#there is SO much angst I could write for this au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

badasbebi · 2 days

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home is where the heart is ➛ ♡

✦ pairing: bada lee x fem!reader

✦ summary: new to seoul in search of revitalizing opportunities, you're excited to see what the city has in store for you. however, after numerous awkward encounters with your (hot) neighbor and other unfortunate circumstances, you start to doubt whether this move was right for you.

✦ genre/au: fluff, smut MDNI!!, neighbor!au, accidentally turned into a coffeeshop!au as well. maybe some slight angst?

✦ word count: 14k

✦ warnings: probably has grammatical/spelling errors. switch!bada and switch!reader?? sort of?? y/n has a toy collection that could probably contribute to the production of toy story 5.

✦ a/n: initially really liked this story. then, i sat on it for three days, and now I'm not really a fan of this? i also feel like i forgot to how to write? hope yall still enjoy though! i have a few ideas I'm rlly excited abt anyway <3

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The elevator lobby echoes with the shuffling of your feet and the thud of the cardboard box shifting within your grasp. Your new apartment complex seems to grow larger with each step, the space stretching endlessly as you aim for one of the metal doors. The box, marked “fragile,” presses into your arms, and beads of sweat drip down your forehead as you internally curse at yourself for your excessive overpacking and stubbornness.

You don’t know who or what made you believe you were capable of doing this move entirely by yourself, but you are now facing the consequences for past you's groundless self-confidence. As you take a step forward, your arms wobble under the strain, and the box slips precariously, threatening to escape your grasp. You tighten your grip, determined not to let the flimsy box defeat you. You were not going to let a box labeled fragile, of all things, be the reason for your demise. No way.

While attempting to steady yourself, you vaguely hear a loud ping reverberate throughout the lobby. Like the easily hyperfixated person you are, you pay no mind to it, focusing only on the task at hand. The last thing you need is to drop the box and have its contents shatter against the floor. You would never forgive yourself.

Just as you pause to readjust the box, the elevator door opens, and footsteps follow it. A tall, dark-haired woman with bangs stumbles into the opening, her phone in her hands. She stops in her tracks, clearly distracted, and you foolishly walk straight into her.

The box falls from your grasp, and as it plummets to the ground, you have an out-of-body experience. This was it. The box is going to hit the ground, and you will have lost this uphill battle. In slow motion, you watch the box tilt backward and forwards, suspended in midair for what seems like forever until, suddenly, you feel your hand wrap around it. As you blink away the stars clouding your vision, you register that you've saved the box from certain doom, just barely. A sigh of relief escapes your lips.

A triumphant smile graces your lips as you clutch the box tightly. It’s a bit more crumpled than before, but it is still very much in one piece (ignoring the fact that the fragile item inside the box was most definitely broken). Gravity was no match for your superior reflexes.

As you look up, your smile falters. Your eyes widen, and you feel heat rise to your cheeks. You just ran into the most beautiful woman you have ever seen, and she is staring at you. Her eyes, framed by thick-rimmed glasses, gaze at you, wide and unblinking. She looks at you as if you were the most embarrassing thing she has ever seen, and it takes all your willpower not to turn around and run back down the hall.

Her long, dyed black hair hangs in a braid down her shoulder. Her outfit consists of a plain, oversized black t-shirt, baggy pants, and a pair of worn nikes. The only pops of color are the bright yellow socks poking out from underneath the white shoes, and the streaks of blonde in her hair.

"Oh, my god, I am so sorry!" you finally manage, stumbling over your words. "I should've been paying attention to where I was going."

The woman seems to snap out of her daze with a vigorous shake of her head. "No, no, it's fine. Don't worry about it," she responds with a small laugh. Her voice is light and melodic, and the sound makes your heart skip a beat. She glances down at her phone, and a slight frown creases her forehead. "I wasn't watching where I was going either."

You give a small, awkward chuckle in response, but you feel your nerves ease a little. She didn't seem weirded out, thank the stars.

She glances down at the box, and her eyes widen as if she is just noticing its existence.

"Here, let me help you," she says as she effortlessly picks up and takes the box from your hands before you can even think to say no, a shiver running up your spine at the contact.

"You really don't have to," you protest weakly, making much of an effort to actually stop her.

"It's the least I can do after making you almost drop the box." She gives you a warm smile, and the butterflies in your stomach start dancing wildly.

"Thank you." You return the smile, feeling the corners of your mouth twitch.

She turns on her heel and gestures to the elevator doors. "Where are you headed?" she asks, pressing the up button with her elbow.

"Uh, floor 8," you answer. She nods, and when the elevator doors open, the two of you step inside.

The combination of the woman's vanilla-scented perfume and elevator music does little to soothe your anxiety. You stand side-by-side in awkward silence. You shift uncomfortably, feeling your cheeks burn. What do you even say to a person this gorgeous? You clear your throat and will the courage to speak. You are an adult. You can talk to people. You got this! Just be casual. Easy peasy. Just say words! Just. say. them.

"So, uh, is this your first time using the elevator?" You wince.

Maybe not those words.

"No, I usually use the stairs." She says with a giggle, seemingly unfazed by your pathetic attempt at conversation. "But, um, is this your first time here?"

You nod. "I just moved here today." You pause. "How did you know?"

"I just—haven't seen you here before," she says simply, looking you up and down with an expression you can't quite decipher. "I'm Bada, by the way."

"Bada," you repeat, testing out the name on your tongue. It sounds nice. You smile, and the tips of your ears grow hot. "I'm Y/N."

"Y/N." She returns your smile. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." Your fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt. Your eyes wander over to the numbers lit up on the panel, and your face pales when you see that the two of you are already on the eighth floor. The elevator slowly comes to a stop, and you swallow thickly. "Well, I guess this is my stop," you say as you step into the hallway.

"Did you want me to walk you to your apartment? This is actually the floor that I-" Bada starts, but a faint chime rings out before she can finish. She pulls her phone out, holding the box with one arm, and frowns at the screen.

"Ah, damn, I gotta go," she says. She looks back up at you and gives you a smile, although a little less bright. "I'm going to be late for a meeting. Do you think you can manage?"

You stare, momentarily perplexed by the kindness this random stranger is displaying towards you, but then you catch yourself, and smile.

You shake your head, waving a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it, I've got it. I'm a big girl," you reassure her. "Thank you for helping me, though."

She hands the box over, and your fingers brush again, sending a jolt of electricity up your arm.

"Of course," she replies, smiling. "Anytime. It was nice meeting you."

"Yup."

You give each other a brief wave, and you watch the elevator doors slide shut.

As you stare at the spot she was once at, you feel a pang of disappointment in your chest. You wish you could have gotten to know her better, but there was always another day. You lived in the same building, after all. Maybe you'd run into her again.

You struggle with the box a bit more, and then you finally enter your apartment, the door clicking shut behind you.

The first thing you do is drop the box in the entryway and walk over to the nearest wall. You lean your back against it, sliding down until your butt hits the ground. You sit there for a moment, gazing out of the floor-to-ceiling window across the room, trying to process everything that just happened. And, well, everything else that's been happening in your life.

As the sun dips below the skyline, casting long shadows across the city, you find yourself finally having to wrestle with contrasting feelings of excitement over this fresh start, mingled with a weariness that's settled into your bones after a day of moving boxes and thinking of the uncertainty surrounding the days ahead of you.

Just a month ago, you made the spontaneous decision to move to chase your dreams in Seoul, a country an entire ocean away from where you're from. Now you are in a new city, a new apartment, a potential new job, and you have mixed feelings. You're excited about the possibilities but also scared of the loneliness you know is inevitable. It is a loneliness that is necessary, though. You’ve spent too long stuck, moping about your unfortunate circumstances in the same mundane city you grew up in. You were aching for something new. As terrified as you are, you know that it’ll eventually feel worth it. It has to.

In the meantime, your living space echoes with emptiness and awaits your touch. Exhausted but determined, you eventually drag yourself off the ground, the weight of the day catching up to you, but not stopping you.

You scan the space in front of you, surrounded by the remnants of your previous life, now neatly packed into cardboard containers. The living room, cluttered with boxes marked "pictures," "books," and "memories," feels too overwhelming, so you decide to tackle the kitchen first. Igniting your last reserves of energy, you unpack your pots and pans as your thoughts drifts to old routines. As the clock ticks away and you find new sacred spots for your favorite items, your exhaustion begins to fade as you infuse the space with pieces of yourself, fueled by the realization that this is your sanctuary that you could call your own.

By the time you empty your last box for the day, the apartment glows with your presence. It’s nowhere near finished, but you already feel as if your choices have been validated. You collapse onto your makeshift bed, and as you close your eyes, a smile plays on your lips.

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"I asked for three and three-quarter pumps of brown sugar. Is this really the best you can do?"

You stare at the cup sitting before you. Three and three-quarters, your ass. Who the hell was going to measure that? You glance up at the man before you. His face is contorted into a snarl as he glares at you, as if he expects an apology. It takes everything in you not to throw the steaming hot cup of coffee in his face.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but I believe that this is indeed three and one half—i mean—three quarter pumps," you lie, attempting to brush past your stumble in the calmest voice possible. You try to muster a professional smile, but it's a difficult feat.

"Bullshit. You clearly can't read a scale properly or hear. Just do it over, and make it right. Three and three QUARTERS," He huffs, shoving the cup in your direction.

Your fists clench behind the counter. "Yes, sir," you mutter through gritted teeth, your politeness hanging by a thread.

You dump his original drink in the trash and grab a fresh cup. The man watches as you add the pumps, one by one, ensuring that each one is added correctly. It is, and instead of being grateful that you did not put three and three-quarters of spit in his cup, he rolls his eyes, mumbling to himself about younger generations being too lazy to do their jobs right the first time. He takes the cup from you, without saying thank you, and struts off.

You sigh, shaking your head. You needed to get your blood pressure checked.

"You okay?" a voice asks.

You turn around, coming face to face with your coworker, Mijoo. She stands before you, leaning against the counter, a sympathetic smile on her face.

You groan, running a hand over your face. "I don't know how much longer I can take this. How have you worked here for this long?" you reply, your voice muffled by your hands.

Mijoo shrugs. "Honestly, you get used to it after a while. And on the rare occasion that you run into a genuinely nice customer, I promise they make up for the hundreds of shitty interactions."

Without moving your hands from your face, you state, “That doesn't make me feel any better."

Mijoo laughs, bright and bubbly, and pats your shoulder. "Don't worry, it'll get easier, I promise. You'll be desensitized in no time! Seriously, I feel nothing when people call me stupid, or an imbecile, or a bitch-"

You frown, dropping your hands. "Mijoo, that's awful."

Mijoo sighs and walks around the counter to wrap her arm around your shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. "Just don't stress about it, okay? You'll be fine. Plus, we've got each other!"

You return the gesture, wrapping an arm around her waist. "You're right."

Mijoo has been your rock throughout this whole process. She was the one who interviewed you for this crappy job, and she was the one who showed you the ropes inside and outside of the cafe you work at. In addition to showing you her go-to spot in the cafe for mental breakdowns, she's shown you her favorite spots in Seoul. If it weren't for her, you're sure you'd be a complete and utter wreck.

"What would I do without you?" you ask.

Mijoo chuckles, squeezing you tighter. "Probably have a lot more panic attacks," she replies, causing the two of you to erupt in laughter.

The alarm on your phone blares, signaling that it's time for you to go home. You and Mijoo share a dejected glance. You hated leaving her alone at the shop, but she always insisted that you go home before the rush. You had no choice but to agree.

"See you tomorrow," you tell her as you shrug on your jacket.

"Bright and early," she responds, throwing you a wave.

"Are you at least going home soon?"

She shakes her head. "Nah, I've got a few things I need to finish up, so I'll probably be here for a few more hours. I'll lock up."

You sigh. "Alright, but please text me when you get home."

She smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Will do. Now, go. Go home and get some sleep, you deserve it."

You make your way to the entrance, giving Mijoo one last glance. She waves to you, a big grin on her face. When you open the door and step out, the bell above you chimes.

As the crisp air hits your face, you can feel the tension drain from your body. A content smile graces your lips, and you can feel your mood instantly improving. Even though your job was stressful, there was nothing quite like coming home after a long shift.

The sun has already begun to set, and the streets are bustling. People pass by you, not paying attention as they make their way home. Some have earphones in, while others are on their phones. You watch as couples and groups of friends chat and laugh as they make their way to whatever destination they have in mind. You feel a small pang of loneliness in your chest.

Your apartment isn't too far from your work, so you reach your destination quickly despite the heaviness in your heart. You're exhausted, and all you want to do is go home, cook dinner, and crawl into bed.

You ride the elevator to your floor, and you're reminded of the time you ran into Bada months ago. Her name echoed through your head every time you heard this elevator music, which was every day. You haven't seen her since that day, which wasn't really a surprise. It was a big building.

When the doors open, you make a beeline to your door, fishing your keys out of your pocket. As soon as you unlock your door, you practically skip inside. You immediately slip off your shoes and toss your jacket and keys onto the counter. You let out a satisfied sigh as you plop down on the couch, closing your eyes. You stay like that for a few moments, listening to the quiet hum of the air conditioner. After a few minutes, you hear your phone ping. Yelping, you sit up and pull it out of your pocket, hoping it's the text you've been anticipating from a landlord. Disappointment settles in the pit of your stomach when you see it's just a spam email. Groaning, you drop the phone onto the couch next to you.

You sit there, wallowing in your misery and loneliness. The quiet hum of the AC does little to soothe your worries.

You miss your friends, but the distance has made it hard for them to keep up with you, and vice versa. They all had lives, and jobs, and families. But you didn't. All you had was an empty apartment. And you had Mijoo, but you felt terrible relying on her for everything.

As you’re ruminating on the pathetic reality of your social life, a loud bang comes from the wall behind you. You jump in shock and quickly turn to look at the source. You can barely make out a muffled, feminine voice, saying something that sounds like a curse. Seconds later, music starts playing through the walls. Loud, bass-heavy music. You sit up, your hand hovering over the plaster, feeling perplexed. You haven't heard anyone in the apartment next to you since you moved in. You just assumed you were neighborless. Maybe someone new moved in? You haven't seen anyone with boxes or anything all week, though, and there's no way someone just managed to move in within the last 8 hours.

A beat passes. You can feel the vibrations from the loud music rattling the walls. You frown, and walk over to the wall. You raise a hand and knock loudly, but it's useless. You sigh. There was no way you could relax with this noise.

You turn away from the wall, and pick your phone up in case you need to dial 119 during this confrontation. You make your way out into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind you and ignoring how your heart pounds in your ears. You walk to the door next to yours and, after a moment of hesitation, knock loudly. The music stops, and your heartbeat slows. The door remains closed, so you knock again, even harder this time.

After what feels like an eternity, the door finally swings open, revealing a woman you thought you'd never see again.

"Bada?" you question, bewildered.

"Hey," she replies, sounding equally surprised. She's wearing sweatpants and a black tank top, and her hair is in a messy ponytail. You can smell a faint hint of sweat. She's still gorgeous, though.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, trying to hide your shock.

She looks behind her, as if to verify that she's in the correct place, then turns back around. "This is my apartment," she states, slowly, as if she's speaking to a child requiring stabilization.

"Since when?"

She laughs at this, and your heart flutters. "Since I've lived here. Which is a long time, considering this is the second year."

"No, I mean," you pause, searching for the right words. "I haven't seen you around? I mean, you're right next door. There's no way I could've missed you."

Her lips form an 'o' shape, and she nods. "Ah, well, I travel a lot for work so I haven't been home much. I was out of the country for a while."

You nod, "Oh. That makes sense. Well, see ya!"

You turn on your heel and make your way back towards your apartment, embarrassment beginning to flood through your body, when Bada's voice stops you.

"Hey, wait."

You turn around, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

She looks amused. "Are you going to tell me why you came knocking? Or did you just want to see me?"

Your eyes widen and your cheeks burn. "What? No, I'm sorry, I-"

She interrupts you with a laugh. "Relax, I'm joking."

You nod, feeling relieved. You weren't sure why this woman made you feel so incompetent. "Well, it’s the music. It's really loud, and-"

"Oh, shit," she cuts in, her eyes widening. "I'm sorry, I forgot. I'm not used to having neighbors. It's been a while since someone lived next door."

"It's totally fine, it's just...a bit much."

"Gotcha," she replies.

You stare at each other for a few seconds, and you can feel yourself begin to sweat. You clear your throat. "Well, I should probably go now."

She nods, a slight frown on her face. "Okay. See you around."

"See ya," you reply, awkwardly, before walking away.

When you reach your door, you let out a deep breath As annoyed and embarrassed as you were, seeing her again was a bit of a pleasant surprise. She seemed even more beautiful now than she did in the elevator. Your mind wanders back to the sleeveless shirt she had on. The hair bun that gave you a clear view of her neck, her jawline, her collarbones.

You shake the thought from your head and walk into your apartment. You needed to put yourself out there, soon. It’s been too long since you’ve felt a woman’s touch, and now you can barely look at an attractive woman without spiraling into a frenzy.

You decide to go take a shower and call it an early night, hoping that a session with Rosalia 3000 will ease your mind.

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You stand behind the counter, boredly wiping down the surfaces. It's a slow day, and Mijoo is off, finally using her vacation days. The cafe is mostly empty, save for a few students studying in the corner. You've already cleaned the entire place twice today, and the clock hasn't even struck 4 o'clock yet. It was days like these that you hated most. As much as you disliked angry customers, having to stand behind the counter doing nothing all day was enough to make you want to claw your eyes out.

You sigh, and lean back against the counter. You check your phone, just in case you missed any messages you’ve been waiting for. When the screen loads, the familiar white background greets you, with no new notifications.

You lock the screen, and stuff the device into the pocket of your apron. You look around the cafe, hoping to find something to occupy your mind. Your eyes land on the display cases of cakes on the far end of the counter, and an idea pops into your head.

You grab a bag of flour, sugar, eggs, milk, and baking powder from the storage room. You mix the ingredients together, and add a few teaspoons of vanilla extract. After about ten minutes, the batter is ready, and you scoop some into a pastry bag. You start to pipe the dough into shapes, filling the space. The familiar motion relaxes you, and you can feel the stress slowly leaving your body. There were only a select few people in the cafe who were permitted to contribute to the array of treats your cafe housed. Unfortunately, you weren’t one of those people, leaving you little time to partake in your passion in between busy shifts and tiring days. You needed this.

Working quickly, you fill up the space within 30 minutes. After placing the cookies in the backoven, you start cleaning up the counter, throwing away any leftover bits of dough and tossing the used bowls and utensils into the sink. When you finish cleaning the area as best as you can, you turn back around, and your eyes widen as you realize you aren't alone.

Standing before you, his arms crossed, is the man with the ridiculous coffee order from a couple days ago. Yikes.

"Um," you begin, trying to keep your voice from wavering."Can I help you?"

"I’ve been standing here for two minutes,” he begins, and you can hear the aggravation in his voice. "Do you not know how to do your job?"

"I-"

"So you’re not just a terrible barista, you’re a terrible worker too,” he spits out.“There are barely any people in this cafe and you can’t keep up?”

You clench your jaw, trying to keep the anger bubbling up inside of you at bay. "Sir, I apologize for not noticing you sooner, but I’ll be happy to assist you now."

"Yeah, I’m sure. Where’s your manager?”

Your eye twitches. “He isn’t here right now. I can assure you I’ll be able to help you with anything you need."

"Well do you have a way to contact him? A phone number? Zoom?”

You shake your head. "Sorry, sir. Our manager prefers that we only contact him when he is away if there’s an emergency.”

He releases a maniacal laugh, then immediately straightens his face. “Is this not an emergency? How is this not an emergency when the service in this shop is so fucked that you don’t see a customer standing in plain sight for ten minutes?”

You blink. “I thought—never mind. Sir, again, I’m terribly sorry. If you’d like, I can give you this drink on the house and—"

He cuts you off. "I don't want a refund. I want better quality of service…”

He drones on, and at this point you tune him out. There was nothing you could do or say to satisfy him. Really, the irony of the situation just made you want to laugh. He was complaining about you wasting his time, and by doing so was wasting even more time. Did this man actually have a job other than being a menace to innocent baristas? Probably not. As you mindlessly watch the man flail his arms in exasperation, you hear the bell above the entrance ring. You’re about to glance over, when the man in front of you slams his palm on the counter, demanding your attention.

"I'm not done yet! I've spent the last fifty six minutes telling you everything you're doing wrong, and you've barely apologized. In fact—"

"I'm sorry, sir, but if you don’t calm down I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” You cut him off, your voice surprisingly steady.

"What?" His mouth hangs open.

You cross your arms. "You are disrupting the environment and harassing me.”

"Harassing?" He repeats, incredulously. "Are you fucking kidding me? Who the hell are you to tell me what to do? You don’t have the authority to kick me out.”

You roll your eyes. "I'm not kicking you out. You are free to stay and order anything you'd like. If, however, you choose to continue to cause a scene, I'll have no choice but to have you escorted off the premises."

His eyes narrow, and this time he crosses his arms. "Yeah? And who’s gonna escort me?”

Customer service thrown out the window, you open your mouth to call him a prickly little bitch, but are interrupted by the sudden appearance of a hooded figure walking up beside him.

"Leave her alone," a familiar voice states. You look over, and realize the individual you’re looking at is Bada, who towers over the man beside her.

The man scoffs, and looks her up and down. "Excuse me? Mind your own.”

"This is her cafe, and she has a right to kick you out if you're being disruptive."

"I'm not bothering anyone," the man retorts.

"Well, you’re bothering me. I’ve had to stand here and watch you squeal for the past few minutes and quite frankly it's starting to piss me off. If you don’t leave, I'll escort you out myself."

The man opens his mouth, presumably to spit some more venom, but the sight of Bada's clenched fists and murderous glare causes him to snap his mouth shut. He glares at the two of you for a moment, before turning on his heel and stalking off.

Both of you watch him leave. As the door closes behind him, you witness the door swing shut with surprising speed, smacking into Mr. Grumpington's rear end just as he reaches the threshold. Stumbling forward with a startled yelp, his briefcase flies out of his grasp, scattering papers across the sidewalk.

Your hand flings up, over your mouth as you observe him stand slowly, his knees wobbling. A woman and her child pass by him with bewildered expressions, and you repress your laughter. Once he gathers himself, he shoots a withering glare in the direction of the café, and storms off.

Old man finally gone, Bada turns back to you, her expression soft. "Sorry. I know I probably overstepped, but I saw the whole thing and I was worried he was going to hurt you.”

You sober up and shake your head, smiling slightly. "No, it's okay. He was being an asshole and I didn't know what to do with him. I'm glad you were here."

Bada returns your smile, and you're once again taken aback by her. “Anytime."

"I have cookies, if you'd like some," you offer, suddenly remembering the sweets baking in the oven. "On the house, for the trouble."

Bada's eyes light up. "I'd love some! And an iced latte, please.”

You nod. "Sure. Have a seat and I'll bring it out."

Bada takes a seat in a booth in the corner, and pulls out a laptop. As the coffee brews, you glance at her as she types and reads something on the screen, her expression concentrated. She purses her lips as as she focuses on whatever she’s looking at, and you find yourself staring.

She looks up, catching your eye. You blush, and spin around to face the display case, pretending to wipe it down. You grab the iced latte and a plate of cookies, and walk over to Bada.

"Thanks!" she says, smiling, and grabs a cookie. She takes a bite and hums in satisfaction.

"Good, right?" you question, a smile tugging at your lips.

"So good!" she affirms, her cheeks full of the pastry.

You break into a wide grin that you’re not sure is because of the woman’s cuteness, or the pride blooming in your chest. "Thanks. I made them."

She raises her eyebrows. "Wait, really? Woah. I'm impressed."

Playing nonchalant, you shrug. "It's whatever."

She laughs. "It's not whatever! These would sell out in seconds if you displayed them in here," she remarks, grabbing another one.

You're reminded of the call you're still waiting on, and try to dispel the anxiousness growing inside you. That’s the plan, just not here. You decide not to bring that up, though. You dont wanting to put a damper her spirits with your oversharing.

But you're not tired of hearing her praises. "You think?"

"Definitely,” she confirms. "I'll come by every day to buy a dozen.”

"I'll hold you to it."

"Please do," she responds, and you swear you detect a hint of flirtation in her voice. Before you can retort, a notification pops up on her computer, and her eyes dart down. She sighs.

"Everything alright?" you ask.

She nods, but her brows are furrowed. "Yeah. I'm just stressed. My job has been keeping me super busy lately."

You nod, and hesitate before asking, "If you don't mind me asking, what do you do?"

"Oh," she answers, her face clearing up. "I'm a dancer. And I choreograph for kpop groups."

Your eyes widen. "Whoa. That's cool."

"Thanks," she responds. She pauses for a moment, and she looks like she wants to say more. "It is, but...I don't know, sometimes these companies get on my nerves." She says with a tired laugh.

You're a bit surprised by her confession, and the dejected look on her face makes your heart hurt. "What do you mean?"

She shrugs. "They're never quite satisfied with what we do and it sucks, you know? The only time I have fun is when I'm working with a company that doesn't treat their artists like shit."

You frown. "Yeah, I can't even begin to imagine how frustrating that is. I'm sorry."

She smiles, looking sheepish. "No, I'm sorry for venting. It's been a long week."

You shake your head. "Don't apologize. You're saving me from having to clean the counter for the nth time today."

She smirks. "I thought the jerk from earlier was already doing that?"

"Oh god, please don't bring him up again." You groan, and she giggles in a way that makes your chest warm.

"Don't worry. He won't bother you anymore. I scared him away," she says, wiggling her eyebrows.

You laugh, and a comfortable silence falls between the two of you. You're about to ask her another question when you hear the bell on the door chime. You look over, and see a group of college students walking in. Your stomach drops.

"Guess it's time for me to actually do my job,” you mutter.

She nods. "What time do you get off? Maybe we could talk more after you're done? Walk home together?"

Walk home together? You should’ve put on a better perfume today. "Sure, but I'm gonna be here for another couple hours."

She slaps her hands together. “That’s actually perfect. I have a bunch of videos to review anyway. I'll be here." She gives you a small wave, and returns to her laptop. You walk away, unable to contain your grin.

And she is there. As the night drags on, as the rush comes in and finally calms, as the clock strikes 8, and as you close the doors.

You turn the keys, locking the door. You turn around, and she's there, waiting for you, laptop in hand. She kicks a rock and it skitters away, hitting a lamppost. When she notices you watching, she offers a shy smile.

"Ready to go?" she asks.

"Sure am," You respond, and the two of you start heading down the street.

The air is warm and the night sky is clear, the stars twinkling brightly. You glance over at her, and admire the way the streep lamps lights up her face. Her eyes are focused ahead, and you stare at her profile. She notices you staring, and turns her head, smiling softly.

"What's up?" she questions.

You shake your head and face forward, wanting to crawl in a hole at your slip-up. "Nothing." You feel the heat rise to your cheeks. This is silly. You've seen this woman plenty of times recently. Hell, you were just in the cafe together not even fifteen ago. But now, walking side-by-side with her, the air between you heavy, you can't help but feel a need to impress her. The idea that you could possibly have a friendship (or more?) with her makes your heart soar. It's silly, and maybe a bit childish, but you're not one to let a good feeling pass by. So, you take a chance, wanting to make this work.

"So, I don't know much about you, but I'd love to," you begin, and her gaze darts towards you. "Tell me about yourself. You said you were a dancer, right?"

"Oh, yeah." She nods. "I started dancing when I was a kid. It was fun, but I didn't start taking it seriously until I was older. I started out doing covers, and eventually landed an audition with a company. That's how I got my foot in the door, and then I kept climbing and now I'm here."

"That's amazing," you tell her. "I'm guessing it's a lot of hard work?"

She nods. "Definitely. It's rewarding, though."

You want to know more, so you ask her more questions, and you follow into comfortable chatter as she tells you all about her life. She asks you a few questions too, some of which you avoid, like why you moved here, or why you're working at the cafe that you obviously dislike. But, overall, the conversation flows easily, and before you know it, the two of you are standing in front of your apartment building.

As the two of you approach the lobby, Bada speaks. "We should do this more often."

"Which part? Walking home together, or me talking your ear off about the ending of Twenty-Five Twenty-One?"

"Mostly the first part. Although I didn't mind hearing you talk about that kdrama. The lead actress is really hot."

You snort, and she follows suit. "You know, I'm glad you came into the cafe today," you confess.

"Me too." She responds, and the two of you stop in front of your door. You're unsure of what to say next, but Bada steps forward, and you tense. Was this really happening?

But then she's inching away, her hands tucked into her pockets. You relax, and ignore the slight disappointment built up in your chest. Duh, you think, shaking your head. What were you expecting?

"Well, have a good night." You say, offering her a small smile.

"You too," she says. "I'll see you soon."

She waves, and you watch her go, before unlocking the door and walking into the apartment. You close your door behind you, and lean against it, releasing a breath.

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Over the next week, you see Bada in passing in the hallway multiple times. Each time she sees you, she stops and says hi, and you talk for a bit. She stops by the cafe a few times too, although she hasn't been able to walk home with you again yet, having a late-night schedule nearly everyday.

But each encounter makes your heart race, and by the end of the week, you feel like your chest might explode. You're not sure the attraction is reciprocated, but even if it is, would she actually be interested in someone like you? Someone who had to deal with a shitty customer service job, was running increasingly low on money, had a terrible sleep schedule, and was depending on one call to determine whether or not this move was a mistake? Probably not. The videos you've been watching for the past hour have made that evident.

Curiosity got the best of you, and you finally looked up Bada about an hour ago. It didn't take long for her to pop up. A ton of information about her was available, from her birthday, to her favorite food, to her shoe size. You mostly ignored that stuff, opting to watch her choreography videos instead. A horrible mistake. She was undeniably talented and captivating, and watching her perform made you feel a million things all at once, the most powerful being desire, much to your dismay. Why was that woman always humping the floor?

After watching the last video, which was a choreography of a popular girl group's song, you shut your computer and lean back on the couch. You stare at the wall separating your apartment from hers, wondering what she's doing right now. Is she getting ready for bed? Did she have a busy day? Is she thinking of you, like how you're thinking of her? Doubtful, but the thought makes your stomach flip.

A notification from your phone interrupts your pity party. You assume it's a notification about a delivery you have coming, but you're surprised to see a text from one of your hometown friends.

Jasmine: heyyy how is everything going over there!

Jasmine: opened up your dream bakery yet?

Not this. You really, really do not want to get into this right now, especially with your friends and family from home, who had high expectations for you. But they were your friends, and you didn't want to keep them in the dark. You take a deep breath, and respond.

y/n: almost. just working at a cafe while I'm getting everything settled.

You wait a few minutes, but she doesn't respond. You sigh. Another thing you miss from home—texting your friends in real time. It would have been nice to be able to vent.

You're about to stand up when you get a response.

Jasmine: oh okay! just be careful not to fall into the same trap you were in here. I don't want you working yourself to death :(

y/n: i won't.

Jasmine: good.

Jasmine: anyway, met anybody cute out there yet?

You stare at the screen, and you can't help but smile.

y/n: yes.

Jasmine: OMG!!!

Jasmine: details plz!

You laugh.

y/n: it's none of your business, lol.

Jasmine: come ooooon y/n!

y/n: nope! I don't want to jinx anything

Jasmine: fine. just keep me updated.

You're about to respond, but a knock at your front door startles you. You set your phone down, and walk over to the door, looking through the peephole, and speak of the devil: It's Bada.

You quickly comb a hand through your hair and rub the sleep out of your eyes. Taking a deep breath, you open the door, trying not to look flustered.

"Hey!" you greet.

"Hi." She responds, and you immediately recognize that something is decidedly off. She looks tense. Her brows are furrowed, and she’s avoiding eye contact, shifting her weight from side to side awkwardly. You see her clutching something behind her back, but cannot make out what it is.

"Um, are you okay?" you ask hesitantly, half-ready to grab the (tall and grown) woman to pull her inside your apartment to protect her from potential imminent dangers.

"Yeah. I just-um. I think your package was delivered to the wrong address?" She pulls her arm from behind her back, and hands you a large box with it flipped to the bottom. "Sorry."

"Oh!" you take the package, are immediately met with the recipient name printed in bold font that is, of course, addressed to you. "Thank you. Sorry about that."

"No worries." She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "I'll, uh, see you around."

"Yeah, definitely."

She walks away, and you're left standing in the doorway, a bit confused. That was...weird. You step back inside, shutting the door. You set the package down on the coffee table, and just as you are about to rip it open, you make eye contact with the imagery on the front of the package.

Your eyes widen. Oh no. How could you have forgotten?

There, plastered across the front of the box, was a clear picture of a very suggestive toy. You read the words below the image.

"Battery-Operated Love: Your Guide To The Best Vibrators, Toys, and Dildos!"

You stare. You blink. You look around, as if someone is playing a prank on you. You stare some more.

Then, you hurriedly reach for the throw pillow sitting next to you on the couch, and scream into it.

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You sigh, tapping your foot against the floor to the rhythm of humming washers. It's early morning, the sun barely peeking out, and you're currently in the laundry room in your building, waiting for your clothes to dry.

It's been a few days since your package fiasco, and Bada hasn't made another appearance. You'd say she's trying to avoid you, but in reality, you’re the one going out of your way to steer clear of her potential judgments. You've even taken to staying in late, leaving the apartment only to go to work, where you've adjusted your schedule to further avoid the woman in case she tried to stop by. You acknowledge the fact that you're probably overreacting. It wasn't that big of a deal. You're a grown woman with needs! And you weren't going to let those needs fester when you had such an accessible way of gratifying them. You couldn't let the hard work that ancient physicians put into developing such helpful products go to waste. You love to support small businesses!

Although, you weren’t a big fan of the one you ordered from this time. So much for "discreet packaging.”

You stand up, deciding to grab a drink from the vending machine outside to cool your nerves. You reach the lobby, and walk towards the corner, where the row of machines are lined up in front of windows that belong to the gym. You insert your coins, press a few buttons, and wait for your drink. The vending machine is old, and the whirring and clanging of the dispensing mechanism are loud, so it takes longer than usual.

You glance around as you wait, and your eyes finally settle on the windows. You squint, noticing a familiar silhouette performing a series of exercises.

Bada is inside, doing pull-ups. Her back is to you, and her hair is pulled into a ponytail. She's wearing a loose t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and shorts. Sweat drips from her forehead and down her back, and the muscles in her arms flex and move with each lift.

You feel your throat dry up. The machine spits out the can, and you grab it. You hesitate for a moment, and then step forward, pushing open the glass door leading into the gym as if you were moving on autopilot. You don't know what you're doing.

"Hey!" you greet.

She turns around, eyes wide, and lowers herself onto the ground. "Hi."

"How are you?" you ask.

"Good! Just finishing up my workout," she answers, reaching for the towel draped on a bench beside her.

"Cool," you answer, trying not to focus on the way her chest heaves as she catches her breath.

"What about you? Haven't seen you around lately," she says, wiping the sweat from her neck.

"I've been busy," you lie, weakly holding up your can. "Just got something from the vending machine while I'm waiting for my laundry. Probably gonna head out and run some errands after this.”

"Ah, okay." She nods, and reaches for a water bottle. You watch her tilt her head back, gulping down the liquid, her Adam's apple bobbing as she swallows. Your eyes travel to her neck, and her collarbone, which is exposed, and the droplets of sweat that rest on her skin. You watch her throat move, and suddenly, your mind is filled with images of her lips trailing down your neck, nipping at your throat, and you're overcome with desire.

You swallow, then continue rambling, trying to rid yourself of your debauched thinking. "Yup, heading over to Itaewon with a friend tonight. Probably won't be back home until tomorrow morning!" you say with the projection of a teenage boy who had his first drink yesterday. You weren't lying this time, though. After the incident, you were humbled into a state of reflection. You wanted to try putting yourself out there, and potentially find gratification beyond something that was battery-powered. Mijoo was ecstatic to hear this, and immediately sent you a list of clubs she and her friends frequented.

"Sounds fun." She takes another sip, and sets the bottle down. "Hope you have a good time. Actually, do you have time to do me a favor before you get back to your laundry?"

"What kind of favor?" you ask, a bit suspicious.

"Can you spot me?" she asks, and you're confused for a moment. She gestures towards a padded spot on the floor. "I was gonna do some more reps, and I’d really appreciate it if you could help me—um—make sure my form was right. f you don't have time, that's fine, I can ask someone else."

"No!" you answer. She jerks her head back in confusion, and you flush at your stumble. "No, I have time. I can spot you."

"Awesome! Thanks so much," she says with her signature heartwarming grin. "I'll just do a couple of sets. It shouldn't take too long.”

”I should warn you that I don’t know anything about weightlifting. Or strength exercises. Or cardio—”

"Not a problem. I’ll just do sit-ups." She reassures as she sits on the floor, and lies down.

“Oh. Okay,” you felt like you were in grade school. "Are we counting or not counting?"

"Um, counting would be helpful," she says.

You nod, and kneel beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. You feel her tense for a second, but are quickly distracted trying not to focus on the way the damp fabric of her shirt sticks to her skin. "Okay. Ready when you are."

You count, and with each sit-up, the muscles in her arms flex, her jaw tightens, and her breathing becomes labored. You're in such close proximity to her, her arm brushes against yours every time she goes down. The heat radiating from her body is palpable, and you feel yourself begin to sweat, the air becoming hot.

When she's finished, she falls back onto the mat, and you release the breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. She gets up, and wipes the sweat from her forehead.

"Well, that was fun," she says, standing up to grab her stuff.

"Yeah, it sure was," you murmer, trying to hide the fact that you're completely out of breath despite doing nothing but count. You stand up, and follow her out the door. "See you later, Bada."

Bada waves, looking you over once more in a manner that makes your insides twist, before turning around a speed-walking toward the elevators.

You take a minute to breathe and head back into the laundry room, where your clothes are ready. Instead of grabbing them, you collapse into one of the cheap folding chairs in the corner of the room. Your clothes are probably tinier at this point, but you can't bring yourself to move. Why did you even walk in there in the first place? You knew well that you weren’t capable of acting normal in front of that woman.

You remind yourself of your plans with Mijoo tonight. A club. In the city. With pretty people. Where alcohol was served.

You take a deep breath, and stand up, taking your clothes and throwing them in your basket.

You'd be fine.

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An ear-splitting wail from the girl next to you almost makes you drop your drink.

"I CAN'T DO THIS SHIT ANYMORE!" the woman screeches, and Mijoo, who is currently attempting to console her, rolls her eyes.

"Honey, please, don't make a scene."

"But it's true! I'm a loser, and I'm going to die alone! I might as well stop trying!”

"No, you're not, just stop drinking," Mijoo responds, her voice a few octaves higher in annoyance. She glances at you, and rolls her eyes.

The two of you are at the gay bar in Itaewon, and after an hour and a half, it seems that the night is coming to an end. Mijoo's friend, Naeun, had a mental breakdown after spotting her ex-girlfriend making out with the woman she told her not to worry about. After that, the mood was completely killed. Naeun feigned nonchalance at first.That relationship was seven months ago, she said. I’ve moved on, she said. I’ve had better, she said. it was almost convincing, until you saw her gulp down three shots at a pace you did not know was humanly possible.

And now…

"It's like, you don't listen to anything I say," Naeun sniffles, and you genuinely feel bad for her. You give her a gentle pat on the back, and she turns to hug you.

"I know, I'm a horrible friend or whatever. Let's just go home and eat ice cream or something," Mijoo sighs, and the two of you help Naeun stand.

"Yes. Thank you. You guys are the best," she whimpers. "I don't deserve you."

"Yes, you do," Mijoo assures.

"Yeah, it's all good," you chime in. "Let's just get you home. I think you've had enough alcohol for the next week. Or year."

You and Mijoo drag her out of the bar and into the streets of Itaewon. It's dark, and the neon lights illuminate the sidewalks, where drunk patrons stumble through. You're a little buzzed, and Naeun's deadweight is difficult to carry. Somehow, you manage to get her onto the subway, and inside your building, which is closest. When you reach your front door, you can't help but glance over at Bada's apartment, and are surprised to see a light peeking through the crack between the door and the frame.

"You live here?" Naeun slurs, and you nod, opening the door and dragging her in.

"We'll put her on the couch. Do you mind if we stay over?" Mijoo suggests.

"Not at all," you agree, and the two of you set her down. She groans, and closes her eyes, stretching across your couch in a starfish position. Her dress has risen all the way up to her stomach, but she doesn’t seem to care, You grimace at the sight. "Poor thing."

"She'll be fine," Mijoo says, waving her off. "Come on, I’m starving,"

You follow her into your kitchen and lean against the counter as she reaches into your fridge to pours herself a drink. So much for ice cream.

"Sorry our plans fell through," she apologizes, and you shrug.

"It's not a big deal. Shit happens. Besides, I had fun even though we were only out for, like, five seconds," you answer.

She takes a sip of the liquid in her cup. “We can try again next week? I'll make sure that Naeun is mentally stable next time."

"I don’t know. That doesn’t sound as fun,” you joke, and she grins.

"You’re so right,” she pauses as she opens your fridge back up, and gasps. "Ooh, y/n, can I have one of these?"

"One of what?" you ask, peering over her shoulder, only to find her holding cupcake that you'd made earlier. "Oh, yeah, sure. Go ahead."

She rips off the wrapper, and takes a bite, moaning. "Wow, this is—"

A loud thump sounds from the other side of the wall, and the two of you turn your heads, eyes wide.

"Is that your neighbor?" Mijoo whispers, and the two of you stand still, listening intently. There are a few more thumps, and then a sharp gasp.

"I think she's fucking someone," Mijoo whispers, and then a moan sounds from the other side, followed by a string of curse words, and the bed frame slams against the wall, a rhythmic knocking echoing throughout the apartment.

Naeun sits up from where she's sitting on the couch, and mechanically states, "I need to call her."

"Don't you dare," Mijoo growls, aggressively pointing a finger at the pitiful girl. Naeun whines, and collapses back onto the couch, and you continue to stare at the wall with wide eyes. This couldn't be happening.

You're quiet, listening to the creeks of the bed, the groans, the panting, the curses, and, despite the situation, you can’t help but feel…curious. You’d usually be irked by this situation, reminded of the particularly horrific nights you’d have when you lived with a roommate in your younger years. As made evident by the fluttering in your stomach (and in other parts of your body) you, this was not that. Not even close.

Mijoo laughs. "Oh my god, does this usually happen?"

You snap out of your stupor. "Uh, no, actually. She's usually pretty quiet."

"Really?"

"Yeah. And besides, she's sweet, so it's kind of weird hearing this, but, uh, it's whatever," you reply, attempting to ignore a squeal that vaguely resembles Bada's name.

The bed's movements pick up speed, and the sounds become louder.

"Oh my god," Mijoo murmurs, covering her ears. Naeun starts crying again.

"She's gonna fuck her to death," Naeun sobs, and then the two of you can’t help but burst into laughter. You walk over to the living room, and pat her on the back.

"Come on, let's get you to sleep," you say, helping her up. "You can have the bed. Mijoo and I will take the couch."

"Thank you, I love you both so much," she blubbers, and you drag her into the bedroom, tucking her into the bed.

"We're gonna stay in the living room, so holler if you need us, okay?" you tell her, and she nods.

"I love you guys," she slurs, and then passes out, mouth wide open.

"She’s so dramatic," Mijoo cackles as you close the door.

You and Mijoo get ready to go to sleep, and soon enough the obscene noises from next door are gone. But, as you fall asleep on the couch, they still ring in your head.

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"I'm so sorry for the way I acted last night." Naeun apologizes, a pout on her face. You wave her off. “Don't worry, you're good. At least you gave us some entertainment while you were at it. Are you okay, though?"

She shrugs, adjusting the duffle bag on her shoulder. "Yeah. I mean, it was a pretty big blow, but I'll get over it. She's not worth the tears."

"Atta girl," Mijoo cooes, patting Naeun's head. She turns to you, and smiles. "Thanks for letting us stay over, y/n."

You open your front door, and wave. "Yeah, of course. I'll see you guys later."

Just as the two girls step out, the door to the apartment next to yours opens. You all look to the side, and notice a disheveled woman with blonde hair and bright red lipstick exiting into the hallway. You and Mijoo exchange glances as the woman's eyes meet yours. She gives a small, awkward smile when she notices the three of you, and then bows before hurrying down the hallway.

"Was that your neighbor?" Mijoo asks, and you shake your head.

The actual neighbor in question steps into the hallway, and the three of you watch her with wide eyes. She's wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, long hair cascading down her back.

Bewildered by your stares, she looks at the three of you with confusion.

"Hello," she greets, bowing, and the three of you bow back. "How are you?"

Naeun's eyes become the size of saucers. "Y-you're Bad—"

"Good!" Mijoo interrupts, and gives a wide, forced smile. "We're all doing well."

"That's good," Bada replies, giving a polite nod. She looks at you, and the corners of her lips quirk upwards. "Hi, y/n. Nice seeing you."

After last night’s noises, her politeness makes you want to laugh. or scream. or cry. You return the smile, gripping your doorknob until your knuckles turn white. "Yeah, nice seeing you, too."

She turns her attention back to the other two, waves, then walks off.

Mijoo and Naeun immediately whip around to face you.

"Your neighbor is Bada Lee?!" Naeun screeches.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Mijoo yells, and you step back.

"Bye guys!" you say, closing the door on the two of them.

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Shortly before closing, the bell rings.

"Hello!" you chirp. "Welcome to—oh, hello!"

"Hey, y/n." Bada waves.

"Hey," you say, even though the two of you already said hello. "How are you?"

"Good, and you?"

"Great, thanks," she responds, staying put in front of the door. "Uh, I actually came here to, um, ask if you wanted to walk home together? I was just passing by, and I thought maybe we could just, like, walk back. At the same time. Since we both have to, um, go there. To our respective homes. I know it's been a while, but I thought it'd be fun. I-if you want some company, I mean. Sorry, I'll leave if you want me to, I'm just—"

"Bada," you interrupt, and she looks up, her eyes meeting yours. "I'd love to."

She blinks. "You would?"

The look of surprise on her face almost startles you back into hesitation. Why wouldn’t you want to spend time with the woman? Even with all the moments you’ve wanted to bury yourself in a hole because of your embarrassment, you couldn’t find it in yourself to ever say no.

Untying your apron from around your waist, you nod. "Yeah! Just give me a second to grab my stuff."

"Okay." She grins. "Thanks."

You pick up your belongings, clock out, and the two of you stepping outside. You lock the doors, and begin to walk towards your building.

"So, how was your night yesterday?" Bada asks, and you almost trip at the reminder of yesterday’s events.

"Uh, it was fine," you reply, clearing your throat. "What about yours?"

"Oh, it was, um, good." She nods.

I’m sure it was, you think. You look at the ground, biting the inside of your cheek. "That's good."

The two of you walk in silence, and now you feel awkward. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. The only sounds surrounding you are of the rustling of the trees, and the occasional passing car.

"Was that your girlfriend?" she suddenly blurts out, and you whip your head around to look at her.

"Huh?"

"Last night, when I ran into the three of you in the hallway. Were one of those girls your girlfriend? Or…”

"No, neither of them," you reply, shaking your head. "One of them is Mijoo, the coworker I told you about, and her friend, Naeun. They came over after we went to a bar."

"Ah." She nods, looking at the sidewalk, and your eyes narrow. You swear you see a small smile on her face.

"What about your girl?" you ask, and her head shoots up.

"My girl?"

"Yeah. Was the girl that was over last night your girlfriend?"

"Oh, no, no, she wasn't," she quickly answers.

"Hm," you hum. And then, your next words spill from your mouth before you can even process them. "I would've thought so with all of the…screaming that was going on."

"W-what?" she stammers, freezing in her tracks.

"Uh," you say, stopping as well. "Nothing. Forget I said anything."

"Did you hear...us?" she asks, her voice quiet, and you can't bear to look at her. Why did you speak up? You didn’t want her to feel embarrassed. Or worse, think of you as a creep for listening in.

"Yes," you murmur, and she lets out a groan, her face turning a shade of pink.

"I am so, so sorry. I thought you were gone. Oh my god, that is so embarrassing." She buries her face in her hands, and despite your previous regrets, you bite your lip to suppress a giggle. Her reaction was too cute.

"It's okay, really," you assure, and she drops her hands, still refusing to look at you. You smile, and continue walking. "Don't worry about it."

"But that's so embarrassing," she whines, and you laugh again.

"You were clearly having a good time."

"Yeah, but I didn't want you to hear," she sighs, and you pat her back.

"Well, at least we're even now."

"What do you mean?" she asks, puzzled.

Uh oh. She probably already forgot about the delivery situation, and you just brought it up for no reason. What the fuck was up with you right now? You were just saying anything.

"Oh, nevermind. Forget about it," you respond, waving her off.

"What was it, though? I haven't heard you…uh…do anything before," she protests, and you shrug, trying to brush her off.

"Nope! Forget about it! I confused you with someone else," you rush out, picking up your pace as you make eye contact with your building.

"You have another neighbor that could’ve potentially heard you having sex?" she replies, clearly confused, as she jogs slightly to catch up.

"No idea!" you sing, and open the door, stepping into the lobby.

"This makes no sense. Now I’m not gonna stop asking," she tells you, and you can't help but laugh.

"And I'm not going to stop avoiding the question."

"Y/n!"

You enter the elevator, and press the button to the 8th floor, watching her enter. You give a polite smile, and she sighs, giving up.

"Fine," she finishes with a pout.

The elevator goes up, and the two of you stand in comfortable silence. You don't know if it's because of the woman's earlier embarrassment, but something about tonight definitely has you feeling a little bold and ready to tease.

"Hey," you pipe up, and she looks over at you. "You guys were pretty loud."

"Shut up," she grumbles, and you can't help but smirk, watching her glare at the floor.

"My friends almost called the police. It sounded like you were committing murder."

"What?" she exclaims, and then groans. "Oh my god, don't."

"And I almost let them. I was like, woah. I knew this woman couldn't be entirely perfect and had to be keeping some sort of deep, dark, secret. But a serial killer? I would've never thought. Turns out you just had a serial moaner in there, I guess."

"Please stop."

"I mean, what were you doing to that poor girl. I—"

"At this point, it just seems like you're trying to get details out of me," she interjects.

"W-what?" you squeak, and she smiles, turning to look at you, suddenly cool and collected.

She shrugs. "You keep bringing it up."

You scoff. How dare she accuse you of such a thing! All of the thirst comments under her posts must have gotten to her head.

"You're ridiculous," you retort.

"Am I wrong, though?" she counters, and you stare at her with wide eyes.

"No," you reply quickly, and then you mentally facepalm, realizing what you said. "I mean yes. You're wrong."

"Right," she chuckles, and the elevator dings, the doors opening. "I have a question for you."

"Yeah, sure, what is it?" you ask, stepping out into the hallway.

She bites her lip, clearly trying to stifle a laugh. "Have you had the chance to use your Satisfyer Pro yet?"

Your jaw drops, aghast. "Wh-what? What the fu—"

"Goodnight, y/n," she grins, snickering as she runs inside her apartment like a little goblin, leaving you to watch her with a mixture of disbelief and irritation.

You can't help but let out a huff of laughter as you enter your own apartment.

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You're sitting in bed with a slice of cake on your lap, blanket tossed to the side due to the hot weather, binge-watching a new series. You contemplate checking your email for a message from that landlord, but decide against it, not wanting to put a damper on your decent mood. Instead, you tune in to another episode of a k-drama, in which the protagonist dies for a second time. Supposedly, it's for real this time.

You're about to finish the slice when there's a knock at the door. You frown, pausing the episode. You stand up, place the plate on the dresser, then walk towards the front door, peering through the peephole. Your heart begins to beat faster when you see a certain woman standing outside your apartment.

"What's up?" you greet, swinging the door open.

"Hey," she says, a soft smile on her face. She's wearing a pair of loose shorts and a white t-shirt, hair in a bun. Sweat glistens on her forehead, and her cheeks are flushed. You can't help but note how good she looks, despite looking rumpled.

"Hi," you respond, returning the smile. "What's going on?" you ask, leaning against the doorframe.

"So, uh, my air conditioning broke," she begins. "And I was wondering if I could hang out in your apartment for a bit? The maintenance people said they aren't going to be able to get here until tomorrow. Apparently they don't work on Sundays."

You've suddenly become aware of the fact that Bada has never been inside your apartment. The idea of her being inside the same room as you, sitting on your furniture, breathing in the scent of your home, sends a wave of heat down your spine. Maybe it was best to reject her offer and suggest another solution.

"Come on in!" you say, and open the door.

"Thank you," she breathes out, walking in, and your eyes rake over her figure as she passes by you.

She looks around, taking in the sight of your apartment. You notice her eyes linger on some of your old pictures from your hometown.

"Your apartment is really nice," she tells you, and you feel a rush of pride.

"Thank you! Feel free to take a seat wherever," you reply, gesturing towards the couch, and she sits, throwing her head back as she lets out a sigh of relief.

"You're a lifesaver," she declares, and you plop down next to her.

"What happened?" you ask, and she shakes her head.

”I wish I knew. I went to turn on my AC and it just, didn’t come on. Completely out of the blue.”

"That sucks," you respond, and she nods, a grim expression on her face.

"So," she begins, turning her head towards you. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," you answer, and then remember the slice of cake on the dresser. You point to it. "Would you like some?"

"Yes, please," she says, nodding fervently. "Water would be great, too, if you don't mind."

Grateful to put some distance between the two of you, you practically bounce out of your seat. "Coming right up!"

You return with two glasses of water and your cake. She thanks you, and you hand her a fork, taking one for yourself.

"This is really good, y/n. Did you make this too?" she praises, and you nod.

"I did. Thanks," you reply, taking a bite.

"You really need to give me the recipe for these things. Or start selling them! I'd buy them all," she compliments, and you blush, waving her off.

You stare at the ground for a moment, before laughing bitterly. "That was supposed to be the goal, I guess.”

She furrows her eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

You inhale slowly, prepping yourself. You hated this. But maybe you needed this. "I used to have my own bakery. In my hometown That's actually where I moved from. But then my landlord jacked the rent up and I couldn't afford it, and I was forced to close," you explain.

"Oh." She frowns. "That's awful. What a jerk."

"Tell me about it," you mumble, carelessly dropping your fork on the table.

"Are you looking for another place here?" she asks, and you nod.

"Yeah. There's a lot of great spots in Seoul, but there's one building in particular that I've had my eye on. It's not far from the Han River, and the rent is relatively cheap, and it's got everything I could possibly need. I'm just waiting to hear back from the that landlord. We were negotiating and things were going pretty well. But now its been months. I haven't heard from him since I moved here."

You blink back tears, and clear your throat, picking up the fork again. Whenever you think of everything that's happened to you recently, you cannot help but feel like an utter failure. You worked hard, finally achieved success, only for things to all fall apart. It seemed as if all of your efforts were for nothing.

"Hey," she whispers, and her voice is soft, calming. "It's gonna be okay."

She gently squeezes your arm, and her touch is warm. You look at her, and the tenderness in her eyes is enough to make you want to cry more.

"I know. It's just hard, sometimes," you confess, and her hand remains on your arm.

"I get that, but I can promise you that what you're going through is temporary. I can't tell you how many times I thought I was done for good when I first started out, but now, I've come this far. If you keep your head up, and just keep working hard, you'll make it. You’ve done it before.”

Her words resonate with you, and her unwavering support fills you with hope. "Thanks, Bada," you respond, smiling.

"Of course," she responds, her eyes never leaving yours. "I'm here for you."

"I'm here for you too," you whisper.

A moment of silence passes, and your eyes travel to her hand. Her skin is smooth, and her fingers are long and slender. You wonder what they'd feel like intertwined with yours.

"Um, I’ve been meaning to ask," she says, interrupting your thoughts, and your eyes meet hers again. "Any new dramas you wanted to tell me about? Or, what about the one with that married couple you talked about?”

You almost laugh at her obvious attempt to distract you from your depressing thoughts.

"Pretty good," you reply, and she gives you a pointed look.

"And by pretty good, you mean..."

"Amazing, wonderful, mind-blowing, spectacular," you continue, and she nods, satisfied. "I was actually watching it before you knocked on the door."

"Ooh, really?" she responds, eyes widening.

"Yeah. Would you like to watch it together?" you suggest, and she grins.

"Yes, please."

"Okay," you giggle, and grab the remote, pressing play.

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Halfway through the episode, you decide to move to your bedroom (because the AC works better in there, of course!). Somehow, while lying on the bed, your legs become intertwined. She's sprawled out, and her head is resting in the crook of your neck, her soft hair tickling your face.

You can feel her steady breathing, and the heat radiating off her body, and all of your senses are filled with her. You're so focused on her that you can't even focus on the episode.

"Y/n?" she murmurs, and her voice is low, quiet.

"Yeah?" you reply, voice equally as soft.

"Would it be weird if I said that I'm glad my air conditioner broke?"

You snort, and her body shakes with silent laughter. "Not at all."

You pause the show, and sit up. She does the same, and her eyes are shining.

"Do you want anything to eat? I've got chips, and some ice cream," you offer, and she bites her lip.

"Not really. Thanks, though," she responds, and your eyes travel to her lips. They're plump and pink, and you're tempted to reach out and kiss her.

"Okay, no problem," you say, and her gaze is intense, burning.

"Thanks for letting me come over. I appreciate it."

"Of course," you murmur, and then clear your throat. "Anytime."

"Really?"

"Yeah! You can even stay the night, if you want. I don't mind," you respond, and her eyebrows raise, lips curling upwards.

"Okay," she answers, and leans forward, cupping your face in her hands.

The action surprises you, and you let out a gasp. She pauses, eyes searching yours, and you nod, giving her permission.

She leans forward, and you close your eyes, waiting for her to press her lips against yours. Instead, you feel a pair of lips softly kissing your forehead, and your cheeks, and your jaw, and your nose, and then they finally, finally press against yours.

The kiss is gentle and sweet, and when she pulls away, her eyes are filled with affection.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," she admits, and you chuckle.

"Me too," you whisper, and her smile grows wider.

She moves closer to you, and you wrap your arms around her, pulling her into a hug. Her body is soft, and her skin is smooth, and you can feel her warmth seeping into your skin.

"I really like you, y/n," she whispers, and you tighten your hold on her.

"I really like you too, Bada," you respond, and she nuzzles her face into the crook of your neck. You're in heaven.

"Thank god. I was afraid I was making a fool out of myself," she confesses, and you giggle.

"What? Oh my god. Not at all," you assure her, and she pulls away, a smirk on her face.

"So, I was right about you wanting details?"

"Oh fuck you," you mutter, pulling her back into a significantly more aggressive kiss. A surprised noise escapes her lips, but she eventually melts into it, moving against you with equal fervor. Her hands run up and down your sides, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind, and you're so caught up in the sensation that you don't even realize when she starts straddling you until she presses her body against yours in a way that has you gasping.

Your hands travel underneath her shirt, feeling the smoothness of her warm skin, the lines of her stomach, the swell of her breasts, and the curves of her waist. She groans into the kiss before slipping her tongue into your mouth, causing heat to pool in the pit of your stomach.

When you pull away, she's panting, and her lips are swollen. Her hair is slightly mussed, and her pupils are dilated, her eyes filled with desire. Without words, you both begin removing each other's clothes, tossing them to the side. She's left in only a black bra and boxers, and you have to remind yourself to move.

She chuckles, and you stare at her chest. You can see the outline of her nipples, and you reach out, brushing a thumb against them, and she bites her lip, closing her eyes. You can feel her heart beating rapidly, and you trace circles around her nipples, and she lets out a shaky breath.

"Please," she begs, and you smile, pulling her into another kiss.

Your hands move lower, caressing the skin of her thighs, and then you're cupping her center, and she gasps, pulling away.

"Y/n," she pants, and the sound of her moaning your name sends another rush of heat down your spine.

"Bada," you breathe out, and press kisses against her jawline, and down her neck, and collarbone, and chest. Your hand is still between her thighs, and she bucks her hips, trying to find friction.

"Y/n, please," she repeats, and the desperation in her voice is so fucking hot.

You slip a finger inside her, and you feel her walls immediately clench, followed by a whimper you're not sure belongs to you or her. You curl your finger inside her, and her head falls back into the crook of your neck as she rolls her hips, grinding against your palm.

"More," she practically demands, and you add another finger.

She's soaking wet, and the lewd sounds coming from your fingers sliding in and out of her has you squeezing your thighs together, desperate for some sort of relief.

You use your thumb to rub circles on her clit, and her movements become more erratic, her moans becoming louder.

"I'm gonna-ugh," she pants, and her nails dig into your skin as she orgasms.

You can feel her walls clenching and unclenching, and her body trembles, her eyes squeezed shut. She breathes heavily, and the sight of her is enough to drive you wild.

You continue stroking her until she opens her eyes, and you can't help but grin.

"Holy shit," she manages, and you remove your fingers, and she lets out a moan.

"Good?"

"Yes," she replies, and leans forward, capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

"Now," she begins, breaking away. "Let me take care of you."

You can only nod as she reaches for your breasts, fondling them, and her eyes never leave yours. She's smirking, and the intensity in her gaze is enough to make your heart skip a beat.

You close your eyes, enjoying the sensation, and you nearly jump when you feel her body shift, her lips pressing against the sensitive skin of your neck.

She moves down, taking a nipple into her mouth, and you groan, arching your back. Her lips travel to your stomach, and then your thighs, and then you're lifting your hips, and she's sliding your underwear off.

"Spread your legs, y/n," she requests, and her voice is low, seductive.

You obey immediately, and then her tongue is inside you, and her fingers are on your clit, and your entire body is on fire. She sucks on your clit, and then makes headway further down, sliding her tongue inside you. You can't stop the moans that escape from your mouth, and you're certain the whole complex can hear, but you don't care.

Suddenly, she stops, and looks up at you. Your eyes snap open, annoyed by the interruption until you observe the way he's smiling, her chin slick with your wetness.s

"I wanna try something," she begins, and she sits up, scanning the room. "Where's that thing you got the other day?"

You bite back a moan. "Nightstand drawer."

She opens it, and takes out a small, pink object. Your face flushes as she turns it on, the vibrations audible in the otherwise quiet room.

"Is this okay?" she asks, and you nod, eager.

"Yes," you answer, and her mouth returns to your center.

She teases your entrance with the object, and the combination of her tongue and the vibrator has you squirming, your hands finding their way to her head, holding her in place.

"Oh god," you whimper, and the pleasure is indescribable.

Her tongue picks up speed, and then the vibrator enters you, and you nearly scream.

She pushes the toy in and out, and as it vibrates against your clit, and begin to feel like you can't take anymore. Your back arches, and a wave of euphoria washes over you as your orgasm hits, and the only thing you can see is the light from the lamp and the white of the ceiling.

When you regain control of your senses, you can feel her body lying on top of yours, her head on your chest. You lay in silence, trying to catch your breath, and it isn't until you hear her voice that you speak.

"How are you doing?"

"Sleepy," you mumble, and she smiles, pecking you on the lips.

"Then let's go to sleep."

You can only nod as your eyes slowly close and your mind becomes hazy. Before you drift off completely, you think to yourself that this might've been the best night you've had since moving here.

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Two weeks later, you and Bada are going up the elevator to your respective apartments after a walk from your job. You'd just spent the past hour gossiping in between taking customer's orders. Apparently, Mijoo and Naeun are going out. Figures. You hoped it worked out for them, but nobody was beating the blissful few weeks you've.

The two of you are holding hands, and your free one is holding a box containing a dozen chocolate chip cookies, made especially for Bada.

"I'm thinking of moving out," she suddenly states, and the statement catches you off guard.

"What? Why?" you ask, and she shrugs.

"It's about time. I can afford a better place, and I'm ready to move on from the apartment life. I need a house."

"I can understand that," you reply, nodding.

"You should move in with me," she continues, and the statement makes you laugh.

"What? Are you crazy? We just got together."

"Who cares? I want to live with you. Don't you want to live with me?" she responds, pouting, and she gives you puppy dog eyes.

"Yes, but...," you pause, and you can tell from the expression on her face that she's serious.

"But what? What's the problem?"

"Nothing. Let's do it."

"Really?"

"Yes, really," you confirm, and she beams, leaning in to kiss you.

You can't believe what you just agreed to. But, in a way, you're relieved. Maybe this will finally bring a sense of finality to everything that's happened.

"Damn, guess I'm gonna have to tell Jennifer about us. She's coming out here soon," you mutter, opening your email app. You go to type in your friend's email, but your eyes land on an unread email in your inbox, sent two weeks ago. It's from an unknown sender, and the subject is 'Regarding Your Application.'

Your eyes widen, and Bada nosily peers over your shoulder, reading the words.

"What's that?" she asks, and you gulp.

"I don't know."

"Open it!" she exclaims, and you do.

Y/N,

This is Kim Sung Soo, the owner of the property you inquired about. I was out of town for business and unable to contact you regarding your application. I've looked through the papers, and everything seems to be in order. I'd like to meet up with you so we can further discuss the terms of the lease before we finalize anything. When are you available?

"Oh my god," Bada gasps, and she stares at you, wide-eyed.

"What the hell?" you whisper, and Bada squeals.

"Oh, y/n! This is so exciting! Congratulations! I knew it would work out. Now, you can start your bakery, and we can move in together, and oh, my god, I'm so happy!"

"I'm confused," you mutter barely believing your luck, and the elevator dings, indicating that the two of you have arrived.

"Don't worry about it, okay? Come on, let's go have some cookies," she says, tugging on your arm.

You nod, following her down the hall without a hint of resistance. As you watch the woman drag you with a giant smile on her face, you cannot help but giggle. Who knew you'd find home and happiness in such an unlikely place?

#bada lee #bada lee fanfic #bada lee imagine #bada lee fluff #bada lee x reader #bada lee x y/n #street woman fighter 2 #swf2

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damned-punk · 22 hours

Text

What You Won’t Ever Find (Kidd x Reader)

Part Nine

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Content Warning: nsfw, modern!AU, suggestive language, unhealthy attachment, angst

Content Description: gn!reader meets Kidd in a bar and their relationship develops from there ♡

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The daisy that Kidd had welded was taunting you from its place on your nightstand. He was right that it’d never wilt but even if it could, the two of you likely wouldn’t last long enough to watch it happen. The cold metal material that comprised its stem and petals was ironic, a sardonic mimicry of what was beginning to feel like a fabricated relationship. You didn’t know what to think anymore, you no longer held distain for Hip’s advice though it could serve you no favors in your current situation. The writing had been on the wall from the night you’d met, the proposition of causal fun should’ve been a glaring red flag but you’d ignored it the same as you had many others.

You’d learned that Kidd was the type of person who could become enamored with someone and play with the idea of a relationship, but he seemed to lack the skills necessary to maintain the relationship once it was started. You assumed that years upon years of hardship and loss had significantly damaged his attachment style, the revelation doing little to help you work through the heavy sense of loss that clouded your psyche. Every day that passed was so dull, you couldn’t wait for them to end once they’d begun. You weren’t even sure how many days it had actually been and you honestly didn’t want to, it didn’t matter anyway.

Your phone was essentially out of commission on account of all the calls and texts that you didn’t have the strength to address. You could only read a few of them every once in a while, his words far too painful to handle. It was obvious when he was drunk or exhausted as what were once carefully selected words would turn into a barrage of mismatched phrases and letters. Killer had even reached out to check on you, he’d always been so kind. Sometimes you didn’t understand how they’d remained friends for so long, Kidd seemed to always be on some level of extreme. You wished you had whatever trait Killer possessed to make Kidd care for him so much, maybe then something meaningful could tether the two of you together.

You flinched upon hearing a car door shut just outside your home, a few short knocks on the door causing your heart to race. You did your best to peer out the window to identify the visitor but the angle made it nearly impossible. As you cracked the door open just a few inches, confusion knitted through your brows. Killer towered over you with his hands tucked in his jeans, alone and carefully considering what he wanted to say.

“I’m sure you’re upset and you don’t have to say anything, just please hear me out.”, he bargained with you.

“Alright.”, you replied after a moment, trusting Killer’s discretion.

“It really wasn’t what it looked like. He royally fucked up, but he did not sleep with her. I don’t know exactly how she ended up in the car with him, but she slept on the couch and he wasn’t interested in her at all. I can promise you that’d he would’ve told me if anything happened and if it had, I wouldn’t be here right now.”, Killer explained, “He woke up the next morning not even really knowing who in the hell she was. He was going to take her home and then come here to talk to you, but you got to the house before he had the chance.”

“He’s had more than once chance at this point.”, you noted, not exactly feeling like the situation was so easily rectified, “Is this something that he always does? If I believe you and go back to him, how long will it be before we’re right back here again?”

“I can’t say that this won’t ever happen again because I don’t know if it will or not. I hope it doesn’t, but Kidd is very temperamental sometimes and you know that just as well as I do.”, Killer replied with a very valid point, “I’ll be honest, I’ve only ever seen him this torn up one other time before… I wouldn’t have wasted your time or mine if I didn’t think it was worth it. He hasn’t slept and he won’t eat, all he does is fuck with shit in the garage all night, works, comes home, and then does it all over again.”

“I don’t know… This has been really hard, Killer. Things will be great for a little while and I’ll think we’re getting somewhere only for him to go off on me or leave me for someone else.”, you let your feelings be known, “I know that I love him, but I also know that I can’t keep doing this.”

“I know and I agree with you entirely, this can’t keep going on.”, Killer validated your understandably difficult position, “I’m asking you, as a friend, please give him a chance to explain himself. This isn’t something that I can fix or help him through, he’s spiraling without you.”

Killer watched you with hopeful eyes as you gave the situation some very intensive thought. To care is a curse and love is a cruel emotion. It’s manipulative, draining, and blinding above all else. It’s so beautiful when it blooms, but it is always met by the most gruesome of ends. Whether or not you still cared for Kidd wasn’t to be questioned, he meant the world to you and that would never change. That sentiment had come back to bite you so many times before but realistically, what more damage could be done?

“I’ll come see him, but I need you to be there.”, you relented as Killer let out a great sigh of relief.

“I’ll be right beside you, whatever you need.”, he patted your shoulder in an attempt to reassure you.

Killer held true to his word, staying at your side and offering as much support as he could in your respective circumstances. He waited patiently on the couch as you dressed yourself and kindly lead the way back to their shared home for you to follow. Kidd hadn’t noticed the two of you pull up and certainly couldn’t hear the slamming of car doors on account of the very heavy music that was blaring from the garage. The door was raised just enough for him to be able to walk out if needed, his bare and sweat-soaked back facing you as he leant over the engine bay of a worn vehicle. You stood just outside the door beside Killer, you couldn’t bring yourself to approach him and instead waited for him to notice the two of you.

After a few minutes had passed, he stood to retrieve a tool from his workbench. As he turned to resume tinkering, he caught sight of you and froze. His expression was facetious, not at all amusing but irrevocably indicative of how much he’d been struggling with all of this. There was no signature eyeliner or lipstick to speak of, only sunken eyes and dark circles in their wake. Trying to recollect himself, Kidd moved to turn the music down while Killer made his way to sit on their porch. He was close enough to intervene if things went sideways, but far enough to allow for some privacy.

You didn’t know what to say and it seemed like he didn’t either, the silence between the two of you growing rather awkward. Kidd looked totally defeated and while he was in the wrong, it wasn’t something you particularly enjoyed seeing. It felt like you could say anything and ruin him permanently if you really wanted to. Just as you felt doubt begin to chip away at your presence in the moment, Kidd extended his arms to you and gave you an optimistic look. Nearly all of your reservations faltered as you walked into his embrace, immediately being lifted off your feet and held as close to him as possible. His dampened forehead pressed against your neck as he folded himself around you. His grip was tight and as though he’d loose something precious if he ever let go.

“(Y/N), I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am.”, he spoke against your skin, “I promise you that nothing happened. I wanted to get the fuck out of there and when she asked me for a ride home, I guess I brought her here. She slept on the couch and I was about to actually take her home when you pulled in.”

“That’s only one small part of the much bigger problem, Kidd. You left me alone at a party full of people that I don’t really know and then you brought someone else home, only for me to find the two of you together the next day.”, you kept your voice low as to not escalate the situation, still stern enough to convey your point, “That was one of the worst feelings I’ve had in my entire life. I felt like I meant nothing to you or anyone else, that I was just something to throwaway and be forgotten.”

“It’s not like that and it’s never fuckin’ been like that.”, he said seriously, lifting his head to face you, “Please, let me make this up to you…”

This was something different, something that you hadn’t seen from him before. You hated everything about this, the way he’d make you feel, the way he’d sunken into himself, and the way that everything in your life seemed to revolve around him. Of course you wanted to pick up where you’d left off, but it went beyond that simple concept. Something within you knew that if this ended, there would never be another Kidd. In fact you’d never have the opportunity to be truly happy again, you’d only be mourning what should have been. It was unhealthy and that reality had crossed your mind, but in this moment in his arms, you didn’t care.

“I’ll give you anything you want, (Y/N)… You tell me what you need and I’ll make it happen.”, he pleaded with you while resting his forehead against your own, his tired eyes glazed and searching for any hint of clarity.

That always seemed to be his answer and you weren’t sure if he really meant it or if he just wished it were the truth. You wanted to believe that he had the ability to commit himself to an established relationship, but even that was a far cry from your current predicament. You undoubtedly wanted Kidd and it was looking like this would be the price you’d have to pay if you wished to stay with him. Perhaps this was the moment of unraveling, a realization of something you’d been missing all along.

“This can’t happen again.”, you repeated the same condition you’d given him before, praying that you’d never have to say it again, “I know this is hard on you, but you have to stop being so self destructive. People care about you and whether you intend for them to or not, your actions have very real consequences.”

“You’re right…”, he trailed off, seemingly taking in what you’d said, “I don’t want to lose you, (Y/N).”

“You won’t. We have some things we need to work on, but you won’t. I’m right here.”, you reassured him, lifting your head to kiss his forehead, “How about you go shower and then we’ll eat something? That’ll be a good start.”

He took your chin in his hand and placed a very passionate kiss to your lips. The gesture made up for the things he didn’t know how to say, also working to fluster Killer as he watched the two of you. He’d certainly tease Kidd for it later, happy that the two of you actually managed to reconcile with one another. You followed the two of them into the house and took some time to appreciate the comfort of Kidd’s bedroom. It was a sick sense of consolation, the familiarity of something you held so dear that was on the edge of being ripped from your hands at any given moment.

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A/N: Thank you for reading! All characters presented in the story have been caricatured to fit the desired plot devices. Some interactions and situations may read out of character, this is only to progress the story and does not reflect my view of their canon personalities.

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#kid pirates #one piece #one piece fanfiction #anime #one piece x reader #eustass kid #eustass kid x reader #captain kid x reader #killer one piece #massacre soldier killer #what you won’t ever find #captain kid #eustass captain kid

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thetomorrowshow · 2 years

Text

defend

empires superpowers au masterlist (now fully updated!)

this is a heavy fic, folks. proceed with caution (then join me in ranting about scar's insurance /j). this is also pretty long whoops.

this story takes place about 5ish months after the end of 'poisoned rats'.

cw: self-harm (under duress), blood, flashbacks, referenced past torture, altered mental state (of sorts), emotional distress

“You’re safe.”

“No,” Jimmy whimpers. He doesn’t know where he is, so he can’t be safe. His master isn’t here. His master isn’t here and he doesn’t know where he is.

“Jimmy, please look at me.”

Jimmy ducks his head away, but after a moment drags his eyes up to meet whoever is speaking. Not his master. Someone with blue eyes and a grey beanie, and they’re holding Jimmy’s hands. He doesn’t know why—his leash is open for the taking.

“We’re in the grocery store,” the person says, holding his gaze. “Do you know that?”

He doesn’t know anything, but he nods anyway. He’s so very confused, glances around for Xornoth, doesn’t find them anywhere. Is this a guard? Why is he here without his master?

The person lets out a sigh of relief, squeezes his hands. “That’s good. It’s a little loud in here, would you rather go out to the car?”

Go out? Outside?

Now that the man mentions it, it is loud in here. Louder than most places Jimmy spends time in, louder than his cell and the lab and the meeting room. Jimmy nods, unsure if he’s allowed to say yes.

The man’s brows furrow and for a moment Jimmy’s certain he’s disobeyed, certain that he isn’t allowed to have an opinion. But then the man helps him to his feet—he’s still not pulling him by his leash, and Jimmy looks down at it, the way it drags behind him, pulling on his collar—but decides that if the man isn’t going to use it like he’s supposed to, he’s certainly not going to argue.

Outside is bright, far too bright, and Jimmy shields his eyes with his cuffed hands, pulling them from the grip of the man leading him. He cringes as soon as he realizes—now he’s going to be beaten for sure—but the man just hisses lightly.

“Right, I didn’t even think about how bright it is—how about I throw my jacket over you, yeah? It’s too warm for me to wear right now, anyway.”

Jimmy doesn’t respond in any way but pressing his hands further into his eyes, trying to block out any ray of sunlight.

Sunlight. He’s outside. It’s hot out, it’s so hot, there’s no breeze at all but it’s natural warmth and it’s so much better than the permanent chilliness of his cell. He’s not sure what he did right to earn this treat, but he’s going to bask in it.

Then there’s something dark over his head and Jimmy can lower his hands. He lets the man guide him, until there’s the sound of a car unlocking and a door opening, and he’s guided to sit in a car.

It’s not familiar at all. He gets in vans sometimes, he thinks, but he doesn’t know this car. He’s never allowed to sit in a seat. Something’s off about all of this.

“Jimmy? You all right?”

Jimmy’s not sure how this man knows his name because nobody knows his name, they can’t know his name, his name is the only part of him that belongs to him and no one else, the one thing Xornoth hasn’t taken from him—

“You can take the jacket off, y’know. You don’t have to if it’s still too bright, but if you want to you can.”

Jimmy doesn’t move. He’s supposed to have his head covered when he’s in the van. It’s the rule.

“Buckle up,” the man says, and Jimmy mechanically reaches for the seatbelt and pulls it over himself, fumbling for a moment before he finds the receptacle. Then the car is moving and Jimmy grabs the armrests, forcing himself stockstill.

“Um, babe? Are you up to talking about what happened?” It’s several long minutes of silence before the man says that, but Jimmy isn’t babe, he’s pet, or little bird, or darling, or bi—

“It’s okay if not. I already called your therapist to see if she’s available for an emergency session if you think you’re going to need one. No pressure, but just in case.”

Jimmy tugs a little at his cuffs, swallows. He’s fine. He’s going home, and he’s going to lay on Xornoth’s knee and let his master touch his hair, just like a good pet. Or if Xornoth’s in a bad mood, he’ll submit to his punishment. He’s a good pet.

Did he ruin whatever this mission was? Maybe he’s not a good pet.

He can’t be a good pet. There’s no way. He’d somehow ended up on the ground alone with a strange man—a guard—having to help him up. This isn’t good. He’s ruined everything. He’s ruined everything and Xornoth is going to get out the whip or the spiked boots or the cage, please not the cage, he’ll do anything—

The car slows and turns, bumping over a curb, before coming to a complete halt. There’s the sound of keys turning, then the driver’s door opening and shutting.

Jimmy unbuckles his seatbelt, trying to quell the shaking in his limbs. He doesn’t want this. He’s been bad. He deserves it.

The door opens and he clambers out, a little unbalanced from his bound hands. The man closes it behind him, takes Jimmy by the shoulder and guides him until the air changes and Jimmy knows they’re inside.

The guard leaves him standing by himself, but he doesn’t go far, calling out after a moment, “I turned off the lights, so you can take the jacket off your head.”

Jimmy obeys, winces when it’s still a bit brighter than before. The man is in front of him, smiling. He’s smiling.

Jimmy’s been very bad, then.

He lets his eyes fall to the floor. He doesn’t know what’s about to happen, but he knows it’s not going to be good. Often, Xornoth is too busy to deal with him right now, will throw him to the thugs before punishing him themself.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, I promise,” the man says, and Jimmy bites his lip to keep from vomiting. He doesn’t usually have enough food in his stomach for it to be a huge issue, but his stomach is rolling and he’d rather not take chances. “It happens. Are you feeling well enough to help me make dinner?”

Jimmy’s not sure what that’s code for, but he nods demurely, follows the man to what seems to be a normal kitchen. Where’s the catch?

Then he’s seated at a kitchen table and set in front of him is a cutting board with a couple of carrots on it, but more importantly—a large knife.

Oh no.

They make him participate, sometimes. They give him knives and jeer at him until he cuts himself, or a noose to choke himself on, or one of those batons to electrocute himself with. He hates it, hates that he has to harm himself, hates that he’s in control of what’s happening and that he can stop it at any time but chooses not to—but the quicker he does what they want, the quicker they toss it aside and hurt him themselves. He prefers that, prefers to not be in charge of his own torture.

But the knife gleams in front of him, unmoving and waiting. A glance up shows him that the man isn’t even watching, is just waiting for him to do it so they can get on with it.

Jimmy forces himself to pick up the knife, scrunches his eyes shut, and goes against every screaming instinct in his body. He brings it down in a slash on his upper arm.

His eyes shoot open as a whimper escapes him, and he sees blood quickly soaking his shirt and running down his arm—it hurts, it hurts and makes his head a little bit woozy but he has to continue, has to keep going. He draws in a breath that’s more like a sob, raises the knife—

“Jimmy!”

The knife is wrested from his hand and Jimmy lets out the breath, ready for them to hurt him, to hit him with the stun baton, to kick him and beat him until he can barely move so it can just be over with—

But the man is just standing there, holding the bloody knife, his face white. “I—what are you doing?!” he yells, and Jimmy can’t help but duck his head. He’s messed up, he wasn’t supposed to do that with the knife, he doesn’t know what he was supposed to do but it wasn’t that—

“Okay, okay, everything’s fine!” the man says, sounding panicked. “Right. I should—I should call for an ambulance, right? Wait—let me see it—”

The man pulls his arm forward and Jimmy can’t help but keen at the pain, but he allows it to happen, lets the man look at it.

“It doesn’t look too deep—but there’s so much blood—no, it’s okay, I’ve got first aid supplies in the closet, hold on—”

Then he’s gone, and Jimmy’s shaking.

This is too confusing. Usually they tell him what to do, or they do it to him, or they drag him straight to Xornoth. This isn’t normal. This isn’t any of the places they usually torture him. He’s never been in a kitchen in Xornoth’s manor, he doesn’t know what’s happening. . . .

The man is back, and he’s got a bundle of bandages and a first aid kit, and Jimmy’s still so confused. It’s just a cut. Usually they don’t bandage him up after each cut, they just wait until the end, until he’s limp on the floor and they need to drag him to his cell or to Xornoth. But this guard is pulling out cotton pads and a brown bottle and he’s pressing stuff to the cut and Jimmy can’t help but whine and pull away. He isn’t supposed to have help yet, he’s been bad, this is supposed to be a punishment.

The man freezes. “I know it stings,” he says slowly, carefully, “but you need this to be safe. I know you don’t like hospitals, so we’re going to try to deal with it here.”

The knife is on the table, the one he’d made Jimmy cut himself with, and Jimmy shudders and tears his eyes from it. The man presses the pad to Jimmy’s arm again and he jolts away, briefly meeting his eyes before looking down submissively.

“I’m sorry, baby, but I have to do this,” the man says, voice shaky, and before Jimmy can react his arm is being rubbed with the pad, quick and efficient and painful. Jimmy bites his tongue, does his best to stay still.

“Okay, it’s not deep. It shouldn’t scar, but Blossom knows more about that sort of thing, so I might call her and ask her to take a look, if that’s okay. I’m going to wrap it now, all right?”

Jimmy doesn’t respond. He doesn’t have to talk to the thugs. He only has to talk to Xornoth. He knows they’ll just make it worse for him if he doesn’t speak, but it’s so hard to make his mouth move.

The man wraps a bandage around Jimmy’s bicep, blood welling again in the cut that the man had just cleaned. Once he’s taped it off, he looks up at Jimmy, catching his eyes.

“Talk to me, please. What’s wrong?”

Jimmy can’t disobey a direct order like that. He doesn’t want to be hurt even worse. He whines a little, clears his throat. Barely audible, he breathes, “I’m sorry.”

The man sighs, rubs his forehead. “It’s okay. We’ll fix this together, yeah? Can you tell me . . . why you did this?”

Jimmy whines again. This is a lot of talking, especially for someone who isn’t Xornoth. Especially for an answer that the guard already knows.

He cut himself because he was just following orders.

“I’m a good pet,” he whimpers, and what little color the man’s face had regained vanishes.

“No—No, Jimmy, you’re not—”

He can’t help the tear that escapes. “I-I know, I know I was bad, I’m sorry, please don’t make me go in the cage, I’m a bad pet but please, anything. . . .”

There’s a crash and Jimmy jumps; the man has dropped the first aid kit. He pulls out another kitchen chair and collapses into it. “I—I don’t know what to do—what if—” he takes a deep breath, and when he looks up Jimmy sees that he’s crying.

“Jimmy,” he says, and Jimmy flinches at the deliberate use of his name. “You’re not there anymore. Do you know who I am?”

Jimmy shakes his head, not sure what’s happening here. Is this a trap? The man’s face falls further and Jimmy whimpers. He doesn’t want him to be angry when he hurts him, it’s always so much worse.

“My name is Scott. I’m your boyfriend.”

His—what? But—

“We’re in our home that we bought together,” the man—Scott?—continues. “We live together here. Do you know that?”

Again, Jimmy shakes his head. This is—he’s in Xornoth’s manor, he has to be. There’s no way to escape. He can’t get out. He’ll never get out.

The man—Scott pulls at his hair. “I don’t know—maybe I can call Nora again, she said she’d have time for an appointment in like—fifteen minutes, okay, I can call her then. . . .”

Jimmy looks down at his arm, where blood is beginning to seep through the bandage. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t care that Xornoth is so much worse, he just wants everything to make sense again. “Master. . . .” he whispers, and Scott’s head shoots up so suddenly Jimmy thinks for a wild moment that the man’s been slapped.

“No, I—I can’t let—Jimmy, Xornoth—Xornoth’s dead,” he says frantically, moving to reach out but aborting the movement. “They died, and you got out of there. We saved you.”

He’d had his suspicions, but now Jimmy is certain this is a lie. He’s trying to make him betray his master, trying to make him believe that this is all real so that they catch him saying something he shouldn’t and then he’ll be punished so much worse.

He ducks his head, grips his hair in his hands. He just wants to go back to his cell. It’s quiet there, he can sleep there.

“Can we move to the couch?” the man says, and Jimmy’s not sure what he’s looking for with that question but he doesn’t respond.

“I’m going to touch you, okay?” Again, Jimmy doesn’t respond, but he lets the man take him by his forearms and stand him up, then lead him to a different room, one with a fluffy rug and a couch that he can’t sit on. The rug luckily only takes up a portion of the room, flat carpet beyond it. The guard sits on the couch, releasing Jimmy, looking up at him expectantly, and Jimmy flounders for a moment before kneeling on the flat carpet. He bows his head, his hands at his side. He knows what’s expected.

There’s a choked-off cry from the couch, but Jimmy doesn’t dare look up. He twists his fingers into his shirt—why does he have a shirt on?—and breathes out slowly.

“Jimmy? Would you be okay . . . sitting on the couch?”

The couch isn’t for him. He can’t be on the couch. He takes in a slow, measured breath. The only furniture he has permission to be on are his bed and the exam table. It’s a trick, a nasty trick to get him to disobey so that there’s more of an excuse for punishment.

He stays where he is, silent and still. Maybe if he’s quiet enough, the man will forget he’s here.

“Right, I’ll take that as a no. Okay. Ten more minutes until I can call Nora. I—it’s never been this bad, I don’t—I don’t know what to do. . . .”

If Jimmy looks up, he can see the man sitting on the couch, head in his hands. He lowers his eyes again. He doesn’t want to aggravate him.

He’s so tired. The emotional upheaval of misbehaving and being brought to an unfamiliar place for his punishment, then having to instigate his own punishment and somehow messing that up bad enough that he’s just sitting here, not being hurt, waiting.

Waiting for Xornoth.

He’s messed up so badly that they’re skipping the middleman. He’s going to the cage, there’s no doubt about it.

Adrenaline shoots through his veins, but he tamps it down. He can’t cause an accident right now. He can’t be in even worse trouble. He’s already going to the cage.

A whimper escapes him and he clamps his mouth shut, eyes darting up—the guard heard, Scott’s shifting from the couch to the floor and Jimmy flinches back—

Scott pulls away, hands up. “Jimmy, you’re hurting. Is it your arm?”

His arm? Nothing’s wrong with his arm. Either of his arms. Nothing out of the usual. He’s still functional. Pain doesn’t make him dysfunctional.

“Are you—are you hurting in other places? Can you point to where it hurts?”

What, so he can kick those places? Jimmy doesn’t move. His hands aren’t cuffed—weren’t they just cuffed? Are they still? They aren’t—so he holds them out in front of him, wrists close together.

The guard doesn’t move to bind them, or move at all. “What are you doing?” he asks after several moments. “I—do you want me to hold your hands?”

He wants to go to his cell and hope that Xornoth forgets his disobedience. He wants less confusion. He wants his head to stop pounding, he realizes, as a headache bursts into the forefront of his mind.

“I don’t know what you want.”

Jimmy bites his lip to keep from making a noise. He’s going to make him ask to be cuffed. He’s going to make him act like he wants it.

He clears his throat, swallows. “Pl-please,” he croaks, “please handcuff me, sir.”

Silence. Jimmy chances a glance up, sees utter disgust painting the man’s face. He’s trying, he’s trying to be good, what is he doing wrong?

“I’m not going to handcuff you,” Scott says, and Jimmy’s breath seizes. Does he—is he expected to do it himself? He doesn’t know—

“Do you know why I’m not going to handcuff you?”

Jimmy bows his head again, waits. They always answer themselves.

“I’m not going to handcuff you because you don’t want it,” the guard says, and now Jimmy’s really confused. What kind of mind game is this? “I am your boyfriend, Scott, and I love you very much, and I will never handcuff you.”

This is too confusing. This is too much for his unrelenting headache. Jimmy lowers his hands, slow, unsure, but doesn’t move other than that. He swallows, feels his throat bob against his collar. At least that’s normal.

“Do you know where you are?”

Jimmy doesn’t, so he doesn’t answer. The man sighs. Jimmy bites back a noise of fear.

“Maybe she got out of an appointment early. Jimmy, look at me?”

Jimmy drags his eyes up to land on Scott—not quite his eyes, but he’s looking at him and listening, which is enough.

“I’m going to call your therapist, Nora,” he says slowly, carefully. “You’re having a bad flashback, and I don’t know how to help you. Is there anything you need right now to feel safe?”

He doesn’t need anything. He wants a lot of things, sure, but asking for them will only make things worse. He shakes his head in quick, jerking movements. He wants to throw up.

A long pause, then Scott says, almost doubtfully, “Okay. I’m going to call her now. I want you to know that I’m not gonna hurt you. I promise.” Another, pause, then: “Can you tell me what you’re thinking?”

Jimmy scrunches his eyes shut, forces himself to speak. The man is asking him a question, and not answering is just likely to make him more angry. “I-is my—is Master going to—to put me in the—cage?”

Scott sucks in a sharp breath, reaches out again but again pulls back. “Okay. Okay. You’re not here at all. Okay. I’m calling Nora. Just—don’t hurt yourself, okay?”

Of course he’s not going to hurt himself, he doesn’t want to. He’ll only do it under orders, if he knows everything will be so much worse if he doesn’t obey.

“Hello? Nora?”

Jimmy blinks at his knees, rubs his fingers together. He’s used to waiting. He does hours of it on the regular.

“I don’t know what to do. He’s—he’s never been this bad.”

He’s bad, he’s a bad pet, he’s been bad. He’s never been this bad. He’s going in the cage, and now he’s just waiting for Xornoth to come and get him.

“No, he—I don’t think he knows where he is. I don’t think he knows who I am. I—what? Oh, well I think he’s—like, I think what he sees is what’s real, because . . . well, he’s interacted with objects—and that’s another thing . . . okay, yeah—”

He’s not sure if he’s chained to this spot or not. He doesn’t feel anything on his ankle, and he doesn’t remember that happening. But it’s possible that the man had hooked his leash onto something.

“Jimmy? Can you tell me what you see?”

He’s not Jimmy. He’s not supposed to respond to that. They aren’t supposed to know his name. He’s just a bird to the guards, just a pet.

“Yeah, he’s not answering. . . . Um, definitely earlier. He had a panic attack in the grocery store, but I thought he was okay—like, he wasn’t talking, but I thought he was just worn out. But we got home, and we started on dinner, and he—”

There’s a noise that sounds something like a sob, but Jimmy doesn’t look up.

“Sorry. He, um . . . he cu-cut himself—sorry—just out of nowhere, it was—it was so—”

Scott takes a couple of deep breaths, measured and long. “Yeah, I do. I’m okay, I think, just really worried about him. . . . Um . . . maybe sleep? He’s never been this bad before—”

Jimmy whimpers, quiet, at the word again, but Scott notices and comes closer.

“Hey, ba—Jimmy, are you—um—did something I say scare you?”

He’s a bad pet, he screwed up in some way and he doesn’t even know what it was but the punishment is going to be severe. . . .

“No, he’s—right. Okay. No, he’s on the floor, like kneeling there—and he won’t move—yeah, like that. And I know—I know how to deal with that and how to help him, but he called himself a–a pet, he asked for them. He’s—he hasn’t been this far gone ever, not since the beginning, and even then I don’t think I ever saw him like this.”

His powers are still trying to cause an accident, he can feel it. He can feel the scar burn, but he swallows it back before it can send sparks down his arms. He’ll be in even worse trouble if he does that, and he’s already in trouble because he’s never been this bad, Scott said it himself—

“Okay. No, you’re right. Um . . . I think . . . oh, maybe I can just put some of my body wash on one of my jackets? So it’s a familiar object and a familiar smell? Okay, uh—Jimmy, I’ll be right back—”

Then he’s alone in the room, and it’s a moment to relax. He lets his shoulders fall, his jaw ease. There’s cameras, but they won’t pick up the minute slip of his stance. He hates it here. He can’t think it, he can’t let himself think that. He’s a good pet. No, he’s a bad pet. His head hurts.

There’s hurried footsteps and he snaps back to attention, only for something to be draped over him—a jacket? A jacket that smells strongly. Smells nice. Like home.

“Jimmy? Can you tell me where you are?”

Jimmy breathes in the scent of the jacket, tears brimming in his eyes. Home. It smells so much like home.

“Jimmy, look up at me.”

Jimmy jolts, looks up. The man is there, sitting on the floor across from him, one hand holding a phone to his ear, the other outstretched. “Tell me where you are,” he says firmly, and Jimmy looks around, clears his throat.

“I—I don’t know, I’m sorry,” he rasps. Just another thing to fail at. He bites the inside of his cheek. He’s fine. He’ll survive this. They’ll make sure he does.

“That’s okay. I—one second, Jimmy. . . . Yeah, maybe . . . usually he’s pretty tired after a flashback, d’you think sleep would help? Okay. Yeah, I’ll do that first.”

The guard looks back at Jimmy and Jimmy curls a little in on himself, grounding himself with the jacket.

“Jimmy, you’re not going to be punished,” he says, voice choked with tears. “Nobody is going to hurt you today. You—you’ve been good.”

Jimmy can’t help himself; he glances at the cut on his arm. If he’s been good, then why did Scott make him cut himself? Why is he waiting for Xornoth? Scott is lying, that’s all there is to it.

“I—I made a mistake, earlier. You’re not in trouble, that was my mistake. Your—” he cuts himself off, breathes. Jimmy looks down uncomfortably. He hates watching people cry. “You can rest, okay? I swear that no one will hurt you.”

It’s a lie, but his eyelids are so heavy. If what the man is saying is true, then he can go back to his cell. He’s going to go back to rest. That sounds incredible right now.

Scott’s waiting for him to respond, so he reaches up to grab his leash, hand it to Scott—it’s not there.

He can feel its weight, he can see—he can’t see it. He can feel it, though. He stares down at his hands, aching head trying to piece this together. Why can’t he see his leash? Why can’t he hold it? Is his collar—?

He bends his neck slightly, feels it press into the thick leather of his collar. That’s still there, then. His hands are hanging in the air, still feeling for something that by all rights should be there. He can’t help but whine, it’s all so overwhelming. . . .

“Oh, honey. . . .” the guard trails off, fiddling with his shirt. Jimmy swallows, bows his head again. He’s lost his leash. He doesn’t know how. It’s here but it isn’t. “Would you like to go to your room, lie in the bed instead of on this hard floor?”

That’s all he’s wanted this whole time. Jimmy nods quickly, keens in the back of his throat. The man’s face collapses, tears leaking from his eyes, but he takes Jimmy by the hands (Jimmy jerks at the touch, but allows it to happen) and lifts him to his feet. He must not feel like dragging Jimmy while his legs are working, even with the leash gone. Then they’re walking, down an unfamiliar hall and into a homey room with a large bed and the confusion just worsens. This isn’t his cell. He shakes his head rapidly, trying to shove away the ever-encroaching headache. He doesn’t recognize this at all.

Scott leads him to the bed even as his legs feel wooden and he stumbles over nothing. What—does Scott expect something from him? What’s going on?

The man presses him gently onto the bed, and Jimmy sits on the edge of it, every part of him screaming to get off, he’s not supposed to be on furniture, he’s supposed to be on the floor at Xornoth’s knee—

But Scott presses a little firmer on his chest until Jimmy lies down, heart pounding in his throat. He wraps the jacket around himself, suddenly concerned that it might be taken from him—it smells so safe, he needs it—

“Covers?”

Jimmy blinks blankly at Scott. What?

Scott’s face contorts in a weird way, and he pats Jimmy’s hand before drawing away. “I’m—I’m going out to the living room, okay? I’ll leave the door open, just shout if you need anything.”

Jimmy doesn’t respond, just stares at him. This isn’t right. This is so strange. The bed he’s in is well-cushioned, soft, and he can already feel himself sinking deeper into sleep. Maybe this is a new observation room. That place had a bed that he was allowed to lie in.

“Go to sleep, okay? You’ll feel better in the morning.”

And Jimmy is nothing if not obedient, so he closes his eyes and quickly slips away.

It’s dark when Jimmy wakes, and he inhales the scent of home and sighs contentedly. Then he closes his eyes again and lets sleep drag him back down.

When Jimmy wakes a second time, light is filtering in through the bedroom window. He yawns, looks over for—Scott’s not in bed. He must’ve been called out early.

Jimmy reaches out to his other side, gropes around for his phone on the bedside table. When he can’t find it, he turns, checks. Not there.

That’s . . . that’s strange, to say the least. Scott being gone happens on occasion, but Jimmy almost always plugs his phone in beside him before going to sleep. This is weird.

He stretches, gasps when his arm burns. What? Did he sleep weird on it? Actually—he slept weird on everything, it seems, because he looks down to see that he’s wearing jeans. In bed.

What?

This is concerning, at this point. He looks at his upper arm, right where it burns—there’s a bandage wrapped around it, dried blood staining it.

Was he in a fight?

Jimmy groans, sits up. One of Scott’s jackets slips off his shoulders, and he blinks at it in confusion before rolling out of bed. He’s a little dizzy, and—his stomach growls. That would explain it, then. He’s absolutely starving—and he’s putting some pieces together, sleeping in day clothes means he maybe fell asleep before eating dinner. . . .

He hisses on the first step, his bad leg throbbing dully. He really must’ve slept in a weird position. Maybe just sleeping in his jeans had done it, to be fair. He yawns again, runs his hand through his hair—he grimaces at how oily it feels, but he doesn’t have time for a shower yet. It’ll have to wait until he eats something.

He limps out of the room, scratching his face. Something about the house feels . . . off. The energy isn’t quite what he’d expected. He pauses by the hall closet, considers getting out his hip brace and cane. He ultimately decides not to—he’s about to shower, after all. He can just put it on when he gets out.

He continues down the hall, makes to turn right into the kitchen, but in the living room—

Scott’s lying on the couch, arm hanging off the edge, a blanket bunched around his feet. He’s asleep. Why on the couch? Is he sick? Did something happen the night before that Jimmy just can’t remember?

He creeps closer, sees that Scott’s face is drawn, eyelids heavy. He makes to kneel beside him but flinches as an unpleasant ache in his knees warns him of the potential emotional and physical consequences. Instead, he leans down, gently rests his hand on Scott’s forehead.

He’s not warm, actually cooler than he should be in the summer weather (he’s always been that way, though), but now that he’s this close, Jimmy can see dried teartracks on his cheeks.

Oh no.

Something bad must’ve happened, if Scott had cried himself to sleep on the couch. Cautiously, carefully, Jimmy reaches out, shakes Scott’s shoulder.

“Scott?” he says quietly, preparing himself to leap back if he wakes up swinging. “Petal? Can you wake up for me?”

Scott sighs, face scrunching up. “Jimmy?” he croaks, one hand coming up to drag across his face. Jimmy can’t help but smile.

“Yes, love. Are you sleepy?”

Scott fully sits up, reaches out to grip Jimmy’s hands. “Jimmy,” he gasps, and Jimmy can’t help but flinch back. Scott releases him instantly, eyes going shiny.

“Jimmy,” Scott repeats, and Jimmy glances around. Did he do something? “Can—can you tell me where you are?”

“Um, our house? In the living room?”

Scott doesn’t move, face solemn as ever. “Do you know who I am?”

This is weird. Jimmy doesn’t like this at all. “You’re Scott, my boyfriend,” he says, as upbeat as possible, despite the frown fighting to be on his face. “I don’t understand. Scott, did—did something happen? Was there a fight?”

Scott leans back, relief flooding his features. “Jimmy, what—” he cuts himself off, rubs his eyes— “what do you remember about yesterday?”

About. . . ?

Oh.

Oh no.

He remembers, now that Scott’s brought it up. He remembers the fear, the confusion, the unfamiliar face of his lover as he shook with fright. He remembers kneeling and cowering and waiting for punishment.

And Scott saw him like that.

Jimmy groans, flops down on the couch beside Scott. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, covering his face.

“No—Jimmy, what on earth are you apologizing for?”

He groans again. “That you had to see me like that.”

“I—Jimmy, look at me.”

Jimmy waits a few seconds, just to prove to himself that he can. He doesn’t have to follow orders. He doesn’t have to. Then he lowers his hands, meets Scott’s eyes.

Scott’s voice is serious when he speaks. “I love you, Jimmy. I love all of you. I’m not gonna lie, yesterday was . . . emotionally distressing.” He laughs a little. Jimmy doesn’t. “But I’m so very proud of you, and I will never be upset with you or your brain for reverting to a past way of survival when triggered.”

It sounds rehearsed, and Jimmy can’t help but snort. “You called Nora yesterday, right? She tell you to say that?”

Scott's huff and eyeroll says all. Jimmy giggles, leans into Scott. Scott wraps him in a hug, pauses before squeezing him tight.

Tears are building in Jimmy’s eyes, and he blinks them back. “I’m still sorry,” he mutters into Scott’s shoulder. “I—geez, Scott, you had to watch me try to punish myself! I thought—”

He ducks his head, too ashamed to continue. Scott nudges him a little.

“Will it help to tell me?”

He sighs. “I thought,” he says, voice shaking, “that—or, my messed-up brain convinced me that you were a guard, that you were going to hurt me while waiting for X—for Xornoth to come get me and put me in—in the cage.”

“Oh, honey. . . .”

“And I hate him,” Jimmy continues, undeterred by Scott trying to hug him closer. “That—the me who thinks he’s a pet. He’s so pitiful—just—just whining and so scared all the time, and I hate feeling like that!”

The tears finally spill and he cuts himself off, sobs into Scott’s sleeve. “I-I-I thought, I thought that you were—were making me p-punish myself! I was so—so scared, Scott, scared of you, scared of Xornoth, when that bastard’s been dead for longer than they had me! I hate—I-I didn’t want it!” he pauses for a breath, a sob, an animalistic noise of pain. “I didn’t want to—to have a fla-ashback, I didn’t—I didn’t want to sca-are you, I didn’t want to be a pet!”

“I know, I know,” Scot murmurs, rubbing his arm. “It’s not fair. None of that should’ve ever happened to you.” His hand shifts, rubbing up and down Jimmy’s back, and it’s too much—too much like them—

Jimmy shoves himself off Scott, pushing his arm away. “Re-red,” he chokes out, phantom touches running through his hair. Scott moves away instantly, his hands up.

“Thank you for telling me,” Scott says. “Is there anything you need right now?”

Jimmy takes stock of himself; runs through a breathing exercise. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. Again. Again. He runs through it about ten times before he feels fully present again, no foreign touches making him shudder. Then he slumps back onto the couch, utterly exhausted.

“I just woke up, like, twenty minutes ago,” he rasps, running his sleeve under his nose. “I wanna cancel today. Can we cancel today?”

Scott chuckles lightly, stretches. “Yeah, I get what you mean,” he says, and Jimmy realizes that he’s crying too. “Good job thinking of the breathing exercises, I’m such an idiot—I didn’t even think to do anything for grounding yesterday. . . .”

“‘S all right, you were panicking,” Jimmy waves him off. “And you got me your jacket, right? Or did I imagine that?”

“I did, yeah, but only after Nora suggested it.”

“It still helped,” says Jimmy. He can remember smelling it, how safe the scent of Scott’s body wash had seemed, even in his amnesiac state. “It was probably the only thing keeping me from having a full-on freakout right then and there, to be honest.”

“That’s good,” Scott sighs, also falling back. After a moment, he speaks. “So don’t think we’re skipping over all those things you just said about hating yourself for your defense mechanisms, because I really didn’t like the sound of that. But I think we need a day off today, yeah?”

Jimmy nods furiously. He needs nothing more.

“Great. I’m going to go throw something together for breakfast, then we can just watch TV all day or sleep or whatever. Do you wanna stay here or go shower or what?”

Jimmy grimaces; his hair still feels oily against his forehead. “Shower. Then cuddles on the couch?”

They both stay there for a few moments longer, then Scott gets up and stretches and heads to the kitchen, inspiring Jimmy to get up and go into the bathroom.

When he gets out, skin red and hair wet, Scott’s set out english muffins with various sandwich toppings. Jimmy gives him a long kiss, puts together a sandwich of fried egg with jam, pointedly ignoring Scott’s barf noises.

And when they hold each other close on the couch, Scott wrapped up in Jimmy’s arms, the TV playing some trashy romance film, Jimmy thinks that maybe they’ll be okay.

#empires smp #esmp #empires smp fanfic #flower husbands #jimmy solidarity #scott smajor #empires superpowers au #esh au #mas writes #this was one of those where i sat down and wrote feverishly for like two hours straight #and when i came to i had an angsty mess before me #by which i mean: i wish i could say this was hard to write #the angst is what flows the best my dude #i put most of the fic under the cut just bc it's kinda distressing from the get-go #i dont have much to say tbh #im still thinking about scar's insurance tweets of today #im so indescribably angry about it #but anyways lmk what you think #love you guys

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