (which I already raved about *here*). I went (back to) the BIGSHOW first. This 3-in-1 product claims to provide "the highly pigmented, saturated color of a lipstick, the lustrous finish of a gloss and the long lasting color of a stain". Hmm let's see about that. On day 1, I wore it on its own without any liner. Its glides on smoothly; the collection's vermeil (a gilded silver or bronze) shade, called Love Fiercely, is quite pigmented as I got a decent color payoff in a single swipe. The formula is great, non-sticky, non drying and after a couple of hours it leaves a splendid stain (I mean.. I had to eat..🤷🏾♀️) 👍🏾PROS: It smells like fruit candy! 🍭A few chemical head notes but barely detectable and very bearable. Plus this guy's lasting power is very impressive. 👎🏾CONS: While the texture is creamy and leaves a nice tint behind, it doesn't strike me as a vibrant and bold color. I went for the Pure Color Envy Paint-On Liquid LipColor a few days later. It states to boast "a Time Release Encapsulated Hyaluronic Acid" and "paints on perfectly sculpted, [...], silky-smooth lips". Slightly underwhelmed from the previous test, I wanted to try something different so I combined 311 - Scream Sexy, a cardinal red hue with my beloved Ruby Woo lipstick this time for more of an ombré look. I just tapped my finger into it, insisting on the center of my rims and glazed it across. It makes it long lasting (I had a busy day) and my brim more juicy looking. It just feels like butter on my lips when I slightly press them on after applying it. Such a soft feeling on my pout. 👍🏾PROS: This guy smells like cream soda. Moreover, its pearly finish really agrees with the matt grain of my lippy. I'm also a fan of the little speckles of glitter as they added dimension. 👎🏾CONS: Though the feel is comfortable and non-drying, I can't describe the color as a feisty one either. PRO on BOTH: The pair of them feel exceptionally light on my lips. Additionally, each of the two's consistencies are very smooth to the touch. CON for BOTH: I would have liked a vibrant shine-y, gel-y, wet-like coating. Even a duo chrome (metallic lipstick) quality would do. These are more fitted to my mom's taste: discreet yet pigmented nonetheless. Verdict: If I had to choose one, it'd be Pure Color Envy for the win. This one is thicker therefore faintly more opaque and reflective. Moreover, BIGShow is more on the pinky side of the spectrum while EL's is more of a rich red which I personally prefer. Canada-based Annabelle's BIGShow is available in your local pharmacies' cosmetic aisle. Pure Color Envy is now available at Hudson's Bay, Nordstrom and at esteelauder.ca. There you have it Rosedolls! Another Beauty face off. What is your can't-leave-the-house-without, must-have lip adorner? Comment below👇🏾 xoxo, Deb DISCLAIMER (Note #3, I guess!): Both of these products were gifted to me at events or sent my way for review without any pressure for analysis, evaluation, critique, assessments or commentary. Thoughts/opinions are as always my own (how boring to take someone else's ;P) SOURCES: sharecare.com, clinique.ca
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I Dated a Woman for Her Legs and Stayed with Her for Her Cat
By David Himmel
I used to date a girl who had a cat. His name was Mogley. He was named after the human boy raised by wolves in The Jungle Book, although the girlfriend — Brenda — admitted, sometimes embarrassed, that she had misspelled it on accident.
I don’t recall the kind of cat — brand? — species! — that Mogley was, but he was kind of an asshole. Maybe we personify too much when it comes to our pets, but pets do take on the traits of their owners, and Mogley was much like his mother. He was beautiful, quick to anger, fleeting with affectionate feelings and got real lippy when hungry.
When I started wooing Brenda, which should be considered as convincing her to date me, I knew that if I could make the most important male figure in her life respect and like me, her heart would easily be mine. She didn’t have a relationship with her dad, he ran off when she was barely three years old so the cat was my mark. What I thought would be instantaneous, it took seven months of dating Brenda and staying over at her place before Mogley warmed up to me.
Mogley would rub against my leg when I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth. Every time I leaned down to pet him, he’d allow one short stroke with the grain on the top of his head before biting me. Usually, these weren’t vicious bites, just nips with enough teeth and torque to let me know who was in charge. He was fascinated with the running water from the faucet and when he’d hear it, he’d jump onto the bathroom counter and shadowbox the stream. Brenda told me that he preferred to drink his water from the sink and that I should close the drain and fill the sink with water. And I did dutifully in the hopes that he’d see this as a sign of peacemaking. And as he watched the sink fill, throwing jabs and hooks at the water stream, I’d move to stroke him on his head, just the way Brenda would do, with the grain, the way he liked. And he’d let me get two strokes in before directing a clawless slash at my wrist and a back-bending attempt to grab some of my skin with his fangs.
“Yeah, yeah. Up yours, cat.”
In the mornings, always at exactly nine minutes before the alarm was set to go off, Mogley would find his way under the covers at the foot of the bed and to my toes to bite each one, fast and furious, the way the Big Bad Wolf dreamed of eating little piggies. Of course, this woke me up, robbed of nine extra minutes of sleep, which was a lot to lose after nights of drinking and screwing Brenda but hardly enough time to fall back asleep. When I reflexively and defensively kicked at him, he’d leap from under the covers, hiss and shriek that horrible shriek cats do when they’re fighting or in heat, and run out of the bedroom, down the hallway and into the bathroom to drink from the sink of water I filled for him before bed several hours earlier.
Brenda’s roommate hated Mogley for this. And she hated me even more for causing it. She may have also hated me because my best friend lost interest in her shortly after Brenda and I became a serious item, having decided that his job as a wingman was complete. And he was right.
So this is how it went with Mogley for those first seven months of the relationship with Brenda. By that time, I had given up hope that Mogley and I would ever get along. Why bother? It turned out that I didn’t really need Mogley’s approval the same way I didn’t need my friend’s wingman services any longer. Brenda and I were hot and heavy. His opinion of me was worth less than the shit in his litterbox.
I stopped leaning down to pet him when I brushed my teeth. I knew his purrs and rubs were bait for a bite. I stopped filling up the sink for him. Let his mother obey his princely demands. I stopped feeding him his can of tuna for dinner and when he would scream long, high-pitched meows for it, I’d ignore it or tell Brenda, “Hey! Your cat needs his food.”
It took me a good three months of hard flirting before I sold Brenda on being my girlfriend. By the end of that third month, I had grown weary of trying to decipher her cues and flirtations, and backed off. Shortly after I stopped showing interest — as in the first day I didn’t call her on the way to work and ask her to have lunch with me — she started returning my earlier advances. Overdue as they were, I took them and played it cool before closing the sale. And because Mogley was just like his mother, the moment I stopped trying to get the cat to love me, he began to love me.
Brenda and I were having a date at her house. A night of movies, pizza and whatever liquor her roommate had stocked in the cabinet. Brenda and I were curled up on the couch, halfway through our second movie, Blade Runner, when Mogley emerged from whatever dark part of the house he was in and jumped on the couch. He gracefully walked along the back of it, slowly, like he was stalking prey. Brenda said, “Hi, Mo-Mo.” He meowed and stalked. I paid him no mind. I kept my focus on the burning question: Do androids dream of electric sheep?
I was several sheets to the wind, having polished off three beers, half a bottle of red wine and two-thirds of a bottle of lemon-flavored vodka, so I didn’t register that the nudging at my chest wasn’t Brenda but Mogley. He was snuggling up to me. I looked down at him.
“What,” I said.
He looked up at me.
“Meow,” he said.
It was a trap. I went back to watching the movie. I put my hand on Brenda’s slim, smooth, tan thigh.
“Meow.”
He was still looking at me. His eyes were big. He pressed harder into my chest. He purred loud enough that Brenda used the remote to turn the volume up a few notches. “What!” I said. He went through the motions again. Meow. Lean in. Purr. “I’m not petting you. You’re just going to bite me. Again. You think I’m an idiot?”
“Meow.”
“Yeah, yeah. Up yours, cat.”
Then he tucked himself into a ball and settled in the nook created by my body, Brenda’s legs and the couch cushions. Mogley wasn’t a big cat but I could feel all of his weight against me. He wasn’t leaning or pushing, he was nuzzling. The vibration from his purring was making my stomach a little upset. It was shaking up all of the alcohol and shitty pizza I had floating around in there. I started to feel like I might puke if he kept it up. I thought, This is a bold and impressive attack, Mogley. I considered getting up but didn’t want to disturb Brenda or risk the bite from Mogley. But I needed him to calm down. So I petted him.
One stroke on the head. Just the first half of the topside of my index finger. From nose to the back of his head. With the grain. Slowly. He leaned into it. The purring quieted. The vibrations stopped. So I did it again. A different kind of purring. This kind wasn’t loud, it was soft and sweet. He leaned into me with a different kind of weight. The kind of weight a lover has when she is the little spoon.
Mogley and I stayed like that — petting and purring — just as Harrison Ford and Sean Young split the scene and the credits rolled.
Mogley and I became pals. I resumed my duties of feeding him his dinner tuna, filling his bathroom sink, and he ceased his routine of biting me when I petted him and waking me up at 6:21 in the morning by chomping on my toes. For a brief stretch there, life was as perfect as I’d ever dreamed it could be. Brenda’s roommate even resumed her affection for me since I’d found another buddy of mine to keep her from feeling like a teenager’s used tube sock.
But as my closeness with Mogley grew, distance came between me and Brenda. I can’t tell you what it was exactly or even vaguely, other than to say that Brenda had a reputation for being difficult to work with, unapologetic, irrational and nasty, though a shit ton of fun to drink with. And I knew all of this and had been witness to all of this before we started dating. Part of my attraction to Brenda was that I wanted to be the cowboy who broke the wild stallion. And she had incredible legs. I mean, incredible legs. And she was smart. Interesting kind of smart. She had great tastes in art and music and film and food and had this wild way of holding chopsticks that I couldn’t even begin to describe to you if there was a katana blade to my throat.
But Brenda never directed any of that poisonous part of her personality my way. And during those first seven months, she was the sweetest, most loving and level headed woman I’d known. As that distance crept in, things changed and I became the main target of her venom. And her venom stung, stank and stained.
The details are numerous and dull so I’ll spare you, but I will tell you that I couldn’t ever say the right thing. She made me feel that I was even saying the wrong things wrong. I was too over dressed and too underdressed. I was too thin and too short, then too tall and too fat for someone with my build. On Valentine’s Day, I wrote her a one-page love letter, one of the most honest and emotional things I’ve written to this day, and she accused me of plagiarizing it. Who did I copy? Me. She was certain I’d just repurposed a love letter I’d sent to a previous girlfriend. I was stunned. She asked me what I had to say for myself, and when I said nothing, because I was in such shock that I couldn’t make a sound, she called me a “dumb retard” and stormed out of her own house.
Mogley and I raided her roommate’s liquor cabinet and watched The Godfather II while I drank way too much Irish whiskey and Coke. Three hours later, Mogley, having spent the length of the film in my nook, purring and being pet, had listened to me bemoan being with Brenda. And I knew that he understood even better than I did. Or so I had told myself.
A week after our anniversary, Brenda broke up with me at a crowded restaurant bar. I made a scene anyway. It was my turn to act like the lunatic. She was kind enough to let me go back to her place, clean out my drawer and leave my copy of the key under the mat at the front door. I left all of my crap in that drawer. Instead, I used those thirty minutes to talk to, play with and snuggle with Mogley. I was heartbroken over the idea of Brenda no longer being in my life, but I was devastated that Mogley would be gone, too.
But they didn’t go away. Because like most people too young to know better, Brenda and I kept in touch so that we could keep screwing and torturing each other. Our breakup-makeup lasted longer than our actual, official relationship. I knew so many times and so often that I needed to stop calling her, answering her calls, going over to her place late at night, inviting her to mine even later. But I knew that with each point of contact, I’d have an opportunity to hang out with Mogley — fill his sink, feed him his tuna.
As my closeness with Mogley grew, distance came between me and Brenda.
When Brenda’s brother-in-law died suddenly, she called me early on a Sunday morning, waking me up. She was sobbing uncontrollably. I figured she had spent her Saturday night hooking up a baker’s dozen of random dudes and was calling to confess her sins and admit her love for me then beg and plead for me to take her back. Although I had been screwing any girl who would let me, my immature and egotistical heart was prepared to call her a slut and hang up on her, figuring that I’d finally, after three years, won the relationship.
No. Her brother-in-law was dead. Aneurysm. A wife and two young kids left behind. She was going to the funeral in Arizona and would be staying with her sister and the kids for an uncertain amount of time. She needed someone to watch Mogley. She hated that she had to call me. But I was the only person Mogley liked and didn’t bite or hiss at. Even her roommate didn’t make Mogley’s inner circle.
I felt for Brenda and her sister and her sister’s kids. The whole family, really. They were all kind, warm and generous people. Brenda often blamed her father’s abandonment on her personality flaws, which had some credence, however, his leaving didn’t seem to disrupt her mom and sister in such a dramatic way. Or maybe I never saw any negatives because I wasn’t romantically involved with them. Truly loving someone gives you access to the ability to truly despise them. Of course I would watch Mogley. For as long as needed.
She brought him to my house with the one toy she bought him, which he never played with, and a 12-pack of canned tuna. She let him out of her arms and he immediately began investigating my house. We could hear him meowing in different parts of the house as if to say, “Here’s where I’m going to puke up one meal,” and “Here’s the sink I’d like to drink from,” and “I found some dirty magazines under the sink.” Brenda, grief stricken or desperate for any reason to not leave me, Mogley or embark on the long drive over state lines to be at her sister’s side, prattled on with Mogley’s caring instructions that she and I both knew were not needed.
“Brenda,” I said. “Go. Be with your sister. Mogley will be just fine.”
Two weeks later, she was back. The time Mogley and I spent as roommates in my house was uneventful. And that’s because when two beings are comfortable being with each other, drama is averted. The best I could say is that we napped, ate, chased each other around the house, watched a lot of History Channel and entertained a few girls, about which Mogley was sworn to secrecy.
When Brenda arrived at my door to take Mogley back home, I handed him to her and started crying. Not a lot but the kind of crying you see in movies when people say goodbye to each other knowing it’s the final goodbye, and one long single tear trailblazes down the cheek. Those two weeks with no contact from Brenda, other than the few calls she made to see how the cat was doing, gave me the space I needed to heal and get out from under her spell. It also made me realize that I had only allowed the bullshit back and forth to go on as long as it did because of Mogley. I had long been over Brenda. I was never ready to say goodbye to Mogley.
But there, in my doorway, I knew I had to. And he knew it, too. He squirmed in her arms and screamed until she let him down. He rubbed against my leg. I leaned down and he leaned into my chest and looked at me with his eyes wide and he purred louder than I’d ever heard. I rubbed his head and kissed his head and manhandled him in a loving way — a way that made Brenda say
“He won’t even let me hold him like that.” Mogley and I were pals and our friendship had come to an end because of a third party. Because he was a cat and couldn’t make his own decisions. Or at least, the decision to get in a car and come see me whenever he wanted.
He and I said our final goodbyes — a kiss on his head as he pushed back into my lips — and Brenda took him away. I watched them drive off then got shitfaced on my couch watching Blade Runner. I woke up dreaming that Mogley was an android cat hunting electric sheep.
Brenda and I didn’t speak after that. Not for years. Not until I ran into her at some local political rally for some candidate who didn’t stand a chance. I was covering the election for the weekly alt rag. She was dating the campaign manager. We were polite to each other. After all, there were no hard feelings. She told me I looked good. I told her the same. There was a moment where we both considered heading off to a dark hallway of the convention hall and banging out a quickie. I knew her look, she knew mine. But we let the moment pass. I asked about Mogley.
“He died,” she said. “A few months ago. I mean, that’s what I figure, anyway.”
“You figure?”
“He ran off one night. He’d never done that, you know. And I was terrified and totally freaked out. But he was sixteen. He was always a wild creature; you know? I think he ran off to go die somewhere beautiful, somewhere in the woods, by himself, peacefully.”
“Or he was hit by a car.”
“He went quietly and peacefully. I know that.”
“Yeah.”
“He really loved you, you know.”
“Mogley was my buddy. He was a good cat.”
“Eh, he was kind of an asshole.”
“The best.”
We had another moment. This time she watched my eyes well with tears just before her boyfriend barged in like a bull with a hard-on roaming a pasture of cows. I asked him a few questions about the campaign that I knew I wouldn’t use the answers to no matter what he said, then Brenda and I said our farewells.
“Mogley really loved you,” she said again as she and her campaign manager walked off. She said it in a way that made me sure she was saying something else, something about how she felt about me.
“Me, too,” I said, thinking mostly about Mogley but said in a way that could be considered about her — if that’s the game she was playing.
“Me, too,” she said.
“Who’s Mogley?” her boyfriend asked.
“Oh, he was my cat. Had him a long time ago.”
“Ugh. Gross. I hate fucking cats,” he said.
“You’re not supposed to fuck them,” I said.
He didn’t get the joke.
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Meanwhile, Back At The Tower
“Tell him I’m busy!” Tony snapped at JARVIS’ interruption of his work. There was a problem with the coolant on a mini-suit he was working on.
“He says it’s extremely important, sir,” Jarvis replied. “He has something that he needs to give you.”
Tony swore and threw the wrench across the shop. He took a deep breath, set his jaw, and blipped open the screen for his phone. “This had better be important.”
“Oh it is, Mr. Stark,” the young face at the other end promised, “it really is.”
Tony raised an eyebrow and glared at the screen for a moment. “I’ll meet you in the deli around the corner in 10.”
When Tony walked into the deli, he was greeted from across the room by the owner. He waved back at the man and nodded. Might as well pick up lunch while he was here. A few minutes later the kid rushed in, carrying a backpack and panting. Tony took his latte and sat at a table in the corner. The kid took the seat opposite him.
“Hey, thanks for meeting me, Mr. Stark,” the kid tripped over his own words. “I just knew that this was something you needed to have…”
Tony held up a hand and cut him off in mid-sentence. “Stop, I don’t have all day. What did you bring me?”
The kid reached for his backpack. “Oh, yeah, sorry. Ummm, here.” The kid drew two items out of his bag. One nearly filled up the kid’s backpack. The other was somewhat smaller.
“OK,” Tony looked at him quizzically, “why are you carrying around, what are those, purses? And what’s more important, why are you giving them to me? Neither one goes with my outfit.”
“Well, see, I thought you could return them.”
Tony grunted irritably. “What do I look like, Manhattan’s Lost & Found department?”
The kid’s eyes grew round and he stammered a bit. “Oh, no no, it’s just that, well, these belong to two of your employees.”
Tony had never seen these bags before, but then he never paid attention to this sort of thing. “How do you know they belong to my employees?” he asked.
“Because that’s what one of them said,” came the reply.
“When?”
“She was yelling it as she chased the guy.”
Tony grew more and more confused. “What guy?”
“The guy that snatched the purses.”
Tony shook his head. “OK, why don’t you tell me the story, from the beginning.”
“Oh,OK,” the kid said. “Ok, so I was out last night, kind of late, I know, I should have been studying for that math test, but I’d already been studying all night, and I really just needed a break for a while, so I just went out for a bit.”
“Your aunt let you out late at night?”
“Oh no! Aunt May wouldn’t let me out after midnight, even on a weekend.” He looked around, ducking down and whispering, “Please don’t tell her, Mr. Stark, she will ground me forever!”
“You were out after midnight? Are you crazy, you aren’t even 150 pounds soaking wet!”
“Well I put on… I mean...”
Tony ground his teeth and gave him a threatening look. “Just go on with the story.”
“OK, so I was just kind of swinging around – um, hanging out, near Bryant Park, see, and I hear this lady kind of scream. Like not a real scream, but like cut off, you know? Yeah, so I kinda went over, and I saw this guy, and these two ladies, and one of them kinda threw her bag at him, the other one was doing like a tug of war thing with the other bag, until the guy like cut the strap to get it away from her. See, this one right here, see how it’s cut? So he turns and takes off through the park. And the lady who was pulling at her purse, she just takes off running after him. So I figured I oughtta, you know, be like a good Samaritan or something and get the purses back for them. And anyway so she runs out of breath kinda fast, and she’s yelling after him, ‘you just wait until my boss hears about this! Tony Stark WILL find you and he’s gonna kick your ass!’”
Tony smirked. He could just guess who that was. And he had to admit, not many women would chase after an armed purse snatcher in broad daylight, much less into a park after midnight. He kinda respected her a little for it. She had guts. Or no brain. He wasn’t completely sure which, but he expected that the new additions to his Tower were about to make life interesting. Not that life was dull up to that point.
The kid continued. “So anyway, I followed the guy through the park and finally caught him. He had stopped for a minute to look through the big one, so you could say I caught him red handed.” He smiled at his own little joke, then sobered up when Tony frowned at him. “OK so I wrapped him up, took the bags back from him, and then delivered the guy to the cops.”
“And how did you do that, walk in wearing your onesie?” Tony was rewarded by the flustered expression on the kid’s face.
“It’s not a onesie! You gave the suit to me –“
Tony cut him off, “And I told you not to play around with it. But nevermind. What did you do with the mugger?”
“Oh, I left him kinda tied up at the door of the Penn Station PD office. Oh, with a note! I figured somebody would trip over him, and I didn’t want them to let him go. I left the other stuff he’d stolen with him. I just brought these two.”
Tony sat back a minute and regarded the kid. He was growing up, that was true, but he obviously still needed the approval of an older man. Tony didn’t like to think of himself as a father figure, but sometimes he had to just resign himself to the inevitable. He finally gave the kid a tight smile.
“Good job, kid. I’ll be sure to get these back to their owners.” Tony looked over at the deli owner who nodded and put a paper bag on the counter. “Now, get back to your room and get ready for that test, ok?”
The kid hesitated a moment. “Oh, uh, ok yeah. So can I have-”
Again Tony cut him off. “You know the rules, ace the school, be responsible, keep on doing the friendly neighborhood thing. But let’s confine that to daylight hours, got it?”
* * * * * * * *
Tony was waiting that evening when the two housekeepers arrived. He was pouring himself a cup of coffee and watched as they exited the elevator and hung up their coats in the closet. When they walked into the kitchen, he stopped them. “I need to see the both of you. In the meeting room. Now.”
Both women stared at him with big eyes, glanced at each other, and then preceded him into the room. He was being dramatic, he knew, but sometimes a man just couldn’t resist. He waited until they took seats and then walked to the other end of the room and stood with the window at his back. He looked down on the nervous women.
“So which one of you wants to tell me about last night?”
The women looked at each other, the Quiet One pleading with the other silently. Lippy One shrugged and replied, “What would you like to know about?” When Tony pursed his lips and frowned quietly for a moment she went on. “Well, we come in, I start the dishwasher, she goes up to check the theater, and we meet on the top floor. We gather the towels –“
Tony reached under the table and pulled out the bags he’d received that afternoon, plopping them down on the table in front of them. Lippy One fell silent for a moment, then uttering a single, “Oh.”
“Let me try again. What happened last night?”
The Quiet One snatched up her purse and began digging through it excitedly. Lippy didn’t even reach for hers, just stared at it as if it were a snake. After a moment, she let out a big sigh.
“OK, so after we left here last night, we decided to celebrate our first check. She wanted to go to the Tick Tock Diner, so that’s where we went. And on our way to the train station, we got mugged. Guy pulled out a knife, demanded our bags.”
Tony frowned. He was concerned for his people, and, for better or worse, these women were now his people. Even if they didn’t like it. “Did you get a good look at the guy?”
“Oh yeah,” she replied, “White guy, about 5’9”, 180, curly hair and a mustache. He was wearing jeans, a black hoodie pulled up, Converse, and dark sunglasses.”
The Quiet One looked at her friend. And actually spoke. “No he was closer to 6’. And he was wearing camouflage pants and a navy blue hoodie. And a ski mask. And he had a gun, not a knife.”
Then they were talking over one another, arguing about what the guy looked like. Tony rolled his eyes. He noticed Barnes and Rogers stop outside the meeting room and have a short conversation about the arguing women before moving on. Tony shook his head and turned to pull a file from a drawer, dropping that on the table. That stopped the argument, with a comment from the Quiet One of “you are describing the Unibomber.”
“Yeah, they caught him a while back,” Tony mentioned. “Your guy’s name is Davis, Eliot Brandon. He’s a small time thief, deals mostly in purse snatchings, shell games, the occasional knock down and grab. About the only thing you two got right was he was a white guy wearing clothes. He’s 5’11” and was found with a knife. NYPD has him now, though, and he’s not going to be making bail this time.” They exchanged another glance, and finally the Lippy One pulled her purse towards her. “Double check, make sure everything is there. Let me know if anything is missing, I’ll see what I can do about getting it replaced.”
They checked through their bags, and he saw relief on their faces when Lippy found their uncashed paycheck. She pulled out a wad of folded bills and thumbed through them. “Wait, I wasn’t carrying this much cash, this isn’t mine.” She held the bundle out to him.
Tony shook his head. “Think of it as a reward for helping get the guy off the streets.” She gave him a sour look. “OK kids, let’s get back to work.” They rose and headed for the door. “Uh, for what it’s worth? Next time something like that happens, call me. I can pull some strings. Oh, and I’ll have someone drive you two home from now on. No need to thank me.”
Lippy cocked her head to the side. “OK, just one thing. How did you get these back for us?”
Tony smirked. “Let’s just say an associate brought them to my attention.”
They didn’t look so much like they believed him. But the Quiet One nudged her friend and jerked her head in his direction. Lippy huffed. “Thank you for getting them back.”
Tony grinned. “Any time.”
#Tony is busy#this had better be good#why does the kid have purses#and why is he giving them to tony#where did he get them#he stole them back#friendly neighborhood guy in a onesie#Lippy One#Quiet One#they don't even know who mugged them#everything is there#plus a couple hundred more#tony is a good guy#when he wants to be#Lippy still doesn't trust him
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As You Are, Part 8
Pairing: Logan x Reader
Warnings: Language, Smut
Part 7
Logan had sneaked away and called you just before your alarm was set to go off again. You only spoke for a few minutes but it reassured you that he was taking whatever you had seriously. This would have been the perfect time to cool things off and reconsider the cons of being together without the incredible heat that existed between you distracting you, but if he was weighing his options, apparently there were more pros than cons at this point.
And you were as infatuated as ever, but now with a little more knowledge of who he was and genuine affection added in to the mix. Logan was unlike any man you had ever met. He was funny, smart, sexy and so inappropriate. You should probably be offended by some of the things he had said to you but he was so damned cute about it. He could charm the panties off a nun with that mischievous smile, and if he added a wink the Mother Superior would probably join in for a threesome.
Yeah, you were in deep and getting deeper.
The morning flew by. You were busy with work and that was how you liked it. You had sent a few texts to Logan throughout the day but for the most part you had been buried in your cube with headphones on, researching and writing.
You had no plans for the weekend because you hadn’t returned calls or texts all week as you had been completely engrossed in Logan. That would need to change, of course. You had good friends and your life couldn’t be put on hold for a man, he would need to fit in with your friends and…oh my, your family. Could Logan behave around family?
You decided to do some grocery shopping and laundry that night. You couldn’t live on Chinese leftovers forever, though statistically they would spoil before they ran out.
Logan had said he would probably have to go out drinking after meetings as it was a cultural thing, so you figured you either wouldn’t talk to him much or he’d drunk dial you. You were kind of hoping for the drunk dial as you had a feeling Logan was hilarious when plowed.
Your phone rang as you had settled in on the couch with a book and you grabbed it and saw Future Husband. Why hadn’t you changed that yet?
“Hi Logan,” you answered happily.
“Hey, what’re you doing?”
“Reading and doing laundry. How’d you sleep?”
“Lousy. Weird dreams. You doing anything this weekend?”
“Nope.”
“Too bad you’re not doing me.”
“That is too bad. But there’s plenty of time for that when you get back,” you said cheerfully.
“I don’t have to be anywhere for a couple hours. Video chat?”
“I am not having video sex with you, Logan,” you answered matter-of-factly.
Logan laughed. “You know me so well. And we’ve only been together a couple months.”
“Four days.”
“Like I said, couple months and we still haven’t had sex.”
“I bet we have in your mind.”
“Like we haven’t in yours. Remember, I know what a dirty girl you are, now.”
“This is true. You do inspire some pretty lewd thoughts. In fact, I’m guessing that you’re doing one of my lewd thoughts even as we speak.”
“And what do you think I’m doing?”
“Hmmm whatever could you be doing?”
“Oh no, gotta say it if you wanna see it.”
“Well, this isn’t video chat. And I wanna see it in person. So I can see up close and personal. And taste.”
“Y/N,” he groaned. “That is so hot. Your mouth has been driving me crazy. I keep picturing your lips wrapped around my cock and I get a hard-on wherever I am. And the way you rubbed your tongue…ughh it felt so fucking perfect.”
“That was just a quickie. Not my best work, to be honest.”
“Then I might die with my cock in your mouth.”
“Like hell. I have a lot of other plans for you, babe.”
“Oh God please tell me,” he said, his voice getting breathless.
“Rather show you.”
“I can’t believe I’m fucking stuck on another continent. Hop a plane. Seriously, I’ll buy you a ticket.”
“Do you know when you’ll be home yet?” you asked hopefully.
“No. Hopefully Tuesday or Wednesday. I need to play fucking etiquette games and they haven’t even told me what the problem is yet. I am so fucking frustrated.”
“I can’t imagine. So you should relax now. Talk to me. About anything.”
“Anything?”
“Yup.”
“Tell me what you’re wearing.”
You laughed and said, “Baggy t-shirt and gym shorts.”
“Panties?”
“Yes.”
“Describe.”
“Logan…”
“Youuuuu said anything. I wanna talk about your panties.”
“Fine. White cotton granny panties.”
“Bullshit, I didn’t see a single pair of white cotton in your underwear drawer.”
“Logan Delos! You went through my underwear drawer?”
“Y/N Y/L/N you thought I wouldn’t?”
“Eh. OK, good point. They’re purple boyshorts.”
“Nice.”
“And you, darling? What panties are you wearing?”
“Ha! I’m not.”
“OK underwear.”
“Still not. I don’t wear them to bed.”
“You did at my house.”
“What would you have done if I slept naked?”
“Run screaming.”
“So I kept ‘em on.”
“That was very considerate of you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Show me your tits.”
“Not that considerate.”
“It’s almost like you don’t care that I have my hand on my hard cock, stroking it and –”
“Logan!”
“Hmmmm?” he asked innocently.
“Did I mention that you have the biggest cock I’ve seen in person?”
“Noooo,” he groaned. “Good to know.”
“Yeah. You are going to stretch me out, baby.”
“Fuck yeah, you’re gonna be so tight.”
“I’m going to lick, kiss and bite every inch of your body.”
“I can’t wait to eat that pussy of yours. I’m gonna make you beg for my cock.”
“Mmmm how about I beg now?”
“Yeah lemme hear that, baby,” he groaned.
“Please, Logan, please fuck me with your big, hard cock. I wanna feel you inside me deeper than I’ve ever been fucked.”
“Aaahhh fuck Y/N baby gonna fuck you so hard,” Logan moaned, panting.
“I’m going to wrap my legs around you and hold you in me until I cum all over your cock.”
“Oh yeah baby, I wanna feel you cum while I pound that pussy.”
“Then I wanna feel all that hot cum inside me when you can’t take it anymore and you shoot your load in my wet pussy.”
Logan came then with a shout of your name and a series of loud groans.
“Goddamn Logan, you are so fucking hot. I have never wanted a man like I want you.”
“Fuck. There’s a load of cum all over me that says you’re the hot one.”
“I want it.”
“You’re going to get more than you can handle.”
“Now I wish it had been video chat. I want to see. What are you doing to me, Logan?”
“Hopefully making you as fucking horny as you make me,” he said, still a little short of breath.
“Well that goes without saying.”
“I didn’t hear you get off.”
“No, I want you to feel me get off the first time.”
“You trying to get me hard again?”
“You said you had a couple hours,” you answered mischievously. “And I do have this fantasy of riding your cock…”
“Scratch that, I don’t think I’m going to get soft to need you to get me hard again.”
“Mmmmm yummy,” you sighed. You listened to his breathing even out, could feel him relax after his orgasm.
“Was that true? About me being the biggest?”
“Oh God yes.”
“I’ll also be the best,” he said arrogantly.
“Of that I have no doubt.” you replied. “So we’re in bed together, you just came, I’m sure I did…what are we doing?”
“Shower. Possibly shower sex.”
“Then what?”
“I’m not a cuddler, Y/N.”
“You aren’t?” you asked in complete surprise.
“Nope.”
“Thennnnn…what was watching TV on the sofa with my head on your chest? And what was sleeping together without sex?”
Logan didn’t respond for a moment. “Huh. You turned me into a cuddler.”
“Really,” you said skeptically. “You seemed pre-loaded with a cuddle mod when I got you.”
“Nerd.”
“Cuddler.”
“I will cuddle with you after sex, but if you tell anyone I’ll deny it.”
“I can live with that. Nobody else has to know that you’re sweet.”
“Sweet?? Fuck that, I am not sweet. I’m a cold-hearted manwhore,” Logan said, sounding offended. “If you think we’re gonna sync up our periods or something, you got the wrong guy.”
“Um, OK.”
“I gotta go clean up. Call ya back.”
“Ok –”
When your phone rang a bit later you let it go to voicemail. You weren’t in the mood for Logan’s constant resistance to any kind of feelings.
You texted a couple friends and found that they were out at a club celebrating a promotion. You quickly tossed your phone on the table to charge while you went and got dressed for clubbing.
You chose a skin-tight black mini skirt and red draped backless top with criss-crossed spaghetti straps in back and sky high red heels. Your makeup was perfect with winged eyeliner and bright red lippy. Your hair you left down in soft waves.
And just to be a bitch you took a full length selfie in front of your mirror and texted it to Logan with the message, Going out with friends. TTYL.
Logan’s first instinct when he got the text was to throw his phone across the room. Controlling that urge, he looked at you making a kissy face at the mirror and drew the conclusion that you were done with his bullshit. So much for ‘probably.’
Were you going to go find someone and bring him home to fuck because Logan had hung up on you? Logan’s next instinct was to go find someone to fuck and send you a pic. Two can play the selfie game.
Except…he didn’t want to go fuck someone else. You were in his blood, he wanted you. And he definitely didn’t want you fucking anyone else.
L: I’m sorry I was a dick and now you’re going out with your friends instead of talking to me. I deserve it. Have fun. You look beautiful.
You got the text in the back of the taxi on the way to the club. You would rather be home with Logan, or at least talking to him. But you knew that Logan would trample any woman who didn’t stand up to him once in a while. You refused to be a doormat no matter how crazy you were about him.
Y: Not here to serve you. I will have fun. Thanks for the compliment.
L: Babe…I don’t know what kind of temper you have yet, but I know what I’d do here and I’m gonna ask you not to.
Y: I know exactly what you’d do. And you’d send me a selfie while you did it. Right?
L: Yeah
Y: I’m not you.
L: I know
Y: TTYL
“Fuck!” Logan screamed in frustration. Why was this shit happening when he was 10 time zones away? He looked at the time and realized he had to get ready for a barbecue at the Aoki CEO’s home. He wanted to get on a plane and go grab you and drag you off to a deserted island so no other man could touch you or look at you.
He decided he needed to move the etiquette bullshit along. He needed to get home to his life now that he had a chance at one.
You didn’t have fun. You tried to dance with your friends and had a few too many drinks, even danced with a guy for a minute when he started dancing with you, but when he put his hands on your hips you pulled away and sat back down. His hands were wrong. You only wanted Logan’s hands on you.
You only wanted Logan.
Which was completely impractical and just begging for a broken heart. Why would you fall for the least suitable human on the planet to give you what you dreamed of: someone who would love you and think of you first thing when he wakes up and last thing before he goes to sleep, and all the rest of that romantic crap? He would never settle down with one woman.
It might be time to accept that and put him in the past.
“Hey,” your friend Kate said. “You’ve been quiet tonight. Who’s the guy?”
You smiled a little. Kate had known you since high school. You had roomed together at college and you were as close as sisters. Needless to say, Kate had been through every relationship you’d ever had with you and she could read you.
“I met him earlier this week.”
“And you’re already this sad? Honey, that doesn’t sound good.”
“I know.”
“Who is he? Where’d you meet him.”
You walked outside together so you could hear each other talk and you told her everything, ending with Logan’s diatribe of being a cold-hearted manwhore when you called him sweet, followed by his subsequent request that you not go fuck someone else for revenge.
“Well he sounds like a hot mess,” Kate said after a moment of silence.
You laughed way harder than the joke called for, letting out some of your pent up emotions. Then you walked over to another girl and paid her $10 for a cigarette and came back to a disapproving Kate.
“I’m completely, head over heels mad about him, Kate. I look at him and I see forever. And it’s ridiculous! I’m not like this!”
“No, you aren’t,” Kate said speculatively. “You don’t do impulsive. You never have. But this guy got to you.”
You nodded and said, “I have no idea what he sees in me. I am nothing like any of the women he usually dates. And he says that’s part of what attracted him. And I’m as mean to him as everyone else, so he knows I’m a smartass. He’s gorgeous and smart and funny and sexy and his smile is just perfection. He could get any woman he wanted. And he told me he’s been an asshole to women in the past. What about me would make him change that?”
“What about you wouldn’t? Maybe he sees what I do. You’re beautiful and smart and funny and brave and real! Plus I’m guessing he sees a few things I don’t. Coz I don’t want to have sex with you.”
You laughed a little at her joke.
“Sweetie, you’re more than enough for any man. Any issues that he has are his, not yours.”
“Thanks, but if I want to be with him and he pushes me away, pretty sure that’s about me.”
“No, not really. I mean, you said his family is messed up right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, we all know boys with Mama issues are nightmares.”
“Ha. Yeah we’ve both had our share of Mama’s boys.”
“But this is the opposite. He’s not running because nobody can love him like Mommy…he’s running before you can leave him, like Mommy did.”
You shrugged, “The results are the same. He runs and bangs any of the dozens of women that are available to him at any given time and I wind up with my heart in a million pieces because I actually care for the jackass.”
Kate put her arm around you and you laid your head on her shoulder. You still didn’t have a clue but at least you weren’t alone.
You decided to head home. Kate stayed outside with you until your Uber got there and hugged you and put you in the car with a promise to come by for coffee tomorrow.
You looked at you phone for the first time since you had arrived at the bar. There were a couple texts from Logan and one had an attachment. You opened the text and saw a selfie of Logan pouting with his lower lip stuck out that had the caption, “I’m sorry :(“ and the body of the text said Unsolicited dick pic.
And you laughed.
L: Don’t give up on me yet
Y: Let me know when I should, OK?
Logan grabbed his phone from his pocket when he felt your text and relief flooded his body. Despite the faux pas of looking at his phone at a social event, he tapped out an answer.
L: Can’t say that I will. I think you’re too good for me.
Y: Don’t be a dumbass. I might love you some day.
L: I got downgraded from pretty sure, huh?
Y: When you get home I’ll let you make it up to me.
L: I plan to. You’ve been upgraded to pretty sure.
Y: Damn, shitty timing for you.
L: I’m sorry. I don’t mean to push you away.
Y: You do a fucking dead-on impression of it.
L: Are you still out?
Y: On my way home.
L: Already?
Y: This guy I really like hurt my feelings and put me in a shitty mood. Didn’t feel like dancing.
L: My girlfriend had a similar issue earlier.
Girlfriend?
Y: WTF Logan you have a girlfriend??? You fucking asshole. I swear to Christ you keep finding new ways to destroy me. If you can tear me up this much in less than a week then your girlfriend has all my sympathy. Go fuck yourself. I am so done with you.
You powered your phone down and put it in your bag, utterly disgusted with the tears streaming down your cheeks.
L: Jesus Christ Y/N I meant YOU!! You are my girlfriend!!!!
Your Uber pulled up in front of your building and you climbed out and stormed into your apartment. You left your phone on the charger in the living room and then got ready for bed.
Your pillow smelled like Logan. You flung it across the room and slept fitfully without it.
Part 9
@drinix @giggleberts
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frhrh
Cold
weepyfox
Summary:
yoongi is raped while walking home from work and tries to hide it from hoseok
aka hoseok thinks his boyfriend is cheating on him, but is so far from the truth
Notes:
please observe the major trigger warnings in the description. avoid this if you cant handle what's mentioned.
also, this is my first fanfic in the fandom, so this most likely won't be good.
all comments/kudos/advice/bookmarks welcome and appreciated
title and chapters named after 'cold' by maroon 5
Chapter 1
: enough to chill my bonesChapter Text
The front door to the apartment finally squeaked open around 11. Yoongi snuck in, toeing his beat up sneakers off his sore feet on the rug beside the door. Slowly, he crept down the hallway, wincing with each step as his whole body struggled to move.
He passed the storage closet. Holding back small whimpers, he continued lightly down the old wooden floorboard, carefully stepping around dips and divots he knew would make the wood groan with age.
A pair of eyes caught his as he passed their bedroom, dark and heavy with exhaustion and something else that Yoongi couldn't decipher at the moment.
His breath catches in his throat, a small gasp escaping his chapped lips, and he knows that he heard it too.
Yoongi steps into their shared room, forcing himself to walk without limpng and without his mouth grimacing from sharp pain shooting through his whole body with each small movement. Hoseok's gaze almost hurts more though, cutting through him like the glass shards littering the dark alley that pressed into his skin less than an hour ago.
He stands in front of their bed now, where he can see Hoseok is sitting with his knees pulled close to his body, a pillow wedged in between his folded arms and chest. His face shows no emotion, his eyes still exhausted but this time seeking answers.
"Yoongi, where have you been?"
Automatically, he answers-
"Work was a little later than usual, boss says he's gon-"
"I didn't ask for excuses. Again, where have you been, Yoongi?"
Yoongi really hates lying. He hates it even more when the person clearly knows he is avoiding the truth, especially when the person is his boyfriend.
"I lost track of time when I was talking to Jimin and Taehyung. I'm sorry."
Hoseok's eyes soften this time, the pillow previously gripped tightly in his hands now thrown to the side of him, his soft pajama shorts visible in the dim aura of light filtering in from the bathroom across the hallway. Their mattress dips in from his weight, shifting as Hoseok crawls forward to the end of the bed where Yoongi is still standing.
Hoseok reaches his hand out, the soft skin making him flinch when it finally brushes his cheek adoringly. It takes everything in Yoongi not to back away from the touch, back away from the beautiful and precious boy in front of him.
"So you're telling me," Hoseok starts, his voice lighter and airy as he gently strokes Yoongi's cheek, "that your coworkers are more important than me?" His thumb sweeps across his cheekbone, ending at the outer corner of his eye and playfully dragging the skin there.
"It was an accident, sorry Hoseok," Yoongi breathes, his words quiet as his intended listener was inches away. Hoseok pulls his lips tightly together, the corners of his mouth lightly tilting up in a soft smile, a sigh eventually escaping his lips after searching Yoongi's face for anything other than what he had told him.
"It's okay. Come lay down with me?" Hoseok's hand begins to trail down Yoongi's cheek now, heading for the neck of his sweatshirt.
Yoongi feels a rush of adrenaline surge through him as his own calloused hand zips up to Hoseok's and grabs it, pulling it away from his neck and setting it down at Hoseok's side.
"No, sorry, I need a shower. I'll be out soon, though, alright?" Yoongi offers, offering a lippy smile before quickly shuffling over to their dresser and pulling out a pair of flannel pants and an old university sweater and a pair of soft cotton briefs.
________________
Closing the bathroom door behind him, Yoongi immediately lets the hot tears leak from his eyes. They fall down his face, hot beads of salt and water leaving sticky trails on his neck that pool right under the neck of his sweatshirt.
He slowly leans down to slip his socks off, droplets landing on his toes and the cold tile beneath him. Sharp pain sparks through his body again, radiating from his lower back and somewhere deep inside him, flowing through his slim thighs and all the way up his chest and back. He knows his back has scratches and cuts; some from glass shards and rough asphalt, but some that drag all down his shoulder blades from someone else's nails.
Next to go is the sweatshirt, quickly tossed aside as the cool air sends shivers running through Yoongi's body, raising goosebumps against his clammy skin.
He avoids his reflection in the mirror, scared of what he may see.
Finally, his hands make their way down to the waist of his tight jeans, his mouth and the back of his throat practically flooding with hot waves of saliva from flashbacks.
Hands running down his sweatshirt, up his thighs, his shoulders, his face... everywhere, as he whimpers, soft and high.
"S-stop."
A wet sound escapes from his mouth, the bathroom suddenly all too small as his head produces spinning images and blurring thoughts, words, and pictures together into an incoherent jumble.
"No... stop, please,".
The jeans lay on top of the sweatshirt now.
Yoongi lurches for the shower, yanking the plastic curtain open and reaching for the old knob for hot water, turning the dial all the way to the right. He heard the water coursing through the pipes, the dull hum lasting for seconds before the first spray came out of the showerhead.
Stepping back, Yoongi finally stole a glance at himself in the mirror, his gaze focusing on his eyes for a few moments before gradually sliding down his form, taking in his appearance.
His eyes were dark pools of liquid onyx, shining from the bright bulbs above his head. Hoseok loved his eyes, always staring into them and saying he could see right into Yoongi's soul, that he could always know exactly what he was thinking if he looked deep enough.
His slim shoulders and jutting collarbones, which he usually admired about himself, were littered with dark red and violet bruises, from rough hands and sharp teeth that weren't from love. Weren't from his boyfriend.
His boyfriend, lying in their bed just a hallway away, probably wondering why Yoongi was so distant, why he never wanted to be touched by him anymore, why he was practically ignoring his perfect boyfriend.
Hoseok.
If Hoseok would have tugged down the neck of his sweatshirt, he would have seen, would have seen the foreign marks that didn't belong to either of them.
Yoongi tore his eyes away from the mirror, his mind still tangled and spinning as he noticed steam billowing out of the top of the shower, over the curtain and into the muggy air of the small room. The moisture gathered on his already too hot skin, above his lip and the back of his neck and the backs of his knees.
He yanked his underwear down his legs, trying to ignore the faint spots of dried blood in the fabric.
The first thing Yoongi did as his feet settled against the hot ceramic tub basin was stand under the stream of water, the steam still pouring out of the showerhead and surrounding his body almost as thoroughly as the water itself. His muscles twitched under the scalding liquid, loosening as his pale skin turned a shade of pink.
His thighs ached, the insides ready to give out from exhaustion and misuse.
Rivulets of water danced over his body, rinsing away the dirt and grime, the sweat and blood, but not the images in Yoongi's brain, or the cuts over his body, or the mantra currently spinning round and round and round and round in his thoughts,
Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, pathetic,
It was his fault, really. If he hadn't walked so slow, or looked so open and vulnerable, or if he had been looking up instead of examining the sidewalk as if it was the most interesting thing he had ever seen in his life.
Maybe he wouldn't have been dragged into the alley, maybe he wouldn't have been thrown against the rough asphalt, maybe he wouldn't have been...
The word enters Yoongi's brain, but quickly vanishes.
Maybe he wouldn't have been raped.
He was disgusting, purely pathetic, undeserving of any pity.
You deserve it.
Yoongi scrubbed shampoo in his hair, not stopping to look if it was Hoseok's bottle that was three times the cost of his own, since he constantly dyed his hair.
He was pretty sure he was actually mumbling the words whirling in his brain, but he couldn't tell with the water pounding in his ears and his body wanting to just curl up and rest after all it had been through.
His hands catch the edges of his old scars resting in the junction between his hips and thighs as he washes the rest of his body, thick pink skin that healed into raised lines. He remembers in his first year of university, how he spent his nights alone and lonely, how much better he felt after hurting himself with blades he had so easily bought from the corner store for the price of a ramen cup.
That was a few years ago.
But now, he misses it.
He still has a package of blades in the apartment, buried underneath all the junk in the second drawer of the bathroom vanity.
The water falls against an empty basin for half a minute, the body previously occupying it now standing naked in front of the fogged-up mirror, small hands frantically digging to the bottom of a drawer, fingers clutching around a thin pack of blades.
Yoongi returns to the shower, forgetting about washing the rest of the night away as stares at the wall, then his thighs, then the wall again, before finally bringing his hand down, down, down, resting the sharp metal against soft skin.
He hesitates for a moment. Hoseok's face floats into his thoughts, how he really should not be doing this, its been so long, Hoseok is so proud of you for staying clean, and
Swirls of red dance down the drain mixed with clear water.
The feeling sweeps over him again, pure bliss as he drags the blade across his skin, his brain momentarily free of clutter and the only thing he feels is selfish pleasure. It feels so wonderfully good, so freeing and he can't figure out why he ever stopped doing this. It worked so well.
Hoseok.
Immediately, his hand stops, tossing the blade away from him, where it makes a clink against the ceramic tub.
_______________
Yoongi doesn't know how much time has passed between when he left Hoseok in their room and when he gingerly slips on his flannel pajama pants. He figures it had been around an hour, which causes him to feel guilty. He didn't deserve to take such a long shower, the water bill was already more than enough as is.
Yoongi does know how his thighs sting under fresh bandages, how dull pain emanated from his ass and had spread throughout his whole body, and how guilt is seeping from his pores, at what happened to him, what he just did, how he lied to Hoseok, how many mistakes he's been making that can't seem to stop.
The hallway is quiet and peaceful, although pitch black. The boards under his feet stay silent as he crosses into the cool oasis of their room.
Hoseok gets really hot at night, heat hovering over his body, so they sleep with the windows open and a box fan whirring full power throughout the night. More than once, Yoongi has woken to Hoseok standing in front of the window, in nothing but boxers, just staring down onto the street below with its neon signs and empty storefronts, the thin sheen of sweat on his skin evaporating slowly into the night air.
It was a beautiful sight, and when Hoseok would finally turn around, his eyes droopy with sleep, they would meet Yoongi's and a slow smile would stretch across his cheeks as he crawled back into the bed, covers thrown off his overheated body as he snuggled into Yoongi's side, his sticky skin never fully cooling off as they both fell into a content and deep sleep.
Tonight, Hoseok wasn't in front of the window, instead lying on his side facing away from Yoongi on the bed; the covers were jumbled up next to him, his bare back a contrast to the pale blue sheets. Natural moonlight filtered in from outside, but it was still quite dark in the room, and Yoongi could barely see as he shuffled to the bed, feeling with his hands until he reached the softness of the worn down mattress.
He couldn’t tell if Hoseok was awake or asleep, so Yoongi tried his best to slide into bed without causing the mattress to dip or the springs to creak or a gasp to escape his lips.
Hoseok turned around anyways, his long arms already reaching for Yoongi, his dark eyes fully open and searching his own. It took so much not to tell Hoseok everything then and there, his throat pulsing with the urge to form words, but nothing came out.
Hoseok wrapped an arm under Yoongi's back, his arm snaking up from the other side of him and resting in the crease of his armpit, while his other arm draped across his chest, his fingers rubbing smoothly against his sweater, making him flinch.
He didn't want hands on him.
Even if those hands had never hurt him, only loved and soothed and fed and caressed him.
Hoseok put his face in the junction of his neck and shoulder, inhaling the scent of his own shampoo drowsily.
"That's my own shampoo, fucker," he breathed out, and Yoongi could feel the words vibrating against his throat, dangerously close to the violent marks that painted his skin.
"Yeah," he breathed back, closing his eyes and willing his heart to stop beating so rapidly.
Minutes later, Hoseok fully slumped against him, his cheek nuzzled in the warmth of Yoongi's sweater, and whispered sleepily, "I miss you," before closing his eyes.
Yoongi fell asleep to the sound of the box fan whirring electrically and to Hoseok's slow, deep breathing.
____________________
Chapter 2
: i see there's something going onSummary:
the morning after
Notes:
haha look at me updating a month later with a shitty update :)
anyways, there were around a million ways this could have gone and trust me when I say that this was the least shittiest version of everything that I wrote.
Tell me what you think, every comment, kudos, and advice are all welcome
thank you!
Chapter Text
The faint beeping of his phone's alarm is the first thing that Yoongi is aware of when he comes to. He's too drowsy to reach over and turn it off himself, instead staring up at the ceiling until Hoseok inevitably wakes up, curses him, and leans over to switch it off himself.
The next few minutes allow for Yoongi's mind to air out, the early morning's sweet coolness washing over the two lovers as they enjoy the presence of each other. It is one of the only things that make waking up at the asscrack of dawn somewhat manageable.
That and Hoseok, who looks like an actual ethereal being in the dimness of their room, all dewy skin and puffy eyes and caramel strands of hair haphazardly sticking up in wild angles from his head.
Yoongi smiles.
This is the way life should be.
But then Hoseok is hopping out of bed, and zooming over in a Naruto-run fashion to where Yoongi was lying on the other side of the mattress, a toothy deranged smile stretched across his face as he gets closer and closer to his target.
"I'm gonna get you, I'm gonna get you!" Hoseok squeals as he hops on top of Yoongi, landing square on his chest and leaning down to pepper kisses across his cheekbones. It was a typical get-up morning ritual by Hoseok.
Yoongi's thighs burn under the pressure of his boyfriend, and he knows that Hoseok can feel the crinkly, thick bandages underneath his thin sweatpants from how he's practically sitting on top of the smaller man.
But if he does notice, he doesn't say anything, he just keeps smiling and cooing and pecking Yoongi's face tenderly as he squirms underneath him.
"Good morning, jagiya," Hoseok whispers sweetly.
"Morning, Hopi," Yoongi breathes out, looking away from Hoseok's wondering eyes and instead at the sheets next to them. Anything to avoid those dark eyes, constantly searching for answers that he would rather not give. Hoseok seems to sense his discomfort though, and slowly leans back, sitting on his haunches to the side of him. Yoongi feels guilty though, feels his cheeks flush hotly with regret.
Fuck, why can't he do anything right?
Hobi gets up to leave, pausing to pick up a thin night shirt that was thrown on the wooden floor last night and slips it on. Its still too hot to put any pants on though, at least for Hoseok. He can't stand the heat, it affects him terribly.
He turns to mumble, "Gonna go start the coffee," before leaving their room, his bare feet hitting every squeaky board down the hall.
Yoongi sighs.
You're such a piece of shit.
He loves you.
Ungrateful.
This is all your fault.
His hands are tight in the sheets now, writhing and twisting the fabric and bunching it in his fists until his knuckles are white. The room is stifling, the air too hot to breathe, and Yoongi is suffocating. His heart is pounding in his ears, too loud, too fast, too much of everything at once and then he isn't in control of his own body and its all so sudden and he can't get anything out of his head and he's lost now, not a part of anything else. Yoongi doesn't know where he is, only the flashbacks of the night before playing like a movie he doesn't remember paying for.
"Please no, I beg of you, not me, please..."
There are clammy hands running all over him now, huge and burning and touching everywhere they shouldn't and then they're ripping his shirt, his skin dragging across rough asphalt. It burns, and he knows there's blood, his blood, dripping onto the dark stone beneath him.
"You're far too sweet for me not to taste, baby,"
Yoongi is shivering now, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest and then he's screaming, except that nothing is escaping past his lips and he's trapped, the room spinning and getting smaller and smaller until it stops.
Everything stills.
And then it's silent, the only sound being his ragged breathes and gasps for air, something to fill his lungs, and his shaking body settles against the mattress.
His mind is completely empty again. Sweat pools underneath his sweater, sticky and slick against his skin and its too much. He takes it off.
The last thing Yoongi wants to do is hide from Hoseok. He doesn't deserve to be lied to after everything that's happened between them. He's already let down the only person he truly cares about so many times that he doesn't know why Hoseok even bothers to stick around anymore.
The closest thing to a promise Yoongi can make at the moment is pathetic, but its something.
I'll try. I'll try for you, Hoseok.
______________
Hoseok's shift starts at six-thirty, and so far, he's actually pretty good on time. Which is an oddity in itself, really.
He works at a shitty, rundown convenience store a few blocks away from his shared apartment with Yoongi. It's not a bad walk, and the free soft drinks and icy cold air conditioning makes working there worth it.
Sometimes.
And then there's Jeongguk, the cute younger kid who thinks he's all that in his name brand, unscuffed Timberlands and shiny hoop earrings. His coworker really is something, but he isn't the worst person to be around. He's pretty cute, actually, if Hoseok's being honest. And he doesn't make fun of how much Hoseok can't stand the heat, instead bringing him cups of ice to place in front of the vents of the air conditioner to cool him off.
Anyways, it's starting to get a little boring watching Yoongi's coffee brew, so Hoseok heads back down the hall to take a shower before he heads out. As he reaches the bathroom door, his boyfriend stumbles out, still wearing a sweater and sweatpants even though it’s a million fucking degrees inside the apartment.
"Look who decided to crawl his ass outta bed," Hoseok cooes at him, reaching a hand out to cup Yoongi's chin before shooting up to ruffle his thick black mass of black hair playfully.
"Yah, shut up. Gotta get ready to leave soon," Yoongi mumbles, speaking thick satoori this early in the morning.
"Coffee's on the counter, babe," he responds before quickly stepping into the bathroom and shutting the door, leaving a droopy eyed Yoongi standing dazedly in the hallway.
_____________
Sometimes Hoseok liked to pretend that everything in his life was okay.
Like that he really would find a better job, or maybe even buy a car for him and Yoongi, or that maybe they could move out of their shitty apartment into one with actual air conditioning, at least.
And that maybe Yoongi was getting better.
But Hoseok is smarter than to believe in made up fantasies that fill up his mind during slow hours restocking the shelves at the convenience store. It's too much to ask for one thing in his life to work out the way he wanted it to. Of course, he's being really dramatic, but still. It would be nice.
It hurts to see the one you love in pain and there's nothing you can do to help except be there and watch, hoping that maybe your presence is enough.
And lately, it doesn't seem like Hoseok will ever be enough.
Yoongi had been cutting for a few years now, Hoseok knew. In university, the two of them had gotten pretty close, always crashing in each others dorms if they were too lazy to walk back to their own, because hey, a futon is a futon. They would stay up until the sun came out drinking soju and reminiscing their childhood, but it was worth it even if they fell asleep in class the next morning.
Hoseok didn't know how he had missed it, really, because now it seems so obvious. It doesn't take a genius to know that Yoongi had relapsed again.
Its just that he didn't know why.
There were a lot of whys in their relationship, or at least on Hoseok's side.\
Why did you get home so late?
Why are you cutting again?
Why haven't we kissed in weeks?
Why haven't we touched each other in months?
And really, he shouldn't be so upset about it, and crying in the damn shower at six in the morning. But it had become routine now. Hoseok was pretty sure that the shower enjoyed his presence more than his boyfriend did most days.
And with Yoongi, you really never knew. He was so good at hiding behind his dark glassy eyes and lately it had been harder to tell what was going on. It was starting to worry him because usually Hoseok could read Yoongi like a book. Or at least he thought he could.
Hoseok was beginning to believe that maybe there was someone else, because there was no other excuse. Yoongi had been avoiding being affectionate, and when he came home last night later than ever before, and ended up relapsing, Hoseok had began assuming the worst.
But he couldn’t be too sure.
With Yoongi you really never knew.
Chapter 3
: it feels like i don't know you anymoreNotes:
hey so sorry about not updating for literally two months. I tried to write a longer chapter, and its taken me about a whole week at least. I got my first job, and work too much to focus on writing, so I'm still trying to figure out a work/life balance.
I hope you like this chapter, Its kinda self indulgent but it also is really awful in general so I'm sorry I suck really bad at writing.
any advice, comments, opinions, anything at all is welcomed and so appreciated. I love every single kudos and comment and bookmark left on my work, it only motivates me more.
this is only lightly proofread, so please excuse any mistakes, or even point them out if you'd like!
thank you so much, enjoy (read the trigger warnings please!)
Chapter Text
Yoongi is just coming out of their shared room as Hoseok steps out into the creaky hallway.
Sometimes Hoseok can just feel the dense cloud of uneasiness from his boyfriend, and lately, he can't help but wonder when the storm will hit. It seems like there's fog between the two lovers, so thick they can't even see each other from inches away.
Yoongi is just inches away; his smooth honey skin, messy hair that never seems to lay just right, gummy smile that rarely shows up anymore, just right there, within reach.
Their eyes meet for a few moments, just enough for each to tell that there are untold things between them before glancing in some other direction. Yoongi starts walking to the kitchen, probably to put on his sneakers before heading out to work. Hoseok follows him, needing to head out soon anyways.
"How's that kid you work with lately, Hobi?"
The question hits him off guard, but it's a question nonetheless. Which is pretty good, according to Hoseok, who stutters his way through an answer.
"Oh, well, uh... actually he and his boyfriend just got an apartment a little ways away from us. So, yeah, that's cool, I guess. How's Jimin and Tae doing? Still annoying?" He smirks near the end of his question. Hoseok knows those boys are nothing but downright pranksters at work from what Yoongi has told him.
He finishes tying his laces before looking back up to meet his eyes.
"Still annoying," the corner of his mouth curls up slightly. A good sign.
Hoseok laughs a little, still genuinely all the same. The time on the microwave catches his attention though. Only ten minutes until six thirty.
"I gotta go, jagiya. Be home for dinner tonight?"
Yoongi nods and then Hoseok is grabbing his set of keys from the counter, and their apartment door clicks closed, leaving him alone in their outdated kitchen, the only sound the constant hum of the refrigerator whirring.
......................
Even though the walk takes three minutes maximum, a light sheen of sweat already collects on Hoseok's skin. Last time he checked, most people don't sweat through cut off jean shorts and a flowy tank like him this early in the morning.
Jeongguk's shiny red bike is already locked in the rack to the side of the building. Bless the kid for being here on time for once in his life.
Swinging open the glass doors, Hoseok spots his coworker behind the counter, stocking the packs of cigarettes and gum. Today he's in a sweatshirt and jeans, apparently immune to the hellish weather.
"Hey boss-man. Was' poppin'?" Jeongguk asks, standing up to ruffle his hair and offer one of his toothy smiles. Silver hoops dangle in his ears like always, and upon a quick glance to the floor, his signature Timbs adorn his feet. Typical.
"That's not my name," Hoseok responds just to appease the younger boy. Jeongguk scoffs before ducking down to continue stocking the front counter.
Hoseok is pretty much the only reliable manager employed at the store, so it's his job to make schedules and hand out paychecks and make sure everyone gets to work on time. Generally, he's here half the day, with others coming in to take smaller shifts and then another manager-ish guy to take the other half day.
It's not professional in any sense of the word, but it works. They aren't really busy anyways, just busy enough.
After a minute of getting set up behind the register, a customer walks in, immediately heading to the coffee machine. Hoseok rings her up when she's finished, smiling when he hands her back her change. That's the best part of the job; trying to make other people happy, even if it's just by smiling or by wishing the customer a good day.
After a while, Jeongguk starts to get annoying. He likes to hide behind aisle corners, peeking around the corners with his fingers raised like a gun before "stealthily" rolling past the open aisle. It was funny the first time, a few months ago.
"Bring me a cup of ice, kid. And hurry up too, before I decide to actually fire you," Hoseok chided. Jeongguk sighed before setting the cup in front of the small fan whirring full speed a few feet away from Hoseok's face.
Spending a few hours in the store usually prompts Hoseok's brain to go off into it's own world, especially on agonizingly slow days like today. Even Jeongguk has run out of things to do, instead heading to the back room so he can sit in the office chair and most likely play games on his phone.
Hoseok met Yoongi here, a few days before they found out they went to the same college. That was a few years ago, back when working at the convenience store was the only interesting part of his day. Which says a lot, if you really think about it.
Sometimes, he wishes he never met Yoongi.
But Hoseok knows that's not really true.
"Gguk'," he calls out for the kid. He can hear the groan even from the front of the store, which makes him a little smug. Jeongguk finally appears in front of him, leaning on the plastic counter and looking expectantly at his hyung.
"I have a question, and I want you to be honest with me, no smart-assery alright?" Jeongguk nods, his bangs bouncing as he does.
"What would you do if your boyfriend cheated on you?" Hoseok asks before his mind can stop him, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible. Not as easy as he thought though, because he can feel his eye twitch. How annoying.
And then Jeongguk laughs, he literally starts laughing right in front of him, doubling over and even bringing his hand up to slap the counter. Hoseok frowns, because what the fuck, this is important.
"Gguk'! I'm being fuckin' serious!"
Jeongguk finally starts to calm down, eventually looking at Hoseok to see if he was being for real or not. Because what kind of question even is that? But his hyung's eyes are kinda liquidy now, like he's upset and genuinely asking, so he straightens up and wills the smirk off his face and wipes the stray tear in the corner of his eye from laughing so hard.
"Well, firstly, Seokjinnie-hyung wouldn’t even dream of cheating on me-" the younger starts, but then Hoseok cuts him off with a huff, practically jumping out of his chair.
"I'm being seri-" but then Jeongguk puts his hand on Hoseok's shoulder, gently nudging him to sit back down, because he's not finished yet. Hoseok huffs again, folding his arms over his chest in an attempt to keep himself controlled.
"Alright, like I was saying, he wouldn’t, but if he did, I would....Wait. Hoseok, why are you asking me this?"
Hoseok looks at him, not saying anything, as if he hadn't heard him at all. It's a few moments until Jeongguk notices his eyes are filling with unshed tears, and then he's pushing himself off the counter and reaching a hand out to rest on the man's nape. Hoseok's body shakes slightly under Jeongguk's hand as he lets everything out, bringing his palms up to cover his tearstained face.
The bell above the glass doors rings, and Jeongguk looks up to see a middle-aged man stop, take a glance at the scene in front of him, and walk out.
All of a sudden Hoseok stops crying, and instead starts laughing, much like Jeongguk was only minutes before. Shoulders hunched, eyes closed, mouth wide open laughter that has the man gasping for breath in between hiccups and pockets of sound. It's so bizarre, seeing his hyung go from having a good cry to laughing hysterically in the span of a few minutes.
And Jeongguk still doesn't even know what this is all about.
"Hoseok, what's going on?" The younger boy is now leaning on the counter again.
"I-I think Yoongi...I think he's c-cheating on me," Hoseok lets out, some of his words caught in giggles still. It's not something you would usually say while trying not to laugh. Quickly though, he straightens out and leans back in his chair, clearly realizing how much of a show he must have put on for his friend and that one customer.
Jeongguk just nods, waiting for Hoseok to continue. Listening is sure as hell better than restocking foam cups by the leaky soda dispenser.
…..........................
Only a half mile separates Yoongi from the bus stop, only 2,640 steps, only seven and a half minutes. If he walks fast. Which he won't.
Normally, the walk isn't pleasant, but its definitely doable. But under certain circumstances, like the burning cuts rubbing against the bandages on his thighs, or the throbbing in his lower back and his mind hazier than a fifties smoke lounge make the daily commute that much more fucking difficult.
Plus, he only drank half a cup of coffee that Hoseok brewed him, which makes him feel shitty, because his boyfriend always wakes up early just to make it for him.
Not to mention the fact that his whole body tenses with the first step he takes down the concrete steps of the apartment complex. He's scared, for fucks sake. It's irrational, Yoongi knows, but the man that did it to him last night could be anywhere.
He could be waiting for Yoongi again. A shiver jolts through his spine.
Okay, okay, okay, one step first, one step, one step, you can do it, come on, people are looking, do it,
Yoongi is at the sidewalk without knowing it, his body automatically walking in the direction it has for a few months now. Even if his mind can't handle it, his body takes him to where he needs to go. As if it hadn't betrayed him last night, as if it had done nothing wrong.
Every alley has Yoongi turning his head, walking just a little quicker, holding his soft, brown leather satchel tighter to his chest. The sidewalk he takes to the bus stop is busy even at this time in the morning, full of people walking to work, picking up a coffee, walking their dog, jogging, but Yoongi feels eyes on him, he can just feel them, and he's starting to feel lightheaded, but then his legs stop walking.
He's already at the bus stop. His phone screen says he's a minute early.
Its so fucking dumb, but sometimes seeing something simply being there, working properly, comforts Yoongi. Things that are set in place, doing their job, like a routine. Like the exact number of rows of seats before he gets to his seat, or the bolts keeping the slightly grimy window pane in its frame, or the number of buildings he counts on the drive to work.
Yoongi lives a routine, not a life, and that's what's wrong. He wakes up, goes to work, comes home, showers, and sleeps. Throw in the occasional occurrence of eating, drinking coffee, literally cutting himself, or fucking, and that's basically it. Which feels really pathetic in his mind, but he's just being introspective or something.
It’s not like his life is really like that. Yoongi isn’t sure why he's thinking like he is right now, but he knows it isn't good. His mind is acting like he's back in university, when killing himself seemed easier than living. Not a good way to think.
He snaps back, realizing a few minutes have passed just sitting in his seat.
Hoseok.
Somewhere deep down inside of him, Yoongi knows that it isn't his fault about what happened, but that does nothing to stop the guilt anyways. It was Yoongi's fault that his relationship was on the verge of failing, not Hoseok's; it was Yoongi who was distant, it was him who shied away from kisses, hugs, compliments, and everything from the only person who had ever cared enough to stay.
There was something wrong even before he was raped.
…...............................
"Yoooongiiiiii hyungggg!" Taehyung's squeals could be heard from practically every cubicle on the floor. Yoongi rolls his eyes as he continues to read the report in front of him. His glasses help, but his eyes droop from exhaustion still.
There's a flash of bright color past the opening of his cubicle, and then another, but then a loud thud sounds from a few feet down the aisle. Yoongi sighs.
Jimin and Tae are dumbasses, no matter the situation.
"Hyung! Goodmorning!" Jimin inhales and exhales heavily, clearly out of breath from racing across the whole floor and then faceplanting into the scratchy carpet in his excitement just to see the older man. The same could be said about his partner in crime, Taehyung. The two were inseparable, after all, and Yoongi was surprised Namjoon hadn't fired at least one of them already.
Jimin was wearing sunshine yellow chinos, while Taehyung was wearing goddamn Gucci loafers. Yoongi was pretty sure everyday they broke at least one dress code rule. At least. He rolled his eyes again, hoping they got the message.
"Hyung, I brought you a donut. Oh, and Namjoon wanted to see you in his office first thing!" Taehyung was bouncing on his feet as he talked, all too loud and drawing attention from everyone.
"Okay, thank you, just set it on my desk, and I'll go see him now then," Yoongi told the both of them, knowing that agreeing with whatever they told him is easier than arguing against it. Getting up from his stiff office chair, he looks down at the donut Tae set on his desk.
It was cinnamon sugar, his favorite. A small smile appears on Yoongi's face because of the gesture. He nods in Taehyung's direction. Jimin practically swoons and drags his younger friend off, hopefully to their own cubicles to actually get their own work done.
Its definitely not a good thing to personally be called down to the boss's office, even though the guy is nice and all. In fact, the only reason Yoongi even had a job here was because Namjoon knew him from university and knew personally the extent of his skills in the music industry. Only, Yoongi was stuck in an office job of reading reports and documents and reviews of his company and others until maybe he was noticed by some higher-ups.
But he's still thankful, of course. It pays the bills and is close to home.
Namjoon calls him into his office after Yoongi knocks on the heavy wooden door. Immediately, Yoongi can tell that whatever he's going to be told isn't good.
"Go ahead and sit down, Min." Namjoon's voice sits heavily in the air, friendly, but with a slight air of annoyance or disappointment, Yoongi can't tell the difference. Maybe its both.
His cheeks heat up as he stares anywhere but the younger man's eyes. Yoongi is all too aware of his puffy eyebags, his jittery hands, and his clean but fluffily unkempt mop of hair. An awkward, quiet moment passes before Namjoon clasps his hands together and begins.
"Well, Yoongi, I'm going to try and keep this as nice and short as possible. You're a good man, and a good friend, but corporate is having me evaluate all of the employees in your division. They're trying to limit the number of people by a few, and unfortunately, you're on the bottom."
Yoongi looks up at his boss, his friend, Namjoon, his eyes darting back and forth. He knows he isn't the best employee, but it's not like he doesn't try. Both of them know that.
Namjoon starts again, his voice even and smooth as he speaks. "Now, it is the last thing I want to do, is to let you go. So I'm going to give you a few solutions. Either you can be demoted into a position lesser than yours, and be successful there, or I can keep you here only if you put in more hours."
His mouth begins to open in protest, but Yoongi knows a hell of a lot better than to say something without thinking.
He can't afford to work more hours and miss even more time with Hoseok, knowing that there would be no way to save whatever he has left with his boyfriend if he stays any later at night. But Yoongi literally can't afford to work for less than what he's making now; its just enough to get the two of them by, with a little bit of cushion for emergencies or Hoseok's thirty fuckin' dollar shampoo.
Yoongi inhales deeply before speaking, trying to keep his voice level as possible.
"Could I have some time to think about it before making a decision?"
Namjoon nods, "I can give you a week to give me your answer, but the sooner the better."
"Thank you Namjoon," Yoongi breathes out into the quiet of the large room. He starts for the door, almost reaching out to turn the handle before he hears his boss speak again.
"You need to stay late tonight, there's a few documents I know were due a few days ago sitting on your desk, Yoongi. Don't leave until you finish them." And then Namjoon is dismissing him and turning to his own stack of work to complete.
Yoongi stiffly beelines to the closest restroom on the floor, his eyes trained to the carpet below him, his fists closed at his sides. He can feel dozens of people watching him, wondering why a man they probably don’t even care about is rushing out of the boss's office when they know cuts are being made.
It seems like forever until he finally pushes past the weight of the restroom door, entering the dimly lighted men's room. There aren't any feet under any of the gaps in the stalls, and there isn't anyone washing their hands or looking at themselves in the mirror. A relief.
Immediately, Yoongi feels himself begin to overthink, his mind trying to process too much at once and suddenly the room is too much, and then he's stumbling into the large stall at the end of the room and closing it and turning the latch before sinking down in the corner. It stinks of toilet water and piss from down here, but his legs are too shaky to support him and he doesn't trust himself not to fall.
Everything he thought he had worked to reach, all the late nights he had already stayed over the months and coming home to Hoseok either already sleeping or wary of his whereabouts, all the time he spent walking to work and the money he spent on the bus fare and office attire, all wasted as if it meant nothing.
And Hoseok, Hoseok, Hoseok, the most important factor in everything. What would he do? They needed that money, because Yoongi knows living on one paycheck from a rundown fucking convenience store was nowhere near the amount they needed to afford rent, clothes, food for fucks sake.
Yoongi can't even think of making Hoseok work more hours, he already works too much for his liking.
The stall is becoming tighter and hotter, the scratches on his back are stinging against his shirt, and his body is starting to tremble as a pathetic cry escapes his lips. Why doesn't anything in his life go right?
How fucking pathetic are you to have a mental breakdown in the bathroom? Is this kindergarten?
Are you a fucking baby?
Yoongi doesn't even hear the restroom door open, doesn't hear the metallic clank of the lock, doesn’t notice the footsteps approaching the last stall. All he can focus on is the grout between the dark tiles on the walls, slowly rocking himself back and forth and breathing, in and out, in and out as he desperately tries to numb himself enough to maybe try to go back to his cubicle and pretend like nothing even happened.
Yoongi?
Yoongi?
Hyung, are you in there?
Yoongi hyung, are you okay?
Suddenly, he's aware of a presence in front of him, and two hands shaking his shoulders, and a deep voice echoing in the small space. The room stops moving and his eyes focus on a tear-blurred image of Taehyung.
"Yoongi, are you alright?" he hears someone ask, but the voice doesn’t belong to Taehyung, instead coming from Jimin who is kneeling beside them on the tile floor. His puppy eyes are full of questions, and he looks scared. But he reaches a hand out to smooth down Yoongi's arm, trying to comfort him.
Yoongi's just dazed, so he nods his head and tries to move his legs to stand, but he ends up slumping into Jimin's lap, his head landing on Jimin's pillow-soft thighs. Yoongi could fall asleep on them, they're so plump.
"Maybe this is why Tae loves you so much, Jimin, because you're so soft," he knows he's rambling and must seem like a total lunatic, but he can't help it. His head is completely fucked right now, everything is slow and syrupy and animated and Yoongi swears that he can see stars but maybe that's just the design on the bathroom ceiling?
Jimin and Taehyung exchange worried glances before making the decision to get into comfortable positions, sliding their legs out and slumping against the wall with their hyung draped over them, his head resting comfortably on Jimin's upper thigh. Yoongi yawns and closes his eyes, his hand latching onto Taehyung's and bringing it close to his chest, keeping it there as if holding a stuffed animal.
Since there isn't anything better to do, Tae lays his head on Jimin's shoulder and closes his eyes, and the older lets him. He'd let the younger do anything he wanted to, just because he deserved it. Jimin wasn't trying to be sappy, he was just being honest. Which may be sappy and really gay, but so was he.
Jimin's eyes drifted shut as he listened to the other two breathe deeply, the water flowing through the pipes, and the occasional angry knock on the bathroom door, people probably wondering why its locked in the middle of the day.
Oh well.
When isn't a good time for a spontaneous bathroom nap party?
.................................
Namjoon peeks his head into Kim Taehyung's cubicle, ready to collect his morning reports, only to find his chair fresh out of his ass sitting in it.
Then, he heads straight to Park Jimin's cubicle, which is only right next door anyways, because Lord knows the two of them are probably goofing off somewhere instead of actually fucking working.
The shit Namjoon has to put up with as the boss around here, is astounding sometimes.
Turns out that Jimin is missing as well, his ass conveniently not finding a seat in his office chair either. Where could they be?
At least both of them finished their work, or else he would be really aggravated. But he can't really complain when both of them do their job and choose to take a piss at the same time or decide to go have a face sucking session in the paper supply closet with the lights off and the door jammed shut.
Namjoon almost missed the empty cubicle in the next three aisles down.
But he didn't.
Where the hell is Min Yoongi?
….........................
"It wouldn't be completely unreasonable to confront him about it, hyung."
"He doesn't like being confronted. It's his least favorite thing, Gguk'."
"Does that mean that your feelings mean less than his comfort?"
…
"But what if I'm wrong? There's no coming back from that, you know that."
"But what if you're right? He acts shady for months, starts acting up and coming home later with no explanation, lies to you, practically ignores you for fucks sake-"
"Watch your language-"
"Okay, okay, basically, just do what seems right, Hobi hyung. I'm not trying to pressure you, its just that you asked for help and well-this is my advice, so..."
…
"Thanks, Gguk'."
...
Hoseok leaves the convenient store after checking a few items in the frozen cooler, making sure the replacement shifts clocked in on time, and grabbing himself a citrus lime slush. Because he feels like it.
Luckily, the world seems to have pitied him a little bit, as the temperature is a few degrees lower than it was in the morning. His hairline still beads with sweat, and the hot air still sticks to his skin, which is uncomfortable but then again, Hoseok pretty much always deals with this.
Hoseok focuses on drinking his slush before it melts, savoring every sip of liquid bliss.
The brain freeze keeps his mind off all the possibilities of tonight, how everything could change.
Was he being dramatic? He really doubts he is, especially because he trusted his younger employee even though he could be childish most times. He had experience with dating, him and Seokjin had been dating for years already, since Hoseok had first hired him at least.
Before he knows it, Hoseok can see his apartment building, with its crumbling concrete steps and path and tiny grass lawn behind a chain fence. The windows are all tinted a dark yellow, reflecting the sun that shone against their panes. Not the most inviting, but still home.
Home.
His home, that he shared with Yoongi.
Yoongi, his best friend, his lover, his fuckin' soulmate. Or at least that's how Hoseok viewed him. He could only hope and dream that maybe Yoongi felt the same way.
The dusty lobby welcomes him with icy air conditioning, the only room in the whole complex that actually has a unit. Hoseok nods at the receptionist, a kind older woman who kinda shakes when she talks, and she smiles at him.
Riding in the elevator is honestly slower than just taking the stairs, since it's only a few flights. Hoseok reaches their floor, and eventually their door is in sight, and he's turning the key in the old lock. He toes his sneakers off on the rug, next to his strappy sandals and a few pairs of Yoongi's work shoes and running shoes.
It's only seven, so it's not a surprise that no one is home yet.
There's something relaxing about being alone, and as Hoseok dumps out this morning's coffee and cleans the breakfast dishes and starts a simple dinner, he ponders what he will say when Yoongi walks in the door.
It's nice to imagine the perfect evening; right at eight o'clock, Yoongi comes home, wraps his arms around him from the back, kissing his nape and they both soak in the moment before Hoseok turns to face him, and then they look into each other's eyes before they both lean in and their lips meet and,
Well, it's nice to daydream sometimes.
The clock on the oven reads seven thirty, and Hoseok begins to worry. Slowly, the anxiety grows in him, like weeds in a flower garden, but he reassures himself that it's normal. He'll be okay, everything will work out, right?
"Oh yeah, uh, jagiya, have you been fucking someone else? Just a little curious is all."
He grabs some of their nicer bowls from the cupboard, and sets them on their small dining table, and then sets down their silverware and newest chopsticks alongside the bowls. He knows better than to actually serve the stew and rice yet, though. The pot simmers lowly on the stovetop, already finished.
Just to pass the time, Hoseok lazes down the creaky hallway to their room, slipping off the day's clothes. He stands at the foot of the bed, stripped down to only boxers, before tearing off all the sheets and quilts and comforters and throwing them to the floor in a heap. Then, he picks each of them up, starting with the sheets, and remakes the bed.
His mind is in a different place, but his arms continue their folding and tucking in and fluffing and then he's finished.
In his dresser drawer, he finds another flowy tank, this time with his faded university logo sprawled across his chest. The fabric is soft against his skin, like the cotton shorts he slips on over his slim hips.
It's been a long time since him and Yoongi have touched each other.
He opens their window before returning to the kitchen. This time, the stove clock reads eight fifteen, and the pot is still simmering so he takes it off the heat and serves himself a scoop of rice before ladeling the stew into his bowl.
Hoseok eats in silence, the only sound the whirring of the refrigerator and his metal chopsticks clanking the ceramic bowl and honks from cars below.
It's another hour and a half before he hears keys turning in the lock.
…............................
Yoongi doesn't remember making it back to his cubicle, but when he opens his eyes, he's greeted with florescent lighting and a stack of paperwork right in front of his face. His head pounds and he feels as if he just took the shittiest nap of his life, but after glancing at the time on his computer monitor, his body jolts awake.
It's six thirty and he has at least two full hours of work ahead of him, if he works fast.
Immediately, he flips open the first file and starts reading, making corrections and writing when he needs to, and honestly its probably the fastest he has ever worked.
Chatter from coworkers leaving for the night surrounds him as he furiously inks, trying to block out the noise to focus. It is surprisingly really fucking easy.
Eight o'clock rolls around, and his wrist feels like he's 15 again and just found out about masturbating, but anything to leave sooner is worth it. A small knock near his head wipes him out of his trance momentarily. Jimin and Taehyung look down at him, their work bags slung over their shoulders and their hands tucked in their pockets.
It is annoyingly endearing.
"Hey hyung, we just wanted to stop by to see if you were alright?" Tae asks. Jimin nods beside him.
Yoongi's cheeks flush as he remembers what happened a few hours ago, and nods in response. The younger two exchange glances before looking back to him, and then Jimin speaks up.
"If you need to talk about something, don't be afraid, Yoongi," and he doesn't even comment on the lack of an honorific, instead nodding again.
"Thank you, really." And then Jimin grabs Tae's hand before they turn to walk down the aisle and disappear behind the shiny elevator doors.
Yoongi will never really understand the relationship he has with his two dongsaengs, but he does appreciate it, even if it doesn't show. The two have a way of understanding even though they really have no idea who he even is or why he literally had a panic attack in a bathroom stall and then fell asleep while snuggling on top of them.
Namjoon walks out of his office a few minutes before Yoongi leaves, offering him a polite "I'm your boss I have to do this" nod and a quick wave before he disappears behind the elevator doors as well.
With no one else in the office, he finishes the remaining few documents quickly, and more sloppily than the first few, but done nonetheless. A groan escapes his lips as he leans back in his swivel chair, letting his joints settle and his back straighten out.
The computer monitor reads eight forty five.
Fuck.
Grabbing his leather satchel, Yoongi dashes out of his cubicle, trying not to trip on anything in the dimness. He takes the elevator, smashing the buttons as if it would make a difference.
Come on, come on, come on, hurry up already,
He races past the front lobby doors, right into a sea of people all walking in different directions on the sidewalk. But Yoongi quickly finds the direction to the bus stop, ignoring the way his whole body aches and burns, instead putting one foot in front of the other before he finally reaches his stop.
The bus pulls up not a minute later, and a steady stream of people step off before there is enough room for Yoongi to squeeze past. He shows the driver his pass again before rushing to take his seat and cradling his satchel in his lap.
The engine rumbles to a start and then they're moving, and the weight of Yoongi's bag is really starting to press against his cuts painfully. He knows they will be raw and irritated when he changes the bandages later, but it doesn't matter, not when he was supposed to be home a few hours ago.
Yoongi counts the buildings until he sees his stop and stands up before the bus even slows down. He thanks the man sitting in front before hopping down the steps, barely catching the last one and almost faceplanting the sidewalk below.
He doesn't even care.
The sun is almost fully set now, and the street looks just like it did last night; the streetlamps shine dull circles of yellow against the pavement every twenty feet or so, the neon lights of the storefronts are all turned off, and every dark corner and alley feel as if they could swallow him if he gets too close.
Yoongi presses his satchel against him so tightly that he fears he could stop breathing, but would that really be such a terrible thing?
He swears he can hear footsteps behind him, to the side of him, but his fear doesn't allow him to turn around to see if its true.
It won't hurt baby, just be quiet, if you're loud people will hear you.
His legs are heavier than stone, but the adrenaline in his veins pushes him forward. His body is on autopilot, much like this morning. It knows where to take him, even if his mind isn't there to guide him.
Suddenly, he hears the footsteps again, and his heart jumps so hard that he loses his breath for a second before he starts blindly running towards home, not daring to look back to see if he was right or not. Numbly, he runs until his legs stop him, and he's facing his apartment complex.
The elderly receptionist lady must be in for the night, as there isn't anyone behind the front counter when he walks into the lobby. Yoongi takes a moment to catch his breath, his hands on his knees as he bends over and inhales deeply, exhaling through his mouth. The air in here is too cold, sending chills down his spine.
Yoongi steps into the elevator, pressing the button for his floor before leaning against a guard rail in the small box. The machine lurches before shakily rising up, his stomach fluttering and his hands shaking around his satchel.
Stepping out of the elevator, Yoongi crosses the hall to their apartment, a set of keys resting heavily in his palm, cold metal against clammy skin. He's so on edge right now, he feels like he could burst at any second.
The lock clicks and then he's walking into their kitchen.
Hoseok's dark eyes meet his from across the room, where the younger man is sitting in a dining chair, his elbows propped on the table and his hands folded underneath his chin. The look is cold and unfamiliar to Yoongi, and if he wasn't already on the verge of a mental breakdown, well, now he is.
He pushes the door shut before starting to take a step towards his boyfriend, but Hoseok speaks before he can so much as set one foot past the rug with all their shoes thrown on it.
"Could you maybe explain why you finally show up at home, oh, only a few hours past when you were supposed to be here?" Hoseok's voice is deep and accusing, so different than his usual uppity and charming demeanor.
"W-well, Namjoon wanted me to stay and fini-"
Hoseok jolts to his feet, palms resting flatly on the dining room table, wondering how the fuck Yoongi could just lie to his face so easily.
"Don't lie to me, don't you dare lie to me, Yoongi."
"Hoseok, please...I swear I was at work, Namjoon had me stay to finish some paperwork, I promise-" but the younger has his eyes closed, his head downturned and his shoulders slumped as if defeated.
Silence occupies the short distance between the two lovers, heavy and pushing on Yoongi's chest and head like an unseen force. There's only a few feet separating them, but they've never felt farther apart than they are right now.
"I don't know what else there is I could possibly do, after all these years....All you do is keep lying to me, acting like everything's alright, pretending that you're alright, that we're alright, when it isn't. Yoongi, why do you hide from me?"
"Because I don't want you to deal with my shit, you don't deserve it." He speaks only loud enough for his words to reach the younger's ears.
Hoseok scoffs, his eyes meeting Yoongi's again as he shakes his head in disbelief.
"But I deserve to be in the dark about everything? You think it's easier for me to watch you struggle than to let me in?"
A lump rises in Yoongi's throat, making it hard to talk, as if it wasn't already difficult having this conversation.
"No, I'm just selfish."
"Why did you relapse last night, Yoongi?" Hoseok is softer now, a few feet closer to his boyfriend, his hip resting against the edge of the table.
"Doesn't matter."
The distance between them disappears and Hoseok now stands right in front of the shorter man, his hand tentatively reaching out to rest on Yoongi's arm, right above his elbow. He doesn't miss the flinch when he does so, or the quiet wet sob escaping his mouth at the contact.
"It does, it matters so much," he whispers in the space between them. Tears paint Yoongi's cheeks, rolling down until they meet his neck, pool beneath his earlobes, or settle in the corner of his lips. He shakes as Hoseok's hand wanders from his elbow, down to his wrist and then the palm of his own.
"I...I wanted to forget the pain," Yoongi whispers barely audibly, eyes avoiding anywhere near his boyfriend's own. Hoseok is confused, his fingers tightening around the older's.
"What happened?" He pushes, wanting to get an answer out of this. He wants to help Yoongi, but deeper down, selfishly, he wants to find answers to the questions he has floating around in his own conscience.
"I can't tell you," Yoongi answers, and it's not good enough. Hoseok takes his chin in his hand and pushes it up to where the shorter man is forced to look at him, tears still nestled in the corners of his puffy eyes. Yoongi tries to pull away, but he's too tired to put up much resistance. It's not like he was any good at putting up any kind of fight anyways, or else he wouldn't be in this situation to begin with.
"Why not?" Hoseok pushes harder, anger starting to flood through him again.
"It's disgusting, and pathetic, it's not even worth saying out loud," Yoongi answers, still being held against his will in the younger's grip. He has gotten awfully good at being controlled lately, it seems.
"Why can't you just tell me? Can't you see I'm trying to help you? You can't get better without telling someone why you relapsed after being clean for so long!" Hoseok's tone becomes condescending and manipulative, he's so desperate for something at all.
"By forcing me to tell you when I'm not ready?" Yoongi says, a little louder to make his point.
Neither of them noticed that Hoseok's hand had loosened it's grip on Yoongi's chin and had fallen on the neck of the older's shirt, pulling it down and exposing his neck and one of his collarbones.
Dark bruises, red and violet mark Yoongi's milky skin.
Hoseok sees them before he does, eyes widening at the hidden expanse of skin not visible before. His hands immediately leave Yoongi's shirt, falling to his sides and balling into fists as he steps a few feet away, staring down at the hickeys disbelievingly.
He was right?
"H-hoseok, it-its not what you think, please-" Yoongi pleads, voice wavering and thick with tears.
"Then what the hell is is then?" Hoseok yells back, his eyes searching desperately for any hint of truth hiding within Yoongi's. He finds it incredibly difficult to find any, no matter how long he looks.
A wave of silence crashes through the apartment, a moment of thick tension before anyone talks again.
"Are you cheating on me?"
"No-no I would never, Hobi believe me, please," Yoongi stutters.
The younger man shakes his head in disbelief before crossing his arms over his chest, smiling as his bangs fall over his eyes. Yoongi doesn’t know a single person with a smile brighter than his lover, but now the smile is the farthest thing from welcoming and full of sunshine.
"I can't believe that I was right," Hoseok mumbles, but Yoongi still catches it.
The words cut him deeper than any blade ever had.
"Hoseok, it's not true, whatever you think happened, it didn't," now he's practically pleading, anything to be believed.
"Why don't you tell me what did happen then, or is that too much? Are you too fucking weak to admit what you did wrong?"
Even he knows it, you're weak, you let yourself be attacked like the worthless piece of shit you are.
Yoongi can't help the words that spill out of his mouth next, so softly he barely hears himself say it,
"I was raped."
…
Yoongi shuts the front door behind him, already bounding down the apartment complex's stairwell before Hoseok even has a chance to say a single word.
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An Open Letter To Beauty Editors and Make-Up Addicts
You likely rushed out the day that the Fenty line dropped....and dropped some more colours and now some more red bullets. You follow many beauty Instagram accounts and your credit card bears the brunt of you decking your halls with your beauty hauls. You have to have the latest and the greatest and binge watch Youtube make-up tutorials. I’m somewhat of a make-up addict too - I have an under the bed storage container filled pretty high with prods and many pallets that are aging away in my dresser drawers. I love seeing new colours, formulas and limited edition and shriek when I find a discontinued cult product at a thrift store. But you know what, I’ve realized that all this overdone make-up craze that is so trendy RN is just overdoing it. There’s a primer and how many make-up sponges shaped like eggs, there’s an eyeshadow primer, a lash primer, a matte powder, a setting powder and setting spray. There’s contouring and strobing, highlighting, baking and the many other effects that are all the craze. But I realize that no matter how well I’m done up, the only thing that I’m getting is a weak “I like your eyeshadow” from the girl at Subway or “really like that red lippy” from the cosmetician at Shoppers’ who just wants me to spend more. Just think, you’re spending all that money to get low key compliments from strangers or even Instagram friends. Make-up won’t buy you love, it’s owning you. It’s fun to apply but at the end of the day when it all comes off, what has spending 1 hour on your face done for you lately? In a world where people barely look at each other and all seem so damn afraid of each other, make-up doesn’t make up for the lack of social cohesion. Sure, it may make you feel better and I do believe in first coffee then mascara to start my day but buying all these products that aren’t your basic face is a waste of money. What’s sexier than the boldest cat eye is money in the bank. Not like I have much of that but I realize that I’d rather spend less time/money on a face that’s not likely to garner anything else than compliments from strangers who will stay strangers, even if I start talking to them.
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