Ex-VillainMedic!Reader who has healing spit. You keep it in glass vials and syringes rather than actually kissing your coworkers for professional and hygiene purposes.
Except for Waterboy, who is terrified of needles and shakes like a newborn puppy whenever he sees them. He's so scared and nervous that you almost immediately cave and promise not to use them on him, opting to press a kiss on the deep gash on his chin instead. He goes bright red and lets out a string of syllables that you assume is a "thank you," hardly able to form a sentence or even a coherent thought.
Sonar, who's also awaiting treatment in the infirmary, peeks out from the behind the curtain separating their beds, of course, witnessing the interaction. An all too smug grin crosses his face when you enter his side, and you know you're never going to hear the end of it.
"Hey, Doc. I'm pretty scared of needles too. Could you kiss it better?" He gestures to his split lower lip with a grin, wiggling his eyebrows.
Synopsis: Benn Beckman is a man of logic and absolute self-control, but nothing prepared him for your disconcerting lack of filter. What for you is merely a search for comfort — like occupying his closet or sleeping in his bed — for the First Mate is a slow torture that consumes his last reserves of discipline.
As he fights the urge to "corrupt" what he believes to be a pure soul, Benn finds himself trapped in a game where every gesture he makes challenges his morality. In Red Force, the line between protection and obsession is thinner than he dares to admit, and he is about to discover that some storms cannot be mapped — especially those that smile with complete innocence.
WARNINGS: Dubious Consent, Sexual Content, SmutRough Sex, Somatophilia, Overstimulation, Size Difference (More warnings when the full one-shot comes out)
"Were you this wet for him?" he growled, his voice coming out like a low and dangerous thunder, while he observed the contrast of the red lingerie against your skin.
Benn kept you firm over his thighs, with your body tilted and your silhouette exposed at his mercy. To ensure you wouldn't escape the gravity of the moment, he tangled his fingers in your hair, pulling your head back with a possessive firmness, forcing you to face him. For an eternal second, you saw the dark fury and raw desire burning in those gray irises, a silent warning that the games were over.
As soon as he felt your tremor of submission, he released the strands of your hair, allowing your face to turn back toward the floor, though the mark of his pressure still burned on your scalp. Benn settled the weight of your body over his thighs, ensuring the curve of your hips was perfectly exposed and elevated, a clear target for the discipline he intended to exercise.
Benn adjusted the weight of your body over his thighs, ensuring the curve of your hips remained perfectly elevated. The silence that followed was dense, broken only by the heavy breathing of both.
"You are going to take thirty swats," his voice emerged like a low thunder, vibrating against the dense air with an obscene and authoritative severity. "And you will count each one of them out loud. If you moan instead of speaking, or if you lose count, we start over from one. Was I clear?"
The shock of the order made you hesitate for a second too long. The silence of your doubt was interrupted by the sharp crack of a warning slap that hit the left cheek of your bottom dead center. The impact made your skin sting instantly and your body jump against his knees.
"I asked a question," he growled. Immediately after, the same hand that had punished began to circle the struck area in a slow and possessive caress, the contrast of his warm palm against the stinging skin sending shivers down your spine.
"Yes... yes, Benn," you murmured against the sheets, your voice trembling from the mixture of pain and submission.
The caress ceased abruptly. His fingers closed in a firm squeeze on the soft flesh before he pulled away.
"Yes, sir," he corrected with a cutting coldness, and before you could process the failure, his heavy hand came down with full force in a punishing slap that hit the opposite side. "That one was for free so you learn to address me correctly. Now, start counting."
The impact that followed was stronger, hitting the other cheek and making your body jump against his knees. The sting spread like a wildfire through the hit area, and the sight of that soft flesh turning crimson under his command was the fuel the First Mate’s exhausted patience needed.
"One," you gasped, your voice failing as Benn Beckman's promise of absolute dominance began to transform into a rhythmic reality.
The sound of the swats began to fill the cabin, a methodical and merciless rhythm of flesh against flesh that echoed off the wooden walls. With every sharp crack, your body reacted with a jolt, and the count left your lips broken by heavy sighs. You felt the heat turn into a constant throb, a burning that clouded your thoughts and made the numbers increasingly difficult to organize.
"Nine... ten...", you stammered, your hands clutching the sheets you had pulled from the bed with force as the eleventh slap came down, heavier than the previous ones. "Twelve... no, eleven..."
You hesitated, the panic of starting over making you try to mask the confusion. "Thirteen," you fired off, trying to sound convinced despite your choked voice.
Benn interrupted the movement immediately. The silence that followed was almost more painful than the punishment. He let his heavy hand rest over the buttock he had just struck, moving his fingers in a circular caress, slow and hypnotizing, which seemed to drain your little remaining resistance.
"Thirteen?" he questioned, his voice in a dangerously calm whisper close to your ear. "Are you sure that's the right number? Look at me and tell me you're not trying to deceive me."
"I'm... I'm sure, sir," you lied, your voice failing as his touch became softer, almost tender, over the feverish skin.
The caress ceased at that very instant. Before you could breathe, he delivered a devastating punishment slap, much stronger than any of the previous ones, punishing not only your body but your attempt at dishonesty. The cry of surprise died in your throat as the new wave of pain overlapped the others.
"Besides disobedient, you're a liar," he growled, the pressure of his calloused hand crushing the crimson flesh against his thigh to ensure you felt every ounce of his weight. "I was clear about the rules. Since you tried to deceive me, the previous count is dead. And for every lie that comes out of that mouth, I will add ten more to your total."
He leaned in, his warm breath of tobacco brushing your ear as the sentence was uttered with terrifying calmness. "Now you owe me forty swats. And pray you don't mess up again, or we'll spend the whole night at this. Start. From one."
The next crack was brutal, a marking of territory that echoed like a gunshot in the room.
I hope you enjoyed the preview; this is just a snippet of the full one-shot, which turned out quite long even though I cut several scenes
The one-shot itself isn't just obscenity; in fact, it starts without it and gradually escalates until Benn finally snaps and decides to put the Reader in her place (belonging to him and probably pregnant)
The fanfic is almost ready, but since it's the first time I've written such obscene/detailed smut, I'm going to take a little more time for revision. I also want to improve the Red Hair Pirates—for instance, I ended up writing them as too nice, when I actually want them to be a bit assholish/sexist, like you've seen in my other fanfics about them
In the meantime, while I'm editing this, I'll be posting other things. Does anyone want to be tagged?
By the way, the idea that inspired me to write this one-shot came from this post by @golden-saga-imagines; now, don't ask me how a post as innocent as hers ended up becoming something as obscene as what I'm writing
I hope to be able to post soon, but I still think I need a lot more editing on this one-shot. 😘😘😘
my writing brain has been working extra slow lately, but here's a little sneak peek at something I've been cooking up based on a request from @danversxwasabi, titled breaking up is hard to do! expect a little angst, a little stalking, but a lot of silliness and Vigilante antics.
After breaking up with Adrian Chase, you find your dating life thwarted at every turn by Evergreen's own Vigilante. At first you thought it was pure coincidence and unbelievably bad luck, but maybe it's something else entirely...
“So, just a heads up this place was a money laundering front.”
“Okaaaay,” you drawled, uncertain of how you were supposed to respond to that info. “You know, a heads up usually comes before you murder a bunch of people.”
“Oh, I didn’t murder anyone. They’re just uhhhhh out cold. Tied up,” he replied in a way that was utterly unconvincing.
“Jesus Christ,” you muttered. You turned to your date to say something but he was white as a sheet, his fingers still gripping his spoon while his mouth hung open, slack jawed.
“Are you on a date?” he asked flippantly, examining the fingers of his gloves as if he were casually looking at his nails.
“Yes?”
“You sure go on a lot of dates.”
Wait a minute, did Vigilante think you were a slut?
“Three dates is not a lot of dates. And, not that it’s any of your business but…I’m trying to get back out there after a really shitty break up. Is that a fucking crime?”
His sure-fire posture shifted slightly and he crossed his arms over his chest. Your gaze caught on his biceps. God damnit. “Maybe it should be.”
Your brow furrowed. Was he fucking pouting? You were indignant now, and feeling a little reckless. “Well, then, Vigilante, go on - put that dumbass sword on your back to good use and kill me.”
“Uh…do you two know each other?” your date asked. You blinked at him dumbly - you’d forgotten he was there.
“No!” you and Vigilante snapped at the same time. You stared hard at him, trying to make out anything beyond that stupid red visor of his.
“Look, you seem nice but this has been deeply weird, sooo I’m gonna go,” your date said, but not before taking his rice pudding with him.
SOLD TO THE WAYNE FAMILY
⤿ oneshot preview ( ˶°ㅁ°) !!
The soft pitter patter of rain against the windows of Wayne Manor takes your mother out of her daze. She shakes her head and blinks slowly, intoxication heavy on her breath. Her mouth is plagued with the one to many drinks she consumed the night prior.
Her legs wobble as she stands. The cheap heels she’s wearing don’t help the balance issues either.
She hobbles over to a nearby table where her phone is sitting. Next to it is a small note written on high quality white paper embellished with gold. She gently picks up the slip, narrowing her eyes onto the text.
“Dear ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇
here is a down payment for my purchase last night.”
She cocks her eyebrow, her focus taken from the note straight to the possibility of money, “Purchase, what purchase?” Your mother’s voice is pained with a grovel, making the smoke caked into her lungs obvious. She continues to look around until finding a small stack of money. All Benjamins, totalling to roughly $5,000.
She moves back to the card, skimming the rest of the words.
“The rest of your payment will be coming soon. If the contract needs to be edited further please contact me with the information on the back of this card.
The legal adoption papers are coming. As per our agreement you will sign them and then cut off contact with your child permanently. I promise they will be safe with me.
Sincerely,
Bruce Wayne"
Bruce Wayne? What happened last night for her to have sold something to a billionaire. Your mother couldn’t possibly have anything valuable enough for someone with as much wealth as Bruce Wayne would want to buy it.
Right?
Just a teensy tiny treat for you guys...(cause i have no idea for what to do for chapter two of the main story...DIES) this oneshot is essentially gonna be a prologue (its how your mom sold you to Bruce lmao)
masterlist
. ݁₊ ⊹ Sold to the Wayne Family taglist
@radenxd, @itsberrydreemurstuff @wendee-go @dottoreos @cupid73 @iglb12 @lystaaae @c4xcocoa@itoshirinlover @simpingpandas @mei-simp @lettucel0ver @cookiepersona @maaaahhhiii @iloveescara @cyberraccoonn @lostsomewhereinthegarden @evilyumefiction @bambinochirino @kohaiyuki @cookiepersona @yuhuahuaaa @l-nectarine-l @partyinthebackroom @rotin0 @hunterxhunter123 @miuangel @cookiepersona @tired-human09
take your time bestie - your exams are important!!
but imagine him trying with different ways - sensory deprivation, toys, tying her up, different positions….,and him researching the topic bc it’s not something she does every time JDJSIDISJS feral for this concept
Okay, exams are important, but my brain had other plans this evening… SOOOO here is a preview of what I’ve been up to. Like, hello. I need to finish writing this chapter ASAP because you are in for a treat.
PS. Thank you so much for sending in these two requests!! you made me fall back in love with this series. If you ever have more requests, please identify yourself with an emoji and tell me you sent these in, so I can move them to the top of my list as a thank you. 🫶
WARNING: SMUT (squirting) AHEAD, MDNI!
The bedroom is dim, only the bedside lamp casting a low amber glow across the sheets. You strip out of your clothes without thinking, leaving them in a careless pile at the foot of the bed. Harry watches you the whole time, his eyes tracking every movement, every inch of skin revealed. His shirt comes off next, then his jeans, and when he's down to his boxers you can already see the outline of him, half-hard from the adrenaline of uploading that tape.
He pulls you into bed, and the second your bodies meet under the covers the tension breaks. His mouth finds yours in a kiss that starts slow and quickly turns desperate, his tongue sliding against yours, his hand cupping the back of your neck like he needs to hold you there. You moan into it, and he swallows the sound, rolling you onto your back and settling between your thighs. The weight of him is familiar and grounding, something solid to cling to while your mind spins with everything that's happened tonight.
His lips leave yours to trail down your throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin there. He knows exactly where to linger, where to suck just hard enough to make your hips twitch up against him. Your hands find his shoulders, nails dragging lightly over his skin as he works his way lower, his mouth closing around one nipple. He sucks gently at first, then harder, his tongue flicking over the peak until you're arching beneath him. His hand comes up to give the same attention to your other breast, fingers rolling and pinching until both nipples are tight and aching.
"Fuck, Harry," you breathe, and he hums against your skin in response, the vibration shooting straight between your legs.
He takes his time, lavishing attention on your chest until you're squirming, your thighs squeezing around his hips. Only then does he continue his descent, kissing down the center of your stomach, his tongue dipping into your navel just to hear you laugh breathlessly. His hands slide down your sides, gripping your hips, and then he's settling lower, his shoulders pushing your thighs apart as he makes room for himself between them.
The first drag of his tongue through your folds is slow, deliberate, like he's savoring the taste of you. You gasp, your hands flying to his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands. He groans at the contact, the sound muffled against your cunt, and the vibration makes your thighs tremble. He licks you again, broader this time, his tongue flat and hot as it drags from your entrance up to your clit. When he reaches that sensitive bundle of nerves he circles it slowly, then flicks over it, then sucks it gently between his lips.
Your hips buck, and he brings one arm across your lower stomach to hold you down, keeping you pinned while he works. His tongue moves in practiced patterns; circles, then strokes, then that fluttering motion that always makes your toes curl. He knows your body so well by now, knows exactly how much pressure to use, how fast to go, when to ease off and when to push harder. It's almost unfair how good he is at this.
Two fingers press against your entrance, circling the slick opening before sliding inside. The stretch is perfect, just enough to make you feel full, and he curls them immediately, searching for that spot that makes you see stars. He finds it on the first try, the pads of his fingers rubbing against the spongy tissue, and your whole body jerks.
"There," you gasp, and he doesn't need to be told twice. He focuses his attention there, his fingers stroking in a steady rhythm while his tongue continues to work your clit. The combination is devastating. Pleasure builds in hot waves, each one cresting higher than the last, and you can feel yourself getting wetter, slick coating his fingers and chin as he works you open.
Your moans fill the room, unselfconscious and raw. Harry loves it when you're loud, and he rewards every sound with more pressure, more speed, his fingers pumping faster as his tongue flicks relentlessly over your clit. You can feel the orgasm building, that familiar tightening in your core, the way your thighs start to shake. It's going to be a good one, you can tell from the way the pleasure is spreading through your whole body, from the way your breath is coming in short gasps.
Harry adds a third finger, and the stretch makes you cry out. He works them in and out, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room, his tongue never stopping its assault on your clit. You're so close, teetering on the edge, your fingers tightening in his hair.
"Don't stop," you beg, voice breaking. "Harry, please, don't stop—"
He doesn't. He doubles down, his fingers curling harder against that spot inside you, his tongue moving faster, and something shifts. The pleasure changes, deepens, becomes something almost too much. There's a strange pressure building, different from your usual orgasms, and for a moment you feel like you might need to pee. The sensation is overwhelming, almost frightening in its intensity.
"Harry—" you start, but then the orgasm crashes over you and the words dissolve into a broken moan.
It hits harder than anything you've felt before. Your whole body locks up, thighs clamping around his head, and then something releases. Wetness gushes out of you in a hot rush, soaking his hand, his chin, the sheets beneath you. The sound is filthy, a wet splatter that you can hear even through your own desperate cries. Your vision whites out, pleasure so intense it borders on pain, and you can feel yourself pulsing around his fingers, more liquid spilling out with each contraction.
Harry makes a sound you've never heard from him before. A low, guttural groan that vibrates through his whole body. He doesn't pull back. If anything, he presses closer, his tongue lapping at the wetness, his fingers still working inside you as you ride out the aftershocks. More liquid seeps out with each movement, and you're vaguely aware that you're making sounds you've never made before, high and broken and completely out of your control.
When it finally subsides, you're shaking. Your thighs are trembling so hard you can't stop them, and your chest heaves with each breath. Harry slowly withdraws his fingers, and even that small movement makes more wetness leak out of you. He sits back on his heels, staring down at the mess between your legs, and when you manage to lift your head to look at him, his face is completely wrecked.
His chin and mouth are glistening. His chest is flushed. His eyes are wide and dark, and when he looks at you there's something almost reverent in his expression.
"Holy fuck," he breathes. "You squirted."
A/N: If you have any feedback or requests, I'm not done with this chapter so feel free to comment or stop by in my inbox. Welp, see you in part 5. Adióóóós.
ℭowboys are frequently, secretly fond of each other.
⤹
genre: southern, small town, found family, angst, fluff, smut
pairing: ex-communicated! will smith x runaway! macklin celebrini
word count: tbd (preview, currently finishing)
Paradise Cove has gotten a notorious reputation for being a sappy as they come, consistently picking up strays that meander their way through the stretch of hills and valleys they call ' The Tank. ' It's a pleasant and large ranch, just a little bit outside of town and off the beaten path.
Will was one of those exact wanderers not too many years back. Eagerly taken in by the Toffolis who'd taken one look at him and decided they'd be his safe haven for as long as he needed. He shown up at their doorsteps sniffling, clutching his rosary so hard his palm was bleeding. He couldn't do any of the hard labor, but he'd managed to make himself useful helping Cat with the house chores.
Now it seems time for another to join their ranks. A lone traveling ranch hand carrying nothing but what he can fit on his back arrives on their door steps looking for work. He's cagey, unsettled and doesn't like keeping his back to the door. Says he won't stay long and he swears he won't be trouble.
Will should leave him alone, knows well enough that not everyone who rests at the cove stays forever. but he can't help but feel magnetically pulled into his orbit, especially since he just can't shake the feeling that this ranch hand is running from something rather than just wandering his way through life.
𝚮𝚺𝐋𝚺𝚷 𝚯𝐅 𝚻𝚪𝚯𝚿 | 𝝩𝝜𝝨 𝗚𝝝𝗗 𝗙𝝞𝗟𝝨𝗦, #𝟭
pairing: blond!park jimin x f!reader
genre: dark romance, yandere au, angst, fluff, smut
word count: tbd (preview, currently finishing)
synopsis: park jimin had been running for most of his life - burdened by his family name and his beauty that separated him from his dreams, he found no other solution but to find his way in the city of san francisco. he thinks he may have found a life in a simplistic world of work, studies and lonesome hours, occasionally filled with the company of a possible girlfriend, but his world is slowly turned on its axis when he meets a quiet yet observant young woman that draws him in immediately - who sees him more than the sum of his parts. as their love grows, jimin thinks it may just be the life he's been looking for...but love clashes with truth and soon the web of lies begin to unravel and he may have walked into a life that he cannot run from...but does he even want to?
disclaimer: this is a fictional piece of media and is not be construed as reality. i wrote this to examine the flip side of the dark romance world and is for fictional purposes only. any people, places and events mentioned are merely part of this fictional universe. we do not condone any form of abuse in real life. i hope this piece intrigues you, but also makes us look at biases we may have!
author note: hello darlings! this is a preview of my first piece of bts fanfiction/media and honestly I'm very proud of it. this IS a series. check out link at the top or on my page to see the full masterlist. more visuals and full fic will be out on... (check notes below)
FEBRUARY --, 19--
Jimin’s skin, pale and sparkling like a diamond in it's purest form, was covered by the flimsy black mask. It covered part of his forehead, his upper cheekbones, nose and the skin above his cupid's bow. It was lazily encrusted by false gems that would surely fall off the moment he took it off. It felt itchy and like he was being held hostage by it, but for the considerable pay, he’d wear anything. So if it was a false mask to fit into the "masquerade" party, so be it.
Even then, his arms ached as he held the circular serving tray, holding flutes of bubbly champagne for exuberant and shameless guests to take as they pleased. His arms strained from holding it in the same position for hours on end.
There was a prickle underneath his skin, but he bubbled it down to the environment. Who wouldn't feel like the world had chosen favorites when the chandeliers glistened, the hors-d'œuvre were combinations unknown to most men on silver platters and the clothing was probably worth more than any job he'd ever take?
How lucky – they all know they belong, something he never had.
A sharp cackle followed by a tidal wave of equally pitched laughter echoed across the large hall and snapped Jimin out of his daydream. He swiveled his head to the sound of the noise to find that it was merely impossible to do so in a room of over three hundred people.
“Section one and two need refills. Their drinks are at the bar.” There was barely any time for Jimin to react as he was nudged towards the bar by his manager, who did not know his name nor cared to learn it. He was a tall and grubby man who seemingly did not care for anyone but the money he placed in his pocket at the end of the night.
Walking towards the bar made him feel the usual normal sweat he always endured. Not that he did this often as the language barrier caused communicational issues, but he was relieved to take the temporary position after the raise in rent for his apartment shot up without warning. Maybe it wouldn’t have been a big deal to anyone else, but it burned a hole in his pocket. His job at the bookstore paid well enough to help him get by but the rise in costs for textbooks, food, rent and phone calls began to pile up. He had promised himself to never take servicing jobs again, but in desperate times, there were desperate measures taken.
Still, it didn't mean he had to enjoy it.
The bartender, who wore a similar mask to his own but had gold instead of silver nodded his head to the tray of drinks and turned to continue cutting limes and orange slices. Jimin slowly grabbed the tray and with careful steps, walked towards the front of the room, avoiding the drunken party-goers who made the event seem like a rave concert rather than an engagement party. Hell, he didn’t even know it was an engagement party until he saw the sign in front of the entrance. He couldn’t read it, but anyone who knew anything would know that the two rings in the painting signified marriage.
He hadn't worked at that particular hotel before, so the layout was unknown to him. However, it was easy to not speak at all, (he thanked every deity ever up above because of it), as all he had to do was look out for which table had empty drinks that resembled the ones he had on the tray. He waltzed up to the table that matched his tray and began to exchange drinks for the refilled ones. He never looked up from his task, not that he needed to anyway.
No one noticed him that night for two reasons – he was a staff member waiting on hand and foot and he had a mask that covered his face, keeping a wall between everyone. It was a relief that he could walk around without fear of being called over to be reduced to a pretty thing on someone’s arm. Even with his suit of armor in the shape of a cheap mask, he felt himself stiff.
He had lived with stiffness and paranoia in his bones since he was born a gorgeous little boy in his mother’s arms – but that was ways across the ocean and with a name that he no longer identified with.
So he shook it off, carrying the tray to the back kitchen where the heat of pots and stoves prickled his skin. He laid the tray of drinks near the sink where a Hispanic boy was washing dishes and who merely nodded his head in acknowledgement.
Rinse and repeat.
Get drinks filled to the brim with legal poison, clean up the old drinks, bring them to the back.
Rinse and repeat.
He followed this pattern to the point he could feel his shirt wrinkling with every second passing. Sweat began to pour down his neck and he consistently patted his face to ensure he didn’t look like he had jumped into the olympic sized pool that was down the hall. By the end of the night, he was sure that he had lost nearly all of the liquid in his body to the extensive labor he had of walking, carrying, moving for over ten hours at that point.
Nearing three in the morning, when most of the guests had begun to flee to their rooms either in groups or in duos fumbling around as if they were rabid animals, he was directed to clean the outside balcony. One step outside and he could feel his vision go black – just an array of glasses and fallen bracelets and glass littering the entire balcony.
How disgusting the aristocracy are.
He cleaned up the spills and cracked glass, giving the last of his energy to finish the last task before making his way home. He tied up the garbage bags and stepped forward to enter back into the main ballroom. But he stopped and instead dropped the bags near the door and moved forward to leaned on the railing of the balcony, allowing the cool wind to soothe his neck and flow through his thin button up shirt. With a deep inhale and the closing of eyes, he stared out into the night, allowing the moon to cast light on him like a spotlight on a stage. He could hear laughter and something else that he didn’t care or feel comfortable paying attention to.
When he opened his eyes, taking in the garden down below, he smiled for the first time that night. It looks gorgeous, something out of a painting from the little he could see in the dark of night. Trees, fountains and florals. It would be a great place to propose or have a first date. He wondered if the couple that was being celebrated had something as beautiful as this in their engagement story. To get married was a commitment and a great beauty for two souls who desired to be intertwined – something he could only imagine and receive from novels.
Snap.
His head swiveled to the sound of something cracking and his eyes landed downward to a figure standing near the side of the garden below him.
Eyes met.
The gown she wore was sparkly and had a soft pink hue that made her glow. A mask, one that was the same pink as her gown, sat on her face like a tiara – something she was worthy of from the way she stood.
She stared up at him, lips parting in a soft gasp, but she made no move to keep walking. It was as if she was staring at something she had longed for – like an ex-lover that got away or a forbidden piece of gold she wanted to touch. She never took her eyes off of him, a view of awe and glued to the ground.
He opened his mouth to speak, to apologize, but he didn’t know what for. At the same time, she copied his movement as her pink lips parted, Noticing their parallel movements, he blushed red but she let out a giggle. It wasn't pointed to humiliate him, but a laughter of amusement, of a jester accidentally making the princess laugh.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” She smiled brightly, tilting her in a teasing way, “Forgive me?"
Jimin didn't move, didn't speak, only lifted his head up and down in response. He wasn't allowed to talk to guests and he actually physically couldn't. English never came easy to him and even with over a year of learning, his mind couldn't stick to it. And Americans never spoke Korean unless they were Korean themselves.
At his nod, she chuckled once more, probably taking his silence as shyness, and opened her mouth once again before some loud sound caught her attention. A voice calling out from beyond the garden. At this, he turned away from the balcony, grabbing the bags and stepping into the ballroom.
He wasn’t blind and wasn’t stupid as many thought he was. Even with the little English he knew, body language was universal. However, it wasn’t for him – the idea of comfort in a world filled with rubies and velvet lined chairs. In another world, they could have met in a room like the one he was cleaning, but in this one, he was just a waiter and she was a vibrant guest. The glimmer, the spark, the tether, that held tightly around his neck like a noose, was something that he escaped once.
He would never go back again.
Not for a pretty face.
Not for all the money or fame in the world.
Not for the chance to feel human for once.
And although the simple few words could have meant nothing, it was a door he never wanted to cross, let alone see in his life. So he threw out the trash, collected his paycheck, and walked to the bus stop with his belongings strapped to his back as he moved from fantasy driven land of the Parthenia hotel and into the late night trash covered roads of reality.
The full chapter will be available on tumblr on July 10! To be tagged for the full chapter, just comment below on this post! TGF index is posted (click link at top!)
all comments, reposts, likes, etc are all appreciated!!!!
