#the longer i stare at this the more i think WHAT WAS I THINKING!!!!! but i just liked the idea of the pose (back facing)...

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 21: Crime and Punishment

Summary: A trip to town to run errands has you questioning everything.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 7,719

Warnings: Ch 21 Warnings: NSFW, 18+, p in v sex, unprotected sex, rough-ish sex, overstimulation, creampie, language, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, Ghost’s emotional constipation, unresolved sexual tension, angst, and of course fluff.

A/N: I don't think I've ever written the word panties as many times as I did here. Again, not much to say about this one, so I hope you enjoy!!

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

You stare at your face in the mirror. Wisps of hair stick to your forehead from the sweat starting to bead on your skin, your lips slightly parted as you breathe heavily. Your hands grip the edges of the sink, knuckles white from how hard you’re holding on for dear life. 

Your legs are trembling, quickly turning into jello. You lean forward more, resting your hips against the edge of the sink for stability. Your mouth falls open in a moan as it changes the position of the cock pistoning into you just slightly. 

Soft grunts leave Johnny’s lips as he fucks you in your bathroom, his thrusts urgent and desperate. Five minutes, he had groaned against your lips as he pushed your door open and walked you backwards into your room. 

It’s probably been longer than five minutes, but you’re hardly in the state of mind to care. He’s supposed to be halfway across the base by now, but you’re certain he doesn’t care either. It won’t take the others long to figure out what had made him so late, and you can almost guarantee John will make him pay for choosing to play hooky and having a quickie with you in the bathroom instead of going to training like he’s supposed to. 

One of his hands leaves the vice-like grip he’s had around your hips to slide to the front of your body, his fingers frantically rubbing circles over your clit. Your back arches in pleasure as the sensations become too much, your hips pushing back against his. He’s still dressed, his cargo pants pushed down over his ass just enough to free his cock. Your pants are around your ankles, underwear pushed to the side. Your shirt and bra are pushed up over your chest, your breasts out on display for him. His eyes haven’t left them in the mirror and the way they bounce with every rough thrust of his hips. 

“Jesus christ, yer gonnae kill me.” He groans as your pussy clamps tightly around him. 

He presses his chest to your back, his hand gripping the edge of the sink as you writhe in his arms. His fingers don’t let up on your clit as you cum, your legs trying to clamp around his hand. 

“Johnny!” You squeal as the sensation becomes overwhelming. “Too much!” 

“Ye can take it.” He groans in your ear, his voice breathy and hoarse from pleasure. “Just a little more.” 

All you can do is babble incoherently as he continues to slam his hips into your ass, his breaths heavy in your ear. You can feel the pressure building again despite the burning overstimulation of his fingers on your clit. 

“Please, please, please!” You pant, your head pressing back against his shoulder as you arch further against him. 

“Fucking love this sweet little cunt.” He growls into your ear, his thrusts starting to get sloppy. “So fucking good fer me.” 

You’re cumming again, your knees buckling under you. His arm snakes around your waist, finally moving from your clit to hold you up. He lets out a loud, salacious groan as his hips slam into you one last time. You can feel his cock twitching as he cums, emptying his load inside you. 

His forehead presses against your back for a moment as you both attempt to catch your breaths. Your legs are still trembling as he begins to move, pulling his cock from you before he slides your panties back into place. He drags his hand over your covered folds, groaning quietly. 

“Better keep that in there.” He says, tugging your pants back up, doing the button for you and tugging the zipper back up. “Keep your mind on me the whole day.” 

You moan softly at his words, your pussy clenching out of instinct. He groans as he tucks himself back into his pants, staring down at your tits as you turn to face him. He curses, cupping them in his hands for a moment. 

“Fuck, I have tae go. Price is gonna kick my arse for bein’ late.” He leans down to kiss you, tugging your bra and shirt back down. “See ye at lunch, if I survive the wrath waitin’ fer me.” 

He leaves you there so casually, as if he hadn’t just spent the last ten minutes fucking you relentlessly in your bathroom. Your legs are still trembling as you lean against the sink, your teeth sinking into your lip as Johnny’s cum begins to seep out of you. They’ll know, they’ll know exactly why he’s late with one whiff of his scent. He’ll smell like you, smell like the musky scent of sex and sweat. All hope of blaming it on something else is out the window. 

All you can do is pray John goes easy on him. It’s not like you haven’t made John late before, though usually both of you were late for meals because you decided you needed an appetizer, and it felt unfair to make him walk around half hard. You hope he can have a little sympathy for Johnny. If you’d said no, made him be on time to training, he might not have been able to focus at all. 

You still can’t be sure he’ll be able to focus, though. You’ve probably only succeeded in changing the trajectory of his thoughts. Instead of whistfully picturing himself fucking you, he will be thinking about how he fucked you. 

You wonder how John will punish him for being late and distracted. Pushups? Running? Maybe extra rounds running the obstacle course. Or maybe he’ll save the punishment for later. Maybe he’ll force Johnny to sit there and watch him fuck Johnny’s cum out of you, force Johnny to sit still and not touch himself or you. Maybe he’ll fuck you right over Johnny, your tits bouncing in his face just as he likes, but he’ll be restrained, forced to watch but not to touch. He’ll get all whiny, begging for any mercy as his cock gets all red and swollen, throbbing in time with John’s thrusts. 

Your pussy clenches at the thought, more of Johnny’s release seeping out of you. 

Fuck, you are going to be thinking about him all day. 

“Took your time, MacTavish.” John says, crossing his arms as the beta Sergeant saunters into the gym.

“Get your dick caught in a door again?” Simon asks, crossing his arms too. 

“More like he got his dick caught in a saucy little omega.” Kyle says, catching the overwhelming scent of sex and strawberries wafting off his fellow beta. 

Simon’s hands clench, his scent thickening just a little, but none of them seem to pick up on it. 

“Well, since you seemed to have more important things to do than your job this morning, you can go first.” John says, nodding to the mat. “Garrick, you’re up too.” 

Kyle makes his way to the middle of the mat, cracking his knuckles. Johnny saunters to the middle of the mat behind him, still riding the high of his quickie before joining them. Your scent is thick on his clothes, wafting into his nose, bringing back mental images of you bent over before him, tits bouncing in the mirror as he drove his hips into your ass over and over. Those sweet cries of pleasure, the way you shoot in his arms making his blood pump in his veins, the satisfaction making his head spin a bit. 

Kyle moves first, hoping to use Johnny’s seemingly distracted state against him. He aims for Johnny’s middle, but Johnny’s ready for it, blocking Kyle from getting his arms around him. 

Johnny uses the advantage, planting his feet firmly as he flips Kyle onto his back, pinning his fellow beta. Kyle yields, Johnny’s shoulder in his stomach not helping the spasm in his diaphragm from how he hit the mat. 

“Bloody hell.” Kyle gasps out, trying to catch his breath. “The fuck was that?”

“Just me beating you. Again.” Johnny smirks. 

“Yeah? Well I still have you beat on the course.” Kyle says, pushing himself up to stand. “Should work on your speed instead of your biceps once in a while.”

“Alright, you two.” Price says, stopping the argument before it becomes something more. “Garrick, get out of there.” He silently motions for Simon to take Kyle’s place. 

Simon moves onto the mat, staring down his beta. It’s not unfamiliar from the first time they ever sparred together. Simon has size and raw power to his advantage, but Johnny is quick on his feet. Johnny takes a defensive stance, planting his feet on the mat. Simon moves quickly, Johnny just barely managing to dodge his first hit. Simon catches Johnny's own swing aimed for his face, wrapping his arms around the beta to try and sweep him off his feet. 

His mistake is taking in a deep breath so close to Johnny's chest. 

The scent of strawberries flows straight into the back of his brain, igniting a fire in his veins. His blood is boiling, his instincts riding high off the scent of omega wafting off of his beta, creating an alluring cocktail that nearly blinds him. 

Simon rams his shoulder into Johnny’s stomach, the air leaving the beta’s lungs in a pained gasp. He flips Johnny onto his back, the back of his head smacking the mat. 

“Christ, I yield.” Johnny gasps, holding up his hands to stop Simon from continuing his assault. 

Simon’s hands are shaking, his breathing ragged. His mind is still reeling from the scent of omega on his beta. He shouldn’t be reacting this way to the scent of an omega he knows well, an omega he recognizes. He had accepted Johnny would want that kind of relationship with the pack omega early on, so why does he feel jealousy burning in the back of his mind. 

He leaves the training room, slamming the door behind him before heading outside, gulping down lungfuls of damp air free from the scent of omega. You weren’t even in the room and yet it was like you were standing before him, taunting him with your sweet scent. He leans against the outside wall of the gym, letting the air clear his head. Had they been alone and not in the middle of the base, he might have pulled off his mask, let the air touch his skin and dry the sweat that has slowly soaked into the fabric. 

He squeezes his eyes shut as the door opens, the gravel crunching under cautious steps. He can feel eyes on him, the prickling of his skin from the harsh, questioning gaze. It’s not the first time he’s found himself under the scrutinizing stare of his pack alpha. He’s used to it, the attention being on him. He's an officer, he's the one being looked to when things go wrong, when important decisions need to be made. He has to be aware, clear-headed, and focused at all times. 

That's the one thing he can't be right now. 

“It will get easier if you just give in.” Price says, leaning against the wall next to him. “I know you want to.” Price cuts him off before he can offer up any argument. “The longer you try to deny it, the worse things will get for you. I don’t want to have to question your ability to be successful in the field.” 

Simon swallows the lump in his throat, his mind reeling. He knows deep down Price is right. The longer he pushes away those thoughts, fights to keep those urges at bay, the more that tight rein on his emotions will slip. His hands clench into fists at his sides, his chest rising as he takes a deep breath. He’s spent decades now mastering control, keeping things buried when he needs to. Then you come along and fuck everything up for him. 

It’s not fair to blame it on you. It’s not your fault. You don’t even know you’re doing it. You’re not even trying. You just exist around him and he's losing control. 

Price can report that to the stupid initiative program. 

“Is this going to become a problem?” Price asks him, giving him a pointed look. 

Simon sucks in another deep breath. Is it going to become a problem? Is he going to let it become a problem? He releases the breath, shaking his head to try and clear it. “No, sir.” 

“How are you doing?” 

“Better.” You say, stretching your legs out in front of you. “I didn’t have a nightmare last night.” 

“That’s great! Small improvements are still improvements.” Dr. Keller says, writing something down on her notepad. “How are things going with your pack? Have things settled since they returned?” 

You nod. “Yeah. For the most part. There’s still...something lingering.” You chew on your lip nervously. You can’t tell her what it is, the thing that eats you alive daily. She’d have to tell your pack, and then everything would come undone. “I’m worried that any day now they’ll have to leave me again.” 

“You won’t be alone this time, though.” She says, reminding you of what John had done for you. 

“I know, but...what if they don’t come back?” 

“That is an unfortunate reality, a risk you all have to live with. There’s not much that can be changed about that, but I know they’ll do everything in their power to return home to you.” ’ She gives you a soft smile. “They care about you a lot.” 

“But...they're supposed to put their jobs above everything else. That was part of this whole experiment. Their jobs come first, and I come second.” 

“But, Captain Price has already advocated against that by requiring one of them stay behind with you when they get sent out on assignments. That’s not putting their job above you.” 

She’s right. John fighting to make things more comfortable for you was them putting their priority on you and your comfort. Of course, John had told you they had only advocated for it at this point. There was no guarantee those in leadership would approve, that General Shepherd would approve, but he said he’d fight it as hard as he had to. It wasn’t always necessary for all of them to be sent out anyway, so it was more likely there’d be at least one, if not two of them with you most of the time.

“Besides,” Dr. Keller continues. “In my professional opinion, it’s not sustainable to expect them to have an omega in their pack and also expect them to neglect their omega in favor of their jobs. The whole point of the initiative is to see if the assimilation of omegas into military packs will be helpful or a hindrance. There has to be a balance if they want even a chance at this being successful. While their jobs and what they do is important, they can’t expect full dedication to that job while also trying to care for an omega.” 

You’ve never thought about it that way before. They had been so dead set in your briefings about how their jobs were more important than you and how you had to be prepared for anything to happen because their job always comes first. 

“It’s important to keep in mind that you are essentially the trial for this initiative. There’s going to be ups and downs, things they didn’t account for in their planning, if they did any real planning, and things that have to be adjusted as they come up. There’s just some things you can’t properly predict until the trial is taking place.” 

You haven’t really thought about it that way either. You are the first omega involved in this initiative, the trial run, the guinea pig. Is that why General Shepherd came to base and wanted to meet you? Is that why they wanted cameras in your room? To ensure things really were going properly, and everyone was doing what they were supposed to do? That things really are as fine as you, and likely John, have said? 

What if they think things are going badly? What if they think the initiative is a failure? What happens then? What can they really do now that you’ve been claimed and assimilated into the pack? 

“What’s going on in your head?” Dr. Keller asks softly. 

“What if...what’s going to happen if the initiative fails?” You ask. 

Dr. Keller hums, obviously not having expected that question. “Well, I don’t think there’s much they can do. They made it far enough in the planning that they thought it was worth the chance of a live trial with an omega and an established pack. They wouldn’t have taken that risk without the belief that it will be successful.” Dr. Keller crosses her legs, setting her notebook to the side. “If, and it’s a big if, it failed, then there’s not a lot they can do, legally. You’ve been claimed, which legally puts you under Captain Price’s care, and while the military is a grey area when it comes to legality, I doubt they’d run the risk of trying to remove you from the pack at this point.” 

“They’d run the risk of their task force falling apart.” You say, the pieces starting to come together. 

Dr. Keller nods. “Exactly. If your pack is as important as they appear to be, I doubt anyone involved in this would take that risk of losing such valuable soldiers. Forcibly removing you would turn your pack against them in the blink of an eye. All trust they have in their superiors will be turned on its head and destroyed completely. No matter how loyal they are to their jobs, that loyalty will shift very quickly should something happen to you at their hands.” 

You swallow the lump in your throat, your heart rate starting to kick up. So you had made the right choice in keeping General Shepherd’s visit and the cameras a secret. The last thing you want is to ruin their lives over what was probably nothing, over something that would have been inconsequential in the end. Something they possibly know about already. 

That thought lingers constantly in the back of your mind. They know and they’re waiting for you to finally spill and reveal what happened. What happens then? How will they punish you for lying to them, for withholding important information, information that puts not only you, but them at risk as well? Will they ever forgive you for not telling them right away? Could you grovel and plead with excuses of fear and naivety? Could you lie again and claim you were scruffed? John already knows of your nightmares, of your fear. You’d have to think up a reason as to why you lied to him that night too, though. 

Lying will only dig you deeper and deeper into more lies until all their trust in you is broken beyond repair. 

The trust between you will still be broken if you tell them, though. 

“Have you been thinking of this a lot lately?” Dr. Keller asks, pulling you from your thoughts. 

You nod, dropping your gaze to your hands. “I overheard John and Simon talking about it the other night. Simon asked if this was worth it if it failed, and John seemed confident it wouldn’t.” 

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it as many times as I need to.” You lift your gaze to meet Dr. Keller’s. Her face is as serious as her tone. “Your pack isn’t going to let anything happen to you. Pack loyalty to omegas is not something to be tested, especially not a pack as fierce as yours. They’d go to war for you, if they had to. I don’t doubt that one bit.” 

Your brows pull into a frown. “You really think so?” 

She nods. “I know so. You’re very lucky.” 

You are lucky. Things could have been much worse for you. 

“C’mon kitten,” Johnny says, barging into your room. 

You let out a startled shriek, nearly jumping out of your skin as you clutch your towel desperately around your naked, still slightly damp form. You just got out of the shower not too long ago, and had been deciding on what to wear on the warmest day you’ve experienced since your arrival in England when Johnny barged his way into your room. 

Barged may be a strong word for it. Your door wasn’t even closed all the way. 

Your heart is still thudding in your chest, your breaths slightly heavy as he digs through your closet, picking out clothes for you. “What the hell?” You breathe, adjusting your grip on your towel. “Scared the shit out of me.” 

Johnny turns, giving you a grin. “Sorry, kitten.” His eyes drop to where you’re clutching the towel, and you can practically see the idea flash through his mind, the idea to rip the towel off and lick every last droplet of water off of your body before having his way with you. 

“What’s going on?” You ask, trying to refocus his mind on what he was doing. 

His eyes snap back up to yours, his grin widening. “We’re goin’ on an excursion.” 

“Excursion?” You ask, barely managing to catch the clothes he throws at you and keep your towel up at the same time. 

“Got some errands tae run in town, an’ yer comin’ with us.” He looks you over. “So get your claes on and meet us outside.” 

You blink at him as he leaves your room, not bothering to close the door behind him. You stare down at the clothes in your hands, a t-shirt and the skirt that’s been hanging in your closet that you had yet to even try on. Of course he’d pick something like that for you to wear. You’re tempted to go without underwear, but that’s probably exactly what he wanted. If you were staying in the barracks, then you might have done it, but being out in public you don’t want to risk a stray breeze. The last thing you need is some alpha seeing it as an opportunity and trying something stupid. 

You finish getting ready, drying yourself off and getting dressed before pulling on a pair of comfortable shoes. Your hair is still slightly damp as you make your way out of the barracks, a car pulled up outside as you expected. 

“You promise to drive carefully?” John is saying, holding the keys up in front of Johnny. 

“Of course.” Johnny says, looking past him to grin at you. “There’s precious cargo on board.” 

“I’m putting a lot of trust in you.” John says, giving him a look before dropping the keys into Johnny’s hand. John turns to you, staring down at you for a moment before leaning down to press a kiss on your forehead. “Let me know when you get there.” He murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. 

You nod, leaning up to kiss his cheek before getting into the car. 

You’re surprised to see Simon sitting in the passenger seat. You had expected maybe Kyle would be tagging along, or even John, but this is something entirely unexpected. He’s in his beanie and face mask combo again, the same thing he’d been wearing when he and John took you to town before your heat. 

The night he bought the ingredients to make you enchiladas. 

It still brings a warmth to your chest when you think about it, that he did that for you. It had been his idea to do it, his idea to bring you some comfort during the stress and insecurity your approaching heat had brought on. He does care about you, in his own way. He’s been showing it, at least for the most part, looking back on your interactions with him. 

He has to care about you, if he’s willing to do this. 

It wasn’t his decision, you know that. Johnny was likely forcing him to come along, either to appease John’s concerns, or in case of an incident. Not that Johnny’s not fully capable of handling a situation on his own, but having an alpha at your back makes it less likely someone would try something at all. 

The fact John is trusting them with you speaks volumes of his trust in his pack, in his second alpha. You know they won’t let anything happen to you, they’ll protect you just as fiercely as if you were their omega. 

You could be, if he wanted it. 

You push that thought to the back of your mind as Johnny climbs into the driver's seat, the car rumbling to life.

Johnny isn’t a terrible driver. Despite the many stories you’ve heard over the last few weeks, you had been expecting worse. Kyle had been right, of course, he takes the speed limit as more of a suggestion, and weaves around on the road, passing slower cars and farm equipment in ways that are probably not legal. Despite that, you’re not gripping the seat in fear or holding on for dear life. You had been expecting much worse when he climbed into the driver’s seat. 

Though, from what you’ve heard, Johnny is the most preferable of the two in the car when it comes to driving. 

The farmlands fade into civilization as the buildings grow closer and closer together. It’s only your fourth trip into town, but yet you’ve already begun to recognize landmarks, businesses. You could navigate if you had to, something you know they’d be proud of. You wonder if Simon would praise you for that, considering how annoyed he always seems to be about how much time you spend lost in your own thoughts. 

Johnny pulls into a parking spot on the street, and you send a quick text to John to let him know you made it in one piece. Johnny opens your door for you, offering you a hand. You take it, letting him help you out before he laces your fingers together, squeezing your hand gently. 

You’re glad you wore comfortable shoes as you walk around with them, picking up a few items from different shops. Johnny keeps hold of your hand, Simon walking behind the two of you like a protective shadow. The people you pass on the street give you a wide berth, and you know it’s Simon’s doing as their eyes skirt past you and Johnny to the big alpha trailing you. You can imagine the silent threat behind his eyes, daring them to even think of trying anything. 

“The last stop.” Johnny says, pausing in front of a familiar storefront. 

You’ve been here before, the day of your first date with John when he’d taken your virginity. The lingerie shop where you’d gotten those lacy panties the guys seemed to admire so much. Your cheeks warm as Johnny opens the door for you, the stark reminder of who you’re with suddenly snapping into your mind. This trip definitely was Johnny’s doing. Did he even know this was a stop that you were going to make? If he did, he probably wouldn’t have come along and talked Kyle into it instead. 

Or maybe he did know and he did want to come along. 

Or, maybe, Johnny pouted at him and begged until he had no choice but to agree. 

The answer is likely the latter. 

 You wonder if he’ll stay outside, or perhaps even return to the car in favor of stepping into a lingerie store. You can’t imagine him inside, the hulking alpha among the delicate lace and fabrics. A bull in a china shop. 

You’re surprised when he enters behind you, looking about as uncomfortable as you expected him to in a place like this. His shoulders are squared, hands opening and closing into fists at his sides. He’s looking everywhere but at what’s on the racks, his gaze flicking around the store instead, taking stock of everyone inside shopping. 

You let Johnny take the lead, Simon keeping his distance as you peruse the racks. You’re not just there to replenish your quickly dwindling stash of lacy underwear, you realize as Johnny begins flipping through items on the racks. He’s got some other ideas for you as well. You can see the wheels turning in his head, the concentration in his eyes as he looks over his options. 

Your face gets warmer and warmer as he holds things up in front of you, studying you and the lingerie. He’s picturing you in it, most likely in lewd positions. You’re close to combusting out of bashfulness, but also from the fire igniting under your veins. You’re trying to keep it under control, trying to keep things as discreet as possible for the sake of the other shoppers in the store. The last thing you want is to draw any unwanted attention and cause a scene. 

“That’s definitely the one.” He says, holding up a purple mess of lace and straps. You’re not sure how you’re going to get into it, much less what it will look like while you’re wearing it, but he seems to know what he’s looking at, so you’re not going to contradict him. You might just need his help getting into it, which you’re sure he won’t complain about. 

Your skin prickles as you continue to follow Johnny, warning bells going off in the back of your head. 

Someone is staring at you. 

You lift your gaze from the rack Johnny is flipping through, scanning the store to try and find who it is that’s staring at you so intently. It’s not Simon where he’s lingering against the back wall trying to avoid touching anything like it might infect him with some deadly disease, or give him the mental image of you in it. 

The prickling of your skin feels too different from the prickling you usually feel when his gaze is on you. Someone is watching you, yet the shoppers and even the employees in the store are in their own little worlds, going about their business and paying you no mind. You step closer to Johnny, your arm brushing his. It’s not unlike the feeling you get in your room, the idea that there were cameras in there, that there still might be one that you missed. That paranoid tickling down your spine that you might be being watched at any moment. 

“Ye alright, kitten?” Johnny asks, looking up at you as you step even closer to him. 

Warmth presses against your back, making you flinch just slightly in surprise. You nearly panic, until the familiar scent of leather and eucalyptus washes over you. 

“What is it?” Warm breath fans your ear, calloused fingers ghosting down your bare arm. 

“I-I think someone’s watching us.” You say quietly, leaning into both of them. 

Both of them straighten up, and you can imagine their gazes scanning the store, profiling every single customer and worker, picking up things you could only dream of noticing. Simon’s fingers wrap around your arm, not tight enough to hurt, but tight enough to offer a little support as they look for the culprit of your paranoid feelings. 

There’s no tickling at the back of your neck signaling your brain picking up on a change to Simon’s emotions. Neither of them seem to pick up on a possible threat. Perhaps it’s all just in your head, some sort of trauma response after being cooped up on base for so long paired with what happened while they were away. There are cameras in the store. You are being watched. Maybe it’s just trauma fueled paranoia after all. 

Simon lets go of your arm to step up close to Johnny, speaking quietly to him. You’re not listening, your eyes scanning the store again. You slide closer to Simon, the prickling feeling of being watched gone now. Your hand lifts, fingers wrapping around his forearm, his skin warm under your touch. You’ve never been quite this close to him, this physical, that wasn’t out of necessity before. It’s exciting, the prospect of being so open with him. Just the thought that he noticed your discomfort, picked up on your worry like that makes your omega want to roll over and show her belly. 

“Ye alright, kitten?” Johnny asks, his eyes flickering between you and Simon. 

Your gaze snaps back to him, and you nod without even thinking about it. “Yeah.” 

“You two go an’ pick out some new skids, I’m almost done.” He says. They must not have noticed anything worthy of being concerned about, nothing that could lead them to thinking there’s a threat. 

It’s just like what happened that morning when you asked Simon to open the door to your room all over again. 

Suddenly the mood shifts back to what it was at Johnny’s words, Simon shifting uncomfortably next to you. You can feel his muscles flex under your hand as he clenches his fists, letting out a long breath. 

You shake off the paranoia and the worry, putting your trust in them should something happen. You drop your hand from his forearm to his wrist, tugging lightly on his arm. “Come on. They’re just panties. They don’t bite.” You grin teasingly up at him. 

“Bloody hell.” He groans before letting you tug him over to the section of the store with the underwear. 

You find the ones that you had gotten before, grabbing one in every color. Simon stands to the side like a guard dog, arms crossed, trying to look as manly as possible amongst the lace and ribbons. You pick up a couple more in Johnny’s favorite color, the beta approaching you both. 

“Look what I found.” He grins wickedly, holding up a pair of panties.

You nearly choke as you stare at them, Simon shifting just slightly behind you. In Johnny’s hands are a pair of black cheeky panties with lace edges. They wouldn’t be anything special, had it not been for the skull pattern on the fabric. 

Your face warms as you stare at them, the meaning not lost on you. Of course Johnny would find something like that in a store with probably hundreds of pairs of underwear. You can’t help but think he might have been looking for something like that this whole time. 

Johnny steps up to you, turning you around to face Simon. His back brushes your chest as he wraps his arms around you, holding the panties up in front of your chest. 

You wish you could see Simon’s face. All of his face. His jaw is clenched, his eyes burning as he stares at the underwear in Johnny’s hands. His whole body is tense, the tendons and muscles in his forearms bulging from how tightly he’s clenching his muscles. A bead of sweat runs down your back from the intensity of his stare, his gaze shifting from the underwear to your face. They flicker back and forth, almost like he doesn’t quite know which is worse to look at: you or the panties. 

His body tenses even more, his gaze finally settling on the underwear. He’s imagining you in them. You can see it, the way his eyes get darker and darker, his scent thickening. Several thoughts run through your head as you stare at him, your stomach fluttering as you suddenly come to a realization. You lift your hands, taking the underwear from Johnny, continuing to hold it in front of your chest. 

“Fucking hell...” Simon breathes, his hands dropping to his sides, still tightly closed into fists. 

“Would...” You clear your throat, trying to shake the waver from your voice. “Would you like to see me in them?” 

His gaze snaps to yours, and it nearly has you running for cover. He looks like he wants to simultaneously devour you and bend you over the nearest table. The primal urge to run tickles in the back of your brain, to run and let him chase you. 

He looks like he would do it, too. 

Have you been misreading his actions towards you? You never thought he’d feel like that about you. Was his reluctant tolerance, his drive to keep you at arm’s length less because he disliked you, and more because he likes you too much?

His behavior and his actions begin to make sense the more you think about it. He’s not keeping you at arm's distance because he doesn't like you, because he doesn’t think you don’t belong with them. He’s not afraid of the weakness you might cause in the pack, the disruption you’ve brought to their lives. He’s afraid of how you’re making him feel. 

Has he ever been in love? Has he ever held feelings for another before Johnny? Did he even want to have feelings for Johnny in the first place, or did Johnny force his way in until Simon finally accepted he can’t change the way he feels? 

You’re not trying to invoke that kind of response from him. You’ve respected his boundaries, kept him at arm’s distance as much as you could to try and avoid making him hate you, to try and avoid ruining all the work you’ve put into just making him accept you as part of the pack. 

Maybe you had been trying in all the wrong ways. 

All the things he did for you, all the ways he treated you suddenly make sense. His disappointment at your neglecting him on the tarmac should have made it obvious to you. 

Hell, he’d let you spoon him the very next morning like it was nothing. 

Does he want to be your second alpha? Even if he doesn’t, does he want to push past that barrier and open up to that kind of relationship with you? The bond you have with him is hardly even platonic, a weak thread connecting you built out of proximity and interaction. The bond you have with Dr. Keller is stronger, and she’s not even part of your pack. 

Does he want to build that bond with you? 

Looking at him has your body warming, a fire igniting under your skin. You can’t handle it anymore, the intensity of his stare threatening to make you do something indecent in this lingerie shop. 

You turn to face Johnny, certain steam has to be rising off your body at this point. You shove the pile of panties into his hands, including the one with skulls on them. “We’re getting them.” You say, trying to ignore the grin pulling at his lips. 

You take half a second to breathe as the tension in the air is cut off, another shopper passing by, giving the three of you a look. You’re sure you’re projecting your scent, and you can imagine just how much Simon’s scent has taken over the store. 

Johnny carries the armful of lingerie to the checkout and you follow behind him, Simon bending down to whisper something in his ear before heading for the door. You watch him step outside, moving until he’s just visible through the glass from the register. You have half a mind to follow him, half a mind to confront him and ask him for an explanation, ask him why he felt it necessary to hold you at arm’s length when there’s a chance he’s been feeling this way the whole time. 

You don’t, instead sticking close to Johnny’s side as he pays far too much for the lingerie. Your heart is still racing from the exchange with Simon, your hands shaking just a little as Johnny hands you the bag. His hand is warm on your back as he guides you from the store, Simon turning as you approach him. 

“Let’s grab somethin’ to eat, then we’ll go.” Johnny says, leading you back towards the car. 

“We need to talk.” 

You almost turn tail and run as Simon’s gaze snaps up to meet yours. He sits there, frozen for just a moment, before he slowly lowers his phone, sliding it into his sweatshirt pocket. You don’t sit down on the couch next to him, instead you remain standing, wanting to keep the energy in the room in your favor. You know if you sit, your brain will slip into submission to the large alpha. At least looking down on him, you have more of a chance at keeping that illusion of dominance. 

“I want to know how long.” You say, taking half a step closer to him, one foot planted, the other half raised, ready to bolt in case this goes south. “I want to know how long you’ve had feelings for me.” 

His gaze hardens as he stares up at you, and despite your position of dominance, you wish he’d take off his mask just so you could read his face, read his reactions. You can’t back down, though. Not now, not when things have come to a head between you. There’s no going back, there’s no playing pretend anymore. You can’t move on after the events earlier in the lingerie shop.

“I want to know the truth.” You say, not backing down. You won’t submit to him so easily this time. 

“When you punched that asshole Corporal.” He says, looking away from you to stare at the black screen of the television. “Allen. Proved you weren’t just some weak, pathetic omega that was only going to slow us down, make us work twice as hard to keep you alive.” He snorts softly. “That first night with Johnny.” He continues, his voice softer than it had been. “That’s when it changed. He yapped the whole morning about what happened, what you two did, like a bloody slag.” 

Your face warms at the idea of Johnny spilling all the intimate details. It doesn’t upset you as much as it probably should, though it wasn’t like they couldn’t all hear it happening. Simon especially, sharing a wall with him. He probably could have recounted the whole thing himself if he’d wanted to. 

“I wanted to hate you. Fucking tried so hard to, but you make it so bloody hard.” He shakes his head. “I’m not supposed to.” 

A frown pulls at your brows as you listen to him. As an alpha in the pack, he technically could if he wanted to. You’re certain John wouldn’t have a problem with it, in fact he might encourage it, if it gets rid of the stick that’s been up Simon’s ass since your arrival, or maybe even before then. 

“I-I don’t understand.” You say, stepping closer to him. 

“I can’t.” He snaps, wheeling around to face you. You freeze in your approach, your weight shifting back in case you need to run. “I can’t.” He repeats, his voice softer, the tenseness in his shoulders deflating as he diverts his gaze. “It’s too dangerous.” 

Your frown deepens as you stare at him. “What do you mean?” 

“I’ll only hurt you.” He shakes his head. 

You understand it now. Those four words have given you all the explanation you need to understand his hesitation, his predicament, why it’s taken him this long to openly admit his feelings, to accept them. 

You bravely continue your approach until you’re standing right next to him. His gaze is anywhere but on you, seeming very small despite his hulking size. “You’re not going to hurt me.” You say, slowly reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. “I know you won’t. If...if you’re worried about turning out like your father, then that’s enough proof that you won’t. You know, you’re aware, so you can stop it.” He goes to turn away, but you stop him, catching his wrist in your hand. “We don’t have to. If you’re not comfortable enough then that’s okay. I have that need filled plenty.” You plop down on the couch next to him as you lift his hand to your face, pressing his bare palm into your skin. “But I wouldn’t stop you, if you wanted to.” 

His hand is big and warm as it slowly relaxes against your face. His eyes meet yours, staring deep into them. You stare right back, not letting his size or the intensity of his gaze force you to submit. His thumb drags along your cheekbone, his calluses scratching across your skin, but that’s a feeling you’ve become very used to. You press your hand against his, your fingers trembling just slightly from the emotion and the intensity of the moment. 

“It’s not just me that might hurt you. I’ve made enemies, people that would do anything to get back at me.” He says quietly. 

You shrug. “So does everyone in this pack. That was a risk I was made well aware of before I was sent here. That’s why I don’t know jack shit about what any of you do. That’s why I’m basically non-existent and invisible except to a select few. I used to think about it, when I first arrived here. What if something happened to me because of your jobs? What if someone found out about me?” You shrug again, your thumb rubbing the back of his hand. “That’s a risk we all signed up for, right?” 

He stares at you for a while, his hand still pressed against your cheek. You wish you could read his mind, see the thoughts turning those wheels behind his eyes. You wish he was an open book, something you could breeze right through like the ones on the shelves. Instead, he might be the most closed off person you’ve ever met. You’ve never even seen his face 

Slowly he begins leaning forward, his gaze never leaving yours. If it hadn’t been for the mask, you might have thought he was leaning in for a kiss. You might have leaned in for a kiss, had he not been wearing the mask. Instead he leans forward until your foreheads are touching, his gaze finally leaving yours as his eyes flutter closed. You finally relax yourself, melting into him slightly as you sit there, breathing in the quiet moment. Something’s shifting, something’s changing between the two of you. 

You’re not quite sure how it’s going to end, but you can’t deny the bond beginning to form between you and Simon. 

@bobaprint @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @protokosmonaut

@fruitymoonbeams-blog @blue-blue0 @hindi-si-ikay @thatonepupkai @redwites

@kattiieee @141trash @lothiriel9 @dillybuggg @beebeechaos

@konigsmissedbeltloop @kaoyamamegami @idkkkkkkk8363 @wallwriterstuff @smile-child-13

@anomiatartle @dangerkittenclaws @bless-my-demons @mystic60 @evolutionarry

@red-hydra @lunaetiicsaystuff @linaangel @codsunshine @thriving-n-jiving

@slayerx147 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving @cityoffallencrows @ttsbaby01

@heeheehoohoohahahihi @sleepyoriana @ihatethinkingofnames10 @cassiecasluciluce @darling006

@sheep-from-rad @ohgodthebogisback @willow-sages @scythemood @daniblogs164

@mirzamsaiph @xlxnq @chickennn-soupp

[thelightsandtheroses]

everywhere, everything | jm x female reader [au]

Summary: In recent months, the bar your family has owned for generations has changed. Now it can't keep a bouncer beyond one shift, attracts the 'wrong' crowd, and is an albatross around you and your cousin's neck. Your cousin's latest hire, Joel Miller, seems like he might just survive the shift and as time passes, you can't help but want to know him more. AKA the Bouncer!Joel fic Word Count: 8.2k Warnings: 18+ MDNI, mentions of canon typical violence, RoadHouseBouncer!Joel AU, no outbreak, no specified age but reader has a cousin and inferred (not detailed) family deaths in the past, flirting, smut (p in v, and fingering), Joel Miller is his chaotic self, mentions of death of a child (canon), many scenes set in a bar and mentions of alcohol or drinking, your standard lolabee flangst and introspection, reader mentions music, singing and playing guitar. Notes: So much love for this fic goes to @trulybetty for encouraging my ideas and @rhoorl. Watching the new Road House movie at the same time as starting TLOU games created this concept in my head I couldn't let go of. Fic title from the Noah Kahan song of the same name.

It’s starting to weigh on you.

You see it in your cousin more though; the weariness in her eyes as the local gangs come in and inevitably cause trouble. Both of you know where it comes from, the reasons behind it, why it’s so much worse for your roadhouse than anywhere else in the town.

Most days, you want to leave and sell up. Sometimes a fight is too much, it isn’t worth the cost, there’s too high a loss, too tiresome a battle. Everything your cousin possesses is tied up in the bar though. It’s not that simple for her and you won’t walk away from your family. You can’t.

The two of you cannot be the ones who let decades of your family’s legacy just wash away to nothing.

That was why your cousin had started with the bouncers in the first place. The two of you can only afford one, but it’s a small building, a small town.

“This one will be different,” your cousin says with a firm nod and smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “I just know he will. He’s new in town, he starts tonight and he - when you meet him, you’ll see what I mean.”

You don’t say that she said the same thing about the last bouncer - what was his name? Dave, or Frankie, or something like that. You’ve stopped learning their names now - it’s pointless when they never last longer than a few days.

The bar is still quiet; tinny music coming through the speakers as you finish unloading the clean glasses from the dishwasher.

“Are you playin’ tonight?” she asks.

“Might do. If the crowd let me,” you say, smiling at your cousin gently. It’s a joke now; the bar hasn’t been safe enough in months for that.

It used to be your favourite thing about this place; the music, the ability to perform songs and transport yourself to what could have been, what could be. It might not be Nashville, or the Sofi stadium, but it’s the closest you think you’ll ever get to feeling like a real musician. And now you don’t even have that.

“Good, they will. It’s going to be a good one tonight, you’ll see.”

The new bouncer is called Joel but your cousin calls him by his surname: Miller.

He’s quiet, not like the other one. Instead of stalking around and flexing, Miller sits in the corner of the bar, perched on a stool and staring into a cup of coffee as though it would answer all his queries about the universe.

You feel bad about the coffee; you should have warned him that it’s truly awful, pointed him in the direction of the small diner ten minutes away that serves some of the best coffee in the whole state. You think your own coffee isn’t too bad either; perfected and tweaked over years to figure out the perfect combination of beans and grind to bring the best out of your worn moka pot.

“Next time, I’d go for water,” you say lightly as you approach his side of the bar. It’s still quiet for this time of the evening but the trouble doesn’t usually start until after ten anyway.

“Oh, yeah?”

“I’m not sure we can even legally call this coffee. I think there’s more caffeine in the Kahlua.”

“You have Kahlua?” Miller asks.

“It’s a very old bottle, I really wouldn’t risk it.” You try and remember the last time someone ordered a drink with it here but it’s hazy. The Bar doesn’t exactly attract people for its cocktail list anymore.

“Pity.”

“I can get you a water if you’d prefer. Or something else?”

“It’s fine.” You notice Miller has pushed the cup slightly away from him though. He eyes it with mild disgust and you feel suddenly even more worried for him. If he can’t handle the coffee, he surely won’t be able to handle the patrons.

“You’re Joe, right?”

“Joel,” he corrects instantly.

“Joel, right. Sorry.”

“Are there that many of us passin’ through, that you don’t learn the names properly now? Is that why your boss calling me Miller?” He doesn’t know who you are, that’s clear. He doesn’t know it’s your family’s legacy here too and you’re not just a bartender. This place matters to you.

“It’s only your first shift.”

Joel sighs and meets your gaze. His eyes are deep brown and you take in the slight salt and pepper to his stubble, the surprisingly comfortable looking plaid flannel he’s wearing. At the same time, you notice the stoniness in his posture, the wariness in his eyes.

He isn’t spoiling for a fight because he lives for them, not like the other bouncers your cousin has hired.

You’ve already realised that Joel Miller fights in an entirely differently way to his predecessors. You can tell his biggest battles aren’t the ones in a bar like this. Without projecting too much, you think they’re probably inside his mind. No one has haunted eyes like that without a story. You’re a bartender, you can just tell.

“What have you have been told about this gig? Do you know what you’re getting into?”

“I know this place has some troubles,” he says carefully.

“I’ll say.”

You remember when things were different in the town, in the bar. It wasn’t like this back then. It used to be for families. Your aunt once joked that your dad’s cooking could bring the entire town together. It’s been a long time since the place was known for a family meal though.

You grew up with laughter and joy inside these walls. Now, it feels like it must have happened somewhere else entirely. This bar is still where you ran in after being asked on your first date ever, where you opened your SAT results, studied while the bar was closed, had every family significant gathering or event you can remember.

This isn’t just a job for you.

“How long have you been here? No offence, but you don’t seem the type -”

“It’s my family’s bar. Your boss you mentioned, she’s my cousin. The two of us run it these days, well I mean, I only help out. It’s her bar now more than mine but it’s been our family’s place for generations. We’re what’s left.” All that’s left.

“I didn’t know. I wasn’t - I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“Of course, Miller.” His words weren’t meant with offence but he had still managed to pick at your vulnerability that you don’t truly belong and cut at your soul.

Your family never thought you’d keep up with the bar, your cousin was the clear front runner to inherit it and you supported that. You wanted to leave your hometown, that had never been a secret and your childhood bedroom had been covered in posters and postcards for exciting and different places.

Once, you dreamt of Nashville, of music venues and guitar calloused hands playing idle melodies as a tour bus drove you to your next city across a starlit sky.

Life had different plans for you thought.

“This town didn’t used to be like this,” you add, “We’ve had a lot of bad luck and - the whole town is suffering. You wouldn’t have recognised this place if you passed through even just a few years ago.”

”I’m -“

The door to the bar crashes open before Joel can finish his sentence. You notice the first of the regular troublemakers walking in and warily look around the bar. You can tell by their posture, the look on their face exactly what type of night it’s going to be.

“Looks like your work will be getting started soon, Miller. I’d drink up.”

He might just survive his first shift. That’s annoying - you have five bucks counting on him either walking out or be stretchered out like any of the bouncers by the end of the night.

You try and pay attention to your surroundings. It’s sensible in your line of work. For so many people that line between a good night and becoming the worst version of themselves is wafer thin and you’re often the first line of defence, you’re the one who has to say when someone’s not being served anymore.

Your cousin is in the back office, trying to sort out the multitude of paperwork that comes with owning a bar or business that nobody ever thinks about.

He’s calm, polite even for the most part.

He doesn’t escalate the situation, not like some of the bouncers who have spent a shift here recently. Mostly he sits and observes. His calmness is almost disconcerting and contrasts sharply with the danger in his posture, the readiness to move he’s concealing.

There hasn’t been too much trouble so far tonight; a mild fight which was easily taken outside but you can feel the tension in the air.

“Can I get ‘nother whiskey?” Robert slurs. He’s a regular to the bar now and has a particular penchant for not being able to handle his alcohol, being very resentful at being cut off, and worse of all never has enough money to cover his bill or damages.

“I think you’re done for tonight,” you say lightly.

“Nah, I say when I’m done.”

“Not according to the liquor licence,” you snark back.

“Look, just pour me -”

“You’re done.”

“You’re such a fucking bitch.” Robert slams his fist down on the bar.

“I think it’s time to go,” Joel says politely, suddenly standing next to Robert in the bar. You’re not sure if he’ll last as a bouncer here but you’ll give him points for stealthiness. You hadn’t even heard him approaching.

“I think -“ Robert starts before pulling a sloppy punch. Joel easily dodges it, raising his eyebrow incredulously at Robert.

“C’mon, now, it’s time to go.”

He places a hand on Robert’s shoulder and guides him out. You’re struck that he didn’t escalate the situation - that was the last bouncer’s mistake. What he hadn’t counted on was what Robert is a mean drunk and often gets a second wind of energy.

Joel walks back up to you at the bar. “The way people talk about this place. That wasn’t so -“

“That, Miller, that was nothing.”

You watch as another troublemaker, Owen, walks in, all biker vest and swagger. It’s never a good night when he’s here. Usually his presence signals a full moon style night of fights, shouting and misery. He hasn’t been in for weeks to your joy; you’d heard a rumour he was in jail. Not any more though.

“Miller you see now the trouble’s really going to start. That wasn’t even your warmup.”

Sunlight streams through the window as you finish wiping over the table. It’s your favourite time of day in the bar. Your cousin is catching up on admin, sleep and supplier deliveries, the bar is empty and it’s just you, the stereo and sunlight.

You can’t help but lose yourself in the music just for a moment. You love this song, the beat, the lyrics, the way it ebbs and flows in all the right places. Music is magic.

You’re not in a rundown bar, not weighed down by obligation and memories and self-doubt. You’re not here, you’re somewhere else. In a city, in a crowd, on a stage or even just dancing around somewhere else. You’re lighter and freer and desperate for the song to continue just a little more as you spin around, humming along with the lyrics.

You hear the door open and turn around quickly. You heard about the diner getting robbed a couple of weeks ago. You should have locked the door.

Miller’s there, some light discolouration to his jaw from the one punch he didn’t dodge, but otherwise intact.

“You seem surprised to see me,” he says.

“You’ve cost me five bucks,” you reply simply.

He raises an eyebrow, “Didn’t think I could hack it*?*”

“The odds are the odds.”

“Well, I’m sorry about your money.”

“Yep, that five bucks was my ticket out of this town,” you joke.

“Not sure that would even cover a bus ticket,” he replies dryly.

“Maybe the coffee for on the bus?”

“Maybe.”

“So, day two,” you say awkwardly, swinging your arms around you and then immediately wondering why on earth you did that. You busy yourself by turning down the speakers.

“Yep,” Miller says casually, sitting on a bar stool.

“Have - are you hungry?” you ask, suddenly conscious that it’s lunchtime and Joel not doubt has another difficult day ahead.

“I could eat.”

”It’s nothing fancy, because the kitchen’s not open, but it is homemade - well, it was. I froze it but it’s defrosted and it’s really good. Also, frozen food still retains its nutrients well, and in the case of cake, freezing it makes it even better.”

“I see.” Miller pauses, “It’s not cake, is it? I don’t think I can eat frozen cake before a shift. ”

“No,” you argue, “it’s Tuesday, that’s what we’d do on a Wednesday! Today it’s lasagne.”

Miller smiles then. It’s a good smile. Slightly crooked and his eyes crease a little, the way you always associate someone smiling when they mean it. His deep eyes are momentarily lighter, there’s a change in him.

You want to tease more smiles out of this man, want to identify each and every changed in his face or the way his hands tap against the old bar. You want to keep him like this, bask in the glow that you’ve bought that expression to his face.

“Lasagne sounds great,” he says after a moment.

“Sure, okay, Miller. Coming right up.”

“Call me Joel. Please.”

“Okay, Joel.”

You like how his name sounds against your teeth, the way he smiles once more when you say his name.

It becomes a habit. Joel survives shift after shift and inevitably turns up to the bar early the following day when you’re there.

He’s lasted longer than fourteen bouncers now. He might just make it. He’s quiet, yes, but you’ve seen the violence in his movements when needed, the way he tries to be polite and then it’s over, then it’s a line. There’s something that compels and terrifies you about the violence he holds, its contradiction because he speaks to you so softly and how can a man be capable of both?

“You need a second bouncer,” he says one morning as you’re trying and failing to sort the back door out.

The employee room in the bar is a barely functioning space. Cliche after cliche with the cheap red IKEA futon, mismatching furniture and chairs and elderly microwave and kettle. The air conditioning has never worked in the room and now the back door is jammed too.

The place is falling apart.

“Can’t afford it,” you reply nonchalantly. “We’re doing our best.”

“I know. But then someone could try and watch at the door, stop some of these people coming in.”

“I know. But no one’s coming in because they’re there so we can’t afford a bouncer. It’s uh, a catch 22. Can’t even afford to replace the damn -” You shove your weight against the door to no avail.

“I can fix that,” Joel says softly as you kick the door one more time.

“The gangs? That’s ambitious.”

“The door.”

“Oh, it’s just the weather and it always gets stuck now. Replacing it would cost-”

“I can fix it. I uh, used to be a contractor.”

“A contractor?” Joel hasn’t talked about his past much before. You know he has a brother, he’s the oldest and that he’s from Texas. Joel carries that

“Did you have to say that with the air of a cowboy in an old movie?”

“I wasn’t aware I did,” he replies, cocking his eyebrow in a way.

“What sort of contractor were you?”

“Building, just the general type.”

“Oh, okay. So you could actually fix the door?”

“I said so, didn’t I?”

“How do you get from contractor to bouncer?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’d expect so.”

Joel squirms awkwardly. You’ve watched him easily apprehend aggressive gang members shouting the vilest things to Joel and move them outside. You’ve seen him barely blink over ill drunks spilling their souls on his shoes. You’ve seen him so strong and resolute.

He looks at his watch which, for the first time, you notice is broken and then at the ground.

“It’s fine, Joel,” you say, “you don’t need to tell me anymore.”

He keeps coming back, night after night and things start to change. It’s small, a fixed door and then a window catch replaced, the fact the gangs start coming around less. It’s change but the quiet type of change you only discover through previously entrenched routines.

You’ve spent time cataloguing his details, each scar or line, the way he takes his coffee (black, but a two to one ratio of sugar that makes you wince a little). Joel Miller has a sweet tooth.

You’re used to Joel now, you like talking to him in quiet moments in the bar, before or after shifts as he hangs around just a little longer. You tell him about the town, about how it was growing up, he lets it slip he’s from Texas, mentions a brother, Tommy, and you want to unpeel his secrets more and more.

You proudly place the slab of cake in front of him. Rain hammers against the windows and roof, creating great echoes as it sounds like the bar will come down around you. It’s unseasonal, the rain, an omen of quiet days. Today you don’t mind.

“What’s the occasion?” Joel asks, looking at the cake curiously.

“It’s a Wednesday.” You take a bite of your own slice, savouring the flavours, the delicate balance of sponge and icing. If you can say so, it’s a pretty great cake. You really have improved over recent months and while this was experimental, you’re happy with the result.

“Ah. Say no more.”

“Also, congrats, you’ve officially been here for eight and half weeks.”

“I pass probation then?” Joel looks around dubiously, clearly concerned your cousin or others will suddenly pop out in some surprise party or sense of occasion.

“Pretty much passed that by coming back on day two, but that’s my cousin’s domain. I just pour drinks.”

“And provide frozen food to the bouncers.”

“Only the ones who come back. Besides, it’s defrosted. I can take that cake back you know.”

“No, don’t you dare.” Joel takes a large forkful of the cake. “So why the cake though, sweetheart?”

“You, Joel Miller, are officially our longest standing bouncer.” You clap lightly in mock celebration as he cocks an eyebrow in response.

“What an honour,” he replies sardonically.

”You’re welcome.”

“Do I need to make a speech?”

“I think it was the speech that bought the previous record holder down.” Clint had lasted forty-five minutes after that speech. It was a bad night - a particularly nasty gang fight.

“Hubris,” Joel says lightly.

“Exactly.”

“Not bad for a contractor turned bouncer though.”

Joel laughs. “You going to tell me that story one day?” you ask, hoping your teasing expression hides how genuine your question is.

“Maybe,” he says. “You’ve not hit my records yet.”

“That a challenge?”

He shrugs and walks towards the door to ready the bar for opening.

You hand Joel the frozen peas wrapped in an old cloth. After the commotion, your cousin’s closed the bar early. It’s hard to recover the night from a scene like that and you’re pretty sure the broken table and glass amount to some sort of safety violation at the least.

“Thanks,” Joel says gruffly.

“You could have a concussion.”

“I'm fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

Joel looks at his cracked knuckles and raises a finger to the cut on his head, lightly touching it and observing the blood that comes away on his hand. “’m fine.”

“You hit the bar.”

“Standard night on the job.”

“You hit it with your head.”

Joel shrugs, nonchalance and mischief at once.

“How’s the idiot?” Owen had come in with the intention of causing trouble; something about the rival gang, or his girlfriend, or something that would never justify his trail of destruction. Joel had maintained his usual rules; polite, carefully moving Owen outside the bar, even as he tried to fight back. You’re not sure how it went so wrong, how instead of getting Owen outside suddenly there were more of the gang, broken tables and chaos.

It’s been weeks since a night like that. It makes it feel brand new, the hurt starker somehow.

“He needs to go to hospital,” you say, wrapping your jacket around you after you lock the bar door, keys heavy in your hand.

“Oh.”

“He’ll be fine. His friends are taking him. You probably need the hospital too, I’ll drive you.”

“’m fine.”

“You’re not. Get in the damn car, Joel.”

“I’m -”

“The car, Joel. Don’t make me start calling you Miller again.”

Joel holds his hands up and shakes his head. “Fine, I’ll go.”

“Excellent,” you say with a sweet smile.

You drive in near silence but once you’re both in the hospital waiting room, he talks. He talks more than he ever usually does.

“I didn't need to come here,” he grumbles.

“Are you on the lam?”

“What?” He asks incredulously.

“You seem reluctant to be in a hospital that takes down personal information. It’s a reasonable question.”

He sighs, pinches between his eyebrows. “No, I’m not on the damn lam. I just - I just don’t like hospitals.”

“I don’t think a lot of people do. I guess it’s an occupational habit with your work.”

“I patch myself up usually. Last time I was in one of these places, it was … I was …”

“Joel, it’s okay, you don’t have to say anything.” You reach for his bloody hand and squeeze, unsure if the blood on it is from his own split knuckles or the fight. The violence of his body contrasts so much with the man you talk to, the friend you’ve made.

“When I told you it was a long story, how I went from a contractor to this … it’s, I don’t know.”

You shift so you can face Joel and try and model your best supportive expression. Joel and you talk about everything now, but he’s guarded and this is the first time he’s volunteered this story to you.

“We can talk about it later.”

“I had a daughter,” he says so quietly that you can barely hear him. “And then I had a chance, a second chance to - but it’s been a mess. I’ve been a mess. I’ve got a lot wrong.”

So much of Joel Miller makes sense to you know and you can understand the sadness that crosses his eyes sometimes, the reluctance to talk about his past.

“Haven’t we all?” You pause. “I’m really sorry about your daughter, Joel.“

“I don’t know how to make it right now though.”

“I think,” you say gently, “all you can do is try. For what it’s worth, you’re making a difference here, you’re making a difference with me.”

“Really?” He glances up at you, suddenly years younger and as you nod a slight smile light up his face briefly.

“Why don’t you tell me about her? If you want to.”

He smiles. “I do, but not tonight, but I will.”

“Joel Miller,” a doctor calls.

“C’mon, you’re up.” You squeeze Joel’s arm before standing up.

The balance has shifted and something’s changed.

The bar changes gradually like the way spring teases itself for weeks. It’s all subtle shifts, blossoms of hope and shoots of a future you didn’t dare think of too much. The bar might survive, your cousin is smiling again.

And then there’s you and Joel. Joel, who still pops in to talk to you even on his days off. Joel, who you sit out with after the bar closes and drink beer and play guitar to the stars.

“You should play here,” he says, taking a sip of his beer, “you’re good.” “You’re better. I can’t play guitar like you.” “Nah. Just had more practice at best. Your voice is pretty, so pretty.” “Oh, I’m not so good at playing. I’m better at singing,” you say. “Four basic chords are about my limit on the guitar.” “Don’t do yourself down.” “Trust me, I’m not.” You pause. ”Joel, you could - you could play with me. If I ever played here. it’s probably stupid.” There’s something unreadable in his eyes, a soft smile on his lips. “No, I’d like that.”

You’re accustomed to his presence, his low but grounding voice, his calm demeanour throughout all chaos.

He’s told you more about his past now. About Sarah and how her loss tore him apart for years, and also about the foster daughter he took in, Ellie. He won’t tell you much about Ellie though, except they stopped talking around about the time he became a bouncer. He once asked you if you would do anything to save the life of someone you love and you said yes. He nodded and moved on. You think it’s connected, you’re not sure.

You’ve worked at a bar long enough to know when it’ll be a bad night. There’s an electricity in the air, a tension that is so tight anything could snap it. You look over at Joel to see if he’s picked up on the same energy.

He’s sitting on the stool, observing quietly, but you notice the slight furrow in his brows. He looks at you and his mouth twitches into the smallest of smiles, but there’s anxiety in his eyes.

“I heard that Owen’s gang declared war on the Rattlers,” you say in a low voice. You don’t like Owen, or his friends, but the Rattlers are worst. Owen’s gang is the typical cliched grouping of a small town that’s become lost. They drink too much, throw punches without thinking and cause trouble. They’re not evil though.

The Rattlers are.

“Didn’t hear the Rattlers came through here,” Joel says in a low voice. “I heard of their reputation at a previous gig.”

“Their uh, second in command, is that the term? Anyway, he’s had a thing with someone in town for years. On and off. Guess it’s on again.”

“They cause trouble when they’re here?”

You scoff. “This was starting to feel like -”

“It still is, it still will. Let me do my job,” Joel says firmly.

You want to trust him; you do trust him. It’s the Rattlers that worry you, the feeling in your gut that this hard sought over peace is threatened, the deep and terrifying fear that this bar can never change. Not now. Not even with Joel.

Joel smiles at you, the picture of reassurance. “Owen might not come in here. This is hardly a welcome environment for his group anymore.”

“Joel,” you say nervously, “I just … I have a feeling.”

Joel doesn’t laugh or dismiss you; he straightens up and nods.

You’re not sure how things fall apart so quickly. One moment the bar was quiet, then Owen was there and before Joel could get him to leave, the Rattlers were here too. Maybe it was planned, maybe it was what they all wanted.

“Evening, unfortunately I need to ask you all to leave tonight,” Joel says politely, standing from his barstool. “I’m afraid the business is at capacity and we have a private function on.”

“Well,” Owen begins.

“Leave.”

“Look, Miller, it’s not -”

“I’m not asking, Owen.” Joel’s voice is low, deadly, the tone he uses when polite words fall flat, when it’s time to not be nice. “That goes to all of you.”

Owen falters slightly at the sound of that, you wonder if he remembers how things went the last time Joel used that voice.

“Y’all got a function on?” one of the Rattlers asks you. He’s covered in tattoos and is wearing a leather vest with numerous patches with no other top underneath. You wonder if he based his outfit on the existing tropes, if he’s intentionally as cliched as possible or if it truly is just an unspoken truth now. His hair is slicked back into a ponytail that highlights his receding hairline and a puckered scar that runs from his brow to his nose.

“I’m afraid so, gentlemen. While we, uh appreciate the desire to visit, I’m afraid Mr Miller is correct.“”

“Really?”

“Uh huh. It doesn’t look so-”

“Please,” you say quietly.

For a moment you wonder if it will work, you’re on bated breath as the Rattler steps back and moves to say something to his gang. However, that’s the very moment Owen smashes a chair on his back and hell breaks loose.

“Oh, thank you so fucking much for that,” Joel says in an irritated voice, immediately pulled into action to try and get the situation outside, away from the patrons, from you.

You step backwards, hoping the protection of the bar will be enough.

People are running out of the bar as the chaos unfolds. It’s a flood of sound,

Someone pushes Owen onto the bar, pummelling him as you try and back away. “Please stop,” you say.

Then a flash and searing heat.

That’s when you hear Joel swear, you notice his eyes have darkened, his entire demeanour has changed.

Your vision is blurred by something and you can feel a sharp pain on your face along with something sticky and hot when you touch it.

You shut your eyes, willing the events away and allowing yourself to crouch under the bar and wait for the noises to stop.

It’s fine. It’s fine.

You’re fine.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” a soothing voice says. “Ladies and gentlemen, I apologise but we do have to close early today.”

There’s a pause, noise around you and then something cool on your face. “I need to see the damage, okay? It’s me, it’s Joel, you’re going to be okay. I’ve got you.”

You open your eyes to see Joel crouched in front of you. He’s holding a damp cloth that is already soaked in red.

“You’ll need stitches, I’ll drive you.” Joel moves your head gently and nods. “Your eye looks okay; can you see normally?”

“Yeah. What happened?”

”Fucking - it was Owen, he grabbed a glass from the bar and instead of hitting the rattler - ”

“Got me.”

“Yeah. It’s deep but um ‘”

“I’ll live. I’m okay. Don’t need hospital.”

“Huh, you trying to prove a point here? How annoyin’ it is when someone who needs hospital won’t go?”

”It’s fine, Joel.”

“You’re hurt,” he says and he looks disappointed.

You feel a burst of shame, you should have defended yourself better.

“I’m going to call your cousin and tell her what happened and then I’m driving you to hospital. No arguments, okay?”

You try and smile weakly in acquiescence which seems to only make Joel frown more.

His hand lingers on your shoulder slightly as he hands you the seatbelt after bundling you into his truck. He moved quickly, closing the bar, making a hushed call in the corner to your cousin and then immediately guiding you out, a clean cloth placed in your hands to hold against your cut.

There’s a nodding dog ornament on the dash, something that doesn’t seem like Joel at all.

“Ellie,” he says quietly as he notices you looking at it. “Keep the pressure on that wound, okay?”

He turns out of the bar.

“Didn’t seem your sort of ornament,” you reply placidly.

“She called it Ernie, I - that kid.” Joel sighs heavily.

“You could call her,” you say, braver in the wake of your injury.

“I would. But she doesn’t want to hear from me, trust me.” He mumbles something else you can’t make out.

“You’re a good person, Joel. She -”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” you say, “trust me, I know bad men, but you aren’t one of them. Owen? The Rattlers?”

“The bar’s pretty damn low there.”

“You know the town I live in.”

Joel chuckles mirthlessly.

“I was going to play tonight,” you say quietly, “I thought it was time. That’ll teach me.”

“You could still play, maybe tomorrow though.”

“It would be harder with the blood right now.”

“Just a tad.”

“Thanks for driving me.”

“Of course.”

You wonder if he’s trying to return a favour, whether he’s the sort of person who just can’t feel indebted to someone else. Now you’ve bled on his car too, now you’re even?

He looked worried though. You think about the way he sounded too, the forced calmness when he checked on you.

You’re friends.

That’s normal, right?

“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly. “You shouldn’t have got hurt.”

“Joel, it’s … you can’t be everywhere at once. It’s not on you.”

“I should have -”

“Miller,” you say sharply, “it’s not on you. Not one bit. Do you think I can bar Owen for good now?”

Joel chuckles. “Yeah, I reckon so.

“Good, well that’s something, isn’t it? Almost makes it worth it. Do you think it will scar?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart.”

You pause. It’s vanity, you know, but the idea of this leaving a permanent scar on your face hurts worse than the injury itself.

“That’s not ideal. I-it’s stupid.” It feels so foolish to be worried about a scar when things could be so much worse, for your own vanity to say ‘well, now, you’ll never make it as a musician or star’ or to focus on your looks. It’s normal, it’s human, but it makes you feel guilty.

Joel looks at you carefully and he places a warm, solid hand on your hand that is not holding a compress to your face. “You’re so beautiful, you know that, right?” he says in a low voice. “This won’t change that. It couldn’t, okay?”

No-one calls you beautiful. There’s been half-hearted claims of your ‘hotness’ with exes, of your friends’ encouragement when you make a particular effort in your appearance, but nothing like this. Nothing that feels this sincere either.

He takes his hand away as the doctor joins you. You can feel the heat lingering like butterflies as the doctor attends to your wound.

Joel stays with you the whole time.

You hear the guitar before you can see him. Soft, melodic chords that reach a crescendo as you walk closer to the small cabin style house he’s renting. You’re not sure if it’s a complete betrayal of the trust from when you dropped him off after his hospital trip weeks ago, but you need to see him outside of the bar.

“Hey,” he says in surprise when he sees you. He places the guitar carefully down before standing up to greet you.

“I’m sorry to just turn up, I hope it’s okay.” You awkwardly clasp your hands and wring them together. “I was passing through and I thought - I thought I’d say hi.”

This is a complete lie; you are not passing through at all.

You’re wearing your favourite outfit and you sprayed an extra two spritzes of your best perfume on this morning. In fact, you have made considerable effort when you think about all of this.

“No, it’s great. I’m happy you stopped by.”

“You’re good. The guitar, it was … really good. I’ve not heard you play that before.”

“Oh, it’s just something I’ve been working on.”

“It’s really good.”

“Nah, not really.”

You frown, hands on your hips and he raises his own hands in defence.

“Can I - do you want a drink?” Joel indicates inside the cabin and you nod enthusiastically.

“That would be great, thanks Joel.”

There are three cabins in the area that a local businessman rents out. Joel’s cabin is the closest to the woods, the one that’s slightly hidden away. Inside it looks like a typical rental; the slightly shabby furniture and neutral demeanour that feels void of any character, the aged kitchen stove and units, an abundance of wood furniture.

There are touches of Joel too though. There’s a vinyl player and box of records on the coffee table, a plaid blanket over the sofa and a couple of photos on the fireplace mantle. You think they might be Sarah, maybe Ellie, but you don’t want to pry.

This changes things. It’s not the bar, neither of you are at work, or hanging out outside after a shift. This feels more personal, more intimate. This is Joel Miller, the real Joel, the one you can’t hide your feelings for now.

You do have feelings for Joel.

It’s funny, when he started you wanted to keep him at a distance because you expected him to leave like everyone else, you thought the bar was beyond help. You wondered if you were beyond your dreams. He’s helping bring you back though.

It’s his calm demeanour, the wry expressions and dry humour, his plaid shirts and the way when he smiles, which is rare but you’ve seen it, his whole face softens and lightens up. It’s electric.

You think about him all the time; reading articles you try and remember to bring up at the bar, when you hear a song he’d like. Joel’s found his way into your life and you don’t want to let him go.

He’ll leave though. The bouncers inevitably do, most people in your life do. You just don’t want that with him. You want him to stay.

“Are you okay?” Joel asks.

“Why?”

“You have that serious thought face on.”

“I have a serious thought face?”

Joel scoffs. “So, what’s up?”

“I just - I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here.”

Joel frowns then. “Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, c’mon I said I’d get you a drink, right?” Joel indicates the sturdy wooden table and you sit obligingly. “So I’ve got a choice of tea, well It says it’s tea anyway. Uh, some whiskey, beer, water …. I’m out of coffee.”

“That should be illegal.”

“Shouldn’t it?”

“I might just leave now.”

“Wouldn’t blame ya.”

He’s close to you now and you feel emboldened by the fact you’re here, you’re with him and he’s not pushing you away or looking like he wants to leave. Maybe, just maybe this is a great idea.

“Now I think about it though, I’m not sure that I’m thirsty after all,” you say boldly.

“Oh no?” He leans in closer, hands hovering just over your waist. “Look, you don’t want -”

“I do. I do want.”

Joel swallows. “Really?” He’s looking at you as though you’re something mythical, something intangible he could lose at any second. There’s reverence in his eyes and it’s overwhelming and beautiful at once.

You nod. “I’m not the only one here who - I’m not though, right?” There’s a hint of nervousness in your voice now, a sense that perhaps this isn’t the great idea you thought it was just seconds ago. It’s like whiplash. This is why you should just focus on music instead.

“No,” Joel says softly, “you’re not.”

His hands, hands you’ve seen both acts of violence and hold your injured face so gently, skim your body. Joel’s hands, like him, are contradictions. He steps minutely closer, a little more into your space and oh so welcome.

He smells like soap and coffee, with the faint hints of autumn you noticed around the cabin and there’s something magic in this Joel Miller. Something in every sense of him, the way he touches you, the sound of his voice, the feel of his skin and sound of his voice that instantly draws you closer, that makes heat pool in your stomach.

He kisses you and you reach for his hands, entwines them together. He stops, concern mounting over his face. “You’re injured, I should have -”

“Doesn’t hurt,” you say softly, drawing him close again.

You’re a mess of hands and lips, a clash of sensations and finally, finally this is happening you think as h guides you further into the cabin. Towards his bedroom.

He guides you past the kitchenette, down the narrow corridor to his room.

You want to drink him in, absorb every detail of his body and commit it to memory.

There’s a ragged scar on his abdomen, a light scattering of stories across his body from other bars, other jobs, other Joels.

There are other details you want to remember though, especially the look in his eyes right now, heavy with desire.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says. You’ve heard the words before in similar settings but it’s been clear to you it’s the lust, it’s the ‘right’ thing to say. You know when isn’t meant, the lack sincerity signalling a paint by the numbers dalliance at best.

Joel’s voice is fervent though. Honest. He means this.

The majority of your clothes are soon discarded, both yours and his in a combined mess on the floor.

Your hands are running through his hair as he guides you onto the bed, as his fingers hover over the edge of your underwear.

He pauses, just for a moment. You wonder if it’s recognition of the line you’re both about to cross, if it’s to give you the space to confirm that yes, you still want him, to offer an out just in case.

You reach for his face, run your hand down his stubbly cheek. You’re trying to sum up your thoughts, to bring everything you want to say together into a neat sentence.

You smile and gently say, “I want you, want this. I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t, I didn’t think you’d want me. Been driving myself crazy thinkin’ about you lately.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you show me what you thought about?” you ask.

He smiles as his fingers finally reach beneath your underwear, carefully pulling them down and then gently gliding his finger.

You’re wet, almost embarrassingly so, you think, for just making out.

“This all for me?” He asks with a devilishly teasing tone.

You don’t immediately answer, just smirk as he teases up to your clit and traces circles around it, smiling as you finally make a groan of contentment.

He slides a finger inside you, lazily moving it within you, finding that spot that makes you moan, adding another finger.

You feel close already, but he withdraws his fingers and then, looking at you, brings them to his mouth one at a time in a move that makes your cheeks heat up.

He moves to his bedside drawer, fumbling for a box of condoms you suppose. You’re still lost in catching your breath, in replaying the last few moments, in anticipating what’s about to happen.

He kisses you before positioning himself and you ready yourself for him.

You’re entwined, adjusting yourself for the feel of him, the weight of him. Hands interlocked with his as he finally moves, as he meets your kiss once again.

He adapts quickly, noticing micro=movements or sounds and changing his rhythm to draw every one of them out, to bring you to the edge once more.

You’re both a mess of rushed breaths, a chorus of names and gasps, ebbing and flowing to tease each other apart.

He’s everything and nothing like you expected. Hoped for even.

The feeling builds in your stomach, the rush of pleasure building almost unbearably.

Finally, finally you get your release. The ripples of pleasure ride through your body as the two of you lie together, boneless, catching your breath.

You usually feel a need to say something, to fill a silence, but it’s comfortable. You roll over, daringly placing an arm over Joel’s chest and leaning close. He pulls you towards you, kissing your brow lazily

You can feel his heartbeat, the warmth of his skin.

You feel like you could stay here forever.

Instead though, you’re practical. You excuse yourself to his bathroom to clean up.

You take in your reflection; the telltale signs of your exploits feel so visible to you as you freshen up.

He’s not in bed when you return. You pull your clothes on and head back into the main room of the cabin.

Joel’s wearing his jeans and not much else, humming as he concentrates on something by the stove.

“I promised tea, didn’t I?”

“We did get sidetracked.”

“Well, that was welcome,” Joel says. His voice is so much softer than you’ve heard it in the bar. There’s a vulnerability leaking through with each moment you stay here. It’s two sided, you can feel your own edges softening, a desire to open yourself even more to the man in front of you.

“I agree.”

The kettle boils and you watch Joel making the tea, try and not lose yourself in the broadness of his shoulders.

“So …” you break off, swinging your arms nervously and then wrapping them around yourself.

Joel hands you a steaming mug. “So,” he says. His voice is calm though, relaxed and somehow that helps.

“That wasn’t exactly ”

“Would you have been wearing a trench coat?”

“That a fantasy or something, Joel?”

He laughs. “Maybe, maybe it is.”

“Okay then. Logging that for another day.”

“Oh really?” Joel’s smile warms his entire face, it softens each feature and it’s something you never want to stop seeing.

It feels like you’ve known him so much longer. You feel comfortable in his house, you feel comfortable around him.

“So we’re opening back up at the weekend,” you say, “Got any plans for this time off?”

“Nope. You?”

You shake your head. “How about that?”

“Hmm, that’s not right. We should do something about that. Let me take you to dinner?”

“Dinner?“

“People still do that, right?”

“Yes, but - I’d love to.”

“Great. I’ll uh, defer to your recommendation, seeing as you know this area more.” It hits you then. Joel doesn’t have roots here and the bar, except for the Rattlers, has improved. What does this town, what do you have to offer?

“Are you going to leave?” you ask suddenly, the anxious thought you’ve tried to suppress bubbling to the surface.

“Leave?”

“When the bar’s open, when there’s no trouble.”

“There’s always some trouble.”

“Don’t. You know what I mean.”

Joel sighs and takes a sip of his drink. “Usually, I would.”

“But this isn’t usual?”

He points his hand at you and adds, “I don’t make a habit of this. I don’t …. Usually, yes I go in and out of places and I don’t stay long.”

Your heart sinks. “I understand,” you lie.

“I think, I think maybe there are some reasons to stick around here though?” It’s a question, not a confirmation. It strikes you then that maybe Joel feels just as exposed as you do.

“I think there could be,” you say.

“Good. I’m glad.“

The bar looks like the Rattlers never came through here. Everything is neat, clean and in its place. There are no broken chairs or tables. It seems almost impossible for how short a time ago it was.

Joel helped, you realise, he helped your cousin bring this place back.

“Are you okay?” she asks, “I can cover the bar if you need -”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re sure.”

You pause and run your hand over the smooth, clean bar surface. You think of Joel, of the conversations over so many nights about music, about what makes you happy. “Can you still cover the bar for a bit?”

“Sure.” Your cousin pauses and hesitantly puts down the crate of soda bottles. “Is everything -”

“I want to play tonight.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, I’ve got to stop waiting right for the right moment, right? Just do it,” you say.

“And this has nothing to do with a certain bouncer?”

“No,” you say, thinking of the scar on your face, the battles you’ve won and will win in the future. “It’s for me.”

You can feel his eyes on you. It doesn’t make you feel nervous or under a spotlight though as you carefully sit on the stool.

It’s almost as though it’s just the two of you. Another night after work under the stars and messing around with a guitar. Or outside his cabin, thick flannel wrapped around you as you both play.

The bar feels safer somehow. It’s funny considering the recent Rattlers attack. Maybe that’s why - they came in and they tried to wreck the place, you were caught in that crossfire, but you survived. The bar survived. And the locals are back, the locals you wanted back. If you shut your eyes, it almost feels like before when your family ran the place.

It’s different though, because it’s your cousins. Because even though it might not be on paper, it’s yours too. Your legacy. You don’t want to fight it anymore. You don’t want to feel cynical about this town.

You look at Joel and smile and then you start playing.

Everything Pedro tag-list: @harriedandharassed@pedrostories@hiroikegawa @pedrosaidsheispunk @pastelnap

[jjkamochoso]

so like yesterday I went to a strawberry farm were you like pick strawberries and I was thinking how would the jjk men act or like what would they do. sorry if it's a dumb question😭

There is absolutely nothing dumb about this, it’s freaking adorable😭😭 thank you for entrusting me with this!! I hope you had lots of fun picking strawberries 🍓 and I hope you enjoy reading about picking strawberries with these silly lil men☺️🫶

Picking Strawberries with the JJK Men

Fluff

JJK men x gn!reader

Warnings: small mentions of bugs/insects

Yuji:

You and Yuji walked along the path, admiring the glow of the red berries surrounding you.

“This one looks really good,” Yuji said, bending over to pick a particularly plump strawberry. He grasped the stem and held it to your lips.

“Try it!” he encouraged, and you happily obliged, taking a big bite.

“That’s seriously delicious,” you complimented after eating the fruit. "Now let me find one for you."

You walked hand in hand with Yuji, scouring the ground until the perfect berry caught your attention. You held the stem while offering the rest to him, just like he had done for you. Yuji, being the menace he is, ate the whole thing in one swift bite.

“Is it yummy?" you asked, anxiously awaiting his reaction.

"It's delicious!" Yuji exclaimed, mouth full of half chewed strawberry. You wanted to be grossed out but the delight in his eyes was too adorable for you to think about how nasty it was that he was talking with his mouth full. He swallowed the fruit with a gulp, then wrapped you in a big bear hug.

"The strawberry was sweet, but you're sweeter."

Megumi:

“I really should’ve thought this through.”

You realized you ran out of hands when you went to pick a strawberry but couldn’t due to your grasp being occupied by both a basket and an umbrella to keep the sun from burning you. You switched gears, putting the basket on the ground and pulling strawberries from your now free hand, but the umbrella kept falling every which way. Megumi, meanwhile, was watching all of this unfold and trying his hardest not to laugh at your predicament.

“Here, let me help you,” he eventually said after watching you struggle for a bit. He was waiting to see if you were going to come up with a solution yourself but it certainly wasn’t happening any time soon and he didn’t want you to get too frustrated (no matter how cute he thinks you look when you’re grumpy). Megumi took the umbrella from your flailing hands and immediately you no longer felt like throwing it in a fit of rage.

“You’re a real lifesaver,” you said, getting an eye roll as a reply.

“That was too painful to keep watching without doing something.”

You narrowed your eyes and stuck your tongue out at him, going back to your berry picking. It was much easier now that Megumi strolled alongside you, one hand in his pocket and the other tightly wrapped around your umbrella, basking you in cool shade. He wouldn’t say it out loud but he was beyond relieved he could assist you, no matter how insignificant of a task.

Yuta:

You and Yuta happily strode along the strawberry bushes, hand in hand, and picking the ripest fruit to bring back home. Being ever the gentleman, Yuta held the heavy basket in his free hand while you were in charge of selecting the berries.

“This is, by far, the cutest date I’ve ever been on,” you confessed, a strawberry dangling by its stem in your grasp.

“O-oh, really? I’m really glad you’re having fun,” Yuta replied, a blush blooming on his face.

“Whats wrong, Yuta? You’re almost as red as this berry,” you teased with a giggle, taking a big bite of the fruit you picked a few seconds ago. That made the poor boy blush even more as he imagined what those plump lips of yours would feel like on his own rather than the strawberry.

“Yuta? Are you in there?” you asked. You had been waving your hand in front of his face but he was too busy staring at you to respond until now as he stuttered out an apology.

“It’s all good,” you told him, “you’re cute when you’re spaced out. My offer still stands if you want a bite of this strawberry though since you were practically gawking at it.”

“Yes! Right. The strawberry,” he stammered, “that’s exactly what I was looking at. You’re so right, it looks really good. Thank you.”

You held out the strawberry in question to feed it to him and Yuta felt his heart leap out of his chest—how did he get so lucky to date someone as sweet as you?

Inumaki:

“Strawberry.”

Your jaw dropped at the surprise introduction of a new word into your boyfriend’s vocabulary. You two decided to go on a date at a strawberry farm but the last thing you expected from today was to see Toge enthusiastically pointing his finger back and forth from you to the berries while repeating the word like some sort of incantation.

“I have a feeling you’re making a really good connection between these things but I don’t understand it,” you said tentatively, taking note of the giddiness that shone in Toge’s purple eyes. He quickly pulled out his phone, furiously typing out something in his notes app. When he showed you his screen, you felt like drowning the earth beneath your feet in tears:

Strawberry!! I can say it without hurting you!! That’s gonna be reserved for you only :)

“Toge,” you half whispered, your voice failing you from the love that was overwhelming you, “that means the world to me. Thank you.”

“Salmon,” he said, meaning “you’re welcome.” He then pulled you into a tight hug to show you how much he cared when words failed him. When you pulled apart, he showed you his phone screen one more time:

Also you’re both very sweet <3

Noritoshi:

It was nice to get away from all the hustle and bustle of your daily duties with your boyfriend Noritoshi. You knew he put a lot of pressure on himself 24/7 to be perfect in all facets of his life so you figured getting away to somewhere quiet and calm would do wonders for his mental health. Thankfully, you were correct. You’d never seen Noritoshi as relaxed as he was amongst the strawberries, softly smiling as he watched a bug climb along a vine. He leaned in closer to get a better view of nature at its core, deeply appreciating the simplicity of the outdoors.

“Y/n, look. It’s a ladybug,” he whispered, not wanting to disturb it. You scooted in closer as well to catch a glimpse but were quickly taken aback when the insect flew off the vine and landed on Noritoshi’s nose. He was extremely calm about the whole ordeal and you were delighted to see such an adorable scene unfold in front of you. His gray eyes were slightly crossed as he watched the ladybug in amusement, its speckled body tickling his smooth skin. As it started heading up his nose and toward his eyes, he put his finger out to block it, guiding the plump bug onto his outstretched digit.

“You know that means you’re going to be blessed with an abundance of luck, right?” you asked, heart instantly melting at the gentle gaze he held you under.

“With you in my life, I already knew I was the luckiest man alive.”

Todo:

You never knew what to expect from your boyfriend on a day to day basis so when he started spouting strawberry facts at you while you explored the grounds of the farm, you couldn’t say you were surprised.

“…strawberries today are a result of the cross between F. chiloensis and F. virginiana. Did you know strawberries are a type of rose? And they have more vitamin C than oranges.”

You listened intently to Aoi’s rambling, his arm slung easily over your shoulder in a display of his affection toward you. You were looking at him like he was speaking about the most important topic in the world and you were so proud of the fact that he was subverting expectations, being extremely strong and smart.

“Wow, Aoi, you’re so knowledgeable!” you exclaimed, “how did you learn all this?”

He just shrugged, shooting you a wink. “I’ll tell you if you let me walk you back home after this.”

You playfully nudged him on the shoulder. “We’re going back to the same place, dummy.”

A look of realization dawned on his face, replacing a concerning amount of shock. “You’re right, we are! I forgot!”

You grimaced, trying not to outwardly groan for the sake of being a patient partner.

“Don’t worry about it, handsome. Let’s just enjoy some strawberries, yeah?”

Aoi let out a triumphant laugh after kissing your cheek. “Sounds good to me!”

Ino:

Going to the strawberry farm with Ino was nothing short of a good time. You spent hours collecting only the finest berries, carting around heavy baskets and dreaming up all types of desserts you’d be making with your haul. You also spent a good chunk of that time eating the berries right off the vine and making each other share in the disgust of any surprisingly unripe berries you pulled.

“Babe! Here, this one’s straight up disgusting,” Ino said, thrusting a strawberry with a big bite chunk out of it your way. You took a bite and immediately made a face.

“Ew! That one was nasty! And to think it looked so good, too,” you whined, glaring at the rest of the deceptive glowing red skin.

“You wanna wash it down with a milkshake? They’re selling them at the front.”

“Please,” you said, nodding eagerly. Ino lazily threw his arm over your shoulder and you scooted in closer to your boyfriend as he guided you to a much needed sweet drink.

Gojo:

Satoru was watching you sit next to a strawberry plant with inquisitive eyes, his signature blindfold gone and in its place were sunglasses that reminded you of his yesteryears.

“I still don’t get why we have to pick the strawberries ourselves when we could’ve just gone to the store,” he questioned, bottom lip jutted in a pout.

“Because Satoru,” you said, giving him a kind smile, “it’s good to support local farms. And don’t you feel a sense of accomplishment picking them yourself rather than grabbing the first plastic container you see at a store?”

“I guess,” he said, reaching down to pick a strawberry off its plant before quickly retracting his hand. “The farmers should’ve cleaned up a bit before I came, though. The bugs and dirt are seriously grossing me out.”

The urge to roll your eyes was strong, but the love you had for Satoru was stronger so you refrained.

“Come over here and try this one. I made sure there weren’t any creepy crawlies on it that were out to get you.”

The white haired man didn’t pick up on your teasing, instead sending a solemn “thanks” your way. His long fingers hesitantly plucked a big, red strawberry from the vine.

“Go ahead, taste it,” you encouraged.

He did so, a look of pride overtaking his features.

“This is literally the best strawberry ever.”

“Wait, don’t eat the whole thing! I wanna try some,” you said. Your boyfriend extended a hand, helping you up from your place in the plants.

“I feel like a strawberry being pulled off the vine,” you joked, wiping the dirt off your pants.

“I really do know how to pick ‘em,” Satoru said, smirking.

Geto:

Suguru was the perfect man to take strawberry picking. He was in awe of the tranquility he felt somewhere like that, the peaceful atmosphere doing more to ground him than most anything he’d tried before. He eagerly picked two strawberries, feeding you one then taking a bite from the other for himself.

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” he said, brown eyes gazing lovingly into your own as the sun shone brightly over the two of you.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, my love,” you replied, your hand gently placed on his cheek. He nuzzled into your touch the slightest bit, not caring if any passerbys took notice of you. He could smell the sweet scent of strawberry on your breath as you closed in toward him, placing a delicate kiss upon his lips. You didn’t want to be indecent in public so you kept it chaste and though Suguru desperately wanted to kiss you passionately enough to make parents cover their children’s eyes (and maybe even their own), he showed restraint. When he eventually pulled away from your kiss, he took hold of your hand that laid on his cheek and placed little kisses on the pads of each finger—also smelling of the red berries you had spent hours hanging around.

Nanami:

When you told Kento you were in the mood to make a strawberry pie, but had no berries, he was quick to come up with the idea to pick fresh ones from the local farm. Now, here you were, baskets in hand, weaving through patches of ripe fruit.

"How's it going, Kento?"

"Well. I have about half a basket full. How about you, my love?"

He never failed to make your heart flutter with his sweet pet names and the syrupy way they fall off his tongue.

"About the same. I'm going to get a few more and then we should be done."

You bent down to gather more strawberries when a gust of wind suddenly picked up, taking your sunhat right from your head. You barely had time to react before it was placed gently back in its rightful place by none other than your boyfriend.

"Oh, Kento, thank you! That's my favorite hat, I would've been so sad if I lost it."

"Then it's a good thing I'd do anything to keep you happy, darling," Kento replied, a soft smile on his lips as he gazed at you like you were the sun and he was a berry plant, relishing in your warmth.

Choso:

Choso couldn’t contain the huge smile that appeared on his face when he saw the strawberry fields for the first time. It reminded him of the bygone era where many were farmers, a time that he and his brothers were born in but never got to experience outside of their glass cases.

“People still farm?” he asked, his voice laced with amazement and his brown eyes glossing over the never ending rows of ripe fruit in front of you.

“Yep! Isn’t so neat how much society has changed over a hundred and fifty years, yet stayed the same?” you questioned, Choso nodding in a quiet bout of deep thought. You grabbed a few baskets and began filling them with berries, working diligently in comfortable silence.

“We should grow a garden,” Choso eventually piped up, taking a bite from a strawberry he couldn’t resist the temptation of.

You felt a smile settle on your own face. “Really? You’d want to do that with me?”

“Of course. I’d much rather go out to my yard than a store for fruits,” he replied, taking a break from berry gathering to look you deeply in your eyes, “and there’s symbolism in the whole thing, too. What’s mine is yours, cultivating life together… it’s all strangely…” He faltered.

“Domestic.”

“Domestic. Exactly.” He reached for your hand and you gladly let him take it, fresh strawberry juice from his fingers leaving a bright red stain on your skin.

Toji:

The sun was beating down on you and you were exhausted after a long day of strawberry picking. Taking a seat on the ground, you felt relief flow through your legs as you gave them a rest.

“You’re getting absolutely filthy,” said Toji, scrunching his face as he looked at you with something akin to disgust. “Get up. You’re not a baby.”

“I’m your baby,” you teased, earning an eye roll from your boyfriend. “Besides, I’m tired and it’s a long walk back to the car. It’s either this or you carry me back.”

With one fell swoop, you were off the ground and in the strong arms of the muscled man.

"You're insufferable, you know that?" Toji grumbled, but he wasn't the least bit upset at having you so close to him.

“I do,” you said, cheekily planting a kiss on his exposed bicep.

[inkdrinkerworld]

Hey babes😘 I love your Spencer x sunshine reader fics

Do you think Could you write a one shot of Spencer x sunshine reader where R is out of character annoyed or has an angry out bursts and Spencer trys to calm her down or something like that🩷🫣🪩

The door slams shut behind you, rattling the frame as you throw yourself into your spinning chair. 

You’re in Florida, already not a good thing, but now the local officers can’t seem to stop disregarding what you guys are telling them and it’s causing the Unsub to be even more rash prematurely. 

“Fucking idiots.” 

Spencer looks up from the board he’s staring at, frowning as he watches you snap a couple pencils from your case. 

“Y/n,” smooth and soft as velvet, but today you’re too prickly for it to work and make you smile. 

“I’m fine Spencer,” except getting the words out sounds like you’ve locked your jaw and can’t open it as you speak. Spencer doesn’t hold your attitude against you. 

He puts down the whiteboard marker, shoes clacking as he makes his way over to you. 

“I know you’re stressed, but we’ll get them. We always do, your profile hasn’t been wrong yet.” 

You huff, wishing away your bad mood as Spencer is being so encouraging. But you can’t, the longer you sit by idly the more your skin crawls. 

“Yeah but will we get them before those idiots make it so that their body count reaches twenty before we can get them behind bars? They’re being so fucking incompetent and irrational that it’s costing innocent people.” 

Spencer can see you grinding your teeth and tops your chin up, working his thumb under the hinge of your jaw to get you to unclench your teeth. 

He can’t even be upset with you, sometimes local law enforcement are your worst enemy. 

“I know, but Emily’s solving that issue. They’ll start keeping things to themselves.” 

You sigh, “We should be doing more. I don’t know what, but we have to be faster and smarter. We need to be better.” Your tone is leaning heavily on the side of self-deprecation, rough and self-critical like you’re the Unsub and not a group of women. 

Spencer crouches down, knees brushing yours as he ducks his head to catch your eyes. Melty honey brown eyes stare into yours, his mouth set in a soft line. 

“You need to breathe. I know you’re stressed and you’re worried, but you know what you’re doing. You’re great at profiling. We’re doing as much as we can right now and it has to be enough.” 

It’s hard to disregard Spencer when he speaks the words with all the confidence you’ve been lacking. When you nod a little he smiles, kissing your cheek. 

“Good, now come help me with the geoprofile.” Emily comes rushing into the room as you stand, taking the whiteboard marker into your hands. “Luke and Tara are at the freshest site now, some new evidence that might help with catching them. They’re rushing it to the labs now.” 

The knot in your shoulders ease up a little.

[hiraethwrote]

angel - suguru geto

[ suguru geto - f!reader ]

✧ summary: left heartbroken after your boyfriend leaves his entire life behind, destroying everything in his path, you try to go back to a normal life. until youre silent wishes has come true, and you see him again ✧ cw: canon events from hidden inventory, HEAVY angst, mentions of murder, established relationship, no use of y/n, featuring platonic!satoru ✧ word count: 4.2k

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Slumping down the brick stairs, you kept your gaze on the hunched over figure, sitting on one of the bottom steps, facing the sun setting in front of the two of you.

“Didn’t take you long to find me,” Satoru sighed as he straightened his position. Taking a seat two steps above him, you wrapped your arms around your legs in hopes you’d physically be able to keep yourself from falling apart.

“I’ve been searching for you all day so,” you trailed off.

Both of you stared absentmindedly at the sunset, and you couldn’t remember ever being graced by such a beautiful view. Too bad it felt like such a waste, unable to enjoy the genuine beauty of it because what was the point? Your entire world had been turned upside down, to the point where you didn’t really recognise it.

“I assume you talked to him,” you would be surprised if Satoru even managed to make out what you said, barely audible words slipping past your lips. He didn’t answer you, but the deep sigh that left him gave you confirmation he heard you. “Yaga told me—“ a gut wrenching sob killed the sentence in your throat, the reality finally starting to set in. Pressing the palms of your hands to your eyes, you were hopelessly trying to stop the waterfall of tears that were streaming down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Satoru spoke in an uncharacteristically low voice. Every inch of you wanted to find the strength to stop the violent sobs so you could answer him, desperate to talk to someone who might actually be able to understand how you felt. But there was no fight left in you. For the past weeks, as things had escalated, you’d denied yourself the privilege of crying. You had tried to fool yourself into believing that the longer you held back your sorrow and cries, the longer you could live under the impression that all of this wasn’t real.

Sadly, the time of living in naive hope was over. Even though you so desperately tried to cling onto this delusion, it was slowly but surely slipping away from you. Now you were facing the heartbreaking truth; the love of your life was lost. The unspeakable things he had done causing him to deviate from his life, from his friends, from his future. From you.

To top it all off, what had happened was on the lips of every living person in the Jujutsu world. The promising and strong Suguru Geto had killed one hundred and twenty people.

“He looked so…” Satoru said. “Like himself.” The sadness was written all over him, just like it was with you. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t kill him.”

A few more deep sobs escaped you before you managed to find a rhythm where you could be able to hold a conversation. “I didn’t expect you would.”

Finally he turned to look at you, and you met his glossy stare. He’d been crying, as proven proven by the red and puffy line under his eyes, but now his voice was remained as calm as earlier. “I’m so, so sorry,” he repeated.

“This isn’t your fault, Satoru. How could you have known?” You sniffled. “We tried the best we could.”

“Did we?” You could sense a hint of desperation in his steady voice, evident that he solemnly felt like he was the one to blame. “Didn’t he show us signs?”

Thinking back, there were definitely signs. After everything went down with Riko, Suguru had rapidly been losing weight, the bags under his eyes had gotten more prominent and his hair looked lifeless compared to before. Not to mention his smile. His sweet and precious smile, had disappeared more and more over time.

“He shut us out. You tried to ask him — we both did. He didn’t want our help.” You didn’t even believe your own words, blaming yourself just as much as Satoru did himself. There were so many things you could have done differently, like forcing him to talk to you.

“Guess you’re right,” he answered breathlessly before returning to gaze at the sun again, the golden light illuminating his face. He didn’t believe you either.

“Do you know when I last talked to him? The last time I heard his voice?” Satoru simply shook his head, attention locked in front of him. “Eight days ago. And another nine days before that since I actually saw him.”

Your face scrunched into a grimace thinking of the memory, the tears yet again starting to fall. Instinctively covering your face with both your hands, you pictured his face in your head. You had memorised every single detail of his appearance, forever burned into your mind. And the soothing vibrations of his voice that you missed so dearly.

With a sharp sniffle, you shook your head to regain some stability in yourself before opening your mouth again. “Did he mention me?” You’d dreaded asking the question, but you needed to know. Satoru licked his lips before taking a deep breath to answer you.

“Yeah, he did.” Your eyes widened, not expecting that answer. “He wanted me to tell you-“ Satoru cut himself off, hesitating to finish.

“Satoru,” agony lacing your voice, needing him to complete his sentence.

“He wanted me to tell you he was sorry, and maybe you could find it in your heart to forgive him.”

Silence embraced the two of you as you tried to digest what he’d told you. Time stopped as you had your eyes fixated on your friend, unable to comprehend his words.

“That’s it?” You whispered. His head moved in a careful nod, causing the tears to start falling again, but they’d turned quiet.

“He loved — loves you,” he corrected himself, which earned him an instant scoff from you. One that undoubtedly stemmed from pure hurt.

“Clearly not enough.” Even though you said it mostly to yourself, you felt Satoru’s gaze burn on you, letting you know he heard you. “Both you and Shoko met him and talked to him, while I-“ you had to focus for a second to not let the sobs hinder your words. “Why not me?”

“I think you know,” he sighed as he moved himself to sit on the same same step as you, closing the gab between you as he placed a sympathetic arm around your shoulders to hug you closer.

Satoru was right, you just didn’t admit that to yourself. It was easier to accept a lie that the reasons for avoiding you was because he didn’t love you, and not the other way around.

With another quiet sob, you leaned your head on his shoulder and trying to take some comfort in his hand tenderly stroking up and down your arm. And it worked. For the first time since everything had happened, a tiny feeling of calmness set roots within you. It had been an all too foreign feeling lately, so you were thankful you were able to find it with Satoru.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

You had tried, to the best of your ability, to accustom to a life without Suguru. It had been anything but easy, living in a constant state of ignorance.

Every single person he had cared for, had gotten some sort of closure in a final conversation with him. While you knew absolutely nothing but the rumours that traveled like a plague through the community, and you never knew if anything that was being spread was even true.

While everyone had something to lean on in order to start moving on, you were stuck on the last time you saw him, where he had lied to you.

Yet again, you had asked if he was okay, genuine concern weighing heavy on you. “I promise you, I’m fine.” He’d said it so calmly, so truthfully, while he had held your face in his big hands and placed a loving kiss on your forehead.

How could you do anything but believe him? When the person you loved and trusted the most in the world, was looking you in the eyes and reassuring you that you had nothing to worry about?

After that interaction, it seemed you missed him by just a few minutes every time. Everyone else; Satoru, Shoko, everyone, met him in small flashes in the period before the massacre, which only made things worse. It was hard to accept you were the only one he was shying away from.

And now, three months had passed since that cursed day. Three long months, where just waking up had become a battle. Because it wasn’t like he had just broken up with you. No, he had gone down an unthinkable path and left you standing in the dust without a word. But you tried your best to just go by your everyday life, going to school and missions, trying to hang out with the friends who hadn’t abandoned you.

But even in your best attempts, you were constantly losing the fight against the ever growing loneliness inside you. More often than not, you found yourself alone doing meaningless activities like walking around empty streets of unfamiliar suburban parts of Tokyo, or taking a random train without purpose from one destination to another just to fill the time.

Like right now, where you we’re patiently waiting for the next train to pull up in front of you. Comparable to so many times before, you’d just sit down on the train and look out the window until it reached its end station.

In the later hours of the afternoon, the wind had gotten significantly colder and you deeply regretted not bringing a thicker jacket. You tried, with little success, to block out the chilly wind that blew quietly through the platforms.

However, your habit of just observing your surroundings served as a nice distraction. Letting your attention travel around you, you took in the intricate architecture, the chirping birds resting on the tall railings, observing the few people scattered about when you spotted a face you knew all too well.

It couldn’t be…

Almost certain your heart would stop at the sight, you pinched your sides trying to wake up from what had to be a dream. Ouch. No, not a dream. Then it had to be your mind playing a cruel trick on you, a hallucination formed because you had such a huge desire to see him again.

Was it actually possible that he was staring back at you from the other platform, mere feet from you? Was it real that you could see the slight tug at the corner of his lips? You didn’t have much time to think as the trance was broken when a train came rushing in in front of him.

Without a second to waste, your feet acted on their own and began to carry you as fast as they possibly could to the opposite platform. Storming down the stairs, paving through the scattered crowd underground before sprinting up the stairs, two steps at a time. Heaving to catch your breath, you stood in the exact spot you swore you had seen him but he was nowhere in sight.

“Please,” you whispered to yourself, running your hands through your hair in despair, frantically looking around you.

Suddenly you froze in place when your eyes landed on him, standing just a few steps away from you. It felt as you’d forgotten how to breathe, looking at the person who once used to stand so close to you, and over night had become a stranger.

He had half of his dark hair tied back in a bun, his usual bangs hanging over his forehead, looking healthier than he did the last time you had seen him. His cheeks weren’t as hollow, the dark circles under his eyes had disappeared and his skin had gotten its colour back.

“Good to see you again, angel.” Crash-landing back to reality at the sound of his nickname for you, without thinking, you leapt for him, throwing your arms around his neck in a tight hug, like you’d be able to prevent him from slipping away again. He barely even stumbled at the impact of your attack, feet still planted safely on the ground as his arms immediately wrapped around your waist in response.

“You’re real! You’re here,” you breathed in awe. You could feel his chest take a deep breath before burying his face in the crook of your neck. The fear of letting go was strong, but it didn’t trump the dire need you had to see his face to know he was actually real. Pulling away, he carefully loosened his grip on you before you grabbed his face without hesitation, staring endearingly at him, taking in the fact that he was indeed standing right in front of you.

There was so many things you wanted to say to him, but your mind was running faster than your mouth, strangling all the questions you had, once another one popped into your mind. Opening and closing your mouth over and over, you stayed quiet, eyes flickering between his.

“Never thought I’d see you again,” he spoke softly. This wasn’t how he had sounded the last few weeks before the tragedy — no, this was the voice of your boyfriend. Your Suguru, not som murderous individual on the run.

“Well, neither did I- I mean, you sort of left me,” you stuttered, feeling your shoulders sink as reality started to wash over you.

“I know.”

Slowly, your hands trailed down his face, his neck, before you let them rest on his chest. Even though he appeared to be so calm, you felt his heart beat against his chest with incredible force, like it was running from something.

“Uhm, where,” you cleared your throat. “Where have you been?”

“In hiding, I suppose. Leading them.” You tried to hide the flinch it caused to hear him say it. Even though he didn’t say it explicitly, it felt like a confession to his crimes.

“And you’re okay?” He nodded slowly, like he genuinely believed his own words but knew you needed further convincing. “You look better.”

Suguru mumbled a small thanks, before he was unable to resist the urge of cupping your cheek, letting his thumb travel back and forth on your cheekbone, capturing some of your soft hair between his hand and your face.

Looking at you now, it felt a lot like the first time he’d met you, looking bewitching as always, despite the fact you looked tired. Even though your features had been tainted with weariness, you still had that special something about you that made him speechless.

What pained him, however, was how he could sense the stress his presence caused you. It was clear as day you were trying your best to suppress the uneasiness you were feeling, but you sadly failed to completely hide the fact that he unnerved you. It made his stomach turn, because he’d never wanted to make you feel anything but safe and loved.

“How are you?” He asked. It was a stupid question, but he couldn’t find any better way to start the conversation after all that had gone down. Watching you closely, he saw you began to nod your head, a little too frantically for his liking, as your fingers began to fidget with the fabric of his shirt.

“As well as I can be,” you didn’t necessarily stutter anymore, but you knew there was a quiver in your voice that he picked up on. “It’s been hard, you know.”

Silence overcame you, as neither could find the right thing to say. No words seemed to be able to bring justice to the messages you wanted to tell the other. Fixating your eyes on your own fingers, still picking at his clothes, you searched your mind for a way to phrase your feelings without breaking down and saying the wrong thing.

Suguru beat you to it, “you must have a hundred questions.”

Carefully tilting your head upwards to meet his eyes again, some of your nerves relaxed out of habit. “Yeah, I do.”

“I’ll answer anything you need me to.”

Once you started to figure out what to ask him, you became insanely aware of your body. Any inch of you that was in contact with him had ignited, like your skin was burning. Suddenly it felt wrong to give him the comfort of your touch after everything he had done.

“It’s all true right?” You swallowed the lump in your throat, slowly pulling away from his embrace and wrapping your jacket tighter around yourself. “What you did in that village?”

“Yes,” he answered simply. He straightened his posture, acting like your recent touch hadn’t had an impact and on him. “Does it scare you?”

You thought about it for a second, holding his gaze captive. You knew what your answer should be, but even though you were uncomfortable with the reality, no part of you were scared of him. You just couldn’t be, having him look at you with those eyes that had always been honest with you and let you know how much he loved you.

“No.” He couldn’t hide it — you saw a small relief travel throughout his body. “Why'd you do it?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard the story.” His demeanour had turned colder after you’d taken a step back, which caused you to find it in you to match his behaviour more.

“I want to hear it from you.”

With a clear of his throat, he found a confident stance. “I no longer believe it is right for Jujutsu sorcerers to serve non-sorcerers, clearly inferior to us.”

“Is that right?” You challenged him, crossing your arms over your chest. You still held his gaze, without a word, denying him the privilege of looking away from you as he tried to justify killing all those people.

“How does it make sense that the weak rule over the powerful? And that without the slightest ounce of appreciation?”

“You don’t think we have a responsibility to protect those who can’t protect themselves?” He just slowly shook his head, more in disbelief than an answer.

“But aren’t you tired?” Not entirely sure what he meant, you squinted at him to elaborate his question. “Doing the same thing over and over, exhausting yourself as you risk your life for people who don’t even care if you live or die?”

“Of course I am. We all are,” you spoke softly, not having it in you to raise your voice at him. “But that doesn’t mean we can just kill people.”

“You weren’t there. They had it coming.” You could hear the words coming from his mouth, but it just didn’t seem like Suguru.

“No, I wasn’t there. And that’s because of you.” Finally you managed to draw out a physical reaction from him as he flinched at your words.

Maybe he had been callow to think you had accepted his departure — that you understood. How could you? He had been unreasonable when he’d decided to just leave without a word or explanation. He knew all that, but at the time he hadn't posessed the strength to face you at that time, knowing he’d be destroying you in the process.

“Why, Suguru?” You’d turned impotent to keeping your emotions in check, the quiver in your voice had shifted into sternness, your tone raising ever so slightly. “Didn’t I deserve any explanation? How come you talked to all the others but me? I tried so desperately to get through to you, but did you care so little about me that you found it easier to just leave me stranded?”

“Is that what you really think?” With big, sad eyes, he stared at you. The confident and strong presence that was visible just seconds ago had transformed into one of innocence, reminding you of the boy you loved.

“Can you blame me?”

“Angel,” there it was again, his nickname for you rolling of his tongue as easy as breathing, making you close your eyes to shut out the tears that had started to form.

You didn’t feel worthy of it anymore, when the sole reason he’d given it to you was because, in his words, you’d saved him. You had come into his life, a light and kind presence that genuinely only wanted the best for him. With just being you, you’d given him the support he needed to go about his life. Whenever he’d needed reassurance or support, he hadn’t hesitated to seek it from you. And you had always given it to him without a single hesitation, no matter how silly the situation might have been.

But this time you’d failed him. When he had needed you the most, you hadn’t been able to help him and he’d crash-landed, destroying everything in his vicinity — literally. You should have been more persistent, forced him to let you help him, been the person he expected you to be.

“I would have been the death of you,” he said weakly. Opening your eyes again to meet his gaze, the first silent tear fell from your eye.

“I’d let you.”

“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if that was the case.”

“Suguru, I-“ your voice cracked. “You just left me!”

“I know,” cautiously he stepped closer, waiting to see if you’d stop him, before he gently placed his hands on your biceps. “I couldn’t face you.”

Letting your stare flitter across his face, you debated whether you should dig further to get the answers you were seeking. “Would you have asked me to join you.”

“Yes.”

The word left his mouth almost before you’d been able to finish your question. In the time apart, you’d only tortured yourself with what the reason might have been, and always concluded with ‘he doesn’t really care about you’.

But this seemed to be confirming the opposite, what you had refused to believe.

“So I avoided you, knowing I wouldn’t have been able to hold my tongue.” Taking a deep breath before continuing. “It would have been nothing but selfish of me to ask you to come along.”

“But-“

“Would you have said yes?”

Opening your mouth to answer, the words instantly died in your throat, just a hoarse, low squeal escaped you. His intense gaze staring holes into you, seeing right through you. What did you expect? No one knew you better than he did.

You did not want to admit it, but you knew the answer would have been yes, without a shadow of a doubt. Imagining the scene, him capturing your hands in his, begging you with his eyes and you’d say yes. Based on the slightest off chance that it could help him one way or another, you wouldn’t even have hesitated.

“That’s what I thought,” he sighed and stroked your hair. “As much as I believe in this cause, I couldn’t let you go down this path, weighing down on your conscience. You’re too good for this life.”

“So are you!” You uttered in desperation, hot tears falling from your eyes. “You’re good, Suguru. You’re kind, and strong, and brave. This isn’t the life for you.” Scrunching his shirt up in your fists, tugging at him in hopes he would surrender to your plea.

A weak smile painted his features, appearing so innocent. “It is. This is what I believe is right.”

“No, no, that’s not true! You don’t want this, you’re just tired of the same thing every day!” A low sob escaped in between your grovelling. “Just come back with me and we can fix this.”

“Oh, you’re too good for me,” he sighed and leaned forward to rest his forehead against yours, soothing the bouncing of your shoulders. “You know that’s impossible.”

You didn’t let him lean on you for very long, feeling like you had a better chance to convince him if you looked him directly in the eyes. “We’ll convince them! Satoru’s the strongest now, they’ll do as he-“

“Hey,” he sushed you in a respectful manner. “You know they’ll execute me if I am to return.”

“Then why did you come here?!” You snapped at him, as the tears continued to fall. Letting go of his shirt, you pushed him away from you. “If you’re so dead set on this god awful mission, why did you come to see me?”

“Because even when I try not to be selfish, I fail.” Stifling your sobs, your focus was fully dedicated to his explanation. “It would be unfair to you to let that be the last time we spoke.” A silent scoff slipped out, followed by continuous sniffling. “And I miss you,” he trailed off before once again approaching you, sliding his hands up your face, ignoring the tension in you.

“Please come home,” you whispered, even though you knew it was a lost cause.

“You know, you’ve always been the best part of me.”

Letting the tension slip away, you knew you’d regret it if you let this moment be a hostile one. Somewhere inside, you knew this would be the last time you met him on terms like these. If you ever were to cross paths again, you were sure it would end a lot bloodier.

“Continue to be the best part of me, okay angel?” With a reluctant nod, you dried your nose with the back of your hand and rapidly blinking away the tears.

Suguru didn’t say another word, he only leaned forward. You instinctively closed your eyes when you felt his lips place a loving kiss on your forehead.

Then his hands slipped away from your face. You kept your eyes shut for another ten seconds, and when you finally dared to open them, he was gone.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

tags: @alisstaa (you requested to be tagged in jjk angst, so i just thought, hope thats okay <3)

a/n now i dont like this as much as i wish i did, but ive been heavy in the angsty corner. i started this before the chapter leaks, so i wanted to finish this first. but my poor gojo heart needs something to hold onto after 261 :,) so im already in the process of writing a hefty one i think thankful now that im a maurauders fan so im used to not give a shit about canon. the crazy gojo stan in me needs that rn

reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated

plagiarism not authorized

[makuzume]

The Last Time You Talked to Him

🔅Yuta Okkotsu

🔅Content: Based on the recent spread on the events happening in JJK 261; MEGA spoilers; gn! reader; Yuta is fine then talks to reader about the plan first let's say🥲; Word Count: 1k

🔅a/n: I was genuinely sobbing with hot streams of tears falling down my eyes while writing this at 4 AM I am DEVASTATED I had to express it somehow,, Didn't expect to have such attachment to this boy.

[JJK Masterlist]

"...Yu...?"

The silence was loud, deafening even.

The weather tonight was pleasant and had a clear sky: the moon was high, the stars were out, the breeze was calm...

You could say it would've been a perfect evening to have another lovely date by the usual spot: under the big tree, behind the school, sitting on the soft grass...

However, despite the scenic atmosphere that surrounded you, the look on both of your faces were low-spirited, displaying a sorrowful expression.

"...Yuta..." Slowly, you lowered your head, staring at the ground in front of you as you hugged your knees closer to your chest.

"...Please...." You whisper, almost pleaded as a few droplets began to form at the corners of your glistening eyes.

As you did your best to remain composed, you couldn't help but feel your facade begin to slowly break, like a dam of overwhelming emotion threathening to burst at any moment, bit by bit-

A dam that's ready to release all sorts of feelings: pain, sadness, fear, worry, hatred, and love.

Your breathing slowly began to turn uneven, your quiet voice shaking slightly.

"....Don't go... please..."

That was it for you.

Those words were enough to completely break your self-control, cracking the dam open.

Your face immediately hid in between your arms as you tightly gripped on your knees, releasing all of the emotions that had built up inside of you, unable to contain them any longer.

It hurt, it really hurt, knowing what will happen to him after tonight.

"....." Yuta was silent, dead slient, unable to think of any proper response to say to you.

I mean, what was he supposed to do in this situation? Should he hug you? Hold your hand? Lie Reassure you and say he'll come back safely??

If the one you loved comes to you and suddenly announces that he'll be stitched into another person's dead body to battle against the most notorious curse in history within in the next hour, what else are you left to follow up with??

The person you loved the most... now using your dead teacher's body, whom you both respected so much, as a vessle, a puppet, nothing more than a weapon... isn't that a little too messed up?

Why him?

As sickening it is to use Gojo's body to the very end, you're just as disgusted at the situation where it came to a point that a young man, such as Yuta, needed to be the one to step up and tackle the situation.

For his friends, for Gojo, for all sorcerers, all civilians, and even for you. Your peace.

And everyone agreed to this, even Gojo, which made you sick to the stomach. Seeing how even your late teacher accepted the dehumanization of his own being for the sake of becoming a mere shell of a weapon, further being pushed even agter his death; turning himself into the monster everybody needed him to be.

'I will be the monster.' He just had to say it.

Your growing disappointment in the reality of the sorcerer world only continued to grow more.

But you knew it was something he has to do... he wants to do... for everyone. It would be selfish- incredibly selfish for you to beg him to stay with you, endangering the world because of it.

But you couldnt help it. Every fiber in your being was screaming for him to not do it, it's gone too far, all of it, even though that the plan was already set in motion when you found out.

It was hard to hate him for doing that, but at the same time, you hated the fact for still loving that strong sense of morals he clings onto so much.

With your head still hidden deep within your knees, you sob "...Please.... please don't go... pleas, Yu...." You tried your best to speak in between your desperate cries, your words getting more and more inaudible as you weakly shaking your head in denial.

You couldnt help but still try to plea desperately, as void as your attempts would be.

You knew your words were uselses, you knew he would push through anyway, you knew he was the one who wanted to do this, for the sake of humanity- but still.

All you could do was plea, as if asking the Gods for a miracle. A miracle that somehow all of this this: the deaths, the curses, Shibuya, Sukuna, sorcery as a whole... was just some big screwed up dream.

Yuta slowly scoots closer to you, his hand ever so gently resting on the top of your trembling body. His hand gently caresses your back, comforting your shaking figure that hitched out quiet, miserable cries.

"My angel...." he spoke, calling out to you gently as you let yourself cry for a little more before trying to calm down.

Your heart ached for a moment upon hearing his affectionate and caring tone once more, and perhaps for the final time. It was already impossible for you to cry any more intensely. It hurts you like hell and you were already crying as if you had already lost him.

He knew nothing could ease the situation and trying to lighten it would only do nothing. All the both of you, and everyone else, could do is just accept the fate this world has to offer him; Accept the gamble of a lifetime Yuta will be risking.

Risk if never coming back as himself, risk of death, risk of defeat and the triumph of curses...

He wanted to say so many things he could never say in an hours worth of time. Yuta still wanted to tell you how much he loved spending time with you, how much he admried you, how happy he is everytime he made you smile; how happy he is just even thinking about you...

He ended up saying none of it, hoping you would have already known all the things he wouldve wanted to tell you.

The sad part is: you would know. You understand him better than anyone else- and you knew every single word of affection, fear, regret, guilt, and love he wanted to tell you. And imagining hearing him say those things would only end up hurting you even more.

...

Will it be the same? Will he come back? Will he survive.

No one's certain, yet, you remain clinging on to hope.

But fate is cruel, in reality. Fate is painful. Fate is uncertain. No one knows what will make of him after this

After taking a while to collect yourself, finally, you look up at him, your hand clenching so hard to your chest, your lungs so empty of air, and your cheeks stained with the warm stream of tears falling from your eyes.

"...I love you most....don't ever forget."

Yuta said, almost like a promise, like a goodbye.

He loves you, more than anything, even his own life itself- he loved you more.

Which is why he is willing to risk it in order to create a peaceful world for you to live in, and only he was ready.

As difficult as it may be, you knew it was a hard slap to the face by reality for you to accept fate. It was imposisble, but inevitable.

The world of sorcerers was never a place of clear blue skies and joyful songs. Its a dark place.

It's hard to blame anyone, because this is where fate had let you afterall, a tragic end to a supposed-to-be love story that could've ended with a better ending.

"....Let's meet here again... once everything is over." In the most gentle tone, he spoke. His eyes looking at you filled with so much love as if you were the only thing that mattered that moment.

Against all opposing forces, you somehow convinced yourself to force a smile: it was weak... filled with sorrow and affection mixed together, and you did your best to show your pretty little smile he loved so much, knowing it might have been something he needed the most right now.

He only regrets he may not be with you after everything has finished; not be able to train with you and get stronger together- not be able to spend the rest of his days with you anymore, like he promised, like he hoped.

....That, and the fact that this would perhaps the last time he would be able to see your smile ever again.

I'll see you again soon...

...Yuta.

---///-----///-----///-----///-----///-----///-----///---

a/n: It took me a while to edit this before posting cause of the amount of typos I had to deal with as I sobbed while making this but at least I captured the heart of my emotions during a vulnerable time lol I guess

YUTA LITERALLY SHOUDERED SUCH A BURDEN BC HE KNOWS IT'S SO MISERABLE AND SAD FOR GOJO TO BE THE ONLY MONSTER AND DEHUMANIZED BUT NO ONE ELSE WAS TRYING TO DO WHAT GOJO DID MY BOYYYY

[Back to JJK Masterlist] [Overall Masterlist]

[rainbowhao]

not like i'm in love with you ♡ beomgyu

genre: fluff ⭒ word count: 0.6k

it didn't help that you were always clingy towards beomgyu. everyone was convinced you were dating and the more-than-friendly actions only made things worse. but you were just a little touchy, that's all. and so what if you stared at each other longer than deemed normal? it's not like you were in love with him or something.

there were his dimples, for example. you were obligated to poke them every time you saw them. how could you not? he'd do this adorable grin (was it weird you liked his teeth?) and suddenly they'd appear. you'd waste no time pressing your finger into his cheek, sometimes even cupping it if you were feeling extra affectionate.

"must you do that every time?" beomgyu would sigh. deep down you knew he enjoyed it.

and hugging from behind. it was easy for him to just slot himself between your arms, to press his chest against your back and allow his chin to rest on top your head. it was comforting—the familiar scent of his cologne, the warmth of his body and gentle heartbeat. sometimes your eyes would flutter closed and you'd just stand there together in silence.

there were also his puppy eyes. trust beomgyu to take advantage of them at all times. one look and you were gone. he could ask for anything and you'd agree because only a fool would say no. and if he was really desperate, he'd throw in a little pout too.

"come on." he groaned. "let me stay the night." his bottom lip stuck out, eyes round. "please?"

you pushed him away playfully. "you're evil."

he just laughed.

plus, the others never failed to tease their fellow member whenever he called you sweetheart. they'd gasp and cover their mouths, making finger hearts or repeating the nickname in an exaggerated voice. he'd only grin sheepishly and take it. maybe to everyone else, it seemed unusual. but to beomgyu, it was the most natural thing in the world.

"may i have this dance?" beomgyu asked before dramatically bowing, hand gracefully extended.

the two of you liked to battle to see who could dance worse. the night would always end with you in his arms as you swayed to the gentle sound of music.

"you need the practice," he'd say as an excuse.

"you're not much better," you'd challenge back.

"sweetheart," beomgyu smirked, as if he knew something you didn't, "i let you win."

and then—the bed situation. you always slept better with someone by your side and beomgyu was more than happy to crawl in next you. he was just so soft and pillowy; there was nothing more to it. at least, that's what you'd tell yourself as you draped across his torso. his hand held your waist, arm wrapped snugly around you.

maybe it was when you woke up that you truly questioned it. his long hair covered his eyes, cheeks puffed and voice groggy as he told you good morning with a dopey smile. your face warmed a little at the sight. suddenly you felt self conscious.

"gyu," you whispered.

he blinked tiredly. "yeah?"

you weren't sure why you said it.

the bottom of his tee had ridden up from sleeping. without thinking, your fingers found his soft skin. you could feel his muscles tighten beneath your touch in surprise. you couldn't even look at him properly. the situation was far more intimate than it should have been and you weren't in your right mind.

"don't stop." he whined when your movements still. his lips were so close to yours that you could feel his warm breath. all it would take is one of you leaning in for your mouths to meet. did you want to kiss your best friend? and why was he looking at you like that?

maybe everyone was onto something.

[brnesblogposts]

Saw that you wanted some requests so how about Bucky seeing the Northern Lights for the first time with the reader?

Can be like a mission abroad to Northern Europe or something and they end up cuddled on the roof of a safe house. Friends to lovers kinda vibe <3

bucky barnes x reader | fluff |

-

You’re stood outside shivering in the chilled night air as you gaze up at the sky to see the plethora of moving colours, you’re so enamoured by them you don’t notice him come up behind you until something is put around your shoulders.

“You’re shaking like a leaf, doll” Bucky says as he wraps you in a blanket he brought from inside the safe house in Poland the both of you are staying at after a successful mission.

“Look Bucky” You you still looking up at the unreal sight before you “They’re beautiful” You say out loud.

“Yeah they are.” Bucky agrees, but he’s not looking at the sky, he’s looking at you.

You turn your head to look at him “You’re not even looking at the Northern lights!” You give him a questioning look.

“Something else caught my eye” He says quietly, his gaze still on you.

“What could be more beautiful than the Northern Lights?” It’s a genuine question, despite the fact he’s gazing at you like you hung the moon and the stars it seems he has to be more clear for you to understand.

“You” He’s got a small smirk plastered on his face as you blink up at him taken aback by his words, he sees the blush creeping up your neck and face though. Words fail you as you just gaze back at him.

“Earth to dollface” He chuckles lightly at your expression and reaches out to stroke your cheek with his flesh hand.

“What- What’s happening right now” You ask nervously which earns another smile from Bucky.

“I’m telling you I like you, i’m telling you I think you’re the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen, and i’m hoping you feel the same because I want to be more than a friend to you” He’s so confident in revealing his feelings, it’s admirable and it encourages you to do the same.

As a deep blush spreads across your cheeks you take a breath “I want to be more than friends too” You admit and this puts a bright smile on his face that you soon copy and before you know what’s happening he’s kissing you, he’s kissing you under the Northern lights and it might just be the most romantic moment of your life.

“Sit and watch with me?” You ask quietly as the both of you break apart.

“‘Course doll” That charming smile is back “Can’t promise i’ll be looking at the lights though.” He finds your shyness so endearing as you briefly break eye contact at his flirting, you take his hand and lead him to the edge of the roof where you sit with your legs hung over the edge and he does the same, you wrap one half of the blanket around him and lay your head on his shoulder and you gaze at the beautiful sight before you as does he, although you’re not staring at the same thing.

-

Sorry this is late! i’m working on two longer fics right now so i decided to do one of my requests since i haven’t put anything out recently but reply if you wanna be added to my bucky taglist!

taglist- @ktgsoul @armystay89 @mostlymarvelgirl

[allguysshouldgrow]

The Scale

hey y'all, this is my first attempt at a piece of somewhat longer fiction. if you like it, please comment/shoot me a message and encourage me to do more! hope you enjoy!

     You get out of your car, slowly, pulling the fabric of your T-shirt down as a matter of habit, just to make sure you aren't giving anyone a peep show of the bottom 2 inches of your abdomen. It's unseasonably warm today - what should be the warmth of May feels more like the heat of July, and honestly, you hate it. You're out yardsaling today - looking for deals on the nerdy shit you collect, and whatever else you might find, and getting out and about fulfills your love for meeting new people.

     "Hey there, how are you?" yells a guy from across the yard as you walk up the driveway. You respond with normal niceties as you begin to browse the wares. Tableclothes, baby clothes, adult clothes, glassware, an old coffee machine, nothing to exciting. You glance over at the guy a few times. He's in his late 30's, decently attractive face, but wearing a sweatshirt 2 sizes too big - you assume he must be hiding some sort of body he's embarrassed of. You both chit chat as you comtinue to browse, about the weather, about some of the stuff he's selling, about the upcoming storms that are supposed to roll in that afternoon.

     As he's telling you about his experience with a lightning strike, you notice something that you don't see very often. A scale, but not a normal one, but one for the big boys, one that goes up to 600 lbs. You pick it up and examine it - it's obviously used and a bit dusty, but in good shape.

     He chimes in, "It works, tested it this morming myself! Just want to move past that time of my life." You give him a look, obviously curious about what he means. "Yeah, I used to weigh 529 at my heaviest - that thing was the only thing that could tell me just how bad my problem had gotten. Lost over 250 poinds since then, and ready to get rid of it."

     Suddenly the baggy sweatshirt makes sense, as does all of the men's clothing for sale. You start to get curious about what he looks like underneath the sweatshirt, but aren't stupid (or brave) enough to ask. For whatever reason, you tell him your honest reason for picking it up.

     "Good for you, that's awesome! I get what you mean about it being hard to find - my bathroom scale has been reading 'ERR' for months, and I can't find an affordable option to replace it." You laugh as you give your gut a small slap, one that sends ripples throughout your body, more than you expected. "I think I maxed it out, one week it read 299.2, the next is was ERR. How much do you want for it?"

     "I'll take 2 bucks man, I just want it gone." You fish out your wallet, and hand him the money. He hesitates for a minute, as if condiering saying something. Finally, he takes the money and opens his mouth to speak.

     "How old are you?" He asks. You laugh semi-nervously, taken aback by the odd question. "25, why?" He hesitates again. "I was about your age when my weight started to get out of control. It felt like one day I was enjoying big meals and a lotta beer without a care in the world, and the next day I was having a hard time getting out of bed. I guess what I'm saying is.... be careful. Coming from a big guy, I know what big looks like, and you look to be a fair ways past 300. I don't want you to have the same struggles I did, being too fat to enjoy your prime years, spending more time eating than socializing. It doesn't feel good to be the guy that needs his in shape buddies to help him get off the couch."

     You stand there a moment, staring at him. Something is stirring inside you, something you don't want to acknowledge. "I appreciate the advice man. Have a good day." You say, all in one breath, trying to leave the interaction as soon as possible. You run-walk back to your car, trying to ignore the jiggles, the sweat beading on your brow, the slight soreness in your legs. You get in the car and are finally forced to confront that feeling that swirled in you as he was speaking.

     You lift up your gut slightly, and see what you were worried about - a small wet spot right over your crotch. The story the man told you, the... warning, had made you so aroused, you pre-came through your pants. You attempt to quickly rub one out to get rid of the thoughts in your head, but find that your underwear is too tight, and your belly too big.

     After speeding home, you run into your apartmemt with the scale, feeling a mix of worry, excitment, fear, and worst of all, horniness. As you set down the scale to weigh yourself, you start jerking off, unable to wait any longer. Suddenly, a number blinks back at you.

343.6.

You cum. Harder than ever before. Longer than ever before. And without you realizing, a switch flips, somehwere deep inside of you. After cleaning up, you pick up your phone, and order McDonald's for delivery, and order twice your normal order. As you sit down, finally thinking clearly for the first time in an hour, one thought sits on the edge of your mind as you try to ignore it.

"What if I max out this scale too?"

[wntrae]

11.32 PM

pairing. sasuke uchiha x reader genres/warnings. slight angst, jealousy, a little suggestive if you squint at the end. notes. dedicated to @par4disee, hope you enjoy it girlie wc. 1k

m.list

you slurped down the last bit of your miso ramen, a content sigh escaping your lips. sasuke sat across from you, uncharacteristically quiet, his chopsticks hovering over his untouched bowl. the usual intensity in his onyx eyes was replaced by a flicker of something you couldn't quite decipher.

"everything alright, sasuke?" you asked, tilting your head. "your ramen's getting cold."

he finally looked up, his expression unreadable. "it's fine," he muttered, pushing the bowl away slightly. you frowned, a sliver of unease settling in your gut. sasuke wasn't one to waste perfectly good ichiraku ramen.

"is something bothering you?" you pressed, concerned about lacing your voice. he remained silent for a moment, then spoke in a clipped tone, "who was that guy you were talking to earlier?"

you blinked, taken aback. "kaito? he's just a friend from the academy."

sasuke's jaw clenched for a brief moment, barely noticeable. "just a friend, huh?" he said, his voice low and dangerous.

the playful banter you were used to with him was absent, replaced by a tense undercurrent that made the air crackle. you furrowed your brow, completely thrown off by his behaviour. sasuke uchiha, jealous? it was a concept so outlandish it almost seemed comical.

"hey, you okay?" you asked cautiously, reaching across the table to place a hand on his arm. his skin was cool beneath your touch. he flinched slightly at your contact, his eyes hardening.

"i'm fine," he snapped, pulling his arm away. you recoiled slightly, stung by his sudden coldness. this wasn't the sasuke you knew. the ramen shop, usually a haven of comfortable silence between you two, felt suffocating.

you finished wiping your hands with a napkin, the silence stretching between you. "i think i'll head home," you announced, your voice barely above a whisper.

sasuke stood up abruptly, his chair scraping harshly against the floor. "i'll walk you," he said, his voice gruff.

the walk back to your apartment was filled with an awkward tension. you stole glances at sasuke, his expression unreadable. he walked a step ahead of you, his usual confident stride replaced by a stiff gait.

just as you reached your building, you stopped, unable to bear the silence any longer. "what's going on, sasuke?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

he finally turned to face you, his eyes stormy. "you and your friend," he said, his voice tight. "you two seemed awfully close."

you scoffed, a spark of anger igniting within you. "close? we were just catching up. since when do you care about who i talk to?"

his jaw clenched again, and for a fleeting moment, you saw a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes before it was masked by his usual stoicism. "just a question," he muttered, his voice laced with something that sounded suspiciously like… insecurity?

you stared at him, bewildered. jealousy, insecurity – these were emotions you never thought you'd associate with sasuke. "sasuke," you said softly, stepping closer to him. "kaito's just a friend. nothing more."

he didn't respond, his gaze fixed on something over your shoulder. you reached out and cupped his face, forcing him to look at you. his eyes darted around, refusing to meet yours.

"hey," you said gently, your thumb tracing a circle on his cheek. "look at me."

he hesitated for a moment, then slowly, his gaze met yours. the storm in his eyes had calmed, replaced by a mixture of confusion and… something else you couldn't quite place.

"you… you two are so close, it's adorable," he finally said, a hint of sarcasm lacing his voice. but it was a poor attempt, the strain evident in his forced nonchalance.

you couldn't help but let out a small laugh, the tension easing from your shoulders. "oh, sasuke," you sighed, amusement dancing in your eyes. "is that what this is all about?"

he looked away, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "no," he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

you leaned in closer, a playful smile on your lips. "then what is it?" you whispered, your breath tickling his ear.

he remained silent for a moment, then mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, "maybe i just don't like the idea of someone else taking up your time."

your heart skipped a beat. sasuke uchiha, admitting he didn't like someone else taking up your time? it was a revelation that sent a wave of warmth through you.

a slow smile spread across your face. "well, sasuke," you said, leaning up to brush your lips against his into a soft kiss. he stiffened for a moment, surprised by the sudden contact, then melted into it, his arms coming up to wrap around you. the kiss was brief, a mere brush of lips, but it held a depth of unspoken emotions that left you both breathless.

when you pulled away, a blush stained his cheeks, a stark contrast to his usual pale complexion. "see," you murmured, a playful glint in your eyes, "you don't need to worry about kaito or anyone else."

he stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable, then a small, genuine smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "just promise you won't ditch me for him next time, alright?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

you chuckled, the sound light and carefree. "there won't be a next time," you promised, looping your arm through his. "besides, who could ever compare to the brooding intensity of uchiha sasuke?"

he snorted, a rare sound that sent a thrill down your spine. "very funny," he muttered, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

the walk back to your apartment was no longer filled with awkward silence. you teased him about his jealousy, earning a playful scowl and a muttered retort. the air crackled with a different kind of tension now, a charged intimacy that made your heart race.

as you reached your apartment door, you stopped, turning to face him. "so," you said, a mischievous glint in your eyes, "care to come in for some tea… uchiha-san?"

he smirked, a genuine one this time. "maybe," he drawled, his eyes glinting with a familiar playfulness. "but only if you promise to make it worth my while."

you leaned in closer, your voice a husky whisper. "don't worry, sasuke," you said, your breath warm against his ear, "i have a feeling you'll be very well rewarded."

he chuckled, a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, "just the way i like it."

you pulled him inside your bedroom while closing the door behind you.

[hwanchaesong]

┗🖋️ A once in a blue moon chance / Sculpts a rose and violet romance / In an ivory and rings trance / Comes a tragic wound by lance 📖

🎧: Taylor Swift - loml

wc: 1.3k

genre & warnings: angst, angst, angst 😭 itty bitty fluff if you use a microscope, character death (due to sickness), ghost!Sunoo, just pure angst for real, read at your own risk 😭

a/n: this is a part of The Tortured Poets Department series. if y'all want, you can read the other album inspired fics of other groups here.

You warm your hands on the freshly brewed cup of coffee that you ordered, lifting it up and taking a sip, not minding the burn on your tongue.

"This is delicious." you say, the man in front of you grinning in return, "We should've come here sooner, Sunoo."

"Right!? I told you this place is a banger." he proudly crosses his arms on his chest, a smirk on his bright face.

You sigh, finishing the drink and standing up from your seat, "Oh crap, it's time to go." you murmur, hastily walking away after cleaning up the table.

"Already?" Sunoo jumped up from his own seat, begrudgingly following you down the pavement.

"Slow down! Gosh, are you doing a marathon or something?" he rolls his eyes, finally catching up to you without breaking a sweat.

Naturally, he has longer legs than you, he was simply caught off guard by your sudden departure from the café.

"I really don't want to be late this time." you peered at your watch, clicking your tongue in dismay.

"You really should manage your time properly." Sunoo comments, looking at your annoyed face.

"Yeah," you muttered, turning around the corner and stopping in front of a flower shop, "I should really manage my time better."

You enter the establishment, greeting the florist and inspecting the fresh cuts of flowers.

"What should I get?" you put a hand under your chin, in a deep thought on what to buy for today's celebration.

Sunoo peeked from behind you, staring at the flowers as well, "Why not get sunflowers? Look! Aren't they especially pretty today?" he excitedly points at them and you nod your head.

"Sunflowers are a great choice." you smile, waving at the florist to tell him your pick.

The dimpled man walks over to you and begins to arrange the flowers into a bouquet, "What's the occasion for today, ma'am?" he asks, and you giggle a bit at his playful tone, making the man beside you pout in discontent.

You're not planning on flirting with that florist within his presence, right?

"A birthday, and these sunflowers are the perfect gift for him."

You smile lovingly at the flowers when the florist hands you the bouquet, and when you're about to pay for it, the male did not accept your money.

"Flowers on me for today, now go." he waves you off and you frown, thinking that if you did not pay, it'll be unfair for the worker.

"But-"

"No buts!" he puts his index finger on his lips, sending you a wink, "Consider that as a gift from me as well."

You beamed at the man, poking his dimples and proceeding to pinch the cheek of the florist that you have grown accustomed to after a few months of meeting him at the shop.

"Thank you so much, Jungwon!"

You bid him goodbye, exiting the store in a haste, missing the giddy and beaming expression of the boy, one that Sunoo noticed.

"Oh my god! He totally likes you!" he whispers aggressively, "Must you flirt with him too?!"

You bite your lower lip, shaking your head lightly, "No, no. Jungwon is a friend. Nothing more, nothing less."

Sunoo squinted his eyes at you, skeptical but he lets it go.. for now.

He continued following you throughout your journey somewhere, basking in the melodious silence and the beautiful weather.

You didn't say a word either, choosing to stay in the comforts of your own thoughts.

Skies so blue it reminded you of the sea. The sun illuminates the earth of its shine, casting a warm sensation to anyone who walks under it. The trees are also swaying with the winds, creating a silhouette of dancing leaves on the pavement while the breeze gently touches your skin.

Then your footsteps came to a halt in front of a rather gloomy place, a complete opposite of the outside world.

You took a deep breath, willing your hands not to shake and figuratively patting yourself on the back, urging yourself that you are a grown woman capable of handling your fears.

Sunoo's worried gaze is now fixated on you, "Y/N?" he calls your name, concern lacing his voice at your sorrowful mien.

"I can do it. Sunoo, watch me do it." you whisper, steels in your orbs and looking straight ahead as you begin trudging the dark road towards your final destination.

Sunoo nods in return, a proud smile on his face, "Go for it, Y/N. I'm rooting for you."

Finally, you have reached the goal.

Crouching on your knees and dropping the bouquet of sunflowers on the neatly trimmed bermuda grass near a sepulcher.

"Hello, Sunoo. I've come to visit you again. I'm sorry if I haven't been able to drop by for a while, college life has been keeping me busy." you laugh albeit without any trace of joy.

You then sit down, not minding if the dirt will stain your pants, hands going over the tomb, fingers tracing the name engraved across the marble.

"Here," you say, pulling out a small container in your bag, "I brought your favorite, mint choco ice cream. Bought it at the coffee shop that you have told me about before." you set it down beside the bouquet, and you couldn't help the small sob that you let out.

Immediately, the man who was beside you the whole time pulled you in a hug, one that your soul felt but physically cannot be perceived.

"Sunghoon said that he'll visit you later, he'll tag Riki along. They said that they will bring some coke and beer." you sniff, your arms wrapping themselves around you.

"They will?" Sunoo mumbles, his own tears forming in the corner of his lids, "What about the others?"

"Hee, Jay, and Jake will follow afterwards, after their finals. You know," you gulped, trying to compose yourself, "It's been another difficult year for us without you."

You can't hold it back anymore, your hands flying to your mouth so that you won't make any embarrassing sounds, continuing to ramble all your sentiments.

"We miss our sunshine, Sunoo. We miss your sassiness, your dolphin squealing, your smile. Sunoo I-I, I miss you so much."

Said man embraced you tighter when your cries got louder, murmuring words of affirmation that you will never ever hear again. Telling you how much he misses you too, but you will never know that.

"I still have these daydreams sometimes. Where you'll k-kiss me when I'm having a hard time. Where you'll give me random gifts because it reminded you of me. Oh gosh-" you wipe away your uncontrollable salty tears that are free falling from your eyes to your cheeks.

If there is one thing that Sunoo regrets the most, it'll be the fact that he wasn't strong enough to continue living. He wasn't brave enough back then to combat the illness that was eating away at his life force.

He succumbed to it when all of you were praying for him to recover.

He let himself sleep even when he promised you a life of eternal love with him.

Maybe that's why he still hasn't left your side, even if his transparent body is slowly disappearing. He has to see you be happy again. He has to watch over you until he knows that someone will be there for you until you're grey and old.

"I'm sorry for being sad Sunoo, god! Y/N, get a hold of yourself!" you snicker, slapping yourself lightly with both hands, plastering a trembling smile on your lips.

"No, Y/N, don't be. It should be me who's apologizing. I'm sorry for causing you so much pain." he says, pulling away from you and putting a hand on your shoulders, but it's no use, because a mere spectre of the past won't be able to send a message to the living, breathing present-day.

"I hope you're resting well there in heaven. Happiest birthday to you, my sunshine."

A longing gaze, yearning for intimacy, embroidered in a ring that was stashed away in his cabinet. One that would not see the day nor would it be placed on your finger.

For the heart is fickle and the brain is a mush of wilted petals, and maybe, in your next life, you will not lose the love of your life.

taglist:

@shakalakaboomboo @ramenoil @slutforjeno

[justauthoring]

The Missing Piece [4]

a series of snapshots of your life with geto and gojo -> this part: you're a little too late.

a/n: enjoy this angst :)

pairing: satosugu x f!reader

read the other parts here; one - two - three - four

His fingers sink in the fat of your skin.

Pads of his fingers pressing tightly into you, his body enveloping your own, and yet, you feel cold. Cold not in a way you feel alone, cold not in just the sense of the word, but cold in the way that there’s a missing presence to your left side. Gojo’s body presses into your right, an arm wrapped around your waist and his face pressed into your neck. You can feel his warm breath on your skin, the soft beat of his heart against your back.

And yet, your head remains turned so that you’re not facing Gojo. Instead, you stare at the empty spot next to you. In odd ways, you feel greedy; for most, one would be enough and it isn’t like Gojo isn’t enough. He’s more than enough and that point remained even before. You’re not greedy because one isn’t enough, but because you knew what it was like to have another and your heart yearns for that other in a way that is so inexplicably painful that it won’t leave your mind.

It’s been months and yet, you still search for him. You still expect to see his warm eyes staring down at you, or feel his touch across your back, drifting down the length of your spine. You still expect to wake up every morning with white on your right and black on your left, coddled and surrounded and blissfully warm and loved in a way that was only ever achievable with them. Every morning you wake up, eyes fluttering, in Gojo’s arms and yet, somehow, your head is always turned to the left, and you’re faced with an empty spot no longer home to him.

You sigh. 

It’s not fair. Not to you and certainly not to Gojo.

“You thinking about him again?”

Gojo’s voice makes you jump; you didn’t know he was awake. And suddenly that guilt floods back and your head slowly shifts, moving to face him, noses touching as you sink back into the pillow and meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. You say it because it feels like the only thing you can say. The only thing that’s right and that won’t cause a flood of tears to overwhelm you. Gojo didn’t deserve that, not after everything. 

“Don’t apologize,” Gojo mumbles, his hand leaving your waist just briefly to brush across his cheek. Then, his palm rests on your cheek and his long fingers are brushing hair away from your face, and he smiles when he can see it better; even if you’re frowning. “You’re allowed to think about him.”

“It’s not fair to you.”

Gojo blinks. “You think I don’t think about him?”

“No,” you rush out, answer quickly and rapidly. You halt yourself after, taking a deep breath before setting your hand over his own, flexing your fingers across the veins in his wrist, feeling his heartbeat because you want to know, selfishly, that he’s still there. That he’s still alive and breathing and safe—with you. “I just… I should’ve been there to help you. I was selfish… it wasn’t fair that you had to—”

Gojo shushes you by pressing his finger against your lips, his head shaking softly with soft shushes leaving his lips. When you’re finally settled, words caught in the back of your throat, staring up at him, Gojo just smiles. “I never would’ve let you be there.”

“But—”

“Never,” he cuts in, meeting your eyes sternly.

And you give up then, body sinking into the soft mattress and sniffling to yourself. You hate the way your eyes well with tears despite how hard you try to hold them back, how they slip past your defences and you squeeze your eyes shut but you can’t even escape your sorrow then because a flash of him appears in your mind and it hurts so much that you’re sobbing before you even realize it.

Gojo’s quiet. Gentle. His hand presses to the back of your head and he pulls you in until you're crying into his chest, his other arm sinking underneath the weight of your body to wrap around your waist and pull you flush against him. He’s shushing you gently, soothingly, fingers running through your hair.

“It’s okay,” he whispers.

All you can think is that it isn’t. And it feels like it never will be.

When Geto had left the first time, it had been painful. Of course it had. But you’d healed with the naive knowledge that at least, even if he wasn’t with you and Gojo, he was alive. Somewhere out in the world he was alive and safe and living his own life and even if it had ached beyond repair to know that he wasn’t living that life with you two, you’d been comforted, somewhat, by the fact that he was alive.

But Geto wasn’t alive anymore. He hasn’t been in months. Not since Gojo had to be the one to end his life. You didn’t blame Gojo and you never would, but the fact remained the same; Geto Suguru was dead and there was no more naive and baseless comfort you could give yourself. He was dead and you’d never see him again.

“I… I miss him so much, Satoru,” you gasp against Gojo’s chest, grasping onto him tightly and painfully. Gojo, as usual, takes it all in stride—this isn’t the first time you’ve broken down on him and he knows it won’t be the last. It’s the least he can do to comfort you in these moments since he’s the reason for your pain. It was him who ended Geto, even if he hadn’t wanted to, so that would forever make him responsible for the cause of your anguish.

He’ll let you dig your nails into his skin and cause welts, and he’ll take the pain all in stride because he deserves it and it helps numb the pain burning deep in his chest too—even if only a little.

“I know,” he whispers against your forehead, pressing a kiss there. “I miss him too.”

–

“If you’re going to do this, then hurry it up.”

The first thing you see when you enter the room is white, just as Gojo finishes speaking. At first, you don’t notice anything around you—you’d been so focused on finding Gojo, that at the sight of him nothing else matters.

You don’t even notice the… things around him.

Just him. You only notice him.

“Satoru!” His name leaves your lips a shrilling, relieved cry and it echoes in the silence of the room; bouncing off the walls and catching the attention of every single person there. You race forward, catching the beautiful blue of his eyes, until you see the panic staring back at you. You finally notice then that he’s on his knees, hands forced behind him, brown lengths of something sticking out from him with boxes with eyes at the end of them.

The realization sinks immediately.

Gojo’s aloofness from before fades and is swiftly replaced with a panic and worry not usually felt by him. He’ll admit he’d fucked up and gotten himself caught, but it was rare Gojo felt any real panic. Even when getting caught, Gojo had put his full faith in his students and had felt comforted by the fact that he knew everything would be okay. And even if he’d known you’d be hurt and distraught and in pain, Gojo knew that eventually he’d get out and he’d see you again and he’d make it okay.

Even if it took time.

But this? This was different. He didn’t want you to see him get sealed, he didn’t want you to have to watch that—and most importantly, he didn’t want you to see the man (no, not a man—a curse using a man’s body) standing in front of him. 

“Y/N! Don’t! Get—”

But you don’t hear the rest. Gojo’s words drown to the back of your mind the second you see him.

It’s… it’s him. It’s Geto. It’s your Suguru. Standing there, right in front of you.

Your mind turns numb with the disbelief of the situation. For a brief moment, the danger of all this fades from your mind and you take a small step forward, hand instinctively reaching out for him.

“Y/N!”

It’s Gojo. He’s screaming for you. His voice is loud and booming and it hurts your ears but you stop all the same, freezing in your step, eyes flickering to him, seeing the panic, seeing the way he’s fighting his restraints to try and get to you, before turning back to Geto. You notice the scar across his forehead then, stitches across the length of his forehead and the smile on his face, it’s…

It’s not Geto’s smile.

Your heart sinks then. This… this isn’t Geto. This is something else entirely.

“Y/N! Get out of here! Go! Now!”

Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t. Your feet aren’t moving beneath you, you feel stuck in place, your heart racing madly against your chest and twisting in pain because there was a curse using the man you love’s body and Gojo is screaming at you to leave and he’s worried for you but you’re not listening. You can’t listen.

You… you can’t.

“Well, this is certainly a surprise isn’t it?”

God… he even sounds like him.

“How… how—”

But you can’t find the words. They’re choked and caught in the back of your throat and you just stand there, stuttering like a fool, unable to leave or move or fuck–help.

“Y/N!”

Gojo’s voice is booming. Your eyes slide to him and he’s restlessly pulling and tugging, desperate to escape. His lips are moving and he’s screaming words at you, but you can’t make any of them out.

“Well. I never thought you’d come willingly like this.”

Geto—or whatever it is using his body—sounds elated but there’s a dark twist in his voice that fills you with dread.

Gojo seems to sense it too.

“Leave her alone,” he growls, voice dark. “She’s got nothing—”

“Gate, closed.”

His words come with a few seconds of chilling silence. It’s like a blink and then your head turns back to Gojo and you see… see him being absorbed into the things holding him. He’s fighting and struggling and clawing but it’s useless and he’s disappearing right from your eyes. And just before he’s completely trapped, you meet his eyes and he looks terrified.

You’ve never seen him look so afraid.

All that remains is a box. 

You know what it is then—the prison realm.

You feel anger. You know you do. That and blinding worry and you want to fight, to get Gojo back, but the second you look at Geto, you lose all fight because you… you can't hurt him. Even if it isn’t him and just his body, your mind tells you otherwise; it betrays you in such a cruel way. Because his smile is different, just slightly, and the way he calls for you in that sweet tone isn’t how Geto had called for you, but the second you meet his eyes, all you see is Geto and you can’t do a damn thing.

“How wonderful it is that you came right to me.”

Your eyes stare at the prison realm in his hands before turning to him. It’s then you notice the curse behind him, and by the description, you figure it’s the one Yuji had told you about.

This… this is not good. 

And he steps towards you, stopping just inches from you, and his body feels cold; no warmth left and it makes you feel sick.

“S-Suguru… please.”

You’re not sure why you say it when you know it’s pointless. Geto is dead and this… thing in him isn’t him, even if you so desperately wish it was.

But then Geto’s right hand twitches. Just faintly, but you catch sight of it. His fingers move, shifting, and with a blink, his left hand goes to grasp it by the wrist, fingers tight and digging into the skin.

Your wide eyes fall on Geto.

“Gojo already tried that,” he laughs. “It’s sweet that this body cares for you so much but it doesn’t matter in the end. I’m in control.”

Swallowing thickly, you finally gain the courage to move—all it is is a tiny, pitiful step backwards. And this time as you meet Geto’s eyes, you find that the crazed, manic and bloodlusting look in his gaze isn’t like your Suguru’s at all. Yet, it doesn’t fill you with any strength to fight and rather, just floods your body with a sinking sense of hurt.

“Let’s have some fun, shall we?”

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Well... at lease we have Wandee & Stand-in?

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

May 2024 Wk 4

Ongoing Series - Thai

Wandee Godday (Sat YT) ep 4 of 12 - The geept is strong with this one AKA Yak CAN flirt. Wandee now knows he isn’t the only one with a crush on someone else. AND YET they are SO DAMN CUTE together. I do wonder sometime if Yak is running a counter con with Dee pretending to have a crush on Taem. Meanwhile, mad props on the HPV vax public service! Good for them!!! Now that's my kind of product placement. I do have a feeling the sad bit with these two is gonna be VERY sad and last longer than we like. 

My Stand-In (Thai Fri iQIYI) ep 5 of 12 eps - It’s a riveting show. Pleasant? No. Riveting? Yes. Tiny crumbs for Ming’s assistant. Joe is best boy. That is all. I LOVE this show.

We Are (Weds iQIYI) ep 8 of 16 - TOO MANY SOUND EFFECTS. Omg get your fingers off those buttons you computer wanking sound dude (you know it’s a dude) what tf do you think this is? Lovely Writer? Also, they left ALL their drinks! Can you not walk and drink at the same time in a BL? Meanwhile not much happened that hadn’t already happened AKA bit of a filler ep. That said, the friendship group stuff is glorious!!! Also this brand of super gentle flirting suits PondPhuwin better than any of their prior rolls. It reminds me of how much I think they suit a historical. There is a gentle dignity to these two. 

Only Boo! (Sun YouTube) ep 7 of 12 - I love how kindly the turn down was. But most of the dancing stuff was dull. I don’t know I just find the actor playing Kang pretty vacant of appeal I guess. 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

At 25:00 in Akasaka AKA 25 Ji Akasaka de (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 6 of 10 - As is not uncommon with JBL I’m being to get frustrated with Yuki the Uke. Sigh. I’m probably gonna stay that way for several episodes given the pacing of this show. 

Living With Him AKA Kare no Iru Seikatsu (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 7 of 10 - Also frustrating. Willful misunderstanding. We got us some running of the gays but boy is this drawn out. 

Blossom Campus (Korea Thurs Gaga & iQIYI) ep 3-4 of 6 - The puppy is a bit too much sunshine innocent for me. And the professor is a bit creepy. I don't know, I'm not loving this one like I want to.

It's airing but...

You Made My Day (Thai YT) ep 1 of 5 - mini series staring the I Will Knock You couple Tar & Bom, started but I couldn't find it. I also didn't try very hard.

The Time of Fever AKA Unintentional Love Story 2 (Korea movie) trailer released to Korean theaters 5/25. HoTae & DongHee, side couple from Unintentional Love Story are back! Same actors, same character names. I love them. I NEED TO SEE THIS. How?

OMG Vampire (Thai Sun ????) ep 2 of 10 - yeah I can't find it.

In case you missed it

Crossing my fandoms moment, major Kpop blog ran the following: OMEGA X Hangyeom Talks Jazz For Two, Brotherhood, And More With KpopStarz

Tis the season of remakes? Both Addicted Heroin (August, my love!) and My Love Mix-Up (G4!) are coming from Thailand. I am very excited to see both. I love a Thai remake, often more than the original.

Next Week Looks Like This:

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

May Releases

VBL (Taiwan) is releasing 4 'Special Episode' epilogues to their 4 2023 shows every Friday this month on Gagaoolala, Viki & Viu. Not sure on search terms or how to find these. (Or, frankly, if we need them.)

5/10 – You Are Mine

5/17 – VIP Only

5/24 – Stay By My Side

5/31 – Anti Reset

5/28 My Biker 2 (Thai movie YT?) - trailer

5/30 Knock Knock Boys (Thai Thurs WeTV & Gaga) - I do love Best and I'm interested in seeing him in a new pairing. That said, I'm not wild about Seng. Still, this looks like a chaotic pulpy mess, I'm looking forward to wallowing in it one way or another.

5/31 The Time of Huannan (Taiwan movie) - May not be BL

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

All Wandee Gooday.

Icky no longer allows screen shots or there would have been a bunch from Stand-in.

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are a pain.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity

@rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

Sigh, Tumblr in it's infinate wisdom doesn't like too many tags.

There's these tricks, remember:

[songbirdseung]

photobooth / sim jaeyun

synopsis: take a picture, it'll last longer

pairing: college students jake x reader, strangers, campus crush

warnings: none?? maybe college?? lol, lmk if i missed anything

wc: 1k

Sitting outside, eating lunch with your friends in one of the park-like areas of your university was a common occurrence. But today was different. Today, you caught a glimpse of the new foreign exchange student from South Korea.

You were the friend who was always single, the one who constantly complained about being alone but never really ventured outside the house. You never made the effort to ask anyone out. Yet, something inside you compelled you to get up from your picnic blanket and approach the attractive stranger.

"Your soup is going to get cold, YN. What are you even looking at?" Yuna asked, trying to match your line of sight. Eventually, her eyes landed on the man sitting on a bench. "Oh, Jake. I see."

"Jake? You know him?" you asked. Yuna nodded and explained that he was in her science class. He was known to be a smart guy, originally from South Korea but also from Australia. You looked back at where Jake had been sitting, but the bench was now empty.

"Awh, is little baby YN finally falling for someone?" Sunghoon teased.

Ever since that day, you had a new endeavor: to find or at least catch a glimpse of Jake every day. Whenever you got out of class early, you would rush to Yuna's science class, knowing Jake would be there. Naturally, your friends teased you, calling you obsessive and a stalker. Unbeknownst to you, you weren't very discreet because Jake had definitely noticed your love-filled stares, thanks in part to his friend, Jay.

"Do you know her?" Jay asked one day while he and Jake were playing soccer with other people. Jay had noticed a girl sitting in the bleachers with her friend. That girl was you, and you had convinced Yuna to watch Jake practice.

"Don't forget about me when you start dating him," Yuna nudged you playfully.

"Oh, please. Like you didn't avoid me for a week when you started dating Sunghoon," you retorted with a grin. As you both playfully argued, Jake paused, took a good look at you, and shook his head at Jay.

"This is actually the first time I've seen her," Jake admitted.

A week later, there you were again at Jake's practice, but this time you were by yourself. Deep down, you knew you were being kind of creepy and weird, but having a crush makes you do the strangest things. Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t pay much attention to the game, simply spacing out until the very end of the practice. You snapped out of it only when Jake made his way towards you, his Aussie accent pulling you back to reality.

"Hey, space cadet!" Jake called out with a grin, snapping his fingers in front of your face.

Startled, you blinked and looked up at him. "Oh, hi. Sorry, I was just… thinking."

"Thinking, huh?" Jake laughed. "Must have been some deep thoughts. I'm Jake, by the way."

"Yeah, I know," you replied nervously. "I'm YN."

"Nice to officially meet you, YN," he said, extending his hand. After you shook it, he continued, "So, I’ve noticed you’ve been around a lot lately. Do you always come to watch soccer practice, or am I just that interesting?"

You blushed, trying to find the right words. "Well, um, maybe a bit of both?"

Jake chuckled. "Don’t worry, I’m just teasing. Jay told me you’ve got a bit of a crush on me."

You felt your face heat up even more. "He did, did he? That’s… embarrassing."

"Not really," Jake said with a smile. "It’s kind of cute, actually. So, tell me more about yourself. What’s your major?"

As you both started talking, the conversation flowed effortlessly. You found yourselves laughing and sharing stories, and it felt like an instant spark, as if you had known each other your whole lives.

"You know," Jake said after a while, "I feel like we’ve been friends forever. This is nice."

"Yeah," you agreed, smiling. "It really is."

Over the next few weeks, your friendship with Jake grew stronger. You found yourselves hanging out more often, whether it was grabbing coffee after classes, studying together in the library, or just chatting about life.

One afternoon, as you were both sitting under a large oak tree on campus, Jake turned to you with a smile. "So, YN, tell me something I don't know about you yet."

You thought for a moment, then grinned. "I can play the guitar. Not many people know that about me."

"Really? That's awesome!" Jake exclaimed. "You have to play for me sometime."

"Only if you promise not to laugh if I mess up," you said, nudging him playfully.

"I promise," Jake said, raising his hand as if taking an oath.

Another day, you both decided to go for a hike in the nearby hills. As you reached the top, the view took your breath away. Standing side by side, you both admired the scenery in comfortable silence.

"It's beautiful up here," you said softly.

"Yeah, it is," Jake replied, looking at you instead of the view. "Thanks for suggesting this."

"No problem," you said, feeling a warm blush rise to your cheeks. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

As the days turned into weeks, Jake became a constant presence in your life. One evening, after a particularly grueling study session, Jake looked at you and said, "You know, I really appreciate having you around. You make everything more fun."

"Thanks, Jake," you replied, smiling. "I feel the same way."

One night, while sitting on a bench after a late-night coffee run, Jake turned to you with a serious expression. "YN, I've been thinking… We've become really close, and I don't want to ruin our friendship, but I feel like there's something more here. Do you feel it too?"

Your heart raced as you met his gaze. "I do, Jake. I’ve felt it for a while now."

He smiled, reaching out to take your hand. "So, what do you say we give this a shot? See where it goes?"

You squeezed his hand gently, feeling a surge of happiness. "I'd like that a lot."

From that moment on, your relationship with Jake blossomed into something even more special. The bond you shared, built on a foundation of friendship, grew stronger with each passing day.

[steviewashere]

The Great Cornholio

Rating: General CW: Implied/Referenced Animal Abandonment, Implied/Referenced Animal Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abandonment, Implied/Referenced Child Neglect Tags: Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Mild Angst, Fluff, Steve Harrington is Impulsive, Steve Harrington is a Little Shit, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Soft Steve Harrington, Soft Eddie Munson, Adopting a Dog, Beavis and Butthead Reference, Cornholio the Dog, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Domestic Steddie, Domestic Fluff

🐕—————🐕 There’s a disrupting clatter of noise coming from the front door of their apartment. Eddie stops immediately what he’s been doing in the kitchen—wiping down counters and putting away the dry dishes from the rack—and listens in. Shushing. Scraping? And then…a whine.

“Steve?” He calls out.

All of the sounds immediately stop. Unnervingly so.

“Uh…Steve, you alright?” He calls out again. “You didn’t get into another fight again, did you? I think we’re out of rubbing alcohol, so it’ll be a bitch to disinfect any wounds you got.”

Subtle shuffling comes closer to the open doorway of the kitchen. Eddie turns to look. Steve’s standing in his work clothes, vest over his polo, jeans straight down his legs, shoes still laced. He’s flushed bright red. Nervously fiddling with his fingers. He shifts from foot to foot and peers up at Eddie through his eyelashes. Mirth glints at him.

“What’d you do,” Eddie sighs.

Steve smiles at him. All his teeth. Squinting his eyes so hard, they nearly look closed. “I got us something,” he giddily states, “you’re going to love it.”

Eddie gestures for him to get whatever this thing is. And waits, dish gloves up to his elbows, barefoot and in his pajamas, half-tired, not showered. He had a day off from work, the automotive shop around the corner, so what if he does chores and nothing else? But he’s especially exhausted. Just wants to relax. And knows, whatever Steve’s done, will tarnish all of that.

A couple minutes later, Steve comes back towards the kitchen. Vest gone, shoes off. Hands behind his back. Squirming left and right as his grip subtly—or not so subtly—changes. Slowly, carefully, he reveals the contents of his hands. And staring back at Eddie is a dog.

It’s a smaller breed—whatever breed it is. Soft looking, white fur. Ears that fold over like airplane wings. Big, brown, bug-like eyes. Pink nose, straight tail, short legs, and six toes on the front left foot. The dog’s cute, Eddie can objectively notice. It doesn’t mind being held, considering how Steve’s holding it close to his belly like it’s a toddler. And it’s not barking at him, like most dogs do the first time they’re introduced to him. This one’s rather mellow. Very relaxed. Though, that may just be from nerves.

“I got a dog,” Steve says. His voice goes a little high with his happiness. Smile bright and big and unmistakeable. Eyes excited and warm.

Eddie already knows he won’t turn this away.

“I can see that,” he states. “Is it our dog or—“

“His name is Cornholio. Like in Beavis and Butthead. And I’ve got all the supplies in the trunk,” Steve begins explaining, barreling over Eddie’s question. Okay, so it’s definitely ours, Eddie notes. “Cornholio here is housebroken. He knows how to sit and lay down. He’ll be sleeping with us in bed, I’m not making him lay in a dog bed by himself. And I’m going to buy him his own turkey to eat for dinner. And—“

“Wait, wait, wait,” Eddie interrupts. Immediately, Steve stops talking. And his smile fades. Looking more like…Well, it’s in bad taste, but he looks like a kicked puppy. The longer Eddie takes to collect himself, though, Steve appears as if his entire family has been slaughtered in front of his eyes. Eddie rubs a, now gloveless, hand between his eyebrows. “We didn’t talk about getting a dog? What led you to do this? How much did he cost? Have you factored in the possibility that either of us could be allergic?” Calm down, he scolds himself. He takes a quick, steadying breath. “I’m not…We can keep the dog, Stevie. But I—I’m not prepared for a dog.”

Steve cradles the dog closer to himself. Looks down at the top of his head and kisses the fur between his ears. Cornholio looks up with his big brown eyes, his tail wags as much as it can where Steve’s holding him, and he licks the underside of Steve’s jaw. “I just thought it would be nice to have a little buddy around,” he murmurs lowly, a little sad. “There was an ad for the humane society in the newspaper this morning and I thought, y’know, what if I looked after work? Just for the shits and giggles of it, but then I saw him. 

“And he’d been there for three years. He used to be left alone at his old house for weeks on end. Just left with scraps and the bag of dog food. Whatever he could find. He was lonely and sad and…Somebody finally called for him to be taken in.” Steve shrugs as much as he can with the weight of the dog between his arms. Looks up to Eddie, his eyes just as big as Cornholio’s, wet and tired. Meekly, he adds, “He made me think of myself. When…When my parents would just leave me all alone.”

Oh, Eddie thinks. His chest feels heavier. Head foggier. Eyes stinging.

“And you wanted to give him a better chance than what you had,” Eddie says, though he meant it like a question. It comes out a little breathy, too much of a realization to be anything more than that. Steve nods slowly, gently.

“He was only $50. I’ll return him if it’s a prob—“

“No, no,” Eddie rushes. He forces himself to move forward. Stand close and in Steve’s space. He peers down at the top of Cornholio’s little head, his tantalizingly soft fur. So, he scratches his nails over the baby’s scalp. He peers up at Steve again. At his impossibly sadder eyes, just a second away from bursting into tears. His free hand comes up and cups Steve’s left cheek. Thumb gently swiping over his cheekbone. “I think that you picked a good one, sweetheart. This baby’s adorable,” he coos. “Look, he’s even got my eyes.”

Steve scoffs. “Your eyes? He’s my son!”

Eddie hums. “Actually, he’s our son,” he murmurs. Smiles small to himself at the way Steve preens at those words. “And his name is Cornholio, like in Beavis and Butthead. And he’s going to eat turkey with us every night. And he can sleep between us in bed to ward off our nightmares, yeah?”

“Really? You’re not mad?”

He shrugs. “No, maybe just a little scrambled. But…I’m also an impulsive person, so this matters none.” Cornholio’s fur is incredibly soft under his hand. And he looks up at the two of them with all the gentleness in the world. And, maybe, Eddie thinks he could die happy here and now.

Steve leans in a little closer. Rests his cheek on Eddie’s shoulder as they both peer down at the little white dog. “Huh,” he mutters, “I guess he does have your eyes.”

“See?” Eddie asks softly, grinning. “Match made in heaven. How about we take him on a walk? Show him our picnic spot?”

Abruptly, Steve gasps. “Oh my gosh!” He crows, “We can take him on our picnics with us! And he can meet all the dogs at the park! And he can lay in our laps! And—“

Chuckling, Eddie swipes a soothing hand down Steve’s back. He’s bouncing in place, probably five seconds away from lift-off into the ceiling. He kisses Steve’s temple. Murmurs, “I’ll make some sandwiches, alright? Go get his collar and leash.”

Steve positively squeals.

And Eddie was right. This does ruin the plans he had on his day off, but he figures this is better. Way better than anything he could’ve done for himself. There was no way he was going to turn down the opportunity to see his boy happy.

🐕—————🐕

[nexility-sims]

𝐍𝐎. 𝟖 (𝟏/𝟑)   ❛ 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 ❜   |   EARLY OCTOBER 1991

❧  𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲  /  𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠  /  𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬  /  𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

→ 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍 Snap. Snap. Snap. Layered, fluttering, the cacophony was a descent of birds. Human voices echoing amid the shutters were less real than the possibility that, just over her shoulder, Leonor would find a menacing flock flapping madly. Some people harbored a deep fear of birds, but she had rarely given them much thought until now. Their talons and beaks never seemed threatening; even the crowds that took flight together and blocked out the sky were no more stirring than the trees where they would roost. She understood them to be stupid creatures with little to offer beyond their flesh—some could talk, but many were not even particularly pleasing to the eye.

❧ FINALLY !!! this took about two weeks longer than it was supposed to, but here we are. i think, in a way, this has become its own little conceptual detour, but it's also chocked full of narrative relevance, so ... enjoy the ride :^) part two is where it really sings, imo, but tbh i’m just relieved to have this first part finished lsdjfsf [the full scene and transcript below are in large text, also ! hopefully that's easier to read for anyone who's been squinting and straining with small text.]

𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 & 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 ↓

Snap. Snap. Snap. Layered, fluttering, the cacophony was a descent of birds. Human voices echoing amid the shutters were less real than the possibility that, just over her shoulder, Leonor would find a menacing flock flapping madly. Some people harbored a deep fear of birds, but she had rarely given them much thought until now. Their talons and beaks never seemed threatening; even the crowds that took flight together and blocked out the sky were no more stirring than the trees where they would roost. She understood them to be stupid creatures with little to offer beyond their flesh—some could talk, but many were not even particularly pleasing to the eye.

In this moment, a sudden case of ornithophobia beset her. Leonor crouched in the alley with her back to the flock, covering her ears to block out the sound of their inevitable approach. Did she expect to be pecked to pieces? That wasn’t it. As she listened to the screeching flutter of wings with its interlaced shouting, what she feared was suffocating in a mass of feathers. Her mind flashed to beach fronts littered with bedraggled plumage left behind by the coastal birds who walked along the shore, who fought over detritus in the foam, who hopped away begrudgingly when approached. Sometimes they congregated on the sand, but they were never so deafening as the flock that had converged now. Across from where she hunkered down, bright lights flickered against a brick wall. Leonor watched it with wide eyes and waited for a flood of feathers to take her breath away. 

The flood never came. Instead, Kore’s face set like the sun in front of her, staring with a look of bewilderment reflecting Leonor’s own. Kore yanked her to her feet before she could, with a cautiously raised hand, caress her cheek; she pulled her further away from the flock and toward an open door. Black and magenta amid the flashing white lights, this portal beckoned. Leonor was out of her arms and scrambling toward it while Kore followed close behind. The door closed and cut off the flickering lights. Ambient music, rendered indistinct instrumentals and indistinguishable voices as it pulsed through the walls, replaced the noise of birds. Leonor sighed and leaned against the wall. With her eyes closed, she could see the sound pulsing, rhythmic and thick like smoke. Her shoulder left yellow smudges on the paneling. 

“What happened?” Kore was demanding. “Why were you out there? Are you okay? Are you crazy?”

Leonor had no answer for her. She scrunched her features together, thinking hard about the sequences of events that had carried her outside—out of The Den into the alleyway where the birds, the photographers with their shuttering flash lenses, appeared.

“They weren’t supposed to be there,” she finally offered. 

Kore grimaced. “Yeah, I know.” 

“Do you think it was—” Leonor paused as Kore shook her head in disappointment. She, too, shook her head, then continued, “I bet it was that weasel behind the counter.” 

Leonor flashed back to earlier that week, where she could see the department store salesgirl. She suspected she had told someone about the party happening at The Den. Although almost certainly a fool’s errand from the beginning, Leonor truly believed they stood a chance of keeping the whole thing under wraps. Reporters lurked outside like clockwork, knowing when any given night’s activities began and ended. Sometimes new faces followed their favorite subjects there; usually, however, it was a predictable group. Still, they didn’t actually know what went on inside. Occasionally, guests let details slip during interviews—asides, a wink and a nod, divulging, an unearned taste. Renzo did it. Leonor didn’t talk to the press so casually but, if she did, perhaps she would’ve, too. 

Dedicated tabloid reporters worked with more grit and creativity than some seasoned criminal investigators; they monitored license plates and store inventories, they prioritized the most unassuming witnesses, they collected evidence from bribable photographers and public garbage cans and service workers on smoke breaks. Leonor put more effort into accounting for those tactics. She purchased the garden of live plants with four degrees of separation, and they arrived in a routine liquor delivery truck borrowed for that purpose. She had even gone to the stores incognito on the day in question, hoping to prevent inquiries into the costume shopping excursion. Renzo did his part in asking the tightly controlled guest list to stay quiet. Everyone seemed more than happy to comply, for their own privacy if not his or hers. The theme was the tale of the moon rabbit but, more exciting still, it was debauchery. 

But, she had told the salesgirl why they were there in a few words—discretion was why anyone who mattered shopped there, after all—and she had probably jeopardized their assurance of secrecy when she reacted poorly to the customer service. ‘I said white, not cream,’ came from her lips with condescension. That was easy to confuse with venom. Worse, it hadn’t needed the tacked on, ‘They just hire anyone these days. We shouldn’t even come back,’ but she had said those words, not as a whisper, too. Now, it appeared the chickens—metallic and screeching—may have come home to roost. 

“How did you end up out there?” was Kore’s next question, and Leonor followed her big gesture toward the door. Outside, if she strained to listen, the commotion was still audible. Perhaps the flock would circle the place and levitate it, either by force of wings or the oceanic lightness of their feathers. The squat, square buildings would yawn apart and crumble like a slice of cake cut too thick for its spatula. 

Leonor gagged, then replied, “So, before—first, I was on the roof.”

“By yourself?”

“Well, no.”

“Okay, then—?”

Just as vivid as the feather-strewing birds on the beach, Leonor recalled the pantomime her parents performed on the roof. It had paralyzed her until, with her mother’s great splash over the edge, it galvanized her into action. She was going to barrel headfirst into the water to save her, but someone intervened. She hadn’t bothered to see who it was. It wasn’t her father. What else mattered, then? She certainly hadn’t bothered to thank them for saving her from, not lapping ocean water, but hard asphalt. She flew down the stairs with such force that she tripped and stumbled into the walls as she went. There was someone on their way up as she descended; they just stepped aside and complained about their drink sloshing. There would be tender spots on her arms tomorrow. For now, the only sensation remaining was the residual adrenaline. 

“I was frightened,” she concluded. “I needed to leave, so I did.”

Kore sighed. “Where’s Renzo?” 

Someone else standing behind her piped up in a neutral tone, “Unreachable. Dead to the world.”

“Of course.” 

Distracted, Leonor asked, “Is he singing again? He really doesn’t sing enough.” 

Pushing herself off the wall, she added, “I should apologize to him.”

Leonor bumped into Kore as she tried to pass her, but Kore held her in place. “Hold on,” she said. “I think you might need to tap out for the night, Nora. But, okay, I have to ask: apologize for what?”

Leonor turned fully, placing her hands on Kore’s shoulders. Her expression was grave, so full of abrupt remorse as to be almost mournful. “I said I wasn’t his baby,” she confessed. “He took such good care of me, and that’s what I said. Can you believe it?” 

At this, Kore laughed. It didn’t faze Leonor. Her thoughts had gone back to the beginning of the night.

TRANSCRIPT:

[Birds flapping and screeching]

[Cameras flashing, paparazzi shouting]

[Shouting, flashes continue]

KORE | What happened? Why were you out there?

KORE | Are you okay? Are you crazy? LEONOR | They weren't supposed to be there.

KORE | Yeah, I know. LEONOR | Do you think it was—I bet it was the weasel behind the counter.

LEONOR | I said white, not cream. They just hire anyone these days. We shouldn’t even come back.

KORE | How did you end up out there? [Leonor gags]

LEONOR | So, before—first, I was on the roof. KORE | By yourself? LEONOR | Well, no. KORE | Okay, then—?

LEONOR | I was frightened. I needed to leave, so I did.

KORE | Where's Renzo?

SYBIL | Unreachable. Dead to the world.

LEONOR | Is he singing again? He really doesn't sing enough.

LEONOR | I should apologize to him. KORE | Hold on. I think you might need to tap out for the night, Nora. But, okay, I have to ask: apologize for what?

LEONOR | I said I wasn't his baby. He took such good care of me, and that's what I said. Can you believe it?