𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲, 𝐛𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢

𝟸𝟾. 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚍𝚘𝚐 𝚊 𝚋𝚘𝚗𝚎

❥ nsfw. 18+. mdni.
— ignore typos. i'm going on a trip & wanted to get this out. enjoy !!! 🪐
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No one has ever been this careful with you before.

And you don't know what the hell to do with it other than to lay with your whirling head rested on the armrest of Jean's car door and stare up at him with a stilled chest. Stare up at him until your brain can decipher the code of his kindness and dumb it down in a way that is simple enough for you to understand.

But your mind, as it pounds, can't seem to be anything but nervous and guilty for your thighs full of scars and the mishap that came with it. 

When the hell is that going to change? When the hell are you going to be able to successfully outrun your past the way you've been trying so damn hard to?

It's moments like this when you realize just how stuck in the middle of it all you still remain, despite the endless amount of energy you've put in trying to make sure it doesn't come back to bite you in the ass.

But it's back now. It's biting, and it's biting hard with its sharpest teeth; the flesh off your velveteen heart, the heat off the moment you were hoping to die in.

It's not that you're scared that Jean might harm you, especially not in the way Porco had in the past, ripping you open with his words and vile hands that both brought you far more pain than they ever did the solace the broken girl in you needed the most. It's not that at all. Nowhere close.

It's more so your unbridled fear of possibly revolting Jean by letting him gain witness or feel these pulverized parts of your body that has caused you to shut down in a way not even you saw coming until it arrived.

Not until your fingernails found his wrist, and you couldn't help but claw at the thick bone of it, sending him pleas off the pink plain of your tongue, as he watched you suddenly go from a wildflower blooming beneath him to a wild bull seeing blinding red, all but bucking in threat.

You simply don't want Jean to be disgusted with you in the same way Porco used to be. The way he always swore on his rich, spoiled, entitled life that others in your future would be, just like you still are with yourself. 

In quite a while, Jean's large hand is the only one to inch so close to the areas of your skin that you've worked hard to shield from the world's exposure. Segments of your anatomy that hold onto memories of nothing but being torn open during their healing journey, inflicted by the one who was supposed to love you as intensely as he once claimed.

"Y/N." You hear Jean's voice say, thick words creating a dam in your rippling mind stream, bringing peace where there was just chaos.

Squinting your eyes back into focus, you notice the worry flickering in Jean's expression, waving flames of melancholic blue as he looms, while you remain unmoving in this small space devoid of light.

It's clear that Jean is trying to get you back, to lever you out of your shrilling head which he knows always runs so cruelly because of how much his does the same.

"Bambi," he re-emphasizes, a slow stroke of his thumb against your icy cheekbone.

That makes you react—a twitch to your icicle fingers, a skipped beat in your heart.

He slowly disengages his hand, lets it pull back into his body, unsure if your touch is what you need right now as try to find your way back into yourself.

"You still with me?"

Officially pulled out of the damnation that is your head and settled back into the heaven that is him, you nod so frailly that you're not even entirely sure if you're doing it at all. Moving your shoulders around, you work your resolve back into your bones, latching the tattered wires of your attention back onto him because that is the one place where you know the most peace.