#MAYBE her grief blinded her to that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

subskz · 1 year

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ʚïɞ butterfly bandage - 02

note: this is part 2 of a series (part 1, part 3, part 4, part 5)

content: bang chan/reader, university au, reader is female and referred to with she/her pronouns, themes of soulmates, slight angst, slight hurt/comfort, themes of death/grief over a friend, mentions of past unhealthy relationships, nsfw scenes

18+ content: sub chan, dom reader, soft smut, unprotected sex (no condom, but reader is on contraceptives), praise, body worship, riding, light choking, under-discussed kinks (both parties are consenting), light possessiveness, biting, teasing, lots of begging, aftercare

word count: 15.8k

You didn’t want to go home.

Final exams were just a week away, and summer break would follow soon after. For anyone else, it would bring about a much-needed relief, a moment to breathe after the grueling interim leading up to the end of the semester. For you, however, all that awaited was a looming, unshakeable sense of dread.

You hadn’t returned to your hometown for nearly six months now, choosing instead to spend all of your vacation time on campus, pouring yourself into assignments and studies far sooner and far more vigorously than required. But summer break would be an exception to this new, comfortably avoidant routine of yours. The excuse that you were busy became significantly less convincing when you had no classes to attend to, and you were certain that your parents wouldn’t let you get away with not visiting home for at least a week or two, especially when the trip was less than an hour by train.

It would be the one year anniversary soon, of the loss of your closest friend. The memory was still too fresh in your mind, the wound was still wide open and festering. You hadn’t given it proper time to heal—or, any time to heal, for that matter—instead having grown accustomed to slapping on a temporary fix and replacing it only when deemed absolutely necessary. Just enough to get by, to keep yourself together.

It wouldn’t be that easy to ignore once you returned home, though. Not even close. Every flickering streetlight, every newly blossomed tree, every crack in the sidewalk that had once been so reassuring in its familiarity, was laced with memories of her. They were memories that used to make your life brighter, warmer; like a glowing ball of light you carried around in your chest wherever you went. Now, they only stung.

The sound of your phone vibrating against the nightstand snapped you out of your brooding. You reached out aimlessly for it through the darkness of your bedroom, squinting as the harsh screen light nearly blinded you in the process.

A familiar flash of gray was all you needed to see to open the notification with embarrassing haste.

chan 🐺 (3:08 a.m.) let’s go here!

For a brief moment, you were at a loss, then, the link to a nearby bungeoppang shop followed.

chan 🐺 (3:09 a.m.) their custard is so sooo sooooooo good

chan 🐺 (3:10 a.m.) akskdnsnsksjsjsk

You were grinning before you even finished reading his messages, fondness flooding your chest in place of the heavy, melancholic fog that had been occupying it all night.

you (3:11 a.m.) yummy~ we can go during finals week as a pick me up!

chan 🐺 (3:11 a.m.) yuo’re awake,??

you (3:11 a.m.) that’s my line!

Just as you were typing out another response, your screen changed to signal Chan’s incoming call, making you scramble upright in bed. You should’ve come to expect it by now, but even so, it still felt just as new and exhilarating as the first time that wolf emoji had popped up out of the blue. Predictably unpredictable.

His greeting came the instant you picked up, oddly cheerful considering how late into the night it was.

“Hey!”

“Hi, Channie,” you said softly. “Y’know, I think I’ve got you all figured out.”

“Oh?” Chan sounded taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“You’re only a phone guy when you should be asleep.”

Confusion melted into amusement, and you could hear the grin in his voice when he replied. “Hm…maybe you’re right,” he agreed. “But what’s your excuse, then?”

You paused. “I guess I’m only a good texter when it comes to you.”

The shy giggles that filled your ears didn’t disappoint. They made you feel light, carefree; like everything that had been responsible for keeping you wide awake for the past three hours was suddenly so trivial in the face of his laughter.

“So, what are you up to?” you asked.

“Trying to trick myself to fall asleep,” he said it like a joke, but you could feel the weariness behind his words. It tugged at your emotions in a way that you knew all too well. The urge to help him, to take care of him.

Your heart welcomed it, but your mind rejected it, and you were more keen on letting the latter call the shots these days. So, as naturally as it came, you pushed it away.

“By thinking about bungeoppang?”

Another giggle. “Well, more like thinking about things I wanna do with you.”

You held your breath to avoid letting a reaction slip out, but there was no way to repress the butterflies that fluttered to life in your stomach. Thankfully, Chan didn’t seem to notice. It was the one thing about you he could never quite catch, like his obliviousness to his own charm stood in the way of an otherwise razor-sharp intuition.

“How about you? What’s got you awake?”

You could clearly envision the attentive eyes and curious head tilt accompanying his question. It almost made you want to answer without restraint, to share all the thoughts that you’d been needlessly torturing yourself with for days now, rotating over and over in your head until they snowballed into something out of your control.

You stopped yourself just in time. He didn’t need to hear something like that at this hour—or, ever, really.

“Just thinking about the summer.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, and you hoped it’d be enough to get past his scrutiny.

“Oh!” he chirped. “Are you excited?”

Absolutely not. “Kinda,” you were grateful he couldn’t see your expression. “More excited about it than finals, anyway.”

“It’ll be fine!” he said confidently. “Just two more weeks, and we’re free, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smiled. “I’m gonna miss our study sessions.”

Chan had switched from the astrophysics track after his spring semester of senior year—cutting it close was an understatement—so any classes you’d be taking for your final term in the fall would be completely new territory for him. You didn’t doubt for a second that he might try to continue tutoring you and Changbin regardless, but after finding out how hard he’d been pushing himself to help you with subjects that he already had experience with, you couldn’t in good conscience allow him to do that to himself again.

Not that you needed the study sessions as an excuse to see him anymore, but still, you felt strangely wistful about it.

“Me too,” he hummed, as if his mind had drifted to the same place. “That reminds me, you left your sweater here the other day.”

“Oh! I didn’t even notice.”

“You must’ve been distracted by something,” he sang.

You let your chuckle slip out this time, more than ready to indulge him. “Well, there was this really cute boy there. Do you think he’d be willing to give it back to me?”

“Ah…” his attempt at teasing you backfired so spectacularly that he went silent for a moment. “He was cute? I don’t believe you.”

“Cute enough to kiss,” you confirmed.

You registered a sudden rustling sound on the other line, followed by the faintest squeak, as if he were physically unable to contain his giddiness. The thought of it nearly had you burying your face in your pillow yourself. You wished you could see him.

“Then,” he swallowed. “He might give it back to you, for a kiss.”

The memory of his lips on yours washed over you all at once, so vividly that you could even recall how his soft cheeks had felt cupped in your palms and how his shaky breath had fanned over your skin.

“Is that a promise?” You held out your pinky in the darkness. It buzzed with warmth, and you wondered briefly if he was mirroring your action on his end, or if it was just the lingering heat that he’d left on you.

“Promise,” he breathed.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

The final lecture of PHYS 408: Thermodynamics and Statistical Mechanics, more or less went exactly as you had predicted. No review for the final exam, no rundown of what to expect, and certainly no heartfelt announcement from Dr. Choi, letting you all know what a joy of a section you’d been to teach. If it weren't for the date and time of the exam scribbled on the whiteboard behind him, you might’ve thought he’d forgotten about it altogether.

He’d droned on for the first hour of class, delivering your last lesson of the semester with the same perpetual stiffness as day one, then had so generously granted the remaining 15 minutes as free time for studying amongst yourselves. Changbin appeared ready to bolt the moment the words left your professor’s mouth, but you’d stubbornly convinced him to stay just a bit longer and study with you. It was more for his sake than anything else, considering he’d only attended one of the two final exam reviews with Chan.

Changbin, it seemed, had other plans, as he hadn’t let a minute pass by without getting distracted from the task at hand and trying to start a conversation with you.

“By the way, you'll be at the get-together won’t you? Before the summer ends.”

You looked up from your notes, already sensing some kind of trap being set up.

“And by get-together you mean…?”

Changbin’s lips curved into a sheepish half-smile; caught, even with his careful phrasing.

“Well, I guess it’s more of a party.”

You made a face. You’d been to a handful of parties the past three years of your university experience, each one having been more unpleasant and suffocating than the last.

“I’m not sure, Bin. Not really my scene, y’know?”

“It’ll be your scene if I'm there, trust me.” Changbin lifted his head with a grin, and you might have rolled your eyes if his overblown confidence wasn’t so endearing.

“Uh-huh,” you played along. “Now I'm just itching to go.”

“Doesn’t the bond we’ve built these past months mean anything to you?” he whined. “It could be our last chance to really hang out!”

“It’s not like we’re dying, Seo Changbin,” you said, unimpressed. “I know for a fact that you’re taking the same Experimental Physics section as me next semester because we both put it off.”

Changbin clicked his tongue, shutting his book dramatically—which made no difference, really, considering he hadn’t read a single line of text from it. “Alright, fine. You’ve made it clear how little you value our friendship today.”

Just when you thought he’d accepted defeat, he continued.

“And of course,” a devious glint crossed his eyes. “It wouldn’t change your mind if I told you a certain friend of mine was coming?”

Ah. Despite your vigilance, it appeared you’d fallen right into his trap anyway.

“A certain friend?” you echoed. It came casual, but inside, your mind was swarming with countless possibilities. You hadn’t yet told Changbin about everything that had transpired between you and Chan, and you weren’t sure if Chan had mentioned anything to him either. The issue wasn’t so much that you were afraid of how Changbin would react, it was more about preparing yourself to deal with the theatrics of it all, the internal battle between horror and smugness that was sure to ensue inside him; because, on one hand, he’d been right, but on the other hand, he’d been right.

You could already picture it: scolding and teasing all at once, “I leave you alone with my best friend for one night and you kiss him!?”

You would never hear the end of it.

“A certain Bang Chan,” he elaborated, looking a bit disappointed when you didn’t give him the reaction he’d hoped for.

Knowing that Chan would be there admittedly piqued your interest, but not in the way Changbin seemed to think. You were more so curious as to what would draw him into such an environment—if he would be in his element, or awkwardly out of place. He was a social butterfly, sure, with a friends list that could probably fill up your entire Theoretical Methods notebook, but even so, a college party just wasn’t the kind of pastime you’d imagined him to indulge in all that much.

Still, you could be wrong. You simultaneously felt like you knew so much about Chan, yet so little. It was like you could envision the completed puzzle of him in your mind, but still didn’t quite have all the pieces in your hand.

With a start, you realized that Changbin might mistake your silence for something else, and you forced out a response before he could get too suspicious.

“Chan’s going?” you asked. “Is that his kind of thing?”

“Hm…not usually,” he tapped your pencil against the tabletop, as if it required deep thought. “At least, he’s not big on drinking and all that.”

The surge of satisfaction you felt in being correct came so strong that you were almost taken aback. It went hand in hand with that ever-present desire to know him, every part of him, better than anyone else.

“So, what’s the occasion, then? Because I know you’re not exactly a party animal yourself, Mr. Principles.”

“I’m the life of any party I go to.” He said it so seriously that you couldn’t help but snort, earning you a defensive swat to the shoulder.

“But, you do have a point,” he admitted once your giggles had died down. “It is sort of a special occasion.”

You leaned in, fully immersed now. He was being uncharacteristically roundabout today, and when that signature, shy smirk crept up on his face, you knew there was definitely something else brewing under the surface.

“It’s an event for the student music organization here on campus, so we get to do a little showcase.”

Your eyes widened. “We? As in 3RACHA?”

He simply beamed, the look of pride on his face speaking for itself.

“Bin! Are you serious!?”

For once, you were the one turning heads in you and Changbin’s direction, but you couldn’t find it in you to feel self-conscious about your outburst. “Like, a live performance?”

He wiggled in his spot, clearly basking in your excitement. “Just one song, but, yeah.”

“Still, that’s amazing!” you piped. “You should’ve just said that from the beginning, you know I’ll go if it means seeing you perform.”

“I know,” he scrunched up his nose, the embarrassment finally starting to get to him. “But I didn’t wanna flaunt. Modesty is key, after all.”

You shot him an amused look. “Is that one of your principles?”

“The most important one,” he said proudly.

Though you were less than enthused about attending a party of that magnitude, in that moment you felt nothing but delight bubbling up in your chest; for Changbin, for yourself, for Chan. You wondered what his reaction to the news had been like, if he’d broken out into that thousand-watt smile of barely-contained glee, or if the prospect of sharing his music in front of so many people had reduced him to a panicked mess, scrambling to get everything in order to put on the best performance possible.

The clock struck 9:15 a.m. to signal the end of your final lecture period. Naturally, you and Changbin hadn’t gotten any studying done, with his little announcement serving as the nail in the coffin for your motivation to work. As you gathered up your belongings and rose from your chair, an unexpected wave of nostalgia overtook you. It was likely the last time you’d be sitting in it, given that even the most absent of students would be showing up on the day of the final and taking any spot they could find. In a weird way, you were going to miss it. Some of your most miserable recollections from the semester were associated with it—stress, exhaustion, confusion, pressure—but it had brought about some of your most cherished moments as well; some of your most cherished people.

Changbin seemed to notice the sentimental expression on your face, and he gave you a gentle nudge as you strolled together out of the classroom.

“A lot has changed since that first day, huh?”

“Yeah,” you let your shoulder bump against his. “It has.”

You hoped, desperately, that it was the start of something better.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

In the end, you and Chan hadn’t been able to line your schedules up even once throughout finals week to make room for your bungeoppang date. Amidst the storm of projects, presentations, exams, and papers, the two of you barely found time in the day to fulfill basic necessities, let alone to hang out with one another. You were particularly worried about the self-care situation on his end, already well-acquainted with his tendency to neglect his health whenever he was swamped. All you could do was send short, uplifting messages every few days, encouraging him to get some rest before the sun came up.

The dangling promise of fish-shaped bread (and, of course, the boy that came with it) had carried you through the week more than you’d like to admit, and by the time your last exam of the semester came around, your patience was on its last legs. You turned in your Astronomical Techniques test with plenty of time to spare, scurrying out of the lecture hall and making your way to the campus gym as quickly as your feet would allow.

Pushing open the doors to the natatorium where you and Chan had agreed to meet, you were immediately hit with the stinging scent of chlorine and thunderous sound of overlapping splashes. You scanned over the area in search of his familiar face, overwhelmed by the sea of identical swim caps. When you spotted him at last, he wasn’t emerging from the locker room like you’d expected him to be—freshly showered and, most importantly, clothed. No, instead, your eyes landed on him just in time to witness him rising from the pool, muscular arms hoisting his body up the ledge and sending streams of water cascading down his broad shoulders and back.

You froze, too mesmerized by the sight to even think about looking away before he could notice you. He pulled his swim cap off along with his goggles, shaking his wet curls free and confirming that it was, in fact, Bang Christopher Chan standing shirtless before you.

It was almost laughable, how your heartbeat picked up to an alarming speed, hammering faster in your chest the more you studied his figure. The full curve of his pecs, the toned ridges of his abdomen, the lean dip in his waist, disappearing into his swim trunks. His skin was glistening and almost annoyingly untouched. You wanted to sully it, to leave it marked up and littered with traces of you.

A sudden squeak of your name snapped you back to your senses. With how intensely you’d been staring, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to you that Chan’s head would whip around in your direction, as if he could physically feel the holes your gaze had been burning into his skin.

“Y-you’re here!” he stammered. A part of you wondered if he might’ve done this on purpose, secretly hoping for you to find him like this when he’d suggested that you meet up with him after practice. But, judging by the way he shrank into himself, arms flying up to cross over his chest at the speed of light, he was just as mortified as you were.

You took a breath, forcing yourself to get it together. “I guess I finished my exam earlier than I thought,” your voice sounded steady, at least. “Sorry for sneaking up on you.”

Chan shifted his weight from side to side, eyes darting between you and the floor. “No worries,” he chuckled awkwardly. You made a point to avoid looking anywhere but his face for the sake of his comfort, but the way his ears had flushed a very obvious shade of red was just as distracting, if not more.

He cleared his throat. “Uh, we’re done for the day, anyway. I just gotta shower, then I’m all yours!”

You wished he hadn’t phrased it like that. “Sure, take your time.”

You managed a quick smile, turning towards the bench on the far end of the pool so he could walk to the locker rooms without worrying about covering himself up.

As if that whole altercation hadn’t been embarrassing enough already, it took the entirety of the ten minutes he spent in the shower for the adrenaline rushing through your veins to finally ebb.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

“I can’t believe you just did that.”

It was the first time you’d ever really heard Chan whine—childish and pouty in a way that could give even Changbin a run for his money.

You giggled triumphantly, waving the bungeoppang in his face to really rub it in.

Chan had made the grave mistake of offhandedly telling you what he planned to order as the two of you chatted on the way to the shop, and when he’d whispered to you that he was going to run to the bathroom as you were studying the menu, the opportunity that presented itself was just too perfect for you to pass up.

Instead of waiting, you’d lined up on your own, praying that you would make it before he returned. In the end, you’d succeeded, ordering for him and yourself and paying for both portions just in the nick of time, much to his horror.

“This upset over my first win?” you taunted. “I didn’t know you were so competitive, Channie.”

He huffed, pressing his lips together in a way that made his cheeks swell. The good-natured twinkle in his eyes remained, however, and he eventually accepted the pastry in defeat. “Still, thank you.”

You softened. “Of course. It’s the least I could do.”

The two of you slipped into the nearest booth, settling in across from each other. Chan looked ready to devour his order within seconds of sitting down, but before he could, you reached out, bungeoppang in hand, as if proposing a toast.

“Here’s to getting through finals alive,” you declared.

He grinned, tapping his bread against yours. “Cheers!”

You bit into your share, the light crispness of the crust blending perfectly with its filling. Chan had been right about this place’s custard; the way its flavor flooded your tongue was nothing short of heavenly.

“Oh my God,” you mumbled. “This is so good.”

He let out a blissful hum of agreement. You glanced up to find him already halfway done with his share, cheeks stuffed and lips puckered as he chewed happily away. A stray drop of custard had stuck to the corner of his mouth, right next to the curve of his dimple, and it took everything in you not to lean in and kiss him right then and there.

Chan’s eyes fluttered open as he swallowed his massive mouthful, and you straightened up in your spot, trying to pretend like you hadn’t just been daydreaming about eating custard off of his face.

“By the way,” you began. “Changbin told me you guys are performing at the end of the summer?”

“Ah…” he brought his bungeoppang up to his nose, like he hoped to disappear behind it. “Yeah, seems like it. It’s not a big deal, though, really.”

“It is! I wish you’d told me, I definitely don’t wanna miss it.”

His gaze peeked up above the half-eaten bread, and you might’ve thought he was just playing coy if the look in his eyes wasn’t so adorably hopeful, searching your expression for a sincere show of interest.

“Really?”

“Of course,” you said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Plus, Bin would never let me live it down if I did.”

“True,” he grinned. “Would you believe me if I said I wanted to tell you?”

“Oh?”

“I was just kinda embarrassed about it,” he chuckled. “Dunno if I’d be able to face you after.”

Something about the way he said it nearly made you melt. How very like him, to feel self-conscious about performing in front of you before it’d even happened. Unable to help yourself any longer, you reached forward and brushed your thumb along the edge of his lips, scooping up the drop of custard—though, really, it was just an excuse to touch him.

Chan looked caught off guard for a moment, fingers flexing around the pastry in his hand. Then, the smile was back on his face, even wider this time.

“You’re so cute,” you murmured. “If you say that, it just makes me wanna see you more, y’know.”

He reached up to fiddle with his piercing, both dimples now on full display. “Will you be back in town by then?”

“I’m gonna be here for most of the break, actually,” you confessed.

His eyes lit up. “You serious?”

You nodded, praying he wouldn’t ask you to elaborate.

“So am I!” he beamed. “I’m doing an independent study, so I won’t have the chance to go home.”

It dawned on you for the first time that Chan’s family was, in fact, still living in Australia while he attended university. You hadn’t even considered the possibility that he might not be visiting them over the summer. That same, familiar ache touched your heart again—it must get lonely for him. Here you were, purposely avoiding your hometown at all costs, when he was likely longing for his.

“Oh no,” you frowned. “Not even for a short trip?”

“Nah.” He waved his hand, seemingly unaffected. “But it’s alright. I’ve got you, and my buddy Felix will be here for a while, too.”

Felix. Another name you’d heard thrown around by Chan and Changbin on more than one occasion. He was yet another junior that Chan had managed to befriend somehow, and, just like him, he’d grown up in Australia. It eased your mind a bit, knowing that he and Chan at least had each other when everyone else was home for the holidays.

“But what about you?” He cocked his head. “Any reason you’re staying?”

The dreaded question. This time, you couldn’t depend on the safety of a phone call to keep him from gauging your reaction.

“I just prefer it here, I guess.” You picked at the paper wrapping of your bread, hoping to sound nonchalant. “There’s some stuff I don’t wanna deal with back home. But, knowing my parents, I’ll probably still go for a week or so.”

Suddenly, the look on his face wasn’t quite so bright. It was subtle, just a fleeting crack in his typically bubbly demeanor, but not lost on you. Whether it was the mention of your parents or your vaguely cynical response that had brought about such a strange reaction, you weren’t sure, but you berated yourself for being responsible for dampening his mood, even if it was short-lived.

“I get that,” he said softly. “Let’s have a good time here together, yeah?”

Chan didn’t speak any further on the topic, but somehow, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he resonated with what you’d said more than he was letting on.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

Three days into your visit back home, you came to fully accept the fact that you were in way over your head.

From the moment you’d stepped off the train, hit with that warm, familiar air, tinged with the scent of pine, you could already feel it picking away at you. The trip from the station to your house, which you’d stubbornly chosen to make by foot, was full of bittersweet sights, sounds, and smells that had shaped you growing up, with each one tugging your seams loose just a little bit more. It felt akin to whiplash, a harsh dive into the deep end of reality after the past month you’d spent with Chan, stuck in a giddy haze.

Thanks to him, the harsh sting of summer had become more of a dull ache, not quite fading altogether, but soothed into something more manageable, at least. With Iseul, Changbin, and all your other friends returning home for vacation, you’d breezed through the entirety of June almost exclusively in Chan’s company. More often than not, Felix would join in as well, making for an unexpectedly pleasant dynamic among the three of you. You’d taken a liking to the boy in no time—it was impossible not to, when he had a smile like the sun and an infectious sort of vitality that brought joy to even the simplest of activities. He was a bit more reserved than Chan, at least around you, but he had a similar kind of warmth, the kind that was sure to enamor anyone he crossed paths with.

Between movie nights (more superhero movies than you’d ever thought existed), day trips to the beach (with Chan, thankfully, taking your sanity into account and wearing a tank top at all times), and far too many baking sessions (some successful, most failed), what you’d initially feared to be a month of nothing but heat and misery had turned out to be some of the best weeks of your life.

It was only natural, of course, that the universe would follow them up with a week that was carefully crafted to send all that happiness you’d built toppling unceremoniously to the ground.

The pit of guilt you’d felt in your stomach about avoiding home for so long increased tenfold with every comment from your parents and relatives, joking about how you were too busy, too good for your family to waste time on them anymore. You almost wanted to be upset, because you knew they knew. But you also knew that they meant well. In their minds, they were doing you a favor by not addressing it, not daring to so much as utter your friend’s name around you. It was much easier to pretend like everything was okay. That was what you’d been doing for the past year, after all.

Still, no matter how hard you wished you could ignore it, the pesky, human desire for seeking solace in others persisted. You needed to release, to lift the top off the pressure cooker you’d kept so tightly sealed for so long.

You needed to talk to someone. But the only person in the world who you could’ve opened up to about losing her, was her.

Your thumb lingered over Chan’s contact, now on your fourth minute of debating whether or not you should throw caution to the wind and call him. You wanted to hear his voice rambling on, his absent-minded humming of whichever song was stuck in his head that day, his laughter.

With a deep inhale, you swiped out of your phone app, opening up your messages instead.

you (8:13 a.m.) hey it’s been a minute! how are u?

A response, almost immediately.

iseul 🪷 (8:13 a.m.) awful horrible miserable

you (8:14 a.m.) hello??? what’s going on?

iseul 🪷 (8:14 a.m.) family is driving me crazy and i hate men i also might be fired???? idk yet

You frowned, trying to process the unfortunate string of messages unfolding on your screen. You didn’t think it was possible for anyone to be having a worse time than you right now. It brought you back to your senses, reminded you of your place. Self-pity never suited you, anyway. Your sympathy was much better off reserved for others.

you (8:15 a.m.) oh my god? do you want to talk?

iseul 🪷 (8:15 a.m.) ugh yes i’ll ft you later at a family gathering rn 🤢 hate it here

you (8:16 a.m.) we’re in the same boat remember the right answer to every question is that ur focusing on ur studies

iseul 🪷 (8:16 a.m.) literally gonna be using that one all day ugh literally kill me

you (8:17 a.m.) being nosey is just how they show their love~

iseul 🪷 (8:17 a.m.) they should show their love a little less

you (8:18 a.m.) lmaoo

you (8:19 a.m.) btw do you still want me to look over that paper for your grad school app?

iseul 🪷 (8:19 a.m.) omg….. omfg yes i totally forgot omfg i’ll send it to u when i’m free pls read it fix it make me sound smarter

With the way Iseul was typing a mile a minute, you were certain you’d be in for an earful when you talked to her later. Strangely enough, it lifted a bit of weight off your shoulders. Maybe you could focus on reviewing her essay and offering her advice on the many, many issues she seemed to be facing as a way to take your mind off the growing itch in your skin.

That was all you had to do, really. Make yourself useful, keep yourself preoccupied with something at all times until you could return to campus and restart the process of tucking away every memory associated with the previous summer from scratch.

It was just a matter of holding yourself together. Just one more week.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

In the back of your mind, you couldn’t help but think that a day like this one shouldn’t be quite so sunny.

The sky was bright and spotless, an endless expanse of soft blue without so much as a single cloud daring to interfere. Some might say it was a good omen, a sign that you were being watched over with a smile, but to you, it almost felt like a taunt.

Still, the nice weather at least meant that your walk to the cemetery wouldn’t be met with any unexpected rain. Your mother had offered—or demanded, rather—to drive you if you weren’t going to drive yourself, so as not to keep your friends waiting; but much to her exasperation, you’d refused. You had an important stop to make along the way, anyway, one that both fueled your apprehension, and eased it.

It had officially been a year now. A year since you’d lost your best friend, a year since you’d ended your relationship, a year since your sense of self had become muddled. Nothing in the city felt like home, anymore. It had belonged to the both of you, and with her gone, there was nothing left for you.

A sudden call of your name nearly made you jump out of your skin. You looked up from the concrete, shocked to find that you’d zoned out long enough to have reached your destination without even processing it. Your eyes raked over the worn-down stand, once a pure, striking white, now chipped and rusted with age. Still, it brought a smile to your face, the first real one since you’d arrived home.

“Is that really you, kid?”

Steeling yourself, you lifted your head fully to face the man before you. He looked the same as ever, albeit with a bit less hair on his head, but his kind eyes and jovial smile hadn’t changed one bit, they never did.

“Hello, Uncle Geun,” you greeted. “How have you been?”

Gruff, booming laughter met your ears, and you were pulled into a bone-crushing hug before you knew it. The smell of his colorful apron, musky from the heat, but not unpleasant, sent a wave of sentimentality crashing over you. It took everything in you not to tear up the moment it touched your senses.

He was a man that had watched you grow up, in the truest sense of the words. Over a decade ago, on this very street, you’d rounded the corner with a bit too much energy on your way to school, slamming into another little girl and sending you both toppling onto the unforgiving sidewalk. You’d managed to come out of it with just a skidded palm, but she, on the other hand, was bawling the instant she’d recovered from the initial impact.

Even as a child, you’d gotten the feeling that she was being a bit too dramatic about it all, sobbing about how her knees hurt and how her new jumper was ruined. Regardless, your stomach twisted with guilt, and when you saw that your apologies weren’t getting through to her, you’d done the first thing your little mind could think of, scurrying over to the nearby flower vendor and asking if he could spare you a gift for her. His smile had been just as grand back then as it was now, his laughter just as boisterous as he picked a chrysanthemum from his stock and handed it to you.

The second you’d shoved the round, yellow flower in her face, her crying came to an immediate halt, tears drying up and sniffles dying down, as if on cue. She accepted it with a smile as bright as the flower itself, pulling off a few petals for you when she noticed the scrapes on your hand.

You’d continued the walk to school side by side, and by the end of the day, the two of you had come to a mutual agreement that you were now, officially, best friends.

You blinked rapidly, hoping your expression wouldn't betray you when Uncle Geun finally pulled away from the hug.

“It’s good to see you,” he beamed. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

“That’s all you, Uncle. Even the flowers are jealous.”

Another raspy burst of laughter. “Clever as always.”

“Maybe that college education is worth something,” you joked.

His grin grew impossibly wider, silver tooth gleaming in the sunlight. “We’ve all missed you,” he said. “Doesn’t really feel like the summertime without the sight of you walking around the city with—”

He cut himself off at just the right instant. You felt a light pang in your chest, but you forced yourself to keep smiling.

“Well,” he cleared his throat. “You girls were always a joy.”

“We had a lot of great memories because of you,” you replied quietly.

An uncharacteristically somber look crossed his face, and your eyes fell back to the ground.

“So, what’ll it be, today?” he began, trying to put the pep back in his voice. “Don’t tell me you’re just here to give the old man a visit.”

“Chrysanthemums, please,” you requested. “They’re for her.”

You unzipped your bag, reaching in to pull out your wallet. Before you could even prepare your payment, however, his calloused hand rested over yours, shooing it away.

“This one’s on the house.”

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

You never made it to the cemetery.

However necessary it had felt for you to visit the flower stand and see Uncle Geun, the toll it took on your state of mind was far heavier than you’d ever anticipated—and you’d anticipated. Your conversation with him had left you disoriented, a strange ache pulsing through your body. Whether grief or nostalgia was at its core, you weren’t sure.

With blurry vision, you’d texted your friends that you wouldn’t be able to make it and returned home, clutching the bouquet of flowers close to your chest. In a matter of twenty minutes, you gathered up all your belongings, tossed them into your hardly unpacked suitcase, and arranged to take the first train back home. Your new home, the one that felt right for all the wrong reasons.

Despite your parents’ adamant protests, you stood by your decision to leave. You promised to make it up to them with another visit, and after almost an hour of arguing, the hollowness of your voice finally seemed to get through to them. Disapproving but ultimately understanding, they’d quietly allowed you to go.

The train ride was a blur. You didn’t remember much of it, and only when you approached the front door of your apartment at last did you feel the fog in your head begin to clear just a bit. As you dug around for your keys, you realized for the first time how stiff your hand had become. You’d kept it wrapped tightly around the chrysanthemums for the entire trip home, not loosening your death grip even once.

The heavy sigh of relief you let out as you stepped into your apartment was cut short when you registered an unexpected figure standing near the window. Even in all your shock, you didn’t have the energy to call out louder than your usual volume.

“Chan?”

His reaction was priceless, yelping in fear and spinning around at a breakneck speed. You were lucky that he at least managed to avoid dropping the watering can in his hand and send it crashing to the floor.

“Y-you’re here!?”

The fact that it sounded like a genuine question when you were standing right in front of him shouldn’t have endeared you so much. You placed down your bags, praying that your exhaustion wasn’t as obvious as it felt.

“Surprise,” you nearly cringed at how weak it came out.

In all your turmoil, you’d completely forgotten that Chan had offered to water your plants for you while you were gone. Though, to be fair, even if you had remembered, you wouldn’t have expected to stumble in on him doing so at near midnight.

“Welcome back!” His face broke out into a radiant smile. It felt more like home than anything you’d experienced the past week. “Are those new flowers for me to water?”

Despite everything, you smiled back at him, placing the bouquet on your countertop and padding over to him. He opened his arms in an instant, and you fell into them, squeezing him tighter than was probably necessary and earning a cute, tiny grunt.

“Thank you, Channie,” you simply said. His warmth enveloped you and his scent wafted over you, freshly-washed laundry and the fading, sweet citrus of his cologne. “It’s good to see you.”

“I missed you,” he sucked in hesitantly through his teeth before continuing. “But, is everything alright? I thought you still had another few days.”

“Yeah. Just a little change of plans,” hoping to lighten the mood, you added, “Guess I can’t be kept away from you for too long.”

You knew he wouldn’t buy the excuse, but he giggled anyway, shoulders vibrating against you as the melodic sound graced your ears. A part of you had initially been horrified by the prospect of Chan catching you like this, but now, all you felt was an overwhelming sense of calm.

Reluctantly, you pulled back to face him. His eyes were drowsy—nothing new there—but there was a healthy complexion to his skin. He looked just a bit tanner than the last time you’d seen him; he must’ve spent a lot of his free time at the beach.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here,” he didn’t let go of you, even after the hug had ended. “Felix will be, too. Pretty sure he secretly thinks you’re a better baking assistant than me.”

You let out a hum of amusement. “Can’t say I blame him when you steal all the chocolate chips.”

He puckered his lips into a pout. Not truly upset, but enough for you to lean in and press an apologetic kiss to them. You would’ve taken any opportunity to do so, anyway.

His breath caught in his throat—you’d quickly learned that it was inevitable, no matter how many times you kissed him—but he returned it instantly, melting into you like he’d been itching to do from the second you’d arrived. It was something you hadn’t fully adjusted to yet, how impossibly soft his lips were. They demanded all of your attention in their fullness, moving against yours with a timid sort of vigor.

You hadn’t expected it to be more than just a light peck, but once you’d gotten a taste of him, of his warmth, you couldn’t help yourself. It was his fault, you decided, for diving into you with such unabashed eagerness. Your teeth grazed delicately along his lower lip, and he opened his mouth to let out a sweet, airy sigh.

The feeling that you’d so narrowly escaped on the night you’d first kissed him took hold of you yet again, so strong in its grip that you worried you may not be able to ignore it this time. Your hands roamed down to his abdomen, brushing over it just enough to feel the outline of his muscles beneath his clothes. You remembered the sight of him in the natatorium that day—toned stomach and soft hips, smooth, irresistible skin that looked like it hadn’t been marked a day in his life. You wanted all of it, all of him.

Chan angled his head to further deepen the kiss, nose bumping against yours in the process. You felt his lips curve into a shy smile, and another sound escaped him, almost like a squeak.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when you finally found it in you to break the kiss. When his eyes blinked open, he looked adorably lost, gaze falling right back down to your lips as if to ask why you’d stopped. He swayed just barely under your hands, and you strengthened your hold on his waist to steady him.

“You look like you’re about to fall over, Channie,” you teased.

“Sorry,” he chuckled breathlessly. “My heart’s kinda racing.”

It was such a sincere admission, so simple and honest. Even if you couldn’t already tell what he was thinking on your own, he wore his heart on his sleeve. Or rather, he held it out in his hands, offering it up to you.

You let go of his waist to lock your fingers with his. You’d grown used to the heat by now, but everything else you were feeling in that moment made it burn just as much as the first time you’d touched him. With just a light tug at his arm, he was following you to your bedroom, clutching your hand a little tighter.

“Is this better?” you asked, settling down on the bed with him.

He ducked his head, too flustered to respond. Playfully, you lifted two fingers and placed them on his neck, as if to check his pulse. You pressed down into his skin, and he nearly gasped. If it hadn’t been racing before, it certainly was now.

“I-it’s been a while,” he meekly tried to explain.

Given how his body reacted to your every little touch, you had no trouble believing it. You couldn’t deny how much it excited you, too. He was such a sweet boy; you felt a need, a hunger, to see the most intimate parts of him, to see what pleasure and vulnerability and desperation might look like on such an angelic face. You wanted to make him a part of you, to engulf him and protect him, to take on his emotions and forget about yours.

Driven by a newfound urgency, you all but crashed back into him. He met your fire with equal enthusiasm, parting his lips to let your tongue slide against his—hot and wet in a way that made the both of you shiver. Your hands began roaming again, feeling up the broad expanse of his shoulders, his chest, his arms. You palmed and squeezed at them to your heart’s content, as if to make sure the moment was real, to make sure he was real. It was still hard to fathom, that the man you’d been dreaming about for almost three months now was here in your bed.

You trailed further down in your touch, fingers sliding under his loose shirt and palms flattening against his skin. Suddenly, Chan tensed, retreating from the kiss just enough to speak, but still close enough that his lips brushed against yours with every word.

“W-wait,” he stuttered out. “I don’t…I didn’t…”

You paused, fearing for a moment that you’d misread the situation. He had said it’d been a while, after all. Maybe he wasn’t ready. Maybe he wasn’t used to moving this fast; you certainly weren’t.

“Is something wrong?”

“I don’t have protection,” he warned quietly. “I-I didn’t think…”

Despite every cell in your body crying out in protest, you pulled back to get a proper look at him. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide and putting his longing on full display for you to see.

He seemed to be struggling with getting his sentence out, so you guessed for him. “You didn’t think this would happen?”

He averted his eyes. “Just…didn’t wanna assume anything.”

Cute, cute, cute. He was so painfully cute.

“I’m protected,” you reassured him. “You don’t have to worry.”

Even if he had brought contraceptives, against your better judgment, you weren’t quite sure if you’d be content with using them. You wanted all of him, skin on skin, every inch. Nothing else would satisfy the burn, the ache that had been burgeoning inside you since the day you’d first met him.

“You don’t have to worry about a thing,” you pressed your forehead against his. “Let me take care of you, Channie.”

The sound he made in response, low and needy in his throat, set something off in you. Miraculously, you managed to prevent yourself from digging your nails into his stomach, just to relieve some of the tension that was consuming your body at an alarming rate.

Instead, you took his chin between your fingers, tilting it up. “Is that okay with you?”

Chan swallowed, so hard that you could see his adam’s apple bob in his throat. “Yeah,” he breathed. “I c-can pull out. Just tell me when, please, and I’ll listen.”

He said it so earnestly that you pressed your thighs together. You had no plans to tell him, and you got the feeling he understood that from the look in your eyes alone.

“You’re good at listening, aren’t you?” you cooed.

He nodded, eyes squeezing shut when your hand came to cradle his head. “I’ll be good for you,” he mustered up the courage to say it, grateful for the lack of eye contact. “Whatever you want, I’ll do it.”

Good for you. The words made your heart sing. He was already so good for you just existing. He was perfect for you.

“Whatever I want?” you brushed your thumb up and down his cheek. “Everything I want is already right in front of me.”

A blush crept up on his face, dusting it that unmistakable rosy shade that was so Chan. You felt his skin heating up as he nuzzled into your palm with a flustered laugh, and you took the opportunity to gently guide him down, resting his back against the bed. With bated breath, he watched you come to hover above him, his hands bunching nervously at the bedsheets. You slipped your fingers back under his shirt and began tugging it up his torso. He stiffened, but still raised himself slightly off the mattress to allow you to pull off the garment.

The moment your eyes landed on his bare upper body, he was looking away again, chest rising and falling rapidly in anticipation. You rested a hand over his left pec, feeling up the defined muscle and his heartbeat along with it.

“Beautiful,” you murmured.

Chan stammered out something that sounded vaguely like a protest, but he didn’t have the chance to finish before you were leaning down and pressing a kiss to his neck. His response was immediate, tilting his head and baring his skin to you. Your mouth traveled along his jawline and down the column of his throat, sucking and nibbling at every spot you touched. By the time you reached his collarbones, he was already squirming in barely-concealed want beneath you, and you stole a glance at him to find him biting down hard on his lip in restraint.

“You’re so beautiful, Channie,” you dragged your teeth along the curve of his chest, and his hips shot up into you. “I can’t believe I get to see you like this.”

“Please,” he buried his face in his hands. It was adorable, but not as adorable as the sight of embarrassment and pleasure twisting his features. So, you rested your hands over his and pulled them away, pinning his muscular arms above his head and rendering them powerless.

“You said you’d do whatever I want, right?” you began. “So, no hiding.”

His eyes glazed over with lust, so taken by how exposed he felt below you that he almost forgot to nod.

“And,” you continued, lowering yourself to speak right into his ear. “No holding back, okay? I know you have a pretty voice, let me hear it.”

“I…” for a second, he appeared at a loss for words. “O-okay.”

“Good boy,” you let go of his hands, dragging your fingers lightly down his biceps and watching him shudder. You readjusted your position to resume your earlier ministrations, kissing down the valley of his chest and fighting the temptation to sink your teeth into it—hard. You wanted nothing more than to leave his skin red and bruised and blossoming with love bites, but you knew you probably shouldn’t when any marks you made would be clear as day to his teammates during swim practice. Instead, you settled for pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along his body, grazing his skin with your teeth just enough to appease yourself without leaving a lasting trace. The softness of your lips pressed against the lean ridges of his abs, making for a contrast that neither of you could get enough of.

“Such a pretty baby,” you mumbled, licking a stripe down his stomach and feeling his muscles contract under your tongue. “My pretty baby boy.”

It slipped out like an instinct, and before you could stop to wonder if it may be too much for Chan, a long, shaky moan met your ears.

Oh. He was loud.

Suddenly, his frantic attempts to suppress himself made perfect sense. You had a feeling that he hadn’t let completely loose yet, either. Heat pooled in your stomach at the thought of what kind of noises you could draw out of him. You couldn’t wait much longer.

“Do you like that? Baby boy?” you asked sweetly. Chan raised his hips off the mattress as your fingers danced delicately along his sides, soothing and exciting him all at once.

“M-mhm.” It was all he could get out without making another mortifying sound.

“Tell me what you like,” you swirled your tongue around his belly button, slowly approaching his v-line. “Tell me what feels good.”

“All of it,” he gasped. “All of you.”

You smiled against his skin, and your lips found the waistband of his shorts, allowing you to see for the first time just how much he meant it. You’d been so focused on attending to his upper half that you hadn’t even thought about the state of him down there. He was hard, fully hard. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was leaking in his underwear by now. It almost made you feel a tinge of guilt, leaving him neglected for so long; but his building desire was palpable, and it fed into your arousal like nothing else.

Mischievously, you gave his bulge a kittenish lick. Chan all but jolted, hand flying over his mouth a moment too late to mask his hiccup.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, angel,” you promised, fingers dipping under the elastic of his waistband. “So good, you won’t be able to think about anything else.”

“Oh, God,” he whimpered. “Need you.”

“I’m right here, Channie,” you pulled his shorts down in one go, removing his underwear along with them. He hissed through his teeth as the air hit his exposed length, cooling the drops of precum that had dribbled from his tip. Carefully, you took him into your hand, licking your lips when you felt him throb at the contact.

“Poor thing,” you feigned sympathy. “You’re so worked up.”

You knew it took everything in Chan not to bury his face in the sheets. Instead, he bucked up into your grasp as a wordless plea, struggling to gain some kind of friction. His body was just as honest as he was with his words. Every subtle shift in his expression, every sensitive twitch of his body, every poorly concealed sound—they made it so easy to understand what he was feeling. He made himself so easy for you to take apart.

Gently, you gestured for him to sit up. It took him a moment to process the command, and you couldn’t help but think he looked akin to a lost puppy, blinking his foggy eyes in confusion before clumsily willing himself upright. You ushered him back until he was resting against the headboard, slipping off your own shorts and underwear and settling into his lap in one fell swoop.

“You’re not the only one, though,” you drawled, taking his cock back into your hand. You pressed his tip just barely against your heat, allowing your wetness to mix with his precum. “Do you feel it?”

A desperate groan rumbled in his chest, going straight to your core. “Y-yes. Please, let me feel you. Wanna make you feel good, too.”

You hummed playfully, circling the head of his dick around your entrance and gathering up more of your essence. His thighs jerked up against yours, a weak apology immediately following it. Just to tease him further, you stopped what you were doing and turned your attention to your own shirt, taking your sweet time in slipping it off your torso and discarding it.

The ache between your legs was almost unbearable at this point, but the way Chan’s breathing picked up when he realized what you were doing made it all worth it. You unclasped your bra from behind, letting it slip off your shoulders and exposing your bare body to him.

His stare dropped, locking on the sight of your chest with a shaky inhale. A mere few inches separated you, but he gazed at you like you were untouchable, like he could only admire you from afar. It made you giggle—even now, he was still so shy.

“Are you ready, Channie?”

He looked back up at you with a nod, and you almost wished he hadn’t, because the pure adoration swimming in his eyes effectively sent the last of your self-control crumbling.

You lined him up with your entrance and sank down on his cock all at once. The gasp you let out was only rivaled by the sound of his own cry, loud and shameless, like he himself didn’t even realize it was coming from him.

Heat rippled throughout your entire body, stronger than you’d ever felt it before. It held the exhilaration of something new, yet the intimacy of something familiar, and it set every one of your nerve endings ablaze. You clenched around Chan the moment you connected with his base, taking in his size and shape, wrapping yourself around him; all of him, just like you’d wanted.

He surged forward with another strained noise, head falling into your chest and nestling into its softness. You rested a hand on the back of his head, tangling your fingers in his curls and placing your other hand on his shoulder.

“Mine,” you whispered.

Vaguely, you heard it, timid and breathless, mumbled into your skin. “Yours. ‘M yours.”

There was no way to hide how the words affected you, not when your walls tightened around his cock in a way that made him tremble. It almost made you wonder if he knew about the burn, about the inexplicable need to make him a part of you—or, rather, to take him back as a missing part of you. Did he feel it too?

You took a few moments to calm yourself and adjust to the feeling of him buried inside you. It felt right, like he was made for you. Like you were made for each other.

Every twitch of his length tested your patience more and more, and you knew that he himself must be hanging on by a thread by now. His hands hovered awkwardly above your hips, fingers flexing as he tried to decide what to do with them.

“You wanna touch, Channie?” you urged. “Go ahead.”

He peeked up at you from where his face was burrowed, as if to ask for the permission you’d already granted. You gave him an encouraging smile, and he took hold of your waist at last, squeezing tentatively.

“Th-thank you,” he stuttered.

He was thanking you. You didn’t think you could conjure up a more endearing, a more devastating detail if you tried. It made your heart melt and your arousal skyrocket. You needed to ruin him.

“You’re so cute,” you purred. “Hold on tight, okay?”

He pressed the pads of his fingers a bit deeper into your flesh. Using your grip on his shoulders for leverage, you lifted yourself off his cock bit by bit, relishing in the feeling of it dragging slowly along your walls. Without missing a beat, you snapped your hips back down, both to elicit a response in Chan, and to satisfy the immediate need to be full of him again. You succeeded in both, engulfing every inch of him even tighter than before, as if your body didn’t want to let him go a second time.

“A-ah, fuck!”

It sounded so strange coming from him, sweet voice cracking with a whimper, but so, so delicious.

“Is it good, Channie?”

You repeated the action, gliding up and down with ease thanks to the arousal that was all but dripping down your thighs at this point. Each bounce coated his length with slickness, creating messy, wet sounds that were sure to make his ears burn.

“Feels like I’m on fire,” he threw his head back, mouth falling open to give you a breathtaking view. “So—ah—good. You feel so good, so warm.”

You puffed out a giggle, unable to get a word in amidst his babbling. Instead, you picked up your pace, fueled on by his reactions as the pleasure steadily overwhelmed him.

“So beautiful, I—” he gasped. “Need you.”

Your heart swelled with affection; he was already so far gone. “I’ve got you,” you ran your fingers through his hair and he practically keened. “You’re doing so well for me, Channie. You’re perfect for me.”

Half-lidded eyes blinked up at you, and he subconsciously tugged at your hips, trying to pull you closer.

“I’ll be good,” he repeated his earlier vow. “You can even be m-mean to me, I’ll be good.”

The words caught you by surprise. Still, you kept your expression calm, something to ease his mind amidst the slew of sensations clouding it. You slowed down to trace your thumb along his cheek, so delicately that if he didn’t focus hard enough, your touch would be lost on him.

“Do you want me to?”

Remembering how he’d reacted earlier, you let your hands slide down to his neck, resting them there experimentally without pressing down just yet. Chan let out a whine, the vibrations of it making your palms tingle.

“There, please,” he tilted his head even further back, bumping it against the headboard. “Wanna feel you everywhere.”

Your stomach flipped, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you wrapped your fingers completely around his throat. It was thick, pumping with life. You had to use both hands. Chan bit his lower lip in anticipation, another low whine spilling out of him.

Taking great care in your movements, you began riding him again, lifting yourself on his cock, then sliding back down just as you squeezed at the sides of his throat. You didn’t want to hurt him—not really. You just wanted to toy with him a bit, watch him squirm under your fingertips. You wanted to push him to his limit, then guide him safely right back to you.

“Let me know if it’s too much, okay?”

“Y-yes,” he managed. “I will. Promise.”

The response was so immediate, so desperate, like he was afraid you might change your mind and stop. He throbbed inside you when you applied more force to your grip, almost sounding relieved in the airy moan that escaped him. You watched, fascinated, as his face flushed a shade deeper, whether from arousal or shortness of breath, you weren’t quite sure.

To better control your grip on his neck, you halted your bouncing to switch to a slower, deliberate grinding of your hips instead. Chan jerked up beneath you, the newfound rhythm pressing your walls against his cock and making him dizzy.

You contracted your fingers around his throat repeatedly, adding and removing the slightest bit of pressure to match the rocking of your hips. His tip brushed against your sweet spot, and you let out a soft moan that only seemed to bring him closer to his breaking point.

“Oh, God,” he groaned. “W-wait…slow down, please. ‘M getting close.”

“Slow down?” you tilted your head. “Why? Don’t you wanna cum, baby boy?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, and you loosened your hold on his neck so he could speak properly.

“Wanna finish with you,” he slurred. “Wanna make you feel good, too.”

You should’ve expected it. Of course he would have such an earnest, such an adorable reason to ask something of you—it was Chan. Even at the height of his pleasure, he was still thinking of yours, making sure you were enjoying yourself as much as he was. It spread an unbelievable warmth in your chest, different from the intense, sultry heat brewing between your bodies.

It also made you want to mess with him.

“Don’t worry, Channie,” you dragged your nails along his neck, not enough to draw blood, but enough to scratch, to make him shudder beneath you. “I feel good just watching you fall apart like this.”

His hands stayed latched to your hips, following them with every tortuous rock, but making no attempt to try and stop your movements. Despite that, his pleas didn’t let up, demanding in the sweetest, most polite of ways.

“Please,” his voice grew more frantic. “I’m really not gonna last, please, please.”

His whines chipped away at your resolve more than you let show; each one buzzing his vocal chords beneath your hands. He sounded so helpless, like he might burst into tears if he didn’t bring you to a climax with him.

“You sound so cute when you beg,” you marveled, sinking the pads of your fingers into his skin to feel his hammering heartbeat. “Maybe if you keep it up, I’ll change my mind.”

Much to Chan’s dismay, you continued your grinding, and you could see the concentration written all over his face as he fought to hold himself together. His hair had grown damp with sweat, face flushed and glistening from all his efforts. He looked so wrecked already; you could only imagine what it’d be like to see him cum.

You leaned in and kissed him. His lips were puffy and glossy and right there. It earned a cute mewl of surprise from the man, and it turned up in pitch when you took his lower lip between your teeth and nibbled. He let go of your hips to wrap his arms fully around your waist, trapping you as close as your bodies would allow.

“So—mmph—close.” His tongue slid against yours, jumbling his speech even further. “Please, please, please!”

You tugged at his plush lips one last time before breaking the kiss. “Gonna cum, angel?” You clenched around him, encouraging him to let go. “Don’t hold back. Empty inside me like a good boy.”

“Oh my God.” Chan’s whole body tensed beneath you, head dropping right back into your chest with a choked sob. You felt his cock pulse wildly inside you, and soon after, the flood of his release. Coupled with the moan that spilled out of him, drawn-out and broken and still so loud despite being muffled by your flesh, you were almost sent over the edge yourself.

“That’s it, Channie,” you played with his hair as his climax rippled through him. “Look at you, filling me up so well. Good boy, good boy.”

It was almost devious, the way you stopped moving like he’d so hopelessly been begging for, only once he’d come down from his high. He slumped against you, his pants gradually dying down into cute, content sighs. When he finally found a strong enough grip on his consciousness to speak, it came whiny, sulky.

“Not fair,” he mumbled into you. “Wanted to finish together.”

He lifted his head, and you broke out into gentle giggles. The expression on his face would’ve been one of pure bliss if it weren’t for his very prominent, very effective pout.

“Can I count this as my second win?” You tapped his nose.

He huffed, but the beginnings of a smile tugged at his features, betraying him. “Please, let me do something for you.” He glanced down at the spot you were connected, wetting his lips. It made your core clench in a way that you knew he couldn’t miss. “Let me make you feel good.”

“I do feel good, Channie,” you insisted, and you meant it. “Better than ever, actually.”

Though the guilt didn’t fade from his pleading stare and furrowed brows, he at least seemed to believe you. He studied your face for a split second longer before leaning in, nudging his nose against yours to ask for another kiss.

You could’ve easily stayed that way for the rest of the night, savoring his warmth, the fullness, the wholeness that you felt when nestled into each other in every possible way. But judging by how sensitive Chan was, you knew there was a very real chance of him getting hard again, and regardless of how much you wanted it, neither of you had the energy to go again. Reluctantly, you hoisted yourself off of his length, sharing a flustered exhale with him when some of his seed trickled out of you and dripped on to his thigh.

Ten minutes later, the two of you were laid side by side in your bed, staring at the ceiling with your hands brushing delicately against each other.

“This…” Chan spoke up suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. “This isn’t a usual thing for me.”

You couldn’t deny the relief you felt upon hearing it. The answer to a question that had been floating in the back of your mind without you even realizing. It was selfish—meaningless, too—but you felt it all the same.

You were well past the point of pretending like your relationship with Chan was something ordinary, anyway. Whatever existed between you, it was magnetic and burning and inevitable, almost like you had no choice in the matter. In fact, that had to be the case, because if you’d had a choice, you certainly wouldn’t have let yourself fall into him so hard, or so fast.

“Me neither,” you admitted.

You heard the sheets rustle next to you. “Really?”

“Really.”

There was the faintest smile in his voice as he continued, and it made you wonder if he was indulging in the same, selfish satisfaction as you. It wouldn’t be a surprise, considering the way he seemed to mirror even the most intimate parts of you— parts that you barely even knew of until you saw them reflected in him.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “I…I’m never so…quick?” You could tell he was trying to choose his words carefully, but there was only so much he could do when his emotions were still running high and his head was still in a haze. “It can take months, e-even longer sometimes, for me to—”

“I don't think you’re easy, Channie,” you teased. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

You turned your head, just in time to see that rosy tint spread across his cheeks, still visible even in the dim light. It was a sight you might get addicted to.

“I just want you to know that this means something to me,” he said softly.

Something gripped you, dropped a pebble in the calm surface of your lake. You didn’t have much time to think about it though, to worry about finding a window to break out of before you were past the point of no return. For tonight, you let yourself lean fully into that persistent flame.

“It means something to me too,” you murmured. “I wouldn’t have done this with anyone but you.”

Chan let out a shy hum, going quiet for a bit before stroking your pinky finger with his.

“So,” he began. “Are you ready to tell me what happened?”

You tensed slightly in your spot. You’d hoped he would’ve forgotten about it by now, or, at least, been too busy basking in the afterglow to bring it up again so soon. The endorphins that had been flooding through your system ebbed just a bit. This moment was too precious to sully by thinking about it—about him.

Suddenly, it felt all too reminiscent of what had transpired exactly one year ago; the first and last time you’d ever tried talking to anyone about the loss of your friend. It had been with someone you’d thought you loved, someone you’d thought loved you. And maybe, he really had believed that he loved you, too. You’d never know, now.

Imbalanced didn’t even begin to describe it. Imbalance was the balance of your relationship; you’d provide everything, and he’d take it all. The roles had come so naturally to the both of you that you’d never once questioned them, or where they might lead you.

He needed comfort, you liked comforting him. He needed support, you liked supporting him. He needed someone to depend on, you liked being depended on. Equal exchange, the perfect dynamic on paper, and—for the most part—it had worked. You didn’t really have the chance to notice how thin you were stretching yourself, because he was happy, and that made you happy.

One simple question was enough to shake that foundation, however, enough to expose how fragile it all really was and send it toppling to the ground in the ugliest of ways. A question that, in all its simplicity, hadn’t crossed your mind until you were all but forced to confront it last summer.

If your relationship was built solely on your ability to accommodate him, what happened when you couldn’t accommodate him anymore?

You were always encouraged with the most deceptively sweet words to open up to him, to share your thoughts and feelings and troubles the same way he did with you. But every single time without fail, his reaction made you want to seal your mouth shut, never to have the audacity to utter a single word about yourself again.

“I regret asking” or, “Well, now I’m just depressed” or, “Let’s talk about something else” or, sometimes, even nothing at all. You soon came to find that the role you had taken on wasn’t just to his benefit, it was to your detriment. You were a mere footnote in his happiness, and nothing could ever break that mold.

“My best friend died.”

“Oh,” he’d said. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s horrible.”

You’d nodded, sensing instantly that you would’ve felt better if you’d kept quiet.

“I don’t really know what to say.”

You shut your eyes, unsure of what you’d expected from him in the first place. It was pathetic, anyway, to hope for words of comfort that you knew would be hollow. Nothing could’ve made it okay, especially not anything he could offer you.

“That’s okay,” you replied. “You don’t have to say anything.”

A deep breath, and then, a glimpse of weakness.

“Just…stay with me, please.”

The request had sounded so unnatural coming out of your mouth, like it was a phrase you were learning to say in a foreign tongue for the first time. You winced at yourself, but it was already too late to take back.

“Oh, yeah. Sure.”

The two of you had sat in silence for some time. It could’ve been seconds or hours, and you wouldn’t have known the difference. His hand rested on your back for part of it, running up and down in a motion that you used to calm him down when he was upset. Eventually, though, he seemed to have decided it was a lost cause and awkwardly removed it.

You still weren’t quite sure how you’d managed to hold back your tears that day. But your sniffling and sobbing being the only sound echoing throughout the deathly silent room had been the last thing you’d wanted; you already felt vulnerable enough just letting him see you like that. You didn’t want to break in front of him, and you were certain he didn’t want you to either. A crack in you meant the absolute shattering of him.

After shifting around uncomfortably in his spot for a few moments, he finally spoke up.

“Maybe this isn’t the best time, but does that mean tomorrow’s off?”

It took several seconds for you to process the question. You wondered, briefly, if you’d imagined it at first, or if he really was just that horribly out of touch with reality—with you as a human being.

You wanted to glare at him, to ask him why that would even be something to consider right now, let alone ask about, but miraculously, you’d restrained yourself.

“Yeah. I might need a few days.”

More silence, and then you felt his weight lift from the cushions next to you. He avoided eye contact as you raised your head to look at him.

“I should probably go.”

A pang in your chest. “Why?”

Please don’t. You’d desperately wanted to add.

“I feel bad. Like, I shouldn't be here,” he mumbled. “Just…let me know when you’re feeling better, alright? Love you.”

And then he left.

A few days later, he’d texted you like he always did. No question of how you were, no condolences, and most definitely no apology. He’d said he missed you—which, you’d come to learn long ago, was never just an honest expression of attachment when it came to him. It was a signal, a sort of code to let you know there was something he needed from you. He didn’t just miss you, he missed what you could do for him.

Another week passed, and you’d broken up with him. It was unusually cold of you, doing something so drastic through text, but you couldn’t find it in you to even leave your apartment, let alone face the maelstrom of emotions that were sure to unleash if you’d met him in person. You’d experienced it once before, the first time you’d tried to end things. Crying, begging, apologizing, all so profuse yet so hollow.

The second time, his guilting and false assurances hadn’t worked, or rather, they might have if it weren’t for the distance between you. If you’d tested your conviction in front of his distraught, teary face, swearing that he wouldn’t be able to live without you, you weren’t so sure you could’ve gone through with it. He looked so innocent, so harmless, you’d never guess that he’d be the one to suck the life out of you without a care in the world.

When the usual tactics didn’t work, he’d resorted to anger. In a way, you understood—he was hurt, and no matter how hard you tried to spell it out for him, he simply couldn’t comprehend all the ways he’d hurt you first. He hadn’t done anything, but that was exactly the problem.

As much as you wished you could’ve brushed it off, it had stuck with you. The accusations that you were a liar, a manipulator who promised him boundless love and care only to rip it away with cruel indifference once he’d come to rely on it. Even now, you weren’t entirely sure if he’d been wrong, and that in itself was enough to make you want to lock away your heart and toss out the key for good.

But here, you had Chan. The boy who could be carrying the entire world on his shoulders, and still offer to take some of the weight off of yours. The boy who could be struggling to keep his own head afloat, and still pass you his life preserver without a second thought. The more time you’d spent around him, the more you’d come to witness firsthand just how much he did for everyone, even people he wasn’t particularly close with—from small, thoughtful acts that might go unnoticed, to favors so arduous that they left him physically and mentally drained. All with the sweetest of smiles on his face.

You wanted to be the reason for his smile, not for his weariness.

“I told you,” you said lightly. “I just wanted to see you.”

“C’mon,” Chan giggled. “I know it’s more than that.”

You wondered just how much he knew. You wondered if he knew better than anyone else. Despite the complicated thoughts unfolding within you, you grinned, turning on your side to look at him. “I promise I’ll tell you later, okay?” You held out your pinky for good measure. “Right now, I don’t wanna focus on anything but this.”

Chan curled his finger around yours, the glow in his eyes rivaling the moonlight peeking through your blinds. You must’ve thought about how beautiful he looked a million times throughout the night, but now, faced with his tousled curls and his puffy lips—still reddened from all your kissing and biting—and his gaze that was watching you like you’d put the stars in the sky, it was all you could think about. He made it so easy, you mused, to focus on nothing on him.

You tried to snap yourself out of it. He was sweaty, he was sticky, most importantly, he was exhausted. He must be uncomfortable, laying in all the heat and perspiration that had accumulated in those sheets—thirsty, too. You unhooked your pinky from his and rolled off the bed with a bit too much haste, catching his attention.

His expression changed as he watched you rise to full standing, taking some time to stretch your spent muscles before searching around for your discarded top.

“Oh. Should I get going?”

It came quiet, demure, and it made you whip your head around.

“What?”

Chan paused, uncertain. “I-I mean…do you want me to leave?”

“Of course not,” you said instantly, just short of sharp. You were almost afraid to, but regardless, you asked, “Unless…you want to?”

“No,” his reply came just as fast. “Not at all.”

You had half a mind to ask him why he would even think you’d want him gone, especially given the conversation you’d just had, but you were too distracted by the look of pure bewilderment on his face. You didn’t understand it, nor did you like it.

“I’m just getting a washcloth and some water,” your voice softened, and it seemed to get through to him, at least.

“Oh,” he repeated. “Okay.”

It was followed by a small, bashful nod that eased your concerns just a bit. You padded to your bathroom and shut the door behind you, trying not to keep him waiting for too long as you cleaned yourself up and prepared a towel for him. His eyes followed you curiously when you stepped out and passed him on your way to the kitchen, retrieving two water bottles before finally joining him on your bed once more.

There was a short delay when you offered the water bottle to Chan. He blinked at it, as if it were some kind of unknown object, before thanking you quietly and accepting it from your hands. You told yourself he was probably still just a bit dazed, but it was hard to ignore the tinge of worry that pricked your mind.

As he tilted his head back to drink, your eyes fell down to his neck, admiring the way his throat bobbed with every gulp of water. The skin around it was blooming with noticeable, red marks along the lines you’d dragged your fingernails. It made you cringe slightly at yourself. You must've been more lost in the heat of the moment than you’d thought.

“How do you feel?” you checked once he’d downed half the bottle. “Does it hurt?”

You gestured to his neck, and he raised a hand to brush his fingers over the tender skin. “It doesn’t hurt,” he gave you a reassuring half-smile before adding, “I like it.”

You tried not to let the words affect you, to make you pounce at him and take him all over again. Instead, you took hold of the washcloth you’d prepared and pressed it to his neck. The water you’d soaked it in was warm, but it still felt cool to the touch when pressed against his burning flesh. He sighed contently, eyes drooping as you rubbed the reddened areas, taking great care not to irritate them further.

“Wanna lie down for me, Channie?”

“Ah…” He looked away, already leaning back despite the hesitance in his voice. “I-it’s okay, you really don’t have to.”

“I want to,” you said simply.

Chan seemed to sense the sincerity behind it, as he laid himself out the mattress without any further objections. Sheepish, but willing. Carefully, you began dabbing the towel at his face, wiping away the sweat from his forehead and making his eyes flutter shut. His muscles visibly relaxed as you moved further down his body, rubbing his neck, his shoulders, his chest, his stomach, his hips—you left no inch unaccounted for. The warm water you’d soaked the washcloth in calmed his every nerve-ending, so soothing, it almost distracted from how hyperaware he was of your every touch.

His breath caught in his throat when you brushed over his thigh to clean up the mix of fluids that had begun to dry up on his skin, legs threatening to squeeze shut.

“You’re so sensitive,” you remarked.

He shifted slightly, an awkward chuckle escaping him. “Sorry.”

“It’s cute,” you gave him one last once-over before removing your hand, satisfied. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. Really good.” he blinked up at you lazily, a silent invitation for you to stop fussing over him and settle down next to him in the sheets at last.

You placed the washcloth on your nightstand, collapsing into the plush pillows with a sigh of your own. Chan scooted closer to you within seconds and, chest swelling with fondness, you opened your arms for him to nestle into. Even in all your intimacy, the two of you still couldn’t get enough of each other, filling every curve and gap between your bodies and interlocking your legs. You pressed a kiss to the top of his head before wrapping your arms around him, leaving no room for doubt that you wanted him there.

“Good night, Channie.”

“G’night,” it was barely audible, but even so, you could still hear the faint tremor in his voice. “I…thank you.”

Your eyes flickered down to him one last time before sleep overtook you. For a fleeting moment, you could’ve sworn you saw a wet gleam brimming in the corners of his eyes.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

In retrospect, going out to buy groceries on a Sunday afternoon probably wasn’t your smartest move.

After you and Chan had awoken the morning prior—or, just you, you weren’t sure how much sleep he had really gotten—groggy and ravenous only to find an alarming lack of food in your apartment, you wanted to restock as soon as possible. In your defense, you hadn’t been home for over a week, and even before that, you’d been spending a considerable amount of your time out and about with Chan or at his apartment. Still, it was embarrassing enough for you to not want a repeat of the situation, especially given how often you’d make a point to scold him and Changbin for not eating substantial meals.

You’d trudged to the nearest convenience store with a list of basic necessities typed out in the notes of your phone, only to soon discover that you’d be lucky to find anything you were looking for judging by how packed the place was. The state of most shelves was enough to make you think people must be preparing for some kind of apocalypse unbeknownst to you. Frowning, you made your way over to the prepared meals section, hoping to at least find something to get you through the next few days. As you maneuvered past the suffocating amounts of people, the sight of a familiar face across one of the aisles stopped you in your tracks.

A sharp, sculpted nose bridge, eyelashes swooping out like a ski slope, and a slight lean in his posture. Lee Minho. You hadn't expected him to even be back in town yet, let alone to be running the same foolish errand as you at this hour (all for the sake of cola, apparently, if the ridiculously large stash in his basket was any indication).

He seemed to have noticed you just a split second before you did him, fixing you with a stare so sharp that you had to blink a few times to make sure you weren’t imagining it.

You weren’t.

His eyes were dark and unwavering, boring into you with an intensity that made you feel as if you were the only two people in the store—and not in the romantic, heart-fluttering kind of way. It was more like everyone else had scattered the instant they’d sensed the tension, leaving you to fend for yourself under a glare that singled you out with an almost predatory accuracy. You waited for the reveal, the cheeky smirk that always followed, but it never came.

Oh.

Minho didn’t like you.

He really, really didn’t like you.

You felt stupid for not realizing it sooner. At the same time, however, he’d never really given you a reason to, and you liked to think you weren’t dense enough to completely miss it if he had. Suddenly, you found yourself re-evaluating every interaction you’d ever had with the guy, scanning and analyzing your conversations down to the most minute of details to try and recall if that same coldness he was emitting now had ever been present before. You thought back to the last time you’d spoken to him, just a week into summer break before he’d gone home. The two of you had started up a short, innocuous chat about the current anime he was watching, and outside of his very serious claims that it was undoubtedly the best of the season, nothing else about it really stood out to you.

You’d even taken his suggestion and watched it in your free time—one of the many, many distractions implemented in your visit home—and you’d planned on sharing your thoughts with him when you saw each other again. With the look he was giving you now, though, like he hoped you might spontaneously combust if he focused hard enough, you got the feeling he wasn’t exactly interested in hearing what you had to say.

Minho turned his head, preparing to leave the aisle without acknowledging you any further. Despite every one of your instincts telling you not to, you followed him, too consumed by curiosity to ignore whatever kind of message he’d been trying to send with just his eyes. You needed to test things out, to be absolutely sure. You needed to know what had changed since the last time you’d spoken to him.

Well, realistically, you knew what had changed. One very major, very undeniable thing had changed. But that couldn’t be it—could it?

“Hey, Minho!”

He might not have bothered stopping if it weren’t for an older woman passing in front of him with an overloaded cart. You squeezed past the rows of people as quickly and respectfully as you could, managing to catch up with him just in time.

It was a bit harder, you noted right away, to mitigate the effects of his stone-faced expression up close. He gave you a terse nod.

“Hey.”

“You’re back in town?”

His face changed just barely, trading out stoicism for something a bit more amused. “Very observant.”

You forced out a light laugh for the sake of extending the conversation, just long enough to get a proper read on him. “How was your vacation?”

“Fine,” he shrugged, adjusting his grip on his basket. “Not long enough.”

“I feel that,” you made a noise of sympathy, as if you hadn’t spent the past two months counting down the days until the fall semester began.

“How about you?” he was at least polite enough to return your question, but for some reason, it didn't really sound like he was asking. “Had fun?”

You barely caught it—a sneer. He definitely knew. It made your stomach flip a bit, if you were being honest, but you managed to keep a straight face.

“Yeah,” you replied evenly. “Me, Chan, and Felix made the most of it.”

“I’m sure.”

In your efforts to talk to him, you seemed to have accidentally stumbled into some kind of one-sided staring contest with this guy, because he hadn’t broken eye contact even once from the moment you’d strided up to him.

“It’s a shame,” he continued casually. “That you won’t be coming over anymore.”

You paused. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t tell me you’re planning on using Chan as a tutor this semester, too?”

Something about the way he said it, the way he phrased it, made it difficult for you to keep up your composed front.

“Of course not. He’s done enough for me already.”

“Good,” Minho hummed, and though it appeared to be in agreement, it only put you further on edge. “He’s graduating after this term—you know that, right? So, playing hero for you is the last thing he needs.”

You narrowed your eyes. For a brief moment, you wondered if he might actually be jealous of you, if he somehow saw you as some kind of threat. But you dismissed the idea almost as soon as it came—the look Minho was giving you wasn’t of someone who was threatened, it was the look of someone who was threatening you.

“Why are you talking to me like that?”

“Like what?” he cocked his head innocently.

“Like I’ve done something wrong.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he dismissed. “Maybe it’s just your guilty conscience?”

You wanted to be annoyed, to call him out for how he was behaving in a way that he couldn’t twist. The problem was, he was being so fucking weird. You couldn’t even fully understand what he was trying to get at, or what his angle was. You weren’t even sure if he had an angle outside of just trying to get a rise out of you.

The corner of his lips curved up into a smirk. Just like the day you’d first met him, it was pure trouble, only now, it was missing the playfulness you’d come to know.

“What’s with that face?” he chuckled. “I’m only joking.”

Whatever this situation was, you decided you’d had enough of it.

“You’re usually funnier than that,” you said curtly.

At that, you dipped your head, stepped to the side, and walked past him, determined not to let the strange feeling bubbling up inside you reach the surface.

Minho’s stare followed you as you stalked off, piercing into your back. Even after you’d rounded the corner into another aisle, the chill of it lingered on your skin.

#bang chan x reader #skz x reader #bang chan fanfic #bang chan smut #skz smut #sub!bang chan #sub!skz #dom!reader #skz fanfic #skz imagines #bang chan imagines #sub!chan #stray kids x reader #bang chan x you

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mizuseyebrows · 3 months

Text

the boy and the imp —teen!mizu x f!reader

warnings: not proofread, violence, intense fight, blood, period misogyny, swearing/cursing. he/him pronouns for mizu (reader's pov), she/her pronouns for mizu (mizu's pov)

includes: bratty, arrogant fem!/afab! reader. grumpy, arrogant teen!mizu. they're around 13-15 word count: 4.8k

summary: you and mizu meet during a tsuyu's night, the rainy season. your personalities clash as you continue to provoke mizu. what started with a teasing tug-of-war ended in an intense fight.

here's part 2

梅雨 || Rainy season

“Focus, focus. Remember how that man did it.” Mizu whispered to herself, closed her eyes, and swung her katana to try to slash the bamboo tree. She trains alone to become strong and be able to fulfill her desire for revenge against those four white men—those four possible fathers.

She was neglected, mistreated, and harassed by Kohama's villagers because of her mixed blood. Now she lives with Master Eiji, the finest blacksmith in the zone, maybe in Japan. Many men had come to ask for a sword made by a great master. He was the only person who completely accepted her. Well, him. She couldn’t say if it was because he thought she was a boy or because he just needed some help. Be that as it may, she was grateful to count with that grumpy blind man.

Although it is not like it mattered whether Eiji ‘saw’ her as a girl or a boy, Mizu never knew how to be a girl. The only thing that was certain was that she had to pass as a boy to survive. That was the only way to not get murdered. That was the only way she could ensure her and her mother’s safety. But it’s not like that had a good ending for her only relative.

“I hate everything!” She shouted, and then, with rage, slashed the bamboo and panted heavily. “I’m just a monster,” she whispered, closing her eyes with grief.

Everything about her was a problem. From her breasts starting to grow to her devilish blue eyes. Her icy, unnatural, and unpleasant blue eyes.

She hated them.

However, without knowing it, someone was intrigued by her eyes and her training.

You were accompanying your father, who wanted to buy a sword from the great Master Eiji. However, you had to wait outside while the two adults talked about men’s things. It did not attract your attention to hear the same stories of fights and combats your father had; you could even recite them from memory as if you had been present.

While exploring the surroundings, far from the town, you peeked at Mizu training in the gyoka’s courtyard. It caught your attention. You could tell the ‘boy’ was someone who was just starting his training by the way he moved.

With a soft smile, you hid behind a tree to continue snooping on the training.

As soon as the boy opened his eyes, he looked at another bamboo. He shook his head and swung the katana back and forth to practice. His stance was somewhat correct, his concentration was good, and his speed and agility were acceptable. Additionally, you noticed that he was wearing weights on his wrists and ankles. Seems like he took training seriously.

“But I can do better,” he whispered. As he moved from side to side, he hit the trunk with the katana, causing the blade to get trapped.

It was risky, but you enjoyed playing with the boys’ patience, and you couldn’t help but feel the tickle of a teasing comment on the tip of your tongue.

“Do you train yourself, or do someone teach you?” You asked with a giggle, still hidden.

The giggles caught his attention. He turned fast to check where the noise was coming from. It sounded like it had come from the forest, and now he was looking into the trees. His eyes reminded you of what a winter sunrise looked like, with the different shades of blue in the sky reflecting on the frozen lakes.

“Who’s there?” He snapped at the voice. He hadn’t seen you hiding in the shadows yet. “What do you want?” The boy had a raspy voice, taking out the katana from the bamboo trunk to point it towards the forest.

“Don’t worry. I was passing by and saw you having difficulties.” You answered without coming out of your hiding spot yet.

“What makes you think I’m having trouble?” He objected while gripping the hilt of the sword.

You just poked your head out, a haughty smile not leaving your face. “Your technique is not very clean.”

It’s disastrous, actually, you think

“Plus, you looked angry at something; even the katana was embedded in the bamboo.” You shrug and point to the logs the boy tried to cut.

“That’s a womanly observation; are you a lady?” He asked with an annoyed smile. He wasn’t willing to let a girl interfere with his training. “I don’t recall asking for your help.”

You chuckled, nodding. “Of course you would take my remark as an offense. I didn’t know that you had a very fragile ego and that you couldn’t accept criticism. Boys are all the same, huh?”

“I’m not here for your opinion,” he said, smirking. “You’re really irritating, but I want to see who you are, unless you’re scared of showing up.” He teased, pointing at the forest.

You came out from behind the tree. You were wearing a red hakama and a white uwagi. Daily clothing of a samurai. Your appearance made him narrow his eyes with cold anger.

“Yes, I should be afraid of you. You can scratch me with your toy sword.” You walked toward the courtyard fence and leaned on it.

Your sarcasm triggered his rage. “You have quite a mouth for someone who doesn’t even know me. Are you always this annoying?”

You bit your lower lip as you smiled, teasing the boy in front of you with your gaze. It was cute to see him trying to be intimidating with his frown hidden behind his bangs. He didn’t even have a good posture to attack you.

“You don’t like it when a girl doesn’t bow down to a boy? Does your pride feel threatened?” You pouted mockingly, speaking in a higher tone, as if you were talking to a hurt child.

When you received no response, you let out an airy chuckle and began to walk away from the yard. What a big loser you had found yourself.

“Are you running away or trying to prove that you have more courage than me?” He tried to appear calm and collected. “Why don’t you stay? Are you the type of girl who runs when she senses danger?” He provoked you again with a smirk.

You stopped and looked at him over your shoulder with a pleased smile. So he had good comebacks.

“If you reacted violently when you noticed my presence, what could await me when I touched your fragile little man’s ego?” You raised an eyebrow, leaning against the fence again nonchalantly.

“Didn’t you say it would just scratch you? I thought I heard that, though maybe I just imagined it.” He responded in the same tone as you; it seemed like he was starting to gain trust.

“Good one. I must give you a point for that.”

“Thank you. Although I feel like a loser for putting myself on your level,"

You smiled mischievously. The way he was talking to you now impressed you. “What level? The level of someone who knows how to properly use a katana?”

The boy’s confident expression immediately faded, and he returned to his previous angry one. “You’re a pain in the ass.”

You shrugged and looked away. It felt like the challenge was over, and now you were starting to get bored. You hoped your father would not take much longer.

“Hey, what makes you have that attitude and confidence in yourself?” He buried the katana in the ground to support it. "Is it because you’re spoiled, or are you just a bitch?”

“What did you just call me?” You felt an eye twitch when you heard that word.

“Oh, you didn’t like it? It’s just that you act quite like a bitch, and I’m genuinely curious to know if you are or if you’re just a mama’s girl.” Now he was the one feigning a soft tone, with a very condescending attitude.

“Huh, so you enjoy insulting girls.” You chuckled and jumped over the fence to get closer to him, intimidating. “Well, this bitch can kick your ass in seconds; I can even kill you. If I were you I would think very carefully before calling me a ‘bitch’ again."

“Why? Do you think you’re better than me? What do you know besides makeup and dresses? Just because you see your dad training and fighting, do you believe you have some knowledge of swordsmanship? If you think you’re better than a man, you’re dead wrong.”

“Boy, your inferiority complex is quite lovely. Do you feel that you are not strong enough to be a man? Who hurt you so much?”

You know that when a boy resorts to putting a girl down, it’s because there is something that threatens his poor, almost nonexistent, pride.

“Who do you think you are to mock me?” He was breathing hard and trying to stop himself from attacking you. You were getting under his skin. “I’m not having an inferiority complex,” he replied with a sharp tone of anger. “You’re just too much of an insolent girl. Maybe I’ll have to teach you to respect me.”

He grabbed your wrist and started twisting it violently. You frowned at this, and quickly gripped his forearm tightly and firmly.

“Let go of me, and I won’t hurt you.” You assured him in a calm tone.

“Oh yeah?” He laughed, as a dangerous threat. “You’d hurt me? Do you even know how to fight and kill?” he asked with a smirk.

You sighed and gripped his forearm tighter. Then spread your legs a little, and before he could react, you had managed to throw him to the ground, climb on his back and twisted his arm.

“You have to improve your balance. It’s easy to knock you down.” You laughed softly, burying your knee in his back.

He was taken by surprise when you, who he thought was a delicate brat, threw him down and pinned him to the ground. The boy winced with pain as he felt his chest pressed against the ground.

“Let me go!” He tried to get away, but then stopped, knowing he couldn’t win in this situation, so his best option was to pretend he had lost. “You have an impressive strength for a girl," he growled with his husky voice getting lower. “Or is it just luck?”

“Or maybe I learned to protect myself from guys like you.” You leaned against him, whispering in his ear. Which made you settle more against his body. "Although you saw me fighting as a woman, I must kill you before you rat me out to the authorities or ruin my father’s chance to get a good sword.”

“You think you can kill me?” He tried to seem collected while teasing you.

“Just tell me when and where. I’ll hurt your little mama’s boy ego even more.” You scoffed once more and forcefully let go of him, standing up again to fix your clothes.

He was still on the ground, and he glared at you with anger, his hand shaking and his ears buzzing. He was breathing hard, and he couldn’t hold the rage in his chest anymore. All he wanted to do was punish you for your insolence.

Finally, he stood up and brushed his clothes. “I’ll show you how a real man can make a girl like you regret being insolent to him.”

He growled and quickly ran toward you to tackle you. He secured your legs with his as he grabbed your wrists tightly.

“I have enough problems, and right now, you’re my biggest problem!” His anger was uncontrollable. "You know nothing about men, so why do you open your mouth?” His grip tightened, causing an intense pain.

“Maybe because I have a father and a brother? Let me go now!” You tried to set yourself free from his grip. You raised your head to hit him on the forehead with yours, which made him move away to caress himself there.

You stood up and approached him to take him by the shoulders and kick him hard in the stomach with your knee, managing to knock the air out of him.

As he writhed on the ground in pain, you walked over to the katana and pulled it out of the ground to walk toward him again, pointing it at him. He looked at you with fear and was surprised by your skills.

"Give me… my katana…" He coughed, trying to breathe.

“Ow, you look so adorable,” you laughed mockingly, walking in circles around him. “You really are weak for a boy my age…”

“I said, Give me my katana.” He repeated this with a serious and firm tone.

“Come on, man! Fight me.” You threw the katana to the ground. “No boy has ever tried to spar me. Don’t disappoint me.”

He could see the mockery in your eyes, and it irritated him. “So you’re saying you like picking up fights with boys?” He asked with a cold stare.

"Hah…I might as well give you the satisfaction of getting beaten.” He said it in a cold state and picked up the katana from the floor after getting up.

You looked for something to defend yourself with, and grabbed a wet wooden bar from the ground. “How are you so sure you’ll beat me? Did your little man’s ego tell you that?” You taunted the boy, circling him again, wielding the bar in your hand.

“Why don’t you come here and find out who the real man is?” He asked with a sarcastic tone. He was looking straight at you, his eyes not moving.

“I assure you, there is no real man in front of me; I only see a little boy who can’t stand criticism.” You laughed loudly and ran toward him. You hit his wrist with the wooden bar and kicked him hard to the side, then took distance.

The blow to his wrist made him drop the katana. There was no way he could hold on with so much soreness. Your kick on his side caused him to coughed, but he blinked away the pain. “Is that all you can do?” he asked in rage. “You’re weak; you’re not even a real challenge.”

You threw the wooden bar and waved with your hands for him to come over. “Come, let’s fight without swords. Show me how much strength you have without your toy katana.”

Your arrogance was too much; he couldn’t take it anymore. With an angry shout and full of rage, he ran toward you without any fear, after throwing the sword away. "Is that what you want, you fucking brat? No weapons? Fine!” He screamed and raised his fists.

With excitement you ran towards him. As soon as you were close, you landed a blow on his stomach, but before he fell, you grabbed him by his shoulders.

“You call me weak again, and I’ll kill you, you bastard.” For the first time you were not laughing, now you looked upset and serious.

“You stupid bitch…" He spat with his bottom lip trembling from anger and pain in his stomach. As soon as he had a chance to free himself, he launched a knee strike at your stomach.

You groaned in pain and moved away to hug your stomach. You looked up at him from your spot, feeling your anger rising within. “What did you call me again, asshole?”

He looked at your enraged looks, and he smiled. His own arrogance returned. “A bitch,” he said, and then laughed. “Can’t you take it? You’re the one who wanted to fight without weapons, and this is what you get.”

You growled furiously and sprinted toward him, managing to tackle him to the ground. You climbed on top of him and started punching him in the face. “Never call me a bitch again!”

Your fists pounded his face non-stop. Every punch was landing on target; he was getting dizzy. You were strong and skilled. Through his pain, he cursed you and then shouted in a loud voice, “Get off me, you bitch!”

“Force me! Fight like a man.” You tightened your hands on Mizu’s shirt to lift his head from the ground. “Hit me if you dare."

“You’re crazy," he mumbled through his bloody lips. With that word, he launched an elbow strike at your chin.

You brought one of your hands to your face, feeling your mouth was beginning to bleed. You looked with bloodshot eyes at him, and again, you began to hit him everywhere. At the same time, you also received punches from the boy under you.

He was not going to lose. He tried an uppercut on your stomach, but at the last moment, you avoided the blow and landed a knee on his nose. "You…" he muttered angrily, his face contorting from pain.

You moved away from him, to take a breath. Your entire face was beaten and covered in blood, just like his. The breathing was heavy, and you had to shake your head from time to time to avoid falling unconscious. "I'm going to… kill you." You managed to say it between deep, fatigued breaths.

Mizu’s whole body hurt, and she was sure you both had huge, horrible bruises on your skin. She coughed, and blood was dripping from her lips. She was breathing fast and couldn’t even think clearly because of the intense and sharp pain.

With an angry expression on her bloodied face, she glared at you. “I would never lose to you… never!” she said in a loud and menacing tone.

“Wanna bet?” You spat blood to the ground, glaring angrily at her.

But before you could run again, a hand grabbed your wrist violently. It was your father, an imposing and terrifying samurai. He looked angry.

“What do you think you’re doing, little one? Do you want to ruin my business with Eiji or what?” He growled angrily, tightening his grip on his daughter’s wrist and hurting her.

You shook your head repeatedly, trying to free yourself. “No, no, sorry, sorry.”

Mizu’s anger turned into surprise when she saw the man grabbing your wrist. She didn’t expect that at all. The man was intimidating; his grip was so tight that it must have hurt you.

With all the anger inside her boiling, she took the chance to get a break from the fight and jumped to her feet. “Let her go.” She shouted in a furious and threatening tone.

You were a pain in the ass, but she wouldn’t let someone stronger than you hurt you like that. Only you two could hit each other because you were on the same level, so she thought.

“You better stay out of this, kid. This is a father-daughter thing.” The man looked at Mizu and then at his daughter, still upset. “Walk. We’re leaving.”

You nodded softly and jumped over the fence to approach your father. “Bye…you.” You realized you didn’t even know the name of the person you had been sparring with. “Thanks for the fight.”

That surprised Mizu. She didn’t expect you to walk away without protesting. She expected you to be more like before and fight your dad over this.

She watched you going through the forest and then nodded to herself. “Bye...” She picked up her katana and went back to Master Eiji’s.

Mizu was nervous about possible reprimands from Eiji, but the man just remained silent. Dead silent. He only spoke to her when he needed firewood, when he needed her to keep the fire going, or when they needed to eat. She knew he was aware of the fight, and perhaps the lesson he wanted to teach her was hidden in his quietude.

But not only was her head plagued with thoughts about Eiji, your memory was also floating around. She wondered if your father had hurt you, punished you or hit you. He looked furious when he found you fighting. She had to admit that she was a little worried about your well-being.

The days passed, turning into three weeks. The blows to both of your bodies hurt horribly, and you two could hardly do physical activities without ending up complaining. Mizu always tried to keep her moans of pain to herself so as not to make Eiji angrier. Although all she wanted to do was hiss because of the stings that moving her limbs caused her.

However, one night, that samurai returned to look for the katana he ordered. And there you were. Accompanying your father again, your face was full of bruises and some cuts. You looked at her with a serious frown while sitting on the ground, unable to help but grimace in pain.

Mizu was standing next to the swordsmith, studying your looks. She watched you with inquisitiveness. You looked equally terrible; your body was covered in bruises, and your skin was practically pink and purplish just like hers, but you still had some grace surrounding you. You looked like a worthy daughter of a samurai.

“My little imp likes to say a few words to your kōhai, Master Eiji.” Your father said this after clearing his throat and kneeling in front of the old man.

You sighed heavily, staring at Mizu. “I’m sorry for provoking you and starting the fight. I just wanted to brag about the training I’ve been receiving from my father, plus I have a terrible temper, and I will work on it to avoid future altercations."

Mizu only raised an eyebrow, looking at you in disbelief; although she wanted to let out a smirk. She felt quite satisfied to see you finally apologize.

“And Master Eiji, I also apologize for taunting and hitting your kōhai and apprentice. I didn’t consider that by messing with him, I was doing it to you too.” You performed dogeza for Mizu and the blacksmith, hoping they would see the sincerity in your words.

Mizu couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear now, almost laughing. Seeing you kowtowing only made her feel pleased, showing so much vulnerability… Maybe she will start to like you.

Master Eiji forgave you; he always would, no matter what. Now you were just waiting for Mizu’s response, without separating your forehead from the ground. You knew she was making fun of your position, but you couldn’t break your bow until you received an apology, which made you frown slightly. You didn’t want to continue humiliating yourself in front of that arrogant boy. That arrogant boy with an attractive smirk…

Mizu coughed softly into her fist, trying to hide her laughter. She sniffled a little and smiled in your direction. “No problem; I also provoked you and encouraged the fight.”

Finally, you broke your bow and sat back on your heels without taking away your gaze off her. Mizu kept looking at you with a sly smile, mocking you.

Did he just want to continue playing to provoke each other? Because I’m about to rip that smile away with one punch. You though clenching your fists.

The two adults started talking about the samurai’s new sword, and for once, Mizu wasn’t interested in paying attention to that. She was much more attentive to what your next move would be.

You began to move your lips, saying something without making the slightest sound. “What is your name?” You asked, not wanting your father to see you talking to her.

Mizu narrowed her eyes as she saw the movements of your lips. She tried to figure out what you were saying. She moved her left hand slowly and pointed to her ear. “I can’t hear what you are saying," she muttered quietly.

You rolled your eyes and started to move your hands, attempting to communicate. You pointed to your mouth, then to your father and your ear, and finally shook your fingers. What you wanted to tell Mizu was that you didn’t want your dad to hear you both talking.

She got your message, nodded, and put one hand over her mouth, the other raised showing that she wouldn't say a word. Mizu was now very interested in what you were going to say. This girl is so mysterious.

“Are you grounded?” You moved your lips again, mimicking the words.

“Sort of.” Mizu gestured with a shrug and a sway of her head from side to side, wrinkling her nose with a silent giggle.

You laughed silently, covering your mouth. You looked askance at your father as he stood up to test the weight and flexibility of his new katana. That means you will be gone soon.

You pointed at your own face and then pointed at Mizu. “They hurt?” You asked, referring to the bruises.

Her curiosity turned into surprise as she nodded her head again. She pointed at her own face and then moved her hand to try to mimic how the bruises hurt. You nodded several times as well. Your face also hurts a lot. You now moved your hand over to the rest of your body, and then clenched your eyes and fists, wanting to communicate that it also hurt like hell.

Mizu inclined her head repeatedly to assure you. She rubbed her tummy and winced in pain, closing her eyes. But then she opened them again to see you.

You bit your lower lip and sighed softly. “I’m sorry.” You moved your lips, smiling with sincerity. You were remorseful for hurting her so much.

She smiled slightly and shook her head. She nodded and rubbed her bruises to show you that it was fine. She could tell that your words were sincere. Mizu felt flustered for getting this kind side of you. It was weird. She was sure she hated you minutes ago, but now she feels she took a shine to you.

Your father swung down the katana one more time and bowed before Master Eiji. He sheathed his sword and thanked the blacksmith, then saw you. “Come on, we must continue with the trip.”

The man made a reverence again and walked out of the gyoka, with a straight and intimidating posture.

You stood up quickly, which made your ribs hurt horribly. Despite that, you approached Mizu, looking at her. “What’s your name?” Now you spoke normally, your father was no longer there to reprimand you.

"I'm…I’m Mizu,” she said, looking at you with shock, realizing that neither of you knew each other’s name. She serenely studied your face, mesmerized by the color of your eyes. Despite having bruise marks, your facial features were still graceful. You were a pretty girl, Mizu had to admit.

“Mizu. Cute.” That’s the only answer you gave her before walking towards the door of the house, still holding your ribs, after your father called you again.

Mizu watched you leave, absorbed in that word that played non-stop in her mind. Cute. Something deep inside her told her that it was a sarcastic comment on your part, but the way her heart was beating desperately made her perceive it as a sincere compliment.

Are boys called ‘cute’? Did you know she was a girl? Was she cute? Was that a degrading and debilitating term, or was it a validation of her looks?

Or just her name seems cute to you?

‘Cute’ was a word that made her feel seen and appreciated. Especially coming from someone who irradiated such elegance and grace. You were the daughter of a samurai, probably an important one. Your clothes were obviously made of the best material on the market.

The duality of your appearance made her envious. You could pass for someone fragile and delicate, but underneath that mask was a strong, skilled, and stubborn girl. Besides, that sudden change from arrogant to kind intrigued her, and she had to accept it was very appealing from you.

Plus, you never mentioned her eyes nor her looks. As if she were just another fellow around. Mizu couldn’t determine if she liked that you hadn’t mentioned her mixed-race heritage or the possibility of you seeing her as 'just another boy.'

However, she needed to know what you thought of her. It was a nascent desire that was beginning to confuse her.

By the time she realized she had spent ten minutes watching where you had gone, she realized she didn’t know your name. She couldn’t even ask you your name, and asking Eiji would be a huge embarrassment. She cursed herself for not snapping out of her reverie in time.

“Stupid, Mizu. You hear her calling you ‘cute’ and you become a fool." She scolded herself and wrinkled her nose in bewilderment and anger.

Now she has to wait for you to return to that place or perhaps meet you by chance while traveling. Another fight didn’t seem like such a bad idea, especially if you two would treat each other so well afterward.

tell me if this is worthy of a second part or is it okay as a one shot

#teen mizu #blue eye samurai #mizu #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu bes #bes mizu #blue eye samurai mizu #mizu x reader #mizu x fem!reader #mizu x you

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nahoney22 · 26 days

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Vanished in Fire

GN!Reader X The Bad Batch

word count: 1k

You awake after the attack to find out that not all of you remained on Pabu.

warnings: Spoilers for Episode 11. Angst, mentions of injury, fire, war, grief, sad clones, crying. one curse word. Gender neutral reader.

authors note: crying.

The dull ache in your body gradually stirs you awake, the memories of the sudden attack swirling hazily until your eyes adjust to the soft light filtering into the room. A panicked voice breaks through the fog, and you turn your head to see Omega's friend, Lyana, kneeling beside you, her expression etched with deep concern.

"Are you alright?" she asks, her voice trembling slightly with worry.

"I... I think so," you reply tentatively, uncertainty lacing your words as you carefully sit up, the ache intensifying with the movement. "Or maybe not."

Battling away the pain, your attention swiftly shifts as you catch sight of Wrecker, unconscious, on the other side of the room.

"Wrecker!" You pushed through the discomfort, rushing to his side and taking his hand in yours as you gaze down at him. Then, the memories flood back.

Wrecker's panicked scream, the blinding flash of light, and the overwhelming heat—all come rushing back in a torrent. The Marauder, your sanctuary and home, reduced to ash in an instant. "Is he okay?" you ask aloud, AZI suddenly materialising by your side to provide reassurance that Wrecker's vital signs are stable.

"What a mess," you murmur, a heavy sigh escaping your lips as you try to process the devastation. "Where are the others?"

As you observe Lyana's uneasy demeanor, a sinking feeling washes over you. "Lyana, what's wrong?"

She fidgets with her hands, her expression weighed down by sadness. "She was here... with Crosshair."

Your heart skips a beat. "And were they alright? Where did they go?" You press, lowering yourself to her eye level, your concern palpable.

Lyana's voice quivers as she speaks, tears welling in her eyes. "I overheard her telling Crosshair that she was going to surrender... to protect us."

Your breath catches in your throat as panic grips you. You know Omega's selflessness, but you can't bear the thought of her facing such danger alone. Determination floods your veins. You have to find Omega and Crosshair before it's too late.

"Comm me as soon as Wrecker wakes up; I need to find the others," you instruct urgently, your tone commanding as you brush off AZI's and Lyana's pleas for you to rest. The thought of losing Omega again drives you forward.

Stepping out into the darkness, you move swiftly, avoiding any beams of light that might give away your position. Attempting to contact Crosshair, Hunter, and Omega yields no responses, intensifying your growing panic.

As you navigate through the shadows, dodging Imperial patrols, a ship speeds off in the distance, triggering a surge of fear within you. Leaping over a wall, you spot a solitary figure gazing into the distance.

"Crosshair?" you call out, breathless and fighting back nausea. "Where's Omega?"

No response.

You seize his arm, shaking him desperately. "Crosshair? Answer me!"

He bows his head in silence.

"Crosshair, please," you plead, frustration and despair bubbling within you. "Where is she?"

But, like before, he remains mute.

Rage flares within you, mingling with the despair threatening to overwhelm you. "Don't you dare shut me out again, Crosshair! Answer me, damn it!"

"She's gone," he finally murmurs.

Your breath catches in your throat, tears stinging your eyes. "Gone where?" You knew. But you needed to hear it.

He finally turns his head towards you, his visor concealing his emotions. "I missed my shot."

Your eyes widen in horror as the gut-wrenching realisation hits you like a blow to the stomach. You shake your head, tears streaming down your face. "No... no, no, no, you didn't miss. You can't have..."

"I did," he interrupts, the weight of failure evident in his tone. "I... I failed her."

A choked sob escapes your lips as your hand flies to your mouth, your knees giving way beneath you. Just as you had her back, she slipped through your grasp once again. "Why? Why would she do this?" you cry aloud, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

"It was her choice. We had a plan," Crosshair explains, his voice heavy with remorse. "But I fucking missed."

You sniffle, trying to steady your breathing as you rise to your feet. "It's not your fault," you assure him, mustering all the strength you can. "She trusts you."

He sighs heavily, standing stiff as you wrap your arms around him, offering comfort even if he doesn't reciprocate. You just need him to know that you don't blame him.

In silence, you both stand together, the occasional sniffle emanating from his modulator and from you, until a voice shatters the stillness.

Turning, you see Hunter, his armor and hair soaked, with Batcher by his side, breathing heavily. "Where is she?"

Words fail you, and Crosshair, as you both meet Hunter's gaze. His quivering lip betrays the grief he senses from you both.

"I'm sorry, Hunter," Crosshair finally manages, and Hunter's anguish is palpable. He turns away from both of you, hands gripping his hair as he hunches over. His shoulders shake with silent sobs, his own grief laid bare. Omega, a sister and daughter to him, is gone once more.

You watch helplessly as Hunter's grief consumes him, the weight of loss palpable in the air. His entire being seems to collapse under the weight of the news, his shoulders slumping as he struggles to process the enormity of the situation. Batcher nudges her face into his side, but it does little to ease the anguish etched on Hunter's face.

It's a raw, visceral display of heartbreak, one that cuts through you like a knife. You can only stand there, a silent witness to his pain, knowing that no words can soothe him.

As if summoned by the collective grief, Wrecker appears, his usually happy demeanor replaced by heartbreak etched across his face. You can only guess that Lyana had told him what Omega’s plan was and judging by the grief upon his family, it didn’t work.

His sobs echo through the air, the weight of sadness manifesting in every tear and quiver. With a roar of anguish, he lashes out, his powerful fists pounding against the wall before him, shattering it into pieces. Then, defeated, he slumps to the ground, his head buried in his knees.

"We need to do something. Anything," he utters, his voice thick with emotion.

In the midst of the storm of pain, you all stand together. Not a word is spoken, but the message is clear: you will do whatever it takes to bring her back, no matter the cost.

Masterlist

Tags: @probadbatch @littlefeatherr r @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex x @jesseeka @theroguesully y @ladykatakuri i @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup p @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter r @erellenora @zippingstars87 @ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @thesith @raevulsix @cw80831 @lulalovez @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot @imalovernotahater @photogirl894 @id-rather-be-a-druid @the-bad-batch-baroness @green-alm0nd @thiswitchloves9904

#the bad batch #tbb #the bad batch x reader #tbb x reader #season 3 episode 11 #star wars #clone wars #crosshair x reader #Hunter x reader #wrecker x reader

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eroguron0nsense · 4 months

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Garp Rant #11543

Because I'm something of a Certified Garp Hater/extremely obsessed with this man, and because Tumblr people seem to like my Garp takes and/or find them extremely pain-inducing, here's another one for funsies! Again, Garp is an incredibly written character and I massively enjoy his moral failings and human shortcomings, hence why I won't shut up about how much he sucks. So we all remember Garp crying in front of Ace during his imprisonment and awaiting his execution, lamenting the fact that his son and grandson could have maybe avoided this horrible horrible fate that awaits them at Marineford if they'd just become good marines like he'd tried to press them into. Every time he says it, he sounds more desperate, sadder, and angrier, like he's experiencing the stages of grief and going through denial, anger bargaining all at once, lashing out at his grandkids for supposedly causing him grief by defying his wishes, or maybe praying or wishing for a world where they could have followed in his footsteps and lived happily ever after. And when Ace hears that again at Impel Down, he says this:

Here's the thing though: Ace is unequivocally correct Garp should, by all rights, know this. He lived through the fallout of Roger's execution. He knew long before that exactly what would happen to Roger's loved ones and anyone the government could get their hands on who'd ever associated with him. Even before they started committing femicides/infanticides in Baterilla trying to end Roger's bloodline, he knew that the Marines were going to target completely innocent people in the name of purging the bloodline and cementing their "victory" over the greatest threat they'd ever faced. He specifically had to smuggle Rouge out of there so she could give birth to Ace, and all the while dozens of families were being brutalized by his peers and having their lives torn apart. That was the cost the Marines were willing to incur to kill a hypothetical infant, and years later, when that very same child is set to be executed, Sengoku goes on a remorseless public tirade about the necessity of killing babies and the horrible trickery and audacity Rouge displayed by dying so that they wouldn't kill her baby too.

Garp knows every single piece of this information in painful, excruciating detail. He's so horrified by it he feels the need to fulfill this wish of Roger's because he knows blameless people will die. He has Ace raised in secret to protect him from Marines who are figuratively and literally out for his blood. And yet, throughout this boy's childhood, he clings to the notion that maybe, just maybe, the people he knows regularly commit atrocities, who have carried out at least 3 genocides that we know of in Garp's lifetime, who were willing to commit mass infanticide for a woman and child they hadn't verified the existence or identity of at the time, would have accepted him within their ranks and turned a blind eye to that information when it eventually, inevitably surfaced. That Ace can find salvation from the people who stole every loved one he ever had before he was even born, who slaughtered his mother's community and pushed her to her death, and were slavering at the opportunity to kill her. That even though Ace was born in direct opposition to them, has had a target trained on him before he was born, these people who tried so goddamn hard to kill him would surely welcome his presence and not murder him the second they found out if he could just be a compliant model soldier and make himself useful. It's hammered home pretty effectively–especially in the manga– and One Piece has never been known to be subtle in its messaging, but I swear to God I see so many people echoing the notion that Garp's attempts to force his grandchildren into serving the Evil Empire was done because he knew was their only shot at safety from the WG, and I fucking despise this take. Ace saying that he could never be a marine here in Impel Down isn't some young man's rationalization for his (beyond valid) desire not to subscribe to the preset path Garp laid out for him; it's literally the only logical conclusion if you know literally anything about the circumstances of his birth and upbringing, and Garp only thinks that the leopards wouldn't eat Ace's face because he's fucking delusional This in and of itself is extremely telling of how horribly warped Garp's perception of the Navy is, and how deeply he's willing to buy into the Marines and their warped propaganda no matter how many glaring examples he sees throughout his life that counter his worldview, but let's not forget that this applies to Luffy too. This is slightly hairier, in that if Luffy was a) the sort of person who could willingly accept a career in the marines and b) managed to cling really, really tightly to his grandfather's coattails and legacy, there might have been a very, infinitesimally small chance that he could have joined the Navy. The higher ups know that Dragon is Garp's son and therefore Luffy is Dragon's by logical inference, but I could see some AU where Luffy is a fundamentally different person and manages to build himself up in the Navy if not for two things I think warrant examination. It's pretty evident, and Dragon explicitly confirms, that Luffy being known as his son would have put him in incredible danger, only feeling comfortable with acknowledging it and the possibility of actually reuniting with his child after Luffy was both publicly recognized due to factors beyond his control, and proved that he was more than capable of holding his own. But I want to draw attention to this one otherwise pretty silly little gag moment between Garp and Sengoku when they learn that Luffy's broken into Impel Down, and present a theory that's kind of a reach but also not really

Now the phrasing here kind of interests me, in that it ties back to earlier demonstrated patterns that the Navy uses repeatedly in collective punishment for the families and loved ones of their primary targets. Rouge and Ace barely escaped the mass murders intended for them because of their connection, but Tom was also originally sentenced to death for having had a connection to Roger, and ultimately chose that as the offence he wanted to be sentenced for at Enies Lobby. Law, as a child survivor of Flevance, has multiple hospitals try and turn him in to the World Government to be killed when Cora tries to find someone to treat him because their policy is to pull out the roots and salt the earth whenever they deem a person or population politically inconvenient. Robin's flashback shows us Akainu blowing up a refugee boat on the off chance that one of those people that they were planning to evacuate might have gotten past their initial screening for archaeologists/poneglyph readers. At Marineford, Akainu specifically targets Luffy not because of his prior offences or even his attempt to rescue Ace, but because he's Dragon's son and his and Roger's bloodlines need to be eradicated. This is not an institution that is in any way reluctant to destroy anyone tangentially affiliated to a designated enemy, and Luffy being the son of the worst criminal in history seems to put him right in line with all of those other cases. In light of this, and Garp's massive blind spots and wishful thinking regarding his peers and employers, it's not that much of a stretch to assume that the only reason Garp's exempt from being targeted like Dragon is because of his popularity/symbolic importance/utility, and that Luffy likely wouldn't have been safe even if he weren't a pirate. Garp's circle of confidantes/friends in high places is powerful, but clearly there are factions (Akainu, Ryokugyu etc) that would be substantially less willing and who are given preferential treatment by the Elders and Celestial Dragons. There might be something to read into based on the fact that Garp is the only known person from a D bloodline who's achieved massive success in service to the World Government and not defected from the Navy after realizing its true nature (props to Saul), and therefore he might project the fact that he's been rewarded by the system despite being a "sworn enemy of the Gods" onto his family, but that still doesn't account for the massive, delusional arrogance he displays in insisting that, despite everything–especially, especially the murders committed in pursuit of Ace, that robbed him of his birth mother and community–the Navy is the best and safest place for either of those boys. TLDR Garp not wanting his grandsons to have a bounties on their heads is one thing, but it says a lot that in spite of everything he knows, he's willing/determined to put Ace and Luffy in an environment that's extremely dangerous for them –and in Ace's case 100%, unquestionably fatal– because he's so convinced that compliance and the platonic ideals of "justice" and military service/hard work being rewarded by the system could supersede all of that.

#monkey d luffy #one piece #portgas d ace #marineford #trafalgar law #trafalgardwaterlaw #nico robin #monkey d garp #monkey d dragon #sengoku the buddha #akainu sakazuki #admiral akainu #portgas d rouge #marineford arc #one piece spoilers #op spoilers #jaguar d. saul

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firegirl888101 · 8 months

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Insatiable Madness (7)

|Sagau Yandere Fatui Harbingers x Reader|

It seems you'll have to restock some food soon... But is that really your biggest concern?

Reader is Gender Neutral!

You couldn't get the words you wanted to say out of your mouth. How could you be so blind? So naive? It should have been obvious, the way their voices sounded the exact same, the way their characters acted a little too accurate for a fan...

What the fuck could they possibly want with you? You're not the leader of the country, or a famous figure, or.. or...!

"Stop squirming." Capitano ordered you, letting a brief and satisfying hum leave his lips when feeling you move less.

This is really happening. You thought it couldn't possibly get worse after seeing your family massacred in the restaurant. The clear pain and agony on the corpses faces, their screams being silenced by sharp weapons out of this world.

Perhaps if you never felt the need to play that stupid game you'd have been killed along with them, maybe that would have prevented your now never-ending grief.

Let's calm down, rethink things and gather what I already know. There's no use wishing for a different outcome when I can't change what's already been done. You thought to yourself, taking a deep breath.

These... Fatui Harbingers are after someone called The Decider. They used that... compass thing Dottore supposedly made to locate them, and as it pointed to me, they think I'm the person they're looking for. They killed everyone in the restaurant for some unknown reason and now they're trying to take me back to their world...

Arlecchino said 'The Tsaritsa has been searching for someone who can control what can't be seen for awhile now'... What could that possibly mean? As far as I'm aware, I have no special abilities or anything like that.

"You know, this is the quietest I've seen you since first finding you hiding in the toilets. It was very amusing..." Scaramouche taunted you, knocking your head.

You pretended to continue being stuck in your thoughts, and ignored him.

"Well, apart from when I beat you senseless." He corrected himself with a laugh. "How are those mortal bones you have? I should have hit you harder, that way you wouldn't be able to move..."

What a monster. I can't believe the harbingers were my favourite characters.

"Your taunting will break them if you continue." Signora rolled her eyes.

"Rosalyne is correct. Heartless puppet..." Arlecchino cursed under her breath.

"And your arrogance will lead to your demise, witch." Scaramouche snarled at Signora, turning his head to give a warning glare to both women.

"Enough." Pierro warned the two, seperating them with a push. He looked at you staring at the drama for a moment, then continued walking next to Dottore.

Capitano then placed you gently on the ground, keeping a firm grip on your shoulders to stop you from moving.

"Do not think this is a regular occurence," He sighed to himself, grumbling like an old man. "We're all a little unsettled in this world, we're usually more calm and collected in the presencse of prisoners."

Oh, no, I know very well from the game that this is a regular occurence.

"Stupid gadget..." Dottore cursed to himself, taking a screwdriver and tinkering with it.

"Dottore, you've been tinkering with that compass like a mad man since we first arrived in this world." Sandrone eyed the doctor suspiciously.

"Assuring it'll function correctly is all I'm doing."

"Deary me doctor, I'm beginning to doubt your intentions." Columbina smiled at him whilst using her body to block his path.

"You're mistaken in your intrusive comment."

"Miss Columbina is correct," Pulcinella frowned at his coworker. "It's becoming suspicious how you're delaying our departure of this world.

"Do you really think I want to stay here without my lab? Without my clones? Without my life's work?"

You could feel the tension rising as each harbinger began to question the doctor. You knew they didn't really get along in game... but it was frightening to actually view it in real life.

I'm starting to feel sorry for the fatui underlings who have to pretend they don't hear anything...

As they continued to argue, you began to notice where exactly they had taken you.

The park? It's practically deserted, nothing like how you saw it earlier in your aunt's car. The bird's which once flew for their children hid in their nests, the squirrels hiding in their little burrows for comfort.... It truly was something new.

"Hey comrade! We're talking to you." Childe tapped your forehead.

"You definitely weren't talking to me. You were talking to him." You pointed at Dottore, who's arms were crossed.

Although, now that you're paying attention, somethings noticeably wrong. The Harbingers all don't look as confident as they once did, they were all looking at you, some had hopeful expressions whilst some glared at you.

"We definitely were." Sandrone scoffed.

Next to Dottore's feet was a crushed compass... wait, did he destroy his gadget?? How the hell were they going to leave Teyvat without it?

Hold on, isn't that a good thing? That means they can't take me to Teyvat... but it also doesn't change me being held hostage...

Also what happened to the police? They left as fast as they came!

"Stop leaving us." A harbinger clicked their fingers in front of your face. "The Director asked you a question."

"..." You stared at him in confusion, due to you not hearing the question and being too scared to ask him to repeat.

He simply sighed, and realised the context of your conflicted response. "Do you happen to have a house near this area?"

what.

"Of course..." You replied quietly. You had a feeling you knew where this was going, and it wasn't going somewhere you found favourable.

"Guide us to your home, any tricks will not be tolerated."

Are you kidding me? I'm not taking them to my house!

"Do I have the right to refuse due to privacy?" You asked after pretending to think about it.

"No." All the harbingers replied at the same time.

Great.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

You unlocked the front door of your parent's house with frantic thoughts. Good thing you were gifted an extra set of keys for your 16th birthday a couple years ago...

Fortunately, you hadn't encountered anyone who recognised the harbingers. Unfortunately, however, the police still hadn't found your new location. You thought they would have thought to track your phone by now, but it seems they haven't...

Is there something stopping them? Or maybe, they're trying to think of a plan to save you?

Let's not think about that right now, right now you have unwanted guests in your house.

"I'm setting some rules." You spoke loudly, causing the whispering schoolgirls to hush.

"Who said you could set rules? Have you forgotten you're not in control once more of your situation?"

"That's where your wrong!" You smiled. "This is my house. Which means I am in control here. That's just how it works, sorry!"

"What sort of bullshi--"

"We understand." Pierro nodded. "What rules do you plan to set? As long as they are equal I will not stop you."

"First of all, my bedroom is off limits." You glared. "This is because it's a special place for me, and I don't want it to be ruined by Fatui Harbingers whose manners are that of a barbarian."

Of course, you weren't going to tell them the real reason was because of the embarrassing merchandise and a certain Childe pillow and whale plush on your bed.

"Understandable." Dottore glared at Pantalone, who simply shrugged with a playful smile.

"What? I routinely check your lab for good reasons you know."

"Secondly," You shushed the millionare. "Don't fucking break anything or take apart a piece of technology in this house. Any questions must go to me."

"Who do you take me for?" Sandrone crossed her arms.

"Weren't you the one talking about taking apart the giant machinery in the restaurant earlier?"

She stayed quiet.

"Where's the fun in that Decider? How do you suppose I understand this world if you won't let me investigate?" Dottore whined, picking up the TV remote he found next to him.

"You ask, like a normal person."

"How normal do you think I am?" He argued back pressing buttons on the remote with confusion.

"This can't possibly control a weapon, there's too many buttons..." He muttered to himself.

"That's a remote control for the TV. Well, since you'll probably want the full name: the television." You said, snatching the remote out of Dottore's hands and pressing the power button.

The TV lit up, and showed a woman introducing the news of the previous day.

"Woah! That's so cool!" Childe swooned, walking directly in front of it.

"Don't stand so close!... Oh my god, I sound like my mother." You shuddered at the end.

"What exactly does it do?" Pantalone questioned, slightly smiling whilst taking a seat on the sofa.

"One, I didn't say you could make yourself at home. Two, it displays what you want it to display. It's a type of monitor, meaning it's programmed to be connected to whatever you want it to connect it to."

"I don't follow..."

"Alright," You sighed. "This Television screen displays the programming in this little box." You guided the harbingers.

"This remote control guides the programming to show what you want to see at a point in time. For example, if I didn't want to see this woman talking, I go to the menu where I can see all the channels and choose what I want to see! Or, if you know the specific number for that channel you want to watch, you input it using these buttons."

"Like a performance on a stage!" Columbina giggled, her hands clapping with glee.

"Not exactly, but if that helps you understand I suppose the idea works."

"This is genius." Dottore hummed in delight. "But you're absolutely terrible at explaining. Let me try."

Dottore then scrolled down the list you demonstrated, he squinted his eyes at the words... almost as if he couldn't understand them. He then pressed on a random channel which almost seemed coincidental.

"Oh please don't click on that one, I'm squeamish." You sighed, covering your eyes when watching him click on it anyway.

"Dottore get that disgusting surgery off of the... the... thing!"

"The screen." You reminded Sandrone.

"That's right! The screen!"

Finally done! Updates will begin to slow down once again as school holiday's are almost over and stress begins... No need to fear, I won't stop working on this.

Little unrelated note: I HATE THE DESERT. I wanted to finish it before I move to Fontaine but it's taking me forever 😭😭

Please don't expect too many happy, nice and generally fluffy scenes.

This is Yandere, a genre which should never, under any circumstance be considered normal. It's abusive, unhealthy and leads to a lot of victims facing awful conditions which they never should or ever have to endure no matter who they are.

This is fiction that I'm writing, meaning it's all taken light-heartedly IN A FICTIONAL SENSE.

If anyone, by chance, is currently in conditions where a loved-one or yourself has suddenly become distant and/or being hurt when away from eyes please get help. Talk to them, or if it's you, talk to someone you know you can trust.

If you can't talk to anyone, find authorities who can help you. Call 999, as it is in the U.K, or your local emergency service. They will always help you, and will never deny your rights or freedom.

Thanks for reading this, I hope all who's reading knows this information already, but I thought I'd include it since who knows when it comes to where you are in the world and whether your education programs taught critical information like this.

✨Elusive✨ Taglist!:

@valeriele3 @pale-value @pix-stuff @yumi-genshin-writer @yuii-v @itz-luna @annoying-mary @etherisy @khalhaimdad @haikyuusboringassmanager @magica-ren @sweatyexpertdeputyduck @booksandteaplusart @9140 @whatamidoing89 @raesleepyhead @nasidibakar @shikanosn @purpleamethystsblog @chihawari @esthelily @stuffyfrenchflowers @conspicuous-mayonnaise @sielt @katsumikumo @greyhoundwires707 @carminerin @raidendeeznuts123 @angelofdarkness2 @conspicuous-mayonnaise @ginnxy-galaxy @clara-maddenlin

Quick Reminder Here! If you no longer want to be on the taglist that's completely fine; I take no offence whatsoever so please don't hesitate to tell me. ^^

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psychedelic-ink · 9 months

Text

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄

pairing: stripper!jack daniels x f!reader

genre: stripper AU, explicit, minors dni

word count: 8.2k

series summary: frustrated by your everyday life, you seek solace at a male strip club. It's your first time and you're instantly mesmerized by the one that calls himself "Whiskey".

chapter summary: you're still heartbroken but that doesn't stop you from attending your friends' bachelorette party— how were you supposed to know the male stripper that she hired would be the one and only whiskey.

warnings: angst, grief, mention of the loss of a child, enemies to lovers ✨ v i b e s ✨, semi-public sex, angst with happy ending, stripping, one time use of good boy (i was in a mood don't @ me), praise kink, oral (fem receiving), piv

a/n: not gonna lie with the trip I took and my laptop breaking when I returned I feel like I've been working on this chapter for months. Hopefully, it turned out okay! Thank you for all the support you've shown for stripper!jack it was much appreciated and made me so happy to see everyone so enthusiastic 💖

[stripper!jack masterlist]

dividers by @firefly-graphics 💜

Jack has a lot of regrets in his life.

The night is warm, yet his skin is cold like ice. His legs feel shaky, his steps echoing and blending with the stretched-out shadows of the buildings. Cars whizz past him, a couple of cabs as well, but he doesn’t hail any of them. He’d rather complete his walk of shame back to his apartment. It’s only fitting after the stunt he pulled.

He wasn’t expecting you to look at him the same way Vivienne used to. Full of admiration and love. There was a certain blindness to it, like he could do no wrong, but he could. Jack could do many wrongs.

He shakes his head, the yearning in his heart growing with every painful beat. He misses her. His Viv. When Jack thinks of her, he can only remember their last moments together. Her stomach round with his child—a baby boy, he later on learned—her cheeks glowing, her hair in a high messy bun. She kissed him on the cheek that night. Hugging him tight. Maybe she had a feeling. He shouldn’t have let her go.

A car honks as it passes him by, screeching laughter coming from the inside. He glares at the taillights of the car, two red eyes glaring back at him.

With you, Jack thought he just liked the attention. You were shy, clumsy, unfiltered. He could tell what you were thinking just by looking at you. He thought. . . the growing feeling in his stomach would stop if he just slept with you. If he fucked you nice and hard that it would all go away.

But the deed was done, and his feelings remained.

Jack could see how badly he’d hurt you, but he didn’t see any way around it. He had to go. He had to leave. He was a coward and he was afraid. Looking at you, so happy and pliant with his spent dripping down your stomach— he just couldn’t stay. All Jack could see was Viv, her smile before she left to go get the milk he’d forgotten to buy because he had an exhausting night of stripping. It was the day before his last. He was quitting, he’d found a job at the distillery, something more stable he could do for when the baby came. And for her.

He stops and stares.

He feels sick. His mouth floods with saliva and bile, his stomach churns violently, he sees a tree nearby and leans over, emptying everything. His knees shake. While his throat burns and the stench breaks his nose, images of that night come to mind. How he got anxious after the first hour. How he called and called and called. No answer. How the police couldn’t reach him because he was constantly dialing Vivienne’s number. He remembers the way he stuck his bare feet into his boots to go and search for her, only to come face to face with two policemen. The eyes can be quite loud. Or maybe they were always loud for him. His heart sank into his chest. She was gone. His baby boy was gone.

He hurls again, the leaves of the tree creating a symphonic backdrop accompanied by the gentle caress of the wind. He didn’t have anything else in his stomach anymore. Only bile coming out. It tastes like poison.

Jack remains in the same position—half bent over, hand braced against the grooves of the thick tree. His eyes are teary. He thinks it has little to do with his throat burning and everything to do with Vivienne. He misses her. Misses her scent, her feel under his fingertips, kissing her swelled stomach for good luck before starting the day.

He misses all of that, yet, he aches for you. He feels like shit for leaving you like that. Despite all of what he’d said and done, Jack doesn’t want you to hate him.

Slowly, he raises. His grief clouds his vision. He can’t see the mess he made even though he’s staring right at it. Some sensible part of him is hoping no one saw. Or filmed him—a fear he had developed with the increasing popularity of Instagram and TikTok and whatever the fuck is popular now.

His feet start moving again, the sound of his boots clicking against the pavement, but his mind is still at the bottom of the tree. Still lurching over, still vomiting. Thinking of her.

Jack has a lot of regrets in his life. Now he has added another.

You.

Jack is a morning person—normally.

But not today. Not when his head hurts like hell and his muscles ache in such a profound way that no matter how aggressively he gives himself a rub down it doesn’t go away. The sky is clear and he dares to glare at the sun. Staring until his eyes burn, tearing up right before he pulls his gaze away from the fiery orb hovering in space.

He’d very much like to be the one hovering in space right about now.

The club is pretty much empty. A couple of guys sitting here and there sipping their coffee while Vodka—aka Steve—hugs the pool and dips down. Jack is not a fan of the poll. He prefers to sensually dance, he doesn’t like the sudden metallic chill that touches his burning skin during a routine. He heads to the bar where Tequila is restocking the fridge. Your seat is empty. Jack's heart clenches at the sight.

“Hey there old timer,” he greets him. “You know where our firecracker regular is?”

“No,” he grunts, his shoulders raising. “Why the hell would I know?”

Tequila’s sole eyebrow lifts along with the corner of his lip. His eyes soften with amusement, and just by the look, Jack knows he’s seconds to being incredibly, infuriatingly annoyed with the other man. Before Tequila can say anything, he waves him off, heading towards the dressing room. He doesn’t want to talk about it. Even if he did, Tequila would be the last person Jack would want to converse with about such a thing. He’s still feeling guilty about the whole ordeal. His brain screaming at him to give you a call, or write a letter or something apologizing.

Of course, he does none of that.

Instead, he gets ready. His eyes swiftly move over each and every outfit he has. Most of them are cowboy attire. Today he’s not really feeling it. He wants to be someone else and a change in outfit seems like the perfect way to go about it. He quickly tugs off his shirt and kicks off his pants, his chest and legs bare, he looks over the selection of clothes. His fingers graze over a red suit. It’s soft and light under his touch, and to accompany it, he picks a copper and black animal print shirt. It’s way more flashy compared to his usual outfits but he felt like it. He wants to look the opposite of what he’s feeling.

The shirt is smooth like butter, cool against his sweat-slick skin. His only complaint would be the pointy shoes. It always rubs the back of his ankle the wrong way, leaving it hurting and bloody.

Looking into the mirror, he slathers his fingers with a generous amount of hair gel and brushes the soft strands back. They curl slightly at the ends, sticking to his nape. When he’s satisfied, he drags a comb through them, making sure that everything is in place and slicked back.

Just as he’s about to leave, Tequila pops his head through the door. “You have a call on line three.”

“A’right, thanks, Teq.”

The younger man promptly leaves and Jack reaches for the landline. The club is probably the only place where landlines still exist. He takes a seat, his palm flat on his thigh. A small sigh parts his lips, his body already feeling drained. Jack swallows thickly before answering.

“Hello?”

“Hello!” a chipper voice comes through the speakers of the phone. “This is Whiskey, right? My sister is getting married and we’re throwing her a bachelorette party and we wanted a stripper to liven things up a bit.”

Jack smiles despite himself, “Of course, don’t know a better way to get a party goin’. When were you thinkin’ of havin’ it?”

“This Saturday. Is that okay?” the voice suddenly sounds panicked, as if she might’ve been too late in asking. “Also it’s going to be at our house, I can send the address over.”

“Sounds good, sugar,” the pet name tastes like iron in his mouth. He’s not sure why. “Let me give you my cell and you can text me all the details.”

You’re heartbroken, poor beating muscle ripped apart and stomped on while still beating. Yet, the world still makes its lazy routes around the sun. The people around you none the wiser of the knot lodged in your throat, the tears that constantly linger in the corner of your eyes, burning.

Jack certainly left his ever-lasting impression on you. You’re not sure what you could’ve done for a different outcome. He was so soft with you, so tender— then the switch had been flipped. His rage twisted at his lips, swirled in his eyes, and just like that he was gone.

You didn’t tell anyone about it. Just the thought of explaining everything exhausted you. Besides, you didn’t want to listen to your friends bad-mouthing him. You were protective of him. You held on to the hope that there was an explanation there. A reason that would soften your heart and everything would work out.

But days passed. You didn’t visit the club even though you missed Tequila and you never heard from Jack.

Your anger festered like an irritated wound. The hurt, the sadness, all of it shifted into an emotion that was easier to handle, an emotion that was blinding and made you think of little else. If the world was adamant about moving forward, so would you.

Your friend, Betty, was getting married in about a month and luckily, she was dead set on having the most unhinged bachelorette party ever. You’d make the most of it, promising yourself it would be the perfect distraction.

The wind blows warm, the trees that surround your friend's house dancing wildly as muffled music echoes into the blue-purple sky. You feel the breeze playing with the ends of your dress, lifting and teasing the fabric up your legs. You suck a sharp breath. Your heart beating in your throat ready to jump out of the bone and skin. Now that you’re here, staring at the imposing architecture —you often forgot that Betty was much more comfortable than you— all your bravado that built in your mind is dwindling. You take a step, then another. It will be okay. You’ll have a good time with your friends and sleep soundly tonight with alcohol lingering in your veins.

You wish, for once, things would go as planned.

“You called for a stripper?”

In a weak attempt to hide the very obvious tremble in your voice, you swallow, again and again. Betty is absolutely radiant, her shapely brows coming together while giving you a startled look. She shrugs. “I mean. . . It’s a bachelorette party, of course, we hired a stripper. Why the big reaction?” Before you can answer she lets out a overexaggerated gasp and brings her hang to her chest. “Have you been a prude all this time baby?!”

You snort at the question and shake your head, “No you idiot. I just. . . It’s okay, it’s fine. I just didn’t know.”

“You’ve been so secretive lately,” she remarks, sucking the cherry of her cocktail between her lips. It reminds you of Jack, a longing tingling at your skin. She chews on the juicy fruit and just as you’re thinking of an excuse to get out of this cross interrogation, her eyes snap to something behind you. Her eyes sparkle, a wide grin stretching across her face. “Wow. . . “ she says wistfully.

You turn to see what got her so worked up, your eyes grow wide and you swear—swear your heart stops beating at that very moment.

It’s Jack.

Fucking hell.

Everything comes rushing back. Every ounce of emotion you tried so hard to shove deep inside bursting from every orifice. Your eyes sting, the know in your throat larger than ever. He hasn’t noticed you yet, too busy talking to Rachel, Betty’s sister, and maid of honor. You’re shaking like a chihuahua. What the hell is he doing here and what the hell are you supposed to do about it

“Whatever it is that’s going in with you, I’m sure a dance from that cowboy will certainly help,” Betty says, unaware that all you want is for the ground to swallow you whole.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, an awkward chuckle escaping your lips. “I’ll be right back.”

Before Betty can say anything, and before Jack spots you, you disappear between the halls. Your steps echo against the smooth marble. You’re not sure what your plan is since the bathroom was in the opposite direction of where you stormed off to. Some part of you wants to leave, perhaps run away screaming, but you know you won’t be doing that. It’s Betty’s night. And even though she has a habit of peeving you, you love her and want to be with her on her special night. Besides, she seemed really excited when she saw Jack. You can’t blame her, who wouldn’t be?

He was as handsome as ever. His cowboy hat snug atop his head, shirt hugging his biceps as he strutted inside. You knew that walk. It was his stripper walk, he told you about it once, how he would move differently even when doing something as mundane as drinking water, or walking.

Your steps come to a halt, the music of the party nothing but muffled, silent melodies now. You want to stay but you’re not sure how you’ll react seeing him dancing again. Memories come flooding back, reminding you of the love and hurt you felt in the short time that you got to know him. You wonder what his reaction would be like when he inevitably sees you. Would he act like the two you never met? Or would he just tilt his hat and greet you as if you were neighbors that barely talked?

No matter his reaction, you have no doubt that it is going to sting.

You take a breath, furrow your brows, and turn on your heel. If anyone should be hiding it should be him, not you. You ignore the quick beat of your heart and head back towards the party.

There’s a stage, and an actual, god damn squeaky clean stage.

You knew that Rachel was going all out with the bachelorette party and you knew Betty and her family were. . . Comfortable, but wasn’t this a bit much?

Seated between Rachel and Betty, both sisters gaze eagerly toward the stage as Jack ascends the stairs and positions himself at the center, his back turned to the audience. You hold your breath. It almost feels like you’re peeping on him. Hopefully, he won’t spot you among the crowd, you don’t want to look like you’re stalking him.

Jack rolls his shoulders and relaxes his neck, tilting his head to one side and then to the other. Betty straightens in her seat, green eyes wide. Finally, he looks up, and with that, the music begins.

Have his performances always been so spiritual? There’s something about the way he moves that is slower compared to his usual routine. He turns and your eyes instantly drop to his crotch, the leather of the belt he’s wearing framing his bulge. You swallow thickly, heat pooling under your cheeks. Your thighs clench together with need. Damn it. You can't help but feel the tender ache he left behind while dragging himself in and out of you.

He rolls his hips and unbuckles his belt, which coaxes whistles and screams from the crowd. In a single fluid motion, Jack pulls the leather from the belt loops and uses it as a makeshift whip, cracking it in the air. His dark eyes search the crowd, presumably for the bride. Your eyes slowly drift to the crown glimmering on top of Betty’s head, your gaze moving back to Jack right after.

Your entire body stills, your breath catches in your throat.

Your eyes lock with one another, his dark brows shooting up. He’s still moving with the music, hips swaying as he drags his fingers down sensually over each and every button. You press your lips together, wanting to tear your gaze away but also feeling as if it’s impossible. His breath hitches, unnoticed by everyone except for you.

After what feels like an eternity, Jack drags his gaze from you to Betty, shooting the bride-to-be a toothy smile.

“Now ain’t this a shame,” he drawls with a wink. “What a lovely woman to be snatched so soon.”

Betty’s grin widens and you can’t help but feel a bit light-hearted. You’re glad that Jack is at least good at his job. He always makes people feel good.

Jack begins his descent from the stairs and her cheeks flush. You’re as stiff as a board, some logical part of your brain screaming at you to push your chair back, add some more distance between what’s about to happen. His all-too-familiar scent fills your nostrils and you’re glued to where you are. Jack doesn’t so much as glance at you as he straddles Betty’s thighs, dipping low and arching his back as he comes back up, lips barely grazing her.

It’s hard not to be reminded of the first dance he’d ever done for you. Your chest too tight for your heart, your body feeling too small to be holding every organ in. You want to tear your gaze away but you feel trapped by the cheering and the clapping. In trance, you lift your hands and add to the noise, a small whoop leaving your lips.

You swear Jack cringes. It’s such a small movement, just a small jump in the muscle of his jaw and a small sneer turning at the corner of his mouth.

Good, you think, you don’t want to be the only uncomfortable one here.

Briefly, his eyes meet yours, a flicker of challenge in his eyes. You gape at the stare, does he think you clapped on purpose? To annoy him? He’s unbelievable.

But no matter what your intentions were, his eyes shift back to Betty, finger digging into his shirt with a self-satisfied smirk. He straightens and tears the fabric, the sound of buttons hitting the floors hidden by the loud sensual music. You gape at the sight of his bare chest. Betty seems equally as shocked, her eyes rake his chest, hungry.

Then, ever so gently, Jack takes a hold of her wrists and places her hand over his pecks, slithering back so her fingers move down his torso.

You weren’t jealous before, but you can’t deny the fire that suddenly flares in your stomach. An ugly feeling fills your insides, clutches at your heart. Sharp nails bury themselves into the soft, tender muscle. He doesn’t look at you as he shifts on his feet, turning while rolling his hips. Betty laughs, her arms barely caging the width of his waist. Jack sinks down and guides her hands to his crotch, Betty flushes when he feels him, her smile still wide.

He unbuckles his jeans and the crowd screams, meanwhile, you’re left dizzy, hands feeling numb as you clap. What the hell are you supposed to do in this situation? Leave? Continue to pretend that Jack is nothing more than a sexy stranger? Luckily you don’t have to think too much of it because he steps forward, leaving Betty’s arms to fall limp to her sides. You don’t know how, but as he walks towards the stage, the denim slips lower and lower, until the start of the swell of his ass is visible and his back dimples are in full view. Gifted from Venus herself.

“I’m gonna need a volunteer,” he drawls into the microphone, the honeyed voice making every hair on your body stand with attention. Jack slowly turns on his heel, eyes glued to the bride-to-be, making it clear to the entire room who the volunteer should be. Your eyes shift to Betty, her bottom lip sucked between her teeth, shapely brows knitted tightly together.

You realize, with horror, that she’s planning something.

Before the thought can become something tangible, something that you can mull over, you find yourself being pushed forward. Your wrist yanked upward by a gentle, yet firm, hand.

“We have a volunteer right here,” Betty calls out cheerfully. When you stare at her, wide-eyed and in shock, she winks at you. She mouths the words; have fun.

No, you want to scream, you certainly won’t be having fun. Alas, you see no way around it as all the women around you begin to cheer, your ass being edged out of your seat by sheer volume alone. Your eyes find Jack’s as you take the first step. His lips are curled in a wicked smile, an expression that doesn’t reach the darkness of his eyes. You swallow. The noise fades when he extends a hand, a silent ask for trust that you’re not that willing to give. But you do. You lay yourself in the middle of his palm and he wraps his fingers around it, guiding you to the stage. Lights flicker around you, some white, some colorful.

You stand like a doll in the middle of the stage, his body firm behind you, chest brushing your back. A shudder that you’re sure he won’t miss rolls down your spine. “Relax,” he murmurs into your ear. Involuntarily, you scoff. “You can leave,” he reminds you, nudging your arms to your sides and dragging the pads of his fingers across the delicate skin of your upper arms. His lips touch your cheek. “But that might raise some questions, darlin’.”

Damn it, he’s smooth.

You can’t really answer with everyone’s eyes glued on you both, so you make a sound that you hope expresses something along the lines of; I’ll stay but not for you, dickhead. You have doubts he got the message though. You assume you not running and cussing him out is probably a good enough of a sign for him to continue.

Your pulse skyrockets as his hands find your hips, prompting you to sway along with him. It doesn’t help that you’re stiff as a board but you manage to follow his lead. The thick outline of his cock brushes against your ass, and your cheeks burn. Your body betrays you as it grows hotter and hotter, the seam of your underwear growing damp with every move. He intertwines his fingers within your own, lifting your arm and spinning you around so you face him. Before you have a moment to catch your breath, he dips. Your breathing hitches as he comes back up, mouth an inch away from your body, inhaling as if you were completely bare to him.

Your knees start to shake. His hands slide down your back and nudge your legs apart before hooking afoot around your ankle. You find yourself sprawled upon the stage, knees bent with the soles of your shoes planted against the smooth floor. He towers over you, intimidating while standing tall between your legs. Jack doesn’t look down, eyes almost predatory as he observes the crowd. With a grin, he claps and hypes them all up. Both worry and excitement entangle around your heart, suffocating and squeezing your lungs.

Confusion crosses your face when he turns instead, but whatever you’re feeling is short-lived. He drops himself to the floor, long legs threading yours, he flips you both, and suddenly, his body is flushed against your own. Your heart skips a beat, arousal pooling deep in your gut. You feel every inch as he grinds himself against you, fingers cupping your throat, mouth skimming your cheek—he inhales and you feel teeth grazing your skin.

A moan parts your lips, a moan so silent that it’s drowned by the music and cheers, but not silent enough that it goes unnoticed by him. Every muscle grows tense. He smiles, something wicked and taunting reverberating out of him, another grind provoking you to raise your hips. Which you do, begrudgingly. Because you’ve missed him. Despite the anger. . . you still miss him, miss the weight of his body, the layering of his words.

“I’ve missed you too, darlin’,” he whispers, his breath warm over your skin. The sentence sends a coldness down your spine that seeps into the very fabric of your being. A whimper shakes your throat. His lips move, but not a word comes out. You’re surprised to notice that you’re disappointed with the fact.

You're being flipped over again, thick thighs straddling your waist as he comes to an almost plank position, your noses nearly brushing against one another. Jack grins and whips his upper body back, hand pushing back his hat and threading his hair. Thrusting into the air, he slides a palm down his torso. You watch in awe as his hand disappears beneath his pants, briefly grabbing himself before pulling his hand back. With the same hand, he holds your throat, leaning closer. The crowd goes wild. You hear the blood rush in your ear.

The music comes to a close, the melody fading into the distance. Your eyes meet, and just as it does, a loud cheer bursts from the crowd.

You’re both panting heavily, two sets of eyes eating the other up, engraving every detail to memory. The color of his eyes are darker than you remember, his lips a bit paler compared to your memory. He looks like he’s about to say something. You beat him to it.

“Screw you,” you mouth at him, nostrils flared and gaze becoming one of steel. He’s startled but not surprised. You’re basically scrambling off the stage when he moves away, and disappear into the halls. You don’t care if it raises suspicion. You don’t care if Betty demands answers later on. You just want to vanish into thin air.

This isn’t how you expected this day to go. You were expecting to have fun, maybe get a bit tipsy and go home to relieve yourself further with the help of your vibrator. You, in no way, were expecting to run into Jack. It didn’t help that Betty volunteered you to go on stage. There’s an endless pit in your stomach now because of it.

The halls seem endless. You walk and walk, not really having a clear vision of where you want to go. Maybe you should leave. The sound of the party is still roaring in the background. You wonder if Jack’s still dancing. You wonder if he stared as you left. Some part of you desperately wants to pick a fight, your nails itching to be buried in a soft surface—

You should leave. That’s the logical thing to do. And after everything you’ve been through, you’re not that keen about listening to your heart.

You turn on your heel, heart ramming wildly in your chest, ribcage barely contaminating the muscle violent with emotion.

Sadly, something warm and firm presses into your face—hard. Pain blossoms from the base of your nose, spreading throughout your face. You yelp and take a step back, the moment feeling oddly familiar as you rub a palm over your aching nose.

“Sorry,” you hear him say, and finally your gaze lifts. You see him. Jack. Standing there like a kicked puppy, his hands somewhere between wanting to lay on his sides and reach out for you to soothe the pain. He does the former when your eyes flit between said hands and eyes, a pang of instant guilt overwhelming the color of them. “Are you a’right?”

“You,” you say, the word bouncing against the back of gritted teeth. You point an accusatory finger at him. “Don’t get to ask me that.”

“Fair enough,” he mutters. “At least let me do this since it was my fault.”

His hand disappears into his jacket and he smoothly pulls out a tissue. He takes a step forward and your eyes go wide when you feel him pressing the soft material against your nose. You hadn’t felt the bleeding. Feeling slightly disoriented, your fingers curl around his hand, thinking he’ll move away so you can clog the bleeding yourself. He makes no such move. The heat from his fingers seeps into your skin even with the tissue in between.

“I think that’s enough,” you say with a glare. “I’m fine now.” Jack finally lets go and you detest how cold you feel without his touch. You give your nose one last rub before lowering your hand, peeling the tissue away. At a loss, you stuff it into your purse.

“What do you say?”

The question catches you off guard, your brows furrow and he repeats himself. Slower this time. “What. Do. You. Say.”

“What—” The tips of your ears burn and you swear if you were in a cartoon your air would be forming a spike right about now. “Are you expecting a damn thank you?!”

“Perhaps,” he tuts. “Or maybe I just wanna talk and I’m lookin’ for a gateway to do so.”

“Getting me angry isn’t the way to do that,” you inhale a sharp breath. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

He takes a step, crowding you until your back is pressed snugly against the wall. Your breath catches in your throat, your anger and frustrations from earlier dwindling upon feeling his warm breath ghosting your cheek. His hand finds purchase over the empty spot right near your ear. You can almost taste him on your tongue. Involuntarily, you inch closer and your regret is immediate when you see the twitch of his lips. He tilts his head. His eyes bore into yours, searching for something, anything. They’re so dark. Almost black.

With a sudden jerk of your head, you pull back, a thud echoing where your skull meets the wall, “What do you want?” you hiss. “A quick fuck?”

The poison beneath your words startles even you. His eyes go wide.

He doesn’t move away though.

“That’s not why I’m here,” he rasps, voice dropping. He slips a leg between your own, your spine becoming a stick with the sudden jolt of electricity snapping through your body. His thigh firm and warm against your sex. When your hands grip his arms despite you, he grins. “But it seems like you wouldn’t mind it.”

No. No, you wouldn’t. Fuck. What the hell is wrong with you?

“Why?” you gasp as he pushes his leg further up, heat coiling in your stomach. You squeeze his biceps, and when you meet his eyes, he gives you a questioning gaze. “Why are you taunting me? Is it really that fun to string me along?”

Jack attempts to pull back but your grip constricts. He remains, comes closer even, your bodies impossibly close. His hand slides down to your waist, thumb drawing slow, soothing circles. “I’m weak,” he answers simply. Like it’s meant to explain everything. “I’t not a matter of stringing you along or to taunt, darlin’. I just can’t keep away.”

“I don’t want you to keep away,” you breathe, voice desperate and hoarse. “I just want you to explain, Jack. I want to understand.”

You were telling the truth. You did want to understand. You want to see for yourself if he was worth forgiving or not, if whatever had gone through his head that prompted him to leave you in the middle of the night made sense. Even then—Even with the off chance that it does make sense, you still might find it hard to forgive him.

Time stands still, the air heavy with your unanswered plea. You feel the tremor of his hand. He chews his bottom lip vigorously, contemplating his fight or flight response. It’s brief, but your gaze drops to his lips. So full, the bottom one plump from being abused between sharp teeth. Your tongue darts to lick your own lip, mimicking how you would soothe the ache of the tender muscle. A mistake, you’re quick to realize, because instead of explaining, he tempts your desires, crashing your mouths together, licking where you had just not moments ago.

You surrender to him quicker than you thought. His tongue slips between your lips, tasting you, urging you to part for him further. You do. He traces every inch of your mouth with the tip of his tongue, pushing deeper. Heat licking the base of your spine, you grind down, the solid drag of his thigh against your cunt a delicious friction.

“Jack,” you pant, he nips at your chin, his gaze finding your own. “Fuck, that feels nice.”

“‘M about to make you feel even nicer,” he answers with a sultry drawl. Before your brain can register, he’s on his knees, bunching up your dress. He pulls down your underwear, leaving it dangling just a bit below your knees. You hold your breath as he inches closer. Hot breath ghosting your damp folds. He lays a tentative kiss over your mouth, a bit of tongue poking between his lips. When he looks up you’re mesmerized, dark lashes heavily framing his eyes.

Jack doesn’t say a word as he begins his feast. He’s a man starved. Mouth and tongue leisurely moving between the delicate lips of your pussy and sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves that crown it. Your knees buckle. Thankfully, he keeps your hips firm against the wall, hand splayed wide over your thighs. Your moans are hushed, short gasps of air that fills your lungs rapidly. The aquiline curve of his nose bumps against your clit as he ventures deeper, tongue tracing your fluttering entrance. He retraces your opening, his hum falling on your skin.

You lift your hips off the wall, chasing the warmth of his mouth. He licks you with fat strokes, tongue flat, he follows the seam of your heat. You push your fingers through the damp, soft locks that frame the back of his head. He growls and brings his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles. The motion sends you into a frenzy. Eyes closing, you thrust against his pointed tongue. You swear he smiles as he fucks you shallowly with it, your orgasm quickly building to something indescribable. You tug at his hair, pulling him off of you.

The sight takes you by surprise.

His eyes are glazed over, only lust and need swirling in them. Your gaze follows the opening of his lips, a gasp parting them while his thumbs stroke the heated skin of your thighs. His lips glisten under the dimmed light, mustache soaked with the pure essence of you. Jack clears his throat before he speaks, not breaking eye contact as his tongue swipes sensually over his bottom lip. “Use me,” he breathes heavily, voice nothing but gravel. “Take what you need, darlin’.”

You note the tell-tale signs of losing control. His words warm your stomach. Something primal and possessive taking over. You bring a hand to his cheek, thumb right above the tender skin that resides right under his eye. As you drag the finger down, you make a point of grazing your nail. His breath hitches and your eyes go wide. Your chest heaves, breathing suddenly the hardest thing you can do.

“You enjoy seein’ me on my knees, sugar?” he asks, a weak tease to his tone. You don’t answer.

“Touch yourself,” you say instead, voice soft contrary to the command. Jack obliges, bringing a hand between his legs. He palms himself over his tight jeans, pupils dilating as he holds your gaze. You swallow. “Good boy.”

“Fuck,” he rasps. “Fuck—” he grinds himself into his palm, frustrated. “Do I make you feel good, darlin’? Tell me. Tell me how good I make you feel.”

The air between your crackles. More slick dripping down the inside of your thighs. He swallows thickly and you notice the traces of fear that you won’t give him what he so desperately needs. Craves. And maybe you shouldn’t give it to him. Maybe you should just pull him back and ride his face until you’re soaking him. But your resolve has already cracked. Been like that ever since you stepped on the stage, giving him that trust again.

You bring him back, his tongue darting by instinct. He circles your clit, eyes still fixed on you. Your breathing slows. “You make me feel amazing,” you mutter, a bit breathless. “Which is a problem because I never seem to get enough.”

You expect him to laugh, snort, or at least shoot you one of those mischievous grins—he doesn’t. His eyes flutter closed and he inhales you, signaling the end of the conversation, he buries his mouth deep. His lips tighten around your clit and he flicks at it with the tip, your pulse skyrockets, your breathing coming in short. When your hips move away from the wall once more, he slams them back, a growl reverberating in his chest. He moves his head from side to side, tongue relentless.

Every nerve in your body is electrified. Skin taut over muscle. Your head falls back, knocking against the wall. He forces his tongue inside and resumes circling his thumb over your clit. Your moans become loud, uncaring as you feel the gentle scrape of his teeth. “Jack,” you moan. “I’m—fuuuck—I’m ‘bout to come—”

The confession seems to stir something wild inside him. He laps at your soaked cunt and meets your gaze, knocking the air from your lungs a second time that night.

He pushes you over the edge, your inside pulsing as you come. The halls around you spin and your arms loosely coil around his head, hanging on for dear life. His tongue is still moving. Licking, tasting everything you have to offer. Tingles spread throughout your body, goosebumps rising across your skin at the chill of the hallway.

Jack gives you one final lick before pulling away and standing. Suddenly, he seems larger than life, you realize you prefer him on his knees, at least for now.

“What do you want?” he asks, and your eyes drop to where his hand rubs over his hard-on. Memories of his cock splitting you wide open flash before your eyes, your inside clenching at the phantom feel. However, despite you both knowing what you want, you can’t voice it. You don’t have it in you to ask him to fuck you. So, you turn around, your forearms bracing the wall. His palms move up from the back of your legs to your ass, he squeezes gently before sliding up to your waist, taking the ends of the dress with it.

His lips touch your nape and you tense at the gesture. He must’ve felt it because Jack moves away, slipping his cock inside of you. He slides in with ease. Like you were made for him. A choked-out sound leaves you, his hips flush against the swell of your ass.

“Feels so good, darlin’,” he mutters, lips hovering an inch away from your skin. “Missed this pussy.”

Jack doesn’t waste time any time, knowing that your time is limited and someone might walk by at any second. His pacing is brutal. Cock filling the tight fist of your cunt with hard thrusts. Your brows knit with pleasure, mouth hanging open. If it wasn’t for the wall and Jack’s solid presence behind you, you’re positive you’d collapse. His hand slides up your torso and cups your breasts. Your back arches, pleasure rolling down your spine. He traces the column of your neck with his tongue and you shudder at the feeling.

“You’re loud, sugar,” he warns. “Not that I’m complainin’ but I’m assumin’ you don’t wanna get caught with your pants down. Literally.”

You shake your head vigorously, words failing you. But the movement of your head is all it takes for him to cover your mouth, moans bouncing off of his palm. The wet sounds flood the hall, deafening to your ears. The heavy drag of his cock is heavenly, your body clenching and begging him not to leave. He makes a choked sound, head falling between your shoulder blades. His nails bite into your skin, pulling you against him, pushing into you harder.

“I ain’t gonna last,” he groans.

You’re quick to reply, fear curling at your heart, “Don’t come on me.”

You don’t think you can handle him leaving you again in such a vulnerable state.

He rolls his hips and you feel every tantalizing inch. “Okay,” he answers, the previous raps of his tone becoming something somber, bittersweet. “Okay,” he repeats. “I won’t.”

The pleasure that had been building flickers away like a dying flame. His pacing slows, wild thrusts becoming indulgent, slow. He grinds himself deeper with every push of his hips and your eyes roll. It feels good. Amazing. Breath shortening. But you can’t deny that the previous rush is gone. Time is once again moving, reality becoming the most solid thing around you. He’s going to come and leave. Your vision blurs.

It doesn’t take him long, he pulls out and you feel incredibly cold and empty. So much so that you shiver as you press your forehead into the wall. You want to turn around. Watch him, see the desperate snap of his hips. Watch him make a mess of his hand. However, you remain in place, refusing to look.

He grunts and his breath becomes labored. You hear the faint whisper of your name falling from your lips—then silence, only soft, slow breathing. You finally turn then, seeing the tissue in his hand briefly before he stuffs it in his pocket.

“I—” he starts, meeting your gaze. You raise a hand.

“I know. You’re going to say you can’t see me again and all that bullshit. I’m leaving don’t worry.”

You barely fix your dress, swiftly heading towards the exit of this ridiculously large building. He calls out to you, asking you to wait but you refuse. You’re not going to wait for him to break your heart again. You don’t need to see the pity in his eyes. Your poor thundering heart can’t take it.

The sun is gone. The sky a mixture of dark blues and blacks. You take a deep breath of the crispy air, allowing yourself to stall just a moment before searching for your car. You’re outside, yet you still feel suffocated. Pleasure still simmers under your skin. Already missing, aching for his touch. You ball your hands into tight fists, allowing your nails to bite into the tender flesh of your palm. You welcome the mild pain. At this point, you would welcome anything that provides the bliss of forgetfulness.

“Get back here!”

You flip him off without looking. You swear you hear him snort with amusement. The bastard.

“At least let me explain—” he sounds desperate, his voice grows closer. You shake your head even though he can’t see and hug your jacket, your car should be close. . . You don’t stop. You can’t. A broken hiccup parts your lips and the tears you fought so hard against finally escape. You wipe them with the heel of your palm.

“I’m sorry!”

And as if time itself stood still, you stop dead in your tracks. The silence between you grows, his steps coming closer.

All that hurt, all the anger. It finally boils over.

“For WHAT?!” You turn around, the wind howling around you. Tear streaks chill over your cheeks. “Are you apologizing for that night, or right now? Do you have any idea how hard it was to force myself to go out tonight?! Are you aware how much it hurts to fucking look at you?!”

He’s not as far as you thought he was. Only a couple of steps between you two. Your eyes drop to his feet and back to his face again. He stops. For the first time, Jack seems at a loss for words. His brows come together in remorse, lips parted with words unsaid. You shake your head, hands still in fists, you’re not at a loss for words, however, all of it piles up in your throat like a dam. The world stands still. The only giveaway that time is still moving is the wind. Icy whips of air irritating your skin.

“You hurt me,” you say, surprisingly clear despite the knot in your throat. “Do you understand what that means, Jack? I’m hurt. There’s a bleeding wound in my chest because I stupidly thought—” Your chest caves in and you avert your gaze. “I thought you might actually look past all the fucked up parts of me. Maybe it was selfish of me but it made me happy to think I might be the one you would open up to. That me, being the way that I am, would be enough. But in the end. . . I didn’t even get an explanation. You just left.”

You drag your gaze back to him. You’re not sure but you think he took a step closer while you were speaking, his hands outstretched like he’s fighting the urge to pull you into a bear hug. His eyes glimmer under the faint moonlight. As if every word you said hurt him just as much as it did to speak them. You shake your head again. “Just leave.”

“No,” he chokes out, closing the gap. His fingers curl around your wrist. He must’ve seen your flight response starting to take over. You don’t fight the iron grip. “I—I don’t think you’re fucked up,” he blurts, unintelligently. “I don’t think any of that. In fact, I think the opposite, you’re too good for me, sunshine. You. . . I’m a coward, I couldn’t handle the love in your eyes. Couldn’t handle being that for someone again. But. . . I want to try, sugar. I want to try and be that someone for you. I don’t want to run away from this.”

You stand silent, shocked. You can’t see it for yourself, but you know your gaze has warmed up to be something soothing and understanding.

“I lost her,” he says. “Viv. . . she was my everythin’ and one day she was just. . . gone. My—My little boy along with—”

You shatter. All of the anger, the hurt, your icy resolve melting and becoming a puddle at your feet. You cradle his face, catching the first tears with the pad of your thumb. His arms coil around your waist, muscles tight around your frame. He’s not looking at you, he’s looking at a random spot on the concrete.

“She went out for milk,” he continues, broken. “She was still pregnant, two months. . . two months later I would’ve,” he cuts himself off. “I should’ve left instead but she argued that I was tired from work and that she needed to stretch her legs. I let her go. An hour later the police were at my door, telling me that she got caught in a gun fight between two rival gangs. Shot. Dead.”

He spat the last words out, his guilt, his hatred for the world laced in every one of them.

“That’s why I couldn’t. With you. I don’t deserve a second chance, darlin’.” he finally meets your eyes, and for the first time you see him for what he truly is. A good man, broken and lost. Just like you. “I’m afraid of losin’ you.”

“Who says you don’t deserve a second chance?” you whisper, your thumbs stroking the delicate skin. “I’m sorry, Jack. I’m sorry you had to go through all that. I—I didn’t know. And I don’t want to lie and say you won’t lose me, life is unpredictable but. . . I promise that this,” you point between the two of you. His gaze follows your hand as it rests on his chest. “Deserves a chance. I’ve never felt anything like I have with you. You make me happy, Jack. As simple as it sounds. And. . . well. . .” your lips crack into a heartfelt smile and when he sees, he lets out a breath. “I’ve already fallen pretty hard for you. As you can guess.”

His hands come up to your cheeks, holding you as delicately as one would a rose. Instinctively, you lean into his touch, eyes fluttering closer and smiling. “I think this deserves a chance too,” he mutters, his breath tickling your lips. “Will you have me, darlin’? Fucked up parts and all?”

He brushes your lips together, prompting the grin that is quick to form, “Only if you’ll have me, cowboy.”

Jack’s fingertips trace the contour of your lips before lightly pressing against them. His touch is gentle and warm. His lips come slowly towards yours, and when they meet, it is heaven itself.

His hands slide down your neck and around your waist. His mouth moves in perfect harmony with yours as his tongue lightly skims across your lips.

You can feel the heat radiating from his body as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer. His mouth moves feverishly desire and your body starts to respond in kind. And when he breaks the kiss, you’re surprised to see Betty’s house behind him, completely forgetting where you were.

“Of course, darlin,” he smiles, brushing his mouth over your forehead. “Of course.”

#agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x female reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x female reader #kingsman the golden circle #kingsman fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #stripper!jack

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inbarfink · 8 months

Text

Goddam, just seeing Simon in these last two episodes is really flooding me with so many conflicting emotions.

Because, on the one hand, after his lowest point in Episode 4 - resigning himself to death in the hands of the Scarab - he’s clearly finally doing better. Just look at him making plans

And showing off his smarts

And finally genuinely smiling and feeling happy

And being so glad to meet the alt versions of his friends

And getting excited about his nerdy shit for the first time in glob-knows-how-long

And cracking goofy geeky jokes

And offering others the same grace and kindness he was given when he was trapped under the curse of the Magic Crown

And trying to be comforting and fatherly and give Fionna advice and cheer her up

He’s so clearly doing a lot better now, he’s rediscovering aspects of himself that his depression has torn away from him, he found a meaning and purpose in his life again. And it should warm my heart, and on some level it does....

But it also sends a chill down my spine knowing that this purpose that brought back the light into Simon’s eyes, the purpose he finally found is sacrificing his mind and identity again for the sake of Fionna’s happiness and her world.

He’s throwing himself right back into the miserable existence and the trauma he tries so hard to move forward from. He’s dooming himself because he honestly believes now that he’s always going to be miserable and lonely and fucked up so he might as well have be the kind of miserable and fucked up that is not lucid enough to know how miserable he is all of the time. The kind of misery that at least fits into his world.

Because he started to romanticize being the Ice King in a twisted kinda way, and now he has found the excuse to turn it into a selfless, noble act. Because the only way he feels like he’s useful and like he has worth is by protecting and helping and sacrificing himself for the sake of others.

(And like, especially in light of how he was trying to resign himself to death just moments before coming up with his plan. Not to get extremely dark, but.... suicidal people often seem to ‘get better’ just before the try to kill themselves. Because they feel like they’re finally ‘doing something’ and their misery is almost over. That kinda feels what Simon is going through right now? Becoming the Ice King again is not literally death, but it is a sort of death for Simon Petrikov’s identity.)

And this new sense of purpose in saving Fionnaworld by dooming himself is clearly blinding Simon to so many obviously telegraphed signs that this is a horrible idea.

He saw hints of just how badly Farmworld Finn has been dealing with his own Magic Crown Related Trauma

and maybe if things would’ve been different this could’ve been something they could have commiserated over. Simon could’ve had someone who understood a bit of what he has gone through, and seeing a version of Finn, of all people, face similar struggles - maybe could’ve helped him feel a little less Uniquely and Irredeemably Fucked Up. (For bonus points, they're ALSO both dealing with the grief of losing their Significant Other)

But his newfound obsession that Everything Will Be Better Once He’s Cursed again was making him totally ignore all of this.

And then there’s their little adventure in the Winter Kingdom. Which had both the Candy Queen/Princess Bubblegum as a perfect reminder of the suffering and pain involved in being trapped in the Madness of the Magic Crown

And the Winter King as a reminder of the harmful and twisted things he was capable of doing as the Ice King.

But instead he basically refused to learn any lesson from that Universe that’s not just ‘Fuck That Version of Me Specifically’ and tried to advice Fionna to do the same.

But well, while I am still worried about Simon’s mental state, his improved disposition does give me a little bit of hope. Hope that maybe he himself will notice that he is doing better and won’t be quite so eager to sacrifice his own sanity. Or maybe more likely, hope that now that he’s not just a miserable sadman screaming at their faces

Fionna and Cake are growing to appreciate Simon Petrikov for who he is and will simply refuse to let him sacrifice himself for their sake. Because, yeah, Simon tried to tell Fionna to not worry about all of that Winter Kingdom stuff, that it was just that Simon was ‘messed up’ - but since when does Fionna Campbell do what she’s told?

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theriverbeyond · 5 months

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Do you think if John hadn't purged the knowledge of My Immortal from the universe that the sixth would've known immediately that cyth was impersonating dulcie? I just feel like dulcie is the most likely candidate to describe herself in that style.

SEE i think the tragedy is despite both Cam and Pal having spent over 10 years corresponding with her, neither of them were able to pick up on Cytherea's lie, even (as we find out later, in HtN) when she really isn't trying very hard. Like, why didn't they know immediately? It's not like they didn't have enough clues as is.

because.... Dulcie had definitely described Protesilauris to them, quite extensively!! and it doesn't take a genius to know the vivacious man who loved his children and roses and Dulcie isn't the shambling zombie that showed up at Canaan house. Not to mention the girl who wanted to run away and smoke cigarettes instead of lying in bed to convalesce from familial blood cancer wouldn't have spent her days at Canaan house lying on the terrace, reading books and knitting, doing exactly the same thing she would have been doing had she stayed at home to die. The clues were so obvious they were barely even clues!! Dulcie fed Cytherea "a lot of hot bullshit" about her life, which means Cytherea was literally working with less than no information when it comes to a convincing impersonation and... Cam and Pal still missed it.

i know this was probably supposed to be a silly ask but I just can't not think about the tragedy of it all. Was it Palamedes' well of grief -- maybe even anger? annoyance? frustration? resignation? -- at her rejection the reason that both he, and Cam, missed that she was gone? Did Cam's fire of devotion towards Palamedes blind her to all the obvious signs, her rush to protect and close ranks around him being enough to eclipse all rational thought with regards to the image of the person who rejected him? Were they both so utterly wounded, frustrated, jealous, that they truly did forget the friend they knew?

#IM DISTRAUGHT #tlt meta #dulcinea septimus #palamedes sextus #camilla hect #gideon the ninth #ask #anon #tlt thoughts

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dustymeadows-if · 3 months

Text

Dust particles flow in the air, shimmering with golden light of the sun. They rise to the sky, equally golden and hazy. Your mind is empty. There is no single memory in your head. Only one thought is ringing in your brain.

You must walk forward. Walk until your feet begin to bleed. Walk until your shoes fall apart.

And for some reason you can't oppose this thought.

This is your road to Damascus.

Dusty Meadows is a short interactive story set in post-WW1 world. It's a small psychological adventure that will take you through the scarred European fields. Wander the abandoned trenches, scorched forests, poisonous valleys and silent, deadly no man's land.

You don't remember anything. The feelings, however, still linger. Feelings like pain, grief and bitter longing. Your body is mutilated, but you feel no physical pain. It's your soul that aches. It's as if an important piece of it was heartlessly ripped off. This pain urges you to go forward. The answers might lie just behind the next hill or river. Your life depends on returning. Returning your soul. Returning your memories. Returning your life. Returning home.

That is, if there's anything left for you to return to at all.

Customizable MC: choose your gender, appearance, personality and name (if you can remember it, of course).

Meet the cast of various charachters: you're not the only one wandering and seeking these desolate lands. Talk to other wayfaring souls, listen to their stories. Maybe even share the same road and experience strangely deep bond with some of them...

Return your memories: remove the shroud from your past. Remember how you got here. Remember what hides behind the scars on your body. But be wary: some memories are forgotten for a reason.

Explore different locations: travel through the remains of war, learn what happened there and remember what binds you to these places.

Maintain your sanity: nobody said that battlefields are safe even after the war. Your mind is as scarred as your body, and sometimes memories crash like tidal waves. Whether you'll hold the line or succumb to the dark depths - is up to you and you only.

Tired Infantryman - Basile (M)

This man could be a definition of word "apathy". Everything about him is grey: both literally and figuratively. Dressed in grey-bluish trenchcoat, covered in grey dust, he looks at you with dull grey eyes. Even in his dark brown hair you can see grey strands, although he's still pretty young. He doesn't seem to be interested in anything around him, except for his cigarettes. His left arm is missing, and you can't help but wonder what's the story behind this.

Frozen Operator - Johann (M)

He is... a weird man. Tall and muscular like someone working in the fields all day long. But at the same time his skin is the palest and the coldest you've ever seen, and his eyes are sunken as if he was spending many sleepless nights doing paperwork. He's also the only one without any visible wounds, which is very unusual to see in this place. Johann seems like a kind and outgoing man, but he hides something deep in his heart.

Blind Journalist - Gelsomina (F)

Upper half of her face is covered with bandages, but even so you can tell she's a very beautiful woman. Dark blood stains over the place where her eyes were never seem to fully dry. She is much alike that blood: restless almost to despair. This woman will either find peace or die, and the least seems to be most likely. Losing her eyes was a hard hit: she can't see, she can't write, she can't do her job which had always meant life for her. She lost every reason to live, but the fire of her stubbornness is blazing hard, keeping her alive and eating her from inside at the same time.

Wayward Nun - Jolan (F)

She is a strange sight. Dressed in nun robes which covers her whole body, she also wears a gas mask which she refuses to ever take off. This woman is like a walking fortress of her own, cutting off every direct contact with the outer world. She barely speaks, preferring simple gestures, or rather, not communicating at all. You don't know what she looks like, what she sounds like, but here's one thing you know for sure: guilt is seeping through every crack of her thick defense.

Demo - TBA

#interactive fiction #interactive novel #interact if #if wip #dashingdon #choice of games #hosted games #dusty meadows

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thefallennightmare · 5 months

Text

Just Pretend-eleven

Parings: Noah Sebastian x Musician! Reader

Warnings/Tropes: language, angst, fluff, smut, star-crossed lovers, right person/wrong time, cheating, talks of mental abuse.

Summary: “I can wait for years, heaven knows I’m not getting over you.” A story about two star-crossed lovers, that always find their way back because their souls are entwined. The universe desperately attempts to bring them together, no matter what the cost.

Authors Note: for this one, no theories or what ifs. it's all from our owns personal experience which makes it cathartic for us and maybe some of you. MUST LISTEN TO EILEY BY TOO CLOSE TO TOUCH! DURING THIS ENTIRE CHAPTER, OVER AND OVER AGAIN. HEADS UP: there will be talks of suicidal thoughts throughout this chapter so please please please, read with caution.

Collaborating With: @thescarlettvvitch(better give her all the love as well)

Tags: @thescarlettvvitch @ozwriterchick @waake-meee-up @notingridslurkaccount @niicoleleigh @sammyjoeee @xxrainstorm @dominuslunae @notmaddihealy @malice-ov-mercy @crimson-calligraphyx @iknownothingpeople @writethrough @thebadchic @blackveilomens Claudia on Tumblr @tobe-written @blacksoul-27 @loeytuan98 @loverofagoodbeard @comfortcharactercraze @lma1986 @plutonikchaos1 @spicywhenspeaking @lyschko666 @somewhere-diamond @hi-fancy-seeing-you-here @koskeepsake

READER

My feet took me almost in autopilot mode to the end of the hallway where the door urged me forward while my heart kept screaming at me to turn around; go back. The tears that gathered in my eyes were blinding me and I could barley see as I pushed through the door, quickly ascending the staircase. So many questions filled my brain and nearly knocked me on my ass, I had to grasp at the railing. I gasped for breath, my lungs being crushed by the weight of leaving him. His broken eyes begging me to come back, not to leave. But my own issues kept me from following my heart.

Why did I leave? Why did I fucking leave? Why couldn’t I just talk? Why did I leave him like that?

Those usually bright eyes filled with so much darkness and sadness, it made me stumble over my feet as I neared the door that led out to the roof of the hotel. The wind brushed around me in rapid waves as I came to a sudden halt in the middle of the roof. Even though it was four in the morning, the hustle and bustle of the city noise carried all the way up here.

Why was I so worried about a future I wasn’t even sure I was going to have?

My mind was clouded with images of Noah and how I left him I didn’t realize I was standing at the edge of the roof until my foot slipped. I cursed while steading myself on my feet and stared down at the passing cars. If I was being honest, I wish I didn’t save myself from falling.

As I stood at the ledge, memories of Noah and I played in a loop in my brain as the weight on my chest caved in. Two hearts that beat in sync but they could never be.

When he first stepped off the bus, taking all the breath out of my lungs.

The day at the zoo where he bought me the stuffed wolf; the one Trey tossed out of the bus in his rage.

Our afternoon at the beach where we had a heart to heart conversation, one of many, and it made me realize Noah was someone I could trust. He made me feel so free and alive that day; like the crow.

When he analyzed my lyrics that first night of tour in the green room and how passionate he looked.

A choked sob crawled out of my throat when the memory of the night we lost Keaton slammed into me. Then his funeral and how broken Noah was that entire day. I thought I lost him into the darkness that was grief but no, quite the opposite happened. My lips tingled as I remebered our first kiss, the one we shared that night.

I should have known how fucked I would be for Noah Sebastian from that moment.

“Fuck!” I screamed while falling to my knees, sobs plowing through my entire body.

My chest finally caved in, bones crushing into dust, as that negative voice that buried itself so deep within years ago continued to chastise me for my decision.

You’re a fucking idiot.

How could you leave him like that?

He begged you to come back. He wanted you to stay until the morning.

Did you expect him to be okay with never having a family?

What man doesn’t want a future like that?

I told you he wouldn’t want to stick by all that bullshit.

“Stop it!” I smacked my palms onto my forehead repeatedly to quiet the voices.

It didn’t work; they only got louder and more persistent.

I tried to tell you, babe. Being with him only leads to heartbreak.

“Just get out! Get out of my head! I beg, please, just get out! Get out of my head before I cave in!” I screamed, now digging my palms into my eyes.

I was absolutely exhausted and unbelievably unhappy. I hated myself and was so angry for what I did. Noah and I were so happy and to see him smile that grin, the corners of his eyes crinkling made my heart burn in my throat. The tattoos that covered his toned stomach with slight pudge in the center. Soft skin and a comfortable smell I wanted to be buried in.

A mochi. My mochi.

No, not yours. You walked away.

I ruined it. I possibly, could have, most definitely destroyed the best thing that could have happened to me, besides this band. My hands shook, my body, my knees were weak. I should have stopped by my hotel room to bring some alcohol with me on this venture up here but knew if Chase or Malcolm saw me, they’d want to know what happened.

Shit.

Everyone had to know by now what happened, I’m sure they do.

Oh god, what did I do? To hurt Noah was like walking on broken glass. I never wanted to hurt him.

But you did, you bitch, you did!

“Oh Keaton,” I sobbed on my knees. “I ruined everything. You knew him better than me, what would he have done if I told him the truth and stayed!?”

Besides Chase and Malcolm, Keaton knew about my secrets only because he was there when the pain was unbearable. He helped me through it. So now, in this desperate time of need and confusion, I called out to the one person who couldn’t give me an answer.

CHASE

“Fuck, what do you think happened?” Malcolm wondered while tossing on a sweater.

I quickly stepped into a pair of sweatpants then ran a hand over my buzzed head. “I don’t know. But whatever it was, fucked both of them up.”

His hands shook as he tried to type something out on his phone and knowing Malcolm better than anyone, I knew he was seconds away from his own panic attack.

“Steven,” he wiggled his phone. “He’s wondering if there’s anything they can do to help find her?”

“No,” I said a little too quickly. “Tell them to take care of Noah; we’ll take care of Y/N.”

She was our responsibility; we made that promise to her father years ago when he came to visit. He couldn’t watch after her so he entrusted us to. We failed with Trey; we let him burry his claws so deep into her and now we’re afraid that whatever happened with Noah we wouldn’t be able to get her back.

Malcolm realized that too because his hands shook and breathing became uneven.

“Hey,” I said softly while covering his hands with my own. “We’ll find her, we always do.”

“I know,” he swallowed. “I’m just-worried. She told me earlier that she was going by Noah’s room to hang out. I didn’t think-.”

I cupped his cheek and pressed a tender kiss to his lips. “Why don’t you stay here in case, she comes back. I think I know where she might be.”

Malcolm eased into my touch, emerald eyes glowing from the moonlight casting in through the window, and if it was any other moment, I’d tell him I love him.

He knew already, but I still liked to remind him.

“I love you,” he breathed a long deep breath.

With a final kiss, I muttered I loved him back against his lips, before pocketing my phone and slipping out of the room. I didn’t bother checking throughout the hotel for her. There’s only one place she’d be.

The roof.

Y/N’s always had this fascination with behind higher than others. She wanted to feel like one of the Gods on Mount Olympus. But I didn’t doubt right now, she felt smaller than a peasant in past Athens.

The door to the roof was open, cold winds blowing down the fire escape stairs as I reached the top, eyes immediately landing on a figure curled up with their knees to their chest, sobs being drowned out by the noise from down below in the streets.

Panic set deep within my stomach as I neared her. “Y/N?”

At first my voice was quiet, so I said her name again, this time deeper; louder as I kneeled in front of her. “Y/N!”

Her eyes struggled to open due to how swollen they were from her crying, mascara running down her cheeks and staining her face.

“Sweets,” I sighed with slumped shoulders.

“Chase?” My name came out raw, a clear sign that her voice had gone horse; from what, I wasn’t sure.

“What are you doing up here?” I questioned while taking off my sweater and wrapping it around her shoulders.

She was only wearing shorts and a t-shirt. Her lips were blue from the cold of the predawn air and she shivered as I rubbed my hands up and down her arms.

“Oh, gods. What did we do?” Y/N cried while falling into my chest.

For a moment, I didn’t move her although I knew I needed to get her inside to warm up, but I decided another minute wouldn’t hurt. She needed that extra minute to let out all of her pent-up feelings and doubt. Something happened in that room between her and Noah tonight and I didn’t care how long it took, she would tell us what happened.

I hushed her cries with a soothing hand to her back, cradling her, until the cries lessened and her body went limp against me; she must have dozed off again. So lifting her into my arms, I carried her back down the stairs towards our floor and as I turned the corner, our room only two doors down, I stopped mid-step when my eyes landed on Steven and Matt.

Anger filled me for the briefest of moments but I tried to let it go. None of knew what happened so it wouldn’t be right for me to get upset with either of them. They weren’t in the room with Noah and Y/N.

“She okay?” Matt asked.

I nodded. “Found her up on the roof. She’s fucking freezing and I don’t know how long she was up there for.”

Steven sighed while running a hand over his tired face. “I’m glad she’s alright; given the circumstances. We’ll let the others know.”

Not bothering to say anything else, I stepped between the two of them so they could get a good look at how broken Y/N was; blue lips, puffy eyes, and face stained with makeup and tears. Noah wasn’t the only one hurting, she was too.

When I knocked on the hotel room door, I could physically see the relief fall away from Malcolm’s shoulders as he opened the door, letting me step inside.

“Get the blankets,” I motioned towards the bed.

He pulled them away so I could lay Y/N gently into the bed, both of us covering her with the mounds of blankets; and a few from the closet. As I stepped away to let her sleep, cold fingers wrapped tightly around my wrist.

“Chase.”

My name came out broken on her chattering lips and I laid a gentle hand on her face. “Get some rest, sweets. We can talk in the morning.”

She shook her head. “No, I n-nee-need-.”

Malcolm sat on the edge of the bed next to her while I stood behind him. “What do you need?”

“No-Noah,” Y/N forced out through the chills her body continued to attack her with.

“Y/N,” I sighed. “He’s not in a good place right now.”

Her eyes glimmered with tears before they fell from her eyes in groves. “It’s all my fault.”

Malcolm tensed under my touch on his shoulder. “What happened?”

Y/N remained silent as she stared up at the ceiling for a few long beats then she turned over in bed so she could face towards us, clutching the pillow closer to her chest.

Now I kneeled down in front of her so I could look directly into her eyes. “You need to tell us what happened.”

Malcolm wiped away her tears as she let out an unsteady breath. “I asked him a stupid fucking question.”

“What did you ask Noah?”

There was a slight hesitation in her words. “Where he wanted to be in 10 years.”

Malcolm and I shared a look with each other, not sure how that simple question could cause this much damage between them. Y/N could read us like a book, from start to end, so she immediately knew what we were thinking.

“Noah said one day, he wants a family, a dog and cats and a little wooden house,” she explained flatly.

Then it all clicked into place, the puzzle of the night with that simple word; family.

That subject always had been a sore subject with Y/N so we never brought it up. We knew how hard she had to work for things, especially that, so it was understandable why she freaked out the way she did.

“Sweets, it’s alright,” I cooed while brushing the hair away from her face. “He didn’t know.”

Malcolm agreed with a nod while rubbing her back. “I’m sure if you talk to him about it, Noah will understand.”

Suddenly, she was pushing away from us and stumbling out of the bed, both of us watching her pace with worry in our eyes.

“You guys don’t understand the pain. You don’t know how he looked!” Y/N pounded her chest. “It’s like a huge hole has been punched through my chest. This pain is the reminder, he is real.”

“Y/N,” I cautioned while rising to my feet and slowly walked over to her. “Everything will be alright.”

She jerked her hand away from me. “No, it won't! I did what I always do, Chase! I panicked and ran away. I so badly wanted to stay. Fuck, you guys should have seen his face when he asked me to stay- the crinkles, the cheeks, so sweet I just- I can’t believe I did this. I’m so damaged, guys, so damaged.”

I stood there frozen, unsure how to console Y/N because we’d never seen her like this; so broken. Tears fell from her eyes as her chest caved in with each deep, stuttering breath. As Malcolm pulled her into his arms, I took out my phone and typed out a message to Nicholas.

I know what happened.

MALCOLM

“Are you sure you two will be alright?” I asked while adjusting the bag on my shoulder.

Chase nodded while wrapping a protective arm around Y/N’s shoulder; she hasn’t slept since he brought her back into the room just a few hours ago. She was running on fumes, we all were, but I knew the long day she had ahead of her. She needed every ounce of energy she could find.

“We’re mostly going to pick up Salem,” Chase said.

Fuck, the cat.

I cringed at the mention of Y/N’s cat; soul as dark as its fur.

“I swear that cat fucking hates me,” I grumbled while leaning closer into Chase.

He chuckled while leaning up to kiss me, since I was a few inches taller than him. “I would say thats not true but we all know it is.”

Y/N let out a soft chuckle. “I’ll do my best to make sure he stays out of your guys’ room.”

I had to admit; it was really good to hear her laugh, even if it was a quiet one.

“You sure you don’t want me to come with you?” I asked.

Her face flinched with my words but she quickly recovered. “Yeah, we’ll be fine.”

“Last call for flight 3E for Los Angeles. Now boarding.”

The three of us glanced over towards the group of people that were sitting in the same lounge we were. Nicholas was sitting next to Noah, who refused to lift his gaze from the chip nail polish on his fingers. Jolly was talking with Folio and when he felt us staring, Nicholas gave a curt nod to Chase.

Without Y/N noticing, he pulled out his phone to send a text to Nicholas. After we told him we knew what happened, we promised we would tell him everything; about Y/N, her condition, and why she left.

“Do you?” I asked Y/N, nodding towards Bad Omens.

She shook her head, not daring to look any of them in the eye. “I can’t.”

“Okay,” I smiled weakly. “Call me when you guys land, I want to make sure everything goes smoothly.”

Chase and I shared a kiss before I pulled Y/N into my chest, her arms wrapping around me.

“Thank you,” she muttered into my shirt.

It was hard for me to show affection but for her; I found it easier.

I placed a kiss on top of her head. “Anytime, buttercup.”

With a final wave towards the two people that mean everything to me, I turned my back and fell into line with the large group of others that were flying back to Los Angeles. I stood a few spaces behind Noah, who could barley lift his head up, the weight of what happened last night pressing down on his shoulders. Guilt ate away at my insides knowing that I could fix it but it wasn’t my place too. The part of me that needed to fix the bad with something good was overpowering. Any time something got too tense or awkward, I was always there to smooth it over with my humor; but this wasn’t one of those times.

“Hey.”

Turning on my heels, I gave a small smile towards Jolly. “What’s up, man?”

“You’re not going to Vegas?”

We both took a step forward as the line moved slowly. “No, I’m heading back to LA to get our new place set up.”

“Right,” Jolly nodded. “You’re only a few miles from us now.”

“Yea.”

Silence fell between us and I shifted on my feet, my anxiety about this whole situation suddenly becoming too overbearing. I felt as if my lungs were being crushed from the inside out. Knowing that someone I loved was hurting because of a choice they made killed me. I wanted to fix things. I needed to fix this. It’s what I’d done all my life as the middle child. I was there to fix my younger brothers smile when our dad hit him a little too hard. I was there to fix my mom when my dad took his anger out on her instead. I hated not being able to fix the division that stood between Noah and Y/N.

Breathe, Chase’s voice cooed in my mind. Deep breath in, long breath out.

“They’ll be alright,” Jolly’s voice broke me out of my inducing panic.

We watched Noah’s head lift finally from the ground as the flight for Las Vegas was called. His eyes danced around the room, searching for someone, but it was too late. Y/N and Chase had made it to the other end of the airport, their flight leaving minutes after ours. Defeat and possibly anger radiate off of Noah as he handed his boarding pass to the attendant behind the desk and grumbled his thanks before slipping down the long hallway towards the plane.

“She didn’t mean to break him,” I defended Y/N. “She’s going through something that takes a lot out of her every month. It’s a constant battle between what she wants and what her body needs.”

“I know,” Jolly nodded. “We’re here if any of you guys want to talk.”

I bumped fists with him. “Thanks, man.”

READER

There’s a thousand voices in my head, all saying the same fucking thing, and I hoped they didn’t take a rope around my neck.

Pathetic.

You can’t give him what he wants.

He won’t wait for you. He’ll find it with someone else.

I slammed the pillow over my head to smother the voices away. The darkness that clouded over my room did nothing to help the raging pain that pounded within the confines of my skull. Everything hurt and screamed for release but I did nothing. I’d rather let my body succumb to it than ease it because once the pain was gone, memories of Noah crept back in and I didn’t want to be reminded of what I did.

How beautiful his face looked when he asked me to say until morning.

How broken his face looked when I said no.

And how destroyed his face was when he begged me to come back.

Noah’s face haunted me every single night the last two weeks that I refused to sleep for longer than a few hours because I would eventually wake with a scream, his name echoing off my walls. The guilt of walking away sat heavy on my chest as I sat in bed, scattered pens, papers, and a fully charged laptop at my feet.

Rain pelted hard against the large windows of my bedroom and I sighed, knowing there was another full day of storm's head; figuratively and literally.

Salem’s soft meow broke me from my frozen trace and I picked him up from the floor to set him in my lap. He purred loudly as I scratched his head, letting the softness of his black fur calm my racing heart.

“I know Chase already fed you, stop trying to get second breakfast.”

It had been a few weeks since I moved in with Chase and Malcolm, all of us falling into living together quite fast, until the pandemic hit and forced us inside. I didn’t mind it, being holed up in my room with my writing and Salem, but Chase was going stir crazy. He was the social one out of the three of us, and knowing he couldn’t go out to see friends or even go for a hike was making him bang his head against the wall.

Malcolm, on the other hand, loved staying home. He spent the time writing music on his bass or baking bread. According to Chase, the first few batches weren’t that great, but he didn’t dare tell Malcolm that.

I stayed in my room most of the day, only seeing one of them when they occasionally checked in on me or brought me something to eat; like right now.

A soft knock on my door made me tear my gaze away from the page full of lyrics.

“Hey sweet,” Chase said while leaning against the doorframe. “Are you hungry?”

I shook my head.

Salem jumped off of my lap and scurried towards the light that poured in from the hallway, clearly having enough of the dark somber of my bedroom.

“You have to eat something,” Chase sat at the end of my bed.

I pulled my knees to my chest and rested my chin on them. “I’m not hungry. I’ll come down and eat something for lunch soon.”

“It’s almost six in the evening, Y/N,” he sighed. “You’ve been up here all day.”

Shit, have I?

Glancing to the clock on my nightstand, I realized he was right.

“Oh,” I shrugged. “I’ve been busy.”

Chase pointed to the papers in front of me, a silent way of asking if he could read it so I agreed with a nod.

I wanna feel something. That's not the touch of your breath on my neck. I wanna feel something. That's not the weight of your world in my head. And all the walls are caving in.

“This is really good,” he mused while handing it back to me.

I simply hummed in response, not exactly sure what he wanted me to say.

“Anything else?” I asked after some silence, keeping my eyes trained hard to the rain splashing against the window behind Chase.

His jaw ticked. “You’re killing yourself, Y/N. I hate seeing you like this.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. Just call him and explain-.”

My eyes snapped over to Chase. “No, there’s nothing to fucking explain. I walked away from him, I hurt him, Chase. He won’t forgive me.”

“You don’t-.”

“Yes, I do! You don’t see what I see!” I pointed to my head. “Every fucking night his face haunts me. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat because it makes me fucking sick.”

I choked on a sob as tears slipped from my eyes down to the scatter of pages on my bed. My cries drowned out the rain as Chase pulled me down to bed, letting me lay against his chest, the wetness of my mistakes staining his shirt.

Memories of Noah will always fucking haunt me; how devastated he looked as I turned my back to him. I tried to force them away by thinking of anything else but truth was is I didn’t think he was going anywhere, soon. I’ve done some things that I can’t speak and I tried to wash Noah away, but he wouldn’t leave. Although, part of me was almost begging him to keep haunting me just, so I had an excuse to see his face.

I think I’m possessed, that was the only explanation. He put a fever inside me and I’ve been cold since I left him in that room weeks ago.

CHASE

I walked passed Y/N’s door again; she needed to eat. She hasn’t eaten anything since dinner last night and that was a small bowl of cereal. It was nearly two in the afternoon and if she continued at this rate, she’d be a mess of skin and bones. I was supposed to be out with Malcolm but felt as if I should stay back. Something was deep-rooted in my gut that I needed to be home with Y/N today.

My knuckles raised to the wood of her door, ready to knock, but stopped when I heard that song play yet again. Y/N’s had it on repeat every day for the last three days, nothing else coming from her room besides Keaton’s voice.

Fuck, why did she have to torture herself like this?

I sighed, knowing this was going to be a whirlwind, and pressed my ear to the door. Her soft, broken, voice singing. Suddenly the music stopped for a few seconds before Y/N replayed it and got louder.

Who was she talking to?

“How can you say this was all part of your plan, start explaining?”

“I knew you wanted me to meet him! I fucking knew it! Well guess what, Keaton?! I did; I fucking did, and now look! Look what happened!”

Keaton.

I ran a hand over my buzzed head and quickly typed out a message to Malcolm, who was out shopping. Since the ban had been lifted a few days ago, we were planning a small vacation just the two of us in a few weeks and he was buying things we needed.

Well, as long as Y/N was in the right headspace, we would leave her. But with what I was hearing on the other side of the door, I was afraid our vacation would have to get pushed back.

She’s blasting Eiley again. But now she’s talking to Keaton, blaming him for her meeting Noah. I don’t know what else to do, Mal.

What sounded like something falling over and breaking made me press my hear against the door again.

“Left with this hole, six feet of dirt I can’t fill,” Y/N’s raw but powerful voice called out into the air.

My phone buzzed with a text from Malcolm.

We need to talk with Nick. There’s not much else we can do, babe.

I sighed, knowing he was right, and quickly sent a text to Nick to see if he was free sometime next week. I remember him saying in our Hollow Omens group chat he was flying back from Virgina on Friday to see everyone.

Of course, neither Noah nor Y/N would ever respond in the chat, not wanting to risk saying something to each other. Maybe if they did, she wouldn’t be talking to the ghost of her best friend.

“Oh god, it hurts,” she wailed and I could picture her clutching her chest. “Why did I do this? Why did you fucking leave us both like this?”

A loud thud had me taking a step away from the door, thinking she was about to come barreling through but realized she was throwing things against the door and walls of her bedroom.

“I’m no better than you! I fucking left him. He wanted me, all of me, and I fucking left!”

“Oh, sweets,” I let out a shaky breath, hands reaching for the doorknob.

“He was mine, he was mine!”

She was mine; she was mine!

I hesitated opening the door at what I heard. Did she? Did Y/N change the lyrics of the song so it was as if she was saying Noah was hers?

Something fell to the floor, glass shattering, and Y/N’s ear piercing screams dug the knife deeper into my heart and I slammed through the door, it slamming against the wall next to me. All the blood drained from my face at the scene in front of me; Y/N was curled up on the floor crying, a framed photo on the floor smashed to pieces. She was clutching a piece of glass in her hand, droplets of blood falling to the wood floor beneath her.

“Fuck, Y/N!” I cursed while sliding on my knee’s in front of her to snatch the piece of glass from her tight grip, slicing my fingers. “Oh, come on sweets, get up! Don’t-don’t do this.”

Fear of what would have happened if I went out with Malcolm dug their nails into me but I refused to acknowledge the pain. Not right now, I can think of the what if’s later. Righ now, Y/N needed me.

Hollow, sunken, and bloodshot eyes stared up at me through the tears that clouded her vision. “I ruined everything, I ruined everything! His face! You didn’t see it! You don’t know!”

Her ramblings had been the same for a month now, never changing.

“Sweets, hey, it’s okay.” I cupped her face. “You didn’t, you’ll figure this out! You’ll talk to him, he’s not gone for good, Y/N. He’s here, he’s here.”

It killed me holding her; she was in agony. She felt like she ended Noah for good. It was almost as if she confused her feelings of grief and heartbreak into two. Noah was alive, his flesh and blood was still awake, he was numbing but he was there. She needed to remember this; she needed to know the feelings she was suffering through had a chance to get better.

“He’ll never see me the same,” Y/N kicked the broken frame away from us but I could see what picture it held; Noah and her at the zoo while they waited for the wolves to come out of hiding.

Unbeknownst to them at the time, I smacked Bryan’s chest so he could take a few pictures of them.

“Just give it time, just give it time.” I said while holding her, rocking her back and forth.

A little kiss on her head. My sister, my friend.

MALCOLM

“Hey sugar baklava,” I knocked on the door frame to Y/N’s room.

She was sitting at the large bay window, sunshine brushing its bright rays across her pale face and dark floors. It's been a few days since Chase found her with the piece of glass in her hand and ever since then, we made it a rule that she had to keep her door open. We didn’t care if she continued to hide away up here but the door needed to be open. It might have been a teenager rule, but we didn’t want to take any chances. We already knew she was hiding things from us so this was the only way.

“Where’s your head at?” I leaned up against the wall while crossing my arms over my chest.

Y/N chuckled at the nickname but I could see there was no light behind those usual bright eyes. She’d been sitting in that same spot for the last day and a half; hair not washed since I can’t remember when, clothes piled up, notebooks out with a variety of lyrics scribbled on every pages and her laptop always had a full charge due to the plug remaining inside it.

Through the pain, she smiled up at me. “Just the usual, contemplating my fucked life and all its wonders.”

I inhaled deeply while stiffing up straight. “I know what you’re going to say, but you are more than welcome to hang out with us at Applebees later. They have dollarRitas.”

“Thank you, maybe,” she smiled weakly.

“I’m worried about you.” I sighed with concern. “We all are.”

Salem clawed his way out from underneath her bed to stretch wide in the one spot on the floor the sun touched. If it wasn’t for that furry little creature that hated my guts, I don’t want to think of where Y/N would be right now.

“I’ll be fine,” she reassured while holding up a granola bar. “Bring me back some tacos?”

“Deal,” I smiled.

Turning my back to leave, her voice called after me. “Mind feeding Salem on your way out?”

My eyes cast down to my feet as the black cat sat between them, dark green eyes staring deep into my soul.

“Fuck, Y/N. Your cat wants to kill me,” I shivered at the thought.

She chuckled. “As long as you feed him, you’ll live!”

MALCOLM

The noise of the city faded to a dull buzz as I set down my second empty margarita class and pushed away the rest of my lunch. We were sitting on the patio at Applebee’s, the warm Los Angeles air doing nothing to ease the shake in my bones.

“How’s she doing?”

I nodded towards Nick who sat across from Chase and I. “Depends on the day you ask. But after the other day, we’re watching her like a hawk.”

He raised a brow. “What happened?”

Chase and I shared a look before eventually telling Nick about catching her with a piece of glass in her hand.

“You don’t think-?”

“I don’t know what to think, man,” Chase took a long drink of his beer. “I catch her breaking shit then holding a piece of glass in her hand so tight she cuts herself? Thankfully, she didn’t need stitches but if I wasn’t home, who knows what could have happened. She’s playing with her health and I don’t know what to do to help her.”

“What do you mean?” Nick wondered.

I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. “She hasn’t been taking her medication. There’s at least six more pills than there should be. And two extra vials.”

“What about Noah?” Chase asked, suddenly not wanting to change the subject.

He adjusted the sunglasses that was perched on his nose. “His drinking is getting worse. We want to be stoked because he’s written two really great songs but the alcohol dulls the excitement.”

Chase spun the ice in his drink with the straw and sighed. “Y/N has Eiley on blast until 2 am, hunched over in pain and screaming into her pillows. Writing at random. It’s killing me, to watch her like this.”

“Noah’s been playing Sympathy a lot too, while downing the bottle of whiskey and writing. A fuckin mess, man,” Nick leaned back into the chair.

“Can I tell you something?” Chase asked.

“Shoot,” Nick nodded.

“If fucking hurts to hear this but sometimes, when she plays Eiley, so faintly I can hear her singing. There’s a part in the song where Keaton’s broken as he says she was mine-fuck- I hear Y/N sometimes crying and changes the words-.”

Chase paused, trying to find the right was to convey what he was feeling and Nick tilted his head in wonder.

“He’s mine, he was mine. He was mine,” I finished for Chase, knowing he wouldn’t be able to get the words out.

“She regrets it all, Nick.” Chase rested his arms on the table so he could look directly at Nick. “I think-no I know, she loves him. Y/N fell for him so hard, and I don’t think she’ll ever forgive herself for leaving that room.”

“I know,” he sighed. “That’s why I’m on her side for this as well. You told me what she’s going through, it makes sense why she freaked out the way she did.”

I shifted in my seat. “Did you tell Noah?”

“No,” Nick firmly shook his head. “That's something you two or Y/N has to tell him.”

Chase reached for my hand under the table and once our fingers were linked, I gave Nick my best stern gaze. “We have to do something.”

For a long few beats, we were silent, thinking of ways that we could help these two talk again. They weren’t going to do it on their own; the needed help.

“We’ll shoot them both a text,” Nick began. “Same time, telling them to get their heads out of their asses, because let’s be real- they’re stubborn as hell and won’t listen to us directly. They need an outsider to call them both out to wake the hell up.”

“So what? I text Noah while you text Y/N?” Chase wondered.

Nick nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. They need help, they both do, desperately and they need each other. They’re just being ridiculous about it.”

There was a clear hesitation in my expression with Nick's idea. “You know it’s not gonna magically happen over night though right?”

“Of course not, but I have a hunch it’ll work,” Nick assured while throwing some money on the table for his lunch.

“What we need to do is get them to seek help. They have soon many unresolved issues, deep-seeded. They need to get help and get them to at least be friends again. They’re in love with each other. That won’t change, but the circumstances have to.”

READER

The pillows muffled my screams as I clutched my abdomen, the stabbing, sheering pain spreading through my veins like wildfire. Every fiber of my existence was screaming at me to stop the pain, make it all go away, but I ignored it. I needed to feel this; it was the only thing that made me feel anything at all.

Eiley played on a loop through my speakers as I spoke into the air above me.

“Choose me over him, I often wonder why.”

“How can I face him again, Keaton? How? How can I ease the pain, he’s mine. He was mine.”

Rolling over to my other side once the pain stopped for a few moments, I started at the basket on top of my nightstand. 1, 2, 3, 4, bottles, and one syringe. They just stare at me. I counted each bottle, and that syringe repeatedly. A reminder of the work it takes to make myself normal. A reminder of what happens every month like fucking clockwork. A reminder that no man would ever want to stay with me and deal with this alongside me.

“Noah would,” I muttered into the pillow that was stained with my tears.

Yeah? Well you ruined that, sweetie.

I’ve had fans ask me, “how do I keep myself from losing myself entirely?” All I can tell them is that it can’t rain all the time. I hide the pain behind a smile and slip into a parallel universe.

I’m constantly making a series of small holes in a row, mistakes I made in my membrane between here and there until an opening exists. And who can resist an opening?

So do I take the meds? Or do I lay here and rot?

I’ll take them tomorrow. It’s already too late in the day, no need to take them.

It was the same thing I told myself every morning when I would wake up and stare at the medication. The same thing for the last month.

Maybe if I stopped taking them, I would go back to my natural state. I could succumb to the natural order of things, or maybe the pain would be so severe I’d be fine with dying.

Okay.

No. Stop. Stop that!

The voices continued to fight with each other as I dug my palms into my eyes, hoping his haunting face would leave; even for a few seconds.

Maybe I could wait for the dust to settle.

Eiley started playing yet again and I narrowed my eyes up towards the ceiling. “If this is all part of your plan, Keaton then start explaining because this is fucking bullshit. You wanted us together, well fucking give me a sign it’s worth it.”

I stared at those bottles and wondered why any of this mattered when my phone buzzed from underneath my pillow. Groaning, I had every intention of ignoring it, thinking it was the Hollow Omens group chat of Folio saying something he thought was funny; most of the time it was. But today, the pain was so debilitating that I wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

Nicholas: Hi.

I sucked in a breath, not expecting a solo text from him. I wanted to leave him on read because there was no reason for him to be texting me. What’s there to say? He's my friend, but Noah is his brother, why would he care about me at all? I hurt his friend.

But.

That one word weighed heavy on my mind as my shaking fingers typed out two letters back.

The bubbles popped up and stopped, then popped up again, before proceeding to another text.

I hope you’re alright, Y/N. and doing okay. I hear you moved in with the guys, a great idea and I’m glad you’re settled in.

That message I left on read only because I was hunched over my bed now, dry heaving saliva into the bowl that had a permanent spot next to my bed on the floor. The pain was becoming too much; like an animal with razor like claws were digging through my skin to be set free. My stomach was being ripped to shreds.

It wasn’t until almost an hour later once the pain and my screams of agony finally stopped that I had the courage to look at my phone; the text from Nick smacking me in my face.

Y/N, first I just wanna say this: it isn’t my business to step in or to make assumptions I know everything. I had a talk with Chase and Malcolm, and I understand to a degree what you’re feeling right now. I will admit, I was angry at you; you hurt my friend. Noah isn’t doing well right now, but he’s trying. However, I’m trying to remain mutual about this. I see what you both have; I see what you’re both capable of even if you don’t right now. He needs something; he needs someone stable in his life who can give him the comfort he’s been searching for; I thought that could be you; you acted as if it was. Maybe it still is?

Ten minutes in between this text and the next one.

I would never step in and say something like this to anyone, but because of our current friendship and the situation that’s in front of us, I had to. Because I care about you both. Noah deserves better than what you did; he deserves better than walking out with more questions than answers. But you deserve better than the trauma Trey left you with. My friend’s not perfect but he’s not that fucking guy. All I ask is that you dig deep and see that you can really work through this. Not just alone but together. Don’t be a stranger, Y/N. Please don’t. We miss you.

My eyes blinked a few times at the screen, wondering if what I just read actually was there. Everything Nick said was one hundred percent the truth. Especially the part where Noah deserves better than what I did. But so did I. I also deserved better than what Trey left me with.

I gazed back up towards the ceiling, a small smile pulling at the corners of my lips. “Thanks, Keaton.”

READER

When I was supposed to be awake, I was asleep. When I was supposed to sleep, I was silent. When a pleasure offered itself to me, I avoided it. I wrote that fucking song repeatedly, a better perspective- a perspective of what I wanted to do that night.

I’ll face my fear of the cold nights

When you leave me behind

I felt your hands in my hair

I felt your breath on my neck

Yeah, I need to feel you again

Just wanted to say good night

Our eyes fighting the light

But I’m not ready to say good night oh

I try and hold on tight ‘cause it’s just not time to say good night

To say good night

One song completed last week and another one just needing the finishing touches. It was all falling into place; well, most things. All I wanted was for Noah to call me when he woke up. I wanted to be in his sweet dreams. But almost three days after Nick texted me, my phone remained silent. Nothing, no texts or calls from Noah. Which at the moment was fine because currently, Malcolm and Chase stood at the foot of my bed with their arms crossed over their broad chests, eyes staring daggers into me.

“The syringe?” Chase asked.

I nodded. “This morning.”

“Pills?” Malcolm then questioned.

Playfully rolling my eyes, I filled my palm with the variety of differnt pills and tossed them into my mouth, swallowing them down with the orange juice they’d brought up minutes ago. I even opened my mouth wide to show them I wasn’t hiding them under my tongue.

Malcolm physically relaxed but Chase wasn’t convinced quite yet.

“Did you call?”

I groaned. “Yes, dad. I have an appointment on Tuesday at ten in the morning. Did you want to drive me there too?”

“You bet your ass I am,” he narrowed his eyes before breaking out into a huge smile. “I’m proud of you, sweets.”

“Me too, buttercup,” Malcolm ruffled my hair.

I playfully smacked his hand away before motioning towards the open door of my room. “Feel free to close it on your way out.”

Salem meowed from his perched on the open window and I realized it was nearing five in the evening. “Oh, dinner time.”

I went to stand from the bed but Malcolm playfully pushed me back down.

“I got it. Let’s go, Salem,” he tapped his thigh a few times, my cat quickly following out of the room.

Chase watched with amazement in his eyes as I let out a lighthearted laugh, one that he hadn’t heard in so long, no doubt.

“What?” I asked, grabbing my phone that buzzed on my bed.

He shrugged before walking out. “Nothing, it’s good to hear that laugh again.”

Smiling, I looked down at my phone but nearly dropped it as I read the message over and over again. Chase noticed my face right before he stepped through the doorway and motioned towards my phone.

“Who is it?”

Mochi 🧋🥟: Hi.

My heart hammered against my chest and it felt like I couldn’t breathe, the butterflies in my stomach fluttering wildly with life I thought would never return.

“Shit, shit.” I muttered while showing Chase the message.

“Well fucking answer him, Y/N.”

“I- what do I say?” I asked as my breathing became erratic.

Fuck, it was like I was a teenager texting her crush for the first time.

“Start with a simple hello. Today’s the first day of you getting your life back in order.” Chase left a kiss to the top of my head before leaving me alone to my own choices.

I stared down at the phone, thumbs hovering over the screen, wondering what the fuck I was going to do.

Do I take Chase’s advice and get my life back in order? Or do I remember all the pain and agony, dark nights where I contemplated ending it all?

#noah sebastian #noah sebastian and reader #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian reader insert #noah sebastian smut #enemies to lovers #right person wrong time #starcrossed lovers

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