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rinniessance · 5 months

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TEENAGE FEVER ༊*·˚ - suguru geto x fem!reader x satoru gojo

SUMMARY. you, satoru and suguru have been taking care of the fushiguro kids and the twins since your teenage days. after your latest mission, you reminisce about the beginnings of your little family. and during an impromptu trip, unspoken feelings finally come to a boil.

꒰ warnings: pure fluff! idiots in love. friends to lovers, mutual pining, family dynamics, non-canon compliant, megumi calls you mommy once ♡ // word count: 11.6k ꒱ ꒰ notes: another repost from my old account .ᐟ.ᐟ just really wanted to have this piece on my new blog <3 ꒱

sometimes you wonder why you agreed to be a part of madness that is the geto/gojo/you in a co-parenting throuple (you internally scream every time you remember how nonchalant satoru was about that description. what? i think that’s kind of adorable. you and suguru did not agree; somehow the name still stuck around). you would think that a pair of strongest sorcerers would be able to handle four first graders yet dozens of notifications that finally came through to your phone prove otherwise. your left eye twitches.

[ groupchat notifications: co-parenting throuple ] ‘toru /ᐠ. ᴗ.ᐟ\: girl dinner ! ‘toru /ᐠ. ᴗ.ᐟ\: [picture] sugu ₍ᐢ⑅ᐢ₎: im sorry i wasn’t there to prevent the disaster sugu ₍ᐢ⑅ᐢ₎: shall i prepare the casket?

messages are stamped two hours ago, and you’re too afraid to open the picture, dozens of different scenarios popping up in your head at the speed of light. when you finally unlock the messages, you think suguru was considerate enough to even suggest a casket because once you’re done with satoru gojo, there will be no body to bury.

you: you fed them cake for dinner ?? toru /ᐠ. ᴗ.ᐟ\ responded: it’s sunday! they deserve a little treat! sugu ₍ᐢ⑅ᐢ₎ responded: it’s a 12-inch cheesecake you responded: satoru, i know what you want to say, zip it. you’re in so much trouble already.

you: and why is it only you with the girls, where is megumi???? toru /ᐠ. ᴗ.ᐟ\ responded: and ‘gumi ate regular dinner like a child-man he is :< you responded: it’s called a man-child satoru… toru /ᐠ. ᴗ.ᐟ\: responded: no, megumi is a child-man because he has a soul of a man trapped in a body of a seven year old sugu ₍ᐢ⑅ᐢ₎ responded: so you’re calling him benjamin button? you responded: that’s why he doesn’t like either of you.

the frustration you felt towards satoru mere two minutes ago dissipates and gives space to something much warmer; the feeling that was tugging at you the whole weekend as you travelled to korea, sent away on a mission (you found yourself missing your little family more than you expected); the feeling that made you treating exorcising curses with utmost care because for the first time in a while, you want to come home safe. with a simple reminder of how lucky you’re to have satoru and suguru protecting the little piece of safe haven you carved out for yourselves; all the anger is gone as if it was never there in the first place.

you’re about to scroll through the earlier messages but flight attendant announces that the passengers are finally clear to get off the plane, so you shove the phone into your bag, grab your carry-on and hurry out. security check is surprisingly fast, and you’re riding a taxi back home in no time. you send a quick message to the group chat that you’re on your way and close your eyes.

quiet hum of the radio, steady movement of the car, and familiar surroundings immediately bring you peace – you’ve been feeling restless during your whole weekend trip, and now that you’re almost back with people you want to be with the most, you cannot help but smile. you’re being lulled to sleep by something pleasant playing on the radio, and your thoughts drift back to the day you found that being teenage parents can come in different forms.

3 years ago

you sigh again as you look at your watch. 4:23pm, satoru was supposed to be here 23 minutes ago. not only that, but he’s been ignoring your calls, not responding to your messages and did not tell anyone where he’s suddenly gone off to. suguru cannot be reached either, you know he has a mission today, so now you’re stranded in the middle of shibuya, your least favorite place to be, alone. you think this is the day you finally stab satoru gojo because he has the absolute nerve to beg you to come to this new dessert cafe, the one that just opened. supposedly, it was so good, you just have to try it - satoru convinced you to join him, knowing that you hate being in overcrowded spaces, only for to him to ghost you.

buzz of your phone brings you out of your thoughts.

[ incoming call: toru /ᐠ. ᴗ.ᐟ\ ]

“i swear to god, satoru, you better have to save half the planet as an excuse or —”

“where are you?”

“what? what do you mean where am i? in shibuya, where we were supposed to meet almost 30 minutes ago!”

“we’re going back to the school now, come back as soon as you can.”

and then he hung up. you blankly stared at the screen of your phone like it would somehow explain what just happened. with a deep sigh, you put the phone away and massage your temples, feeling the headache coming. satoru gojo might be the one who’s getting migraines from having six eyes but he always makes sure you have one too, just for the company.

ride back to the school is quick and easy – thankfully you’re in time to beat the rush hour, and currently, you’re standing in front of tokyo high. now that you’ve had time to calm your anger and frustration down, you realize that gojo would’ve at least texted you if he was late. something must’ve happened, and you feel panic start spreading its icy tentacles all over your body. picking up the pace, you almost run through the courtyard, pass the temple decorum and straight to doctor’s office – you assume he would be there if something happened.

you finally stand in front of the door: your breathing is heavy and you’re dizzy from how fast you sped up. the horrors of last year’s mission flash before your eyes, painting it blood, sorrow and anger, and you pray to every god known that it’s not a repeat of that failure. you almost lost suguru to the darkness that preyed on him, stalking his shadows, seeping through his skin – you are still haunted by how hollow his eyes became. you’re sure seeing him like this again will break you instead this time. you try to steady your breathing and knock.

“you can come in.”

of course satoru would know you were here. pushing the door and walking into the room, you are met by two little girls sitting on each suguru’s side on the hospital bed. satoru is standing next to them and observing his best friend who is gently murmuring something to the twins. both of them look unharmed which means shoko already worked her magic if it was necessary. it seems none of you want to bring up the elephant in the room so you just take a sit in the chair next to the desk.

“what happened?” your voice sounds loud in the hushed murmurs bouncing off the wall, and all four pairs of eyes are directed at you. it seems you startled the girls as they grabbed onto suguru’s sleeves – you cannot help but stretch your lips in a pretty smile, waving to them. “sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” you tell them in a hushed tone this time, “would you tell me your names if i told you mine?”

brunette twin shakes her head for the both of them, and you introduce yourself. same girl responds to your curiosity.

“i am mimiko, and we’ve never met our parents but i know i am older by 5 minutes. and this,” she points at the girl on the opposite side of suguru, “is nanako. she is always a little shy so i make sure to talk for the both of us!” blonde girl curls a little more into your friend, and you finally make eye contact with him. you’re a little lost by what you see – hurt, anger, tenderness, confusion, he looks so defeated yet relieved at the same time. you’re turning to look at satoru instead but he only shrugs his shoulders.

“don’t look at me, he didn’t really share any details with me either.”

you hum in response and get up from the chair, walking to where the hospital bed is and squat to face them, extending your hand.

“well, it’s really nice to meet you, mimiko and nanako,” and as you get a little closer to their face, you whisper as it’s meant to be a secret, “i think we’ll become really good friends.”

from what satoru told you, it seems that him and suguru hadn’t had a chance to talk yet – girls looked very attached to dark-haired man already, it’s most likely they wouldn’t leave his side and whatever gojo wanted to discuss was not meant for children’s ears. you’re too scared to overstep the friendship boundary you just started building with the girls but you know the look on your friends’ faces, and they tell you they need to have a serious and most likely unpleasant conversation (not too hard to guess what about). standing up, you tentatively reach out your hands to nanako and mimiko.

“have you ever tried crepes? there is a very good place that sells them nearby. what do you say if we go and grab some dessert, just us girls?”

you could see their eyes lit up as they looked back at suguru, looking for a confirmation you’re safe to go with. he smiled at them (that smile that sometimes makes your heart skip a beat and makes you yearn for something you know you could never have), making wrinkles appear in the corner of his crescent-like eyes.

“she is my friend, you can go with her. i’ll meet you in a little bit,” and as he looked back at you, he mouthed quiet “thank you”. you only smiled in return: suguru never needed to thank you, not after the near escape to hell you guided him away from; not after the sleepless nights you spent keeping him a quiet company on the rooftops of jujutsu tech because silence was everything he needed in those moments; not after tight embraces you had to hold him in when you witnessed a sliver of panic attack creeping up on him when he least expected it. in the year that followed the disastrous star plasma vessel mission, you were the light that guided suguru back to himself, back to satoru, back to you. geto didn’t need to say thank you, at least not to you, not anymore.

grabbing two little girls by their hands, you lead them out of school.

“i promise you we will have the best time.”

present

the particular rough bump of the car brings you back to the present moment. you look at the time on your phone, display showing 11:23pm, and you smile looking at the picture on your lockscreen: it’s a picture of satoru with nanako and mimiko, their mouths stuffed full of crepes.

after suguru decided to take the girls in, you and satoru made it a habit of coming over and helping him take care of them. geto and gojo used to be inseparable but the rift that broke in between them in the year that followed amanai riko’s death was a surprise. being close to both strongest sorcerers, you knew why it was there, you knew the sheer trauma of it for both of them. so you stayed with gojo when he needed you to keep reminding him that his shoulders do not have to carry the weight of the whole world, and you’re here to share it. and you stayed with geto when he was plunged into the coldness of heart-wrenching guilt and needed you to pull him out from under the deep. after suguru adopted nanako and mimiko, you were the bridge that crossed a seemingly bottomless crevice between the two of them.

making satoru see what he was missing with suguru’s behavour at the time and asking suguru to understand why satoru was seemingly oblivious to it in the first place – the confusion, the pain, the loss of innocence, and everything unsaid that went on between them – was almost as difficult as being a sorcerer in the first place. by a miracle, you stopped being their overpass as they started rebuilding their bridges themselves. yet, the connection you weaved with the sacred geometry of your hands between the three of you created a special bond that prevailed until this day.

unlocking your phone, you scroll through the earlier messages in the chat: messages that kids already miss you (sent 30 minutes after your plane took off on friday), stories about their successful disneyworld trip on saturday (traitors, you think, you’ve been begging them for a family outing there for months now), and cake-baking adventures today (you internally dread the mess that will have to be cleaned up in the kitchen). looking back at you from your home screen is the picture of megumi and tsumiki on their first day of school, proud suguru holding both their hands (megumi refused to hold satoru’s hand so he refused to be in the picture – sometimes you wonder who is the older out of the two). warmth takes over your entire being once again, and you allow yourself to recollect the memories of how the last pieces of your family all came together.

2 years ago

“i am going to meet with that kid fushiguro was talking about before he, you know,” and satoru dramatically slashed his neck with his finger, poking his tongue out, imitating a dead face. nanako and mimiko laughed from the opposite side of the table while you kicked him on the shin.

“please, satoru, i didn’t sign up to babysit three kids. eat your breakfast, i need to get girls to pre-school, we can talk about it once i’m back.”

“what if i drive you? and then we can go grab kikufuku from the new place that opened near shinjuku station, i heard it’s really good.”

“satoru, it’s 7am in the morning. unlike you, i am a normal human being who cannot possibly consume that much sugar this early. and,” you lean in closer and whisper so the girls cannot hear, “please don’t say stuff like this in front of the twins, they will think it’s normal to be asking for dessert at this ungodly hour.”

satoru thinks it’s adorable, how you huff and puff at the girls like a mother hen. ever since the girls started living with suguru, you made it your mission to come over at least once a week to make sure they have everything they need – and nanako and mimiko, as they once confessed to geto, love your presence. after everything they’ve been through, the girls learned to recognize the intention behind people’s auras, and yours only gave them peace. and, unbeknownst to them at this tender age, they have craved peace for a very long time. so he bites his tongue and keeps the snarky remark he wanted to say, instead quietly whispering “sorry”, and you appreciate the gesture that may seem small to another, but speaks volume to yourself.

“fine. we will be leaving in,” you look at the watch, squinting and thinking about how much time you have left, “30 minutes, make sure you’re ready or we’re leaving without you.”

you let the twins finish their breakfast and rush both of them to brush their teeth before you prep their outfits. suguru was sent out on a mission for the whole week (you worry; satoru tells you that with how much you worry about everyone and everything, you’ll be grayer than him in couple of years) and asked you to stay with the girls until he returns. you won’t lie – you’ve grown attached to them within the short amount of time you’ve been helping taking care of them so you agreed to babysit in a millisecond.

you didn’t expect that a third child will be living with you all this week too.

“why don’t i get my outfit chosen for me?” you feel satoru before you can even hear him, the never-ending reach of his limitless tingling your senses, rushing the goosebumps up your spine (this is totally normal, right? friends make other friends feel like this, right?). and you wish he would only be the omniscient presence that makes your knees weak because as soon as he opens his mouth, you want to roll your eyes and smack the back of his head. you learned to treat him like a child, if he wanted to behave like one.

“because mommy is busy and you’re old enough to do it on your own.”

satoru did not expect you to say that, sudden blush rushing to his face making his thoughts drift in a direction incredibly inappropriate for a friend. great. you’re so gross, satoru. he suddenly turned away and rushed out from the bedroom (if you had more time, you would’ve asked him what his deal was but alas, you were already running late). then he proceeded to stay quiet the whole morning: while you were getting nanako and mimiko dressed, while he was driving all of you to school, while you waved goodbye to the girls and made your way back to the car. the phrase kept running through his mind the whole time until you cleared your throat and looked at him with your brow raised.

“what’s gotten into you? you’ve been suspiciously quiet the whole morning. didn’t you want to talk about something?”

he forced all the wrong thoughts to stay hidden for now, patted them away like crows nibbling at the forbidden nerves of his sudden need. he cleared his throat and started driving away from the school, not knowing where he was taking the two of you yet.

“uh, yeah. i was telling you that i am going to meet with the fushiguro kid tomorrow.”

“okay… and?”

“and what?”

“what are you going to do?”

megumi fushiguro was discussed among you before, but no concrete decision was ever reached. what if the kid doesn’t even want to go with him? he won’t be able to drag him by force unless he wants to be accused of child abduction.

“i don’t know. if he does want to come with me, i have the resources to keep him out of whatever deal his father cooked up for him with the zen’in clan. but if he doesn’t… by the time he realizes what zen’ins are, and if he ever wants to leave, it’ll be too late,” satoru clicks his tongue at the mention of one of the three big families. it’s no secret gojo clan has not seen eye-to-eye with zen’ins for a long time now but for satoru, it’s personal.

“you know, if you decide to take him in, it’s not like one more child will really make a difference. you’ll just have to stop coming around and it’s like nothing changed,” the words come out of you with such levity, satoru sometimes thinks you don’t even realize that your presence alone can make a wilted flower spring back to life.

he can only laugh in response. you haven’t even met the kid and you already welcome him like it’s nothing to worry about. gojo always wanted to compare you to the sun, the stars or any other celestial being that shines so brightly, they illuminate every shadow in their reach. but as the time passed, he realized that he didn’t want you to be a sun, or a star – then he will have to share your light with everyone else. no, you’re a flame in the home’s fireplace, warm and inviting to anyone who’s welcomed into your humble abode but lost to everyone else.

“you say that now. let’s see what happens when i show up with two kids instead of one.”

present

the memory makes you chuckle. sometimes you wonder if he knew megumi had a sister because when he did show up with two kids instead of a promised one, you swore he looked as smug as ever.

as the time went on, spreading yourself thin between going to university (you said you wanted to finish your degree in case your career as a sorcerer doesn’t work out), helping out geto and gojo on their missions when they asked you, and helping take care of both suguru’s girls and fushiguro siblings was proving to be too much. so satoru, for all his seemingly unlimited resources, decided that buying a house and living all together will be better. you knew that it was easier to move a mountain than change gojo’s mind once it’s been set on something so you didn’t argue. to no one’s surprise, living together for all of you came as naturally as breathing. who said a family cannot be three barely functioning not-even-yet adults and their four adopted children?

the familiar silhouette of home comes into view, and you sigh with relief. when the cab stops, you pay the driver, grabbing your things and rushing our the car. it’s the moments like this you envy satoru’s teleportation ability though you will never admit it to him out loud, lest you inflate his ego even more. you’re barely able to step away from the gates when the front door to the house swings open and you see the person you were just thinking about poking his head out.

“need a hand?”

gojo is as cheerful as ever, and you cannot help but smile back, lips stretching in that tired way he finds almost domestic, and he feels something prick inside him. not now. you want to say something back, but you’re interrupted by the sound of little footsteps running past satoru, towards you.

“you’re back, you’re back!” nanako and mimiko are the first rushing to greet you, with tsumiki hot on their tail. you see megumi standing in the doorframe trying to pat away satoru’s hand resting on top of his head as he comes out to greet you as well.

“oh my god, ‘toru, what are they still doing up, it’s past 12am!” you redirect your attention to the kids instead. “what are you little rascals still doing up, uh? just because you don’t have school tomorrow doesn’t mean you don’t have a sleeping schedule anymore!”

“gojo-san and geto-san said we can stay up today!”

“3 years later and you’re still the only one they call by your first name,” you hear suguru before you can see him: he is standing on the opposite side of megumi, letting the kid hide behind his leg to get away from gojo’s assault on his hair. you smile at them and decide there is no point of staying mad at them any longer.

the men help you to bring your bags inside, and you collapse on the couch as soon as you pass the threshold of your home.

“how was your trip?” megumi asks as he slowly crawls to sit on your right side. out of all the kids, megumi was the hardest to read – for a child his age, he was overly perceptive and did feel almost like an adult at times. what did satoru call him? a child-man, that’s right.

“it was good, ‘gumi. ‘m just tired now. how was your weekend? i saw someone took you to disneyworld when i was asking for it the whole time,” you said, raising your voice at the later part of the sentence so it can reach gojo and geto’s ears from where they were in the kitchen. you could only hear a light chuckle back.

“it was so fun! mimiko was scared of the ride we went on, but i was so brave!” nanako’s eyes twinkled with so much joy, you really wish you witnessed the moment yourself. satoru was right all those years ago, you were a mother hen back then, you’re a mother hen now.

“no, i wasn’t! tsumiki was scared more!”

“why are you lying? no, i wasn’t!”

“ay, ay! i’m sure all of you were equally brave. now, can you tell me why you stayed up this late?” you finally sit everyone down, satoru and suguru joining you with freshly brewed tea, and think this is the most at peace you’ve ever felt.

“we were waiting for you…” tsumiki shyly confesses on behalf of everyone.

“oh,” your vision gets blurry and you feel pearly beads of tears pool in the corner of your eyes before quickly blinking them away.

“ughhh, you cute little puppies, i just want to eat you up,” you say before anyone can question your tears and pull all of the kids into a bear hug. time is late, however, so you make a quick work of tucking everyone into bed now that they’ve seen you. you say your goodnights and leave their rooms.

“do we not get a hug now?” satoru asks, wearing his signature smirk, and you want to clap back with a retort of your own, chastise them for letting the kids eat cake for dinner and stay up past midnight, or remind them that they are not seven years old anymore; but the car trip and the memories you revisited bring out something nostalgic in you making you slowly walk up to satoru and hug him instead. he is taken aback at first but gojo has always been good at recovering from momentary stupor so he’s pulling you back into a hug in no time.

“you two are rude,” comes from suguru’s side and as soon as you’re untangling yourself from gojo, you’re walking up to the raven-haired sorcerer to do the same.

“i missed you two idiots.”

“we missed you too.”

the silence stretches across the room but it’s comforting and inviting, like an old friend who hasn’t visited in a while, enveloping the three of you in its embrace. you look at the clock on the wall, showing you 1:05am, and suddenly your whole body feels heavy.

“sorry guys, i think the trip is finally showing its signs… i am so tired, don’t even have energy to take a shower,” you say and groan in disgust. you hate going to bed without washing the grime of the day off your body but the fatigue is clinging onto your skin like humid air. “i’m going to bed now, see you guys tomorrow.”

“good night.”

“sleep well.”

and if you paid closer attention, you would’ve noticed the deep seated longing in the men’s gazes, the one that you sometimes have to hide from them too; you would’ve noticed how suguru’s hand is following yours long after you’re out of their sight, and how satoru’s tongue darted out to wet his lips when you were pressed against him, even if for a second; you would’ve noticed that the feelings you’ve been trying to push deep down for your two best friends are reflected all the same somewhere in the constellation of their eyes.

next morning you wake up as a result of someone laughing your name and jumping on your bed. sunlight is peaking through the curtains, making sun bunnies dance on the walls of your room and kiss your cheeks. you try to open your eyes but your head feels heavy like you’ve just fallen asleep and you struggle to make out your surroundings – feeling disoriented first thing in the morning is definitely your least favorite thing. you groan softly and finally force yourself to lift your eyelids – as you do so, you’re met with two little girls using your bed as a make-shift trampoline.

“wake up! wake up! gojo-san and geto-san told us we will be leaving to go to the sea in an hour!” and they swiftly left, just as quickly as they had come in, leaving you to stare up at the ceiling in confusion.

“uh?”

once the words really settled in, you’re getting up from the bed in record time and putting on the first clothes you lay your eyes on. you find the strongest duo already up and ready. all of the kids, worryingly, also look like they are ready to leave the house, and there are bags near the door with both satoru and suguru looking too smug not to be suspicious about it.

“what is going on here?” you ask from the doorway that connects the hallway leading to your rooms to the kitchen. “why am i hearing that we’re going to the sea, and why are you dressed like this?”

“well,” satoru starts, “because we are going to the sea so we’re wearing appropriate clothing. you’re the only one who’s still not dressed.

you close your eyes and massage the bridge of your nose. mentally you douse whatever feelings you were having for these idiots yesterday.

“why am i hearing about this only now?”

“surprise?..”

“i know it’s last minute, but satoru made a promise to drive so you can relax in the car while we’re on the way there. just get ready and we can leave right after,” suguru says from his place on the couch, and you cannot help but sigh deeply and return to your room to shower and quickly pack.

when you’re out of earshot, geto shoots gojo a look.

“what are you planning, satoru?”

“why would i be planning anything? she’s been really stressed recently, and then the higher ups have the audacity to send her away for a whole weekend and give you a mission that took your whole sunday at the same time she was sent away. i was overworked the week before that. sometimes it feels like they are doing this on purpose. so maybe we should all disappear for a couple of days with no way of contacting us, maybe they’ll stop pestering us like we’re the only sorcerers available.”

“very mature of you, ‘toru.”

“yeah, yeah, whatever.”

the two of them finish packing the last of the food that gojo bought in the morning while waiting for you. reserving a spot this late in one of the most popular vacation spots in japan was hard, but nothing is impossible when you’re satoru gojo.

you’re ready in record time, and the kids are all yelling and arguing about who is going to sit where. you need to intervene and say you will be sitting in the back of suv with nanako and mimiko, while mugumi and tsumiki agreed to sit in the middle row; suguru is riding shotgun and satoru has agreed to be your driver for the ride. unsurprisingly, not even an hour out of the city, the car is filled with snoring as the kids fell asleep shortly after you started driving. you feel yourself getting drowsy, closing your eyes and swearing you will only sleep for a moment. however, the next time you open them, you’re informed by suguru that all of you are already halfway through the trip.

“oh my god, i can’t believe i slept for that long,” you mumble through a voice heavy with drowsiness. “i think it’s best if we stop somewhere now, i’ll wake the kids up so they can eat quickly and pee. i suggest we all do it.”

“yeah, i think it would be best, i don’t know if we will have the opportunity to stop any time soon,” satoru agrees with you, and the drive continues for 20 more minutes until you’re stopping at the gas station. you gently wake the kids up and let them know that they need to have a snack and go to the restroom (time is 11:20am and they should be able to fall asleep again with no issues after that).

“how much longer do you think we have to drive?” you ask satoru as he is refilling the gas tank. you’re watching suguru watch the kids where they are running around nearby.

“maybe 2.5-3 hours, depending on the traffic.”

“did something happen during the weekend?”

“no, why would you ask?”

“hm…” you quickly hum, “this is all too sudden for it to be spontaneous.”

“oh, common, don’t be like that. i just think the little family of ours needs a mini vacation, that is all.”

as soon as the words leave his mouth, gojo can feel the blush creeping up all the way to his ears and he clears his throat, walking away. you don’t know what makes you giggle more – the way he admits that whatever it is you have, he also sees it as a family, or the way the confession makes him feel embarrassed. you observe him preparing to get into the driver’s seat – sometimes you wonder what is happening in that handsome head of his. you glance at suguru and wonder if he would have a better guess.

gojo lets you know that you’re good to depart again. the second part of the trip is as chaotic as you would imagine it go and you give up on trying to make kids to go back to sleep. instead, you’re breaking up the fights between almost everyone: nanako and mimiko argue about their friendship bracelets across from you; you keep having to remind gojo that he is indeed an adult in this situation while he wants to continue arguing with megumi; and suguru somehow breaks the AC so the last 30 minutes of the drive everyone is suffering in silence.

once you finally pull up to the little vacation house gojo somehow procured at the last moment, you’re already feeling at your limit: you need the sun and to dive into warm water before you start losing your hair.

geto helps you with the bags while gojo unloads everything into the kitchen – you’re not sure how long you’re staying here for but the amount of food they brought will last you a nuclear winter. the children are excited about their rooms, and you must keep reminding them to be careful and to not run into any corners despite their enthusiasm. you help them unpack and choose outfits for the day – it’s been decided in the car that you will be going to the beach as soon as you’re settled.

everyone is ready in half an hour – you helped the girls get into their swimming suits, while megumi insisted he can do it himself (you suggested geto or gojo help him, but he closed the door in their faces and didn’t come out until he was done). both men were already waiting by the door with the picnic bags and beach essentials – you had to admit they looked a little too good, making a knot twist in your stomach.

satoru was dressed in a simple white button up that matched his hair and a pair of navy swim trunks. maybe he was right, this trip was long overdue for all three of you, as gojo looked more relaxed and at peace than you’ve seen him in a while. his lips were stretch into a lazy smile and his eyes, unobstructed by the glasses or a blindfold, had a glint of mischief that reminded you of a 16 year-old boy you met all those years ago. he tried his best to style his white unruly hair but the surrounding humidity only made it frizzier.

gojo makes it seem almost effortless, with how good he looks, and maybe part of it is true – despite never admitting it out loud, you know he won the genetic lottery when it came to his appearance. but you also know that satoru has an unrelenting skin care routine (because you buy your products together); that he asks what you think about his outfits even though you keep repeating you should be the last person he asks for fashion advice (don’t worry about it, princess, your opinion is the only one that matters anyways and you hate how your heart clenches at these words); and that he spends 45 minutes taking his showers. but what gojo doesn’t know is that you adore him the most first thing in the morning – eyes so sleepy he can barely keep them open, voice gruff and low asking what’s for breakfast, wearing his sleeping gray sweatpants and nothing else. and he will never know lest you want to ruin everything you’ve worked so hard to build between the three of you.

you moved your eyes away from gojo to where suguru was leaning on the door. he was wearing a blue hawaiian shirt with the three top buttons popped off, paired with simple black swimming shorts. his hair was put into a perfect manbun, however, unrelenting bangs always make themselves known untangled from the rest of his locks. you noticed it back when you were teenagers and got used to carrying bobby pins for him – he somehow always leaves them at home (you will never admit but you love the fact that he always forgets them – it gives you another reason to run your fingers through his hair) – and this habit stayed with you all the way into adulthood. while satoru was handsome in a regal way, suguru was all sharp edges that made him look almost dangerous – pronounced jaw, pointy nose, almost cat-like eyes; the kind of beauty that always makes you weak in the knees.

“see something you like?” satoru’s voice takes you out of your daydream and, shamefully, you realize you’ve been standing in the corridor doorway, gawking at them like it’s your first time seeing their faces. you only groan in response and roll your eyes, trying to hide the blush that adores your neck and flushes your cheeks red.

“if i saw something i like, i would’ve told you,” and you stick your tongue out. liar.

“are you feeling well? you look a little red, maybe you got a fever?” comes from suguru’s side now as he tries to reach for your forehead but you swat his hand away.

“ugh, i hate both of you.” liar. they only laugh when you rush past them, megumi and nanako on either side of you holding your hands while tsumiki sits on satoru’s shoulders and mimiko takes her rightful place on suguru’s back.

“whatever you say, sweetheart.”

the way to the beach is short and sweet, your attention is fully dedicated to megumi and nanako as they re-tell you the stories from their weekend. ‘gumi won a plushy and gave it to mimiko because she asked him to play in the first place, and tsumiki, apparently, had the highest score in the game where you punch a bag to see how strong you are. nanako says that helping satoru bake the cheesecake on sunday was her favorite part of the weekend, and you make a mental note to let her help you the next time you do it.

from behind you, geto and gojo observe your interactions with the kids, each of them in their own thoughts, yet both mulling over the same thing – you, letting tsumiki and mimiko chat between themselves.

neither of them thought you would become a constant in their lives when they decided to take in the kids – after all, none of you were in a relationship, despite their feelings for you, and you had no obligations to be giving them so much of your time. but as the time went on, all three of you fell into a comfortable routine that was both a blessing and a curse – they couldn’t confess that the boyish crush they had on you in your teenage years not only endured but blossomed into something so much more. that something kept growing inside their ribcages, weaving and building a home there, rooting itself so deep, they forgot what life was like before you offered them your light.

satoru and suguru only discussed this once between each other. the unspoken feelings they had not only for you but also for each other made already complex situation even more complicated. the fear of damaging the carefully built dynamic between the three of you was overwhelming - so overwhelming in fact, both agreed to never speak of this again. pandora’s box was sealed, and only you behold the power to open it. the strongest duo knows why this little box of wonders needs to be locked far away from them - however, it’s moments like this, when megumi asks to be carried in your hands (even though he’s getting too big for that) while nanako clenches your hand harder and you indulge both of them without a moment’s delay, that make them wish you knew: knew how much suguru adores the little tilt to your head when you’re confused about something, knew how much satoru loves smoothing out the wrinkles on your head when you’re deep in the thought, knew how both of them yearn for your laugh after a long day.

the cute white bikini you’re wearing is definitely not helping the ever-running thoughts two men are trying so hard to push down. it’s not the first time the absolute indecency of their desire is sparked by the slight bounce of your tits and the swing of your hips. memories of countless times they had to take an extra shower in the morning because you would show up in the kitchen in one of their shirts, without a bra, nipples hard and visible through a thin fabric, should make them feel embarrassed, yet the shame never comes. when did the longing for you start feeling so right?

as the years progressed, this dance the three of you did around each other became familiar, and none of you dared to switch the melody.

sometimes you wish you were brave enough to do it.

“look, look, we’re finally here!” mimiko yells from suguru’s back and then instructs him to put her down. nanako lets go of your hand as tsumiki’s climbing down satoru’s shoulders, and three girls run away towards the sea.

“be careful! you still need to put your sunscreen, don’t run away too far!” you move your attention to the little boy you released from your hold as you entered the beach, “‘gumi, you’re not going with them?”

you wiggle his arm back and forth (his hand is so tight in yours, gripping now harder than before) but he refuses to look at you so you don’t push.

“did you forget he doesn’t know how to swim?” satoru says from behind you, and you shoot him a look. god, was he purposefully trying to rile megumi? fushiguro only digs his fingers further into your hand, and you honestly want to bite satoru’s head off.

“that’s okay, baby, i’m sure your dad needed support of his whole clan when he was trying to learn how to swim.”

“he is not my dad.”

your brain goes blank for a second, and you hope satoru did not hear what you just said (he did; but he thinks he’ll spare you the further embarrassment; he also doesn’t want to admit that it makes his stomach turn in a way he wish it wouldn’t).

“you’re right, dummy like him could never be your dad.”

you find the spot not too far from where the girls are playing, and you help geto and gojo set up the blankets and umbrellas. while they are making sure none of it flies away with the first gust of the wind, you search for the sunscreen in your bag.

“girls! come here, we need to put sunscreen on you!”

you hear the tatter of 6 feet rushing towards you, trying to get first in line so they can all get back to playing in the water. you hand satoru and suguru two other tubes you brought.

“help me to put this on them. i think if we don’t do it in the next minute, they will actually explode,” you say, smiling at how impatient tsumiki is being in front of you as she keeps bouncing on her legs. before you start on the sunscreen, you turn her so her back is facing you and let her hair out of the ponytail as you try to retie it. she winces a bit and lets out a small ouch.

“’m sorry baby, didn’t meant to hurt you, you okay?” you ask as you rub on the roots of her hair.

“yeah, i’m okay!” she exclaims loudly, making you giggle. once her bun is all set in place, you quickly put the sunscreen on her whole body, finishing with the face, and boop her nose. tsumiki scrunches it in her adorable way, and you feel your heart swell with joy and love.

once the girls run off again, suguru comes up to you with the tube of sunscreen in hands.

“don’t you think you need a little help too?”

the smile adorning his face is so sweet, he doesn’t realize the summersaults it’s making your heart to do. and when you think about those hands on your shoulders, on your back, going lower where you want them most, you realize you actually might be burning up. but you can’t come up with an excuse fast enough not to let him do it so, without any words lest you’ll be embarrassing yourself, you just turn around and present him your back.

geto start slowly with your shoulders, squeezing the tube and spreading the sunscreen on your soft skin. you swear you can hear him sharply inhale, and your heart involuntarily skips a beat. you let yourself wonder, just for a second, how these hands would feel on the parts of your body where you want them most, if geto would be as gentle squeezing your breasts and tugging at your nipples. and when his hands start travelling lower, caressing the space between your shoulder blades and running his fingers down your spine, you wonder if his long digits would reach the spot inside your gummy walls that you’re unable to find yourself. you absolutely lose yourself to the indecent thoughts when he starts massaging the sunscreen into your lower back. that man, you think, if only he knew what he was doing. it takes all of your willpower to prevent yourself from moaning out loud and not tremble at his mere touch. you want to lean back and tilt your head to the side so geto can leave a trail of wet kisses on the side of your neck, following the curve of it to your jaw, and capture your lips in a way that only lovers can.

you can feel your skin grow hot and your white bikini better not show how embarrassingly wet you got from your best friend’s touch. you’re so sick, you think to yourself and before it becomes any worse, you’re untangling yourself from suguru’s arms and call out for megumi.

“i… uh… will go swim with him, don’t want him to get bored,” you breathlessly whisper as if too afraid to speak any louder, and call out to the boy.

“‘gumi, common! grab your floaties and we’ll go play a little further away from the girls,” you wait for him to grab his stuff, and you notice one of his rare smiles – he never hid the fact that you were his favorite out of three adults, and he always feels a little smug when your undivided attention is on him. satoru shoots him a knowing look which megumi successfully ignores, clinging to you.

you pass the girls as you show them the direction you’re taking megumi in and they all say “okay!” at the same time like it’s rehearsed. mimiko, nanako and tsumiki are in a competition to see who can gather the most seashells and are left under the attentive gaze of gojo and geto. you help megumi put his floaties on and gather him into your arms so you can walk a little deeper: once you’re satisfied with the distance, you try to let him go but he is attached to you like a baby koala.

“common ‘gumi, i promise i won’t let you go, okay? i’ll be right here in case you need help, and i’ll be also holding onto you the whole time.”

fushiguro only violently shakes his head, not wanting to be in the water by himself. you wonder where this fear comes from and think you’ll have to revisit it later. you don’t push any further, and hug him closer, running a smoothing hand on his back while he puts his head on your shoulder. you squat a little to help him get adjusted to the temperature, and he shrieks from the sudden rush of water above his waist while hugging you tighter, almost choking you. laughter bubbles in your throat but you don’t want to make megumi feel worse than he already does so you try your best not to let it out.

“hey, baby, it’s okay. i am holding you, yeah?” and as you say that, you try to push him away from you one more time, to let him experience the ocean by himself but he only tightens his hold as a sign he is not moving away. so you resign to gently swaying with him in the water, letting the salty waves wash around you. you can feel the sunlight dancing on your skin, warm breeze carrying all your worries away, if just for a moment, and you close your eyes allowing yourself to take all of it in. megumi’s head is pleasantly heavy on your shoulder, and you walk little bit further away from the beach until you bump into someone.

“oh, i am so sorry!” you instantly apologize and turn around. what you don’t expect is to be met with the pair of the most beautiful green eyes you see (your mind involuntarily goes to gojo and how even these emerald eyes pale to comparison to the infinity carried by his gaze). you think if your heart didn’t belong to the two most annoying human beings you’ve ever had a pleasure of encountering, you would’ve fallen head over hills right here, right now.

“please, no need to apologize.”

surprise number two: this stranger is not only handsome, but also has a voice that makes you want to do whatever he asks you to, as long as he keeps talking to you. and again, you think how unfortunate of you to fall in love with two people you can’t have when men like this walk around for free.

he smiles when his attention falls to megumi - little boy appears not to be happy with this encounter. who does this man thinks he is? maybe megumi didn’t want to learn how to swim, it doesn’t mean that he is willing to share you when he just got you away from two men on the beach (he is not old enough to rationalize that what he is feeling is jealousy; you never noticed but, geto and gojo excluded, he never liked how other men talk to you in the first place).

a handsome stranger doesn’t seem taken aback by the attitude from megumi, and for a seven-year-old, your little boy has a mean death stare.

“he is very cute, what is his name?”

“he’s megumi,” you give him your name as well and extend the arm for introduction. before a man can even respond, megumi is tugging your arm away and whines, speaking loud enough for satoru and suguru to hear, who, unbeknownst to you, have been watching the interaction this whole time (spoiler – they are not very happy about it but proud of the kid, truly an oscar-worthy performance).

“mommy, i want to learn how to swim now!”

you think you heard him wrong – he has never called you this before. if it happened any other time, you think you would’ve cried tears of happiness. now it only makes you feel stupor. how does he even know to call you mommy in this situation? megumi has always been the most well-behaved one out of all four kids, the disbelief at his attitude is written all over your face. what is he playing at?

“oh, i’m sorry, i didn’t realize he was your kid,” the man says but hurries to add, “i adore children though; i work at a pre-school. hi megumi, my name is rei.”

the boy looks at the outstretched hand the man offered like it personally offended him. all of a sudden, he points to the beach where satoru and suguru seat and announces, yet again loud enough for them to hear.

“my daddies are just right there!”

what happened to “he’s not my dad?” you think in panic.

you’re not sure if gojo and geto can hear the full conversation, but they wave back at you anyways. rei moves his gaze from you to megumi to two men on the beach, trying to decide if he should believe it or not. you, on the other hand, are speechless and currently wishing someone would be kind enough to curse you right now, or for the ground to split and swallow you whole with how hot and embarrassed you feel. megumi is so grounded today. you can feel the inner temperature rise to the inappropriate levels, feeling like a kettle that is about to overheat – you don’t wait for rei’s response while saying awkward “bye, nice meeting you!” and rushing away.

“welcome back, mommy,” satoru teases when you settle back at your spot. megumi is sitting on the opposite side of you, munching on the watermelon like he didn’t just make an absolute fool out of you in front of a random man. you try your best to ignore satoru, but his comment only makes you groan, sound almost bordering a sob.

“please, for the love of everything holy, don’t say another word. i bet it was you who put this idea into his head.”

“you know as well as we do that you can’t make megumi do anything he doesn’t want to,” gojo responds with the knowing smirk, and you only sink into yourself further. your face is burning up, and now you think it’s not because megumi’s whole afternoon mission was apparently to embarrass you in front of a stranger but because of what he said. the shock of the moment is finally dissipating, instead giving the space to indescribable tenderness. you will have to cry about it later on your own so to save yourself further shame, you hide your face behind your hat and lay down, contemplating how this one simple word somehow turned all of your insides upside down.

what you fail to notice is the proud smile satoru shoots to megumi, mouthing “good job” and suguru passing him his favorite candy knowing he’s not allowed to eat it before dinner.

you feel absolutely drained. after the incident with megumi, you stayed in the same position until the kids started complaining that they were hungry. the sun is getting low, painting the skies ochre and pink, giving everyone its glowing kiss. you dare to peek at satoru and suguru, and they looked almost ethereal – sunshine dancing on satoru’s white eyelashes as he dries tsumiki with a towel and nodding enthusiastically at the collection of shells she is showing him, while suguru tries to untie nanako’s wet hair so he can wrap a towel around it. mimiko slowly drags her legs towards you, poor girl absolutely exhausted, and as soon as you open your arms to embrace her with a towel of her own, she plops against you and almost momentarily falls asleep.

suguru offers to carry her home, but you wave him off, asking to grab megumi’s hand instead.

“i am not cooking once we get home, we better buy food now or we can drive into the city.”

“ugh, i don’t think i have the strength to drive,” satoru whines like he is the youngest out of the bunch. “let’s just buy something here, it smells pretty good.”

suguru only hums in agreement, listening to nanako and tsumiki argue about who got the most shells (both fail to count their shells correctly), and with that, your dinner plans are decided with satoru ordering your food from the stall nearby.

“what do we say when someone gets you food?”

“thank you, gojo-san!” three little voices echo each other, and you’re surprised even megumi joined in. the way back home is quick as you’re standing in front of your door in no time.

“oh my god, my legs are killing me,” you complain as you pass the threshold of the house. mimiko has been sleeping in your arms the whole way back, and you don’t know if you should wake her up and ask her to eat, or if you should just let her sleep. you can still smell the ocean on her skin, and you decide it’s best for her hygiene and your peace of mind that she is clean before she goes to bed too so with a heavy heart, you’re gently shaking her awake once you sit down on the couch.

“hey sweetie, we’re home. let’s eat, bathe and then i’ll put you back to bed, yeah?” her eyes are unfocused as she opens them, and she’s letting out a long yawn before slowly nodding her head and getting up.

“okay, everyone, go wash your hands, dinner will be ready soon,” suguru says from where he already stands in the kitchen, and all four pairs of legs excitedly hurry away.

“i hope the adventure today is enough to put them all to sleep right away,” you wistfully say.

“with their tummies full, i’m sure they will pass out in no time,” suguru says back while satoru circles around him to grab the plates from the overhead cupboards. you want to get up and help but looking at them like this, all domestic and familiar, the side of the strongest sorcerers only you get to see, makes you stall for a second to appreciate this moment for a little longer. the dull ache in your chest starts throbbing again as if someone’s picking at the rough edges that never seem to fully heal, and you wonder if you could have it all if you were a little more selfish. you shake your head banishing all unnecessary thoughts from your head.

the dinner is eaten quickly, everyone so hungry, you barely exchange any words. you can see the children are struggling to keep their eyes open, tsumiki almost falling face first into the plate, so you make a quick work of their unfinished dinner and hurry them into a bathtub. megumi insists he is old enough to take a bath separately from the girls so you ask either satoru or suguru to help him (megumi makes it known who he prefers by grabbing suguru’s hand and dragging him to the second bathroom). bath time is also surprisingly quiet, low energy in the room being an indicator of just how exhausted everyone is.

with the kids finally tucked into bed (megumi apologized for misbehaving, and you think about how far you’ve come with the boy who wouldn’t utter a full sentence to you for the first 6 months), you grab the beer from the fridge and make your way onto the patio where satoru and suguru are already engaged in conversation.

they turn their heads toward you once you step outside and offer you the space between them which you gladly take. you can see suguru is nursing his own beer, while satoru opted out for a bottle of virgin mojito.

“did neither of you really ask megumi to call me “mommy” today?” you wonder out loud as you’re looking out into the horizon, where the last rays of sun melt into the ocean, clearing the canvas for the stars to spark to life.

“nah, you know how stubborn that kid is,” satoru drawls as he takes another sip of the drink; you scrunch your nose just imagining how sweet that concoction is but smile, nonetheless. “plus, it was nice being called a dad.”

both you and suguru turn to look at him, but he stubbornly keeps staring forward. you snort, seeing geto’s smile in your peripheral vision, but there is no malice behind your action. both you and suguru always knew that gojo cared in the same capacity as the two of you for the kids, he was just a little more stubborn about admitting it. you can see it in the way he handles them after they wake up from nightmares (because he knows the same thing haunts him), how he packs them lunches to school when neither you or suguru are able to do it (i know i am not as great of a cook as those two but it’s better than buying stuff from the store), how he allows them to have sweets from his secret stash when everyone else (even you and geto) are not permitted to even think about it. the two of you always knew how much he cared – satoru just needed a little push to say it out loud.

you’re about to say something witty but suguru speaks up first.

“would you have continued flirting with that man if it wasn’t for megumi?”

“flirting? i wasn’t flirting with him!”

“whatever, talking,” geto waves a hand at you like it’s all unimportant details. “would you?”

the air suddenly feels charged with electricity, years of longing and yearning threaten to rip everything at the seams. you tried so hard to move past them, move past your silly little crush, failing miserably. not that dating other people was an option for you anyways – you are sure anyone, upon hearing that you take care of four small children at only age 21, will run away in the opposite direction. it’s a good thing it didn’t matter to you either way – the kids became an integral part of your life, and you would not give them up for anything. but sometimes, just sometimes, when the loneliness creeps into the parts of your bones that have no space for it, when the heart becomes a little too big for your own chest trying to escape through rushed beats, when you tremble from how longing encompasses your whole being, you wonder how it would feel if romantic love was made for you too.

you tilt your head to look at suguru, trying to find something in his face. he doesn’t know why he asked that question – maybe it’s the sun rush of the day, the good mood he’s been in recently or how that man looked at your body – but it felt right. and he knows he’s being selfish without discussing it with satoru beforehand, but he’s so tired of hiding, so tired of pretending like he doesn’t dream of waking up next to your warm bodies, so tired of thinking about what ifs and could haves - asking that question only felt right.

“no, i don’t think i would’ve returned his sentiment,” you simply state and hope that they would leave it at that. you know they never do.

“why?” it’s satoru’s turn in this interrogation, and he looks at you in a way that makes your pulse pick up its pace.

“because…” you don’t know what you’re supposed to say. because you’re in love with your best friends? have been since you were 16 years old? you’ve been carrying the weight of unrequited love for so long now, you think you’re afraid what will happen to the space it occupies if you confess. you hope you know them enough to realize they will not make fun of you for your confession, at most making lighthearted jokes about how they always knew you were not immune to their charms, but your palms are getting sweaty just anticipating their reaction.

“because?” satoru nudges you again, and you dare to steal a glance into his baby blues. satoru’s eyes have been compared to the most prized sapphires, an ocean that will never be fully explored, the skies that are bigger than life itself – all the metaphors that describe him to the outside world perfectly. however for you, his eyes are the color of blueberries that he painstakingly picks out of tsumiki’s desserts and gives to megumi; they are the color of his favorite shirt that is more gray now than blue with how much he washed it but refuses to throw away; it’s the blue ribbons he picked out for nanako’s and mimiko’s hair for their first day of school. you look into his eyes and see a sparkle of something familiar, something you’ve seen in your eyes times and times before, staring back from the reflection in the mirror.

unexpectedly, you feel dizzy and don’t know if it’s the summer breeze that makes your head feel heavy, the alcohol swimming in your veins, or the present company, but you’re brought back to when you were all 16 and innocent, to the moment before the steady ground was violently ripped from right underneath your feet. you think about amanai and that she still loved and cared despite knowing how all of it would end for her. you think about haibara, and how he was full of promise and life and so, so much love, you almost feel sick again.

you’re quiet as you contemplate, and the men don’t interrupt your train of thoughts. memories flash before your eyes like snapshots of old cameras, making them wonder where you have gone off to.

but then you think about how it ended, for the both of your friends, in blood and violence and guilt, their life threads cut short before either of them knew what life even is. amanai and haibara didn’t get enough time to figure it all out: have they loved anyone the way you love satoru and suguru? would have they have had time to figure it out if it was a fair world?

you can feel your best friends’ body heat wrap around you, encapsulating you in their scent and presence, and you decide you’d like to stay like this forever. you think about everyone who didn’t get to spend another hour with someone they love, and you realize you’d regret it your whole life if something happens and they didn’t know how they make you feel. and with the life you lead, something can happen at any moment. you steady your hands and take a deep breath, reading yourself. now or never.

“because i am in love with you two, and i have been since we were 16.”

you close your eyes, waiting for the laugh to come, for them to say oh, you little silly girl, to chastise you for falling for the only two people that will never be yours. you wait and wait but nothing comes. instead, you feel someone’s knuckles brushing lightly against yours and gasp, opening your eyes. what you didn’t expect to see is your two best friends looking at you as if they are seeing you for the first time, their lips stretch in smiles so wide, it looks like it’s supposed to hurt. and eyes, their eyes, say so much without them needing to say anything at all.

“so… what you’re saying is that we’ve been blue balling each other since we were 16?”

“ohmygodsatorupleasestop,” words leave your mouth all jumbled up, you’re sure they didn’t understand what you said. gojo might be a little crude but the meaning behind his childish metaphor is not lost on you – three of you have been oblivious to each other’s feelings for five years now, and a pang of regret shoots through you. how different would everything be if you were brave enough to confess all those years ago?

“have both of you really known since you were 16?”

“yes.”

both of them say it with such conviction, you feel yourself get lightheaded. you don’t want to cry but tears are pooling in your eyes involuntarily, and you sniff a little into satoru’s shoulder.

“aw, why are you crying? i thought we all finally agreed to be happy,” suguru coos at you from the side. the warmth of your hand in his still feels unreal – like it’s someone else’s arm attached to him, and he‘s just observing as a passer-by. he brushes your knuckles with the pads of his fingers and it feels right, how your digits perfectly intervene with his and how your head fits just right into the crook of satoru’s neck, and how your lips look so perfectly kissable and shiny right now. but he doesn’t want to rush the fragility of the moment, so he only squeezes your hand tighter.

“because we could’ve had this all this time… if we were just a little braver.”

“don’t you think we are already brave enough, all the time?” satoru asks this time. “maybe it’s okay for us to be a little cowardly, even if it’s not entirely good for us. we have next memory to look forward to anyways.” gojo lifts your head and looks into your teary eyes – you’re so beautiful, it almost hurts. he let his daydreams to be full of you and your lips and your touch, that it takes everything in him not to cross the distance in a searing kiss. but he knows it’s not the right moment, so he just swipes your tears away and kisses you on the forehead. behind you, you can feel suguru’s lips gently touch your exposed shoulder.

and just like that, all worries dissipate like sand through the cracks between fingers. what is the point of worrying about the past when you have future full of love in front of you? you don’t know what tomorrow holds for three of you with your souls now bare for each other, but you have the time to discover it together. for now, you’re content with this moment, salty ocean breeze dancing on your skin, the warmth of suguru’s palm in yours and satoru’s shoulder lulling you to sleep, and you think that maybe you’ve always meant to end up here, between them.

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writeonwhiskey · 4 months

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the skz house: ch 6 (18+)

a/n: happy new year, everyone! you guys made the end of 2023 so unbelievably positive for me with your comments, reblogs & likes. thank you sm!! 🩵 huge thank you to @cloverstayy for the below graphic! she's on insta & tiktok under the same name.

Summary: Welcome to Sigma Kappa Zeta, the most popular fraternity on campus. When you, down on your luck and looking for a place to live, see their ad for ‘IN-HOUSE STAY’. You're one of the four girls chosen and find that your duties for the rest of the school year will be cooking, cleaning, and pleasing your assigned house members: Hyunjin & Bang Chan.

[ read chapter five here ] [ skz house photo book ]

Chapter Six: Of Joy Rides and Hot Tubs

You don’t have class on Thursday so you’re free to wake up when you want. Chan is gone by the time you do, and it’s only 10:00am. He doesn’t have class until late afternoon so your thoughts immediately drift to where he may have gone so early. You would have liked to see him. You wonder, if after last night, he would have smiled at you or shown you any sign that things might be different moving forward.

It’s a silly, fleeting thought. Having sex with him doesn’t change anything. Even though he granted your plea of treating you good, he still kept his boundaries firmly in place after your shower. You were curious if he would allow you to sleep in his bed, naively hopeful about it even as you finished putting on your pajamas. However, when he got situated under his sheets and bid you goodnight, he made it abundantly clear you were not welcome there.

Down in the kitchen and still in your pajamas, you snack on a granola bar as some of the others prepare to leave for classes or wherever they’re going—Seungmin has his baseball bag slung over his shoulder and invites you to come watch him practice later. He’s still on your shit list, though, so you’re not overly thrilled about it…but it’s an option if you have nothing better to do.

The house falls quiet again when all the commotion has ceased and you make your way back up to the second floor, to Hyunjin’s room.

His curtains are drawn, keeping most of the morning light at bay as he sleeps. You walk around to the side of the bed and consider waking him up, cocking your head to the side as you gaze down at him. Even with his blonde hair all over the place, he looks so peaceful and handsome and perfect. His plump lips are pouted in a way that makes him seem absolutely adorable. Sleeping Beauty, who?

Without second guessing it, you slide on the bed next to him.

He peeks open an eye at the movement and smiles lazily when he sees you, causing your heart to flutter.

“Mmmm, she’s back,” he murmurs sleepily as he wraps his arms around you—one under your head and the other around your waist—and pulls you close, nestling his face in your hair.

He throws his leg around yours, holding on to you as if you are his own personal body pillow. Your body relaxes in his embrace and you instantly let out a soft sigh. You are content enough to stay in this position with him all day. His steady breathing lets you know he’s drifted back to sleep so you try your best to be still and not disturb his slumber any further.

Laying on your side, staring ahead at the sight of your empty bed, your mind starts to roam and reflect on the chaos you endured over the past week. Seven days ago you were literally sitting on a curb trying to figure out where you were going to live. And throwing yourself into the SKZ house was a well-timed distraction. You were together with your ex for almost three years, and hadn’t even given yourself time to fully process your break up. Maybe because you knew it was coming…your priorities were no longer aligned, and his eyes had started to wander, his attention and affection wavered. In hindsight, you should have been better prepared for it.

You did love him, though. So the pain of him telling you he thought it’d be best if you lived apart for a while (meaning you getting the fuck out of the apartment), is still brewing inside of you. The anger derived from that pain also makes it easier to cut off your feelings for him. But you hadn’t truly considered being with anyone besides him and now here you are…having fucked one man last night and now in bed with another this morning.

You’d experienced more sexually in three days than you had in the past three years. Dominance, submission, lust, need, desire. You were pushed out of your comfort zone and you liked it. But the most troubling thing for you to wrap your head around is the lack of compassion surrounding these new sexual exploits. You’ve never just fucked someone you weren’t in love with. So how do you detach the actions from the emotions that course through you every time you see Chan?

You can’t deny that you’re attracted to him—that you like the way he teases you, the way he makes you yearn for his touch just by looking at you. Yet, you still don’t understand how you feel about him, or if you should bother feeling anything at all.

Cuddled up to Hyunjin—whom you’ve essentially known the same amount of time as Chan, only further adds to your confusion. Clearly it could all be this simple but Chan seems hellbent on making sure you know he views you as an object, a tool at his disposal. Chan very much still feels like a stranger in all aspects outside of sex, whereas Hyunjin feels like someone you’ve known for a long time. Someone that gets you—that respects you. He’s the only thing of comfort you’ve been able to rely on amidst the raging emotions trying their best to consume you when you’re with Chan.

Hyunjin doesn’t even know how much you need him to just exist right now, and he’d probably think you were crazy if you told him. You place your hand on his arm and bring it from your waist to your chest, he squeezes you closer to him in response, readjusting his body slightly.

With him snuggled against you and these thoughts wreaking havoc on you mentally, the rise and fall of your chest quickens and before you can stop it, tears are streaming down your cheek as the weight of the past week hits you like a Sparta kick to the chest. You try to keep quiet, to wipe your tears before they fall to his arm, but there’s too many and your sniffling gives you away.

Hyunjin stirs and lifts his head up, peeking over your shoulder. When he registers that you’re crying, he slowly blinks his eyes open to really look at you. His hand hugged to your chest moves to your face, turning it towards him. You try to resist, shaking your head, wanting to hide your face in the mattress.

“Y/n,” he says softly, voice still groggy from sleep.

He turns your entire body around so you’re facing him and cups your cheek, wiping your tears away with the pad of his thumb. His attempts are futile—each time he wipes, a new trail is formed.

“Gwenchana?” he says, warm brown eyes searching yours. “You okay?”

You don’t know what he’s said, why he’s said it, or if he’s still half asleep and not realizing he’s speaking Korean but regardless, the gentle, caring concern in his tone fucking breaks you.

A sob escapes from your lips as you squeeze your eyes shut and press your face to his chest. He holds you around the waist with one hand and the other strokes the back of your head.

Even with how good Chan made you feel last night—desired in a way you’d never imagined—you still slept in your bed alone, all the while wanting nothing more than to still be close to him after how much of yourself you’d given to him. To be in his arms the way Hyunjin is holding you now.

You can’t hold it in any longer, and here in this room, you don’t feel like you have to. He just let’s you cry, face against his chest, hands pulling at his shirt. You feel safe here. You want to stay in his protective embrace.

You don’t know how long you spend sobbing against him, but he doesn’t let go of you the entire time. When the sobs and tears finally stop and you regain control of your breathing, he leans back to look at you.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You chew on your bottom lip and shake your head, unable to meet his gaze.

“Not really,” you say, sniffling and wiping at your eyes. “It’s just been a lot—with the breakup and moving here and Chan and you.”

“Okay,” he replies with a simple nod.

He holds on to you tightly and quickly moves you up and over him so you're now laying on the opposite side of the bed.

“That side is for crying—this side is for happy y/n,” he declares.

You can’t help but laugh at his antics. You look down at his tear stained shirt and pull at the fabric.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “And sorry for waking you up like this.”

“Don’t be,” he assures you. And you believe him with ease. “You’re here for me as much as I’m here for you. In all ways.”

His words are sweet and honestly make you feel like you could start bawling all over again.

“What time is it?” You ask as a distraction, realizing you’ve left your phone in Chan’s room.

“Who cares,” he shrugs.

“Don’t you have class?”

“Who cares,” he repeats. “Want to go do something?”

As much as you’d like to stay here in bed, in his arms, it would also feel nice to be anywhere but inside the house right now.

“Sure,” you say after a moment. “As long as you’re back in time for class.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course, we will be,” he doesn’t sound too convincing this time. He gives you one final squeeze before sitting up. He grabs his phone from the nightstand and checks the time. “We have four hours.”

“What do you have in mind?” You ask, sitting up.

“Nothing at all—I don’t do plans, remember?”

“You’re gonna make me feel a different kind of crazy these next three days,” you joke.

“You’ll learn to love it,” he winks.

You slide out of the bed and find an outfit for the day. You immediately start changing in the room without thinking about it, but Hyunjin hasn’t seen nearly as much of you as Chan has. You peek over your shoulder and see he’s still sitting in bed, watching you with a smile. He pretends he’s been caught, averting his gaze around the room.

“Stop it,” you say with a laugh, pulling your pants up.

“I’m an artist,” he replies, “I have to appreciate good views. Commit them to memory for my work, you know.”

“Well, this isn’t a live model class—get up and get dressed,” you tell him.

“Yes ma’am.”

You pull on your t-shirt, then tell him you’ll be back in a minute. You make your way upstairs, to Chan’s room. You’re not sure if he’s home so you knock lightly on the door. There’s no response. You enter and retrieve your phone, tucking it in your back pocket. You take a moment to makeup your bed since you have no intention of returning to this room at all for the next couple of days. You also grab your backpack and sling it over your shoulder before turning around to leave.

You stop dead in your tracks when you see Chan, standing between the door frame, startling you. You put a hand to your chest to still your beating heart. How long had he been standing there?

When he takes in the sight of you, you catch a brief look of concern on his face—if you had blinked you would have missed it.

“I just came to get my things,” you say softly.

As if you owe him any kind of explanation.

He remains silent as he enters the room, stopping just in front of you. He leans down a little, his eyes raking over your face carefully. It dawns on you then…how you must look. You can feel the tightness and puffiness of your eyes from crying earlier.

For a moment you think he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. His lips are pressed together tightly as he gives a curt nod and steps to the side, allowing you to walk past.

His silence feels worse than anything he could have said.

—————

“Have you ever driven one of these before?” Hyunjin asks, seated next to you in the passenger seat of the navy blue Tesla.

You shake your head, still in shock he offered to let you drive.

“Go easy on the pedal,” he says, buckling his seatbelt.

You adjust the rearview mirror, groaning at the sight of your puffy eyes in the reflection. Even after gently washing your face and moisturizing, they still looked awful.

Hyunjin opens the glove compartment, revealing several pairs of sunglasses. He shuffles them around, holds a few different pairs up to your face before deciding on one and handing it to you. He picks a pair for himself and puts them on as you do the same.

“Now we’re ready,” he looks over to you and you see his eyebrows wiggle above the frame of the sunglasses.

You’re grinning widely as you reverse from the driveway, feeling happy and optimistic for once. Hyunjin controls the music as you drive, curating a soundtrack for your adventure. Neither of you have any idea where you’re going, which annoys the crap out of you. Hyunjin finds it amusing and starts telling you to take a left here or there. At one point he has you take four rights in a row, effectively sending you in a circle, or square rather. He claps his hands together, laughing as you swat at his arm and thigh in annoyance.

When the song “Broken” by We Are Fury & Luma comes through the speakers, you make him replay it a few times in a row—the two of you sing it together, “Give it away, like I always do. Watch you start to fade, one more heart to lose.” The lyrics hit you in special way today, but Hyunjin matches your energy as you both belt out the next part with your whole chest, “Got that sinking feeling like the bottom of the ocean, I’ve been here before, feeling every damn emotion.”

You drive and sing and talk. You’re almost able to forget about your sad, emotional outburst earlier. Almost.

At one point you stop at a shopping center with a recently opened Halloween store to browse the costumes and pick up a few decorative items for the house. Well, it started as a few anyway. Hyunjin alternates between holding your hand and hugging you from behind as you walk through the aisles. He keeps you entertained with his clumsiness—screaming and knocking into displays when something scares him. Being with him makes you feel like a normal college student just hanging out with their crush—joking, laughing, flirting.

When you make a stop for lunch, you mention Seungmin inviting you to watch him practice and Hyunjin doesn’t mind the idea. You grab enough food for the three of you and head down to campus. You’ve never had a reason to venture to the baseball field before, but it’s quite large and empty aside from the players practicing.

You and Hyunjin take a seat in the bleachers—Seungmin waves when he spots you two. You munch on fries and a burger as you watch them. Seungmin is far more serious on the mound than you’ve ever seen him. He looks like he simply belongs there, on the field and in his uniform, striking out a couple of team mates in a row.

“Shit, I have to get to class,” Hyunjin announces, checking his phone.

You hadn’t realized how much time had passed already.

“Go,” you tell him with a nod. “I’ll catch a ride back with Seungmin or wait around for you.”

“You’ll wait for me?” He asks, batting his eyelashes at you.

“Maybe,” you tease with a playful shrug.

He stands up and starts to walk away from you before suddenly stopping. He turns back around to face you, leans down and places a kiss firmly on your lips. You’re startled at the sudden action, but you don’t shy away from it. You press your lips back against his.

It’s quick and sweet, but a wave of heat rushes through your body all the same.

“See you later,” he says when he steps back.

You continue watching Seungmin for another half an hour until practice ends. He comes to meet you in the bleachers and you offer him the food you had ordered for him.

You push your sunglasses down the bridge of your nose to look at him directly in the eyes, “It may or may not be poisoned.”

“I have a strong immune system,” he retorts, tearing away at the wrapper of the burger and biting into it. “Did you like what you saw?”

“You’re okay,” you say nonchalantly, pushing your sunglasses back up. “When’s the first game?”

“In the spring. You gonna come watch?”

“Only if I can root for the other team,” you reply.

“That’s blasphemy.”

“Serves you right, pineapple boy.”

He lets out a loud laugh at your remark.

“Come on, it was a joke.”

“To you, maybe…Chan didn’t find it so amusing,” you tell him.

“He actually does like pineapple,” he shrugs.

“But not on pizza—you set me up.”

“I did,” he agrees. “It was funny.”

“Again…to you, maybe. And Changbin. I’ll get you back for that.”

“Oooh, I’m so scared,” he says, finishing off the last bite of his burger in record time.

“You should be,” you tell him. “Sleep with your eyes open Kim Seungmin.”

“I always do.”

You roll your eyes. His sarcastic ass has a comeback for everything.

You sit and talk on the bleachers a little while longer until Seungmin is ready to head back to the house. He walks you to the building where Hyunjin’s class is before taking off. You sit outside the building and wait, scrolling through your phone for a lack of anything better to do. When you look up and see Hyunjin finally walking out, he’s beaming when he spots you on the bench.

You stand to greet him, only just now realizing he went to class empty handed—no backpack, no notebook or pen, nothing. You could never imagine doing such a thing but for Hyunjin, it just seems fitting.

By the time you get back home, the house is abuzz per usual for this time of night. You and Hyunjin take in the decorations from the Halloween store and get to work putting some of them up with a few others as dinner is prepared.

Everyone throws around ideas for the upcoming Halloween party, and it starts to sound more intense than you could have imagined. It seems like they plan to go all out with kegs, catering, costume contests and more.

After dinner you lounge in the living room, seated around the coffee table with nearly everyone except Chan, Rhiannon, Changbin and Lee Know, playing Uno. Rhiannon and Changbin had excused themselves after making suggestive faces at each other the entire meal. The game causes a lot of commotion and outbursts but honestly it’s the most fun you’ve had in the house as a group yet.

Felix claims to make the house rules, saying you can put a Draw 2 on a Draw 2, which is purely evil as he makes you Draw 12 cards at one point with a devilish grin on his face.

By 8:30pm, Hyunjin is dragging you back upstairs to his room wanting to watch the next episode of the show you started Sunday, saying he’s been waiting forever to see what happens.

You both climb into his bed, laptop in front of you and leaned together as you watch episode two. You’re at ease next to him. You readjust yourselves halfway through watching to get more comfortable, sitting with your backs against the pillows and the laptop resting on your left and his right thigh. He wraps an arm around you and you lean against him. You’re able to get in two episodes before calling it quits for the night.

“You know I can sleep in my own bed if you don’t want me with you,” you say to him as you’re putting your dirty clothes in the laundry and make a note to do some washing over the weekend.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

You shrug in response, as if you don’t know the reason you’re saying it involves the man on the next floor up.

“In case you want your space or something.”

“No,” he replies cooly. “I get my space when you’re with Chan.”

He pulls back the bedsheets (specifically on the right, your happy side) and looks pointedly down at them then back up to you. You can’t stop the smile that creeps on to your face as you climb in bed next to him.

“Fair warning I have to be up for an early class tomorrow.”

“Ew,” he says pulling you towards him and you can just picture the look of disgust he’s bearing.

You turn around to face him, tucking your head in the crook of his neck.

“Thank you for this morning,” you tell him.

“You’ll adjust,” he says. “But I know it’s hard.”

“Did you want to…” you ask, trailing off in the same way you did with Chan but you’re not nearly half as nervous. You can’t let yourself lose sight of the reason you’re in this house.

“We don’t have to rush, okay?” he replies.

You nod.

“You are emotional right now,” he continues, “I can see that. I know this can be a lot to handle in the beginning so I won’t pile more on top of what you're already feeling.”

“I think I can handle it…” you speak up.

“I want you to know you can handle it, y/n.”

You bite your bottom lip as you look at him. His words don’t feel like a rejection, they’re coming from a place that’s putting you first. He’s right. And you know it.

“Can I kiss you?” You ask timidly.

He grabs on to you like he did this morning and pulls you up and over so you’re laying on top of him. You sit up, straddling his waist, and run your hands through his soft, blonde hair before leaning down and pressing your lips to his. You want to communicate just how much spending today with him meant to you.

The kiss starts with slow, long presses of your lips together but soon evolves into more. You part your mouth, and he captures your bottom lip between his, sucking on it gently. His hands roam across your back as you kiss him again, snaking your tongue inside his mouth while your hips grind against him.

He turns his head to the side, letting out a breath as he breaks the kiss. You look down at him with uncertain eyes.

“Don’t think I don’t want you…because I do.” He moves his hips against you and you can feel his hardening cock press against you. “But let’s do this right.”

You realize how easily you could try to push it further, but he seems adamant about wanting you to be in a good headspace. Which, truthfully, makes you want him even more. As if he can heal the part of you that’s been wounded by fucking you.

“We can still kiss though, right?”

He responds by cupping the back of your neck and bringing your lips to his again.

The strict make out session has you feeling like a teenager again—hesitant to move to second base. He stills your hips and grunts each time you grind against him, causing you to giggle. The roles in this room are much different as you get to be the teaser for once.

—————

On Saturday it’s decided to make use of the pool and hot tub before the weather gets too cold. Changbin and Chan man the grill as everyone else is in the heated pool either swimming or lounging on the large floaties. You’re left feeling a little in awe, as you have never seen so much of all the members—the girls in their bathing suits and the guys in their swim trunks. They boys are all varying degrees of physical fitness—some have abs, some don’t, some have defined, muscular arms, some don’t. But the sight of each them makes you lick your lips and force yourself to look away.

When you make your way out of the house, carrying a pan of meat to Chan and Changbin, you feel Chan’s eyes on you. He doesn’t try to hide it either, looking you over in your swimsuit. It’s modest, to some degree—a dark green bikini top with white and yellow flowers and matching shorts for the bottoms. His eyes dip to your cleavage, then back up to your eyes. At least you’re not the only one fighting these urges to keep your gaze up. You really wish you’d brought out a pair of sunglasses to hide your gawking.

He hasn’t said a word to you since that night. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his look. You’re emboldened by the closeness you’ve felt with Hyunjin the last few days. You know that on Sunday, too, when it’s your day to choose—you’ll stay with Hyunjin again.

You push the thoughts of the Monday fast approaching with him aside as you get in the pool to join the others. Hyunjin holds his hand out to you as you descend the steps, pulling you to him once you’re in the water. You wrap your arms around his neck and legs around his waist as he carries you effortlessly through the water, towards the deep end.

He stops against the side of the pool and you lean back to rest against it, hips thrust forward to his. Partially of your own doing, but also because of the water. He doesn’t seem to mind either way. He’s been rather receptive of your sly advances. You find it exciting, how both of you are able to tease each other knowing it’s building up to something more without any sort of timeline or demand.

You grin up at him, letting your arms fall from around his neck down to his chest. You are assigned to him and feel free to stare and touch him as you please. You run your hands down past his lightly defined pectorals, over his nipples (which makes him giggle), then down to his abs. They may not be as toned as Chan’s, but they feel satisfying beneath your fingertips either way.

Hyunjin leans down to kiss you but before his lips meet yours, a wave of water hits you, soaking both of your heads. You both turn to find the culprit—Lee Know. He’s grinning as he flicks more water at you. You push away from Hyunjin and head towards him.

Hyunjin grabs you by the waist, pulling you back.

“Relax,” he says into your ear. “He can’t swim.”

“Good,” you mutter. “I can drown him easier.”

Hyunjin laughs at your remark.

“And then what?” He asks. “You go to jail and you’re kept from me?”

You pout your lips and look up at him.

“But if would feel so cathartic.”

“I agree with you. Everyone’s contemplated drowning Minho at some point,” he tells you.

When the meat is cooked, everyone exits the pool to eat. Chan sits directly across from you and Hyunjin, leaning back in his chair, all nonchalant and unbothered. When you’re with Hyunjin, who’s treating you so well, you’re able to mostly keep your disturbing thoughts of Chan at bay. You wish you could say you hadn’t thought of him at all, hadn’t thought of what he’s doing up in his room when you aren’t there. Does he touch himself? Does he think of you when he does it?

“I call dibs on being the DJ,” Felix announces when the conversation turns to the Halloween party once again.

“If you’re just putting together a playlist, you’re not a DJ,” Seungmin corrects him.

“Don’t over do it with Halloween songs,” Jeongin speaks up, looking pointedly at Han.

“You have to set the mood,” Han defends himself, cheeks stuffed with food.

“No one wants to hear Thriller 10 times in one night,” Jeongin says.

“You don’t know that,” Han mumbles with a shrug.

You ladies are put in charge of getting the virtual invites out, completing the decorations and organizing the catering and keg deliveries.

You push your plate away from you and look at Chan. You notice he’s always so quiet when he’s with the group. For being the leader he doesn’t speak up that often. Maybe he’s content letting them squabble over the smaller details and getting the final say.

After everyone is fed and has put the subject of the party to rest, Hyunjin takes your hand and leads you towards the hot tub where Changbin, Lee Know, Rhiannon, Allie and Seungmin are already inside. You sit next to Hyunjin and relax in the warmth, leaning your head against the outer rim with your eyes closed. There’s a jet at work on your back and the repeated pressure feels good.

Chan and Felix enter the hot tub next. It’s not that big, but everyone moves over to make room. Hyunjin pulls you onto his lap and Chan sits right next to him. Jeongin and Charlotte show up next with shots for everyone. You toss yours back with a grimace—it makes you feel even hotter.

You lean back against Hyunjin and fight the urge to look over at Chan. It shouldn’t feel so awkward. Directly across from you is a prime example. Charlotte is seated on Jeongin’s lap sideways, legs draped over Han and they’re all engaged in conversation with each other.

You chew on your lip and let out a low breath. Maybe you’re the one making it more awkward than it needs to be, letting your confusing feelings about Chan get in the way of something that should be easy. You’ve been living like he doesn’t exist the past couple of days—you can’t keep that up. You don’t want to be the one to ruin the vibe of the house.

You turn to face Chan as Hyunjin rests his arms on the rim of the hot tub, talking to Lee Know on his other side.

“Got any ideas for your costume?” You ask him.

“Not yet…why? You wanna play dress up with me?” He arches an eyebrow and smiles.

You’re caught off guard at his response—both the words and the disarming smile he bears. The bottle of alcohol is passed around again, saving you a response as you fill up your shot glass.

Chan holds his glass out to you and you cheers him before taking the shot.

“You seem better,” he says, placing his glass on the ground outside the hot tub.

It’s the first time he’s acknowledged it.

You feel a hand on your left thigh and tense up for a second. Hyunjin’s arms are still behind you. Chan’s lips are turned up at the side, watching you panic.

With the jets going you can’t see anything beneath the water, but you know it’s him.

“Hyunjin has been great,” you tell him.

“I know,” he replies with an understanding nod, meanwhile his hand has started sliding up and down your thigh. “I’m glad.”

You want to ask him how he knows and why would he be glad about it, but your conversation is interrupted.

“You guys talking about me over here?” Hyunjin leans over to his left side where you and Chan are.

Chan grins and you feel like you’re about to be caught doing something you shouldn’t. His hand doesn’t stop caressing your thigh.

“Only good things,” you reply, turning your head to look at him.

Hyunjin places a quick peck on your cheek and returns to his conversation with Lee Know.

You drop your gaze down to the water feeling happy, embarrassed and confused.

Chan’s hand slides further up your thigh and moves between your legs. With his other hand above the water, he uses a finger to tilt your head back up so you’re looking at him. You don’t know what to say.

“No?” He asks quietly.

You nod your head slowly, spreading your legs just a little further apart.

How could he do this so quickly? He gave you a mere centimeter of attention and now you’re back right where he wants you. This physical touch, though, is the most he’s shown you in front of the others.

Changbin says something to Chan then, so he turns to speak to him but continues rubbing you over your swim shorts. Your hips move against his fingers.

Hyunjin instinctively wraps one arm around your waist to keep you still as he had been doing the past couple of days. His hand bumps Chan’s in the process and he redirects his attention back to you two.

Your pulse increases as you anticipate his reaction.

He fucking chuckles.

With your hair up in a messy bun, Hyunjin has easy access to the back of your neck. He kisses it lightly as he holds you closer to him and Chan resumes his hand movements. Your eyes flutter shut as your brain is on the fritz, trying to process exactly what the fuck is happening right now.

“It’s too hot in here,” Allie blurts out.

To which everyone but you laughs. You’re goddamn right it’s hot in here, but for you it’s due to an entirely different reason.

“I’m getting back in the pool,” she says and stands from the water.

“I’ll come with you,” you say, taking her distraction as a saving grace to get you out the hot tub before these two men send you to a room with padded walls.

You push Chan’s hand away and Hyunjin let’s go of you as you stand.

Allie walks to the steps of the pool but you dive right in. The cold water against your skin shocks your senses, making you feel alert and awake, helping bring you down from whatever Hyunjin and Chan were trying to work you up to.

You take your time, swimming to the opposite end of the pool before resurfacing. You let out a deep breath and wipe the water away from you face. You don’t know how to describe what you had just felt—both of them touching you at once. You’ve never felt that before…but holy fuck do you want to experience it to completion now.

[ read chapter seven here ]

a/n: oh boy. how are we feeling? it was important for her to acknowledge all she's going through. but aren't we so happy she has hyunjin? the yin to chan's yang. 😁

tag list: @iflmho / @skzstaykatsy / @blackhairandbangs / @ayoitschannie / @idunnomanmynamewastaken / @charmer-c / @ihatemen55 / @channiesprincess / @channniesslefttt / @jiwoos-babygirl / @krayzieestay / @kayleefriedchicken / @sunnyhonie / @cotton-candycloudz / @lubsungie / @conwunder / @puckmaidens / @ashleighland /

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am-i-interrupting · 1 month

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Baby Shark | Vox x OATSH Reader

No prior knowledge of the series required other than reader is an overlord & Vox is new to Hell.

Summary: Vox has plans, big plans, that he finally tells you. Of course, this is only after he procured a hammerhead pup.

You were curious, intrigued by what Vox had in store. All you’d gotten was a slightly cryptic phone call where he’d sounded nearly giddy, promising a surprise. If you’d meet him at his home.

You waited outside the building. Vox’s home currently wasn’t too luxurious. It was rather simple but nice. He was doing well for someone who’d only been in Hell for seven years.

He’d gone up rather quickly. He started as a commercial actor. Then he’d gotten bumped up to doing guest star roles in shows. Now he was a night show host, just like he’d been in life.

You knew he was working on things. Things he wasn’t exactly telling you. He would let you read documents over his shoulder as he worked on them in his office but would never answer your questions when you asked. He would claim that you’d figure out soon enough.

Maybe this was one of those things.

He pulled up in front of the house in an electric blue thunderbird. He got out of the car and spun around as the door closed, a big grin on his face.

“You are not ready for this,” he said as he went to the passenger side.

“What is it?” you asked as you moved behind him but he turned you around.

“Go inside,” he said. “I’ll follow you in a moment.”

Your smiled at him, a bit bemused by his behavior. It was a truly rare thing to see him look and act so excited. Still, you followed his request and pulled out your copy of his key.

Going inside you were immediately confused. There was an empty aquarium against the wall which hadn’t been there before.

What exactly was he doing?

He didn’t give you long to ponder as he came inside with a basket. It was filled with blankets. Wet blankets.

He closed the door with his foot but he didn’t let it slam like he normally would. Instead it clicked softly.

He leaned the basket so it tilted towards you. “He fell asleep on the car ride,” Vox said.

You looked down in the basket and put your hands over your mouth to stop any noise from coming out. “You got a pet shark?”

His smile expanded.

“Where are you putting it?”

“In the aquarium,” he said with a motion to the new addition.

“It’s gonna get big, Vox.”

“I know, but I’ve been doing the calculations,” he said as he gently placed the basket on his coffee table. “I also have a plan. At the rate I’m currently going though, it’s only a matter of time before I can climb the ranks to be if not as high as you then almost.

“I’ve managed to get several contracted souls—“

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“—and I am currently working on pitching several movie adaptations of your books. I hope you don’t mind that I forged your signature. Getting those green lit will bring eyes on not just you but the up and coming director who you allowed to adapt your books to film. Therefore it’ll bring eyes to other works of mine and by proxy myself. Bringing in more people who are likely to be interested in a contract for certain benefits.”

“You’ve been forging my signature?”

“Unimportant.”

“You are aware you could have just asked. Why didn’t you tell me any of this? These are big things, Vox.”

“I just wanted to surprise you,” he said.

The silent “impress you” was left just that, silent and unspoken.

You shook your head as you walked closer to him. “Well, you’ve certainly succeeded,” you told him.

You grabbed onto his jacket lapels and pulled him down into a kiss. He wrapped his hands around your waist. He tugged you closer.

A tiny little yawn sounding through the air broke your embrace. You looked down at the pup. It stretched out on the wet blankets. You acted on impulse and ran your finger down it’s smooth torso. It sniffed your hand.

“And how exactly do you expect to have the space for a fully grown shark?” you asked. “Maybe it’s a land shark but they still need a lot of water.”

“I’ve been plotting some ideas,” he said. “There is an overlord or two on that darling little list of yours, isn’t there?”

You thought of your list. Your list of people who toed the line of your moral code. There was an overlord on the list. Not yet bad enough to eliminate but getting there.

“Perhaps.”

“Why don’t you let me take care of that one, hm?”

You looked back at Vox. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“And I don’t plan on it.”

It was Vox’s turn to reach out and pet the pup. He scooped it up and looked at it with awe covering his features. He had always loved sharks.

“His name is Vark,” he said as he placed the pup on a rock that sat above the water level.

Immediately though he dove underneath the water and began stretching his fins.

“Vark,” you repeated. “As in shark or bark?”

#vox x reader #hazbin vox x reader #one author two show hosts

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desceros · 5 months

Note

*looks left* *looks right* *pops head in doorway whilst shaking a tin can*

Spare rise!leo mating season headcanons, mayhaps?

🥺👉👈

[drops these into your tin can] happy december, anon-chan

like donnie, he has a period of about a week in the spring where he just gets unbelievably horny. unlike donnie, i think his sneaks up on him a bit more. it'll just hit him all of a sudden that oh. yeah. i've been really restless for the last couple of days because mating season is tomorrow. that explains a lot

before he knew you, it was miserable. it was one long week of having the most unsatisfying orgasms, ruining a pillow from rubbing off on it, being a stupid drooling mess who can't string two thoughts together. by the end he's exhausted and irritable, though after a recovery day he's back to normal and relieved that it's over for the year.

after you start dating though, oh, man. he fucking lives for this time of year. he's just obnoxious about hyping it up for you. already touchy, he's almost overbearing with how cuddly he gets. he doesn't notice, but you do, picking up about a week before it hits that he just can't keep his hands off of you. grumpy if you're within a hundred yards and not pressed up against him. syrupy sweet like candy, needing your attention like it's the blood in his veins.

the first morning, it's super romantic. he wakes you up with his hands on your face, tapping at your cheeks to get your eyes on him. that's always your cue that it's starting. he'll tap you during the year all the time when he wants you bad, but the cheeks are only ever on this morning. he's so soft and affectionate, hungry as fuck for you but needing you to say yes. and when you do, it's probably the best sex you have all year; passionate and slow as he lets his mind slowly turn into soup, all those complicated thoughts he always has in his mind sliding away and replaced instead with how good you make him feel and how much he just adores you.

then, for seven days, you're in his bedroom. unlike donnie, for whom this season is 100% fucking, leo's a bit closer to what could be called making love. it's all about the two of you feeling good while he breeds you. but one thing he does share with his twin is that you're not leaving the four walls until you're done. he's not as aggressively possessive as donnie (who is a well-known bitch during his mating season), but he, too, doesn't like to share this part of you. you, well-fucked and blissed out, is for him to see.

he's open to positions; liking equally when he's fucking you from behind; or when you're riding him with your palms pressing on his plastron; or when you're twined together side by side, too tired to be on top but needing to still be close. he needs to have his dick in you, and he will be coming inside, that's still not to be questioned; but he's much less picky about how it happens.

boy is a talker. you're going to know exactly how good you feel, how amazing you are, how he can't hardly stand how much he loves you, every single detail that makes him obsessed with you. it's not even conscious; he's just babbling, mind gone and mouth working.

at the end of the week when he can finally put his brain back into his skull, he's really big on cuddling for a few hours and just making out. you smell like him, just him, and that makes his turtle brain so happy he just churrs nonstop. his sass comes back and he starts teasing you about how you can't move your legs (though you're quick to remind him about the first year you'd done this, and you'd challenged him to stand and he'd immediately folded to the floor). and then he pulls you into the shower and gets you cleaned up, at which point the two of you always go out to eat with you wearing one of his shirts (the one that has a habit of sliding off the shoulder a bit), him preening at how you're so, so visibly his.

#ask tag #fragment tag #me: [banging pots and pans together] leo likes it when he makes someone feel good bc it makes him feel more confident #and feeling confident is how leo feels good (which then makes him want to make YOU feel even better)#so mating season with leo is one long ouroboros of your pleasure feeding into the other for seven days straight #tmnt #rise #leonardo/reader

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multifanhoe99 · 7 months

Text

Kinktober Day 1- Thigh Riding

Literally, this man has had me in a chokehold the last few months so I had to make him the focus of Day 1.

Pairing: Jungkook x afab!reader

Warnings: Mentions of masturbation, D/S dynamics (Reader calls Kook sir), Degradation, name-calling (baby, sir, slut, my love, darling), implied sex at the end.

=Please let me know if there are any warnings I may have missed.=

18+ MDNI- I really hope y'all enjoy this story because there is going to be more where this came from.

You hated him.

You hated him but also loved him, and honestly, you would not have it any other way. You have been with Jungkook for years and every day you get to see him do what he loves and he just keeps getting better at it. Nothing is better than seeing him thrive and be happy, well, almost nothing. You learned very early on that despite the shyness he had shown when you first met there was a side to Jungkook that only you got to see. That is until he recently started putting out his solo projects. It started with the promotions for Calvin Klien then more magazines then Seven and now to your present issue. His collaboration with Jack Harlow. Now, let it be known that you are not mad at the fact that he feels more comfortable now showing himself off and having fun with it. He's an adult now and that is what he wants to show ARMY that he's no longer the shy kid he was when BTS started. What you are mad at is that the whole time he is shooting for this song he keeps sending you pictures of his outfits and that pure white outfit has done something to you.

You aren't sure if it's because it's white or because Jungkook himself is wearing it but all you can think about is how much you want to ruin it. There were so many scenarios running through your head as you sat there alone in the Kentucky hotel room waiting for your boyfriend to return. He knew what he was doing to you sending those pictures accompanied by lyrics from the song. He was riling you up and you couldn't wait for him to get back. Finally, after being so fed up and horny you decide to tease him back. If he was going to torture you like this then two could play at this game. You decide to change from the clothes you were wearing into one of Jungkook's shirts. You knew how much he loved seeing you in his clothes especially if that was all you were wearing. You then head to the bathroom and take a picture of yourself one hand holding your phone in front of your face and the other on your propped thigh raising his shirt just a little so he can tell there is nothing else underneath. You send the picture to him and under it, you say, -I wanna see it in motion, in 3D.-

He almost immediately responds, -Baaaabyyyy~~ that's not fair I won't be done here for another couple hours.-

-Well, you should've thought about that before teasing me all day.-

-How can I make it up to you for having to wait for me to get back to the room?-

-If you come home wearing that white outfit I will consider forgiving you.-

-Bet-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It has been a few hours since you sent that picture and you knew Jungkook would be back any minute now which was good. He had not stopped sending you teasing pictures and had even gone as far as somehow finding time to slip away and send you a voice message detailing all the things he wanted to do to you when he got back. It had you so riled up that you didn't think you could wait much longer. You needed release and you needed it now. You tried touching yourself and you did cum but it was not nearly as satisfying as when Jungkook does it. He really is good at everything. His fingers, his mouth, and his cock are all mouthwatering in their own right but, what really gets you going are his thighs. Every time you see him perform or when he works out at home you can't help but stare at his thighs. They are so big and strong and muscular and you could ride them all day if he'd let you. That is all you can think about at the moment and all you want to do first. Just the thought of his thighs has your mouth watering and your pussy dripping.

Just then you hear the door to your suite opening and closing. Then a call, "Baby I am back and I have a surprise for you." You run out of the bedroom to greet him and the sight of him is even better in person. He's gorgeous with his dark hair slicked back and the white jacket and pants and especially all the gleaming silver jewelry that complements his skin tone so well. He looks like an angel and you can't wait to sin with him. You walk closer to him and run your hands up his chest to rest around his neck. "You look even better in 3D my love," you tell him moving in closer to kiss at his neck. "Well I could say the same about you baby," he says moaning when you nip at a spot you know is particularly sensitive. He moves his hands up and under his shirt that you still have on to grope at your ass. He then leans down to whisper in your ear, "I couldn't stop thinking about you all day baby. It is amazing how I was able to get anything done. Tell me what you want and it's yours."

Now it was his turn to kiss and nip at your neck. Already being so turned on from his teasing all day it was hard to speak but luckily you knew what you wanted and you were definitely going to get it. Through gasps and moans you manage to choke out, "I want....w-want to ride your.......ride your thighs please please sir I need it."

"Awe, such a whiney little slut begging me already but since you asked so nicely I will give you what you want," he replies. He lifts you up and carries you to the couch that sits in the middle of the suite. He sits down and carefully places one of your legs on either side of his right thigh. You let out a moan at the feeling of the pressure from just settling on his thigh. He smiles and says, "Damn baby how long have you been this wet for me I can already feel you soaking my pants. Go ahead start moving I can tell you really need it." At his command, you begin to rut against his thigh. The pressure he gives feels amazing and is exactly what you wanted and what you needed. While you grind against his thigh he moves his hands up the shirt you're still wearing to grope at your breasts. He pulls and pinches at your nipples while also going back to suck dark purple love bites into your neck. All the pleasure he is giving you is becoming too much. You've been wound so tight all day and you can't wait any longer for release.

"Ah, sir I-I-I......I'm soooo close please please can I cum on your thigh please," you beg. You don't think you can hold back anymore when he finally responds, "Yes baby cum all over my thigh like a good little slut, that's it." At his words, you finally get sweet release making a mess all over his thigh. You collapse onto his shoulder and he strokes your back softly giving you a little time to recover before whispering, "Don't go to sleep on me yet darling we are only getting started." After this, you couldn't wait to see what else he had in store for you.

************************************************************************

A/N: Well that's it for day 1 I hope you enjoyed it! I do still need help deciding who I am going to be writing for for the rest of the days so if you're interested in sending a request you can find the prompt list HERE. I am also taking other requests as well so send them in if you have them! See you tomorrow for the next one!

#bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #drabble #female reader #x reader #jungkook 3d

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babybatgrimm · 1 year

Text

Seven Minutes in Heaven | Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish X Military!Reader

Summary: A trip to the bar then back to base ends with the team playing teenage sleepover games.

Reader call sign Ryōshi, Japanese for Hunter

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, SMUT, Fem!Reader, grinding/thigh riding, praise kink, p in v sex, creampie, agoraphilia (sex in public places), overstimulation,

A/N: Spicy oneshot~

The night had come and gone. Starting in a dull mood after a mission gone against plan, and ending with eruptions of intoxicated laughter. The evening drawing out into the wee hours of the morning.

Throughout the evening, as the warmth spread through his extremities, Soap found himself stealing glances and smiles from Ryōshi. She hadn't been with the team long, only two years, compared to the rest of them. Despite that, she got on amazingly well with the team, quickly bonding with them all.

She did however, take a particular liking to Soap. Of the team, she'd spent the most time with him outside and during deployment. Often, they'd go to a pub like tonight, or they'd just sit in one of their rooms and talk, or Ryōshi beats Soap at Mario Kart.

The group, having heard a suggestion for playing uno (not that they will remember who by the next day) all decided the base was the best location for their shenanigans. And so, after they all stumble their way back to base, Soap sticking a little too close to Ryōshi.

Soap wasn't sure how he'd gotten into this situation. He was still buzzed, but had sobered up when he and Ryōshi got shoved into a closet. The team, in their drunken wisdom, had decided to play a bunch of games. It started with the Uno, then became Crazy Eights, then Go Fish, next was Never Have I Ever, followed by spin the bottle, eventually landing on seven minutes in heaven.

Soap had spun the bottle, which stopped pointing at Ryōshi. The group let out a chorus of "Ooooohh~" before promptly shoving the pair into the closet. Soap wasn't sure how long they'd been inside, but it was definitely longer than seven minutes by now. He shuffled awkwardly, trying not to touch Ryōshi as she fidgeted in front of him.

"They could've chosen a better closet." She states bluntly, frustrated by the situation they're stuck in. Eventually, Ryōshi manages to reach the door handle, twist it, and- "Locked. Of course they did." She grumbles, sighing and leaning her head back against the wall.

Soap groans at the discovery, feeling his face heat as he examines her figure, taking note of every curve his eyes drag over. Feeling his pants tighten as he sees her shirt has ridden up, exposing her midriff, along with every scar and muscle that decorates it.

"I suppose we have to get comfy with each other till someone comes looking for us or we find a way out." She sighs, looking up at him, feeling her own face heat as she finally notices the small distance between their faces. Soap clears his throat after a moment of the two staring at each other.

"I suppose we do, but... I don't know how we could without you... Being on me." He struggles the last part, his face heating further, his ears burning as he stares down at her.

"Well... I wouldn't be opposed to it..." She replies quietly in the small space, her eyes darting away from his for a moment. Soap's eyes burn into her, flicking to her lips for a moment before he thinks about what he's doing.

In a hasty motion, he crashes his lips into hers, pressing her back against the wall behind her. His hands move to grab her waist, grasping for purchase as her arms wrap around his neck.

Soap is quick to move, peppering her neck with kisses, slotting his thigh between hers. As he presses his thigh up he lifts her off the ground, pushing her up the wall to be almost level with him. The motion pulls a soft moan from her lips, quiet beside his ear, but lights a fire in his chest all the same.

He leans into the wall with his knee, pinning his leg in place and using his grip on her waist to grind her into his thigh. He's gentle at first, slow ruts up and down his thigh, pulling soft pants and mewls from Ryōshi.

Eventually though, he gets impatient. His hunger for her too great for him to force down. His grip tightens, grinding her harder and faster against his thigh until she's moaning and panting softly in the quiet room.

Soap takes small nips and nibbles at her neck, sucking soft hickeys into her skin, scattering them up and down her neck, chest and shoulders. He pulls his head away, leaning back to observe her as he grinds her into his thigh.

"Fu~ck lass, you look devine.~" He growls, his voice gravelly and lustful as he watches her expression contort in pleasure. Until he stops moving her hips, making her whine in frustration. "I can't wait any longer, bonny." One hand moves to his belt, undoing it and letting it fall to the side before undoing his pants.

Ryōshi bites her lip, following suit with her own belt. Soap let's her drop to the floor, grabbing her hips and spinning her to face the wall. He yanks her cargo pants down, giving her lace covered ass a smack before pulling her panties down to meet her pants.

"Waited so long for you to let me have you, lass." He growls into her ear, leaning over her and pressing his chest to her back. The bulge in his underwear perfectly lined up against her heat, pulling mewls and pants from her lips as he grinds into her.

Ryōshi bites her lip at the feeling, attempting to muffle her moans. Soap leans back once more, grinding harder into her and forcing a louder moan from her lips before a whine as he stops and pulls himself off her.

She hears shuffling behind her before she gasps, which quickly turns into a moan as she feels his tongue run between her folds. His arms wrap under her hips, hands resting on her ass and pulling her closer to his face as he laps at her clit.

Ryōshi's eyes shut as her moans grow, putting her palms flat against the wall to brace herself as Soap suckles on her clit. His nose is buried in her folds as he kneels on the floor, seemingly very comfortable where he is.

His grip around her hips tightens as her legs begin to shake, smirking as he increases speed, drawing louder, higher pitched moans from Ryōshi as her eyes squeeze shut. With a few harder suckles on her clit, she hits her climax, her thighs trying to close but Soap keeps them apart with his biceps. He rides out her orgasm, lapping at every drop she gives him and gently suckling on her clit.

Her breath is laboured as she comes down from her high, her legs still shaking as she leans into the wall. She hears shuffling behind her once more before feeling warm breath against her neck. "You taste like my last meal~" He purrs.

Ryōshi gasps slightly as she feels the head of his cock rub against her folds, her sensitive clit making her clench around nothing whenever he rubs against it. "Tell me, sweets, do you want me to fuck you nice, or hard?" He asks with another smack on her ass.

She whimpers and whines at the impact. "Don't be gentle, Johnny~" she begs, still panting softly. Her words and his name ignite a primal fire inside him. He slips the head of his cock inside her, groaning at the tightness.

With one, slow, smooth trust, he buries his cock to the hilt inside her, letting out a groaned moan as she engulfs his member. She lets out a moan, shutting her eyes as she adjusts to his size, small tears sparkling in her waterline before she relaxes around him.

As soon as she relaxes, he begins trusting into her. Following her request, his thrusts clap with each impact of his hips against her ass. Her moans, his grunts, the smacking of skin, and wet squelching filled the tiny room.

The slick from her first orgasm made it all too easy for Soap to move faster. Like a dog in heat, Soap grabs both Ryōshi's hips, using the leverage to force himself harder into her. "F-fuck sorry lass, you're so t-tight, gonna cum, gotta pull out!" He groans, hunching over as he pants.

Ryōshi shakes her head hastily. "N-no! P-please don't! Cum in me, Johnny!" She pleads, leaning her head back and moaning loudly. The primal fire burns brighter at her request, and who is he to deny her when he's finally got the chance to make her feel good?

Soap can only nod, his focus flooding to chasing his high. He leans forward, his forehead pressing against the nape of her neck and pulling louder moans from the pair of them with the new angle.

Moments later, Soap finally meets his climax, a loud groan leaving his chest as he paints her walls white. She moans at the feeling, expecting him to pull out. She was wrong.

Instead, Soap stays hard, his thrusts unwavering as he wraps his arms around her lower chest, under her breasts and using the hold to force her hard into the wall with each thrust.

Ryōshi moans in bliss, her legs shaking with overstimulation. If it weren't for Soap holding her steady, would have already buckled beneath her. Each thrust into her pulls a grunt from Soap, groaning into her shoulders as he picks up his pace.

Between her overstimulation and Soap rutting into her at an ungodly pace, Ryōshi is quick to reach another orgasm. Her walls squeeze his cock, making him moan and groan.

"Fuck, fuck, fu~ck~" Soap moans, pumping a second load into her, but his thrusts are still unwavering. His cum and saliva mix with her slick, forming a sticky concoction that leaks out of her.

It would be a sight to behold if someone were to open the door. Soap, pants pulled down to his knees, both arms around Ryōshi's chest, cock buried deep inside her weeping hole, and rutting into his teammate like there's no tomorrow.

And Ryōshi. Cheek, palms and chest pressed against the wall, blissfully moaning as Soap thrusts in and out of her, her slick dripping down her thighs and sticking to his hips, making various strings of lewd web connecting her ass and his hips that spreads with each impact.

The constant friction of Soap's determined thrusts bring Ryōshi to climax once more, a blissful shout leaving her lips as she tosses her head back. Feeling her walls tighten down around him again, Soap groans in ecstasy, thrusting a few more times before he pours a third load into her.

With that, Soap's thrusts finally waver, his arms sliding down to hold around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. Ryōshi gasps for breath, still coming down from her high, looking back at Soap over her shoulder, her own fucked out gaze meeting his desperate eyes.

He stares back at her in a lustful daze for a moment before suddenly pulling out, making Ryōshi whine at the loss of friction. "I wannae see that pretty face, lass." He says huskily, whipping her around and pressing her back against the wall.

Ryōshi gasps at the contact of the cold stone, locking eyes with Soap before he moves toward her, crashing their lips together once more. With ease Soap wraps his arms under her legs, lifting her up so her thighs are against her torso. Letting her drop so her knees rest over his biceps as he cups her ass, taking a firm grasp.

In a swift motion, Soap thrusts back inside her and returns to a quick pace. Their moans quickly returned in volume, the sloppy, smacking sound of Soap rutting into her growing louder than before with his harsh impacts.

The new angle he's given himself allowing him to push deeper inside her, groaning and panting in desperation, his eyes squeezing shut as he focuses on holding off his own high. He locks eyes with her, watching her eyes as they flutter and roll around her head.

"C'mon bonny, let me see that pretty face~" His voice is gravely and low, his hands gripping hard on the tops of her thighs. "I wannae see the look on your face when you cum for me~"

Her eyes roll as she leans her head back on the wall, her back arching with a loud moan, one hand gripping onto his shoulder, the other tangling and grasping at his hair. Soap moves just a little faster, as fast as he can, his thrusts faltering slightly as he chases her high.

Soap's eyes don't leave her face for a moment, taking in every contorted detail and high pitched moan, committing the experience to memory. Ryōshi's eyes prick with small tears, her overstimulation making her legs shake and her hole quiver around him with every movement against her every sweet spot.

Her climax hits hard, her walls tightening down around him once last time, her grip tightening on his hair and shoulder. Her grip leaves scratch marks in his skin, breaking the skin in some places, while her other hand tugs on his hair for some semblance of grounding.

"F-fu~ck lass!~" Soap groans, releasing one last load inside her, leaning his head down to rest his forehead against hers, his thrusts slowing to a gentle pace, pumping the last of his load into her. Their breath mixes in the air between them, panting and soft moans spilling from them both as they come down from their highs.

After a few moments, Soap pulls out and gently puts her back on the ground, holding her steady as her legs wobble. She giggles and looks up at him. "I wasn't expecting such... Ferocity, from you Soap." She teases as she starts to fix her clothes.

Soap chuckles, his face heating once more, fixing his own clothes as he replies. "I did ask if you wanted Nice or Hard." He points out with a smirk. She giggles again, smirking back at him.

"maybe next time I'll ask for the nice~" she purrs, moving to the door and seeing if she can undo the lock. Soap watches her, studying her movements and watching as she forces the lock past it's tension point and popping it open.

The sound of the door clicking open also clicked together something in his mind. "Wait... Next time?" He asks in puzzled excitement before promptly following her.

He can't help the sense of pride as he watches her walk, her legs wobbling with a slight stumble as he follows her to wherever she's going.

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prentissvest · 11 months

Text

last minuets of quiet- Emily Prentiss x female/ reader

words- 1.1k

warnings- homophobia, death, case stuff, not great writing,I think that's it

you wake up to the feeling of your girlfriends warm hands moving up and down your arm in a sleepy state. Hotch has been giving everyone a lot more paperwork then usual recently and the hours you get at home have been minimal so you and Emily had decided to spend as much time together as possible out of work as you and Em have yet to tell the team about the relationship between the two of you.

its not that either of you are embarrassed or ashamed but privacy is not something you have a lot of, especially in your line of work. you have been together for almost two years now, not long after the second date Emily asked you to be her girlfriend and around the seventh date you moved into Emily's apartment.

an obnoxious ringing took you both out of your sleepy states, "prentiss." Emily says into the phone. "yes sir, ill be there soon" already knowing what the phone call was about you begin to get dresses when you feel two arms snake around your waist and Emilys head shuffle into the crook of your neck. "I don't want to go, its so nice here with you" Emily groans "me either Em but its our job" you said giggling Emily mumbling something incoherent then places a kiss to your jawline as she begins to get up and get ready herself.

the ride to the bau was short, Emilys apartment isnt far away as it is more convenient because Hotch often calls everyone in at random hours of the night.

Emilys hand shifts between the gearstick and your thigh for the entirety of the journey. you get out of the car around the corner of the bau so that it wasn't obvious that you had come here with Emily, with a team full of profilers your not sure how they had yet to figure out what was going o between the raven haired woman and yourself yet.

the team had gathered in the bullpen with tiered looks on their faces "in sorry to call you all in at such an early hour but we have a case"

the case was on six people whom had died and 1 who had gone missing more then seven hours ago the victims were found with large amounts of stab wounds, enough to class as overkill, and a cross carved into their hands, the team had information on the victims but they were trying to find the one thing that connects them all as the unsub didn't have a preference for gender nor race. "what If the unsub is targeting homosexuals" Reid suggests, Hotch turns to Garcia as she begins to do some digging for info. the tea, sits in silence while waiting for an answer "right on the money Reid, and each of the 6 victims have gone to the same gay bar within the last 4 months" Garcia says while still searching for more information like who they could have spoken to. "thank you Garcia, wheels up in 30" Hotch says nodding towards everyone.

you and Emily give each other the same knowing, pained look, you quickly speed off and get your stuff ready and head to the bathrooms as you know Emily will want to briefly talk to you before you all leave and its the one place where there is slight privacy.

Emily is not one to show emotion around people but with you she is an open book, yes you both have certain things that you prefer to keep to yourself but inevitably you end up telling each other.

you stand in the woman's restroom next to the bland shade of grey that the walls had been painted many years ago. Emily walks in a pained smile on her face as she walks closer to you. you open your welcoming arms and she gladly walks into your warm embrace. "how are we supposed to do it?" she says sniffling. it was obvious to you that she had been crying at this point with the growing wetness of you shirt.

"I don't know Em, but ill be there the whole way" yes you were struggling too but with Emilys past living with her mother the homophobia hit her hard. her mother was and most likely will never be supportive of her daughter and Emily had learned to accept that but she could never accept the sadness and anger that it fuelled.

the two of you slowly headed out to the jet slightly later then everyone else which was surprising as the two of you were usually the first ones there. the team shared a worried look when they saw the redness in Emilys eyes but they had each learned not to push her to talk.

the case moved excruciatingly slowly, it solved fast as the unsub had a clear motive and a raging signature which helped to find him fast yet every second was full of anger and pain.

Emily had decided that you both needed the last few hours before you had to leave to go on the jet to calm down and spend some much needed time together. you decided to order in Emilys favourite restaurant and watch the current series you both had been bingeing whenever you both had the chance to watch it.

as the series continued on you both began to get progressively closer to each other although you both had been together for two years you still made each others hearts race. by the end of the third episode you had your head in the crook of Emilys neck and she was running her hand up and down your arm.

the steady calmness was quickly disturbed by Reid running in shouting "HEY YN DO YOU KNOW WHERE EMILY I-" the both of you jumped apart. "Reid.. " the look of shock was evident of the younger agents face, and if there's one thing that everyone knew about Reid its that he can not keep a secret. "Reid please keep this quiet"

he backed away slowly nodding obnoxiously. "Reid-" before you could continue the rest of your sentence he bolted out of the room.

"well, you ready for our last moments of quiet" Emily said with a smile pulling at the corners of her lips, "yeah, I think its time they knew now anyway" as you both leaned forward a ecstatic Derek ran into the room "I KNEW IT, ROSSI YOU OWE ME $50!!"

#emily prentiss #criminal minds #emily prentiss imagine #emily prentiss x reader #fanfic #emily prentiss fluff #criminal minds fic #wlw

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spreadyovrwings · 7 months

Text

64 Olso Square

"Companion' Middle English. From Old French 'compaignon', literally 'one who breaks bread with another.

Strapped for cash, John gets a job at a bakery as their new delivery boy. Juggling school and Queen and work is exhausting, but it's more than worth it. It's worth it because of you.

Warnings for this chapter: some light… thoughts of…. smut….. lots of flirting and these two dancing around each other even more.

Chapter Seven

Rita Caine went into labour on the morning of 1st June 1972. Her baby girl was born at seven o’ clock precisely, so her parents decided to call her Dot.

Dorothy Angela Caine was healthy and happy, and so were her adoring parents. Which was nice. Lovely, in fact. Except it meant that, for the last week, you had been running the bakery entirely by yourself.

You didn’t mind. Really, you didn’t. You couldn’t be more thrilled for Mickey. He’d been talking about starting a family ever since he met the girl of his dreams three years ago. His happiness gave you the strength to face that wall of hungry customers every morning and your cantankerous old kitchen.

But after one day on your own, you could barely summon the energy to hold yourself up. You simply let your body sink into a heap behind the counter, sliding down the wall until your bum hit the floor. You didn’t even have the energy to cry.

It didn’t matter that you’d spent days prepping, it didn’t matter that you were getting just a few hours of sleep and you hadn’t seen your friends or family in weeks, it still wasn’t enough to keep you ahead of schedule. Much as you tried, you couldn’t do the job of two people already doing the job of five.

As always, John was your only source of comfort.

You hadn’t admitted to anyone just how much pressure you were under. Mickey was able to come in a few days a week but you wouldn’t ever ask for more, and Gladys was like one of those comets you only see every 70-something years. You were barely getting by but hadn’t said a word. Somehow, John was able to sense it. Probably something to do with the way you gasped with joy and relief every time he stepped through the door.

That day, John was off on his rounds, dropping off little white boxes around the city on a bike borrowed from a girl on his floor, the same girl who leant him the flowery, red helmet. It turned out she’d painted the bike to match. When John turned up one morning, scowling atop his new wheels, it had kept you smiling all day.

When he finally returned to the bakery later that afternoon, just a few hours from closing, you were so relieved to see a friendly face, you almost kissed him. Almost.

You settled for resting your hand over the one he rested on the countertop and squeezing gently.

“Thank God, you’re ‘ere.”

John just smiled, puzzled but obviously pleased that you were happy to see him.

“Has it been bad?”

“No,” you lied. “Not really. But the last few hours are always a rush. How were the deliveries?”

“Great! Although, when I knocked at, er…” He checked his list, scrawled down by several different hands over the course of the week. “The one in West Brom? This one here. They weren’t in. The lady in reception said they’d gone out for breakfast instead, so.”

“‘appens.” You shrugged. “That’s your lunch sor’ed, then.”

John gave you an almost weary look.

You only beamed back. John always liked to make a show of refusing every time you gave him food to take home but he’d never once left empty-handed. Today would be no different.

John couldn’t keep a straight face for very long. He shyly raised a hand to cover his smile, but he couldn’t hide those crinkles around his eyes and the way his cheeks bunched up, still pink from his bike ride.

He was much smilier now than when you met, like he’d almost been out of the habit of it back then. You weren’t sure what it was, his friends, the band, this job, but things seemed to be going right for John. A small, selfish part of you wondered if you might have something to do with it too.

Things had, admittedly, taken a bit of a pause in that area. There was still tension, little looks and touches that lasted far longer than they needed to, but John hadn’t said anything more about the date he’d proposed, and you were too terrified to bring it up yourself.

That wasn’t to say there hadn’t been any progress. If you could call unbearable sexual tension progress.

Exactly three weeks after he was mugged, John invited you to another of his band’s gigs. He was right, it went a lot smoother than the last one. The hall was bigger, there were far more people, and John didn’t look like he’d rather be anywhere else the whole time.

After digging through your wardrobe, you managed to find a sheer top with long, bell sleeves and some black velvet flares. You made sure to stand as near to the centre as you could so that you could get a good look at him and, more importantly, so that John could get a good look at you. You felt his eyes on you the whole night.

There was another gig just a few days later at a school hall in Wandsworth. By then, you knew most of the words to a few of their songs. You even brought along a few leftover treats from the bakery for them to give out to punters.

Nothing, nothing, compared to the feeling of looking up at John while he played, his long fingers tugging at the bass strings, his head bowed. The way he moved, it was so different to how he acted offstage. There was a confidence about him you’d never seen before, and when he shook his long hair over his shoulder and smiled down at you, his hips swaying to his own beat, you suddenly understood why people went mad for musicians.

John always managed to find you, despite the low lights and the now heaving crowds. It sent a thrill through your blood every time his eyes met yours. Of all the people in the room, all those pretty girls and boys who were beginning to worship Queen, John only had eyes for you. He walked home with you after every gig.

You fell into a routine together without having to say a word. If John’s shift ended late in the evening, he would come up to your flat to watch telly for a while before heading back to his lonely digs, or you would walk up and down the high street a few times, just talking and talking, laughing and talking. If he worked the morning shift, John would stay to help out, but only after you’d made sure he wasn’t just trying to get out of studying.

And then there was The Incident. You blushed to think about it, even now.

It happened last week, at the end of a very long shift for the both of you. The bakery was so busy, John had offered to stay behind to help.

Working beside him again was so lovely. John didn’t often have time to hang out with all the essays he’d been lumbered with, so you had lots of catching up to do. Standing there behind the counter, chatting away about everything and nothing while you made tea and dished pastries, it was the happiest you’d been in months. Your cheeks began to ache from all the smiling.

When things finally started to wind down, you took John back into the kitchen with you and, after he expressed an interest, you showed him how the bakery’s signature bread was made, a darker loaf made up of rye flour, as well as wholemeal and white.

You shaped the dough between your hands, weighed it, then rolled it over a tray of seeds that shone like tiny jewels under the bright lights above. Together, you and Mickey made forty of these loaves every day. You could probably do it blindfolded now.

After a while, John’s questions petered out and you worked in a comfortable silence, which you only broke to remind him of the next step or to compliment his technique. No words could describe how hard you worked to not stare at John’s big hands as they rolled and patted and kneaded the dough.

Whatever walls you both had, they were gone now, there was no denying it. Being around John had always been easy, even though your heart was usually pounding so hard you could hardly hear him speak over it. But now there was no shyness, no awkwardness or uncertainty. There was no one else you could just be yourself around, and you liked the person you were when you were with John.

You realised you were smiling to yourself and quickly glanced up to see if John had noticed.

To your surprise, he was watching your face, his eyes soft and faraway. It wasn’t the first time you’d caught him staring but you’d never actually been brave enough to call him out on it. For the life of you, you didn’t know why that day felt different, but you smiled and asked,

“What are you thinkin’ about?”

John’s eyes seemed to focus again and he looked embarrassed. Maybe he hadn’t been staring at you at all. Perhaps he’d just zoned out and his gaze had only happened to land on you.

Feeling sheepish, you tried to laugh it off, but then John said,

“I was just wondering if I’d get flour on my face if I kissed you.”

You froze, the dough heavy in your hands, and stared. It was all you could do.

“What?”

John blinked.

“You’ve got flour…” He pointed at his cheek, then at yours. “What? What’s wrong?”

“You were thinkin’ about kissin’ me?”

John baulked, shook his head, and made an odd sort of sputtering sound, all before he managed to choke out,

“That’s not what I said!”

He seemed so certain. For a moment, you wondered if you’d somehow misheard or even imagined it. But no, no, John had let whatever was in his head come tumbling out of his mouth, perhaps for the first time in his life.

“You said, ‘I was wondering if I’d get flour on my face if I kissed you’.”

“Well, exactly! So-”

“So you were thinkin’ about kissin’ me.”

“No! Well, I…”

You couldn’t help it, you had to laugh. It was just so silly. John looked like he was about to turn grey and keel over, he was so embarrassed. For some reason, it only made you want to keep pressing.

“So, would you?”

“What?”

John’s voice cracked. It made your stomach flip.

“Get flour all over your face?”

It was a dare. You knew it. You knew John felt it. Suddenly the kitchen had gone very quiet.

You watched his lips press together. His steel grey eyes searched your face.

“I don’t know,” John said slowly, almost like he couldn’t believe he was really having this conversation with you. “Only one way to find out, I s’pose.”

He’d seen your bet and raised you. More than that, he’d given you permission, laid his cards out on the table and said, ‘Go on, then. Put your money where your mouth is’.

Your gaze dropped to his mouth again. He couldn’t have been more than a foot away. All you’d have to do was lean forward and he was yours.

John watched you, those clever eyes clear and bright. Were you imagining it, or had he turned himself towards you? Opened himself up to you and lowered his head a little?

Slowly (too slowly, you knew that now) you began to smile.

“I s’pose.”

John’s mouth twisted, then he laughed softly. It sounded hollow. He turned back to the dough and asked if it looked good enough to you.

It was only later that you realised your mistake. You’d been echoing him, a positive. John had heard an uncertain negative. You’d never wanted to kick yourself so bad.

It didn’t come up again.

On a bright day in the middle of the second week of June, you were setting up the chairs and tables outside the bakery when you heard a familiar bell chime.

John pulled up by the curb, his bike tires skidding across the asphalt. He looked pleased with himself, it was obviously a move he’d been practising. He’d certainly come a long way from careering into oncoming traffic, oncoming pedestrians, and several oncoming trees.

“You’ve mastered tha’.”

John smiled, wide and relaxed.

“You know, I had a scooter when I was a teenager.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Used to drive it everywhere. I’d choose that over this deathtrap any day.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

You tried not to sound too distant, but you couldn’t keep your eyes off John as he took off his helmet and shook out his long hair. He was so insanely beautiful, and you knew he liked to dress nice sometimes and he was always talking about what he wanted to do next with his hair, but John really didn’t have a clue just how gorgeous he was. At least, to you.

“I was big on The Who. I had this little Vespa 180.”

You nodded as if you knew what that was.

“Had the parka and the hair, and everything," John went on. “I was stopping by my friend Dave’s house once; he was in the band I was in back then. This car pulled out of nowhere and I skidded and came off it. Cut up my arms and my legs,” John scratched at his chin. “Had a nasty scrape here. Nearly fainted on my mate’s living room carpet from all the blood.”

You laughed because he did, though really, the thought of John as a teenager, just a kid really, hurting himself so badly that he was that shaken, it made your stomach twist.

He’d been doing that more often lately, telling you stories. Not just about his friends, his band, his classes, but about his home and his family, about the people he grew up with and the fun they used to have. It had taken almost half a year but John finally seemed to have relaxed.

“You were in a band back home too?”

You watched John dismount the bike, grinning to yourself when one of his long legs got caught in the frame. Still as graceful as ever.

“The Opposition, we were called. That’s where I learnt the bass.” John smiled, looking you up and down quickly. “You look lovely.”

You looked down at yourself. A skirt you’d pulled from the washing basket, an apron, and your coffee brown uniform shirt didn’t seem worth mentioning. With a pang, you wondered if you’d led the conversation down a path John didn’t want to follow and the compliment was just a distraction.

You looked back up at him, eyebrows raised.

“Do I?”

“Yeah, you’re…”

He looked you up and down again, slower now, taking his time, then smiled sheepishly like he’d forgotten himself for a moment. There was something so innocent and genuine about that smile too. It made John’s eyes sparkle and his nose wrinkle, and the small sound he made, a soft, shy laugh, was so endearing, all you could think about was kissing him.

“Thanks, er…”

You huffed, not sure what else to say. But John was still smiling. He knew.

Even though he’d bottled it, once again, passers-by must’ve been able to feel the tension radiating off of you. Your heart was pounding so hard, you were sure John would be able to hear it, even over the roar of morning traffic.

“Listen,” You shot him a look, wryly acknowledging that you were changing the subject. “I need to talk to you.”

John heaved an exaggerated sigh and turned his bike around.

“Oh, dear…”

You followed him down the narrow alleyway that separated the bakery from the haberdashery next door. There was hardly enough room to manoeuvre around the bins and potholes on foot, let alone fit a bike through, but he had the knack by now. You still managed to admire John from behind as you wound your way around the skips like an Olympic gymnast.

“I can’t make it tomorrow night. I’m really sorry. Gladys needs me to close up, she’s goin’ out with…” You pulled a face. “Well, she’s goin’ out. And I’m basically gonna have to work through the night to cover not ‘avin’ Micky still.”

You’d made plans to meet up before his next gig, what should’ve been your fourth. But there was just too much to do, and after two weeks of on-and-off help from Mickey and Gladys, you were exhausted.

“I’m so sorry, John.”

“It’s alright, love. Don’t worry. It’s tough at the minute, I know.” He squeezed your elbow gently, reassuringly, then turned to chain up his bike. “You’re gonna miss out on seeing my new outfit but…”

“Well, that’s why I wan’ed to talk to you...” You wrung your hands, half agony, half hope. “To make up for it, I wondered if you… If you wan’ed to come over after work tomorrow night? I could make dinner, help you get ready, do your make up…”

John laughed, soft and bright, all gap-teeth and eye crinkles. You could get used to seeing him this relaxed, you really could.

“I’d really like that,” he said, nodding sweetly, then he laughed to himself again.

You tried not to look as happily surprised as you felt.

“Good!” you said. “Cool.”

John beamed then raised his arm, gesturing for you to enter the bakery before him.

“Cool,” he repeated, teasing you.

You beamed.

“Cool.”

“Good.”

“Cool.”

“Good.”

Friday night should be the best night of the week. You should be out with your friends, maybe going to the pictures or getting a drink in a nice bar in town. Instead, you were so exhausted, you could barely put one foot in front of the other, and climbing the stairs to your tiny flat felt like traversing the foothills of the Himalayas.

But you had become used to not seeing your friends, and there was never anything on at the cinema, and even when you could summon the energy to get all dressed up and buy yourself a drink with a fantastic name, all you could think about was the bakery, and all the work you could be doing instead.

That night, it took all your strength to not flop down onto the sofa, or even better, your bed. Today had been tough, tougher than usual. Fridays always seemed busier than you could handle, even though in terms of numbers, they couldn’t be much different to any other day. Everyone was desperate to get home, hardly caring that you were too.

Feet dragging the carpet, you went into your room and stood in front of the mirror. Blurred eyeliner, tangled hair, and an empty sort of look behind your eyes.

“C’mon, kid,” You patted your cheeks, then tilted your chin up, dragging your open palm down your throat. “You’re alright. You know you can do it. You’re alright.”

You slipped your fingers under the collar of your shirt and pressed them into your pulse.

“Still goin’.”

You stayed there for a moment, just looking at yourself as you felt your heart beating against your fingertips. You tilted your head to one side, then the other.

There was a threatening red patch by the arch of your left eyebrow where a spot was brewing, and the bags under your eyes were growing darker and darker by the day.

“Mickey will be back soon.”

Lying to yourself was a new low. Mickey hadn’t said when he’d be back permanently. Gladys had actually made a rare appearance that afternoon but you were both so busy, you hadn’t had a chance to ask what the plan was. You were just treading water, and the storm showed no sign of clearing.

There was a knock at the door, four short, sharp knocks. Very John. Right on time, as always, and just when you needed him.

You eyed your bed longingly.

When you opened the door, John was covering his head with his hands, pulling down on the edges of a brown baseball cap. He looked agitated and embarrassed, like you’d caught him in the middle of something.

“Hi,” he said, and despite his obvious uneasiness, he still managed a sweet little smile.

“Hi.” You laughed. “What’s that in aid of?”

John’s expression darkened.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.” He dropped his hands with a sigh. “I tried to do my hair but I don’t think I did it right. Had to hide it all the way here.”

“Hide your-? How bad is it? What ‘ave you got under there?”

John gave you a look so hopelessly crestfallen, you had to laugh.

“Come in, come in. We can sort it. I hope you’re hungry.”

That brought back his smile.

“Starving,” he said firmly, and followed you into the flat.

He left his bag by the front door, beside your untidy pile of shoes. You half expected him to flop down onto the settee and stick the telly on, or go into the bedroom to get changed, but John stuck close to your side, waiting for you to tell him what to do. He still had that stupid hat on but you sensed it wasn’t a good idea to ask about it yet.

“You lookin’ forward to tonight?” you asked instead.

You moved to the cupboard to grab some bits for dinner, nothing fancy but definitely soul-soothing. You sensed you both needed it.

“Yeah, yeah it should be good fun. Brian reckons we’ll pull a good crowd and he’s never wrong, so…” John rolled his eyes. “How was work? I’m sorry I couldn’t stay to help today. I could probably do tomorrow though and some days next week?”

“I’d love that. And it was good. Busy but… And I think I might’ve convinced Gladys we can afford more help.”

“Another baker?”

“Just someone to watch the front of the shop.”

John pouted.

“I thought I was gonna be your new sales assistant.”

“What? You’re joking. You’ll be busy touring the world soon! You’ll forget all about us.”

The moment the words left your mouth, your heart sank like a stone. You were only teasing, but there was a thickness to your voice, a tell-tale edge of self-pity, that John couldn’t have missed.

The thought clouded your mind most days. Whenever it threatened to sink its claws too deep into your chest, you had to turn the radio up or start a new dough, anything to distract, if not completely switch off your whirring brain. John couldn’t stay forever. You knew that. He knew that. But you were having a hard time accepting it.

John gave you a soft smile.

“I wouldn’t forget you, love.”

As he spoke, he raised his hand and slipped it round your wrist, gently, carefully.

“I couldn’t.”

His fingers were so long, they could wrap all the way around your wrist, his rings cold against your burning skin. It was all that kept you grounded.

He could barely hold your gaze when you first met. Now John could touch you like it was the easiest, most natural thing in the world, because it was.

You kept your eyes on his hand. You couldn’t look at him, you couldn’t let John see just how much the thought of him leaving pained you, or how desperately you wanted to rest your hand over his and pull him closer.

He squeezed your wrist once, then took back his hand. It took everything in you not to grab it back.

John cleared his throat. His cheeks were a little pink.

“Anyway, the band is just a… It’s not forever. It’s just a laugh. Something to get us a bit of money.”

You frowned.

“Is that how you all see it?”

John looked away.

You’d obviously touched a nerve so you changed tack.

“D’you mind chopping the veg?”

You worked together in a comfortable silence. The only sounds were the soft chip chip chip of John’s knife against the chopping board as he sliced carrots and onions, and the crooning radio in the corner.

You let your mind wander to what it might be like to hear one of John’s songs on the wireless someday, what the DJ might say about him and his friends as they lined up the next track. Would they mention his degree? How hard he’d worked to get their little band off the ground? Would they mention him at all? John seemed happiest in the background, a silent but steady column keeping everything upright.

They wouldn’t mention you, you knew that. Or Mickey, or Gladys, or this bakery. They’d never know what a good influence 64 Oslo Square had been. They would never know how insular John was when he started, and how proud you were of him for wanting to get better. They would see someone quiet, distant, but smart, so smart, and never know just how far he’d come.

You weren’t part of his story. Or maybe you were, in a way. A book, tucked away in a corner of the library that only you and John knew was there. Either way, it wasn’t important. DJs and music magazines and record sales didn’t matter to you. Knowing John was better for meeting you and your home was all the acclaim you needed.

You looked over at John. He was smiling to himself as he fiddled with the papery skin of an onion, probably trying to decide if he’d chopped enough.

Memories of the boy who walked into the bakery on that rainy night flooded your mind. So nervous he could barely get his words out, so thin he was shuddering despite his old jumper. Now here he was, in your home, making dinner with you, smiling at you-

John had caught you looking.

You cleared your throat awkwardly.

The song on the radio changed to something more upbeat, a Slade song.

“So, this show, where is it again?” you asked, turning back to the pasta boiling on the stove.

“A club down in Soho, I think. The Regent? Le Régent? I don’t know. Freddie saw the name and picked it. God knows what the place is like.”

You shrugged.

“Sticky floors, horrible loos, grabby men. They’re all one in the same.”

“Yeahhh, I don’t mind you missing this one, to be honest. It won’t be glam.”

John turned and leaned against the sideboard. He was so tall, he could perch on the side without needing to hoist himself up.

You just kept your eyes down. If you stared at his hips for too long, you knew you wouldn’t be able to resist pinning them against the counter.

“Don’t worry, when we go out, I’ll take you somewhere nice.”

It was such a bold statement, it surprised you, and all you could think to do was laugh.

“Oh, really?”

“Only the best for my boss.”

“I’m not your boss.”

“Aren’t you?”

When you looked back over your shoulder, John had turned his back again and was chopping vegetables innocently. His face was half hidden by his long, wavy hair but there was no missing the smirk in his voice.

You watched his arm move up and down, up and down, and marvelled at how slim he really was. You could see his bony elbow poking through his brown chequered shirt with every shunk of the knife against the chopping block, though you were pleased to find you could no longer pick out his ribs as his body turned. Your plan to feed him up a bit was clearly working.

Against your better judgement, you let your gaze travel slowly, slowly down.

John’s tiny waist seemed made for your hands. The contrasting curve of his hips made you dizzy. You could almost feel your fingers sinking into them, see his pretty face flush with embarrassment at how much he enjoyed you touching him, until your palms began to tingle. You rolled your open hands into fists, squeezing tight.

You could sweep his long hair aside and press kisses down his spine, your hands still kneading at his hips, until he had melted beneath you. So tall, far taller than you, especially in his heels, and now there was a thought.

All it would take was one hand on the small of his back, pressing down gently until he was bent over the counter, his face pressed into the cold linoleum and his arse in the air.

You couldn’t help thinking John always wore those tight trousers just to antagonise you. You ached to run your hand over him, to feel the soft black velvet against your skin, to hear John gasp as your fitted your hips against him and leaned down, your chest against his back, your hair tickling his neck, your mouth near his ear as you told him how pretty he looked and how long you’d been thinking about fucking him, just like this.

“I know a place near my uni. It’s nice there, you’ll like it.”

You looked up, your eyes heavy.

John was smiling at you. It was such a lovely smile, but all you could think about was the warmth of his flushed skin against yours, the pathetic whines and moans that would fall from his funny mouth, and the ache between your thighs.

He was right there. You could have him if you wanted. All you’d have to do is cross the kitchen and kiss him, hard, so hard he couldn’t possibly doubt how much you needed him, and then he’d be yours.

He’d be in your bed, looking up at you with those big, clever grey-green eyes and begging you for more, grinding down on your fingers, his pretty hair spread across the pillow, his legs wrapped around your waist.

“Fuck me, love. Ohhhn… Want you inside me, darlin’. Fuck…”

His mouth would fall open as he watched you spread his legs even further apart, boots still on, his pink tongue pressing against the little gap in his teeth.

“What do we say?”

“Pleasepleaseplease, make me cum, please.”

“Good boy.”

“I promise, no sticky floors and no grabby men.”

John sipped his cup of tea.

You swallowed thickly.

“None at all?”

He laughed and shook his head at you, but didn’t rise to your challenge, much to your disappointment. Instead, John poked at a slice of onion with the tip of the knife.

“Are these alright?”

They were perfect. Of course they were.

After dinner, John disappeared into your room to get changed into his stage gear. When he came back, you had to pick your jaw up off the floor.

You weren’t sure what you’d expected. The last few times you’d seen John perform, he’d either opted for jeans and a T-shirt with his band’s name on it or borrowed things from his friends. It seemed he’d finally gone shopping.

“Do you like it?”

John beamed as he turned this way and that, showing you his black satin suit from every angle. The material shone in the light, framing his body neatly. The jacket pulled in at the waist, its shoulders contrastingly broad, and was open enough to show off the silk shirt he wore underneath.

“Yeah.” You took a breath. “I love it.”

John grinned. He clearly felt good. He ought to, looking like that.

You let your gaze follow the length of the suit, from his open collar right down to his red woollen socks. They offered a sliver of another part of John’s personality, a homely frugality that you couldn’t help finding endearing.

Cute as it was, you soon found yourself staring at his chest again. John was usually so bundled up against the cold, to see any of his skin sent you into an almost Victorian stupor, and now here he was, his chest bared down to the bottom of his sternum. You realised you were biting your lip.

“It’s thanks to you guys that I could buy it. I’ve been eyeing it in the shop for weeks. Thought you ought to be the first to see it.” John was peering in the mirror above the mantle, angling his chin this way and that. “Do you really like it?”

“You look great.”

You meant to say more but John started to play with the buttons on his shirt, toying with the idea of undoing one more.

“Come on, then. Let’s see this hair,” you said quickly.

With a woeful sigh, John turned away from the mirror and went to remove his hat but stopped with his fingers wrapped around its brim.

“You promise you won’t laugh?”

“I promise,” you lied. “C’mon, you’ll be late. How bad can it be?”

With an awkward smile, John took off his hat.

You pressed your lips together. When you were sure you had control of your smile, you tried to think of something reassuring to say. You came up blank.

“Oh, John…”

He groaned and let his head fall back, his eyes squeezed shut as if in agony.

“My sister does it when she wants to make her hair curly,” John moaned. “She taught me over the phone but I don’t think I did it right.”

You couldn’t resist, you had to laugh. John had wound two pencils into the front pieces of his hair, not the craziest idea in the world, but they’d somehow become tangled and were now stuck. One pencil was sticking almost straight up in the air. You couldn’t imagine how long it had taken John to get them under his hat.

John looked wretched.

“Is it bad?”

“No.”

“You said that a bit quick.”

You offered what you hoped was a reassuring sort of smile.

“It’s fixable.”

“Darling,” John moaned, drawing out the sounds so woefully, you’d finished laughing by the time you realised what he’d called you.

“It’s alright! It’s alright, we can sort this. God, all those brains and you can’t curl your own hair,” you laughed and shook your head. “God help us all if you ever do become an engineer.”

You directed him to the sofa so you could get a proper look at the top of his head. While you poked and fiddled with the pencils, you tried not to think about how you’d ended up standing between his legs again, and how nice it was to have him looking up at you.

After a moment or two of you muttering under your breath and John wincing every other second, the silence clearly became too much for him.

“Where are you from?”

You frowned, carefully turning one of the pencils between your fingers.

“What?”

The stereo in the corner was still crooning on, something low and slow that the DJ had swooned over. ‘For all you lovers out there…’ he’d schmoozed. ‘Something to set the mood and get you feeling good…’. You and John had just tried your best to ignore it.

John shrugged as best he could considering his precarious position.

“I’ve just realised I’ve never asked.”

“You won’t know it.”

“Try me.”

You looked down, smiling.

“Wandsworth.”

John thought for a moment then shook his head - carefully.

“Yeah, you’re right. I don’t know it.”

You laughed but stopped when you accidentally tugged too hard and it made John yelp.

“Sorry, sorry. How did you even manage to- It’s on the other side of the river.”

“Oh, the nice part of town?”

You snorted.

“Johnny, this is the nice part of town.”

“Ahhh, so you’re from the wrong side of the tracks? Or river.”

“That’s me, a real wrong’n.”

“Yeah, I see it now, you’ve got a streak a mile wide.”

Your fingers slipped and you accidentally tugged on John’s hair again. This time, the little whimper he gave in response made you press your thighs together.

Trying you best to keep your expression neutral, you asked,

“Murderous?”

“Hmm… Maybe when Alastair is about.”

You looked down at him again.

There was something about John knowing you, what you liked and what you didn’t, who you hated and what you wanted out of life, that made your chest lurch. You couldn’t recall anyone ever wanting to learn about you, to see you, or even listen to you like John did. Even if he did use it as ammunition to tease you.

“He won’t be around long. Gladys will see sense soon enough. She’s not as green as she is cabbage-looking.”

John exhaled sharply through his nose, agreeing.

You just smiled and tried to ignore the nagging doubt in the pit of your stomach. Hope that your boss would see sense, that Alastair would just leave you alone, was always closely followed by a grim stab of dread.

With one final twist, one of the pencils came free and you gave a triumphant little cheer.

“One down, one to go. No WHSmith trip for you.”

John leaned back, craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror about the mantle. As he did, his hands came up to rest on your hips, an anchor so that he could lean back far enough without toppling over.

“How does it look?”

“Well…”

You couldn’t fault John’s sister’s logic. The pencil had certainly done the trick. John’s already wavy hair had pinged up into a perfectly coiled curl, though it probably wasn’t quite what he’d imagined.

Considering he had less than two hours to get to the venue and sort himself out, you decided you’d hold off on delivering the bad news for now. Instead, you slipped your hand around his jaw and turned John’s attention back to you. The other pencil was at a more hopeful angle but was much more tangled.

You grimaced, then gave a low whistle.

“I don’t know, New Boy. Might have to get the scissors.”

John snapped his head up, his eyes wide.

“Kidding! Kidding.”

His hands didn’t leave your hips until he got up to leave.

In an empty lecture hall in South London, rehearsals had been rolling on for seven hours now, and Queen had been arguing for at least six of those.

“I just think if we keep the refrain going for, you know, a more… It would sound better.”

“We’ve already got enough bloody refrain on this track. It’s practically trippin’ over itself with how much bloody refrain you’ve stuck on it.”

“Oh, don’t be fucking childish.”

Roger and Brian had started to bicker from the moment they picked up their instruments. What was meant to be constructive criticism had come out much more condescending than was probably intended, which led to muttered comments under Roger’s breath, which, in turn, led to Brian getting defensive.

“I just think it needs a bit more towards the bridge, there. It’s stopping and starting at the moment.”

“It’s stopping because you keep stopping it! It’s fine as it is! There’s more than enough guitar on this one already, the bloody concert’ll be- People wanna get home, you know!”

Fearing they weren’t going to get much work done at this rate, Freddie attempted to act as peacekeeper, but he couldn’t resist dropping in the odd unhelpful comment. Soon, they were all squabbling like boys on the schoolyard, arms crossed and bottoms lips jutted out.

John sat in the corner and watched. He had one long leg slung over the other, his bass a familiar, comforting weight in his lap. While he waited for his friends to finish their argument, he sighed and rested his chin on the instrument’s rib, its sleek black body cool against his skin.

His fingers itched to play. It felt like ages since he’d been able to just switch off his mind, close his eyes and pluck out a rhythm that would slot in nicely with songs formed months before he joined the band.

He shifted his bass again, so that it lay across both his thighs. It reminded him of you, of how wonderful you’d felt sitting in his lap the night you patched him up and saved him from the cold. John felt something in chest tighten, then roll through his body to his stomach. He blew out a long breath.

He couldn’t believe you’d actually worried about being too heavy for him. He couldn’t believe you had no idea how much he’d loved being close to you and how his body had missed yours ever since. John hugged his bass closer, wrapping his arms around it and catching his own wrist to hold it tight, until he could almost imagine its body was yours, warm, soft, and everything he dreamt of.

“John won’t go for that.”

He looked up at the sound of his name. Roger was smirking at him. Beside him, Freddie looked worryingly hopeful.

“Go for what?”

“I just think our look could be vamped up a bit!”

Freddie was already on the defensive and he hadn’t even explained his idea yet, a tell-tale sign that John wasn’t going to like this one bit.

John glanced at Brian, who looked indifferent, and Roger, who seemed excited to see his reaction. He raised his eyebrows and Freddie sighed.

“I just think we could try coordinating a little better. A strong colour scheme. All of us looking like a band.”

“Yeah, okay,” John said, shrugging. “I’ve got no problem with that.”

“And I was thinking we could wear a bit more makeup.”

John’s face fell.

“No.”

“Deaky.”

“No way.”

“Everyone does it!”

“I don’t!”

“Deaky, it’s fine,” Roger rolled his eyes. “It’s just a bit of eyeliner, it’s not gonna kill you.”

John wrinkled his nose but stayed quiet. He knew when to pick his battles and, more importantly, he knew when he was outnumbered and likely to lose. Still, logistically there were still some issues.

“Where do I even get eyeliner?”

John thought he heard Freddie mutter something like ‘oh, for fuck’s sake’ under his breath, but Roger cut in before he could protest.

“Shops, Deaky. Come on.”

“I won’t have time! I’m always either at uni or work. I barely make it to gigs with enough time to get changed as it is.”

“Why don’t you ask your girlfriend! She wears eyeliner, I’ve seen it. And hey,” Roger grinned like a cat. “She could even put it on for you.”

John didn’t have the energy to argue. He shut his mouth again, his skin prickling with embarrassment as his friends murmured in agreement, smiling wicked smiles and whistling like teenagers.

“I’m not wearing any bloody makeup,” John said firmly, crossing his arms over his bass. “That’s the end of it.”

That’s how you found yourself between John’s knees, again, leaning in so that you could rub an eyeliner pencil dangerously close to his eyeball.

John was not taking it like a champ. For one thing, he kept bloody blinking. And he was gripping your elbow so tightly, you were starting to lose circulation.

“You know, John,” You smiled as you prised your arm from his grip for the third time. “This’ll only take a second if you just let me do it.”

John’s forehead creased, his funny mouth drawn into a thin line as he begrudgingly set his hands down by his sides. He slipped them under the lip of the table and held on so tight, his knuckles began to pale. So lanky, so smart, so sensible, and terrified of a pencil.

“So, this was Freddie’s idea?”

Immediately, you regretted asking. John scowled, almost making you drag the eyeliner across his temple.

“Stupid idea. I’m gonna look ridiculous.”

You couldn’t help smiling. You’d never seen John so cross and moody before.

“You’ll look fine.”

“It won’t suit me,” John pouted. “I haven’t got the right… Face for it. Roger and Freddie, even Brian, they’re…”

He trailed off, closing his eyes with a woebegone sigh.

Oh, no. You weren’t going to let him wriggle off the hook that easily.

You lifted John’s chin with three fingers, thinking it would force him to meet your eyes, but his stayed closed.

You slipped your thumb over his chin, his slight stubble rough against your skin, and pressed down gently.

“What?” you asked, giving his chin a little shake.

John didn’t open his eyes but you did manage to encourage a little smile out of him.

Pleased with your small win, you brushed your thumb across his chin again, more gently now, the tip of your thumbnail just skirting along the edge of his bottom lip. You ached to reach just that little bit further and tug it down. That would get his attention.

“You’re just as pretty as those idiots, Johnny. And twice as talented. And you’ve got one thing they ‘aven’t got.”

“What’s that?”

You grinned.

“Me.”

John finally opened his eyes and gazed at you softly. He looked tired, too tired for a boy his age, tired right down to his bones, his soul.

You watched his silvery green eyes cross your face, and found yourself wondering, not for the first time, what on earth he was thinking about when he looked at you like that.

“I’ve got you, do I?” he said quietly.

You tapped your thumb sweetly against his chin, then finally let him go.

“Actually, could you close your eyes again? It’s easier like that.”

John flinched when the tiny brush met his eyelid.

You felt bad. To his credit, John had never worn any makeup before so you knew it must feel odd for him. When he shyly brought it up earlier that afternoon, you thought he must be joking, but John had looked so mortified, you knew he wouldn’t put himself through it unless someone was making him.

You glanced at the clock on the mantle. Just half an hour before he needed to get going. John was already dressed and ready to go, you just had to make him look presentable, he’d said. A laughable idea. He looked amazing tonight. He always did. So amazing, you couldn’t help yourself.

“You smell nice. What is it?”

John opened one eye, almost sleepily.

“Hm?”

“What are you wearing?”

“Nothing.”

You laughed softly, feeling your cheeks heat up.

John blinked, then shot you an embarrassed, lopsided smile.

It was difficult to ignore just how good it felt to be close to him again. John’s bony knees were at either side of your hips, pressing in ever so slightly whenever your eyeliner poked somewhere it shouldn’t.

You hummed to yourself, turning his chin to the left, then the right, making sure you’d jabbed the pencil everywhere you needed to. Neither of you seemed to realise there really was no need for you to be touching each other quite so much.

Instead, you just tried to focus on making sure you didn’t poke his eye out. It was infinitely more difficult putting makeup on another person, it was taking all your concentration not to make John look like a B movie monster.

“How’s school going?” you asked, breaking the silence.

John smiled against your palm.

“I love that you call it that.”

“It is school!”

He was grinning now.

“It’s going well.”

You held up two blushes, one deep red, one pale pink, then told him to open his eyes again. John wearily chose the latter, probably hoping it would be less visible than the other.

You dabbed a brush that had definitely seen better days into the powder and told him to smile.

“Are you top of your class?”

“It doesn’t really work like that.”

“But?”

You raised your eyebrows and John’s forced smile turned a little more real.

“Yeah, I am.”

“That’s my boy.” You dabbed at his cheeks, hoping it would look something like what Freddie had envisioned. “Teach me something.”

John shrugged then laughed when you told him off for shuffling around too much.

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything. Which pliers are your favourite?”

John shot you a dark look as you lifted his chin again.

“You tease me far too much for someone who also claims to like me.”

“And you get shy far too much for a boy who once said he ‘fancied me like mad’.”

“I might’ve had a drink or two that night. Sorry.”

“Ahh, so you don’t fancy me like mad, that was just the Stella talking.”

John shot you nervous, crooked sort of a smile.

“I didn’t say that,” he said quietly.

Stunned, you stopped painting his cheeks. You knew you must be staring but you just needed to see him, to see into him, to know if he was just teasing you or if behind that shy smile, John really meant what he was saying. You saw nothing but real, if bashful, honesty in those clever eyes. It knocked you for six.

“See,” You poked his chest with the end of your brush. “Gone all shy again. You’re blushing.”

John rolled his eyes.

“That’s the make up.” Then, as if realising he had no real reason not to be honest with you, he added, “It’s hard not to blush when there’s a pretty girl holding my face and teasing me.”

You could feel your heart pounding in your ears.

“You like it when I tease you?”

“God help me if I didn’t, it’s all you do.”

His hands were warm on the backs of your bare thighs. When did that happen? He was keeping you close but without any urgency or force, his touch so gentle you hadn’t even registered his hands resting there.

“You’re easy to tease. You’re so ridiculous.”

You felt John’s fingers tighten, ever so slightly, against the backs of your thighs. You were suddenly acutely aware that you were wearing a skirt. All it would take was one act of bravery, from either of you, and those hands could be sliding up under it.

“How!”

“You’re just all…” You gestured at him, up and down. “Skinny little thing with huge hair and big fuck off boots and… You’re just brilliant. I like you so much.”

Those last few words came out a lot quieter than you’d intended. In fact, you hadn’t intended them at all. A shyness you weren’t at all used to began to settle over you as John’s kind, clever eyes searched yours again. He was smiling such a lovely smile.

“I like you too,” John said softly.

Was it your imagination or had he moved closer? His back was straighter, his chin raised. John’s fingertips were now pressing into the backs of your bare thighs in a way that was impossible to ignore or pass off as an accident.

But then he let go, and all the tension between your two bodies dissapited at once, like all the air had been let back into the room. John gave you another wonky smile, tucking his hands under his own thighs for good measure.

“Marks on the outfit tonight?”

Letting out a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding, you tried your best to stoke a smile.

“Oh, ten out of ten. Especially like the, um… What is this?”

When John came into work that morning, he had carried with him several bags and his bass guitar, all balanced precariously on his borrowed wheels. After his rounds, he stayed to help in the bakery and to your delight, had asked if you’d help him get ready again.

You’d only caught a flash of dark silk cloth when he showed you his outfit, stuffed unceremoniously into one of 64 Oslo Square’s own pristine white bags. Now you could see the whole ensemble and you still weren’t entirely sure what it was meant to be.

John tugged at the front of the black tunic. It had long flowing sleeve and stark, white panels that fell like a cape down his sides and his back.

“It might’ve been a wedding dress at some point? I think that’s what Freddie said?”

You flicked at the ruffles at the tops of his sleeves and shook your head.

“Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. I do love it though. All of it.”

You let your gaze slip down his front, from the white stripes that hung across his chest, to his shiny black and white platforms.

You loved those shoes. You’d often fantasised about telling John to keep them on while you tugged down his stupid, tight, faux leather trousers. There was just something about them. They made John’s already insane legs look even longer and so elegant, and the thought of him bending over the bed in them… But you’d only thought about John like that once. Honest.

You tapped the back of his hand, now sitting neatly in his lap.

“I love this ring.”

You couldn’t be certain but you thought you’d seen John wear the onyx signet ring almost every time you’d seen him. It was part of what made him John.

“It’s just an old thing.” He spun the ring around his finger a few times, then took it off and handed it to you. “My sister gave it to me. Well, my mum and my sister. For my eighteenth.”

You could feel John’s eyes on you and you studied the ring. It really was beautiful. Simple but wonderful, just like him.

Without thinking, you slipped the ring onto your index finger. The black stone shone as you held out your hand, turning it this way and that to catch the light.

“It’s lovely.”

John beamed and you felt like you’d unintentionally pleased him, like you’d struck a chord that ran deep through him. You liked the ring his family had given him. That was important to him, whether John realised it or not.

You tried to get it off. Stuck. You held your breath, trying not to panic, and twisted the ring just like John had before he took it off, but it wouldn’t budge. He’d been wearing the ring on his little finger, you remembered, it was only tiny really.

“Oh, shit.”

You twisted it again and again, your bottom lip clamped between your teeth, until John rested his big hands over yours.

“Hey, hey, don’t panic.” He closed his fingers around yours, smiling softly as he raised your hand up so he could get a better look. “I’ve got a trick.”

“W-”

“I’m not gonna bite you. Just- Look, trust me.”

You watched, heart in your throat, as John raised your hand to his lips. He gently folded down your other fingers, leaving your index sticking out.

“Saw this in a film once.”

John kept his eyes down, his eyelashes dark against his cheeks. They were short and blunt, you’d never noticed that before. He was so intriguing. How could someone be so masculine in some ways and so beguiling in others?

Then your fingertips brushed his wonderful, funny mouth and you forgot how to think altogether. John carefully lowered his head until your finger had passed between his lips.

You stared, open-mouthed, as John put his teeth around the edge of the ring and gently pulled back, slowly, steadily, until it finally slipped off your finger.

He grinned, the ring caught between his teeth, then flipped it back onto his tongue and held it out for you to see.

You laughed, your cheeks burning. John was still holding your hand.

“See!”

John held the ring up with a flourish, as if he’d just performed a grand magic trick.

You nodded, breathless.

“Yeah.”

It was all you could think to say. You couldn’t think much at all.

John’s gaze slipped over your shoulder. He must’ve seen the clock on the wall, because he checked his watch and sighed.

“Shit.” He squeezed your hand before letting go. “Listen, I’ve got to make a move but- Thanks, love, for everything. Dinner was amazing and so were you and- Just thank you.”

Still feeling a bit dizzy, you tried to summon a smile.

“Anytime, Johnny.”

He had started to gather up his bags and his guitar, but stopped just to tell you,

“I really like it when you call me that.”

“I know. You’re not as difficult to read as you might think, New Boy.”

John looked away for a moment, shaking his head, then he said,

“Thanks again for the…” He gestured vaguely at his face. “I wish you were coming with me.”

“So do I. I’ll be humming your songs to myself all evening, I promise.”

John looked like he wanted to say something else but, again, seemed to think better of it.

“See you tomorrow,” he said instead, then gave you a little wave as he turned to go.

Always so taciturn, never speaking unless he felt it was important, never saying more than was needed, never putting his oar in when he knew it wasn’t necessary. John never said anything without careful, quiet consideration, and even though it had been lovely to watch him slowly relax, trust, and grow in confidence, it was also wonderful to know he was still so uniquely him.

He never spoke without meaning to. The thought chimed like a bell, echoing through your head again and again until realisation finally began to settle in. John never spoke out of turn. He never said what he didn’t mean. So when he said that he’d been thinking about kissing you, all those weeks ago, it hadn’t been a slip of the tongue. It hadn’t been a mistake. He meant it. John meant it.

Suddenly, it felt like your feet had been frozen to the ground. You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. And all the while, a prickling, breathless ache swept through your body, until it felt like your heart might beat out of your chest and you had to ball your hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

John had one foot out of the door but when you called his name, he immediately stopped. He leaned back in, surprised.

“Yeah?”

Tell him. Tell him now. Tell him how much you like him, how much you love him, love every bit of him, from his mad, fluffy, lovely hair, right down his ugly socks and his ridiculous shoes. Tell him that he’s the cleverest boy you’ve ever met and you love that he never makes you feel stupid. Tell him that he’s the best part of your day and you’d give anything to have him stay just five more minutes, because watching him leave is always torture.

“I…”

Tell him that you want to take care of him, listen to him, protect him, be there for him, love him, for as long as he’ll have you. Tell him. Just tell him.

But the moment you opened your mouth to speak, those worries that you so often had to push down, finally broke through the dam you’d built to keep them at bay.

John was top of his class at one of the best universities in the city. He was an incredible musician in a band whose popularity was growing by the day. And if all that wasn’t enough, he was gorgeous. What did you have to offer? What would he want with a girl who had never stepped foot in a university and whose future was bolted to a tiny, old, struggling bakery. Why would he want you?

John was still looking at you expectantly, the corner of his funny mouth tugged up into a small smile.

“You okay, love?”

You took a deep breath.

“Do you know why the bakery is called what it is?”

John looked bewildered for a moment, then he laughed.

“Yeah.”

“Tell me.”

John still looked a little confused but he must have sensed you needed him to answer. He shuffled around his bass and his bag of clothes, then braced his shoulder against the front door to keep it from closing.

“Erm… Gladys was so happy to have her own business that she threw a bit of a do? So she was a bit drunk when she was filling in the forms. Put the address in the wrong place. And she spelt ‘Onslow’ wrong. It just stuck.” John laughed, shaking his head. “She told me it’s because she was in A Doll’s House in secondary school. She’s a mentalist, that woman. Why?”

Because you’re brilliant. And you love this place almost as much as I do. You know it and you know us. You care about something I care about, even though you have a million and one things going on in your life and the stakes are so much lower for you. Because you’re gorgeous. And kind. And just because it feels so new and odd and wonderful to be seen, to be known.

“Nothing,” You smiled and pushed the strap of his bass case further up his shoulder for him. “Have fun, rockstar.”

Queen played well that night. They were always brilliant but tonight just felt different.

Maybe it was because Mickey was able to come in today and you hadn’t worn yourself out to the point of tears. Maybe it was because Roger had grabbed you excitedly by the shoulders when he saw you, kissed your cheek and told you to come backstage after the show. Maybe it was because you’d spent the afternoon doing John’s make up again, and seeing a flicker of jealousy cross his painted and usually impassive face sent a surge of excitement through your chest.

Not even your deep running insecurities could deny that John, shy as he was, seemed to be playing to you that night. For once, he stayed near the front of the stage where you could see him. And what a sight.

You’d always been a sucker for a pretty boy, but John was the prettiest boy you’d ever seen, and standing there, his legs spread, his satiny clothes clinging to every inch of him, you found yourself pressing your thighs together with every thrum of his bass through the speakers.

You watched, transfixed, as his long, elegant fingers danced down the neck of his bass, the fingers of his other hand tugging and pulling at the strings with such strength and dexterity, you couldn’t help imagining how he’d use them on you.

You raised your heavy gaze to meet his. John was bobbing his head to his own beat, lost in the music. When he saw you looking, he smirked and tossed his hair back over his shoulder, his hips rocking enticingly back and forth as the music suddenly picked up its pace.

You couldn’t take much more of this.

After the show, you headed backstage as instructed, your ears still ringing from Brian’s outrageous guitar solo and the pounding of drums through the speakers.

You’d never been backstage before. There were no bodyguards, no dark heavy curtains or growled requests to see a pass, but it was backstage after a great gig, and that was pretty cool.

You picked your way through the cold, narrow corridors, following the signs that lead you to what had generously been called a green room. Queen’s name was sellotaped to the door.

Pushing your way inside, you found the band busy meeting their fans. There was a big crowd, surprisingly big actually. You stood in the doorway, taken-aback. You knew the boys had fans, but you didn’t realise they were this popular.

Brian was talking with a man in a dark suit, probably the owner of the club. They stood seriously in the corner, plastic cups full of something amber-coloured in their hands.

Roger and Freddie were in the midst of a big cluster of kids - a mixed group, all shapes and sizes - chatting, signing programmes and tickets, and posing for the odd photograph.

It took you a moment to find John. He was sitting in the corner on a small leather sofa, keeping out of the way. He had a drink in one hand that he hadn’t touched and was chatting quietly to a girl.

You hesitated. They were sat very close together. The girl was beautiful, all dark hair and big brown eyes, and she was listening intently to whatever it was John was saying.

Roger noticed you first. He thanked the lad he was talking to, then made his way over to you.

“Bakery girl! I’m so glad you’re here. Did you bring any cake? I’m Hank Marvin.”

“Hi, Rog. Sorry, love, not tonight.”

“I’m coming by tomorrow, you can’t lead a boy on like this,” Roger beamed. “Deaks, your girlfriend’s turned up empty-handed!”

At that, John looked up. When he spotted you, he immediately brightened.

You gave him a thin smile and mouthed that you’d meet him outside. You didn’t wait for him to respond before you slipped back into the corridor and out into the cool night air.

John was still hiking his bass onto his back when he found you standing under a lamppost, just a few feet away from the entrance to the club. Your eyes were down, your arms crossed over your chest. You hadn’t noticed him yet.

John was so pleased to see you, he wasn’t looking where he was going. He walked right out into the middle of the road, his feet barely touching the ground, he was so excited to reach you.

A car horn blared.

“Look what you’re doing!”

John almost jumped out of his skin and hurried the rest of the way across the road, just as an old Cortina went whistling past with a rude gesture out the rear window.

“What is it with you ‘n’ not looking where you’re going?”

You were shaking your head, smiling softly. The lamplight from above meant your face was partly in shadow, but the half he could see was looking at him so fondly, John couldn’t tell if his racing heart was from the shock of the car horn or because of you.

He shot you a lopsided sort of a smile.

“Distracted. Sorry.”

He offered to walk you home and to John’s delight, you accepted. You weren’t far from the bakery, maybe a ten minute walk, so you set off together instead of heading for the tube station.

John didn’t notice the quiet at first. He was never usually the first to start a conversation or the one doing most of the talking, but tonight he found himself chatting your ear off about the gig, the audience’s reaction, the trouble they had with the sound, everything.

When you finally did speak, it was quiet and considered.

“Lot of fans you lads have now.”

John laughed.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s funny, I never really thought about that side of it. It’s funny hearing people sing along to the songs still. I had a bloke ask me to sign his shirt the other day. Me!”

You nodded slowly, lips pouted. John should’ve known he was in trouble then.

“Lots of girls around you back there.”

John shrugged, suddenly feeling bashful.

"Oh, I’m sure it's just that when they come round to get autographs, they move in a cluster from one person to the other.”

“That girl you were chatting to was pretty.”

John glanced across at you. Your head was down, your arms still crossed over your chest. He sighed and came to a halt, his bass knocking against his back.

You took a few steps past him before you realised he’d stopped. When you finally noticed, you shook your head at him, your eyebrows pulled together in a deep frown.

“What?”

You seemed to be making an effort to keep your voice steady and stern, but there was a flash of something behind your eyes. You were hurt.

John stuck his hands in his pockets, his shoulders almost up to his ears. As comfortable as he was with you, it was still strange to speak his mind. It didn’t come naturally but he wanted to get better, for you.

“Can we not do this?”

“What?”

“You being cross with me for something I haven’t done.”

“I’m not cross!”

That came out a lot louder than you intended. You looked away.

John watched you swing your arms, hardly able to meet his eyes. He didn’t think he’d ever seen you so nervous. He couldn’t help grinning. You were jealous.

“The girl I was talking to is Freddie’s sister. She’s in the year below me, she was asking about uni applications.”

He watched, still smiling, as you visibly deflated.

“Oh.”

There was a painful sort of pause.

John waited for you to speak again but you seemed to be struggling to string together a sentence. He resisted the urge to tease you about it. As much as you liked to toy with him, you’d never once made fun of him for being quiet. And he loved you for it.

John stepped closer, keeping his hands in his pockets and his eyes on yours.

“There were a lot of girls back there, yes. But I’m walking home with you,” he said, steady and quiet and sure. “It’s you who got me a job, and looks after me, and makes me laugh.”

You scoffed.

“That’s all you like me for, is it? Cos I gave you my bike and I make you laugh and feed you like a stray cat?”

“Yes. And…” John smiled. “And you’re kind to me. And you listen to me. And you’re beautiful and smart and… You’re so beautiful, you make my chest feel like it’s… I only want to walk home with you. I only ever want to be with you.”

John waited, heart pounding, for your verdict. You seemed stunned. In all honesty, he couldn’t believe he’d said those things either. But he meant it. He meant every word. It was about time he stopped mucking about and just told you how he really felt.

After what felt like an eternity, your astonished expression sank into a sweet smile, then a full on grin.

“You’re always full of surprises, New Boy,” you said, and laughed softly.

You fell into step beside each other again, stealing glances at each other just to catch the other doing it too. It was thrilling, the start of something wonderful, or just two people realising they had been in the middle of something for a long time and were relieved to find the other there too.

John couldn’t remember the last time he felt so relaxed, so completely at ease, but it would probably be the last time he was with you.

“It’s mad that you live around here,” he said as you walked down a row of gleaming department stores. “It’s so posh, I don’t even wanna look in the windows.”

You snorted.

“I couldn’t even afford their coat hangers.”

“It’s strange the bakery’s struggling so much considering where it is. And there’s always a queue round the corner. Is it the rent, or..?”

“Er…”

You didn’t know how to answer. In fact, you looked a little embarrassed, like you’d never really thought about it before. Gladys had just always said that the bakery was barely getting by and no one thought to ask. Everyone was struggling right now.

“Well, yeah, I suppose,” you said, shrugging. “And there’s ingredients and the energy bills…”

“You just always seem to sell out and your customers are always pretty well-off.”

“Gladys does all the books herself. Maybe she’s just shit at maths.”

“I could take a look?”

He knew as soon as he said it that that was a step too far. They didn’t need his help. They could look after themselves just fine. He hadn’t meant to sound patronising but John still felt awkward.

“I’m sure Gladys knows what she’s doing,” he added quickly.

“Well, let’s not go mental.”

You gave a scornful laugh, then squeezed John’s hand to make sure he knew he hadn't offended you. He squeezed back gratefully.

You nodded at a glossy car showroom on the other side of the road. Ferraris. Chevys. Bentleys.

“You know, I’ve lived in this city all my life and I’ve never been in any of these shops.”

This part of the city was a honeycomb of luxury stores you would never dream of touching, let alone passing through their doors. They hurt to look at.

John shook his head.

“Me neither.”

“You might soon. Roger was telling me someone from a record company might come see you perform.”

John spoke without his teeth separating.

“They might.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” John’s smile was forced. “Yeah it would be. Good, I mean. It’d be good. Great, even.”

Of course, you never missed a trick.

“John?”

He sighed, pushing his balled up fists deeper into the pockets of his jumper.

“It really was just supposed to be part-time. This wasn’t part of the plan.”

“What plan?”

“My plan.”

You knew a little about his childhood, the uncertainty and worry of it all, so he felt comfortable talking about it. Unpredictability made a boy grow up thinking about every penny. John liked to plan and think and organise because his life, so far, had been anything but. There was control in order, and safety in the ordinary.

You slipped your arm though his.

“It’s going to be alright, you know. If things do pick up with the band. I know it sounds terrifying but,” You grinned. “It’s also very, very cool, John.”

Your smile helped to ease the ache in his chest a little, but John’s mind was whirring.

“But what if-”

You stopped, and your arm looped through his meant he stopped too.

“You’re gonna keep them on track. You’re going to keep them safe. You’re going to make sure no one messes you around, or takes you for granted, or tries to take something you made and put their name on it. They need you, John. They can’t do it without you.”

He looked down at his shoes, shaking his head, almost in disbelief.

“You’re so lovely.”

Still staring at the floor, he missed your soft smile, but John felt you move closer. Just as his heart began to flutter, you took your arm back. He immediately missed your touch but before he could begin to feel disappointed, you slipped your hands into his.

“You said they went through how many bassists before they met you? They were looking for a good musician, yeah, but you’ve got something they didn’t. A brain.”

John looked up, laughing softly, but your gaze was clear and steady. He’d never felt so seen, so held.

“You’re so smart, John. You see things other people don’t. And if one day you decide you don’t wanna do it anymore then that’s fine. But if you don’t do it because you’re too scared? Well, then…”

John felt something in his chest shift. There had been a belt wrapped around his heart - growing steadily tighter and tighter by the day - ever since he learned about this man from the record company coming to see them play. You’d finally loosened it.

“It means I wouldn’t be able to be your delivery boy anymore,” he murmured.

That was perhaps the worst thing of all. His time was already fractionated into countless pieces. If music became a full time thing, he wouldn’t be able to see you every day. John wasn’t sure how often he’d be able to see you at all.

He thought your smile looked pained as you squeezed his hands. You’d been worrying about it too.

“You were always too good for me, darlin’. Us. For us. The bakery.” You smiled, soft and sad. “I knew you were too good to be true.”

John wanted to argue. He wanted to tell you that you were wrong, he wasn’t too good for anything, but especially you. He wanted to stay. He loved his life, he loved the bakery, he loved being with you, learning from you, talking to you, making dinner with you, making you laugh, all of it, every moment. He wanted to tell you that he wasn’t going anywhere. But he also didn’t want to lie to you.

“They need you, New Boy.”

“Don’t you need me?”

“I want you, that’s different.”

John raised his eyebrows. To his utter delight, you shyly glanced away, your lips pressed together as you tried to keep back a smile.

“It’s not up to me,” you soldiered on. “You need to do whatever you need to do. But I’m gonna support you, no matter what.”

His heart was going like the clappers. John could hardly piece a sentence together at the best of times, least of all around you, but now, he could hardly gather a solid thought.

You were so good. He couldn’t believe he’d found you. In all the world, all its mess, all its people, he’d made one decision and found you, as easy and as simple as crossing the road and spotting the one shop with all its lights still on. A lighthouse, he thought, calling him home.

“Think maybe you’re the one who’s too good to be true, love,” John whispered.

Those soft, gentle eyes. He couldn’t tear his gaze away. You had this way of looking at him, of being with him, it made John feel like the only man in the world. You liked him, he knew you did. So why couldn’t he just lean forward and kiss you? Why shouldn’t he?

His gaze dropped to your lips, just for a second, but when he met your eyes again, John knew you’d noticed.

You started to smile.

His heart in his throat, John placed your left hand on his hip so that his right was free to hold your cheek.

You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch with a soft sigh.

“Of course, if you want to stay, you can,” you said quietly. “I’ve got used to having you around, New Boy.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

You seemed so small in his hands, but there was something there, in the way you’d looked at him before your eyes slipped shut, in the way your fingers pressed into his hip, ever-so-slightly pulling him into you. You weren’t surrendering to him. He was only taking the lead because you were allowing it. The thought set John’s heart racing.

“Maybe I could still do a couple of odd shifts. You know. Every now and then.”

“Weekends would be good.”

“You’re in charge, Captain.”

You opened your eyes. They were dark and full in the low light.

“I’ll hold you to that, Johnny.”

John swallowed hard.

A shout across the street made him falter. There was a crowd of young men, all six sheets to the wind and staggering on uncertain legs. They started whooping and hollering at you, waving bottles of beer starwards.

John let his hand drop back to his side.

“Idiots,” he muttered, mostly because he was fairly certain he’d been about to kiss you just then, and now he couldn’t feel his legs.

You rolled your eyes.

“Do you wanna come in?”

You nodded over your shoulder to the bakery, now just a few shops down.

It pained John to shake his head.

“Can’t. I have an exam in the morning, I should get home.”

You blinked, then laughed.

“You amaze me, Johnny.”

“Thanks for coming tonight… I haven’t told you… I’ve been meaning to… I wanted to tell you that it’s been really nice seeing you, um… I can’t think of a nice way to phrase this.”

You squeezed his hip in what he was sure was meant to be a reassuring way, but it took everything in him not to whimper.

“Just go for it,” you said, smiling.

John took a deep breath.

“Things are mad here, I know. And they always have been but especially now, with Mickey away so much and Gladys… You haven’t had any time for yourself and I can see it, you’ve been… You’re like me, you’ve felt stuck. But lately you’ve been going out and making time for yourself and… Look, I don’t really know what I’m talking about but it’s just really nice to see you so happy.”

It was probably the most he’d spoken in one go in weeks, maybe even months, but it didn’t feel as exhausting as it usually did. John knew that was because of you.

You squeezed his hip again. John had to bite back a moan.

“Thank you for reminding me that I’m allowed to have some fun,” you said, beaming.

You were good for each other, John knew that now. Physical touch no longer felt painful, because of you. Speaking his mind no longer felt like an impossibility. You hadn’t fixed him, as so many had tried to. You’d just given him the room to feel comfortable, to feel at home, and that was all he’d needed. You were good for him. Good to him. How could he ever give you up?

“Thanks for doing my makeup.”

It was a stupid thing to say, John knew it, but you were almost at the bakery door now and he didn’t want the conversation to stop, or this night to end.

“Oh, it was a pleasure. A very genuine pleasure.”

You reached up and delicately swiped your thumb under his bottom eyelashes, brushing away smudged eyeliner that he couldn’t wait to be rid of.

“It’s easy when you have such a willing participant. You were such a good boy for me.”

John almost tripped over himself at that. He recovered well, or at least he thought so. You were smiling ever so mischievously as you slipped your key into the door.

“You sure you won’t come in? The sofa’s got your name on it. Or, you know…”

Your boldness could’ve knocked him flat.

John wanted to say ‘yes’, and many other, much lewder things, more than anything in the world. He wanted to hold your face in his hands again and press his lips against yours, back you up against the door and kiss you and kiss you until you could hardly breathe.

He wanted you to pull him inside and up the stairs to your flat. He wanted you to shove him down on the bed, straddle him and just have him, take him, make him yours, and maybe even allow him to make you his in return.

But it was late. And your conversation had made him sad, though the conclusion had been a reassuring one. He was tired, and worried about the future, and not looking forward to getting up at the crack of dawn for this stupid exam.

“Soon,” John said. “I promise.”

He wasn’t sure if that last part was for him or for you. Maybe both. John just hoped you knew how painful it was to step back from the bakery, turn away from you for the night, and head home to his lonely, lonely bed.

Master List

#john deacon #john deacon fic #john deacon x reader #john deacon reader #queen #queen fanfiction

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lovesosweeet · 5 months

Text

better left unsaid // cth

chapter thirty three

in which orion has leukemia, and calum doesn’t know.

calum hood x fem!oc

read other chapter

october 12, 2018 los angeles, califonia calum

“What’s been the biggest shift in making this record versus the previous one?” Yet another interviewer asks us the same question it feels like we’ve answered a million times.

“Y’know, we’ve all grown a lot in our personal lives over the past few years,” Ashton says, and Michael and Luke nod along.

“For sure, I mean,” Michael pauses to laugh. “We’ve all fallen in love, some of these guys have gone through some heartbreak, but overall, we’re just a lot more grown up.”

Some heartbreak. Minimizing what I’m going through right now to those two words is almost a lie because of how inaccurate it is. Orion is worth far more than two words, and I know that everyone in this room would agree given the chance. \

“I’d say everything is almost the same, actually,” Ashton adds on. “Like we said, we’ve grown a lot, but our writing and recording is a similar process.”

“But, y’know, we’ve added a lot of fresh elements to this record, like with the keyboard. We’ve tried to take on a hint of an electronic sound, too,” Luke says.

“Yeah, so we haven’t actually changed anything, but just with the way life works and how we naturally progress as artists, the final product is so different, but the process isn’t.” Ashton finally wraps up the answer, and the interviewer seems quite happy with it.

“It’s nice to watch how both you and your music evolve over the years. You guys have been together for seven years now, and some of you have been friends for far longer. Do you find that your constant growth impacts your relationships with each other? Are you ever outgrowing one another and having to play catch up? How’s that dynamic?”

My mouth chooses to speak before I do. “Well, Johnny,” I say. I have no idea how I managed to remember that this man’s name is Johnny, but judging by his unphased expression, I think I got it right. “We outgrow each other when certain people withhold certain vital information from other people and let things blow up in their faces when they could’ve prevented it.”

Luke laughs loudly and awkwardly at my comment, nervously looking at each of our faces. “Calum’s such a jokester, aren’t you Cal?” He asks, smacking my back harder than necessary.

I plaster on a fake smile, sucking it up and correcting the course. “Yeah, I’m just joking. These guys never fail to be there for me. Our relationships are always strong, honestly often strengthened by the ways we evolve away from each other sometimes.”

When Ashton starts talking next, it takes a lot of self-control not to lunge at him.

“Yeah, there’s nothing that could come between us. These are my brothers, you know?”

I don’t have to look at him to know he’s looking at me.

My smile, still fake, widens. “Oh yeah, nothing could ever break these bonds.”

After the interview ends, I don’t bother thanking the host or crew. I take off my headset and set it on the table before walking quickly outside of the studio, pulling my pack of cigarettes and lighter from my back pocket. It feels like such bullshit to have to sit there and act like I’m happy.

“Cal, I know you guys are having issues,” Matt says, following me outside. He looks annoyed, as usual. “But you have to reign it in.”

I puff out smoke and laugh bitterly. “We’re more than ‘having issues’, Matt.”

Matt takes a few steps towards me so that his face is right by mine. “I’m canceling shows for you. I’m canceling interviews so you don’t have to plaster on a fake smile more than necessary. Fuck, I picked up your drunk ex-girlfriend at the beach for you. You’re pissed at Ash. I get it. But you have to get your shit together. This is your job. This is something you chose. Grow the hell up and be civil for the twenty fucking minutes you spend on air with him.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s also the hours on stage and rehearsing, riding in the tour bus. It’s not just twenty minutes at a time.”

Matt rips my cigarette out of my hand. “Hood, I really don’t care. Keep your personal life out of your professional one if you’re not able to be a mature adult when your feelings get hurt.”

“Excuse me, who the fuck are you, again? Oh, right, a man that I pay.”

“You know damn well you’re not going to fire me and find another manager that will take care of you guys the way I do.”

I hold back then, because he’s right. Matt is an exceptional manager and he’s been with us for years. I can’t imagine where we’d be without him. “Fine. I just won’t talk in any interviews and I won’t talk onstage. I can’t promise I won’t repeat the shit I just said, so it’s best if I just don’t talk.”

Matt sighs, and then he surprises me by hugging me. “That’s fine. You don’t talk much anyway.”

Reluctantly, I hug him back. The words that just came from both of us wouldn’t have ever suggested we’d be hugging now, but here we are.

“If I haven’t said it, Cal, I’m sorry. She was incredible, and I can’t imagine how you feel right now. None of us saw that coming.”

I appreciate that Matt isn’t saying anything negative about Orion. Everyone who knows her knows better than to badmouth her. She’s doing shitty things, but she’s not a shitty person. She’s still the best person I know, despite how much she’s hurting me. I’m still in shock most days.

I go to text her when I first wake up each morning, and then am painfully reminded that I can’t. I can’t even see what she’s doing because she removed me as a follower on Instagram. It takes a lot of self control not to text her throughout the day, awake and sober, just missing her badly. I hope she’s doing okay. I know I’m not.

—

Performing in LA should be fun. Our friends and our friends who’ve become family all get to come. It’s our home field, basically. Backstage before the show, everyone was too happy.

They all took shots together, playing games of beer pong and just catching up after we’ve been away for a while. It makes me sick to my stomach, so I spend most of the time before the show outside with some of the crew, just smoking. Our crew knows me well enough to just leave me alone, smoking silently next to me for a while.

“There you are!” Roy’s voice suddenly sounds.

I smile at him. It’s a real smile. It’s nice to see him. “Hey, man.”

Roy grins, walking over and sitting next to me on the ground. “Just wanted to check in with you, see how you’re handling things.”

My bitter laugh, a sound I seem to be making a lot these days, falls from my mouth with a trail of smoke. “Like shit.”

He nods and stares at his hands. “I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but if I know anything about Orion, she’s gonna come around.”

I want to believe him, but I don’t know if I do. She was so determined to end things. It hurt to watch how badly it was hurting her to push me away. She needed to end things, for whatever reason she had for doing it. ‘Sparing’ me.

“Guess we’ll see in time.”

Roy sighs from beside me. “Your guys’ love was—is—so real, Cal. You can’t just shut that off.”

“She did it because she loves me. It’s fucked, but that’s why.”

The next thing I know, Roy’s practically giggling. It doesn’t make me laugh, but it does make me smile. His laugh makes me happier, somehow.

“Sorry, it’s not funny. That’s just, like, the most Orion thing I’ve ever heard.”

I smile, tears flooding my eyes. “Yeah, it really is.”

Roy and I hang out until Matt tells everyone it’s time to head to the stage. He gives me a hug and says he’s going to watch from VIP with the rest of our friends, and I join the rest of the band for our pre-show shots.

“5SOS on five?” Luke asks, handing each of us a shot glass.

“5SOS on five,” Mike confirms.

We count to five, yell ‘5SOS,’ hit our shots against each other’s, and then we gulp the burning tequila down. Everyone else has a chaser, but not me. I grab the tequila bottle and pour myself another, and another, and another.

After I’ve had four shots of tequila, I grab a beer from the fridge and my mic pack from its spot where it’s charging. The rest of the band doesn’t say anything but follows suit, and then we’re walking to the side of the stage.

“Let’s get this shit over with,” I mutter.

Luke throws a hand onto my shoulder and squeezes.

“If you need a break, just take it, okay?”

I nod and fight the tears that threaten to form. It’s our first show after the breakup, and I know I’ll be a mess if I think about it too much. Some songs are written for Orion, so those will hurt, but so will the ones written about breakups and heartbreak, which our fans joke is all we write about.

Ashton nods to us before he walks out to take his seat behind the drums. He bangs a brief rhythm, and then Mike walks out, his guitar slung over his neck. He waves to the crowd with a huge smile.

I put one foot in front of the other to make it to my spot, grabbing my bass from its stand. I walk up to my mic and nod at the crowd. The deafening screams have just been background noise this whole time, but now they’re accompanied by glaring stage lights.

When Luke walks out, the crowd goes crazier. He smiles as wide as Mike did, waving with both hands before he takes his spot, center stage.

On Ashton’s cue, we all start, and I curse the fact that our opener is a song that I have lead vocals on. I try to lose myself in the music, strumming the chords I’ve played a thousand times before, singing the words to the music I helped write but now feel like a foreign language as they blare through the speakers and the crowd sings along.

I’m able to operate on autopilot until we get to the brief section of our set that has a slower pace. Luke talks, and I drink a few long gulps from my can of beer. Once it’s empty, I hold the can up to a crew member, motioning that I’d like another.

“LA, we’re about to slow things down for a bit, but first I just want to introduce you to my brothers up here with me, in case this is your first 5SOS show.

“To my right, we’ve got the ever so talented Michael Clifford, the first one to join me in this lame ass band. To my left, we’ve got the stoic, beautiful bassist, and my best friend, Calum Hood. Behind me, our very sweaty drummer, Ashton Irwin!” The crowd roars with each introduction, and I just focus on the beer that a crew member trades out for my empty can. I crack it open and drink from it while I can.

“And we can’t forget, Luke Hemmings. Voice of an angel, our frontman, and the reason we’re a band in the first place!” Ashton takes over for him, and I don’t bother even trying to look at him. “Los Angeles, we hope you like this next one. This is Ghost of You.”

Michael starts playing before I can even get my bearings, and the words Luke sings cut deep as the whole entire room sings along.

If I can dream long enough,

You’d tell me I’d be just fine

I’ll be just fine

Every time I close my eyes, I have flashbacks of Orion. Smiling, laughing, running down a beach or telling me a joke on a walk somewhere in Europe. Happy, blissful, pure. My girl, before she fell apart, before her fucked up fate blew up her life and her dreams.

And I chase it down

With a shot of truth

The words ring too true to the shots I just took to drown out everything I’m feeling. I feel the tears falling fast down my face as I try to harmonize, but I give up and take a few steps back from my mic. Luke looks at me, holding his mic while he sings. He looks worried, so I have to look away from him.

I’m supposed to sing the second verse, but I know I can’t. As if they planned it, Michael sings it for me when he notices the look on my face.

Cleaning up today Found that old Zeppelin shirt You wore when you ran away And no one could feel your hurt

The fans go wild at Michael singing my verse. I can barely keep playing the few notes that I need to for this slow song, and thank god that they had a system in place for me inevitably being unable to sing my own verses.

All I can think about is Orion. She pushed everyone away. She pushed all of us away. She ran away from our home and is living in San Diego now. It hurt so badly to walk into our apartment last night when we got to LA to find it barren of her things. She’s gone.

The rest of the song is a blur, and I just play the bass off to the side of the stage, not even looking at the crowd. I just look at Luke and Michael and am grateful for them more than ever in this moment. I’m lucky to have bandmates like them who double as best friends.

When the song ends, Michael walks up to me with Luke in tow while the fans cheer.

“You good, Cal? We can take 5 if you need,” Mike says, reaching a hand out to rest on my arm.

I shake my head, even though I know the next song will be equally as painful, if not more so. “No. Let’s just get this over with.”

They both look at me with immense pity. I hate it. I walk back to my mic stand, determined to at least sing the first verse. We start Amnesia and I close my eyes, hoping that tears don’t fall while I sing.

I drove by all the places we used to hang out getting wasted I thought about our last kiss How it felt, the way you tasted And even though your frie—

I have to cut myself off as my voice cracks and I step back from the mic, letting Luke finish it off for me.

You’re doing fine Are you somewhere feeling lonely even though he’s right beside you? When he says those words that hurt you, do you read the ones I wrote you? Sometimes I start to wonder, was it just a lie? If what we had was real, how could you be fine?

I step back up to my mic, needing to scream the last words of the prechorus.

‘Cause I’m not fine at all

I full on sob for the rest of the song, each of the lyrics hitting way too close to home. I don’t sing into the mic, but I sing to myself while I play and watch Luke and Michael sing the words to the crowd. For the most part, I face the back of the stage, toward Ashton, but ignore his very concerned glances toward me.

And the dreams you left behind, you didn’t need them Like every single wish we ever made I wish that I could wake up with amnesia And forget about the stupid little things Like the way it felt to fall asleep next to you And the memories I never can escape ‘Cause I’m not fine at all

—

@5SOSUpdates: Cal barely sang tonight at the LA show. Luke & Mike picked up most of his solos and he cried during GOY and Amnesia </3

@5SOSFan4Ever: my heart broke piece by piece watching cal struggle to get through tonight’s show :( my poor bb

@CalumGirl: imagine having your worst heartbreak be on public display. sending so much love to you @calum5sos

@LetThemEatCake5SOS: does anyone know what actually happened betw cal and orion? they both don’t seem to be doing well and i loved them together.

@5SOSFan4Ever: Replying to @LetThemEatCake5SOS: yeah their friends are all still interacting. something seems wrong. makes me sad :’(

@CalumGirl: Replying to @LetThemEatCake5SOS: someone said orion has terminal cancer and that’s why they broke up. idk how true that is but if it’s true i am simply devastated

@OrilumStan: my babies broke up and both are struggling it is ROUGH out here just look how sad he was onstage. Image attached

@CashtonLover: Replying to @OrilumStan: has anyone seen/heard anything from orion? i know she’s always been private but i’m so nosy @OrilumStan: Replying to @CashtonLover: no, a few of her friends have posted stuff to their stories about respecting privacy tho. and like i get it but I WANNA KNOW

read next chapter

#5sos #luke hemmings #5 seconds of summer #ashton irwin #calum hood #fanfiction #5sosfam #imagine #fanfic #michael clifford #calum 5sos #calum fanfic #calum fic #calum x ofc #calum x fem!oc

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somewhat-adorkable · 5 days

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Trigger warning for some graphic depictions of death:

The first dead body I saw belonged to my Grandpa Marcus.

He worked his whole life to provide for his family, only to be crushed by a cotton truck when he was in his sixties.

I was only four, standing next to his casket, I reached my hand out and froze. I understood this was not my grandpa, simply his body. Nothing more. But it felt wrong to touch, to search for life in something that was no longer living.

"It's okay," my mom whispered, squeezing my hand, "you can touch."

I did. Small fingers drifting over a cheek that felt like wax, not like warm human skin. When I touched his chest it crinkled from the filler they had to use to hide his gruesome ending. I shook my head at my mom and whispered, "that's not grandpa."

It was the first time I saw my dad cry.

Life went on.

The sixth time I looked at a dead body, I was thirteen, it was the body of my dad.

He looked swollen and purple, and the people around us kept saying how good he looked.

I knew they were lying.

He had violently choked to death on his own blood, while my mother screamed for the paramedics to hurry up and find our house.

They got lost on the way.

A five minute drive took them almost an hour.

He was long gone by the time they arrived.

I looked at his body, wondering how many people knew that when you're too tall for a casket, they cut your legs off so you'll fit.

I went back to school three days later.

Two girls in class had a discussion about how they would lose it if their father died, they didn't know if they could live without him.

Life went on.

Seven months later, during spring break, my grandmother died on the floor in front of me.

The neighbor, a paramedic, heard the call go out over the radio and kicked the door in to get to us.

To help me keep her alive.

I got asked hundreds of questions about medications, if she was slurring, if she could stand before she fell.

Her last coherent words were 'dont worry'.

I didn't ride in the ambulance with her.

She looked beautiful in her casket

Life went on.

When my mom's boyfriend lived with us, he owned a rollback service. He worked for the county, picking up wrecked and repossessed cars.

The night before Thanksgiving, we were called to a fatal crash. I rode with him.

The driver, a teenage boy, had been taken away by ambulance.

The girl's mangled body was pinned under the truck.

An officer handed me her phone and asked me to turn it off, the screen lighting up with calls and texts from her mom, wondering where she was.

The picture on the lock screen was my cousin Courtney.

The mangled mound of flesh they removed from under the truck was her.

The funeral was closed casket, I heard my aunt scream for God to take her too

Life went on

A couple years ago, the day before my birthday, we found my uncle dead.

He was supposed to come over but never showed, so we went a few doors down to his house.

The door was unlocked, and he was on the floor

Eyes open and unblinking

He had been hiding that his house was rotting, the dresser in his room having fallen through the floor and to the ground below

He never asked for help

Gave all his money to his daughter

We wouldn't let her into his house, didn't want her to see the conditions he has been living in.

I went to work after

Later that day a bullet came through the window of the house I had been cleaning.

I wondered if I would have gotten to see him again.

Life went on.

I called my god father to tell him I was making chicken wraps for dinner. He didn't answer.

Not uncommon, on Sundays he and a lot of his friends went out to eat for lunch, riding back roads on side by sides and gocarts to get to a little backwoods restaurant.

I figured he would call back when he could hear me.

Not long after I heard sirens.

Turns out, as they were leaving to come home, a woman had stopped her SUV on the other side of a blind curve.

When he and Antony, one of my brother's good friends, rounded that curve on their gocart going 55mph....

Well, gocarts are much smaller than SUVs.

One was decapitated, the other had his face and head crushed completely flat.

No one on scene could do anything to save them.

The woman sued their families for 'emotional damage'

I didn't make the church wraps.

Life went on

The day after my girlfriend moved in,

I was on the floor folding clothes, she was sitting on my bed, we were talking idly,

My mom walked in, and with certainty said: "your cousin was murdered."

"which one?" I asked

"Destiny."

My cousin was seventeen years old.

She and her boyfriend had been beaten and shot to death in a random act of violence.

She got her name because her mom never knew she was pregnant, not until she gave birth to a baby while in the shower, the day after selling all her old baby furniture

So she named the surprise baby Destiny

Then someone saw fit to make sure she never saw 18

Life went on

I took care of my neighbor for years.

Her daughter and law left the family because of the stress of the medical care.

I was just the neighbor kid that had been coming around my whole life, there was no reason for me to be the one doing hours of wound care,

Fingers up to my knuckles in the split skin in her legs, scraping off dead tissue.

The doctors at the hospital told me I was doing amazing.

One day when I was at work, she fell.

She died a week later in the hospital

Swollen, hardly recognizable, I thought maybe death was a mercy to her.

Her hand felt like ice in mine the last time I held it. I knew she would be sad her nails weren't painted pink.

I cried so hard at her funeral I threw up

My boss called to ask why I wasn't at work that day

Life went on

One afternoon, when I got home from work, my roommate in tow, my mom looked at us and said "I told my self I wasn't going to cry....."

She hugged me through tears and said, "we need hotdog buns."

I laughed a moment, asked what she was on about, she softly told me her bestfriend had died a little while earlier.

My god-mom had died the same way my dad died

Except this time the ambulance arrived in time

But it didn't make a difference

I didn't go to her funeral

Life went on

When my neighbors house burner, I had the flu.

But I ran outside anyway

In my pajamas, no shoes on

I ran through the burning grass to get to my uncle because he was screaming for help

He didn't have a phone, I called 911

Together, we got her out of the house

I couldn't see anything inside, the air thick with black, acidic smoke that burned my lungs and eyes

Her skin, fragile with age and heat, split under our hands

In the yard, I felt her rips snap under my hands as I attempted CPR, her lips a sickening mixture of cold and warm as I struggled to force air into her lungs.....

there was no soot in her mouth or throat

She died before the fire started

I repeatedly pressed my ear to her chest to try and hear something over my own roaring heartbeat and my uncle's devastated screams for me to please save her

I held her bloody arm to my chest and told her 'its going to be okay, I can hear the sirens, Ms.Myrtle. they're coming.'

I knew she couldn't hear me.

I sat on the ground with my uncle for over an hour, we clung to each other like a lifeline as firemen and cops whorled around us

His granddaughter panicked when she got home and ran to us, seeing the blood on our arms and clothes, I whispered "it's not ours, we're okay."

When the firemen found her cat, I took her straight to the vet.

In the silence of the exam room, I looked down at my arms and clothes, smeared with blood, soot, and now cat hair

I started shaking violently

One of the vet techs hugged me until I could breathe again

And somehow

Life went on

#death tw #theres no real point here #and probably 500 typos #straight up skipped my brother's death because thats a whole bag of worms #and that i had a boyfriend die on Valentine's day

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puterboy1 · 4 months

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My thoughts on episode 1 of Percy Jackson (spoilers below)

The Percy Jackson and the Olympians television series is finally here. In spite of nearly 25% of the characters bearing a strong resemblance to their book counterparts, everyone can agree that this is definitely a better adaptation than the 2010 film. However, I do have a couple of complaints and changes that I could have done for my own personal benefit or for the benefit of others:

All are labeled as spoilers, so take great caution.

Three Alternate Openings

Instead of Percy narrating the story in the cold open, I have three alternate openings that I think could have enhanced (or degraded) the story if they had taken place before he utters the iconic opening line: One romantic, one dramatic and the other a framing set up.

The romantic version shows how Sally and Poseidon first met instead of it being a flashback for the Montauk scene. It is a slow montage with no dialogue or sound effects, just music. The cinematography and mis-en-scene are high reminiscent to the opening of The Notebook, in which Sally and Poseidon are dark figures silhouetted against the red light of dawn, almost completely obscured. We see Sally walking up to the beach and Poseidon stepping out of the water, going on a boat ride and everything else we saw in the show. As the montage draws to a close, we finally get a good look at Sally seeing the Poseidon is gone and she is pregnant. We cut to her giving birth to Percy and her first line is her christening him. The music ends as the scene dissolves to 12 years later with Sally staring out the window of her apartment when Gabe calls her for his seven-bean dip. She responds, leaves the window and we pan all the way out towards Manhattan in the direction of the museum and then we hear Percy's opening monologue.

The dramatic version is a bit similar to the opening of the 20th Century Fox adaptation in which we get to see the Winter Solstice meeting with the gods. Everything is copasetic until Hermes tells everyone that the master bolt has been stolen. Zeus and Poseidon get into an argument and then Zeus tells everyone that there will be a war.

The framing set up would be Percy, as an adult telling the story of his life to his kids or even the younger campers of Camp Half Blood. First, he starts with "I didn't want to be a half-blood", there is a flash of lightning and we cut to Percy's 12-year-old self like in the real show.

2. Seeing more of Percy's life before Camp Half Blood

Percy did mention other incidents that happened before Yancy and it would have been both a hilarious and a very sad way of seeing how he got expelled from several different schools. But of course, they do have a budget and it's not very big.

3. Principal Riordan

When I saw that principal and how desperate and worried he looked in his efforts to find Percy and get him off the roof, I knew in a moment that Rick pretty much wasted a good opportunity to play the guy because Percy is his baby and seeing him act more like concerned father than a typical school principal would definitely be in his DNA. But if there is one good side, it is seeing a pegasi and one of those animatronic bulls. I also like the flashback where Percy and his mom go to the museum, but I kinda miss Mr. Brunner's lecture, it would felt more like you were in school again listening to an awesome speech on mythology. But then again, to most kids of the 2000s, school was boring.

4. Nancy calling Percy a dumb blonde

If Nancy was that cruel, she'd probably have another reason to call Percy dumb...because he's blonde. Even if such a stereotype has faded into obscurity, it would probably still make you want to give you another reason for hating her. It also could have given Percy some development as he learns for himself, and proves Nancy wrong, that not all blondes are dumb.

5. Percy calls Nancy out

Even if the scene we got was close to the book, one change I would make, that I would find to be cathartic, would be Percy telling Nancy what kind of a person she is before he pushes her into the fountain, and it would go something like this:

Percy: (grabs Nancy by the arm) Don't you have anything better to do in your spare time? One that doesn't involve being a *technical term for a female dog*?

Nancy: Well maybe I like being a *technical term for a female dog*, it makes me feel like a goddess.

Percy: Well guess what, Nancy, you're not a goddess, you're just as human as you and I and if you had any decency like a real human should, you would treat me and my friend with some respect! *slaps Nancy and force pushes her into the fountain*

6. Percy vs. Mrs. Dodds: Dawn of the Unnecessary Relocation

One of the things the Fox adaptation of The Lighting Thief ironically got right was Percy's fight with Alecto/Mrs. Dodds taking place in an empty part of the museum and Mr. Brunner giving Percy the Riptide pen in the middle of the fight. Here the fight takes place outside and Mr. Brunner gives Percy Riptide before the fight. I find this change to be very odd and the fight itself to be very underwhelming. Rick has a lot of explaining to do.

One minor note: I think Percy should have said the now (in)famous line "But this is a pen!"

7. My Riptide Sense is Tingling

I'm not sure what led Rick to make Riptide be Percy's personal alarm, and while I kinda like it, I feel mixed because what if it gets too loud and the enemy hears it?

8. Intertitles for Each Chapter

One creative way of telling the audience when a chapter begins is a title card, maybe one slightly animated and drawn on a piece of school textbook paper, think Diary of a Wimpy Kid. I know it's cheesy, but then again, drama is better.

9. Et Tu, Grover?

One change that does seem to sit well with me is Grover telling the heads of Yancy that he encouraged Percy to push Nancy into the fountain. It makes Percy's defection from Grover pretty dramatic, but at the same time, Grover not being able to tell his secret can also be concerning.

10. Has It Now Become a Sin to Feature Gaslighting in Kid's Show?

Aside from one mention, Mr. Brunner and Grover are never seen gaslighting Percy over the denial of Mrs. Dodd's existence. Instead, we get a "you are special" speech from Mr. Brunner. And I ask why? Featuring the gaslighting would have made the show feel more like a suspense thriller a la Hitchcock and adds to the mystery.

11. A Different Wardrobe for the Fates

This should have been in the episode itself.I'm glad that at least *one* of the Fates looks like her book counterpart, but I'm not too crazy over their clothes. When I read The Lightning Thief, I imagined them wearing white beekeeper/gardener uniforms or cloaks, either white like in the graphic novel, black like in the myths or red, green and blue like the Sanderson Sisters from Hocus Pocus (red for Atropos, green for Clotho and blue for Lachesis, (which is also similar to the Fates from Disney's Hercules)). In my opinion, the cloaks make the Fates look more ominous and mysterious. But I guess if you want to be more inconspicuous, giving them normal clothes is the best route. Also, why did they get rid of their scene during Percy's drive home?

12. Percy's apartment should have been a lot more messier

When I read the book I imagined the apartment to look a lot more grimier, with stuff scattered all over. What I saw was mostly restricted to Gabe's area. Also, Gabe himself doesn't appear to be too much of a douchebag and he's hardly the fat walrus Percy described him to be. When I think of a father who is a real douchebag, I think of Neil Hargrove from Stranger Things. I suppose it's become a real taboo to depict child abuse in kid's shows, so they watered Gabe down.

13. Gabe's big flat screen TV and Sally's song

One of the things I wanted for the show was it to be a homage to the 2000s, similar to how Stranger Things paid homage to the 80s, so when I saw Gabe's 4K TV and Sally listening to what I think is an Olivia Roderigo song, I was a bit livid. If I did this show, I would have replaced the TV with an old set from the 90s and have Sally listening to It Must Have Been Love by Roxette because the song would have been around in 1992 when Sally met Poseidon and I felt that the lyrics resonated with Sally missing Poseidon.

Oh and by the way, where's her Sweet on America shirt? At least they got the blue candy.

14. Gabe and Sally fighting like an old married couple

Even though they are married, Sally and Gabe don't sound like they hate each other, they sound like they're a normal couple with marriage issues. Also, I really wish Percy called Gabe a "bald headed freak" when he told him to take his shoes off before entering the car.

15. Even pacing

One thing I wanted was for the show to have a slow amount of pacing like Percy and Sally driving to Montauk while listening to Jesse McCartney on the radio to gives us a moment of mother-and-son bonding time. Cutting from the apartment to the last bit of drive to Montauk was a bit fast for me.

Also, I don't think it rained when they arrived.

16. A Romantic Flashback

To make up for the alternate opening, a flashback between Sally and Poseidon would have been nice, but I guess they didn't do it because they didn't want to give Poseidon's face and identify away. Also, whose ideas was it to tell Sally that Percy is a half-blood.

Also, missed opportunity to have Percy say "What kind of version of 'The Talk' is this?!"

17. "Oh look, a goat, and he seems to be stuck in a trash can."

One way that could have made Grover's reveal as a satyr to be both hilarious and shocking would be Percy and Sally finding him in a trash can. For those who don't know, the line is a reference to the musical where Percy says it. Also, I feel that Percy should have been a lot more freaked out to see that his best friend, whom he had known for who knows how long, should be a satyr (Imagine him saying "HOLY F*KING SH*T, GROVER, WHY DO YOU HAVE A FKING DONKNEY UP YOUR-?!" Grover: "ASK ME NOT!"). Not to mention, if I had it my way and not Disney's or Rick's, I would have him throwing profane words left and right. But I guess that after the fight with Mrs. Dodds, he's bound to be less fazed.

18. The Death of Sally Jackson: The Not-So-Drowing Artax of our Generation

When I saw Sally's "death", I didn't feel too much emotion. I felt like this should have been our equivalent of the death of Littlefoot's mother or Sirius Black falling into the veil....but I felt nothing, if not just a little. Not to mention, Sally was the one who distracted the Minotaur with Percy's red jacket instead of Percy himself. Also, I think the Minotaur scene could have been a lot more scarier.

19. The Denouement

So Percy defeats the minotaur and it justs cuts to black? I kinda expected him to scream his mother's name one last time in agony for an extra pull at the heartstrings. But at least the last few lines of dialogue made up for that.

20. A better title sequence

What makes Stranger Things and Breaking Bad the most awesome shows around? Their title sequences. Percy's was pretty short and nothing of special, it should have been more lengthy and a slow reveal like the arraigning letters of Stranger Things. Simply put, title sequences should be more amazing and able to drive the audience in.

So what do you think? Did the changes enhance the story or did they make them worse?

#Percy Jackson #Percy Jackson spoilers #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #review #thoughts #PJO

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yikesitskennawrites · 2 years

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Transitions- Chapter Twenty-Five: Coffee From Lauren

Series Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

Pairings: Steven Grant x (platonic) Reader, Marc Spector x (platonic) Reader, Jake Lockley x (platonic) Reader, Layla El-Faouly x (platonic) Reader

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“Thank you so much for the coffee,” You tell Lauren. She sat on the metal cart next to the counter top that you were currently sitting on. Her legs swung back and forth as she adjusted her bun on top of her head. It was a slow morning so far, one that you were grateful for due to your exhaustion, yet, you also hated it because sitting still made you more aware of how tired you were.

“You rarely ask for these types of things, the least I could do is buy you a coffee as a thanks for picking up my shift this Friday.” She smiles, her own coffee cup filled with lemon tea sat on the counter you perched on. You sip on your warm beverage as she speaks. Right, you have a double shift in a couple of days from now. Seven in the morning to six in the evening, fun. You roll your eyes at that. It was a day you would make a lot of money though, hopefully you’ll be well rested enough to not be too tired throughout that day. You already knew what you were doing tonight after work, eat dinner with Steven and Marc and go right to bed. You had to get a new laptop this weekend too, school was on Monday and that was less than a week away.

You were stressed about that. You really needed that laptop for your senior year otherwise you would have to drop out and re-enroll next year or try and get your GED. It would be difficult trying to apply once more since they would try to contact you for your whereabouts and why you weren’t doing any school work within the first two weeks of the term. So, you would have to create a new identity and that would be even harder this time around since the American government has finally got most of their shit together. It was pure chaos when everyone came back, the government was backed up on files since the sudden appearance of everyone who was gone for five years came back. It took awhile for them to get ninety percent of the blipped back on file and confirm their status of life.

The cheapest option for you to buy a laptop is if you could find one at a yard sale like you did for your previous one, but that might not happen. You haven’t seen any flyers for a garage or yard sale. You know for a fact you don’t have five hundred euros saved to buy a brand new computer, you had enough for small items like the strawberry waffles you keep internally promising to buy for Marc and Steven, and maybe the pyramid paperweight you saw at that glass shop a couple of months ago.

“What are you thinking about?” Lauren asks as she sips her tea. You could see the lemon flavored tea paper attached to the tea bag string in her cup from where you sat. You blink tiredly at her and smile.

“Just the amount of sleep I didn’t have last night.”

“You haven’t slept?”

“I’ve been up for-” You pause and place your coffee next to you before you count off the amount of hours you have been up since. You worked yesterday and didn’t get any shut eye last night. Your shift yesterday was at eight am, but you woke up at six thirty and right now it's nearing ten, so you’ve been up for almost twenty-eight hours and you don’t get off until three.

“I’ve been up for almost twenty eight hours.” You tell her and her mouth drops open.

“Are you serious?”

“Deadass.” You say as you pick up your coffee and sip on it. You didn’t want to drink it too quickly and have a caffeine crash mid-shift or on the bus ride back to the apartments and miss your stop. You were falling asleep on your feet this morning, the passenger you almost fell asleep on moved several feet away from where you stood so you couldn’t drool on their backpack.

“That’s not healthy.” Lauren says with a frown. “Is there something keeping you up?” You let the caffeinated liquid sit in your mouth as you think of what to say. You couldn’t tell her the whole truth. It would sound insane if you did. You can’t tell her about Khonshu and his declaration of not being the god that held you out a window Saturday. You also have to keep quiet about your neighbor who you began to trust and his lies that made you take a couple steps back and think of who he is. Could you trust him completely? You don’t know and that thought alone hurts you. You can’t tell her about your friend, Layla, and her weird absence on Saturday, what was up with that? Maybe she was doing some black market shit? That would be a huge can of worms to open with Lauren. And finally, you can’t talk to her about Jake and how he threatened to kill you and yet, he saved your ass and made sure you were breathing for a month and a half; and now his absence and zero want to communicate with anyone, including you, kind of, surprisingly, hurts.

You don’t like that he threatened to kill you, but for a while, he was the only person you had. You can’t tell Lauren that because she would absolutely call the police.

“I’m just anxious,” You tell her a slice of the truth. Saying that this weekend was terrible would be an understatement.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asks. You knew that she truly meant her promise about how you could talk to her about anything. But, you can’t take her up on this. Maybe in the future you can tell her about any normal problem such as how you mixed colors in your wash and now all your white shirts are pink and the amount of frustration you feel for yourself for that mistake. But, this anxiety issue needs to be kept away from her. You don’t know what you will do if Lauren ever finds out the truth about what you know. You will admit that you would feel relieved that you had someone normal to talk to about the existence of deities, your neighbors and how one works for a god and took down a cult, and also your friend's occupation as an illegal seller for the black market. You can’t let her in on the truth about yourself, though. If Lauren ever finds out about your real age and your fraud, she will never trust you again. Straight to the police station you go.

“I don’t know why I’m anxious,” You lie and shrug to make it more believable as you bore your tired gaze onto her. “I need to start taking melatonin if this becomes a habit.”

“You’ll need to go to the doctor if this becomes a habit.” She corrects. “When was the last time you went to the doctor?”

“When I lived in New York, I think I was…” You squint in thought. “Thirteen.” It was true that the last time you visited the healthcare clinic was for a bone you thought you broke but turned out you sprained it. That was- for you- nearly four years ago. But as far as Lauren knew that was-

“Five years ago?” She says. “Ten years actually! The healthcare here is free, you need to go get some check-ups done.”

“I know, I know.” You groan. “It’s just that it costs so much in America without the insurance and even if you did have insurance it would cost like five hundred dollars for it.”

“Well, it’s free here.”

“I know.” You repeat. “It was a habit to not go to the doctor or the hospital unless you absolutely needed it.”

“A habit that is free to break.” She says. You nod in agreement. “Molly needs to go to the doctors soon for her yearly check up.”

“Oh yeah?”

“She needs to go on the scale and the measurement scale and get her knees tapped at with those hammers.”

“Any shots?”

“I don’t think so.” She says. “Jamie needs to get his four year shots next year. He needs to get his polio and mumps and measles. When Molly got hers, she was crying and we had to reward her with ice cream for being so brave.” You smile at the thought of little Molly crying as she ate her ice cream. It was a comedic sight to imagine. The last time you received any vaccinations was for your annual flu shots in your local pharmacy, you were fifteen and still underneath your parents insurance plan. You should make an appointment for the flu shots this year so it wouldn’t hit you as hard as it did last year, but you weren’t sure if you needed to be insurance to receive the vaccinations.

“Well, it’s Jamie's turn to get ice cream for his reward.” You smile. “Are you packed for your trip?”

“No,” She groans. “We’re doing that tomorrow. We still have to pack the kids bags since they’re staying at Kris’s parents house this weekend.”

“Are they excited to be staying at their grandparents house?”

“They are! They don’t seem to realize that it’s more than one night though.”

“It’s going to be a surprise when they realize that you aren’t picking them up until Sunday night.” You laugh. “They’re going to miss their mom’s.”

“Every time I think about that I almost begin to cry.” She says. You glance at her and sure enough there were tears forming in her eyes.

“It’s just for the weekend, they’ll be fine.”

“Their grandfather is going to feed them a lot of sugar and send them home with us.” She says, you laugh.

“That’s the rules though.” You say. “They’ll eat the sugar and be hyperactive before inevitably crashing.” “Just like you are?” She asks and gestures to the coffee next to you.

“You’re the one who ordered it to be sugary.”

“Well, having pure black coffee is a crime.”

“My dad used to drink it straight from the pot without adding any milk or sugar to it. He should have gone to jail for it.” You joke and she grins at that. “I don’t know how he did it, but he drank it every morning.” A ping of sadness hits you as you finish the statement. Your dad will never drink coffee again and you will never have the opportunity to make fun of him for it with him standing next to you.

“What’s your favorite coffee so I know what to order for you the next time around.” She asks and you swallow around the lump forming in your throat.

“You don’t have to-” “I know I don’t,” She cuts you off. “So spill, what is it?”

“Caramel Frappuccino.”

“You basic bitch.”

“You can’t just ask me for my favorite drink and bully me for it.”

“I just did.”

“You have no room to speak because you are drinking lemon tea.” You gesture to her paper cup.

“At least I have taste.”

“Yeah, weak ass taste.” You scoff. “You didn’t even get raspberry and mint or some other tea with more than one flavor. You paid a coffee shop to make you tea, something you could have made at your own place.”

“I could say the same for your coffee.”

“Actually you can’t because I don’t have a Keurig.” You say before you pick up your cup and sip on the liquid.

“This is why us English people don’t like you Americans.”

“We don’t even like ourselves.” You laugh and she chimes in with you. The noise hurts your ears in the small space but the sound was melodic. A light feeling spreads through your chest as you both giggle at your teasing of each other. You missed this, the feeling of being relaxed and carefree enough to crack some jokes. It’s been awhile since you haven’t been obsessed with whatever new drama was happening in your life. It was nice to have a normal friend who wasn’t tied to deities or cults. Once the laughter dies out, a comfortable silence settles between you. The bell above the entrance rings and Lauren pushes herself off of the cart and briefly pats your thigh as she passes you.

You could hear her greet the customer from where you sat on the counter. You listen to her talk about the specials of the day and if there were any coupons underneath the desk that the customer could use for their meal. You only tuned out when you began staring blankly at the box of spices on the shelf across from you. Saying you were ready for bed would be an understatement. The caffeinated beverage was helping a little but not as much as you wish that it would. The word of the black pepper on the side of the cardboard box you burn your gaze into became indistinct the longer you stared at it. You knew what the word was and what it meant, but there was an odd disconnect from it. Your brain was not quite clicking it together in your mind.

This only happened one other time when you were at your lowest a couple of weeks after moving to London. Everything that was words whether it was on the back of a granola box or sentences of articles on your phone became a blur of unknown words and phrases that you could not comprehend for the life of you. Staring at the two bolded words in front of you now, an odd feeling settles in your chest. You couldn’t describe the feeling, it was hard to put a finger on what it felt like. You force yourself to blink and look away from the box. You could hear Lauren tell the customer to have a good day before you hear her footsteps on the tile floor and see her near you out of the corner of your eye.

“I was joking about your taste,” She says as she hops back onto the cart and grins at you. “If that wasn’t clear and you feel insulted about your terrible choice in coffee.” She adds. You don’t say anything for a moment as you muddle your way to form a proper sentence in your mind and make it roll off of your tongue so she wouldn’t get concerned and send you back to your apartment early.

“I know and I was joking about your poor taste in tea.” You say, it doesn’t sound like it came from you despite the vibration in your throat. You rapidly blink as she parts her mouth in fake irritation. You breathe in through your mouth and hold your breath for a moment before letting go.

“It’s decent taste actually.” She defends herself. The words on the box in front of you made much more better sense in your mind as you forced out a laugh. This time the noise sounded like it belonged to you.

You trail your tired gaze back to her as you say, “Hmm. Sure.” Whatever has just happened to you scared you a little. Maybe it was caused by the lack of sleep you had, whatever it was you didn’t want to experience again.

Lauren didn’t seem to notice you as she says, “That customer wanted me to put crisps on their sandwich.”

“Did you?”

“No! That would be cross contamination if I did.”

“Good.” You say. “Emily told me that someone asked her if she could put cookies on their sandwich.” She wrinkles her nose at that.

“Cookies?” She says, “Like the ones in the cookie cabinet?”

“Those exact ones. Chocolate chip onto of their ham sandwich.” You reply. You watch as a look of disgust forms on her face and you agree with her. When you first heard the story, you had the same expression as she has now. You pick up your coffee and sip on it.

“That's disgusting.”

“I can get potato chips on top of a sandwich, but cookies?” You shake your head. “That's a crime in itself. They need to be jailed.”

“Agreed.” She says. The bell above the entrance rings and you both share a look before looking at the monitor. It was just a single customer, you couldn’t tell who they were from the glare of the lighting but that didn’t matter. You trail your gaze away from the monitor and to Lauren.

“Your turn.” She says before she picks up her own cup and sips on her tea. It was only fair if you were to take turns until lunch rush came. You blink tiredly and yawn as you place your cup onto the counter and hop off of it. You raise your arms above your head to stretch your muscles as you begin to walk to the front. Another yawn escapes you as you greet your first customer of the day.

You don’t care how many orders you messed up today, you were just glad to be ten minutes away from your neighbors apartment. Usually, you would be beating yourself up for putting ranch on a customer's sandwich when they clearly asked for mayonnaise; but you were way past the point of caring by the end of your shift. Your coffee was long gone and your bladder was empty from the endless amount of peeing you seemed to go through today. Caffeine makes you pee more often and you weren’t used to having so much caffeine in a day. You could feel yourself crashing with every step you took towards your apartment complex. Your feet ache and your back hurts a little.

Maybe you’ll change the plans of you passing out after dinner to taking a nap on Stevens couch before eating instead. You don’t know if that would make you more cranky if Steven or Marc wake you for the meal, but you don’t care enough about it. If you’re lucky, maybe Steven has some snacks you could eat instead of waiting for dinner. Or you could just go to your own apartment and sleep on the couch, you could put your phone on silent and shoot Steven a text message stating that you won’t make it to dinner. Perhaps you’ll pop into his apartment and show him that you’re alive and breathing before heading over to your own and passing out for the remainder of the afternoon and night.

You would like to sleep in his bed since it wouldn’t hurt your back as badly as your couch does, and his place brings you comfort, but you just want to sleep in peace more than anything. Marc or Steven might make too much noise for you to fall asleep and you weren’t going to ask them to be quiet in their own flat. If Khonshu or whatever deity decides to fuck with you when you’re trying to sleep in your apartment, damn them. You’re tired and cranky enough to beat a bitches ass if they decide to pull some shit like that. Maybe they’ll be willing to show their face and you can pop them in their jaws. You’ll like to think that you’re pissed off enough to throw hands with them. Either way, sleep was your main priority and nothing was going to-

Suddenly, the feeling of something or someone grabbing the back of your shirt and dragging you into the open end of the alley you were just passing causes you to lose your train of thought. You yelp as you get slammed into the brick wall, knocking your head against it and you let out a groan at the contact. Holy fucking shit. You snap your eyes in the direction of the open end of the alley and see someone standing there. They wore a cloth mask on the lower half of their face and a beanie covering their hair. The jacket they wore was zipped up to their neck and a turtle neck shirt hid any identification on their body, the black pants were baggy on their legs. The only visible thing was their brown eyes and the white skin surrounding it. They held onto a knife with glove-covered hands and you can feel their eyes glaring onto your body. You can not catch a fucking break this week, can you?

“Give me all your money,” They said, their voice deep and gruff. Your stance tenses as you stare at him. Just three months ago you were in almost the exact same situation, why does this bullshit seem to only happen to you? Well, you don’t want it to happen to anyone but it was weird that it happened twice to you.

“I’m flattered that you think I have any.” You say. You know that you shouldn’t be rude to this man and you should hand over any cash you have on you, which you don’t since tips were terrible today. You were more awake than you have been all day thanks to the adrenaline rushing through you. The heaviness in your limbs and the baggy feeling around your eyes was gone. You were slowly planning on how to escape this situation. You could pretend to give him some cash or punch him in his dumb face and run for it; or you could throw your apron at him as a distraction and run- wait where the fuck is your apron? You rack your brain for where you left it and your heart nearly drops to your stomach as you realize that you left it in your locker after you grabbed your phone, keys and the Eye of Horus paper.

Fucking fuck. Okay, scratch that, go with plan number one and if you get shanked, you have to leave the knife in and go get help. God, you just wanted to go nap and this fucker decides to choose you to mug. Life really just stopped holding back their punches, huh? What did you do to upset the universe?

“I know you.” He says after a long pause. You squint at him. Maybe he was a customer you served today and that’s why he says that he knows you? You sure as hell don’t know anybody that would rob teenagers for their tip money. Well, maybe Jake would though? Where the fuck is he when you need him anyways? Man, it would be the perfect time for him to swoop down from the buildings and do his Moon Knight thing. Kick some ass, take some names. Beat the absolute shit out of this guy so you could go take a nap. Do you have to call for him to come appear and save you or does Khonshus job only happen at night? You doubt that Khonshu would warn Jake about the situation that you’re in. The little bird-bitch.

“I don’t know you.” You say. Man, you really should have brought your taser. What’s the point of having a taser if you don’t carry it around on you? You just didn’t want to get arrested for having one on you because it’s illegal in the United Kingdom. But, it would be really fucking handy to have it now. You could feel your phone pressing against your thigh. The emergency number for the U.K is 999, all you have to do is be able to call them if you need to. You should actually dial them and report a mugging but you don’t want to get involved with the police because of what you did to move countries. You only need to call them if you get a stab wound or any other major injuries.

You tuck your fingers inward to make a fist as you prepare yourself to throw hands. You did this last time and you only got away because of your neighbors. They aren’t here now, so you’re on your own. Maybe you’ll call Marc's number if you get stabbed, he was in the marines and a mercenary, he has to have knowledge on stab wounds. He told you not to call his number unless it was a emergency and if this isn’t one than you don’t know what the fuck is.

“You don’t remember me?” He says. You almost snort at how pretentious he sounds.

“Yeah, I don’t remember every brown eyed bitch that is willing to rob a kid.” You say. Why is he so surprised that you don’t know who the fuck he is?

“We met before.” He supplies and you stare blankly at him. You obviously were familiar to him unless he was mistaking you for another person.

“June.” He hints and your mouth parts open in surprise. This man is the same god damn mugger from before! Holy fucking shit. You almost laugh at that. Even after Marc beat his ass, he still is working the same nine to five job and he’s boasting about it. You stare at the eye slits across his face, any bruises that he might have had were healed. He sure as hell didn’t learn his lesson. What were you supposed to say to him now that he confirmed who he is? Hey man, how have you been? Still mugging teens huh? Or: How’s the kids and partner? Are y’all still a family or married? Going through a divorce huh? Yeah, I would divorce you too if I found out you were mugging children.

“Oh,” You say instead. “I thought you were dead for a while.” His eyes narrow at you. You did hope that he wasn’t dead because it would have meant you were a acquaintance to murder; but if he did kick the bucket, it means that you would be safe from this and you would be going up the stairwell and napping sooner than later.

“Still alive and well.” He snarls at you. You glance at the knife he held. It was the size of a bodice dagger, the blade was about five inches long. If you get stabbed, that’s going to cause some damage. Of course, it depends how bad it will be for where he aims and lands on. You just need to throw a punch and push past him. You need to run for your apartment. Wait, should you lead him to where you live? That sounds like a terrible idea. Okay, well, maybe you should book it for the bus stop? There has to be people there. There’s no fucking way that this man would be willing to stab a kid in front of a group of bystanders.

“I still don’t have any-” You start but get cut off by his fist connecting with your face. Your head whips to your right as all your breath seems to stop and freeze in your chest. The pounding in your head covers any noise that could have warned you that he was taking a step forward before you feel his hand wrap the cloth of your shirt into his fist. He smelled like cigarettes and axe body spray. The left side of your face stung from the impact and you knew that a bruise would be forming on your face by tomorrow if you make it out of this situation alive.

You reach up and grasp his wrist, your fingernails digging into the cloth of his gloves. If you’re going to die at the hands of this fucker, you’re going to get his DNA underneath your damn nails for the police. He pulls you forward and slams your back into the wall, whatever breath you had is gone as soon as you felt the impact. Your head stung and your chest aches. You let go of his wrist and form your hand into a fist before swinging. His head whips to the side and he groans at the impact of your fist against his cheek. Slowly, he turns his head and glares angrily at you. Did he seriously not expect you to fight back?

He lets go of your shirt and steps back a little before his fist makes contact with your stomach. You wheeze at the feeling and bend forward, clutching your torso with both hands before he grabs you by the back of your collar and throws you down to the ground. You roll a couple of feet, your skin gets torn apart due to the road burn. You slow to a complete stop and groan as you lay on your side. The gravel of the alley digs into your skin and crunches underneath his feet as he walks towards you. Fucking hell your body hurts. Your palms sting as you roll onto your back and try to catch your breath from being punched in the gut. You need to get up before he kicks the ever-loving shit out of you and gives you a concussion or breaks your ribs or arms.

You need to get up before he makes sure that this is the last bit of daylight you’ll ever see. Through half lidded eyes, you stare at the bright blue sky above you, and watch a bird fly over you with its wings spread wide. You couldn’t tell what type it was and you didn’t care much at the moment to think about it. You just need to get up. You need to get the fuck up. Your palms press into the gravel as you bend your torso to sit up. The muscles in your torso ache in protest as a shadow blocks your view of the sky above you. You bend your neck back and glare at the man before you. You could feel trickles of blood run down your forehead and you saw the drip of blood drop from the arch of your right brow and hit your cheek before continuing on trailing a path down your face.

He swipes the knife across your cheek and narrowly misses your eye. You jerk backwards from him as a sting of pain spikes across the fresh wound and warm blood runs down your face. A gasp leaves you and a scream begins to build up in your throat. This is the moment that you understood that he wanted more than money or any belongings that he could pawn, he wanted revenge; and even though you weren’t the one who beat his ass until he was unconscious, you were there as your neighbor did so and you didn’t stop him.

You saw his leg swing back before you felt his foot make contact with your ribs. You fall back, your head hitting against the ground and once again, all air gets knocked out of your lungs. He steps forward, placing his foot on your chest and putting all his body weight onto the joint as he leans downward a bit and stares at you. The sunlight glints off of the blade he grasps in his hand and momentarily blinds you. This was going to be difficult to run away from since he’s already beating your ass. You need to scream for help, surely there’s someone nearby and willing to check in on you or call the police. Your hands wrap around his calf as you try to push him off of you so you could inhale some air but alas your attempts are futile.

You kick your feet against the ground, scrambling for some leverage. Maybe if you use the force of your torso against him he will stumble away from you. Your shoes slide against the gravel as you struggle to plant your feet onto the ground and force your torso into the yoga bridge pose. He presses his foot down harder and you swore that you felt your sternum crack under the pressure. You let your legs slide down and lay flat against the ground as you stare with anger at the man. You could feel panic begin to settle in your bones as you open and close your mouth like a fish out of water. You need to scream for help but you had no air in your lungs to do so. You try to force away the panic so you would have a clear brain to think with.

Okay, you need to get him off. How do you get this fucking man off of you? Your eyes land on the one sight that all of your male classmates would protect the most during a game of dodgeball at recess in middle-school. He’s a man with a weak spot that happens to be right at arm's length. You should have realized it before, you would have gotten him off of you sooner. You let go of his calf and ball your hand into a fist before harshly slamming it against the area where the sun doesn’t shine. He lets out a gasp of air and stumbles back a few steps. You take a deep breath of air as you waste zero time to push yourself off of the ground.

You spare a glance down at your palms and frown at the sight of blood seeping from the wounds that were made from when you scraped along the pavement when he threw you down. You pat your pockets for your belongings as you walk towards him. He was bent over and clutching his privates as he blocked the only exit to the alley. You need to run past him and book it for either your apartment or the bus stop. You pick up your pace into a jog before pushing your legs to move faster past him. He reaches out on his right side and grabs onto the cloth of your shirt and tugs you towards him. He stands up straight as you call for help, screaming it like you were a getting murdered and it was your last chance of survival, and it sure as hell felt exactly like that. Your back hits his chest as his left arm wraps around your throat and his knife pokes into your throat.

“Call for fucking help one more time and I’ll slit your god damn throat.” He threatens. Huh, this sounds awfully familiar. Your nose began to sting from the tears forming in your eyes. You could only hope that anyone that was nearby would be willing to check on your pleas. Maybe you’ll get really lucky and someone would pass the alleyway and see this. He kicks at the back of your knees, letting go of you temporarily as your knees give out underneath you and hit the gravel. He bends down, wrapping his arm once more around your throat and digging the tip of his blade back into your skin. You feel the blade digging into your throat as he bends down and begins to pat your torso for anything to take from you.

With each hard pat, you know that the spots will be red from his hits. His hands trail down to your jean pockets and he pulls out the Ziploc bag that contains the Eye of Horus paper, your lanyard falls out of the same pocket and lands on the ground.

“What is this?” He says behind your ear. His breath was hot on your ear and you wince at how close he is to you. He keeps your head tucked to his body as he removes the knife from your throat so both of his hands are available to open the baggy. You know that the piece of paper was just that: a piece of paper. But you don’t want him to damage it. It brought you comfort like it was a teddy bear and you don’t want to lose that. He takes out the paper and drops the bag as he unfolds the parchment. You swallow as you look down your nose and at the eye that stares back at you. Your blood drips off of your jawline and onto the paper, a small splat could be heard as it hits the parchment.

“Horus.” He grumbles, “What is that? An anime character or some shit?” You don’t answer, you weren’t going to explain to this prick what this symbol means. He doesn’t add anything but scoffs, you think the sound meant that he finished skimming through the description of the god and the protection symbol. He grips the edge of the paper and you nearly cry out when he tears it in half. Your wide eyes watch as he layers the paper over each other and he tears it once again. He lets the paper drop to the gravel, you swallow around the lump forming in your throat and try to ignore the sting of your nose and tears begin to make your eyesight blurry.

More of your blood soaks the torn paper as his hand travels to your other pocket and pulls out your phone, the lock-screen picture of your parents lighting up on the device with the movement before he clicks the button on the side and the screen goes black. In the reflection, you could see your injured face and the desperation behind your eyes.

“Please don’t take that.” You plead. “That’s the only thing I have left of my parents.” Every photo of the life you had before was on that phone since you don’t visit your old social media accounts in fear of it stating that you were active online. The SD card was still in the phone and any image saved to the device was more valuable than gold to you. You don’t see him pocket the phone but you can hear him do so. This time the tears roll down your cheeks and the sob you were holding back leaves your throat. His grip tightens around your windpipe, making you choke on your own sob and quiet down from anyone who might be nearby. All of this for zero money and just to get some revenge on a teenager for being in the wrong place and at the wrong time. Fuck this dude. You felt the tip of the blade poking into your neck before you saw his right arm was up and pointing the knife at your throat. The tip drags from the right side of your neck and to the back of your neck. Another choked sob escapes you as tears blur your vision and mix with the trail of blood and sting the cut on your cheek.

You felt his boot hit your back before you registered that you were face down on the pavement. The smell of metal, dirt, and paper fill your nostrils before you roll over onto your back with a groan and a half moan for help. He marches a couple of steps to your left and he pulls back his leg, the toe of his boot hitting the side of your head, once, twice, three times before he directs his kicks to your side. He had what he wanted, your phone. He could wipe the memory off of it and reset the device before trading it into a pawn shop for some cash. But, this was the cherry on top of the cake for him. He’s getting his revenge nearly three months later and you were nothing to him but a punching bag.

You don’t know when your eyes closed and darkness took you from the beating you were receiving. But you do know that when your eyes peel open, your lashes stick to your cheeks from the dried blood on your skin, that the world is spinning and it isn't going to stop any time soon. You lay still, your body past the point of it aching and hurting and more into the territory of it feeling like you got hit by a bus and you were in absolute pain. You could feel a puddle of blood surrounding your head and the damp collar of your work shirt didn’t help the suffocating feeling you were experiencing by how it clung to your skin and around your bruising neck.

The sky above you was covered in gray and white clouds that were slowly darkening with patches of blue poking through. It was going to rain soon and you didn’t want to risk walking back to your apartment injured and bloody on wet pavement. You need to get up; and still, despite that realization, you lay there and watch as the clouds roll by and cover the patches of blue. You don’t know what time it is, but you do know that there’s a chance that Steven may knock on your apartment door or call your phone if the bitch hasn’t shut it off yet. He’ll figure something went wrong and he might look for you if you don’t head over for dinner. A selfish part of you didn’t want him to find you bleeding out in an alley and save you from whatever potential internal bleeding you have. Not because it would cause him trauma and self blame for not looking for you sooner; But because, you hope that you will die in this alley due to everything you lost.

Your old life was on that phone. You lost the memories of the life you had before you were blipped. You lost the pictures and videos of your parents and friends; of homecoming dance pictures, trips to Coney Island, and bookstores. You lost the audio of you and your best friend laughing together over some dumb joke and how both of your eyes shined in the video with wrinkled corners and wide smiles. You lost the video of your mother and father speaking your name as they urged you to cut the video and to set it up to a timer for a photo instead. You will never get to look back on how they sounded and spoke your name with love and affection. Your parents lay six feet underground in the same Earth that you walk on every day; and you laying in your own pool of blood was the closest that you have ever been to them since.

Everything was gone simply because a man chose you as his victim and you couldn’t defend yourself well. You don’t notice that it began to rain until you felt the first few drops land on your face. You need to get up and go take care of your injuries so Steven and Marc won’t find you dead in an alley. They will blame themselves for your death and you know that they will also do so for how beaten up you are. You need to get up and you don’t want to. You want to die. You want to give up and go to whatever or wherever it is that you’ll go to after you pass. You want to just call it quits and leave this Earth or roam this planet like a ghost. You just don’t want to exist anymore.

Everything about existence hurts. You hurt; and it’s more than just the physical pain that you were currently going through. You have wounds that you have yet to heal after years of neglect. You want to die. You want to die. You want to die. You want to die, but you still painstakingly push yourself up into a sitting position.

Your sides scream in protest and your breath gets caught in your throat. The buildings around you sway as if you were on a boat and blood mixed with rain ran down your forehead and made you close your right eye to prevent any blinding you. Your palms are wet and sticky with blood, your jeans and shirt cling to your skin with the liquid of the body fluid and rain. Saying that you are uncomfortable would be an understatement. You slowly inhale a breath of air through your mouth, the taste of metal was gross on your tongue. Your sides expands slowly and you only hiss out in pain when a shock floods your torso. You bend forward a bit, the movement causing you to cry out and clutch your bruising side as you squeeze your eyes shut.

Dying is an easy choice, getting up is going to be a bitch. A mumble of string together curse words leaves your lips as you wait for the pain to die out enough that you could focus on opening your eyes and taking in how bad your injuries are. You sure as hell felt like your ribs on your left side were cracked and perhaps broken. You had to have a concussion and the blood loss was making you woozy. The cut on your hands and cheek probably had to have some form of infection beginning to fester in the wounds from the dirty ground; and they definitely will get infected if you don’t clean them properly in a couple of hours. Slowly, you open your eyes and tilt your head down to your damp shirt. You carefully pull back your shirt from your torso and lift it enough just see some of the damage below your belly button on your side.

Blood and rain ran down the visible patch of your torso as you stared at the darkening of your skin, it was slowly turning purple and black. You lower your shirt, you don’t need to raise it up any higher to know that it was matching the bit that you saw. You glance at your right hand, your knuckles are a little swollen and the sight of it makes you a tad bit more numb inside. You did fight back, you did punch him, it just wasn’t enough. You look away from it and to the entrance of the alley way, cars pass with their windshield wipers sliding back and forth across the glass. The windows were rolled up and people were tucked warmly inside with the heater blasting on high. You wonder if anyone saw you knocked out in an alley and thought that you were just a knocked over trash bag with your work uniform being a black shirt and black pants. Did they not notice? Were they too busy paying attention to the road or listening to whatever was happening on the radio? Or did they see you and just not care to check on you?

There were a lot of people like that in New York. Some of the people who were homeless were often doing drugs or drinking their problems away with alcohol. There were several stories of people pushing others onto the subway tracks when the train was visible and about to make its stop. New York was not kind and maybe you thought London would more likely be kind enough to check on a person who was injured. You don’t know if you're grateful or not that nobody seemed to notice you. Your gaze trails to the ground in front of you. There lay the damp and shredded pieces of paper of the Eye of Horus, the ink was running from the rain and your blood; and not far from it was the wet plastic bag you carried it in and the orange lanyard that holds your keys. You bend forward, reaching for the plastic baggy and crying in pain and despair as your fingers wrap around it.

Carefully, you pick up the pieces of paper, most of it falls apart as you pinch the parchment between your fingers and place it into the baggy. You don’t know if the liquid running down your cheeks was the rain, tears, or your blood, but either way you try to collect and save as much as the paper as you could, just so one less thing could get taken away from you. Sobs begin to build up in your chest and you try to hold them in as you focus on picking up the paper Steven gave to you. Your shoulders start to shake as you pick up the final piece and pinch the baggy shut. You hold the bag to your chest as a sob escapes you and soon another one follows. You try to hold in your cries but all that causes is more pain in your body. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fucking fair. Why does this bullshit happen to you?

A choked out sob leaves you and just like that, the water-gates were open and you were completely crying. Nothing was fair, why do you have to have a shitty week? Why did you have to be the one chosen to be this asshole's victim? Why did your parents have to die and why weren’t you in their shoes? You let everything out in your cries and sharp pains of breath. You just wanted a damn nap and you sure as hell got one because you went unconscious for who-knows-how-long. Everything hurts and sucks and here you are: crying in an alley during a rain storm while shivering and drenched in blood and rain water. This was a terrible Tuesday, the worst one you think you ever had. By the time that you calm down enough to think rather than to feel, the rain seemed to become heavier and you were sure that you were getting hyperthermia. You were cold, especially your hands and nose. Your teeth clatter together and your face aches. You need to get up. You let the emotional numbness take over, you feel drained and exhausted.

With the state that you’re in, you’re going to need support on getting up, there is no way that you would be able to push yourself off of the ground without help. You look around the alley, trying to focus enough that you could clearly see your surroundings through the rocking of the world. There wasn’t anything but trash cans and bags of garbage that you could use. Through your hazy thoughts, you consider that you could knock them over and injure yourself more if you did try to use them. Your eyes trail away from the bins and to the brick wall next to you. There was about an inch between each brick that you could use as a ledge to help pull yourself up. It might damage your fingers some but it’s your only chance to get up. You didn’t move to London after committing fraud, get scared by a deity multiple times, and have a knife held to your throat twice just to die in an alley.

You stuff the plastic baggy into your jean pockets and scoop up your lanyard off of the ground and place it into your other front pocket. You cry out as you rotate your body so you’re on your hands and knees before crawling slowly over to the wall. Your body screams as you lift your upper body and grasp the wall with your hands. It took what felt like forever to stand and lean against the brick to help stabilize yourself. The world seems to spin faster as you’re standing and you close your eyes and try to calmly take a breath and do some breathing exercises. Inhale slowly, try to ignore the sharp fucking pain in your side, hold for five, four, three, two, one; and slowly exhale and repeat. You go through the cycle several times until you feel nauseous. Your stomach churns and you don’t have a chance to hold back your vomit. You throw up directly onto your shoes, almost in the same spot you did all those months ago. The taste of bile was gross and your throat burns a bit from it. You keep your eyes closed as you wait for your stomach to settle.

You let out a shuddered breath, the smell of vomit, rain, and metal floods your nostrils as you inhale and prepare yourself to continue to fight. Your eyes flutter open and you stand up straight. With every exhausting step you take, you lean your hand against the wall and move; and you keep moving despite the stumbling of your feet and spinning of the environment around you. You keep moving despite your head pounding and the brightness of the world becoming too much for you; and when you fall due to slipping on a mixture of your blood and rain water on the sidewalk's pavement, you get up and continue. You push forward and persevere just like you always have.

—

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