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cloudteawrites · 3 years

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chapter: seven ( 12.3k ) rating: mature (death, past abuse, eventual smut) genre: mystery | romance | hurt/comfort tags: bts x reader | ot7 x reader | hybrid | poly summary: when an estranged uncle leaves you his massive fortune you wonder if the universe is playing a joke on you. when that fortune comes with seven hybrids, you know for sure that it is. << first < previous | next > last >>

The sound of your phone ringing rips you from sleep. You sit bolt upright, confusion and panic dousing you like twin buckets of ice water. You’d been having a nightmare about something, but you can’t remember what. The tattered ends of it are already slipping away, just out of reach. You don’t chase after them.

You fumble for your phone in the dark, fingers groping uselessly at your blankets until they close around it. The bright white light from your screen blinds you as you flip it over and you blink blearily, rubbing at your eyes with one hand and trying to answer with the other.

“Hello?” you rasp, mashing the speaker button. “Who is this?”

“Apologies for disturbing your sleep, ma’am.” A woman’s voice crackles over the other end of the line. You can hear exhaustion dripping off every word. “This is Officer Kwon from the Namhyeon-dong precinct of the Seoul Metropolitan Police Force.”

You squint into the dark expanse of your bedroom, a little frown on your face as you struggle to process what she’s saying. “....okay?”

“I’m calling because we’ve got two of your hybrids in custody.”

You blink slowly. “Hmmmm, I don’t think so...” you mumble through a yawn. “They’re all in bed.”

“We ran their numbers through the registry and you were pinged as the owner of both.” You hear papers shuffling and her voice get distant as she transfers the receiver to her shoulder to free up a hand. “We’ve got a rabbit calling himself Jeongguk and a Seokjin who the rabbit says is a deer-” She sighs. “Listen, I’m at the end of my rope here. They won’t tell me where they came from and the phone number of the business they were registered to before you is out of service. They’re hurt pretty bad, worse than what we can take care of here at the station. We can’t get them any sort of medical care without their guardian’s permission, so-”

Your eyes glaze over as you groggily connect the dots.

A deer and a rabbit.

Not canine, not feline.

Other.

You shove the covers down your legs and kick them over the side of the bed. “I’m on the way,” you tell her, already adding up the distance between your building and Namhyeon-dong. It’d take an hour to get all the bus transfers you needed- your eyes narrow as you squint at the time on your phone. 3:27 AM. You’d have to get a cab. Your stomach twists at the thought of the fare, but you shove the feeling down. This was no time to be thrifty. “Do whatever you need to.”

The officer exhales in relief. You can practically hear the tension leave her shoulders. “There’s a little hybrid clinic in the neighborhood. I’ll see if I can get the vet up and convince them to go.”

“Thank you,” you breathe. She gives you the address and you type it into your notes app, reading it back to her twice to make sure you got it right. She hangs up with a promise to see you soon and your phone locks, leaving you alone in the blue-black gloom of an early morning.

This wasn’t great. This wasn’t great any way you sliced it. You’d thought you’d have an extra two weeks to get the canines settled and all five hybrids to at least not want to kill each other. That’d been the plan, at least, when you’d sequestered yourself in your bedroom without telling Jimin and Taehyung goodnight or doing any introductions. Now the others were coming and you were on borrowed time. You drag your hands down over your face. “What are we gonna do?” Nothing but silence answers you.

When you were a kid and you’d had anything big before you- a massive school project you’d waited til the last moment to start, having to walk yourself to the market because your mom was too sick to go, a hard conversation with a friend- your mom had always told you to break it down into smaller pieces. Make the big thing small; do what you can for now. So, that’s what you do.

You shove your phone into the pocket of your sweatpants, tug your backpack out from under your bed and grab a pair of socks. You slide them on as quickly as you can and head for the door. You tug it open and try to rush through, already on the way to your next small thing- but you stumble over a shoulder and go down.

You let out a yelp of surprise that quickly morphs into one of pain as your forehead knocks against the other person’s. Your hands slam down on either side of their head and their own fly up to your waist to steady you. You blink down at them, willing your eyes to adjust to the dark.

Hoseok is beneath you. He’s squinting up at you, his hair in disarray and his cheeks puffy with sleep. “Ow,” he croaks.

You wince. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, rubbing the spot on his forehead your own knocked against on autopilot. He seems to wake up a little at that, eyebrows inching up his forehead. You snatch your hand back. “Ah, sorry. I was worried I hurt you-”

“I’m okay,” he rasps, his voice still thick with sleep. “You didn’t hurt me.”

“Okay.” You disentangle yourself from him and rise back to your feet. He struggles to get up too, mirroring you. The blankets pooled around his hips fall to his feet. You frown at the picture he makes, his shoulders slumped from exhaustion and indents on his cheek from the hardwood. “Did you...did you sleep out here?”

His ears fall and he lowers his head a bit between his shoulders. “Yeah,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “I did…”

You wrote off a lot of the behavior the boys exhibited that you didn’t understand as just a part of them being hybrids. When Taehyung affectionately headbutted you, or Jimin always hopped up on counters or Yoongi lapped from glasses instead of sipping, you just accepted it and stashed it away to google later- but this was a little more concerning. Did he not feel safe in his room? You’d tried to put him and Namjoon as far away from the felines as you could, but you also knew the cats weren’t thrilled about sharing their space. You hoped they hadn’t made him feel too unwelcome after you’d collapsed into bed.

“Is everything okay?” His ears twitch as the smell of your worry fills his nose. He leans forward and for a moment you think he’s gonna close the distance between you- but he pulls back.

“No,” he answers. You feel your heart sink. “I just...your room is closest to the front door.” You blink at him slowly, not following. You don’t know how his sight is in the dark, but he must see the confusion furrowing your brow,because he continues. “Your room is the only one on the first floor and it’s close to the living room and front door. We all sleep upstairs. If someone broke in, they’d get you first.” He tosses a finger down at the blankets. “I was sleeping here so that wouldn’t happen.”

“Nobody’s gonna get me, Hoseok,” You soothe, trying to assuage his fears. “I’m nobody-”

“You don’t know that,” he argues back. “And you’re not ‘nobody’ to me. I waited my whole life for you. I’ve gotta keep you safe.”

You don’t know what to make of that. You’d known Hoseok had been trained specifically to protect the person he’d eventually be sent to, but you hadn’t expected him to be so adamant about it. After all Namjoon grew up in the same place- No. Your expression sours as the thought stops you. No he didn’t. The wolfdog hybrid had been locked away for most of his life and interaction with others had come only in the form of meal delivery. He wouldn’t have had the director’s lessons drilled into his head everyday in the same way Hope had.

Still, no one has expressed this level of care for you since your mom died. You’re not entirely sure you deserve it.

“I was gonna wake up before you did and go back to my room,” he mumbles, kicking gently at the blanket and not meeting your eyes. “I promise, I was. I didn’t expect you to be up this early.” He fiddles with the hem of his shirt, his ears drooping more and more the longer you look at him. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable…”

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Hoseok,” You tell him and his ears perk up a little. It was true, he hadn’t. His actions were sweet, if a bit misguided but you were more worried about him than anything. “I don’t know what the director told you or what you’ve heard, but I promise there’s no one after me.” He frowns at that, lips twisting into a little pout. He goes to interject, but you speak again before he can. “If you’re worried about anything, just tell me okay? If there’s anything you need to do to make yourself feel more at ease here, just tell me.” You implore him softly.

Hoseok nods slowly and you see his tail give one small wag. You nod back, and turn to go, but his voice stops you. “I think it would help a lot if I could sleep down here.” Your brow furrows at that.

“This is the only bedroom on this floor, though?”

He whines and looks like he’s about to explain- but a soft voice purring in your ear cuts him off. “He could sleep on the couch,” Jimin supplies, his arms entwining around your middle as he rests his chin on your shoulder. “It’s quite comfortable...Y/N-ah, do you mind dogs on the furniture?” His tone is light, free of the haze of sleep and a little teasing. From the way Hoseok’s ears droop and the way his shoulders curve in, you could tell Jimin hadn’t crept down here for a bit of good-natured ribbing. Your scent sours as your expression does, irritation with the leopard hybrid pricking at you. He lets out a little disgruntled murr in protest as he noses at your neck, trying to get you to soften for him. You tilt your head away from him and disentangle yourself from his arms. It’s three in the morning, you have to cross the city to deal with the fallout from God only knows what, and your neck still aches from the bruise Yoongi had left on it. You have too much on your plate to deal with Jimin needling his new housemate.

“Leave him alone, Jimin,” You exhale, side-stepping the leopard hybrid and heading down the corridor for the door. “Hoseok, you can sleep where you want. I’ve gotta go.”

The doberman takes a step forward. “I’ll come with you-” the icy look Jimin shoots him has him slowing but it’s not until the leopard hybrid bares his teeth at him that he stalls entirely. The sound of his whimper has you whirling around, but when you do, you find Jimin looking at you, blasé and Hoseok eyeing him with uncertainty

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise,” you toss back over your shoulder as you slide your feet into a pair of shoes. “Please, just...if you can’t be friendly, just do your own thing ‘til I get back.” You lace up your sneakers as quickly as you can and duck out the door. “Text me if you need anything; I’ll call on the way back.” And you’re gone, leaving the leopard and the doberman in the dark.

You are not at all confident in their ability to maintain a truce while you’re gone. You’re almost certain that if you hadn’t shoved your way between Namjoon and Yoongi last night, they’d have come to blows right there in the lobby last night. You punch the button for the ground floor and slump back against the railing of the elevator, exhaustion settling heavy on you now that you were alone again. You’d known Yoongi, Jimin and Taehyung weren’t thrilled about sharing their space, but you hadn’t expected this kind of fallout from bringing new hybrids home. You don’t know if there’s anything you can do to make things a little easier, but you want to. Sighing, you resign yourself to more research. You pull out your phone and start typing.

why are my hybrids freaking the fuck out

You backspace. Venting at google wasn’t going to help you figure out what the sharp looks Jimin kept throwing Hoseok while he thought your back was turned meant or why Yoongi had been so furious the other hybrids’ scent was on you.

why don’t my hybrids like each other

Just like all your other searches, this one turns up millions of results. You thumb over the links but none of them are helpful. They’re dealing with puppy hybrids bickering and cat hybrids hissing at each other. None of them cover cross-species beef. None of them deal with exotics. You sigh, lock your phone and tilt your head back to stare at the soft yellow lights in the elevator’s ceiling. You were out of your depth. You’d known that from the moment Mr. Seo turned you into an heiress with a wave of his fountain pen. You get the urge to run, that old niggling feeling that settled like a stone in your mind and made your palms itch.

It’s been years since you last felt the need to pull a disappearing act. You don’t think you’ve done it since the one year anniversary of your mom’s death. The foster home you’d been sent to was a shit show. You found out the woman in charge had been pocketing the money you gave her every month for your mother’s columbarium fees and her urn was in danger of being thrown out. You’d shoved everything you owned into your school bag and walked across the city to get her. When the police found you, you were striding down the side of the highway, her urn clutched to your chest, determined to go anywhere but there.

You hadn’t known where you were going then; you still didn’t now. All you’d had was the urge to flee and fire under your feet. All you’d had was a singular focus on the road ahead.

The elevator reaches the ground floor with a soft ding, the automated voice letting you know you’ve reached the lobby. You step out and shuffle across it with your head down, careful to avoid eye contact with the receptionist watching you warily from behind her desk.

It’s a cold night. A blast of frigid air hits your face the second you’re out the door. You curse under your and fold your arms around yourself in a futile effort to keep warm. You should go back upstairs and get the coat Yoongi made you buy. You shift from one foot to the other, weighing your options- and decide against it. If the conversation you’d had with Hoseok was enough to wake Jimin and send him slinking toward you, you running in and out of the penthouse would almost certainly wake Yoongi up. Memories flash in your mind: his hands gripping your hips tight, his rough tongue laving over your neck, that self-satisfied smirk he’d let spread over his mouth. You pinch yourself, trying to stem the heat you can feel crawling out the neck of your sweatshirt. It had upset you, there was no denying that. The warm feeling that’d bubbled up in your stomach at being touched didn’t wash away the fact that him marking you had nothing to do with your friendship and everything to do with warding off the canine hybrids.

Yeah, you decide, quickening your pace down the ice-slicked sidewalk. You’d much rather face the cold than him.

You make quick work of the walk from Haneul Tower to the streets of the club district. It’s only two blocks up and one over, but by the time you get there, you feel like a giant icicle. You’re out of place in a sweatshirt and scuffed up sneakers among the glitz and glamor of the club-goers, but you don’t have time to deal with your imposter syndrome. You duck into the first taxi you find, pass the old man the address Officer Kwon had given you and settle back.

He complains nearly the entire time about how far out of the way you’re making him go. You apologize as much as you’re able and promise him return fair back to Gangnam if he waits for you. He huffs and puffs, but he still takes you. Forty minutes later, you’re standing on the sidewalk outside of Happy Tails Hybrid Clinic, rapping urgently at the glass. After two minutes that feel like twenty, someone finally answers you.

You think she’s in her late twenties but the dark circles under her eyes she keeps rubbing at make her look older. She’s dressed in the typical winter police uniform, minus her jacket. The pale blue sleeves of her dress shirt are rolled up above her elbows and are blotchy with pale red marks she’d tried to scrub out. Blood. You swallow, your throat suddenly dry.

She unlocks the door and pokes her headout. “Y/N L/N?” She asks, eyes narrowed against the glare of the street lamps.

“Yeah,” you answer, giving one short nod. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Officer Kwon; we spoke on the phone.” She opens the door for you fully, stepping back and ushering you in urgently. “I’ll be honest,” she says once you’re safely inside and the door is locked back tight again. “I wasn’t sure you were gonna show.”

You frown at that. “Why wouldn’t I have shown?”

“Most of the time when hybrids run, it’s an abuse case.” She drops into one of the plastic chairs lining the waiting room. Her head falls back with a thunk against the yellow plaster. If it hurts, she shows no signs of it, just stares up at the fluorescent lights. You settle on the lip of the chair next to her, feeling awkward and anxious. “The rabbit broke into an Olive Young to steal antiseptic and bandages,” she supplies without you having to ask. “He said he did it for the deer. When he showed me he was…” Officer Kwon exhales sharply and tips forward to rest her head in her hands. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that much blood.”

“I wouldn’t hurt them,” you insist softly. “It wasn’t me.”

“I know,” she answers, voice muffled against her palms. “I pulled your name and ID picture from the national database and the rabbit didn’t recognize you. Even if you didn’t do it, I didn’t think you’d wanna deal with it.”

Your anxiety spikes at her words. What had happened to the hybrids before she found them? Who’d want to hurt them that badly? Your mouth feels dry, but you force it to move. “Do you know who they were running from?”

Officer Kwon shakes her head and drags her hands down her face. She lets her arms fall to her knees as she hunches over in her chair, back bowed with exhaustion. “Whatever the rabbit knows, he’s not sharing,” she exhales. “-And the deer’s in no position to speak up. He’s been unconscious since I found him.” As if sensing you tense, she adds, “He’s on the table now. I think Dr. Cheon put him under sedation.”

You don’t know what to say. You’re not sure if there’s anything you even can. You have a million questions buzzing around in your mind, but so heavy is the weight of them on your tongue that you can’t find the strength to ask a single one. You’re saved by the doctor coming out from the back.

The door right next to the counter that reads STAFF + PATIENTS ONLY swings open and a middle aged woman in cat print scrubs comes out, shoulders hunched in like she’s got the weight of the world on her back. You can’t blame her; she looks every bit as tired as you feel. She stops just short of you and Officer Kwon, peels off a pair of blue medical gloves, dyed sticky red, and tosses them into the garbage can behind the reception desk. “Well,” she huffs, dragging her fingers through the greying wisps of hair that’d escaped from her braid. “It’s done.”

“How is he?” The police officer asks before you can. Dr. Cheon grimaces and leans against the counter.

“If you hadn’t found him in time, it could’ve been much worse.” You think she’s trying to put you at ease, but you don’t want compromising optimism. You want the truth. “An hour or two later and we’d be dealing with a very different situation, medically.”

You swallow and force yourself to speak. “Do you have any idea how this could’ve happened?”

Dr. Cheon turns her attention to you and blinks slowly, like she’d just noticed you were there. “...this is the guardian?” The police officer nods. The doctor takes you in, eyes roving from the mess of your hair twisted into a bun atop your head, to the scuffed rubber toes of your sneakers. She’s judging you, you know, trying to find something that’d mark you as the reason for the pain and suffering of the hybrids she’d helped. She finds none. “It didn’t happen to them,” she sighs. “Someone did this to them on purpose, likely over the course of several hours.” She tugs the office chair out from behind the desk and sinks into it, her limbs going to jelly the second she’s seated.

“Jeongguk won’t tell me what happened, but I know the signs. Puncture wounds around the entirety of Seokjin’s ankle, remnants of both sedatives and epinephrine in both of their blood, what looks like a bullet graze wound on Jeongguk’s side and he’s got a broken arm,” she rattles off symptom after symptom, each of them making the knot in your belly wind tighter and tighter. “The worst of it is Seokjin’s head. Hairline fractures all along the top of his skull and lacerations on his pedicles. They took his antlers from him.”

You feel sick to your stomach. You knew there were people who hurt hybrids, just like there were people that hurt animals and other people. You just hadn’t expected to ever have to deal with the fallout of one such incident. “Will he be okay?”

“He’ll survive, if that’s what you’re asking,” Dr. Cheon allows. “But he’ll need to be monitored closely during these next few weeks. They were hunted. If they decide to come with you instead of going to the shelter with Officer Kwon, you’ll need to be cognisant of the fact that the trauma from that could manifest in unexpected ways.”

Hunted. They’d been hunted.

You knew hunting was illegal in South Korea, you had that little tidbit tucked away in the recesses of your grade school memory along with the list of provinces and their capitals and the names of all the sailor scouts. It’d been outlawed in the fifties with the rash of hybrid centered legislation after a hunter up in Chungcheongbuk-do had shot a black bear hybrid he’d mistaken for a real bear. It was determined that since humans couldn’t distinguish between regular animals and hybrids shifted down into animal form, hunting had to be outlawed to prevent any accidental killings.

“Were they shifted down?” You ask. “Did someone not realize-”

“No.” Dr. Cheon’s answer is swift and final. “They knew. This was a choice.” The disgust in her voice is palpable.

“There are places that...Some centers cater to people that want to hunt.” Officer Kwon cuts in. “They have hybrids as employees and they let people rent airsoft or paintball guns to come hunt them. It’s supposed to be more ethical than actual hunting. No matter how distasteful I might personally find it, if they have a permit, there’s not really much the police can do unless a law has been broken. ”

“And without any information on where they came from, we can’t prove that one has,” Dr. Cheon finishes. “The most I can do as a vet is submit a report to the police about a possible abuse case and hope it makes its way to the hybrid crimes unit.” You hear the words she doesn’t speak, the meaning behind them. There’s nothing more we can do. They’ll get away with it. This is the end of the line.

Dr. Cheon drops her palms against her knees and forces herself to stand “Jeongguk’s injuries should heal just fine outside of the clinic,” She sighs. “But Seokjin-” she clicks her tongue against her teeth and gives a single shake of her head. “Cervine hybrids don’t shed their antlers like real deer do. There’s no telling if his will grow back or what they’ll look like when they do. All we can do is keep the wounds clean and pray.”

You nod numbly. She gestures for you to follow her and you do, making your way around the reception desk and through the staff door with her.

It’s dim in the back. The overhead lights are off and your path ahead is illuminated only by what light spills over from the reception room and an exam room up ahead. There’s only four of them, but the door to this one is slightly ajar. “Wait here for a second,” Dr. Cheon instructs, slipping through the door and leaving you alone in the corridor. You can hear her speaking softly to someone inside and them answering in even quieter tones. You have to strain to pick up the edge of their voice and even then, you can’t understand what they’re saying. “Would you like her to come in here, or would you like her to stay outside?” You hear her ask. The response is too soft for you to catch but a second later the door swings open.

Dr. Cheon steps out and gestures for the shadowy figure behind her to follow. “It’s alright,” she assures them. “No one here is going to hurt you.” Slowly, they shuffle out from the back.

It’s Jeongguk. There’s no denying what he is, not with the black velvet ears you see poking up out of his mop of wavy, dark hair. They’re alert; they prick toward you when your breath hitches. His eyes are dark and wide and the tip of his nose twitches when he looks at you. You muster up a smile you hope is reassuring and this right foot taps once against the linoleum. Yes, he’s a rabbit- but he’s also fucking huge.

What little research you’d managed to do in between apologizing to your taxi driver and keeping an eye on the fare had been straightforward: rabbit hybrids were naturally timid, needed a lot of attention and were small. Most sources you’d checked seemed to concur that they very rarely cleared 5’5. Jeongguk is pushing 6 feet and he’s built like a professional athlete. You suppose that’s what happens when you’ve spent your whole life running for it.

He’s wearing a teeshirt that’s too tight on his chest, the logo of the Seoul police force stretched thin, and a pair of grey sweatpants that are too short for him, both obviously on loan from Officer Kwon. His feet are bare, but there are bandages wrapped around both of them. True to what Dr. Cheon told you, his arms in a cast and wrapped in a sling. There’s scrapes on his knuckles and bruises blooming on the right side of his face. He looks like he’s been through the wringer. Still, he doesn’t slouch or shrink before you.

“Jeongguk, this is the woman we talked about,” Dr. Cheon tells him. He nods, but doesn’t move his gaze from your face once. “You’ll be going home with her-”

“Only if he wants,” You interject and she nods in agreement, quickly adding that caveat in.

“-only if you want.” He nods again and swallows, his bare foot giving another little tap against the floor.

“What about Seokjin?” He asks you.

“If he wants to come too, he’s welcome to, but neither of you have to if you don’t want to.” There’s a little frown on his face as you answer and he finally looks away. You can’t help but think that’s a bad sign, that he thinks he and his friend would be safer in a shelter that they ever could be with you- but then he asks another question.

“Do you have a husband or a boyfriend?” You frown at that. Why was it that every hybrid in the city was suddenly so concerned with your marital status? Hoseok had asked you in the car last night and now Jeongguk seemed worried about it as well. Sensing your confusion, he clarifies. “Do you live with any men?”

You wince. “Oh! Yeah, I live with five.” You see his expression darken as his ears sag. “They’re mostly predator-”

“If they’re hybrids, it’s fine.” He interjects, a little tension leaving his shoulders. “I can live with them.”

You relax too. From what you’d seen, most shelters weren’t nice places. They were overcrowded and underfunded. If the news was any indication, some of the worse ones got treated like grab bags by fighting rings, who’d shell out a couple thousand won for a canine hybrid and turn him into a prize fighter. You didn’t want that for them, not if you could provide an alternative.

But was it one though? He said he could live with them, but could they live with him? You think back to Yoongi and Namjoon snarling at each other last night, about Jimin’s little jabs at Hoseok. Yeah, you’d need to have another house meeting when you got home if this was ever going to work. Jeongguk had just been through hell and back; the last thing he needed was a territorial bobcat trying him.

“You can change your mind any time,” You tell him softly. “If you get there and feel like it’s not a good fit for you and Seokjin, you can go, okay?”

He dips his head. “Okay.”

“I think Seokjin can decide for himself.”

Your eyes rocket just over Jeongguk’s shoulder. There’s a man leaning heavily against the doorframe of the room the rabbit hybrid had come out of. He’s in a blue exam gown, his feet bare except for a plain white cast on his left leg. Every part of his head from his eyebrows up is bandaged, but you see soft tufts of red-brown hair poking out from between the layers. He looks human. You’d almost think he was if it weren’t for the oblong pupils in his hazel eyes and supple ears you see twitching as he observes you.

“What are you doing up?!” The alarm in Dr. Cheon’s voice is palpable. “Those sedatives should’ve kept you out ‘til morning.” She takes a step like she’s going to rush to his side- but stops short when he tenses and tilts his chin to his chest. Just for a second, it looked like he was preparing himself to square off against her- like he was brandishing something that wasn’t really there. His antlers, you think. He was trying to protect himself with his antlers.

Seokjin forces himself upright, his knees wobbling as he tries to stand on his own. He looks off-balance, and it’s not just because of the cast. He looks like he’s trying to figure out how to stand now that a piece of him is missing. His legs are trembling. “What can I say?” He huffs, sounding like he just ran a marathon. “I like to surprise people.” And then his legs buckle underneath him.

He hits the floor with a heavy thud. Jeongguk and Dr. Cheon rush to his side but he waves them off, eyes closed and brow knit in frustration. “I’m fine,” he insists, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to struggle back to his feet. “I’m fine, I just…I just need a moment-”

“You need bed rest.” Dr. Cheon goes to latch on to his arm to help him stand but Jeongguk catches her wrist, gives a single shake of his head and she drops it back to her side.

Seokjin manages to get himself back standing, but he sways precariously. “If this were a hunt, I’d already be dead.” He swallows and inhales shakily through his nose, doing his best not to gulp down air. “You should have left me, Jeongguk. You know the rules. One falls, but the herd rises-”

“The herd is gone, Seokjin.” The bitterness in the younger hybrid’s voice takes you aback. It’s a black wave, threatening to drown all four of you right there in the corridor. Seokjin stares at him, his jaw slack and pretty brown eyes wide.

“What do you-”

“They’re gone.” The rabbit hybrid’s bruised fingers clench into a fist and he fixes his glare on the tile. “All of them.”

Silence rings in the corridor. Dr. Cheon’s mouth is pressed into a thin line, but she doesn’t press for details and neither do you. She’d been right. They’d been hunted. The thought of it turns your stomach. Seokjin closes his eyes, long lashes fanning out over his cheeks as a muscle tenses in his jaw. He’s thinking. When he opens his eyes again, his gaze is settled on you. Your heart jumps as your nerves get the better of you, and one of his ears flicks back.

“You’re taking us?” He asks. You swallow.

“Only if you want me to.” An unreadable look passes between him and Jeongguk, the younger’s nose twitching.

“Speaking strictly as your doctor,” Dr. Cheon speaks up, interrupting the hybrids’ telepathy. “You need time to rest and recuperate-”

“Is there any special reason I have to rest and recuperate here?” He asks. You can’t help but notice the slight challenge in his voice. The corner of the doctor’s mouth twitches.

“No, I suppose not,” she acquiesces. She doesn’t look particularly pleased about the prospect of letting her patient go when he was still in the danger zone, but if the look of determination in Seokjin’s eyes is any indication, she doesn’t have much choice.

“Then, we’ll go.” The tone of his voice is final, letting everyone present know that he’s done talking about it.

That's the last that’s said to you or anyone else about it. Jeongguk falls in line with his orders easily and so doesDr. Cheon after she manages to get him to accept a pair of crutches she’d foisted upon him and passes off a prescription for pain meds and both of their check up schedules to you.

“It’s important that they don’t miss these dates,” she tells you at the reception counter, tapping the sheath of papers with one clean, blunted nail. “A single one of them. And make sure they don’t shift ‘til I’ve given them the all clear. Hybrid injuries are tricky, but they’re aggravated by the shift.” You nod, hanging onto every word she says, forcing your tired brain to take mental notes. “And-” she cuts her eyes at Jeongguk and Jin, both of whom are lingering in various extremes in the room, the deer hybrid sitting ramrod straight in a chair in the far right corner and the rabbit pretending to browse informational pamphlets. Once Dr. Cheon’s deemed it safe, she leans closer to you across the counter and gestures for you to come closer as well. You blink in confusion but acquiesce. “It’s important that your current hybrids be made to feel secure with the new additions coming.” She tells you, voice gravely serious. “Do you know about scenting order?”

After a beat, you nod. “Yeah. I mean, I read about it online but-”

Dr. Cheon tuts her tongue against the back of her teeth. “Online sources are shaky at best, wildly inaccurate at worst- particularly forums.” Your stomach flips. Had all your research been for nothing? “What did they tell you?”

“Um…” your brain boots up slowly as you try to recall the hours of research you’d done. “Uh, dominant hybrid first, then in age order?”

The corner of Dr. Cheon’s mouth quirks in an odd way. “That’s certainly a simplified way of looking at it.”

You wince.

“Hybrid group dynamics can be…” She searches for the right word. “Messy to start out with, especially with hybrids who don’t know each other who find themselves with an inexperienced handler. They’re all going to be trying to figure out where they fit in the pecking order as well as how their relationship with you works. There’s likely to be a lot of posturing, not just in order to impress you, but to solidify their place as well.” Dr. Cheon drags a hand down over her face. “Seven male hybrids under one roof...It’d be a miracle if no one’s missing fingers by the time the week’s out.”

“Is there any way I can stop them from being mean to each other?”

“I’m not a behaviorist,” The doctor sighs. “But I’d suggest you start with a conversation.”

You slide into the back of the taxi a little after 5:30 AM and pull out your phone. You’d promised to call on the way back and you don’t want a repeat of what’d happened the last time you’d forgotten. You scroll down your contacts, thumb hovering over Yoongi’s name and you hesitate. You remember warm lips, a rough tongue. You remember hands gripping your hips tight and a possessive growl in your ear. You press Taehyung’s name instead.

The tiger hybrid picks up on the third ring. “Hello?” His voice is slow and scratchy, still thick with sleep.

“Hey, it’s Y/N-” Almost immediately a happy rumbling starts from his end of the line. You can hear the sleepy joy in it and it makes your face warm.”A-and I just wanted to let you guys know I’m on the way home.”

Taehyung hums in acknowledgement, a low, musical sound. “Where’d you go?”

You bite your lip as nerves spark up in you. Well, all things considered, it was probably better for him to find out now rather than later. “The last two hybrids my uncle got…they were hurt and I had to come get them.”

The line is quiet for a moment and you gnaw at the bottom of your lip. Finally, Taehyung speaks. “Ah.” That’s all he says. Somehow, that’s worse than whatever Yoongi growling at the new hybrids or Jimin icing them out.

“I’ll be home in about another forty-five minutes, okay? Could you have everyone get together in the living room for me? We need to have a conversation.”

“Yeah, I can.”

You wince. There’s an almost imperceptible change in his voice. You swallow. “Taehyung, are you upset?”

He hums again like he’s considering it. “No,” he answers after a moment. “I don’t think i am. At least, not with you.”

That does little to allay your fears, but you force yourself to sound upbeat when you tell him, “I’ll see you when I get home, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll see you when you get home.”

The line clicks off and you drop your head against the headrest. A conversation. It should be a simple thing, but you spend the entirety of your taxi ride back to Gangnam with your stomach in knots. If the thought of introducing your two (very injured, very vulnerable) new hybrids to a house full of predators wasn’t enough, you have to try to allay Jeongguk’s inexplicable fear of the taxi driver. The middle aged man isn’t thrilled about ferrying hybrids across the city anyway, but between Seokjin swooning and Jeongguk thumping his foot so hard the whole car rattles whenever the man so much as looks in his rearview mirror, he’s almost ready to put all three of you out on the side of the highway. You have to promise him a 50,000 won tip just to get him to relent. He rolls up the partition, but even that doesn’t put Jeongguk at ease.

The rabbit hybrid is curled up in the corner of the backseat, his back against the door, his injured arm cradled close and his knees pulled up to his chin. His ears are on high alert, twitching at every passing car or stray siren. His whole body is tensed up like there’s a current running through it, like if he lets himself relax for a second, he’ll disperse into nothing. He’s glaring daggers at the partition, but you know he can’t see the driver. The car rolls over a speed bump a bit too fast and he flinches, hand shooting out for the door handle.

You watch him, concern coloring your scent. It’s not your place to ask, you know, and you feel almost stupid doing it, but the words slip out of their own accord. “Are you okay?” It’s a ridiculous question. You can still see the bruises blooming on his cheekbone, see the angry red of his split lip in the stray light of street lamps. His dark eyes flick toward you, round nose twitching.

“How do you know he’s taking us somewhere safe?” His gaze shifts from you, to the partition, to Seokjin, dozing fitfully on your otherside. The deer hybrid had finally surrendered to his pain meds not a second after you’d helped buckle him in. He’d been out cold before the driver had pulled away from the curb.

“Because that’s what I paid him to do,” you tell him, truthfully. You’d never given much thought to how much trust you placed in taxi and bus drivers to not kidnap you before. You certainly had to now, especially when Jeongguk seemed hyperaware of the fact that you’d entrusted all of your lives to a stranger. The rabbit hybrid swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing in the long column of his throat. He gives a little shake of his head.

“He could take your money and still take us somewhere bad. He could take us up into the mountains and Seokjin and I wouldn’t be able to do anything because we’re hurt and-”

“That’s not going to happen, Jeongguk,” you say in as soothing a voice as you can manage to muster up. “It’s really unlikely that that’ll happen, but even if it did, I’d do my best to protect you.”

He snorts, ears tilting back. They brush the roof of the car as they do and he shrinks himself, shoulders hunching forward. “What can you do?” His tone is derisive. “You’re only human. You’re not as fast as us or as strong-”

“I’d try,” you insist, some strong, unnameable emotion tightening your chest at the thought of them in danger. “If if came down to it, I’d still try to protect the pair of you-”

“You don’t even know me.” Jeongguk’s voice is edging somewhere between disgust and disbelief. You look away from him then and at your hands, gripping your knees.

“I don’t,” you agree easily. “But I’d like to. Even if I don’t- even if I didn’t, people should still help each other when they can. We owe each other that much.” The taxi is quiet for a moment, only the sound of tires rushing over the slick pavement and other cars zooming by filling the empty air between the two of you. Finally, the rabbit hybrid exhales shakily.

“I’m not a person.” He sounds resigned to that fact, like he’s accepted a burden far too heavy for him. “I’m not even an animal. I’m a-”

“Just because you aren’t human…” you start off hesitantly, very much aware that you might be crossing several invisible lines. “...doesn’t mean you’re not a person. You have your own thoughts and feelings and emotions. You deserve to have them heard. I know I’m not as fast as you or as strong, but the least I can do is listen to you, right?” The car is silent again. You’re too nervous to look at Jeongguk, worried that you’d gone too far- but then there’s a warm weight against your side. It starts slow at first, just your shoulders brushing against each other, but before you know it, Jeongguk’s leaning his whole body against yours. He’s slumped over with his head tucked beneath your chin like he doesn’t have the strength to hold himself up anymore. You swallow, your throat suddenly dry. “Jeongguk-”

“I’m afraid.” He admits in a whisper, like it’s the worst thing in the world. “Everything in me tells me to run all the time, but I can’t anymore.” His ears droop and his pretty dark eyes slip shut. This close, you can hear his heart beating at breakneck speed in his chest, feel how he shudders with every shaky inhale. “I’m so tired of running.” He’s terrified. You wouldn’t have guessed from his posture. Maybe the reason he held himself so tight was to stop himself from shaking apart.

You watch in surprise as the rabbit hybrid links his fingers with yours and drops your hand on top of his head, right between his velvety ears. “Help me like this.” You’re frozen, unsure what to do with a six foot tall man practically crawling into your sweatshirt with you. Was this really okay? He’d just been through something traumatic, the details of which you know nothing about. You hadn’t thought he’d want anyone to touch him, much less you, a virtual stranger. You don’t know what to do. The car jerks to a quick stop and the taxi driver leans on his horn, curses jaywalkers. Jeongguk’s grip on you tightens and he flinches so hard you’re surprised he didn’t knock his head into your teeth. He exhales shakily, tilts his head up and brushes his nose along the underside of your jaw. “Please,” he asks in a voice so small you know it’s killing him. “Just ‘til we get there, please just let me be weak.”

That breaks something inside you. Despite how awkward you might feel, he’s sure to be feeling worse. You wrap your arms fully around him, hesitant until you feel him go lax in your arms. You slowly stroke the back of his head and he buries his face in your clavicle, his eyes squeezed shut. “We’re almost there,” you assure him gently as he fists his good hand in the fabric of your sweatshirt. “You’re almost home.”

By the time the three of you arrive back at Haneul tower, the sky is lightening in the east and the first wave of office workers are making their way from your building into the streets of Gangnam. It’s not even 6 AM yet, but the city is stirring.

It takes you a good ten minutes to rouse both the boys and get them out of the taxi. After you’d let Jeongguk cling to you, the rabbit hybrid had fallen asleep quickly, the exhaustion from his turbulent day finally catching up to him. Even in sleep he was latched on to you, a small crease between his brows and his nose wrinkled up. Seokjin hadn’t fared much better. The cocktail of meds Dr. Cheon had given him had rendered him dead to the world for the entirety of the drive back. Even now you were having trouble rousing him.

“Seokjin…” You shake the sleeping stag’s shoulders but the only response you get is a slight hitch in his snoring. “Seokjin, please wake up, we have to go…” You can practically feel the glare the taxi driver is giving you in his rearview mirror. Yeah, the meter is still running, but you’ve taken up enough of his time as it is. “Seokjin, come on…” Jeongguk is standing behind you, staring bleary-eyed up at the apartment building, his free hand fisted in the fabric of your sweatshirt. If he’s cold in his thin tee-shirt and bare feet, he makes no mention of it.

Without warning, the taxi driver leans on the horn. Seokjin’s eyes fly open and he sits bolt upright, fear making his body tight. Jeongguk jerks so violently you think he’s going to rip a hole in your sweatshirt. You stumble back a few paces, trying to steady the rabbit and stop the pair of you from tumbling into the street. When you manage to right yourself, you slam a palm against the roof of the car and glare in the window at the driver. “Yo, what the fuck?”

The man glares back at you and waves you off. “I don’t have all day!” He shouts. “Get your animal and get out!”

You want to argue with him, you want to make him apologize- but the sight of Seokjin disoriented and afraid stops you. He’s looking at you with hazy eyes, his whole body stiff and his chest heaving. It’s for his sake alone that you hold your tongue. You reach a hand out to him. “Come on, buddy.” You say. “I got you.” He looks from your face to your hand and finally, slowly, places his own in it. His fingers are long and elegant and his hand dwarfs your’s. You tug him from the backseat and he leans heavily on you, hopping awkwardly to avoid walking on his broken foot. You pass him his crutches and he takes them, wobbling awkwardly as he tries to set himself to rights. “Can you stand?” You ask him. He nods and starts limping for the glass doors of Haneul Tower. He’s doing his best to look strong. His back is straight and his head is high, but you don’t miss the tremble in his fingers or the way he winces whenever the wind blows over the top of his head. You shove some bills at the taxi driver with a final, disapproving look, usher Jeongguk up onto the sidewalk and head inside after Seokjin.

The moment the three of you breach the double doors, Jeongguk drops his hand from your sweatshirt. His eyes rove over the glass and granite, round nose twitching at all the scents and his ears standing at attention on top of his head. He pauses, a little furrow between his brows. You’re halfway to the elevators, hovering a foot behind Seokjin in case he falls, before you notice the rabbit hybrid isn’t following you.

You cast a look back over his shoulder and find him gawking up at the hanging lights, mouth slightly ajar and starry-eyed. The corner of your mouth twitches. He’s cute, you decide. The thought leaves you almost instantly when you see Mr. Park powerwalking over to him, a sunny smile on his face. Jeongguk takes notice of him only a split second after you do and his eyes wide. You see him tense up, watch the fingers on his uninjured hand curl into a ball.

“You need to get him,” Seokjin says, sounding like he’s out of breath. You turn your attention back to the deer hybrid. He’s leaning heavily on his crutches and his face is pale. “You need to get him,” he repeats, nodding at Jeongguk. “That man gets any closer and Jeongguk will kick him.”

You whip back around. Mr. Park is closing the distance between them, seemingly unconcerned by the look of distress on the rabbit hybrids face or how his foot seems to be tapping a mile a minute.

“Excuse me!” The older man says, reaching out to put a hand on the rabbit hybrid’s shoulder. “Where’s your-”

“Mr. Park!” You practically sprint over as fast as you can, sliding between the receptionist and the hybrid just as he’d started winding his leg back. Mr. Park blinks, surprised to find you so suddenly in front of him. You offer him a tight smile. “He’s with me.”

“Oh! Ms. L/N, I apologize. He didn’t have a collar, so I assumed he was a stray.” The statement pricks at you, but you know he means nothing by it, so you try to stamp down your irritation. “It’s rare but we do occasionally have them come in in the hope someone will take them in.” He clucks his tongue against his teeth. “Such a shame really.”

You feel Jeongguk’s hand fist in the fabric of your sweatshirt. He wants to go. You nod emphatically at what Mr. Park says, already heading back to the elevators. “Yeah, totally,” you agree, shuffling the rabbit hybrid in front of you and putting some distance between him and the elderly man. “Well, have a good morning! I’ll see you later!”

“Ms. L/N, I actually need to speak with you-”

You wave him off and duck into the elevator Seokjin had called in your brief absence. “We’ll talk later!” You tell him, pressing the close door buttons as quickly as you can and willing them to shut before he can catch up.

“But it’s about your-!”

The doors click shut and you’re blessed with silence. You exhale in a short puff, press the button for the penthouse and slump against the cool metal wall, finally letting yourself relax for a moment. The elevator starts rolling and Jeongguk flinches beside you. He duck his head like he’s going to crouch down- but he stops himself, grips the railing instead.

“It’s okay,” You soothe. “It’s just-”

“I’m fine,” he insists, forcing himself to stand up straight and release the death grip he has on your sweatshirt. “I’m fine; my time’s up.”

It’s just like he’d said in the car. Just ‘til we get there, let me be weak.

The rest of the elevator ride passes in silence outside of the automated bell dinging as you pass each new floor and Seokjin panting quietly. He’s in a bad way. He’ll need another dose of pain meds soon. You arrive on the top floor, punching in the key code and pull the door open. “Let me get Seokjin settled, Jeongguk and I-” You run directly into someone.

Their arms wrap around you, covered in a brown cable knit sweater. It’s soft and they smell of vanilla. They press their cheek against the top of your head and exhale, a little rumble kicking up in their chest. “You’re back.” Taehyung.

“Hey, buddy.” You pat him on the back gently and peer around him. Yoongi and Jimin are both sprawled on the couch, legs kicked out so there isn’t room for anyone else to join them. Namjoon is sitting on the stairs shooting daggers at the back of Yoongi’s head and his arms crossed over his chest.Hoseok is lingering in the no man’s land between the living room and kitchen looking like he’d much rather be anywhere else. The atmosphere is tense to say the least.

Taehyung dips his head down. “I got them, like you said,” he whispers, lips brushing against the tip of your ear and his breath warm. You have fight off a little shiver, but if he notices it, he doesn’t react. “I don’t think Hyung and Jiminie like the others very much.”

You give a little nod of acknowledgement. “That’s okay,” you tell him. “We all just need to get to know each other a little better.”

Seokjin hobbles through the door, past the tiger hybrid and drops himself onto a stool on the kitchen with a heavy exhale. “Well, I’ve got maybe fifteen minutes at most before these meds catch a second wind, so let’s get this over with.” He’s doing his best to sound cavalier but he’s pallid. You don’t miss the thin sheen of cold sweat on his face and neck. “Seokjin. Twenty-eight. Red stag.”

All the other hybrids are staring at him in a mix of confusion, irritation and, in some cases, open dislike. It seems like they don’t know what to make of him. It’s Yoongi who speaks first. “If you’re a stag,” he drawls and you already feel dread welling up in you at what you know is going to follow. “Where are your antlers?”

Seokjin fixes him with a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I only put them on for special occasions.”

“Okay!” You clap your hands together trying to diffuse the tension you can feel building. “New house rule: let’s not ask each other about injuries past or present unless we’re asking how to help.” Yoongi looks miffed, but he settles. It’s weird. Normally, you’d have expected him to say something snarky back to you. He’s trying not to push his luck after last night, you think. “Yoongi, why don’t you go next?”

His ears flick in annoyance, but he does as you ask. “I’m Yoongi, I’m twenty-seven and I’m a bobcat-”

“I’m Jimin,” his junior pipes up before he’s hardly had time to finish. “I’m an amur leopard and I came here with Yoongi-hyung and Tae. We’ve been with Y/N the longest.” He says it like it’s an important piece of information for everyone to know.

Beside you, Taehyung lifts one hand, palm up. “Hi,” he says calmly. “I’m Taehyung. I like the color purple.” Everyone watches him to see what else he’s going to say, but the tiger hybrid is finished. You give him a little nudge with your shoulder.

“Tell them how old you are and what your hybrid is,” you suggest.

“Oh,” he lifts his eyebrows like the thought genuinely hadn’t occurred to him. “I’m twenty-four and I’m a tiger.” Suddenly remembering something, he tilts his head forward in a little bow. “It’s nice to meet you all.” A sour look takes over Yoongi’s face and Jimin rolls his eyes, gestures for the youngest of their group to come sit beside him.

Hoseok is the next one to pipe up. “I’m Hoseok!” He seems to perk up a little when you turn your eyes to him, his docked tail giving as much of a wag as it’s able. “I’m a Doberman, I’m twenty-six and Joonie and I came from the same pla-”

“My name is Namjoon.” The wolfdog cuts off the other canine with a growl. All the wind goes out of Hoseok’s sails and you don’t miss the way Seokjin freezes up at the dark sound, suddenly alert. You weren’t sure if prey hybrids still avoided predator hybrids like their animal counterparts did, but you’d need to learn and fast. Namjoon leans back on the stairs, his jaw clenched. “I’m the same age as him-” he jerks his head at the Doberman hybrid. “-so I guess I’m twenty-six too.” He makes no mention of his hybrid and you don’t press. You don’t know how sensitive a subject it is for him yet, but you don’t want to find out the hard way.

Hoseok looks back at you and cocks his head to the side, his gaze fixed on a spot just over your shoulder. “Who’s he?”

Five pairs of eyes follow his. You turn around. Outside the apartment, still in the corridor, is Jeongguk, his back pressed against the wall and his eyes wide as he surveys the mixed bag of hybrids spread out in front of you. Your eyebrows furrow in concern.

“Do you wanna come in?”

His gaze flicks from you, to the cats, then to Hoseok and finally to Namjoon. It’s only when he sees the wolfdog hybrid that he moves from the wall. He takes halting, jittery steps one after the other until he’s planted by your side, his eyes on his bare feet. Every move he makes makes it look like he’s fighting against his own body, forcing himself to tamp down his instinct and move.

“Can you introduce yourself?” You ask him softly. “Or do you want me to?”

His good hand clenches into a fist and forces himself to look up. He meets each of the other hybrid’s eyes evenly. “My name is Jeongguk.” When he speaks, there’s no shake in his voice. “I’m twenty-three years old. I came from the same place as Seokjin but we don’t know each other that well. I’m a Flemish Giant Rabbit.” So that was why he was so big. You’d never seen a Flemish Giant in real life, but you’d happened across the odd youtube video of them once or twice in your suggestions. They were huge.

With introductions out of the way, you feel a little tension melt out of your shoulders. That was the biggest hurdle. Maybe now that they all at least knew each other, they’d be a little more open to being around each other. You let out a little exhale. “And I’m Y/N. I’m also twenty-three and this is my uncle’s apartment. He’s the only that bought all of you but I only found out you were coming a little over a week ago, so please forgive me for being unprepared.” You rub your palms against your eyes, trying to combat the exhaustion you can feel crawling over you. “I don’t know that much about hybrids, but I’m trying to learn. A lot of things you’re gonna have to help me with. I’m not expecting you guys to be pets or best friends or anything, but if we could all try to get along I’d appreciate it.” You offer all seven them a weary smile. “Thanks for getting up early to do this, guys, I appreciate it. If there’s anything you need, literally anything, please don’t be scared to ask-”

“Um, Y/N?” Hoseok is looking at you like he’s been dying to say something for the past five minutes. You turn your attention to him and squint as you try to focus on what he’s saying. “I did a sweep of the apartment earlier-” That was concerning. You make a mental note to tell him he doesn’t have to do security sweeps anymore. “-and there’s only four bedrooms.”

You blink at him in confusion.

“There’s eight of us.”

Oh. Oh. You drag your hands down over your face. You hadn’t accounted for lack of space being an issue. When you first moved in, Oliver’s penthouse seemed like it went on forever. “Okay,” you start, crunching some quick numbers. “Some of us are gonna have to double up.” There’s a disgruntled mrow from the couch and without looking, you know it’s Jimin. “Yoongi, Jimin and Taehyung are already sharing so they’re exempt, but Seokjin needs his own room- at least until he recovers.”

“That’s fine by me,” the stag chimes in. “But that leaves Jeongguk without a-”

“Hyung, can I stay with you?” The room goes quiet.

“Seokjin really needs his own room-” You pull your face out of your hands to address the rabbit hybrid, but he isn’t looking at the stag. His eyes are fixed on Namjoon who’s looking at him in a mix of confusion and alarm. The wolfdog looks from the rabbit to you.

“I saw a camp bed out in the greenhouse while you were showing us around last night.” He says, standing to go. “I’ll sleep out there.”

“Namjoon, you don’t have to sleep outside-”

“I like it out there.” He calls back over his shoulder as he climbs the stairs. “I can see the sky.” Then he’s gone and the six of you are left.

“Well,” Jimin purrs, rising and crossing the living room to you. “Best of luck.” He rubs his cheek against yours, folding you into a loose hug. You think he’s about to pull away, but he whispers in your ear, “If you want to share with us, you know where we sleep.” And then he’s gone, sauntering up the stairs with Taehyung and Yoongi in tow. The bobcat tosses a look at you, but you look away quickly, missing the way his ears sage when you do.

Now, the only ones left are you, Jeongguk, Hoseok and Seokjin who’s rapidly fading. “I’ll take the couch,” you volunteer. It wouldn’t be the most comfortable thing in the world, but right now, the stark white cushions look like heaven to your sleep-deprived mind. “Seokjin can have my room-”

“He can have mine,” Hoseok interjects. “And, if it’s okay, could I stay with you?” There’s a light whine on the end of his words and you don’t miss the way his ears prick up in anticipation of your answer. “It’s what I wanted to ask you earlier.”

Oh. When Jimin interrupted him, that’s what he’d been trying to say: he wanted to sleep in your room to be closer to you. To protect you.

“Yeah,” you agree easily. “Yeah, that’s fine.” Sharing beds wasn’t a big deal for you. You’d grown up in a flat with your mom and had shared a bed with her til she’d been taken from you. Then in foster homes with too many kids and not enough resources, you’d had to double- and sometimes even triple- up. It was a matter of convenience and space.

Hoseok’s tail gives a little wag and he nods, happy with your decision.

“Great!” Seokjin cheers weakly. “Now can someone please help me lie down.”

It’s Hoseok that helps the stag hybrid up the stairs and into bed. He’s stronger than you and taller, so it only makes sense. You show Jeongguk to his new room and stay with him for a few minutes while he feels it out, making sure it’s safe. It’s only once he’s sequestered himself under the covers and dismissed you that you leave, closing the door quietly behind you as the rabbit hybrid settles down for some much needed sleep. You turn to head back for the stairs- but you find Yoongi at the other end of the corridor, staring you down. You stare back. He swallows.

“Can we talk?” He asks, his voice quieter than you ever remember hearing it.

You give a little nod. “Yeah,” you assent. “We need to.”

He meets you halfway, his hands shoved into the pockets of his joggers and his gaze anywhere but on your face. The seconds stretch out and you exhale, closing your eyes. “Yoongi, about last night-”

“I’m sorry,” he interjects. “About what happened in the elevator. It was disrespectful and immature. I won’t do it again.”

You balk at him. You’d honestly expected him to tell you you were being childish for reacting so strongly to it when you’d told him he could mark you whenever he was ready. But he hadn’t. He shuffles back a few steps, his head still low.

“Well, that was all I wanted to say to you, so-”

“Do you understand?” You ask him. He stops short. “Do you understand why I was upset?”

His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you see a little furrow between his gray eyebrows. “Because I marked you.”

“No,” you insist, emphatically. “I was upset because it didn’t feel like you were doing it for me.” He does look up at you then, yellow eyes unreadable. “It didn’t feel like you were marking me because we’re friends or you wanted me to be a part of your group. It felt like you were doing it to show off in front of Namjoon and Hoseok.” You swallow. “And that hurt my feelings.” It feels good to say. It feels good to talk about.

He lets out a little chirp of distress. “I don’t wanna hurt you,” he rasps. “I just-” He rakes a hand back through his hair and shakes his head. “Fuck, I just felt like if I didn’t do something right then you’d get bored of me and send me away. I thought you’d replace me with them.”

Your heart twists. You know the feeling more intimately than you’d like to admit. You reach out, hesitantly and squeeze Yoongi’s arm. “Yoongi, I’m not gonna send you away. Ever. It’s important to me that you know that. Unless you wanna go, you can stay. There’s room enough for all of you.”

“No there’s not, that’s why we’re sharing rooms,” he drawls.

You roll your eyes and let out a little chuckle. “Okay, smart-ass.”

The corner of his mouth curls up at the playful insult. After a moment, he speaks. “I don’t, for the record,” he says. “Wanna go, I mean.” He stares down into your face, yellow eyes intense. The seconds drag on and something between the two of you grows tight. He leans down, face nuzzling the soft spot between your ear and your jaw. He huffs. “Bunny scented you,” he mutters, tail flicking in annoyance, but there’s no heat behind it. You’re relieved.

“He was afraid in the car,” you answer softly. “I think it helped.” Your hands slip from his arms around his back and he purrs. It’s the first time you’ve heard him make that sound. It sends warm vibrations through your whole body and you giggle. Yoongi smiles against your skin and your heart leaps. He’s never smiled around you before. You can’t see it, but you can feel it. You know it’s there. “Do you want to try again?”

Yoongi exhales, his breath warm on your neck. “Can I?”

“Yeah,” you say, tilting your head to the side for him. “You can.”

This time is different, you can feel that from the onset. His fingers wrap gently around your hips and he nuzzles into your skin. He nips lightly at the skin below your ear, the corner of your jaw, all down the column of your neck until he reaches the spot where it joins your shoulder. He hums, wraps his arms around you fully and pulls you flush against the hard line of his body. Your breath hatches and you can practically hear your heart thudding traitorously in your chest.

It’s not a big deal, you tell yourself as he laves his rough tongue against your feverish skin. It’s not a big deal; marking isn’t sexual. This isn’t a big deal, there’s no need to be nervous or get- the points of his teeth scrape over the mark before he laps at again and you have to bite back a whimper. Your knees feel a little weak- that is, until Yoongi slots his thigh between them, keeping you up while he finishes his work. Your hands ball up into fists in the fabric of his t shirt and you grit your teeth together with the effort of keeping quiet. He pulls off your neck with a wet pop and you swear you’re imagining it when he presses a final kiss to his mark. He noses your ear, still purring and you think he’s gonna mark you more- but then his warmth is gone and his standing before you, eyes a little hazier but no worse for wear.

He reaches up and flicks you in the forehead. You grumble at him, covering the spot up with your hands before he can do it again. A lazy smirk spreads out on his face. “Welcome to the family,” he drawls. Then he’s turning on his heel and heading back to his shared bedroom. “Don’t wipe this one off this time, okay?”

You nod mutely after him as he disappears, your hand cupping your mark. “What was that?” You wonder. You descend the stairs in a daze, your mind whirling. None of your research had told you creating a mark would be like that. You’d thought it was a quick thing and Yoongi had just been showboating for the canines. Even in the videos you watched, the hybrid had leaned in close to the human, given then a few quick swipes with their tongue and moved on. Then again, those hybrids had all been domesticated dog or cat breeds. “Are exotics different?” You muse, turning the handle to your bedroom- and promptly tripping over someone.

This time, you don’t go all the way down. You make it halfway before Hoseok catches you. “Ah, I’m sorry, Y/N!” The dog hybrid whines, fussing over you as he sets you back to rights. “I’ll do better about staying out of your way, I promise-”

“It’s okay,” you soothe, trying to stop him from fretting. “It’s okay, I’m okay.” You survey the floor of your bedroom. It seemed like in his security sweep earlier, Hoseok had found the linen cabinet and made use of the spare blankets. His pillow and a comforter are set up in a little pallet on the floor in front of your door. It seems he’d been putting the final touches on it when you’d stumbled over him. “Hoseok…” you start slowly. The Doberman looks at you, ears pricked up. “Hoseok, I wasn’t expecting you to sleep on the floor.”

He cocks his head to the side, doglike even in his confusion. “Then where…?”

“The bed is big enough,” you say, gesturing to the queen sized bed dominating the center of the room. “I don’t mind sharing if you’re comfortable with it.”

His adam’s apple bob’s in his throat as he swallows, suddenly serious. “Yeah,” he says with a nod. “Yeah, I’m comfortable with it.”

You nod and pat him on the shoulder, passing him as you head to bed. “Come on, then.” You collapse onto your bed face-first and slip back under the covers with a groan. “I’m just gonna take a quick nap before I’ve gotta get up and deal with stuff…”

The room is quiet, but somewhere in it, you can hear Hoseok shuffling around. “Maybe I should check to make sure everything is safe one more time?”

You exhale, your eyes slipping shut. “Hoseok…”

“Did you lock the front door after you came in? I think the rabbit...Jeongguk was the last one in? I don’t remember him locking-”

“Hope, bed. Now.” He doesn’t say anything else, but a few seconds later, you feel the far side of the bed dip with his weight. You sigh as he shifts to get under the blankets and you snuggle down further into your pillow. “Sleep well, Hobi.”

He mumbles something under his breath about security being a serious issue, but you don’t catch it. You’re already halfway to dreamland.

#thebtswritersclub #hybridbtsnetwork #bts fic #bts x reader #bts x y/n #hybrid!bts #ot7 x reader #seokjin x reader #namjoon x reader #jhope x reader #yoongi x reader #jungkook x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader

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skamenglishsubs · 3 years

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Subtext and Culture, Young Royals, Season 1, Episode 2

Episode 2 picks up the morning day after the initiation party, the girls are having breakfast lunch at their dorm, the boys at theirs, and everyone wants the juicy details about what happened at the party...

Culture: Tell me more, tell me more, did you get very far? Although, it's pretty funny how the roles are reversed, Maddie is all "meh" about it, while Nils tells a different story. Then again, since when do you get together after a blowjob?

Culture: I actually have no idea why Simon is having breakfast at Skogsbacken, since regular schools only cover lunch for students, everyone eats breakfast at home, and then goes to school. Then again, it allows a scene where (Never mind, they're having lunch, thanks @kamand !) Blink and you miss it: Wilhelm casts some nervous glances at Simon after having been called out for disappearing at the party and almost forced to confess to making out with someone.

Culture: I know Felice is trying to put August down, but don't knock a proper Swedish pizza! As much as I like living in the US, they can't fucking make pizzas here, and the first thing I eat every time I go back to Sweden is always a real pizza. With pineapple and shrimp as God intended pizza to be made!

Culture: August is namedropping ski resorts in the Alps, which is where you go skiing in Europe if you have money, although Saint-Martin-de-Belleville is actually near Val Thorens in France, while Verbier is in Switzerland. It does have a three-star restaurant, though. Sweden and Norway have a couple of decent ski resorts, but the Scandinavian mountain chain is simply not as impressive as the Alps.

Subtext: Remember Wilhelm getting up and hurrying to math class in the beginning of the scene? It was so he could grab the other seat next to Simon, because he knows Simon is gonna sit next to Sara, since no-one else does.

Culture: Formally greeting your teacher before class is very uncommon in Sweden, but since Hillerska is all about discipline and tradition, of course they do it. Note that they're again using the formal Swedish title for male teachers, Magister, which in a regular school would be kind of a joke, since teachers and students are on a first-name basis with each other.

Subtext: Wilhelm is exposing how the world works if you have money. At Simon's old school, studying alone would result in good grades, but Hillerska is slightly corrupt and almost expects the students to essentially pay for getting a good grade.

Subtext: Simon is lying to his teacher, he absolutely hasn't talked to his parents about paying for private lessons.

Subtext: No, Sara absolutely does care about what other people think about her, and when she directly tells Felice that she would actually like some friends, that's when Felice gets it and starts making an effort to become real friends with her.

Culture: They're all bilingual at Simon's home, they're all speaking Spanish and Swedish, although Linda has a very noticeable accent to her Swedish. Based on demographics and statistics, the most likely scenario is that Linda immigrated to Sweden from Chile, met Micke, and started a family. In real life, Omar Rudberg was born in Venezuela and grew up in Sweden, while Carmen Gloria Pérez was born in New York, and grew up in Puerto Rico.

Subtext: Remember how I talked in the intro post about how distant social classes know nothing of each other? Ayub and Rosh are either working class or lower middle class like Simon, and since rowing is a typical upper class sport, they know nothing of it, they don't even think of it as a real sport. Unlike football, which is a proper working class sport, they know all about that!

Subtext: Scandinavia has Jantelagen, and everyone there thinks it's uniquely Scandinavian, but all countries have some form of Tall Poppy Syndrome. In this scene, Simon is starting to make a class journey, he started rowing, he started trying to fit in with the other upper-class kids, and getting into a relationship with someone as upper-class as Wilhelm would definitely move him all the way. But going on a journey means leaving things behind, which is why Rosh and Ayub are cutting him down and literally turning their backs on him. They like it in the small town of Bjärstad, why can't he be happy there too? Why is he betraying his roots?

Subtext: This comment from August nicely foreshadows a later episode when August does something traceable on a School computer...

Subtext: What August means is that he's not sure Wilhelm has the same desire to be accultured into the upper class, to play the part of a proper prince, in the same way that he and Erik have accepted their roles and are even enjoying them.

Culture: Although it's impossible to read the name of the medicine, the paper tag on the bottle indicates that it's some kind of prescription medicine. From the conversation with Vincent, we learn that it's some kind of ADHD medication, probably some kind of Dextroamphetamine since those improve athletic ability and cognitive functions in healthy people.

Culture: Birkenstock sandals are associated with hippies in Sweden as well as in many parts of the world, so August is actually saying that the school counselor isn't really part of the same upper-class society as the rest of the staff. And again, his use of the word sosse drives the point home.

Subtext: Consequently, the counselor sees right through August and refuses to immediately prescribe him the medication that he wants...

Subtext: ...even though August tries to both bribe him and threaten him into giving him the medication he wants.

Subtext: A big theme of this episode is class journeys, and in this scene and a previous exercise scene, August gushes about how good a thing that is, how proud he is of Simon for going on one, and spouts some crap about how everyone can make it if they really want to.

Subtext: Thankfully, Madison says what we're all thinking: August is full of shit, life isn't fair, and they're only at the school because they were born into privilege.

Blink and you miss it: After Wilhelm has nervously texted his crush for the first time, he starts to bite his fingernails, but quickly stops himself, because why would he be nervous? He's just texting another boy about rowing practice, there's nothing more to it!

Subtext: Simon's texting game is on point though, he knows exactly what he should write to get Wilhelm to go on a totally-not-a-date with him.

Subtext: In the same way that August couldn't convince the counselor about being sick, I don't think Wilhelm's atrocious acting here convinces August that he's sick either.

Culture: Public transport in the greater Stockholm area - or wherever we're supposed to be - is of course cash-less, and you pay by either charging a special card, or by signing up in their app and buying tickets through there. The point of this scene though is to drive home how Wilhelm has never ever had to take the bus before in his life, and therefore has no idea how it works.

Culture: The totally-not-a-date starts at a Circle K, which in Sweden is just another gas station, but it is actually a Canadian multi-national convenience store corporation. The price of gas is of course posted in kr/l, and 13.98kr/l corresponds to roughly $6/gal.

Subtext: Throughout the totally-not-a-date, Wilhelm is trying to reach for common ground with Simon, trying to show him how he's just a regular guy...

Subtext: ...but then real life intrudes, Wilhelm is recognized by some local girls, who call out to him and run away giggling, which shows how he's not a regular guy, he's going to get recognized wherever he goes.

Culture: Kokt eller grillat, boiled or grilled, are the two ways you can get your hot-dog at pretty much any hot-dog place in Sweden, and ketchup and mustard is always offered. The correct answer to this question is of course grilled, with ketchup and mustard, and this just shows that Wilhelm is a man of culture and good taste. Unfortunately, they were out grilled ones, so they all got boring soggy boiled hot-dogs instead. Is there a metaphor here? I don't know.

Subtext: Again, the show drives home the point that absolutely no-one has a problem with people being gay. Simon is clearly out to Ayub and the rest of his friends, and Ayub immediately picks up on the fact that this is totally a date.

Blink and you miss it: Ayub nudges Simon with his elbow to tell him that he should make a move on Wilhelm.

Culture: What we're looking at is just the local junior/high school football team, Bjärstad, playing a match against some other unnamed junior football team. Since the stakes are super low, the audience basically consists of whichever parents and friends of the players that could be bothered showing up.

Culture: Driving age is 18 in Sweden, and even then getting your own car at that age is extremely uncommon. However, you can easily get a license for a moped when you turn 15, so these are the vehicles of choice for teenagers to get around.

Subtext: August found out about Wilhelm's trip to town, but his main problem with it is that he wants Wilhelm to stop slumming it with lower class people, and to start hanging out with everyone at school instead, so that he can be properly accultured into the upper class. Again, sosse in this context means working class, not socialist.

Subtext: Although Simon felt really great about his first date with Wilhelm, the text message reminds him that Wilhelm isn't a regular person, and that even this innocent little trip generates interest and scrutiny, and can't be posted publicly.

Culture: As everyone should have noticed by now, Madison keeps speaking English, while everyone speaks to her in Swedish, so clearly she understands it. But here she gives her motivation for sticking to English, and that is that she doesn't feel she's good enough at speaking Swedish. Boarding schools like Hillerska attracts international students that have some kind of connection to the country, so a likely scenario is that Madison grew up in the US with a Swedish parent, and she's being sent here to experience Swedish culture and get immersed in the language to learn it better.

Cinematography: This shot of August drives really home all the pressure he is under, he's out of drugs, the headmistress just hinted that he's out of money, and he's literally being weighed down by books and work-out weights.

Subtext: Simon has kept his visits to Micke a secret from Sara, so here he has to intervene to make sure August doesn't accidentally reveal this to her. He also wants to protect his sister, so he's redirecting August's search for drugs onto himself.

Subtext: And on the flipside, Simon isn't really telling his dad that Sara still hates him and really doesn't want to see him, so he's vague when Micke asks about Sara and Linda.

Culture: Finally a bottle of medicine where we can read the label! Unfortunately for Simon, this is Tramadol, an opiate prescribed for pain relief, which is the complete opposite of the kind of drugs August wants.

Subtext: If you haven't figured out yet that this episode is about class journeys, August spells it out for us here. However, the reason he's "congratulating" Simon in front of everybody is because Simon just supplied him with more drugs, so this is his way of thanking him, since he can't really pay him.

Blink and you miss it: For a split second, Wilhelm grabs Simon's leg during the scary scene.

Subtext: The entire dialogue of the movie works as subtext for what's actually going on between Wilhelm and Simon at this point, and Wilhelm is getting a little freaked out by this sneaky display of affection.

Subtext: The movie also puts words on the implications of Wilhelm getting together with a boy, what about having kids in the future? Can you carry on your family name and traditions, or will they die with you?

Lost in translation: The plaque actually says "FEEL YOUR RESPONSIBILITY FOR THE HERITAGE". Even though the plaque means the heritage and legacy of the school itself, Wilhelm is thinking about his legacy, his heritage, and how getting together with Simon would threaten that.

Lost in translation: Wilhelm actually says "jag är inte en..." - "I'm not a..." before he stops himself. So it's not possible that he was trying to say "I'm not gay", because that doesn't work grammatically in Swedish either. He could be trying to say "I'm not a guy like that" or "I'm not a guy who likes guys", that would work.

Cinematography: The framing and silhouetting of this shot is just chef's kiss. The outline of their hair allows us to see who is who, and we can see from their poses that Simon is welcoming a kiss, while Wilhelm is still hesitating.

#young royals #young royals subtext #young royals analysis

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thekisforkeats · 3 years

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Ooh jm + shy kiss for the prompts?

Ohhh good one! I had to think about this a little and actually wrote up a bunch that didn't quite work at first. But! Here it is!

Set somewhere in the first few minutes of 160, in those weeks between arriving at the safehouse and Hazel Rutter. Featuring autistic Martin trying to navigate social situations because that is evidently what I write now.

(Incidentally the term "weak ties" was coined by a Stanford researcher in 1973. Link to the relevant paper. Credit where due, and all.)

(No beta no edits we die like archive assistants.)

It takes Martin a week to convince Jon to come down into the village with him.

If he's being honest with himself--and he's trying very hard to be honest with himself these days, so he can identify any Lonely-type thoughts--he really just wants to show off his boyfriend to the nice lady at the little shop in the village where he's been picking up essentials.

Martin is a naturally friendly person, or maybe a naturally personable person. This was not always the case; he had to practice a great deal to memorize all the scripts to smooth social interactions that other people seem to navigate without thinking about it at all. It can be horribly exhausting, just going to the shops. It's one of the reasons the Lonely appealed to him; how much easier to just move through life without having to recite all those canned lines?

Now that he's out of its grip, he's come to realize how much those interactions matter. He's been reading a lot on the internet about depression and social interaction, about social circles, and one thing that caught his eye is the idea of "weak ties," those people we're not exactly friends with, but who we see on a regular basis and who help us feel connected to a larger community. People who don't really know us and yet know something about us that helps us feel seen. The bus driver who gives you a familiar nod every morning. the barista who's prepping your order as soon as he notices you in line, the shop lady who tries to keep your favorite tea in stock.

So Martin is trying to cultivate those relationships, to feel part of a wider community, rather than just relying on Jon. He thinks that maybe if he'd had more of that, before, if he'd tried harder to go through the world being seen, he might have handled Jon's coma and his mother's death in some kind of healthier manner.

Maybe not, of course, but he's going to use any tool he can to keep the Lonely at bay.

At any rate, even beyond being very good at social scripts, Martin does genuinely like people, he's a good listener, for an autistic guy he's practically a social butterfly. And Elspeth is a nice lady, maybe mid-40's, the kind of person who runs a shop because she actually likes interacting with a stream of customers on a regular basis. So she's just the sort of person for Martin to practice his "weak tie" skills.

Because, naturally, one of the key benefits of "weak ties" is that they are the sort of people you get to be public about your relationship with when none of your closer friends are around.

Yeah, no, all of the above is just flimsy justification, if Martin's being really honest with himself. He's just madly in love and wants literally everyone within a 500-mile radius to know.

That morning, Martin makes a big show of how badly he wants to spend time with Jon, no really, but he really does have to go down into the village.

"We're out of tea!"

"I don't think we have anything for dinner!"

"But I really want to keep listening to you talk about Scottish history!"

And so on.

Jon gives him a tolerantly amused look, and Martin flushes. Is he that transparent, or is Jon just that good at reading him?

"I suppose I can go into the village with you, Martin," he says, eyes glittering. "Since you're so terribly interested in the House of Stuart. I'd hate to leave you wondering what happened to James II."

Martin would feel guilty, but he can tell Jon is pleased to be "indulging" him, and it's not like Martin hasn't been listening to Jon infodump about whatever random facts Beholding's been given him all week.

They hold hands all the way down into the village, and it's nice, to walk through the place and be seen, together. It's comfortable. They'd held hands on walks before, long ago in London, before the Unknowing, but back then they hadn't been sure what they were, hadn't managed to broach the delicate barrier between "friends" and "something else." Now, they're "boyfriends," and Martin keeps finding himself wanting to go up to each person he sees on the street and shout, "This is my boyfriend, Jonathan Sims!!"

By the time they reach Elspeth's shop, he's feeling a little giddy.

He pushes open the door and the little bell rings, and Elspeth looks up from behind the counter and smiles. "Martin!" she says, and Martin's whole body warms in a very pleasant manner, that this woman he's only known a week remembers him. "Oh, and this must be the elusive Jon." She gives them one of those teasing smiles people give to new couples, glittering eyes and amusement at the silly things people do when they're in limerence.

"Yes," Martin says, and suddenly the words stick in his throat. "Yes, this is... is... umm..." Oh, why has he suddenly frozen like a deer in headlights? Why can't he remember the right words?

"Jonathan Sims," Jon says smoothly, stepping forward to offer the woman his hand. "And yes, I'm Martin's boyfriend."

It occurs to Martin, all at once, that neither of them have said that out loud to anyone else. No wonder he's frozen up.

Elspeth glances at the burn scars on Jon's hand only briefly, then smiles--and it's a genuine smile, not one of those pitying ones people sometimes put on when they see scars like that--and shakes said hand. "Pleased to meet you," she replies. "Elspeth Douglas." She has the Highland accent, but softened; she spent her 20's and 30's in London, she's said, and came back to take over the family store when her father fell ill. The similarity might be part of why Martin likes her--that and the fact that it seems that helping her sickened parent improved her life.

"Ahh, yes. The not-so-elusive Elspeth." Jon actually flashes a grin, which Martin finds remarkable. Since when is Jon... friendly? Well, maybe he's trying for Martin's sake. If so, Martin very much appreciates the effort.

The woman behind the counter laughs, and says, "How can I help you?"

"Oh," Martin manages, his brain catching up and letting his mouth work again, "we're just here for tea and things."

"Of course," Elspeth says. "I'll be here when you're ready."

They turn away, to go deeper into the aisles.

"She seems nice," Jon says almost absently. "Shame about her fa--" He pauses, and frowns. Shakes his head, looking irritated. "You didn't tell me about that," he grumbles.

"No, I didn't. But thank you for trying to keep it in," Martin says.

Jon sighs, lowering his voice. "It's becoming harder and harder to separate what I've learned on my own from what Beholding gives me. How much of my thoughts are mine anymore? Did I actually memorize all those facts about the House of Stuart, or am I getting the... mental Wikipedia page, as it were?"

"Seems like a thing you'd know," Martin comments offhandedly. He's focused on figuring out what kind of rice to buy. He wants to try his hand at sticky rice, which really should have calrose, but Jon likes jasmine rice. Do they get both?

He doesn't want to think about Beholding, and how much of it is Jon anymore. He prefers just thinking about it as something like a smartphone app Jon can use without having to actually have a phone in front of him. He does not want to think about how much of his boyfriend has been potentially consumed by some kind of eldritch thing that feeds on fear.

He really doesn't want to think about the idea that maybe soon, Jon won't even need rice anymore, and will just live off statements, no matter how much he jokes about his partner's "eating habits."

Jon has been talking as Martin's been staring at the rice, but Martin hasn't heard any of it. He's brought back to himself by a squeeze of Jon's hand in his.

"Hey," Jon says softly. "You okay?"

In Jon's voice, Martin hears all the concern that Martin himself has been feeling. He forces himself to look at Jon, and sees bright green eyes staring out of a deep brown face. He realizes he's gotten used to the color of Jon's eyes; before the coma, Jon's eyes were brown, like a deep carnelian, and so large and dark sometimes Martin thought he could fall right into them and be happy drowning there. Now they're green, bright and disarming, and Martin's pretty sure this is why Jon still wears glasses he no longer needs, to hide those strange eyes behind plastic lenses.

Those eyes are looking up at him intensely now, and Jon's brow is furrowed, and his mouth is pulled into a frown in a way that highlights one of the worm scars near his lip, and all of it is adorable, but it's also disconcerting for the contrast between the softness of his voice and the intensity of his expression.

Is Jon as afraid of losing Martin to Forsaken as Martin is of losing Jon to Beholding?

Martin frowns at him for a moment, then sighs. "I just..." He has to look away, back to the bags of rice. "I just... don't like thinking about that. Beholding, and... all of it. I just... I just wish..."

"You wish we could be normal." Jon's tone is still soft, and filled only with love and no sort of guilt or self-recrimination.

"Yeah," Martin says, still staring at the rice.

There's a hesitation, and then Jon says, softly and slowly, "You know... normal people deal with these sort of difficult things, too. There's so much out there that can hurt people... the things we deal with, they're weirder than most of the rest of it, but..."

"Yeah, I know, Jon, I just..." Martin hunches his shoulders. "Don't want to lose you again," he finally mumbles.

Jon hesitates a moment, and then he leans in to give Martin a soft kiss on the cheek.

Martin flushes bright red--Elspeth's right there!--and turns to stare at Jon. "W-what... what was... that for?!"

Jon, too, is blushing. "I just... ah... I just... wanted you to know that... that I'm... here. You haven't... lost me. Or anything."

"Oh," Martin says. "Well. Thank you."

There's a moment where they just look at each other, and then Jon blurts, "...Can I kiss you again? It's just, I haven't all morning, and I really sort of wanted to spend the morning cuddling, but you wanted to come down to the shops..."

"Here?!" Martin stares at him.

"We can go behind the shelves if you like," Jon says, blushing furiously.

For some reason, this makes Martin giggle, and then he leans down to brush his lips to Jon's. Softly, shyly, as if they haven't been kissing each other all week, because he really is terribly aware of the fact that there are other people around.

"Tell you what," Martin says as he pulls back, surprisingly breathless despite how short the contact of their lips was, "let's finish up the shopping and then we can cuddle all afternoon."

Jon smiles up at him. "Promise?" The smile widens. "You're not going to drag me around to introduce me to every villager individually?"

"I was not--!" Martin glares at him, but now Jon's smile has become one of those shit-eating grins he gets sometimes, and Martin can't stay mad at him at all.

"You knew," he accuses, but there's no heat in it.

"I had a hunch," Jon says, humming. "I didn't want to spoil your fun, though."

Martin rolls his eyes, and then reaches out to take Jon's hand again. "Well, then, we'd better get to it. Jasmine or calrose? Rice, I mean."

"Both, I think," Jon says. "I find myself very much desiring normality of late, and rice is a terribly normal sort of thing."

#wow this got long #thanks for the prompt i loved writing this!#the magnus archives #tma #jon sims #jonathan sims #jon the archivist #martin blackwood #jonmartin #jmart #otp: one way or another together #my writing #my fanfic #writing #fanfic #prompt fill #season four

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lonelyreputation · 4 years

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Not Important

A/N: Hello we are BACK with Jealous!Shawn––It’s been sitting in a doc for nearly a month now so I thought it was about time to let it out into the wild lmao

There’s ~some smut but like nothing full on…hands disappear…but like…that’s it 😬 So if you’re not 18+ head over to my masterlist and read something else!!

Thanks a MILLION to all of you who have read and reblogged and shared your thoughts with me on anon😌 It really does give me motivation to write!! Reblog are never expected, but always appreciated!! ☀️💗💜🥰🌻 Hope you’re all staying safe out there!!

Let’s Chat!! | MASTERLIST

Warnings: Smut (it’s my first time writing it so be nice plz), little arguments, some swearing, and jealousy (??)

Word Count: 9.5K

Buzz. Buzz.

You blindly reached a hand out from the covers and tried to quiet the noise.

Buzz. Buzz.

An arm tightened around your waist and you felt hot breath fan against your neck, “Turn it…off.”

Once your hand finally connected with your phone, you pushed the lock button to shut off the noise. With your eyes still squeezed tight, you brought your phone to your face and squinted one eye open.

3:27 a.m.

Even though your brightness was turned all the way down, it was still too bright. Shawn groaned as the light illuminated your face as he nuzzled his head deeper into your shoulder to block out the light.

“Back to sleep,” he grumbled against your neck.

You lifted your hand that was curled around Shawn’s neck and played with the curls at the nape of his neck. You wanted to go back to sleep, but you were curious as to who was texting you this late at night. And you were curious as to why your night time mode was no longer in effect.

It took a few tries to correctly enter in your passcode since Face I.D. didn’t recognize your face in the pitch black. You then tapped on the green message app and read the few text messages you received.

How was your day?

Having a good spring break?

With a swift click, you powered off your phone, and let out a deep sigh. It was a kid from your marketing class three semesters ago; and he had taken up a habit of texting you every day. You hadn’t talked to him face to face since you presented the disaster of a marketing project and you had hoped to keep it that way. He was a nice guy, but he was just a partner in a group project; nothing more and nothing less.

But for some reason he thought it would be best to rekindle whatever dynamic you had. You didn’t have a dynamic with him other than working on a semester project.

You wiggled your way down the bed and felt a hand on your back creep its way under your shirt. A relaxed sigh left your lips as Shawn rubbed lazy circles with his thumb along your spine. Your eyes fell shut as you felt a soft kiss be placed on your collar bone, “Important?”

“Not at all,” you hummed as Shawn stopped his hand movements and pressed his hand flat against your back, pulling you tighter against his bare chest, “Sleep.” You barely got the single syllable out of your mouth before you felt yourself get carried away into a dreamlike state.

•••

Waking up on a tour bus was something that you weren’t too fond of, but you couldn’t deny how exhilarating it was to wake up in a different city. And sharing a bed with your boyfriend on his own bus was something you couldn’t complain about.

It was your spring break and you made plans to visit Shawn while he was on the European leg of his tour. Touring Europe was one of Shawn’s favorite experiences and he begged and pleaded with you until you agreed to spend your break with him. It was quite the sight, watching him literally fold his hands up in prayer at your knees, but little did he know, that in your mind you had hoped he would invite you out for some of his European dates. So he didn’t need to beg.

Shawn had played a show in Cologne, Germany the previous night and you drove through the night to Paris, where his next show was being held.

The two of you got up early, Shawn mentioned something about wanting to walk around the city with you a bit before he got swept away in tour mode. Shawn texted Andrew that he was heading out and that he would keep him updated on his whereabouts. Andrew made Shawn promise not to wander off too far.

Once off the bus, Shawn took your hand in his and started to obnoxiously swing them. You let out a little laugh and went along with it. After all, you were in Paris––the city of love––with your boyfriend. It was a little cliché to think, but you felt as if you were floating on cloud nine.

There was a small cafe not too far from where your bus was parked and Shawn decided he wanted to try it out. Shawn opened the door for you and immediately you were encased with the smell of sweet pastries and espresso. A smile over took your features as you looked back at Shawn who was already smiling at you.

“This is heaven,” you breathed out as you stood close to the pastry display window. You wanted to taste every pastry, but knew that was impossible. So you convinced Shawn to have you each buy two pastries each to try. He rolled his eyes but went along with your idea. You knew he wanted to try every pastry in the window too.

Once your americano, and Shawn’s cappuccino, were finished, you took your bagged pastries and went outside to sit on their small patio area. You unwrapped the bag with the chocolate croissant and ripped a piece off.

“Who texted you last night?” Shawn took a sip of his cappuccino. He tried to play it off as if he wasn’t that interested, but you knew it had been bothering him since your phone woke the two of you up in the middle of the night.

Shawn was the only person who ever texted you that late; with the exception of your best friend and sometimes your mom. Shawn was always forgetful of timezones, but he was sleeping with you in bed last night, so he knew it couldn’t possibly be him texting you. There was someone else.

You shrugged your shoulders and offered him a piece of ripped off chocolate croissant. He took it and popped it in his mouth, still waiting for your answer.

You sighed, “Just some guy from my marketing class.” You broke off another piece of croissant and dipped it into your coffee which earned you a confused stare from Shawn, “I read an article that this is the French way to drink your morning coffee.”

“You’re insane,” Shawn let out a breathy laugh, “But this guy, you have a class with him?”

You scoffed and took another sip of your coffee, “Yeah, like last year.”

Shawn choked on his coffee and started coughing uncontrollably. You placed your cup down and made a move to get up and help him, but he just held his hadn’t out and choked out a fine, before patting his chest and coughing a bit.

Shawn coughed once more, “And he––You still talk to him?”

You tilted your head in thought, you didn’t really still talk to him. He was radio silent for over a year and then sent you a message out of the blue, a bit odd really.

“Not really, he’ll just text me and I’ll respond sometimes.”

“Have you talked to him over the phone?”

You let out a laugh at his ridiculous concern, “Never.”

“Does he know you have a boyfriend?”

You tilted your head once more and softened your eyes, “I––I don’t know?”

Shawn let out an exasperated breath. He was annoyed, you thought, he was upset with you and you didn’t like the nauseous feeling that bubbled up in your stomach.

“We weren’t dating when we had our group marketing project––“

“You did a project with him?”

Your grip tightened around your paper coffee cup, “Yeah, with three other people.”

In through your nose, out through your mouth you repeated the mantra over and over in your head. Keep your cool. It was silent for a moment and you rationalized with yourself that what you said probably didn’t ease his concerns at all, but then again, Shawn was never the one to be jealous.

“I’m sure he’s seen the picture or two I’ve posted with you on Instagram,” you thought that would ease his concerns but it only caused his eyes to widen even more, “But he’s not important,” you waved the subject off and reached your hand across the table, “I’m in Paris with my insanely hot boyfriend.”

Shawn dropped his left eye in a wink and smirked, “Damn right.”

•••

Shawn’s performance in Paris went better than expected, Andrew nudging his elbow into your side from the side stage saying that it was all because of you. For the rest of the night, Andrew’s words rang through your head and you blushed every time Shawn looked backstage at you.

After the show concluded, Shawn handed his guitar off to someone and thanked all of the crew he walked past for a great show until he came barreling into you. He wrapped his sweaty arms around you and squeezed you tight.

You let out a squeal but hugged him back with as much strength you could muster up. He kissed your cheek, released you from his embrace, and threw an arm over your shoulder as Andrew talked his ear off about hotel reservations for the night and travel plans for the next day.

Andrew guided both of you toward the back exit of the arena where a black car was waiting for you to take you to the hotel. There were two days between the Paris show and the next show in Munich. And Shawn had convinced Andrew to let you both stay over night in Paris and then meet up with the team in the late evening the following day. Andrew reluctantly agreed, and he made Shawn promise that he would be on his best behavior for the rest of tour.

The car ride to the hotel wasn’t long, but it didn’t help that Shawn kept his hand on your thigh for the whole ride. And it didn’t help at all that he kept inching his hand up as he nonchalantly looked through the window with a smirk on his face. Once the two of you were at the hotel, Shawn took both of your bags, checked in with the concierge and wasted no time in pressing the elevator button.

“Geez, be patient with it,” you laughed as Shawn repeatedly pressed the up arrow. He ignored you and continued to press it until the ding sounded. He cheered in victory and yanked you into the elevator with a yelp.

When Shawn pressed the button of your floor, your phone buzzed in your hand. You looked down at it and grimaced at the text message you saw.

How was your day?

Everyday, without fail, you received a text message from the guy from your marketing class, and while you didn’t want to assume anything, it was a little annoying that he kept texting you when you told him you were on vacation with your boyfriend. You looked over at Shawn and saw that he was busy scrolling on his own phone, so you decided to respond.

You typed, it was good!! Just finished watching my boyfriend perform in Paris! Crazy!

Your phone vibrated with another text, Paris is always good––always love going back there. Between the good art, good food, and good coffee it’s a city built for me.

That was the other thing about texting him; he always revolved the conversation around him or brought it back to relate to him in one way or another. And yes, you knew that to keep up conversation, you had to talk about yourself, but the amount of times he always seemingly tried to one up you in conversation did not go unnoticed.

Yeah! My boyfriend and I got coffee at a cute little cafe this morning! Better than anything back home!

You made it a new rule to mention Shawn at least four times in conversation with him because the more read into the text messages, the more you could see where Shawn’s worry and jealousy came from. When he first texted you out of the blue, you thought it was a bit weird, but you loved reconnecting with people so you just saw it as that. But when Shawn was sound-checking today, you read back through the text messages and they did seem flirty on his end.

I could show you some really good coffee shops in Toronto.

“Y/n?” You looked up and saw Shawn standing outside of the elevator and holding the door open with his arm, “Coming?”

You nodded hastily and left the text message on read without a response. That was the furthest he’s gone in insisting on a date. He had brought up his ex-girlfriend a handful of times, clueing you in on how he was single, and to refute his claims of your supposed interest, you brought up Shawn.

Stepping out of the elevator, you took your suitcase from Shawn and rolled it down the hallway. He stopped in front of the door and put the room key in. Once it lit up green, he pushed the door and held it open with his shoulder as you shuffled in with your luggage.

You set your suitcase down to the side, not bothering to unpack since you were going to be leaving tomorrow. Behind you, you heard the door close with the click sound of the lock, and felt a presence behind you.

Shawn’s hands hesitantly ghosted over your waist and you immediately straightened your posture. You felt your breath hitch inside of your throat as Shawn’s hands became more steady on your hips; pulling you back into his chest as you let out a relaxed breath.

His thumbs rubbed soft circles on your hips as his hot breath hit just below your ear. You thought he was going to whisper something, but instead, he placed a single kiss under your ear. And then another kiss on your throat as one of his hands slid up your waist. And then he placed another lower kiss on crook of your neck.

The hotel room was silent; save for the Paris traffic sounds that seeped through the window and your racing heart. You could feel Shawn’s heart rate from being pressed up against him. And there was no doubt he heard just how loud your heart was beating for him.

You so desperately wanted to turn around and return Shawn’s kisses, but his hand was firmly planted on your hip, keeping you in place as he continued to pepper kisses up and down your neck. His hand snuck under your shirt, electric jolts zipped through your body, as he slowly inched his way up to cup your breast in his hand.

You let out a quiet moan, not being able to hold off any longer. Twisting your head at an uncomfortable angle, you pressed a hard kiss to Shawn’s lips. He groaned as he turned his head to meet your lips for a prolonged kiss as he continued to massage your breast.

Breaking the kiss for only a moment, Shawn spun you around and pressed your back against the wall, before hungrily reattaching his lips back to yours. With his hand still caressing your breast under your shirt, you tugged at the bottom of his white tank-top that was still sweaty from his performance. He took his hand out from under your shirt and swiftly threw it over his head, not caring where it landed in the room.

Before Shawn reconnected his lips with yours, he reciprocated your actions by tugging on the bottom of your shirt. He looked into your eyes, silently asking permission to remove your top. With a nod, he took it off at a much slower pace than how you ripped his shirt off, savoring every curve of your body as he peeled your shirt off.

Once your shirt was off, and you were just left in your bra, Shawn brought a hand up to cup your face as he stared tenderly into your eyes, “Stunning.”

Not being able to contain yourself anymore, you rounded your arms around his waist and pulled him in so your chests were pressed up together and continued kissing him. Shawn brought one up and placed it beside your head, palm flat against the wall to support himself.

Your head was getting dizzy, but you would rather suffer from suffocation than break the kiss. Shawn always had this affect on you; feeling dizzy. You felt as dizzy in this moment as you did on your first date when he pulled out your chair for you. The summersaults your stomach was performing were similar to the feeling of going around a loop on a rollercoaster, but instead of begging to get off the ride, you wanted to stay on for as long as possible.

Shawn’s hand that was cupping your jaw slowly moved its way down your neck and onto your shoulder, toying with your bra strap. His fingers would lift up the strap as he would pull it down your arms, and then back up to your shoulders, in a teasing manner. In between kisses, you struggled to get ay words out, but the one coherent word that Shawn heard loud and clear was off.

You were always comfortable in Shawn’s presence, but being bare in front of a person came a certain vulnerability. And it was different when you were with a person you loved. The vulnerability of being completely undressed and open with the person you cared for created a connection deeper than life itself.

The constricting feeling of your bra clasped around your back was gone in a swift motion as you felt Shawn sponge kisses onto your neck. He used both of his hands to slowly drag your bra straps down your arms, with his fingertips grazing your skin, causing goosebumps to appear.

You felt your nipples harden from the gush of cold air, but the inside of your body felt as if it was on fire from Shawn’s touch.

The kisses Shawn continued to place on your neck were soft, giving you time to catch your breath, as he nipped at your skin. Like his hand had done earlier in the night, it crept up your stomach at a painstakingly slow pace until his hand got to his desired destination. You leaned your head back on the wall and let out moan.

You could feel Shawn’s smirk against your skin as he squeezed your breast again, eliciting another sound from your lips.

Trailing your hands up Shawn’s arms, you made sure to feel every crevice. It seemed as if you had the same affect on him as he had on you; his muscles tensed up under your touch, but relaxed the more you rubbed up and down his arms.

Having Shawn’s lips leave marks on your body was nothing you would ever complain about, but you were missing his lips.

Without losing contact of his body, you trailed your hands up from his arms, giving his biceps a slight squeeze, before trailing your fingers up to softly gaze his neck. You heard Shawn’s breath catch in his throat; you smiled at the control you had over him.

With both hands placed on his cheeks, you lifted his head up from your neck. You offered him a small, soft smile as you tangled your fingers in his hair. His eyes closed momentarily as he leaned his forehead against yours, hot breath fanning on your face.

“God, I love you.”

Your heart felt as if it had set off fireworks in celebration. And in every sense of the word, it was a celebration. With the way Shawn made you feel loved, appreciated, and wanted… Everyday with him felt like a reason to celebrate.

“I––“ you said before he pressed a searing his to your lips, “––Love––“ his hand squeezed your hip as it slid further down, the opposite way it had been trailing all night. With the fireworks still going off in your chest, you felt the anticipation of the night’s activity build up in your lower region.

Shawn’s hand played with the top of your jeans, sliding his thumb in and out of the denim. When Shawn felt as if he teased you enough, he stilled his thumb over the top button of your jeans. Your kisses slowed down, now soothing and languid, as you felt Shawn’s tongue slowly part your lips.

You leaned your head to the side, granting him more access to your mouth, that he greedily took as he popped the button off from holding your jeans together. And just like his kisses, he slowly moved his fingers down to your zipper. You couldn’t hear the sound of your pants being unzipped over the ringing in your ear caused by pure pleasure.

As your jeans hung loosely at your hips, he brought his hand back up to your underwear. His cold fingertips pressed against your lower stomach which caused you to flinch, but once he dipped his hand down your front, and you felt a single finger swipe up your center, it didn’t matter to you.

Nothing matter to you in this moment.

You whimpered into his mouth at the intimate touches as he brought his free hand up to cup your jaw as he kissed you long and slow.

Buzz. Buzz.

Shawn halted the movements of his finger as he abruptly jumped back at the loud vibration against the wall. Your eyes widened at the loss of contact and also at the harsh vibration coming from your back pocket.

“Jesus Christ,” Shawn swore under his breath as he pressed a hand to his bare chest, “That scared the shit out of me.”

You tried to even out your breathing, frustrated that your activities with Shawn had come to a standstill. With a loud and annoyed breath passing through your nose, you reached into your back pocket for your phone, ready to give the person who interrupted the two of you a piece of your mind.

Once you swiped across on the message, not bothering to read the preview on your lock screen, you entered in your passcode and were automatically brought to the messages app. Once you saw the name on top with a blue dot next to it, you leaned your head against the wall and shut your eyes in frustration.

Hello??

What’s your favorite coffee shop in Toronto?

“Alright?”

You held down the volume and lock button to turn your phone off, leaving Shawn unanswered for a few seconds longer. Once your phone screen was completely black, you threw it on your suitcase and let out another frustrated breath.

Why couldn’t he take the hint? Why did he insist on texting you every night after more than a year of radio silence? It made no sense. He was just a boy who was put in a group with you that was randomly created by the professor. And whether or not he just wanted to be friends, it was quite annoying having to keep up conversation everyday with a person you didn’t think twice about. Seeing his name pop up on your screen made your stomach crawl and you dreaded having to make polite conversation.

“It’s…” You walked over to the bed where Shawn was sitting on the edge of. You sat next to him, debating on telling him the identity of the person who texted you. But from his tensed up shoulders and folded up hands, you could tell that he already knew, “It’s not important.”

“Was it the guy from marketing?” His voice held an edge to it as he turned his head toward you.

You nodded your head and rolled your eyes, “I don’t get it, honestly, it was over a year ago and I never gave him the impression––“

“He likes you.”

“As if––“

“He likes you,” Shawn’s voice was borderline emotionless as his jaw clenched, “He wants––“

“I love you,” you turned your top half, that was still bare, to face your boyfriend. You brought a hand up to his clenched jaw and caressed his cheek with your thumb, “I only want you.”

Shawn’s eyes darkened with lust as he twisted his body, placing a hand on your hip, “Move back,” you didn’t question his command as you inched your way up on the bed. Once you were at the top of the bed, Shawn slowly lowered you until your head was resting against a plush pillow. He situated himself on top of you as he ran a hand softly through your hair, “I’m gonna show you how much I love you,” Shawn whispered each word as he slowly brought his head down to brush his nose up against yours.

The tension was thick; unfinished business left up and open in the air.

With every breath you breathed out, your chest touched Shawn’s. And every breath you breathed in, all you wanted was for him touch you.

Your lips ghosted over Shawn’s for a brief moment, barely able to contain yourself, before whispering, “Show me.”

And show you he did.

•••

The air conditioning was on full blast, but you were still sweating out of your mind, as you laid on the couch with Shawn. Both of your bodies were drenched with sweat, having spent all day out in the Italian sun in Bologna. Your bodies felt as if they were melted together by humidity itself.

Feeling a bit cramped, you stretched out your legs.

“Stooop,” Shawn groaned as your legs peeled off his, causing an uncomfortable sticky feel to the back of your calves. You didn’t like the feeling of your hot legs slowly becoming unstuck from Shawn’s, but your legs felt free and refreshed after a quick stretch.

“Sorry,” you apologized before slotting your legs back into place with his, “Needed a stretch,” you snuggled back into his chest as Shawn curled his arm around your neck to bring your head up to press a kiss to your temple.

The two of you continued to lay in silence, enjoying the feel of the other’s gentle rise and falls of chests. You felt disgusting, and you knew you needed a shower, but cuddling with Shawn was your top priority. You only had two more days left with him and you wanted to be with him of every second of those last days.

You were set to fly back to Toronto the day after his show in Turin. So while you were excited to see Shawn perform more, you wish he had an extra date somewhere that would give him an off day. It would be at least another month or so until you would be able to see him in person. At times, you grew jealous of all the fans who were able to see Shawn in concert. You were jealous that they were with him and you would be sitting on your couch, scrolling through update accounts to get a glimpse of him.

The thought of leaving Shawn for a lengthy amount of time caused a familiar sting in the back of your eyes. You weren’t going to cry, you repeated to yourself, you can’t cry. Shawn had no control over his touring schedule, and you knew how much he loved this part of the job. And seeing him doing what he’s passionate about made you love him even more. You couldn’t deny the joy you felt coarse through your veins as you watched him strum his guitar on stage with thousands of fans singing his lyrics back to him.

“I’m gonna miss you.”

It was as if Shawn was thinking the same thing as he voiced his concern. You lifted your head up slightly, not wanting to move it too far off from where it’s been resting on his bicep because of the stickiness between your bodies. He was already staring down at you.

“I’ll miss you too,” you breathed out a sigh.

Shawn swallowed hard, “Will you––Are you seeing that marketing guy when you get back?”

You scrunched your eyebrows together and answered slowly, “No?” He didn’t look satisfied that your answer came out as more of a question, “I mean––I don’t have any plans to see him, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Shawn sat up, slowly untangling his sticky limbs from yours, “Do you want to see him?”

You rolled your eyes at Shawn, who was now sitting on the opposite side of the couch staring down at you with hard eyes, “No.”

The rattling of the air conditioner was the only sound that could be heard between the two of you. Shawn was still distancing himself from you and you didn’t know how to get it through his head that you had no interest in the guy from your marketing class; you had a boyfriend––Shawn was your boyfriend.

“I’d feel better if you’d stop talking to him.”

You let out a little laugh, not believing what you had just heard him say, “Okay, sure.”

You went to reach out for Shawn’s hand, not liking the space between you when your time with him was dwindling away. Once your fingers were slightly curved over his hand, he snatched his hand away. Confused and hurt, you looked up at him to see his jaw set and head turned as he looked away from you.

“I’m serious,” he said, “I don’t want you talking to him.”

Your confusion morphed into annoyance, “You really don’t get to tell me who I can and can’t be friends with.”

“So you’re friends with him now?”

“Oh my God, Shawn,” you let your head fall onto the back of the couch and screwed your eyes shut, “It doesn’t matter! You don’t get to decide that stuff for me.”

Shawn scoffed, “I’m your boyfriend.”

You lifted your head up and rubbed your temples before opening your eyes and looking at the cause of your oncoming headache, “Yeah you are,” you let out a deep sigh, “so you shouldn’t be worried.”

“He likes you, Y/n,” Shawn slightly raised his voice. You raised your eyebrows silently asking him if he was really going yell at you for something out of your control, “Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled without actually meaning the apology, “But can’t you see where I’m coming from? He texts you every day––And you can’t even deny that, I hear your phone in the middle of the night––And even when you try and ghost him he still texts you every day. He really really likes you.”

He had a point. You didn’t like that Shawn made absolute sense. You looked down at your hands while starting to nervously fumble with the end of your shirt. It wasn’t like the guy from your marketing class wasn’t a good guy; he was nice, polite, and genuinely wanted to hear what you were thinking at all times during the day. Sure, keeping up a conversation with him was exhausting at times, but you didn’t know what else to do.

“What if like––What if like we weren’t together––hear me out,” you cut your explanation short when Shawn’s tight jaw went slack and eyes bugged out of his head, “So in this alternate universe where we are not together,” you gave him a pointed look, “And say I really really liked you. I would text you nonstop. I would want to hear everything about your day, even if you had just slept and done nothing all day, and I would be absolutely devastated if you wouldn’t text me back.”

Shawn was silent, carefully planning out his next sentence.

“So you…” he started off slow, “Don’t want to hurt his…feelings?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “I guess so.”

On the inside you felt defeated, you knew that wasn’t a good enough answer, especially for Shawn, because he got up from the couch and started pacing behind it.

He ran a hand through his curls, “And what about my feelings?”

You propped your elbows up on your knees and rested your head in your hands as you let out an aggravated sigh, “Can we not argue about this?”

“I really wouldn’t feel comfortable if you saw him when you go home,” Shawn stopped his pacing and leaned his hands behind you on the couch, “Please promise me you won’t see him.”

You gulped, your head still buried in your hands. You had no intention of seeing him when you got back, you respected Shawn’s feelings about him, but it ticked you off that he thought he had some sort of power to tell––not even ask––you to not see him.

Lifting your head from your hands, you turned your head around to see his eyes pleading with you. It made you sad to think that Shawn thought someone could easily come between your relationship. Did he not trust you enough to be alone with someone else?

Buzz. Buzz.

“Jesus, fuck––Are you kidding me?!”

Shawn’s outburst caused you to jump up from the couch and spin around to face him. His eyes were glaring at your phone that continued to vibrate on the glass coffee table. Which was odd since your phone only vibrated twice whenever he texted you––Oh.

Your eyes widened at the realization; Oh.

Buzz. Buzz.

“It could be anyone,” you tried tried to calm him down as you carefully reached down to your vibrating phone, “He’s never called me–––“

And just as you said your famous last words, you turned over your vibrating phone to see his name appear on the screen. With wide, nervous eyes, you quickly pressed one of the side buttons on your phone to silence the call. When you no longer felt the vibration in your hand, you opened your mouth to offer an excuse to Shawn, but your phone started vibrating in your hand again.

Buzz. Buzz.

“Is he for real?!” Shawn threw his head back in a humorless laugh that sent chills down your spine, “After you sent him to voicemail, he’s still––“

“How do you know it’s him?!” You raised your voice to match Shawn’s, your tone sounding defensive.

Shawn narrowed his eyes at you, “Don’t pretend like it’s not!”

Growing more and more frustrated with his accusations, you turned your phone off and threw it on the couch. Now that the sound of your vibrating phone was nonexistent, you only heard your heart angrily beating through your ears.

“Is this how you really want to spend our last days together?” You took the cheap way out of deflecting Shawn’s negative emotions and changed the conversation, “We have two days left together and you want to fight?”

Shawn pinched the bridge of his nose, “You’re not listening––“

“Shawn,” Andrew’s voice was followed by two knocks, “Soundcheck!”

You breathed out a sigh of relief. Shawn breathed out a sigh of irritation.

“This conversation isn’t over,” Shawn said coldly over his shoulders as he walked toward the door; swiftly opening it up and slamming it behind him as you heard Andrew’s muffled voice go on and on about what Shawn still had to do before the concert.

•••

The last two days you spent with Shawn were tense.

You still held hands, you still cuddled together in bed, and you still shared intimate moments together. But everything felt stiff. Shawn’s hands were limp when you held them, Shawn didn’t rub circles on your back when you had trouble falling asleep, and your intimate moments were always overshadowed with Shawn trying to prove he was better than anyone else who could possibly want your attention.

He was jealous.

The conversation that Andrew interrupted the night of the Bologna show was never picked up again. It ended right then and there with the slam of the door. Shawn was usually a person who kept their word; so you were expecting to circle back to that conversation after his show when on his tour bus.

But that wasn’t the case. That night was filled with lust, love, and connecting with one another. Your head was resting on Shawn’s shoulder, his hand clasped around yours as they rested on your lap, as you recounted the events of last night.

He grabbed your wrist, untangling your hands from his curls, a mischievous smile on his lips before his head ducked under the sheets and began place kisses on your torso, making himself comfortable between your legs.

You looked up at Shawn through your eyelashes, already missing his tender touches, as you watched him mindlessly scroll through Twitter. Squeezing his hand, it caused his attention to drift away from his phone; a lovesick smile spread out on his face.

“Shawn,” you muttered his name out before he abruptly cut you off as he dragged his tongue along the inside of your thigh, eventually meeting your aching core. You had to bite your lower lip until you tasted blood to fight off the string of expletives that were threatening to slip past your lips.

Once his eyes met yours, he locked his phone and threw an arm around your shoulder, pulling you in close to him, You snuggled your head deeper into his neck and breathed in his scent not knowing when the next time you’ll see him would be. You had tentative plans to see him once he was back in Toronto, on a break from touring, but you knew he would still have some work and would want to spend time with his family. He pressed a soft kiss to your the side of your head, “I love you.”

There wasn’t a second where his name didn’t escape your lips. Over and over, you said his name like a prayer. With your fingers entwined, the feeling in your lower stomach was strong, but not as strong as the love you felt for him in that moment. You had come to realize that you lived out everyday to love Shawn. Just Shawn. One of his free arms hooked around under your thigh and held you in place as you fought to squirm, overcome with a pleasurable sensation.

You wrapped your arms around his waist, which was a little difficult considering the tiny amount of space between him and the seat. You hugged him tighter as you saw the sign on the highway indicate you were coming up close to your destination of the airport. You didn’t want to let go of Shawn. You never wanted to let go.

Before the car even made the exit from the highway into the airport vicinity your eyes were already prickling with tears. You loved how Shawn was out in the world living his dream. You loved seeing him bounce off stage with the thrill of performing in front of thousands of people in his eyes each night. But there were times where you wanted to be a little selfish and just keep him to yourself.

You let out a sniffle when Shawn informed the driver what airline you were flying so he could drop you off at the appropriate location. Taking notice of your unhappy state, Shawn carefully rubbed his arm up and down your arm, “Hey,” he said once softly, and then repeated himself with a hushed tone, “You’re okay. I’ll be home to you soon.”

The way how he equated home with you was what lowered the barrier of your sniffles into free flowing tears. Not caring about following road safety, Shawn unbuckled himself and then reached over to undo your seat restraints. Once the click of your buckle indicated you were free, he circled his arms around your waist and pulled you up to sit on his lap.

You kept your head buried into his shoulder; your hands clutching his t-shirt. Your tears were silent, save for the occasional hiccup from trying to hold back the intensity of your cries, but Shawn’s hands grazed up and down your spine, trying to calm you down. He whispered encouraging words into your ear about how well you’ll finish up the semester and how much he loved you. You wanted to hear those words on repeat for the rest of your life.

Once your tears were nearly gone and your chest was just slightly heaving, the car pulled up to a stop in front of the airline you were flying back to Toronto. When you felt the car stop and heard the driver put the car in park with a polite, Ms. We’re here, you shook your head in denial as you clutched onto Shawn tighter.

Shawn continued to rub your back as he let out a sigh, “I’m going in with her,” his voice was just above a whisper.

Knowing that you’ll get to spend some extra seconds with Shawn inside the airport was enough to get you to calm down. Your time was officially ticking down to your last minutes together and you wanted to spend as much time with him as humanely possible. It seemed as though Shawn had the same idea.

“Mr. Mendes,” the driver started out as he looked up in the rear view mirror, “I don’t think that’s a––“

“I’m going in with her.” Shawn’s voice was strong as he didn’t leave any room for discussion. The driver seemed to understand the memo as he nodded his head and got out of the driver’s side and rounded the car to the trunk to unload your suitcase.

Shawn unlocked the door and was able to open the door. He softly patted your back, indicating that you had to get up and out. Begrudgingly, you slid off his lap and quietly thanked the driver who rolled your suitcase around to you.

After a brief word with the driver, Shawn softly laced your fingers with his as he walked slowly up and through the automatic doors that led into the airport. There were people of all ages in the airport and you were a bit nervous that your final goodbye with Shawn would be so public.

Your bloodshot eyes looked up at Shawn as you felt your bottom lip begin to tremble. Shawn’s eyes were apologetic and full of sorrow as he looked down at you, then up at the crowded airport, and then back down at you. Thinking that this was where you were going to say your final goodbyes, you took a deep breath, but before you could get a word out Shawn tugged on your hand.

Like always, you blindly followed him to wherever he was taking you. Shawn led you to a quieter part of the concourse, tucked away behind a thick metal beam where prying eyes couldn’t find you.

Shawn took your other hand in his, holding both of your hands tightly as they swayed slightly in between your bodies. He looked down at you, his eyes sad but also twinkling as he smiled, “It won’t be too long, promise.”

“I––I know,” you hiccuped, “I just always miss you.”

You already missed the way his muscular arm wrapped around your waist as you slept. You already missed the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed too hard as he recounted a story. You already missed the whisper of his voice, that carried words you wanted to memorize like one of his songs.

You felt a chill wind wrap around your heart––never having missed him with so much before.

“I’m sorry,” Shawn blurted out, “I’m––I knew I acted weird these past two days and I’m sorry that I made our last days suck and––“

“Hey, hey,” you were the one comforting him now. You released one of his hands and brought your fingers up to brush through his hair. His eyes normally closed in bliss, but they stayed open with regret, “It’s alright. That––It was stupid. Just a little something, but everything’s all good,” you emphasized the last word as you squeezed his hand, “I quite enjoyed the last few days.”

No matter how hard you tried to hide the blush from creeping onto your cheeks, it was inevitable when Shawn’s soft smile changed into a devious smirk, “Quite enjoyed it, huh?”

You rolled your eyes at his cheekiness and smiled at him before scrunching your eyebrows together; you wanted to take in every last detail of the face you fell in love with, “I won’t see him when I get back,” your voice carried a more serious tone than the lighthearted banter shared just moments before, “I––I know it makes you feel uncomfortable, so I won’t see him.”

Shawn closed his eyes and leaned his forehead on yours. He breathed out a sigh of relief, “Thank you,” before capturing your lips in an innocent kiss. Much different than the kisses you shared all throughout visiting him on tour.

“I don’t want to––“ you were able to get out a few words before Shawn kissed you again, “But I––“ he brought a hand up to rest on your cheek, holding you in place, “I have to––“

“Sh,” Shawn quieted you as he kissed your lips that turned upright into a smile, “Let me kiss you.”

“I have to go,” you managed to get out between each sweet kiss he gave you.

With one––two––three more soft kisses, he reluctantly pulled himself away and looked into your eyes with care and affection, “I love you.”

You smiled and leaned up to press one last peck to his lips, “I love you, too.” Shawn’s smile grew from a closed lipped one to a full blown grin as he stared down at you.

“Text me when you land,” he took your suitcase handle, along with your hand, and started rolling it toward the escalator that you needed to go up in order to get through security. You nodded and told him to expect a text from you when you landed and when you were back at your apartment.

With one last kiss pressed to your lips––one that caused a few tears to slip through your closed eyes––you watched as he walked away, head turning over his shoulder every other second and waving to you as you took the escalator up. Once he was finally out of your view, you let a few more salty tears escape down your face, still being able to feel his soft lips pressed against yours as you made your way to the security line.

Once you had waited your turn and made it past security, you walked up to the flight board to make sure that your gate hadn’t changed from the time you printed your ticket.

Buzz. Buzz.

How was today?

Your stomach dropped at the name that appeared on your screen. You hadn’t texted the guy from your marketing class back since he had nearly ruined the night with Shawn in Paris. You had prayed that he took the hint in you not returning his texts.

Buzz. Buzz.

Miss you already!! Counting down the days until we’re back together. Maybe we can do a repeat of Paris or Bologna?? ;)

Your heart fluttered all throughout your stomach as a smiled slowly inched its way on your face. You had last seen Shawn within the hour, but your heart still ached for him. You came to a conclusion that your heart would always ache for him.

And with those two text messages––from two very different people––coming into your phone at the exact same time, there was only one person that you deemed worthy of a response, and the other person was not that important.

•••

Dressed in black skinny jeans, a maroon button up shirt, and black Ray-Ban sunglasses; Shawn thought he was dressing incognito, but he really didn’t do much to hide his identity. He was very upset when you pointed out that he still looked like Shawn Mendes.

He whined the whole car ride as he drove to a coffee shop you spent most of your semester at. You wanted to show him the little things in your life that he missed when he was on tour, so that way he wouldn’t feel as sad.

“I’m just saying,” you laughed as you shut Shawn’s car door and rounded the front of it to meet up with a pouty Shawn, “Maybe try wearing a hat? A puffy jacket––“

“Y/n, it’s nearly summer,” Shawn scoffed as he walked up to take hold of your hand, “Like hell I’m wearing a puffy jacket.”

You shrugged your shoulders as you opened the door for him and walked in to the coffee shop that was littered with a few people. With universities out of session, the coffee shop you frequented wasn’t nearly as crowded as it normally was.

You smiled, happy that you wouldn’t have to fight for a table, “C’mon,” you tugged Shawn’s hand toward the front counter, “I’m getting an espresso, what do you want?”

Shawn took his time reading the menu, debating on getting a specialty drink or sticking with green tea to keep his vocal chords healthy for when he was due to head back out on tour. A pang of sadness hit your heart when he nonchalantly mentioned leaving again, but you tried not to focus on that. You were focusing on the present––being present with Shawn.

Once he decided to order a lavender honey latte, you ordered your drinks together and slipped the cashier some cash before Shawn could whip out his credit card. He glared at you and you leaned up on your tip toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

When you had your drinks in your hands and heading towards a table in the back, you were laughing at something Shawn said when a voice cut you off.

“Y/n?”

It was a voice you hadn’t heard since your marketing class now four semesters ago.

Shawn turned around before you did and looked at the guy before scrunching his eyebrows down at you in confusion. You let out a frustrated breath and turned around with a fake smile on your face.

“Ridley,” you let out another sigh, “Hi.”

At the sound of his name Ridley brightened up and sent a smile your way, “It’s been a while! How are you? How’s your day been?”

You ignored Shawn’s stare burning into the side of your head. If reading the constant text messages from him starting every conversation off with how are you or how was your day wasn’t bad enough, hearing him actually say them to you sounded like nails on a chalk board. You thought you were successful on getting him out of your life.

“I’m good––Actually, I––I’m here with my boyfriend–––“

“You never responded to my text,” Ridley cut you off, calling you out for ghosting him.

And if Shawn hadn’t put two and two together, he definitely did now as he extended his hand, “Hey, man, I’m Shawn, Y/n’s boyfriend,” he emphasized his title and you didn’t miss the little glare Ridley sent Shawn’s way.

“Ridley,” he dropped Shawn’s hand in a manner of seconds, “Y/n and I had marketing together.” Shawn was about to open his mouth to say something, but Ridley shifted his body to face you and tilted his head, “But yeah, I never heard back from you since Paris.”

You lightly clenched your coffee cup, wishing that there was a way to ghost someone while talking to them in person, “My phone actually fell into a river and when I got a new one I lost all my contacts,” you offered a small smile with your excuse.

“That sucks,” Ridley said. His eyes momentarily left yours as he intently watched Shawn’s arm sneak around around your waist and pull you into his side, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. A true genuine smile lifted on your face. Ridley took notice and didn’t seem to like it one bit.

Ridley cleared his throat and fumbled with something his back pocket, “Here––What’s your number again? We still haven’t gotten coffee together after I asked––“

Shawn let out a laugh that cut Ridley off. Both of your heads turned to face your boyfriend and your eyes widened, unsure of what was to come out of his mouth next.

“Are you really asking her out––my girlfriend––out on a date in front of me?”

Ridley’s eyes widened at Shawn’s bluntness before they narrowed in on him, “I think she should decide for herself––“

“Oh, fuck off,” Shawn groaned as he leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling, trying to conceal his anger. You tried pulling him away from the situation, mumbling a c’mon, but Shawn wasn’t having any of it, “Leave her alone.”

“You can’t make decisions for her.”

It sounded very familiar to something you had said a few months ago when Shawn told you to stop talking to him. You had told Shawn that he didn’t have any control over who you could and couldn’t be friends with. And while that still remained true, it felt slimy coming from a person you didn’t even want to be friends with.

“You’re right, I don’t make decisions for her,” Shawn’s voice was low, “But you’re clearly making her uncomfortable and as her boyfriend I always have her best intentions in mind and right now,” he removed his arm from your waist and took a step closer to Ridley who shrunk back, “you really need to leave.”

You had never seen Shawn act so calm while visibly angry. His voice was laced with poison as he spoke to Ridley, his hand was clenched, and face turning a shade of red with every second Ridley didn’t leave. If this was any other person trying to ask you out, you know Shawn would’ve paid no attention to them, but since it was Ridley––the guy from your marketing class––who was relentless in trying to pull you away from Shawn…You could see where he was coming from.

Ridley had caused some turmoil in your relationship when you visited Shawn on tour. And there was a brief period where Shawn was more scared than he’s ever been at the thought of losing you to someone who could provide you with a stable lifestyle. But now, face to face with the person behind the text messages, Shawn just felt anger toward him.

“She’s not uncomfortable,” Ridley stared back at Shawn, before he turned to face you, “How about a coffee?”

You honestly didn’t know how he was so confident in asking you out in front of your boyfriend. Above anything else, that made you uncomfortable. You could handle his texting and the nuisance of his presence, but this was a step too far. It was as if Ridley knew Shawn’s biggest fear was losing you to someone else and he was dangling it right in front of him.

Ridley also wasn’t as observant as Shawn. Shawn noticed your body language; he noticed your tense shoulders, heavy sighs, and how you positioned your body slightly behind him wanting protection. Ridley hadn’t noticed any of that––he hadn’t noticed that you were uncomfortable.

Shawn looked at you with concern in his eyes, wanting to get you out of this situation, silently telling you he would do whatever necessary to make you feel safe, but wouldn’t push you too far. And Ridley looked at you with a glimmer of pride in his eyes, full of mischief like you were a prize to be won and paraded around.

After a moment of silence, you cleared your throat and shuffled into Shawn’s side, “I’d actually just like to sit and have a coffee with my boyfriend.”

Shawn draped an arm on your shoulder as you answered. Without looking up at him, you knew he had a shit eating grin on his face. Ridley’s face dropped as he looked between the both of you, and with a huff, he left you alone without another word.

You breathed out a sigh of relief as you rested your head on Shawn’s chest and let out a sigh of relief, “Thank you.”

Shawn shrugged his shoulders as he pulled you in closer to him with his one arm, “Just doing my job,” he then guided you to a table in the back where you sat down across from him. You took a sip of your lukewarm espresso as Shawn played with your foot under the table, which caused you to look up at him.

You tilted your head and let out a small laugh at his smug facial expression, “What?”

“You were right,” Shawn took a sip of his coffee, “He’s not important.”

#here is the jealous Shawn!! woot woot!#it's a bit lengthy but I wanted to prolong the jealousy lmao #I hope you all enjoyed it!!#hearing your thoughts brightens my day up!!#let me know your thoughts!!#I have a lot planned out for future writings so get READY!!#I think I've read this about 20 times to make sure it's throughly edited but there still might be some mistakes skfjdkf #Shawn mendes #Shawn Peter raul mendes #Shawn mendes fanfiction #Shawn mendes fan fiction #Shawn mendes ff #Shawn mendes fanfic #Shawn mendes fan fic #Shawn mendes imagine #Shawn mendes blurb #Shawn mendes oneshot #Shawn mendes one shot #Shawn mendes writing #Shawn mendes x reader #Shawn mendes x you #Shawn mendes angst #Shawn mendes fluff #Shawn mendes smut #Shawn mendes writings #Shawn mendes oneshots #jealous!Shawn #Shawn mendes x y/n #Shawn x y/n #Shawn fic

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anystalker707 · 4 years

Text

I’m always yours

Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader Genre: Fluff Word count: 2 338 Requested by @thunderpurple (who apparently got their account deactivated, but I hope they read it anyways) Summary: Reader is a famous singer who dates Gerard and writes a song about their relationship.

"What are you smiling about?" The sudden question pulls me away from my thoughts. I hum questioningly at first – Gerard's curious face is the first thing I process, eyes flickering over me in an attempt of understanding what's in my mind. He sits on the couch across from mine, his elbow over the couch's arm while he supports his chin on his palm.

"Oh," I say when finally understanding the question, adjusting my position – with the motion, my pen almost falls from my lap, but I'm able to catch it. "Erm, nothing," I answer with a smirk, raising my eyebrows lightly, demonstrating I'm just not telling him about it. Certain frustration hits me as I look down at my notebook – it seems like half of the ideas I believed to have written down didn't even leave my mind.

Gerard doesn't seem like he's giving up soon, furrowing his eyebrows as pouting lightly. "Is it about me? You've been observing me way too much." He stands up from the couch to sit down beside me, but I close the notebook and set it between me and the armrest before he does so. "That's not fair," he complains, eyeing the notebook with furrowed eyebrows.

"Yes, it is," I chuckle and place a kiss on his cheek. "I love it when you're sulky, you get all cute. Not like you're not cute normally, but you get it," I smile, watching him try to put on an angry look, but he ends up blushing. I can't help but to chuckle again, pulling him for a kiss.

"Agh, ew, no fucking on the couch." A sudden voice says and we pull away to see Frank opening the fridge – and most likely having entered the bus without us having noticed.

I roll my eyes with a small lazy smirk, deciding to joke, "you don't even know what happens when you're not around."

"And I'll be happy if it continues this way." He takes a bottle of water in hand, shooting us a playfully reprehending look as making his way out of the bus again; Gerard and I laugh at him.

"Aren't you going to tell me what're you doing?" His head rests on my shoulder as Gerard looks at me from under his lashes. Grinning, I shake my head. He sighs, defeated, and adjusts his posture. "Okay then," Gerard shrugs nonchalantly before leaning in for another kiss.

He must think he's very smart, doesn't he? I can feel the exact moment his hand reaches for the notebook, but I immediately slap it away, shooting him a look once breaking the kiss. "The more you try to see it," I tell him, narrowing my eyes, "the less I'm convinced to show it to you. You'll find out soon enough." With last peck is pressed to his lips, I grabbing the notebook, planning to leave it back in my bus.

"You're no fun," Gerard presses a kiss to my cheek.

"I'm not supposed to be," I tease, standing up and reaching for his hand. "C'mon, I changed my mind, I was just gonna leave this in the bus and come back, but we're not continuing inside here. I want to stretch my legs and I'm tired of staring at a TV or at the wall, the bus makes me feel suffocated." I chuckle seeing him roll his eyes, though agreeing. Maybe some time together will help me having an inspiration.

We grab a coffee from the café of the gas station and take a seat on the concrete step in front of the convenience store, observing the cars passing by. It's quite peaceful – the sun already set itself, so the sky has this golden shade in the horizon, slowly fading into a grayish blue which contrasts perfectly with the clouds, which still have a pink tinge. A stronger breeze hits once in a while, making a few of Gerard's strands cover his face – he hooks them behind his ear just for another breeze to send them flying again. The frustrated grunt he releases makes me chuckle.

"Wait, don't move," I say as getting my phone off my pocket. Doing as said, he hums questioningly. "You look beautiful, all aesthetic," I saw as opening the camera app, taking a few pictures of him. He furrows his eyebrows a bit in a wordless complain, but doesn't do anything to stop me either. Once I lower my phone, he nods towards it as if asking to see the pics.

"Ah, no, wait a minute," I say, changing the camera to the frontal one and moving closer to him – leans in, his cheek brushing mine as I snap another couple of photos. "Imma post these of us later," I hand him the phone to see the pics like he asked earlier, leaning a bit closer to him to see it too.

"Not the others too?" He asks curiously, returning the phone.

"Nah," I shake my head, "these are for personal archive." His scoff makes me grin. "I don't share every pic I take of you, Gee," I let my cup on the ground to be able to hug Gerard, pecking the side of his face. "I can't expose too much what's mine, even more with so many people wanting too," I mutter against his skin, the corners of my lips curling up into a smile seeing him blush – knowing I can make him blush is just amazing.

He hums softly in a mockingly judging tone, turning his face so his lips meet mine. "You do a great job," Gerard mutters on my lips before locking them in a short, sweet kiss. "But don't worry, whether near or far, I'm always yours."

Besides blood, lot of thoughts flood my head as sit upside down on the couch, looking at the nothing. Gerard needed to do whatever, so, with him away, it's the best time to try to write this song. I just want it to be a surprise.

Ray approaches, eyeing me curiously before taking a seat too, about a foot away from me and my guitar – which's actually Frank's, one he lent me earlier. "Why are you sitting like this, kid? For how long have you been like this? You'll pass out." Certain concern is mixed with his confusion, though most of his attention is turned to the phone in his hand.

"'Waiting for inspiration to come." I say as sitting upright again. The room spins under my gaze for a second, but it quickly goes back to normal since it hadn't been long since I had decided to sit like that. "I'm writing a new song," I explain, taking the guitar back on my lap again. "It feels like all my ideas slip away just because I need one then, when I notice, I'm just staring at a white paper waiting for the ideas to show up, y'know?"

Ray chuckles a bit as glancing at me, his curls moving as he nods. "I understand completely. Good luck, tho," he shoots me a smile.

"Thanks," I smile back, playing on the guitar what I've written until now. Turns out I end up finally finding an idea and, getting too engaged on writing the song, I just notice how late it is when the Gerard and Mikey are walking back inside the bus.

"Don't you have your own bus?" Mikey asks playfully, nudging my foot with his before sitting down across from Ray and I.

"Ah, sometimes I forget I do," I set my guitar laying on my lap as throwing my arms over my head to stretch myself. "But I wasn't supposed to be here yet, I just got too carried away..." Seeing Gerard's hand furtively reaching for my notes again makes me interrupt myself, slapping his hand away. "You're so stubborn!" I furrow my eyebrows at him, shooting him a look as standing up.

The guitar is left in a corner, against the wall, and I sigh dramatically, my notebook safely hugged close to myself, "how Mikey's being so rude, I'm already leaving. 'Hope y'all have fun without my illustrious presence, then." My words make Mikey and Ray hum or scoff sarcastically – I throw my nose in the air while walking away, stopping in the last moment to look back and laugh with them.

"Let me go with you," Gerard says as following me, taking my hand in his. He blushes lightly at the peck I give him before we continue walking.

By the time the tour is over, the song is completely perfected – with a little fixing here and there in the lyrics, melody and adding a few other instruments. I smile as listening to the final result, all happy about it. Today completes exact five years since I met Gerard – I remember clearly internally freaking out when meeting him and the calls until four in the morning we started having not long later – so it's obviously the best day to release the song.

I'm anxious about posting it, mostly about Gerard's reaction; I never told him what was the song about and when I was releasing it. Breathing in deeply and exhaling to make myself calmer, I decide to finally post the announcement of the single. First on Twitter, then on Instagram, both with the same caption – I've been working on this song for a long time; it was difficult summing up in five minutes everything (or almost everything) between me and the love of my life, but here it is.

I bite back a grin as placing the phone inside the pocket of my hoodie – that's actually Gerard's, but I'll just return it when it doesn't smell like him anymore and grab another, maybe one of his green jackets – and look for Gerard around the house.

Gerard's in the kitchen when I find him, preparing himself a mug of coffee. Not saying anything, I simply observe, quietly moving to the counter, leaning forward with my hands on the cold surface. He takes a quick glance at first before looking at me properly, humming quietly in acknowledge to my presence. Grabbing his mug, he gives me a peck on the lips in his way out of the kitchen.

He's most likely returning to his office, since there's where he was when I last checked, not long ago. I wait for a moment before following him, but I find him in the living room and wait until he goes up the stairs. Again, after a moment, I'm already after him, however, I almost jump three feet in the air when turning around the corner and seeing Gerard there – he eyes me unamused, sipping on his coffee.

"Why are you following me?" He asks, narrowing his eyes.

I blush, playing with the hem of the hoodie's sleeve. "Ah, um," I think for a moment. "It's a big house," I shrug, remembering the excuse he gives when following me around my house or his own – he always walks in the room about a minute later and blushes, getting all fidgety, when finding me staring at the doorway, waiting for him with a knowing look. "I feel alone...?" It ends up sounding more like a question and I try to crack a convincing grin in the end.

He chuckles softly as stepping closer, pressing a peck to my lips, leaving behind the bitter taste of coffee. "You can stay in the office too, y'know," he raises an eyebrow at me, nodding towards the said room. "I also enjoy your company."

I'm about to agree when it suddenly comes to my mind – maybe he'll check his phone when getting back there and I don't want to be around, watching his reaction to the song. "Ah," I look away, stepping back again, "no, actually, I'm fine," I force a grin, ignoring his questioning gaze. "I'll go watch something on the TV."

Before Gerard can question me, I'm already turning around and going down the stairs, throwing myself on the couch once in the living room. The TV ends up turning into just another detail in the background, losing my attention to my phone as I read the comments on the new song.

There are these hate comments as always – most of them are attacking me about for just wanting to use Gerard and MCR, which simply doesn't make sense since I was already famous before meeting them and our relationship didn't come out to the public until about a year ago.

People started suspecting about it and the media was also annoying a lot, trying to figure out the truth. So, in an interview to MCR and I before a concert I was opening for them, when the interviewer asked us about it, I just kissed Gerard in front of the camera and walked away. I remember how Gerard just shrugged at the guy and followed me while Frank watched with a grin – he had already figured out about us by himself – and Mikey and Ray stood there containing amused smiles.

The comments do make me feel bad sometimes, but I believe people would like it to be in my place, so I try to not bother too much. There are the people who actually like me, above all, and who support us together. Not like we need their approval, but that's it.

Arms being wrapped around me suddenly pull me away from my thoughts – I blush as coming back to reality and remembering everything, shrinking a bit while Gerard covers my face with kisses. "Gerard!" I say through a chuckle, in a reprehending tone, interrupted when a last kiss is pressed to my lips.

"You're the best," he says, kissing me deeply before giving me a chance to answer. "I love you so much, you make me feel so special, you're literally the best thing that ever happened to me." Once again, he kisses me.

As much as the kiss is good, I pull away a few seconds later to answer. I grin sheepishly, "you too, Gee, I love you too."

#mcr #mcr fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #emo #my chemical romance #mcr oneshot #mcr imagine #gerard way #gerard way imagine #gerard way x reader #x reader #fluff #oneshot #my post

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devourer--of--books · 4 years

Text

tagatha dating simulator au

- It’s sunday night and local college student, Agatha, hasn’t sleep in two days, practically glued to her chair at the library, trying to absorb the maximum of information she possibly could before finals on monday morning.

- Sitting across from her is her roommate and best friend, Sophie, who doesn’t seem nearly as concerned, playing a game on her phone. Mostly because she already failed half of her courses and is considering dropping out of college to pursue a modeling career, why try at this point-

- Agatha appreciates that Sophie is keeping her company, she really does, but even if her friend was using headphones, Agatha can still hear the background music and the voice actors very clearly. That on its own was distracting enough, but it was always the same lines, with the background music looping as Sophie restarted the game prologue over and over again.

- Around the fifth time she hears the app-staring-exclamation ‘milady!’ her eye starts twitching.

- By the twelfth she slams her book shut, earning herself a glare from all the remaining students in the library.

- “How terrible do you have to be at a game to not be able to get through the prologue?” she whisper-shouts, taking the sit beside Sophie, looking at the screen.

- “That’s not the problem,” her friend defends, proceeding to explain the game.

- Trial by Tale is a recently released dating simulator that has managed to gather a cult-like following. The game was praised for its diverse range of LIs, well-written routes, stellar voice acting, high-quality art style and a beautiful soundtrack. It was apparently highly addicting as well, as Agatha had never seen Sophie be that invested in... any game... like, ever.

- Basically, the main character was transported inside a fairytale-fantasy-like world, where they were introduced as a ‘reader’ to compete in the ‘trial by tale’, a inter-worldly tournament, set up by a mysterious entity (a magical pen known as ‘the storian’), in which the winner would be granted an unconditional wish.

- “Original,” Agatha snorts.

- “Can you just shut up and listen?”

- During the prologue, the main character meets most of the main LIs and according to the player’s decisions, the game would put them into a specific route, based on affection levels with each datatable character.

- There were about thirty bad endings for the casual route (where the player either made stupid choices or didn’t gather enough affection with any LI), ranging from mildly sad to terribly gory. Then, each route had five early bad endings, that could happen during the trial, resulting in the main character’s death.

- If the player managed to win the tournament with the LI, bargaining with the storian for the survival of two competitors, then two new endings would be unlocked: a normal ending, in which the reader would wish to go home and a happy ending, in which the reader wished to remain forever in the fairytale world living happily ever after with their partner.

- “And that’s where it gets weird,” Sophie pauses, opening up the Trial By Tale wiki page. “Every single LI has a walkthrough and seven possible endings.”

- She shows Agatha a bunch of characters, offering some commentary on their personalities and backstories. Then, she pauses at the last. "All but one." The character is the prettiest, if not a bit too perfect. ‘Tedros of Camelot’, it says on the top of his page, his basic info and biography listed to the side, but it’s full of gaps, blanks and ‘???’s. It was mentioned that he was a dateable character, yet no walkthrough was provided.

- “Why doesn’t it say anything? Has he not been released?”

- “No one has managed to get his route so far, but according to the game developers, it’s possible. We don’t even know what his voice sounds like.”

- “And you think you will because…?”

- “I’m me. I’m getting Tedros’ route even if it’s the last thing I’ll do.”

- Agatha decides to leave her be, going back to the books, while asking for her to at least lower the volume.

- An hour or so goes by until Sophie grows hungry and decides to leave the library, going back to the dorm. After that, Agatha finally manages to concentrate, and time goes by in a flash.

- In fact, it passes so quickly that she’s not even sure what time it was. When did everyone leave?

- Her phone is dead and the clock on the wall is frozen at midnight. Probably broken, Agatha decides. It couldn’t be midnight, the lights were still on, the library closed at 10:30pm sharp and no one came to kick her out. She was tired, but she wasn’t deaf. She calls for the librarian.

- All the lights turn off at once. She’d be lying if she said it didn’t freak her out a bit.

- Then, she notices a blue glow from under the table. Please don’t let it be a demon.

- It’s a smartphone, with a bedazzled case, a loading blue screen emitting the light. Trial By Tale’s soundtrack starts to play and soon enough the words appear. Touch anywhere to start. That was Sophie’s phone. Which would be fine and normal and okay if Agatha wasn’t pretty sure Sophie left with it.

- The music starts to loop, and Agatha uses the light to guide her to the entrance, only to find it locked. Every other exit was blocked as well. Ha. Funny.

- Eventually, she surrenders, clicking on the screen, trying to close the app. The last thing she hears is ‘milady!’ and everything turns black as she feels the floor disappear from under her feet, her consciousness fading as she fell into an abyss of darkness.

- She wakes up lying on grass, near a gate, the words Trial By Tale engraved on top of it.

- She pinches herself, feeling it sting as she stared at the gate, pinching harder and harder to the point she nearly screamed in pain. The gate was still there. Agatha focus on her senses. She’s never able to smell things on her dreams.

- This place smells like dirt, pines, dried blood and iron.

- It’s a dream, she tries to convince herself. Very vivid dream, but it’s a dream.

- A bunch of floating text appears in front of her: Welcome, competitors!

- The storian tells Agatha everything Sophie already told her: it’s a tournament, in which 40 teens from different fairytale kingdoms, including the reader world, must compete amongst themselves for survival during 24 hours. You could pair up with someone, forming an alliance, but there could only be one winner. Then, the world froze, turning black and white, three options appearing in thin air:

A: I’m a boy

B: I’m a girl

C: I’m neither/both/something else.

- Agatha experiments. The text didn’t respond to her voice or gestures; she had to touch it. B. They disappeared up in smoke, being replaced by a new choice:

A: climb over the gate early

B: go in as soon as the gong goes off

C: run into the woods

- All of those sound horrible, she’ll hang around here, thank you very much.

- Agatha decides to pick B, because it sounded the least likely to get her killed. Tapping the option, color returns and more texts appears, telling her the rest of the rules. Apparently, all forms of magic and weapons were allowed, as it was a tournament to the death.

- Well, she had neither a weapon nor any magic, geez, things were certainly looking up.

- A gong can be heard and Agatha waits for her legs to magically move according to her choice.

- They don’t.

- She debates on staying put for a few minutes, maybe way too many, but then she remembers: casual route endings vary from mildly sad to terribly gory. Agatha doesn’t wanna find out which one she’d get by sticking around.

- Her future now depends on her romancing one of these pieces of code. Thankfully, it was just a dream, right?

- Inside the arena (?), she gets some other choices, which Agatha uses to her advantage, trying to figure out which LI she was going for and how to win them over.

- Hort, according to her friend, was the easiest to please and the most boring of them all. Nicola was efficient and Sophie had managed to unlock her happy ending without a walkthrough. Aric was a psycho, and so was Japeth. Don’t pick Rhian, her friend had warned. Anadil was a hard one to guess without the walkthough, Hester was super hot and Agatha’s type but that could go very wrong (clearly her type wasn’t working out, as she was painfully single) and-

- Is that Japeth or Rhian? She can’t tell, but he’s coming her way.

A: introduce yourself

B: try to kill him

C: hide behind the rock

- She chooses C, but climbs a tree instead, because he surely would be able to see her behind the rock, was he blind or something?

- “You sure are taking your time choosing,” a voice whispers from the branch above her, nearly giving her a heart attack, “...first time player maybe? Or just dumb?”

- Tedros, the mysterious character, was looking down at her, resting on a higher branch.

- Agatha glares at him before blurting: “You’re shorter than you look on your CG.”

- He chokes. “You can hear me?”

- “Why are you british?” she notices the accent, given how different it sounded from all the other voice actors.

- “I’m bi,” he frowns at her in offended confusion.

- (The himbo energy in this bus is astronomical.)

- They bicker a bit and Japeth grows suspicious of the hushed conversation, nearing the tree. Tedros asks for her help taking him down. Agatha is like, sure, whatever at this point, just trying to forget that Tedros broke the fourth wall. It’s a dream, don’t overthink too much.

- She distracts Japeth, and Tedros tries to ambush him, but it backfires horribly, resulting in Tedros now being a few seconds away from dying a very very painful death.

A: run away

B: ally yourself with Japeth

- Agatha hesitates over option A, convincing herself that Tedros wasn’t a real person. He was a just a character in a game. But while the entire world is black and white waiting for her answer, she swears his eyes remain icy blue.

- Trick of the light?

- She presses A but throws herself towards Japeth, colliding with him. Agatha ends up being stabbed in the arm, but otherwise fine, which is more than Japeth can say, as he fell into a conveniently located black hole. That hurt like a bitch, how is this a dream?

- Tedros is shook.

- “What did you do? How did you even-” he eyes the blood in her arm. “You’re bleeding!” Tedros rips his shirt to wrap it around the wound, and Agatha does her best not to stare at him while he tends to the wound.

- A blue ribbon in the sky tells Agatha she is now on Tedros’ route. A ribbon they can both read.

- “That’s… troublesome.”

- “What, is your route cursed or something?”

- “...”

- “It’s totally cursed, isn’t it?”

- They argue a bunch and Agatha tries to ditch him but ends up almost dying twice. Tedros saves her, and insists that since he accidentally gave her his route, he’ll help her stay alive for as long as he can.

- Together they figure out that Agatha’s ability to disobey the game choices might be able to uncurse his route, hopefully sending her home by the end and resetting the game as it was meant to be, allowing people play his route.

- Agatha is pretty sure Tedros is not telling her something, but she kinda does owns him her life now (“2x1, sucks to suck, reader.”) and he offered to share some of his food and hiding spot with her. Doesn’t hurt that he clearly knew how to fight and had a big sword, while Agatha had.... free will and nothing else apparently???

- They end up talking over fruits and water (we love a healthy king) in a cave and Agatha finds out basically every other character’s backstory, learning a ton about the context of these trials as well as what the game felt like for the characters.

- According to Tedros, every other character was doomed to repeat the same route and actions following the reader’s choices, only to lose all memories by the end, as the game reseted. They were all blissfully ignorant of the fact that this was, in fact, a dating simulator. All of them but Tedros. When Agatha asks him why, he closes off:

- “Every single character has a core wish they want fulfilled. It can be the same wish every time, or it can change once your route resets. My original wish contradicted the memory reset, so no one has been able to play my route at all. And if no one plays, I can’t reset. If you go home and the game resets, I’ll make a different wish and my route should be fixed for good.”

- Agatha doesn’t ask what he wished for and he doesn’t tell her either; it feels like way too personal of a question for strangers eating berries in a cave.

- She does ask him what his new wish will be, though.

- “I’ll restore my kingdom back to its former glory,” he starts, a certain sadness in his eyes. “They deserve a prince who doesn’t waste time wishing for-” Tedros interrupts himself, telling her about his kingdom instead.

- Agatha knows he’s related to King Arthur due to his name on the Trial By Tale wiki, but she’s surprised that he actually gives her that info willingly. He is indeed the prince of Camelot, but his mother abandoned the palace when he was nine and then his father died a few years later, sending the kingdom into despair and disgrace.

- (“That’s rough, buddy.”)

- To lighten the mood, she decides to tell him about ‘the reader world’.

- “To exist in your world might be something then,” he smiles, “I mean, beats hanging around here. You said you have a machine that can play music anytime you want?”

- Tedros is fascinated with everything and asks her about all sorts of stuff, like about politics, lgbtqa+ rights, tik tok, food, the economy, school and fashion trends. Also, memes, lots of memes.

- They spend like 8 hours straight hidden in a cave, just talking, bickering and actually having a lot of fun. The lack of choices even makes her forget she was still in a game.

- Tedros notices how tired she looks and offers to keep watch while she sleeps.

A: say no as a joke

B: outright refuse

- Agatha taps A.

- “Sure, do you mind if I lean on you though?”

- Is this like a date or are we like doing my route and you’re sleeping on my arm platonically? Tedros is shook, part 2.

- Agatha tries not to fall asleep, but she does take a nap, leaning on his shoulder. Surprisingly enough, an hour later she’s still alive, but her head was now on his lap and he was petting her hair.

- “Hi.”

A: get up

B: kiss him

- She doesn’t wanna get up, but she doesn’t really feel like kissing him would be appropriate for the moment. She presses B, yet remains still for next few minutes. Tedros looks a bit disappointed, as if he was waiting for her.

- “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

- “Do you want me to?”

- He doesn’t reply immediately, running his fingers through her hair. “Everyone wants to kiss me. I’m hot, I’m a prince and I’m rich.”

- “You’re gonna need to do better than that to get me to kiss you,” Agatha tells him. “If we survive this I’ll kiss you once, just before we unlock your normal ending and I go home. For a CG.”

- “But then I won’t remember it at all.”

- The comment makes her nervous. Once this is over and Tedros gets his route unlocked, he’s gonna be just another character. He’ll say things like that to everyone. Agatha has to chastise herself for growing attached to a video game character. He’s not real. He wasn’t yours to begin with, you’ve known him for less than a day. Get a grip.

- They stay in silence until another gong goes off, the storian’s text showing up in the air: “12 hours left. Only 10 competitors remain.”

A: stay in the cave

B: leave

- Agatha chooses B and they head out of the cave to see who else was alive, just in time to not be crushed under heavy rocks. Strangely they don’t bump into anyone. What they do run into, though, is a bunch of traps and creatures meant to randomly eliminate competitors. Great.

- Somehow, Agatha always chooses the right option and alters her actions just enough to save them at the last minute. Is she a pro-gamer? One can only marvel at how lucky she’s been getting in this game. No, but like, really, is she? Tedros is impressed.

- At the 6 hour mark, there’s 4 people left, including the two of them. He’s been eyeing Agatha weirdly and she doesn’t know what to think of it because she liked hanging out with him, but at the same time, he is a piece of code.

- There’s like, a dramatic confrontation with the other two competitors, which turn out to be Aric and Hester, not as a pair, but as individuals, and it ends up working out in Tedros and Agatha’s favor, as those two end up murdering each othe while Tedros and Agatha have the advantage of teamwork. It’s a great action sequence, but if you’ve read this far, I’m pretty sure you’re not here for the action.

- Anyway, the storian appears, but unlike the other routes, instead of giving Agatha the opportunity to bargain for them both to survive, her options are:

A: kill Tedros

B: kill Tedros

- Agatha doesn’t tap either. She stays still, glaring at the pen while the world remained black and white.

- Then, the entire arena starts to shake, the game glitching as Tedros moves, his colors fading in and out, his expression tortured, as if just smiling at her was painful, his eyes glowing unnaturally blue. “Let’s get you home,” he mouths, before stabbing himself with his own sword, falling to the floor as the colors returned for good.

- Agatha couldn’t breathe, kneeling beside him.

- “To meet someone who’d love me for me,” he admits, bleeding out into the ground, a single tear running down his face. “That was my original wish. And then I met you.”

- She kisses him on the lips, and as you know, true love’s kiss breaks every spell, heals every wound and transcends the limits of storytelling.

- Tedros’ chest is slowly healing, but just as he gets stronger, Agatha grows weaker, starting to disappear through his fingers in rays of lights, back to the reader’s world, leaving a lonely prince by himself in a bloody arena with a magical pen.

- “Unconditional wish for the winner, hm?”

- Back at the library, Agatha wakes up with a snap, falling off her chair.

- The clock on the wall reads 10pm and the few students left at the library glare at her. She hurries to gather her things in her arms, going back to her dorm trying to make sense of what just happened. It was all a dream. It had to be because her arm is intact. She has been running on too much caffeine, finals start the next morning, she was stressed, that’s all.

- Sophie is still playing the game once Agatha arrives at the dorm, and as soon as she walks in, her friend tells her the news:

- “See, darling, I told you I’d get Chaddick’s route eventually!”

- Chaddick’s route?

- Agatha doesn’t even reply, going straight to bed, still haunted. That night, she has no dreams of handsome boys in caves, neither does she dream of blue-eyed princes bleeding out.

- Monday afternoon, though, a distracted Agatha is walking back to her dorm after taking her exams, when she bumps into someone, nearly knocking her over. She is about to yell at the stranger when her voice gets caught on her throat.

- “To exist in your world might be something,” the familiar stranger smiles at her, “I mean, I’m Tedros Pendragon, nice to meet you.”

#school for good and evil #The School for Good and Evil #sge #agatha x tedros #Tagatha #tedros of camelot #Agatha of camelot #Agatha of Woods Beyond

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propertyofnikkisthighs · 5 years

Text

Sure Feels Right chapter 3

This shit is mild fluff and I can’t wait to get to the real fluffy stuff later on that I already have planned and written out for the fic. Anyway, enjoy!

Taglist: @hllywdwhre

2019

“Rook please I need fries or I’ll die.” Lux whined into his back. He was starting to think maybe he shouldn’t have kindly offered a piggyback ride to the hotel due to her constant shifting and whining into his shoulder.

“Look we’re walking into the hotel now.” Rook said exasperation evident in his voice. Lux drunk was cute, but goddamn could she win a whining competition when she got drunk hungry. Colson just snickered as he led the way inside. Asshole.

“Oh my god yes. Colson, Colson, please fries. Please” Lux all but moaned.

“I’m getting you fries now babe. They’ll be brought to the room I promise” He smiled and ruffled her hair a bit. She smiled a big dopey smile and tucked her face into the crook of Rook’s neck laughing.

“You guys I’m so drunk ugh” She said through her laughter and the boys joined her climbing into the elevator.

After she ate a small amount of the fries and offered up the rest to the boys, which they gladly ate up despite eating double of what she had consumed already, she made her way to the bathroom to change from her club clothes. Rook lent her some joggers since he was the shorter of the two and they wouldn’t be twice the size of her legs compared to Colson’s. They were still a little long on her, but that just added to their comfort level. Colson gave her an old tour shirt of his from when he toured with Limp Bizkit and it smelled just like him. She couldn’t help the blush that overcame her features as she looked at herself in the mirror. Stupid celebrity crush rearing it’s ugly head again. Stepping out of the bathroom she was hit with the undeniable smell of weed and looked to see Colson at the small corner “dining” room table rolling a joint.

“Ooh it’s like you read my mind!” Lux still was slurring a little bit and the last bit came out sort of jumbled.

“Still speaking in cursive I see.” Rook sniggered and she lightly slapped his shoulder before flopping on the bed.

“Ugh why do I always end up being the first drunk or the most drunk?” Lux pulled a pillow over her face.

“Well Colson is a giant so he needs more alcohol” Rook shrugged. And you’re ripped Lux added in her head and was glad the pillow was there to block how red her ears were after she thought that.

“Sit up so we can all sit on the bed drunk ass” Colson said tapping her foot. She scooted to the headboard and the boys sat on either side of her.

“Here I’ll let you have first dibs.” Colson said handing her the joint.

“Wow what a gentleman.” Rook mocked and Colson reached around Lux to smack Rook in the head. Rook tried to smack Colson back, but Lux quickly stopped him and handed him the joint.

“Hey!” Colson exclaimed “What the fuck?”

“You hit him so he gets next.” And there was no room to argue with her on that.

Colson turned on the t.v. and was pleasantly surprised to see Spongebob reruns on one of the channels after checking the guide. Him and Lux shared a love for Spongebob that they had bonded over on her first day working for them. She sighed contently and snuggled more into his side some. He told himself it was just so she could see the t.v. better and not because she was wanting to be closer to him. He couldn’t get his hopes up like that. She looked so cute in his shirt though was the thought that kept repeating in his head when he would steal glances at her. Rook yawned after a few episodes and went to get in the next bed, but Lux gripped his wrist.

“Stay.” She said tiredly, and stay he did.

When Lux woke up she noticed two things: 1. her face was pressed into someone’s back and 2. someone was holding her. Adjusting slightly she realized that she was holding Colson around the waist and that was his back she had been pressing her face against. He had a death grip on her arm so there was no use in her trying to free herself. Rook was holding her loosely around the waist and she could feel his soft breaths on her neck. This isn’t weird, she tried to tell herself, you’ve cuddled with both boys before on the bus or sleeping during a layover. Always separately though, never together. Her breath stopped when she felt Colson stirring awake next to her.

Colson must have done something right recently, he was in heaven, Lux had taken to holding him at some point in the night and he was pretty sure that was the best he had slept all year. No scratch that. All his life maybe. He without thinking brought her hand up to his lips and softly kissed her fingers. A sharp breath from behind him caused his heart to stop and the blood drained from his face. Fuck she was awake.

“Good morning.” She said quietly squeezing his hand in her own. She seemed to be ignoring his momentary lack of judgement and he was ever grateful.

“Good morning” He replied with sleep still in his voice. He turned to face her and caught glimpse of Rook’s still sleeping face. He had forgotten that he was there. Okay, maybe this was a little weird.

2017

Kells: Hey will you stop by the dispensary? 🙏🏻

Lux: Didn’t I just go there for you earlier? 🙄

Kells: That was earlier. This is now 😈

Lux: You’re insane. 🤪

Kells: Do you get paid to shit talk? 🤣

Lux: That’s actually exactly what Ashleigh pays me to do 😜

Kells: You’re so sassy I stg. Please? 🥺

Lux: ….Fine. What do you want? 🤦🏽‍♀️

Colson chuckled at the text exchange between the two. Lux had only been Ash’s assistant for a few months, but she was already fitting in with the group. He specifically started to really like her when he caught her dancing to one of his songs when she thought no one was home.

“So is she gonna go?” Rook asked flopping on the couch next to him.

“Yeah I convinced her” He gave Rook a shit eating grin. He would never admit it, but he was spoiled.

“Dude hell yeah. She’s the coolest assistant that Ash has ever had.” Rook commented while channel surfing.

“I think she was a fan before getting the job” Colson mused “I’m ninety-nine percent sure she listens to our music regularly.”

“Hmm...we could totally steal her phone and check her music apps.” Rook had a mischevious look in his eye and Colson never turned down chaos.

“Okay. How do we do it?”

Lux pulled up to the huge house and started to unload her car, but between alcohol, food, and literal pounds of weed they had her go get for their party tonight she was exhausted and couldn’t carry much. She hoped they were home so they could help her carry things inside. She opened the door and called out, but was met with silence. Fuck. She set her purse and the few things she had grabbed on the counter and walked back out to her car rolling her eyes. These guys better be appreciative of all this shit she was doing for them.

The boys heard the front door shut and peeled around the corner quickly and checked her purse to see if her phone was in there. Whisper shouting when he located it, Colson motioned with his head to run upstairs and both boys were after it. They took the stairs two at a time and safely made it into Colson’s room and were catching their breath when they heard the door open and shut again. Colson could hear his heart beat in his ears and could have sworn she would be able to hear it through the floorboards. The door opened and shut again and he released a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Dude how does she not have a password?” Rook whispered harshly. “I mean that makes this easier, but damn who doesn’t have a password on their phone at this point.”

Colson chuckled looking at the now unlocked phone and saw her background was a picture of him on stage. Why did that make him feel warm? Rook had to stop the laughter bubbling in his chest as he saw the picture.

“Yup she’s a fan” He whispered to Colson.

He noticed in her notification bar at the top she hadn’t opened his last message and his name was saved as Kells in her phone. That made him frown. She still wasn’t calling him Colson and he didn’t understand that. Were they not friends?

“I still want to check out what she listens to” Colson said opening her folder labled “Music”. She had Spotify, Apple Music, and Pandora. He looked through her Apple Music and saw it was mostly older music like The Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, and The Eagles. He had to smile at that, she had organized her music apps. Pandora had some heavier stuff like Metallica, Motley Crue, and Ozzy Osborne. Spotify seemed to be her designated modern music app with multiple playlists of artists like Halsey, Migos, and of course him. He liked her playlist names on Spotify, but when he saw the playlist name for his music was “My Future (EX)Husband” he knew it was a done deal and she was officially part of the group. Satisfied he waited till he heard her walk out again and then ran down the stairs to return her phone to her purse and took off up the stairs again. Him and Rook waited for a few minutes of hearing her put things away for them to come down the stairs.

“You guys were here the whole time?!” Lux says tossing her hands in the air. “Didn’t you hear me? I needed help!”

“Sorry we were playing Call of Duty. We didn’t hear you.” Rook lied easily slipping into step with her to help put things away.

“You two are ridiculous do you know that?” Lux said while shaking her head.

“Whatever” Colson laughed and ruffled her hair giving her a teasing smirk.

#machine gun kelly #machince gun kelly fanfic #mgk #mgk fanfic #mgk x oc x rook #rook fanfic #rookxx #jp cappelletty #jp cappelletty fanfic #sure feels right

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dekutevo-blog · 4 years

Text

Geneva Rusden

I thought it was great after it finally happened. I am an average white heterosexual male, so I thought, who has been out of the loop since my wife left me. My sex life with her was so-so at best because she was getting her satisfaction from a guy that she met while looking for a draftsperson to draw up the plans for our new house. After a long time without pussy, I had been fantasizing on what it would be like to please a man. I had been looking at a lot more porn than usual and I was always drawn to were a guy was getting a blow job. Being only small to average sized myself, I was practically mesmerized looking at giant cocks, and watching them being devoured by willing mouths. I wondered how it would feel to have a guy's cock grow in my mouth, how the precum would taste, and more importantly, if I could make it explode and be rewarded for my efforts. So, one day after months of servicing myself I was camming on an adult site. A guy (we'll call him Bob) messaged me and we started chatting. About 5 minutes into the chat we realized that we had been exchanging emails from an ad that he posted on craigslist. We had been emailing each other for the past few weeks so we felt that we kind of knew each other. After about 20 minutes, he told me he was really horny and wanted to suck my cock. I told him to come over, walk in, and go to the back bedroom and I would be sitting in my chair with only a T-shirt on. He came over and I was still on cam so I turned off the cam and he got on his knees next to my chair. He started sucking my semi hard cock, then stood up and pulled his pants down. His soft cock which was about 5 inches long, and big low hanging balls were hanging out. He pushed his hips forward and it was all hanging about 2 inches from my face. Bob asked if I wanted some and I told him no because I had never done that and was really nervous. So, he got back on his knees and continued sucking my cock. A couple of minutes went by and I wasn't getting hard so Bob grabbed my free hand and placed it on his now semi hard cock. I started stroking it and rubbing his shaved balls, and that made him get hard. He was at least 7' long and very thick. I had never felt another man's cock or balls before and I thought it was really hot so my cock got hard as a rock. As he sucked, I could feel the tingling building up in my balls and I knew I was going to cum if he continued. I wasn't sure if he wanted me to unload in his mouth so I told him I was about to cum. He kept sucking, nodded his head, and tried saying something but since my cock was in his mouth I could only feel a vibration. That felt so good that it took me over the edge to the point of no return. My cock was about half way into his mouth and I grabbed his head and held it in place, and shot about 5 or 6 shots into his mouth. He swallowed most of it but some ran out on his chin then he asked for a rag, wiped his face clean, and left. Bob runs a small business about 3 miles from my home and one day, we made arrangements to meet at his place. I went there, opened the door and nobody was in the room. Bob told me that he would be waiting in the back room so I closed the door and made sure that it was locked then walked into the back room. He was sitting at his desk and told me to have a seat. Here I was, never having sucked a man's cock before, but knowing that was what I wanted to do. I was so nervous that as I was talking, I started stuttering. He turned his chair toward me, grabbed his crotch and asked if I wanted to suck him. I told him that I had never done that before and would give it a try. Then he pulled his pants down and his big cock and balls flopped out and rested on the seat of the chair. I got on my knees and licked the head of his soft cock. It felt really good and didn't taste bad either so I sucked the tip into my mouth and continued about half way down the shaft and smelled a musky smell as my nose got closer to his pubs. I felt the head touch my tongue so I started spinning my tongue around it and rubbing his loose hanging balls with my hand. He grabbed my head and said "that feels really good". His balls started to tighten up, and the shaft started to stiffen and the feeling drove me crazy. I felt so empowered that I could make a man feel so good with my mouth and feeling a big cock grow in my mouth for the first time that my own cock started getting hard too. After several minutes of licking and sucking him, he began to moan and his big cock continued to grow bigger. He was so big yet I was determined to tackle as much of it as I could, then the head started to touch my throat and I started gagging so I pulled back. I felt the shaft twitch then tasted a stream of salty yet sweet precum. Bob was apparently just as pleased because he kept saying, "Suck my big cock," and "That's it," and "Don't stop that feels great." I loved hearing his encouragement and it made me go on more. Then he asked me "do you want me to shoot my cum in your mouth", and I couldn't talk with his manhood in my mouth, so I nodded my head. As I started to relax more, I was taking his shaft deeper and deeper and with that he held my head and started face-fucking me. Evidently, I wasn't causing him any discomfort with my teeth. I was gagging, gasping for breath and had to pull back a few times for air and wondered if I could ever take the whole hunk of meat down. Choking on a cock is a strange sensation that makes you feel like you are dying, yet at the same time I didn't want to stop! Bob continued fucking my face for about 10 minutes then pulled my head off of his engorged cock, then he grabbed it and started stroking it. As he was stroking he said "I'm getting close do you want to stick out your tongue and I will cum on it?" I told him no I want to suck your big cock from hanging soft, to getting hard, then feel it pulsate and blow a hot load in my mouth so, go ahead and finish yourself off." Maybe experience will make me better, and that it did. After several attempts of me gagging and choking on his cock, I learned how to deepthroat Bobs man meat. We had hooked up several times and sucked each other but I wasn't able to make him cum in my mouth because I would always cum first then it was over for me. But, one day after we had sucked each other about 100 times and he took my load almost every time, I went to his place. After the routine of me going down on him in his chair, he said that he wanted to lay down so he could suck my cock too. We laid on our sides and started sucking each other in the 69 position. We sucked and fondled each other for about 15-20 minutes, and he started humping my face. He continued pumping and pushed hard enough to were his big balls were pressing against my nose and his cock went down my throat. He moaned a few times and I knew the he was getting close. He told me, "If you don't stop, I'm gonna cum. Well, I didn't want to stop, and I wanted him to cum in my mouth! He pulled back a little and the head of his cock was at the edge of my throat. As I swirled my tongue around the big mushroom head of his cock I felt him clamp down with his thighs so tight I couldn't move my head. Then he clamped down even harder and I couldn't hear anything. The head of his cock was at the back of my mouth and his legs started shaking. I felt his big cock swell up, watched his balls tuck up, and felt the shaft pulsate. It exploded and I felt a thick warm liquid hit the roof of my mouth then run down onto my tongue, and it felt fantastic! His cock started recoiling like a howitzer and he started to unload and his balls were bouncing with every shot of jizz. I felt three or four more massive shots hit the roof of my mouth and run down. Then he pushed in a little and I felt about 3 more shots that went down my throat. After catching most of his man juice on my tongue, I started to appreciate the taste of his huge load. There was a big puddle of his cum on my tongue and It tasted a little salty but not horrible. As he relaxed, he pushed it deeper into my mouth and the big head started going down my throat and made me gag. When that happened, I pulled back and swallowed his hot load. My first taste of cum and it was awesome. My mouth was filled with a cock that even as it started to shrink, it was still bigger than my own. I continued sucking until his balls were dry and swallowed every last drop of the cum that came out of them too. I felt so empowered to make a guy cum in my mouth and It was so hot and powerful for me that after about 2 seconds I shot my load in his mouth and he swallowed it then sucked me dry. I knew that After I sucked his cock from limp to stiff and made it blow a hot juicy load of man seed then swallowed it, I wanted to do this again and it wouldn't be my last. I told him I'd do that again anytime he asked me to and he assured me there would be plenty more to come. Please let me know if you like this story.

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pjbehindthesun · 6 years

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chapter 16: road dogs and glass eyeballs

Friday, October 26th, 1990

“I still can’t believe you came to see me off, Luce! You sure Jeff didn’t mind? Doesn’t his flight leave soon?”

“Nah, we said goodbye this morning.”

“You really should have stayed in bed with your man and snuggled like the adorable otters you are.”

My friend giggles, although I’m not quite sure where she’s managing to come up with the oxygen, since my brother basically has her in a stranglehold as we all stand on the curb a little ways off from the Greyhound bus in the very early hours of the morning, getting ready to say goodbye. I’m trying hard not to think about the goodbye part.

She eases herself free and kisses his cheek. “Yeah, but I know he’s getting back in a few days. You? Who knows when you’re gonna grace us with your presence again.”

“Yeah, well, Portland’s a lot closer than Asheville.”

I interject, “we’ll come down and see you once you get settled in, promise. We’re due for a road trip.” Lucy bounces on her heels in affirmation, but Alex lets out a huff of disapproval.

“Don’t listen to ‘em, man, these two will suffocate you if you let them. Especially this one,” Alex ruffles my hair, “just go live your life, enjoy it. We’ll see you around.”

His words feel like a boot print on my chest. I swallow hard, as if that’s going to wash away the tread marks.

“But, call when you get in anyway, okay?” I curse the little quaver in my voice, which I know is what’s making Alex roll his eyes.

“I will, I will,” Patch sighs, but with a loving smile quirking his mouth.

The hiss of the bus’s air brakes makes me wince, and we all turn to watch the rest of the small group of passengers start climbing on board, or hugging their loved ones, or fussing over luggage in the storage bay. Luggage… oh right, I’d almost forgotten…

“Hey, kiddo, I forgot, I have one more thing for you in the car…”

“For fuck’s sake, Cora,” Alex ribs, but I walk past him unblinkingly, leading my brother back out to the parking lot where I can talk to him in peace.

Patch’s forehead wrinkles questioningly as I open the hatch of the Rabbit and thrust a bike wheel into his chest.

“Here, hold this, I had to pop it off to fit the whole thing in the back…”

I wrestle my bike out of the tight space and frown back over at the bus. “Huh, I thought there was a bike rack on those things, but I guess not… well, a cable lock will keep the wheel and the bike together in storage until you get there. It’s a quick release attachment, you know how those work?”

“Cora, slow down, what…” Patch’s shoulders shake with a soundless laugh as he watches me fidget with the bike.

“What do you mean, what?”

“You’re not giving me this thing, are you?”

“That’s the plan.”

He shakes his shaggy head. “No can do, C, it’s a sweet idea but it’s yours.”

“Yeah, well, it was also my idea for you to leave your truck all the way back in western Carolina in the first place, and I don’t like the idea of you all on your own in a new town with no way to get around.”

“They’ve got buses and shit, Cora.”

“Humor me, you brat,” I finish working the bike lock key off my key chain and thrust it into his hand. Something in his face contracts, and he pulls me into an embrace.

“Love you, C.”

“Love you more.”

“Try to be happy, okay?”

“Mmhmm,” I affirm, squeezing him tighter.

We rejoin Lucy and Alex on the curb, help Patch stow his one small duffel bag and new-old bike underneath the bus, and start to hug our goodbyes. None of the words being said seem to want to stick in my numb, fuzzy brain. The only things immediate enough to feel real are the last little squeeze he gives my shoulder before climbing onto the bus and the look of excitement on his face as we wave him off.

Lucy wraps her arms around my neck from behind in a fond hug, leaning her head against mine. “He’ll be alright.”

I swallow hard again and nod, not willing to unclench my teeth just in case that’s the only thing keeping me from crying.

“You two are unbelievable. He’s a grown man, he’ll be fine,” Alex grumbles.

Without even turning my head, I know exactly what kind of glare Lucy’s giving him. But instead of arguing with him, she lets go of me and turns me around. “So, I gotta head back and get to work, but it’s movie night tonight…”

“Oh, right.” I’d lost track.

“...but I feel like heavier artillery’s in order. Night out?”

I glance at my boyfriend to gauge his reaction. “Oh, I don’t know, I mean, Alex is leaving Sunday morning, I probably ought to --”

“No, hey, it’s cool,” he cuts in, “I can go game over at Brian’s, you girls have fun.”

Lucy smiles and starts to chatter about what we might do for a girls’ night while we walk back to the Rabbit, but I’m stuck on Alex and his eagerness for a night apart so soon before a whole week of nights apart. We really are done here, aren’t we? What are we even doing?

***

“So, have you decided what you want to be?”

Cora’s rummaging through the thrift store’s bargain bin of hats as she asks me about Halloween. There’s a thing next week at the Tavern with a drink special if you show up in costume, and I’d talked the guys into it the other night. Cora took a little more convincing, but I think the prospect of sitting home in an empty house finally got to her, and she agreed to play along. Normally, I don’t think Alex leaving town for a week would have her feeling quite this down -- after all, they’re pretty good at managing time apart for her research trips -- but it’s obvious how intensely she’s already feeling the void left by her brother. She’s keeping it together admirably, but everything about her is more subdued since this morning.

“I have absolutely no idea,” I tell her as I pluck a fuzzer off of a pair of red velvet platform heels. “I was thinking I could just recycle the flower child from last year, I still have the fringed vest.”

“Oh come on, we can do better than that. What’s Jeff going as?”

“Larry Bird.”

“Typical,” she snorts. “I’ll only acknowledge it as a success if he wears the super short 70’s shorts.”

“Oh, bet on it,” and we crack up loudly enough that the only other patron in here on a Friday night looks up from his careful inspection of a broken camera to figure out what we’re laughing at.

We poke around the racks, trying various things on for size, debating costume ideas for the creatively and budgetarily challenged, and ultimately settle on plans for us both. Pleased that I managed to incorporate the velvet shoes into my own idea, we pay for our finds and walk the few blocks to the bar where we’d planned to have a drink. On our way, we catch up on each other’s lives. Her frustration with her advisor Jim, who keeps forgetting to send in a recommendation letter for her fellowship application. My annoyance with Greta for piling more responsibilities on my plate after someone else in our department quit. Her excitement over finally getting a chance to listen to the new Neil Young album. The stray cat that I’ve been seeing in our building parking lot, who looks ready to have her kittens and who I’ve been leaving food out for. Where we’d actually go on a road trip, not just to Portland to visit Patch but throughout the whole West. It’s a steady, comforting rhythm that’s rudely interrupted by a sleazy guy about our age who’s already three sheets to the wind when he catches up to us on the sidewalk as he walks the same direction.

“Damn, where are you fine ladies heading tonight?”

I have to try not to laugh as I watch the loathing seep out of Cora’s every pore. Half the fun of going out anywhere with her is watching her destroy buffoons like this one, who only seem to materialize when we don’t have our usual herd of guys in tow. But she’s in a quieter mood tonight, so I decide it’s my turn.

“Just out for a walk,” I respond in a neutral tone.

“And may I app..ccompany you?” he hiccups, I guess trying to seem gentlemanly but failing miserably.

“No thanks, it’s a girls’ night tonight, just want to spend time with my best friend,” I throw an arm around her shoulder because I could have sworn I just heard her growl.

He clucks his tongue. “Ahhh, I get it, I get it, that’s *hicc* that’s beautiful. I just,” he slurs, and at the sound of Cora grinding her teeth I have to look over and stifle a laugh so the asshole won’t notice, “I’m out here looking for the same thing as everybody, y’know? Just trying to find love, my girl, my one and only, my road dog…”

“Your road dog.” Cora repeats in monotone, no longer able to resist the temptation.

“Yeah!” the guy enthuses. “My road dog, you dig?”

“I do not.”

“Like, my best friend, my road dog, the one I wanna travel this wild and crazy life with *hicc*, you know how it is. Well, I don’t wanna bother you no more, you girls be good,” he gives us a sleepy grin and disappears around the corner while we continue straight.

“Calling a girl a dog is a special kind of pickup line fail,” Cora cackles.

“Points for originality though, I kinda love the whole road dog thing.”

“You do?” she shoots me a withering glare.

“Yeah!” I stop on the sidewalk and drop to one knee, holding her hand while she looks at me like I’ve totally lost it.

“Cora, my darling, my dream, would you… be my road dog?”

“Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!” We hold hands and skip the rest of the block.

***

Sunday October 28th, 1990

“Hey, Red, guess I missed you, uh… hi, it's Stone, obviously, what other rude motherfucker would call you at this hour? Anyway, uhm, I just… wanted to say hi, and fill you in on our New York happenings… oh, Kelly had a thrilling brush with the law today, it's a long and pointless story and I really wanna bore you with it if you're around. Call me, okay? The number here's… shit, hang on, what is it again?...”

Why does the sound of his stupid, rambling voice make me grin like such an idiot? It probably helps that no one’s watching, I guess. I wouldn't be caught dead smiling at Stone like this in person because I know I’d never hear the end of it. Someone has to keep him in line.

I grab a notepad while I listen to him look up the number in his room and read it to my machine. I didn't miss his call by much, it's not even 7:30 here yet, so I figure I have time to shower before I call him back. He’ll probably be up late anyway because of the time difference that he obviously forgot about. There's no reason to rush, and I’ve got the whole apartment to myself now.

But I’m rushing anyway.

After I shower and throw on whatever sweatpants and shirt are closest, I fold my legs up and sit on the couch with the phone, wiping away the occasional stray drip of water from my sopping wet hair, and dial the number he left. He answers on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Okay, bore me.”

I'm greeted by the laugh he makes when he's feeling particularly pleased with himself. “Hey Red, you got my message?”

“Obviously, idiot.”

“Hi to you too,” he sasses. “Jesus, where are your phone manners? I’d make a crack about you being raised in a barn, but in your case it's probably true and I wouldn't want to make you relive the trauma, so…”

“Ooh, etiquette lessons from the most obnoxious, sarcastic piece of shit I’ve ever met? Gee golly mister, sign me up.”

“I think my rates are a little steep for you, Red.”

“Oh really? What do you charge?”

“If you have to ask, you can't afford me.”

“I’ll cry myself to sleep tonight.”

“Is this you using your manners? Try again.”

“Hi, Stone.”

“Hi, Cora. Sorry to bug you so late, is this a good time?”

“I called you, man.”

“Fair.”

“And it's way later there than it is here, anyway.”

“Ah, fuck it, I’m still on Seattle time, this trip’s not long enough to adjust. Whatcha been up to?”

“Mostly studying for that exam I’ve got on Tuesday, but I needed a break, so I just got back from a run and got your message.”

“You know, I thought I could detect a rank, sweaty odor as soon as my phone rang…”

“Well either you should call your doctor about those olfactory hallucinations, or you should tell Jeff to throw those damn hats in the washer already. Anyway, it’s not me, I just showered.”

“Ah.”

He’s quiet for a beat, so I decide to prod him. “And what are you up to?”

“Nothin’. Being lazy in bed.”

“Aww, that’s kinda cute. Tell Jeff I said hi.”

“Jeff’s out with Kelly tonight, so it’s just me.”

I shift my position a little on the couch to distract myself from the odd little thrill that just shot down my spine.

“Just you, huh?”

“Yup, you got me all to yourself,” he jokes, pouring the seduction on thickly.

“You’re a pig, Stone, it’s not like I asked 'what are you wearing’ or some seedy shit.”

“T-shirt and boxers,” he says bluntly.

“I didn't ask! ...where the fuck are your pants, dude?”

“It’s almost midnight and I’m in bed, why the fuck would I be wearing pants? This is what I always sleep in.”

“Again, for the record, I did not ask.”

“Why, what do you wear to bed, a Victorian nightgown?”

“New subject, please.”

“Oh my God do you wear a nightgown??”

“NO!” I laugh, my cheeks reddening.

“Then what? You're not getting out of this without telling me, Red, I told you mine.”

“I DIDN'T ASK.”

“I'm gonna have to get a look at this nightgown when I get back, I feel like it's got to be fuckin’ awful if you're trying this hard to avoid telling me about it. Like, high neckline, ruffled hem, puffy sleeves…”

He sounds way too gleeful for me to believe he’s ever going to drop this, so I brace myself to rip off the band-aid. “Icantsleepinclothes,” I mutter.

“Excuse me? Didn't catch that.”

“I can't sleep in clothes. I go to bed naked.”

“Oh… oh.”

“Yeah.”

“No nightgown then.”

“Uh uh.”

“Well okay then.” He’s quiet for an excruciating pause, and then, “point of clarification, are you in bed now?”

“I am not, you pig. I am studying on my couch, fully clothed.”

“You're no fun,” he baits me.

“NEW TOPIC,” I shout, mostly just to drown out my own laughter to avoid encouraging him.

He fills me in on their trip so far, which has included a case of mistaken identity that landed poor Kelly in jail for a few hours while he and Jeff were occupied in meetings. Overall, though, the trip seems to be leading to a productive resolution with the old record label people. I forgot how much I love talking to him like this, aimlessly. Even when we lose the thread of the conversation and sit together in silence, it doesn’t feel weird, it just feels peaceful.

“I had a dream about you last night, you know.”

“Yeah? Good dream, I hope?” His words are innocuous enough, but I can hear his smile permeating his voice, that stupid challenging smirk.

“Ugh, not like that kind of dream, gross,” but I'm smiling too as I tangle my fingers in the phone cord. We're both talking in quieter voices all of a sudden, too, even though there's no one to overhear us and nothing of consequence being said.

“Oh yeah, disgusting. Absolutely revolting,” he cackles in that breathy, almost silent way he has when he thinks he's being utterly hilarious.

“You wanna hear about it or not?”

“Definitely.”

“Be nice, then. I should warn you, I have extremely weird dreams…”

“Ooh, a disclaimer,” he says in a scandalized tone, “now we're gettin’ to the fun stuff, lay it on me.”

“You're a pig.”

“Mmm, so you said.”

“I just mean like surreal, kind of psychedelic, but very vivid. Nothing’s straightforward in my dreams, ever.”

“I'm dying to know how you dreamed of psychedelic me, then.”

“Well, I guess it wasn't technically a dream about you…”

“Tease!”

I'm so stupid for blushing, ugh.

“Pain in the ass. You weren't really in it, you were just the first person I wanted to tell about it when I woke up.”

“...aww, really?”

“Really.”

“...Cora… that's so sweet…”

“Maybe you should reserve judgement until you hear it.”

“Well, I’m all ears.”

“Okay…” I take a deep breath and slump deeper into the couch, trying to figure out the best way to explain my weird little world to him. “So, the first thing to understand is that in the dream, the Earth isn't really a planet in outer space, okay, it's… it's a glass eyeball in a jar…”

“This is what made you think of me??”

“Damn it, man, have a little patience,” I laugh.

“Patience is my middle name,” he deadpans.

“Well, they can’t all be winners. Wait, what actually is your middle name?”

“Carpenter. You didn't know that?”

“No, asshole… wait, really? Stone Carpenter Gossard?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Your parents really went all in on a theme, huh? Respect.”

“Yeah, well, the hippie streak runs deep.”

“Clearly. I like it, though. Anyway, if you're such a know-it-all, what's my middle name?”

“It's, uh… fuck, I don't think you’ve ever told me.”

“Which means you have to guess!”

His groan of irritation gives way to a low little laugh. “Hmm… let me think…”

After a long pause, I’m pretty sure he's striking out. “Admit defeat, Stoner, you got nothing.”

“Give me a chance… okay, Cora… Cora…” Move along, nothing to see here, just Stone sighing my name, that doesn't affect me in the slightest, nope… “Cora Something Shaw…”

“Compelling, but incorrect.”

“You're impossible.” His grin broadcasts itself through the phone again. “Well, in order to suit you, it has to be something short and matter-of-fact… nothing flowery…”

“You're getting warmer.”

“...and you’re a good little Catholic girl,” ...nope, that doesn’t affect me in the slightest either, Jesus if you save me right now I promise I’ll believe in you again... “so it's probably some saint bullshit… Maria? Theresa? Anne? Joan?”

“Ha, colder. Except for the monosyllabic part.”

“Okay, I give, what is it?”

“You got closer than I’d like to admit, to your credit, but you forgot the hippie dad.”

“In my defense, I didn't know you had a hippie dad. This isn't the paterfamilias asshole, is it?”

“Nope. That's the stepdad. My actual dad is a whole other story.”

He’s quiet for a beat before speaking up in that same tender, vulnerable tone I heard for the first time at the cafe, when he’d asked if he could call. The tone I've been wanting to hear again ever since, against all my better judgement.

“I’d like to hear it sometime.”

“Hmm. Maybe when you get back. So, any last guesses?”

“I give. You got me.”

“Really? You're folding? That's damn disappointing, Stone.”

He chuckles. “If this is the worst way that I manage to disappoint you, we’re in good shape. What's your fucking name, huh?”

“Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes…”

“Hang on… monosyllabic… Lane? Cora Lane Shaw?”

“Ding ding! That's me!”

“Huh. It suits you. Very strange.”

“Hey, thanks,” I sass him.

“No, no, I mean it… like, I’m sure they couldn't have known when they named you, but it's the perfect song. The surface seems wholesome enough, but the closer you look, the more… ‘off' it seems, the more interesting and cryptic it gets…”

“I can deal with being interesting and cryptic.” I bite my lip in, which is stupid because there's no reason to hide how hard I’m smiling when I’m by myself.

“Well, good, because that's you. Speaking of which, back to eyeballs…”

“What? Oh, right… okay, so we're all living on this glass eyeball suspended in a jar, right, just sitting forgotten on a dusty shelf somewhere in a warehouse or something… and the jar is filled with some kind of gas, I guess that's our atmosphere, and stabilized by electromagnetic fields so the eyeball can float.”

“Right, okay…”

“Well, it was supposed to be a sterile environment, but something went wrong, or someone screwed up, I don't know, but something started growing on the eyeball. So all the life on Earth we’ve ever known… dinosaurs, trees, amoebas, dogs, cats, humans… that’s all we are, we’re all just eyeball fungus.”

He's silent for a long time, and I imagine his face looking the stupid smug way it always looks before he launches into a typical sarcastic takedown, but when he finally speaks again, his voice sounds so sincere, almost childlike.

“How do day and night work inside the jar?”

My smile splits so wide it's hurting my cheeks. “I... I don't remember. I’d have to go back in the dream and look it up.”

“You can do that??”

“Sure, I do it all the time… can't you?”

He lets out a soft laugh. “Baby, I think our dreams are such entirely different animals, I couldn't begin to relate.”

I don't give a fuck whether he can relate, or about much of anything else, except wanting him to call me that again... “Well, uhm, you’ll have to tell me some of your dreams so I can be sure. I showed you mine…” holy shit, did I just say that?

“Hah. I don't have anything to offer on this scale of creativity. I don't even remember most of them, and the ones I do are just your typical, mundane, playing-a-show-in-your-underwear-type stress dreams, shit like that.”

And now I'm picturing him in his underwear for the second time tonight. Fantastic. Doesn't he know my subconscious don't need any outside help objectifying him lately? Focus! What were we talking about? Oh yeah...

“Anyway, one thing I do remember is that the stars are not real.”

“Oh, inside the jar? That makes sense. What are they, do we know?”

“It’s a scientist’s dream, of course we do. A long time ago, people got sick of having nothing to look at at night. So someone climbed up there and pasted a bunch of random stuff on the inside of the jar for the people-fungus to look at and dream about. But over time, the sticky stuff wears off, right? and the pictures fall down, and someone has to climb back up there and paste the ‘stars’ back into place. So, somewhere, there's a real Stairway to Heaven, just for that purpose: for the one person whose job it is to climb up and put the stars back up when they fall.”

The silence stretches on long enough that I fear we’ve been disconnected. “...Stone? You there?”

After what feels like an age, his voice drifts over the line, barely above a whisper.

“And this is what you woke up wanting to tell me?”

“Yeah… it's stupid, I know…”

“It's not stupid at all, it's… that's beautiful.”

“No, it's definitely stupid, all my dreams are. I just woke up and... you were the first person I thought of who might possibly understand.”

“...I love it, Cora.”

“Really?”

“Mmhmm. Really.”

After another long pause, I ask, “You okay over there?”

“Yeah, never better. Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“How your brain must work, if that's the normal dream output you're used to. It's gotta be pretty wild in there.”

“I mean, I think it's just nonsense most of the time, odds and ends that get mixed up from my waking life and jumbled into stories.”

“Yeah, but like, that's a pretty intricate story. And you remembered it! I'm jealous, I wish I remembered more of mine.”

“I guess the thing about being an artist is that all your creativity comes out when you're conscious, huh?”

“Mmm, maybe. So, uhm… tell me another one? Please?”

Damn him, when did he get so endearing? “I don't know, this exchange is feeling a little one-sided… I think maybe I need to limit you to one dream a day, especially if you don’t have any good ones for me.”

“Aww, come on.”

“Nope. Go to bed, call me tomorrow, maybe I’ll have a new one for you.”

“I’ll settle for an old one, they're all new to me.”

“You’re getting greedy.”

“Oh, unabashedly,” he laughs. “Come on, just a short one? Maybe your dreams’ll rub off on me and I’ll have a better one to tell you tomorrow.”

“Uhm… well, there is this great one I’ve had several times --”

“Oh, god damn it,” he grumbles.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I just forgot, I might not be able to call tomorrow night, we have a dinner thing. Fuck.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, well, hopefully anyway. If everything goes well tomorrow we were gonna go celebrate a bit. And if not, I guess drown our sorrows.”

“Aww, poor thing, getting wined and dined by record execs, what a terrible burden it is to be cool.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, “but this is pretty cool too.”

“What?”

“This. Just... having all kinds of time to sit and talk to you about nothing. Kinda like when you were in Alaska, remember?”

“Yeah,” I bite back another grin, stretching my legs out and savoring the softness of his voice. “It's almost like I like you best when you're three thousand miles away.”

“My band needs to make it big and start touring aggressively, then. Just think how likeable I’ll be from Australia.”

“Better yet, I oughta launch you to the moon, you’ll be irresistible.”

“There’s a thought,” he murmurs. “Want me to hang the stars back up while I'm up there? It's no trouble, it's on my way.”

“Yes, please.”

“You got it, baby.”

Silence is definitely the safest policy because I have no idea what might come out of my mouth in response to his sleepy, affectionate whisper. I decide instead to focus on restoring my breathing, which has gotten a little too fast, a little too uneven, like we’ve been running from something. Or towards something. I don't even know which way we're running. How did a phone call become so reckless?

Thankfully, Stone doesn't seem to have much to say either. His breathing comes more evenly over the phone than mine feels, so I try to follow along with it. Soon he starts to breathe deeper, and slower, and I wonder if maybe he's falling asleep. I open my mouth to ask if he's still there, but the image of him asleep in bed with the phone to his ear is so sweet that I can't bear to disturb him, although don't want to hang up on him either, because the thought of him waking up later to nothing but a dial tone is even worse. The textbook I was studying from earlier is still on the floor, so I decide to read a few pages, but it feels more like mindless word recognition when my mind's so far away.

Consider the case of an initial excess hydrostatic pore water that is constant with depth…

How is it that a person can feel such a potent mix of relief and anxiety at the same time? Relief, because even if we haven't come out and said it all yet, there's the feeling that we no longer have to. We both know where we stand. All of a sudden, there's this sense of security, out of nowhere on a quiet, sleepy phone call, which somehow feels so much more intimate than swapping dirty penguin jokes. Flirting can be pretty impersonal, almost war-like, where you're both trying to gain the upper hand. But it's not everyone you want to fall asleep with, wake up with, and tell all your dreams to.

...shows plots of the friction angle θ vs. plasticity index PI of several clays as compiled by…

And anxiety, because this is all going too far, too fast… like being trapped in a speeding car, except we’re both flooring the gas pedal, and no one is keeping their eyes on the road. What are we going to hit? Or whom? Someone's bound to get hurt. There's an undeniable violence to falling this quickly. So who's it going to be? Me? Him? Alex? Shit, Alex… how did I let this get so far away from me? Not like Alex seems to care how I spend my time anymore. Alex, who didn’t even come home Friday night, who stumbled in yesterday morning, hungover as shit, saying he’d fallen asleep at Brian’s place. I don’t even know who he is anymore...

... Comprehensive failure conditions or yield criteria were first developed for metals, rocks, and concrete…

“Ow, shit!”

“Cora? Wh-what's wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say around my finger, which I’ve got in my mouth to stop the bleeding. “just a paper cut.”

“Aww.”

“Sorry to wake you.”

“Mmm? I wasn't asleep. Is it bad?”

“Nah, just a flesh wound. You were awake all that time?”

“Well, maybe I dozed off a little…” his voice gets gravelly as he stretches himself out, making the image of him in bed even harder to resist. I don't want to hang up, it's pretty much the last thing I want right now, but I know it's essential that I do.

“I should let you go, you need to sleep.”

“I do not.”

“Go to bed, Stone.”

“Waaaay ahead of you,” he chuckles. “I'm awake, though, I’m good.”

“Go get some sleep.”

“Nooo,” he whines, “you were gonna tell me another dream! Please?”

His indignation makes me giggle. “Okay, just a short one. Or even better, what if I tell you just the first few minutes, and then you can dream about it tonight and we'll compare when you get home to see whose version is better?”

“I already told you, I don't remember my dreams.”

“I know, idiot, that's why I'm gonna loan you one of mine.”

“Okay, yeah,” he chuckles, sounding drowsier by the second, “hit me.”

“Okay, just, leave it the way you found it, okay? It's one of my favorites.”

“Promise.”

“Something tells me you'll like it too, there's ice cream involved.”

“Now we're talking.”

“Okay. There's this ice cream parlor, but it's not down here on Earth, it's floating up in space.”

“Are we still in the jar?”

“No, that's a totally different dream. Anyway, there’s air, you can breathe normally, but you're out in the night sky, among the stars. And the parlor is an old converted train car, still has all the old booths and the sliding windows and everything. And on the very back stoop, where the train car would have been connected to another one once upon a time, there's a rickety old wooden chair. Just one. It’s hot up there, so close to the sun, but there's a good solar breeze. You're sitting in the chair, leaning back, your feet up on the railing, eating an ice cream cone --”

“What flavor?” his voice is thick with sleep.

“Dealer’s choice. You're listening to the music on the radio, and watching the vastness of space, and that's where your dream starts.”

“Mmhmm, got it,” he murmurs. “Are you gonna be there?”

“No, dumbass, I’m lending it to you, I’ll be in another one.”

“We’ll see about that. G'night.”

“Goodnight, Stone.”

With reluctance I hang up, set my work down in a haphazard pile on the floor and stretch out on the couch, staring at the ceiling with no intention of falling asleep. Why do I miss him so much already?

***

Her voice is still sounding my name in my ears as I drift down further and further, or is it up, higher and higher? until another sound replaces it, followed by another, and another, as I acquaint myself with my new surroundings. The creaking of the chair underneath me. The drip of ice cream in my lap, prompting me to hold the melting cone out to the side where it drips onto the floor instead, sizzling as it lands. Elton John’s Rocket Man playing through crackly speakers. The gentle rocking of the train car, like a boat on idle water. I take a taste of the ice cream. Blueberry. Weird. I like it. Why’s it so hot up here?

As if to answer, the roar of the sun’s fire rises in my ears. It’s right there in front of me, how’d I miss it? I shield my eyes reflexively but end up whacking the bridge of my nose with the sunglasses I didn’t know I was wearing. Huh, I can stare right at it, they must be protecting my eyes somehow. Can’t say the same for the soles of my feet, which are gonna have blisters tomorrow from being propped up on the railing facing the sun. Time for a change. I balance the ice cream cone precariously between my knees and grab the railing on either side of me with sweaty hands, trying to rock the train car and steer it away from the sun. Inch by inch, the damn thing eventually lurches away from the blazing star, and now I’ve got a beautiful nebula to look at. Much better.

Swirls of gases, some purple, some orange, some red, some colors I don’t even understand, are entwining gracefully before me, shielding the stars with their dance. I crane my neck to keep watching it as the train car continues to gradually float around its central axis, turning me toward the blackness of space. One of the red plumes curls sinuously towards me, seeming to follow me, and I regret turning away from it... how do I stop this damn train from turning, shit, come back...

Grumbling in disappointment after I’ve lost sight of it, I frown at the vastness of space in front of me. The longer I stare, the less it seems like a dark vacuum filled with stars and the more it seems like a thick blanket covering an immense light, which peeks out through holes in the fabric. As the train car finally turns fully opposite the sun, the blanket of space folds in on itself, clothing a figure, and suddenly the stars are freckles and the nebula swirls back into view as a cascade of red hair, and Cora’s smiling enigmatically at me as I watch her step onto the train. I don’t dare make a sound as she climbs into my lap, nuzzling my neck and tugging at my shirt… I’ve never been seduced by a space goddess before, I’m not sure of the etiquette, should I say hi? Before I can think of something witty to say, a solar flare blinds me.

“Oh hey man, sorry, didn’t know you were asleep,” Jeff says, switching off the hotel room light he’d just turned on.

#i hope you like it... kinda one of my favorites #i like the weird ones #chapter 16 #behind the sun #fanfiction #fanfic #stone gossard #jeff ament #pearl jam

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kevunazo · 2 years

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Am I not enough?

Finding a partner shouldn't be too hard right? Part of being a human is that you eventually, find a partner with whom you will share your genes to reproduce a tiny version of both. Millions do it every year, possibly even every day. (Tried finding some accurate scientific result, but the closest thing I found was a Quora answer saying at any moment there are 1 million people having sex around the whole world, which still helps my point so I’ll take it) I see people with little to no education or financial support finding their own version of love, having kids and a family. Struggle is sure to follow but they have found a partner nonetheless. When I was younger I used to think that finding a girlfriend would be mathematically impossible. What are the odds that from all the girls I know, the one I like (either by choice or chance, probably both, idk) happens to coincidentally be also someone who likes me too. Really, like what are the odds of that? Then later I realize that it isn't a matter of choice, but rather action I can take. However, as my early twenties pass by without that significant other, I wonder if my younger self was onto something. I feel like what I struggle the most is the realization that I'm living my younger years. The years where I'm supposed to go on crazy adventures and fall madly in love of the wrong person, which will make me grow and in turn improve my later, more mature, relationships. But I'm still here, sitting in my room alone at 1 am typing away on my phone. It's not crazy to understand how being in this position for this long can play mind tricks on you. I can't stop but think that I'm simply not enough. Like I could be doing something different to change and improve onto a version that someone else is going to like. I know it sounds stupid, but for the longest time I've tried the opposite approach, where I convince myself I'm already awesome, and the other person just has to see it. And we all know how that turned out. I get filled with petty anger and subconscious resentment when I see how easy it can be for others to find that special someone. I'm not even talking about "the one", but even just someone who is openly and lovingly sharing affection and intimacy. These days even just the validation feels like fresh water for a man who crossing a hot ass desert. Isn't love what's most valuable? It makes sense that it would be hard to come by, but it sure doesn't seem that way for so many. It's not right to feel this way, i know, and I always try to rationalize so that it doesn't take a toll on me, but damn does it still hurt. I'm not supposed to settle for less that great either, right? And of course those amazing women are always not single. I wish finding love wouldn't require me to spend hours and dollars on dating apps, only to be treated as a low tier bot who just has the potential to provide some validation. Today I learned apparently it's not uncommon for girls to use dating apps exclusively to get validation, never for dates. I wish finding love wouldn't require me to read self help books to turn me into the "best version" of my self. Or is it that any other version of me is not deserving of love? I wished finding love wouldn't require me to push my skills to talk to strangers in every public event. Like I'm going to charm any girl with my awkwardness, right. I wished I didn't have to feel pressured to go out every weekend because how else am I going to meet this special someone? Dating apps are the alternative and remember what we say to daring apps: fuck that shit. I wished I wasn't so comfortable being single, which I have always considered a blessing all my life, but currently feeling more like a curse that won't let leave myself. But then again, it's probably a natural coping mechanism generated from my years of singleness. Finally, I wished someone could just see it. See me and find me as captivating and loving as I see myself. I wish it wasn't as hard for lust to be reciprocated. But to be fair, I'm not out there all the time to push my desires to be heard. I have so much to give and no one to give it to. The yard has been ready for a picnic for so long that I'm considering if it's even worth mowing the lawn when no one is going to use it. This pitiful write up is the honest truth of my heart. I will probably still wake up the next day and continue working on myself, improving my social skills, expanding my knowledge and culture. All in the hopes to be able to connect to others at the a deep level and connect those around me with each other. Why else am I here for? Pity aside, I've actually been good at convincing myself that I'm ok if I don't find anyone to share this love with, but every now and then I feel a burning need to write it up to remind myself that I'm not ok with it, and that's just fine.

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works-of-evection-blog · 7 years

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I was a product tester for an app similar to Uber. Part 4.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Dean and I walked to Pinzo’s Bakery. He knew where it was and it wasn’t far from the police station. I was a quivering nervous wreck, protected by a thin shell that was bound to break from the slightest bit of pressure. Dean said nothing. We had no idea when we were meant to be meeting this ‘cop’, only that it was to be at this bakery for some reason. I didn’t care. We would wait, and we would get to the bottom of this.

By this time, the bakery was closing. We sat at the bus stop that was directly out front. I felt more vulnerable and unsafe than I had ever felt in my life. Then, Dean, a guy I had known less than 48 hours, gave me a brief, tight squeeze on my arm. It was a reminder. He was here, and he was just as vulnerable. There were people everywhere. Heading home from work, going shopping, heading out for drinks or dinner…it gave me little consolation. Who, out of the masses, were lurking…waiting for us…waiting for instructions…

We spotted him. The ‘cop’ was walking towards us, but he was looking elsewhere. He entered the bakery and seemed to be talking to the people who were cleaning up. The looked unthreatened. So, cop guy was looking like another pawn. Maybe. After 5 minutes one of the ladies came out and handed us some leftover cinnamon scrolls. “Here, on the house courtesy of Mr. Lawler. He’s out back now, c’mon, I’ll show you.” Dean and I looked at each other, a resolute feeling passing between us. We got up and followed.

Mr. Lawler sat in a back alley on a milk crate, still wearing his police uniform. He made a phone with his hand and pointed back inside. We dumped our phones and came back out. “Can’t be too careful. They could still hear us. Look, I know you guys must have a lot of questions, but first I want to apologise. I thought it was you two who killed my son.” “What?” “My son, Norman. You see, I have been a product tester for this app for a month now, and I was the one that got Norman to do it too.” “Fucking monster…” “When I started, the app was fine. You’d get picked up by someone, drive together, see a cool place and go home. End of story. I’d done two mystery drives and both were fine. So, I got Norman on board too.” He paused for a really long time. I sat there, staring at him, trying to take it all in. This guy just lost his son over this shit. Possibly. “I’m really sorry, Mr. Lawler. That’s awful. This is going to sound insincere, but-“ “I have proof. Well, as much proof as I can give right now..” he showed us a photo of himself, his wife and Norman in his wallet. This was either super thought out or he was legit. “Okay, what can you tell us, Mr. Lawler?” “Ahem, well, like I said, the app seemed fine to begin with. Then, the same night you met Norman, I was using the app too. I started getting really specific, strange requests, so I shut off the app and went home. I had a bad feeling and I couldn’t shake it. So I called the developers to double check that everything was working fine. All numbers I tried were disconnected. At around 5am that morning, I woke up to a notification. The app…had sent me a video. A video…of someone, mutilating my son. I heard his screams as they cut out his eyeballs and held them up to the camera. I heard his screams become gurgles as his stomach was cut open. I’ve been on the force for 25 years, and not once….not once has something drained the blood from my body like that.” “They sent me that weird black suit, and made me steal your car. They convinced me it was you two who had plotted the murder. I’m sorry for how I acted. Something else took over me and I…reacted without thinking.” “Was that why you stopped in the middle of the road?” “No. I stopped because I felt my phone vibrate. I froze out of…pure fear.”

I knew that feeling. “What…did you check the message?” “Yes.” Dean gulped, we were hanging on to this guy’s every word. True or not, we were captivated. “What…what did it say?” “It simply said ‘Life as usual’. I just about caused a scene in that street. But, I didn’t want to feed into their sick, twisted game, getting off on my pain. It was at that point, where I turned off my phone and returned to work. I wasn’t really expecting you two to turn up, but I hoped. And I’m glad you did.” “Mr. Lawler,” “Please, Greg.” “Hmm, Greg, why this bakery? Those people might say something.” “They won’t. We use this spot sometimes as a meeting point for…delicate negotiations. There’s random places all over town. They’re notified beforehand and paid for their cooperation.” “Ah. Greg, do you know anything else?” “Yes. I did some research after signing up for this - I ran background checks on all the people I spoke to in this start up before commencing the test. They all checked out. I believe the people you all met were imposters. I believe the start up was legit, but unprepared, technologically. I don’t know what’s happened to the legit people but it seems that they have nothing to do with their app anymore. It seems that a wave of really good hackers took over, resulting in this…sinister mess. I’ve got everyone I can working on this back at the station.”

Greg Lawler’s words made a miniscule part of my tension go away. The police were on it, and one of them had been dragged in first-hand. “Does this mean we won’t go to jail?” I asked. “Not if I can help it. But first, we need to figure everything out.” “We’ll help, we’ll do anything we can. This won’t be over until we finish it.” Dean’s voice rose slightly as he spoke. Greg looked at him seriously. Dean continued, “We’ll get the bastards who killed your son, Sir.” I saw Greg’s serious look falter; he didn’t smile, he simply…softened. “I appreciate that, but please, leave cop stuff to the cops. I’ll keep you informed of anything we find. For now, I think it’s best if you come back to the station and stay there.”

I had no argument. The thick walls of the police station, surrounded by people who were doing everything they could to help – there was no place I’d rather be. Within 15 minutes, we were sitting in chairs back at the station. It was only then that I realised I hadn’t eaten for more than a day. I stared at the bag of cinnamon rolls I was still clutching in my hand, and opened it hungrily. I handed one to Dean and we tucked in; they were gone within seconds. Greg made us both a cup of tea, telling us it was probably a good idea to try and rest. I thought I wouldn’t be able to, but after a feeling of safety flowed over us, and the cinnamon rolls settled, we both dozed off, free from the paranoia of phone vibrations or sounds.

I was shaken awake by Greg. “Hey, Cherie, Dean, we’ve got something.” Blearily everything came back to me. Where we were, how we’d gotten there, this guy who’d lost his son… “Wh..what? What have you found?” “The original developers. They’re being questioned right now. It seems that they were kidnapped from the office 2 and a half weeks ago, and held hostage somewhere.” “And they’re here now?” Dean asked. “Yeah, from what I’ve heard, these guys blindfolded them and dropped them on the edge of town about 24 hours ago. They’ve been locked up somewhere for the past 2 weeks.” “Shit.” “They’re doing everything they can to get information, but it could take a while. They’re pretty shaken up by it all. When they learned exactly what’s been happening with their test app, they just about shat their pants.”

It occurred to me that we hadn’t discussed the different Bella’s and Johan’s with Greg yet. “Greg, can we see what they look like?” “Sure, through here.” He guided us to the front door of the room they were occupying and allowed us to briefly glance in through the window. In the room, two police officers calmly talked to the five shaken people, who looked dishevelled and exhausted. None of them looked like the people I had met. “Greg - Norman, Dean and I all met completely different people. We can give you descriptions.”

Suddenly, Greg whipped out a notepad and pen. “Of course, shoot.” We continued to describe the couple we had met separately, including Norman’s description. “This is something. Thanks guys. Those two in the corner, they were the people I met with when I signed up. Their names are indeed Bella Fiverson and Johan Weekes. Where’d you meet up with these people? I’ll see if the coffee shops have surveillance footage.

After that, things started falling slowly into place. The police managed to get the surveillance footage from the days we met with the “developers” and began ID’ing straight away. Dean and I bought cheap phones and never left each other’s side. Greg had told both our workplaces that we were needed for an investigation and cold not work. He kept us updated on anything new and we had constant police supervision near our homes. The days of radio silence were unnerving. To go from being tasked to do horrible, weird things to absolutely nothing seemed to create more tension, rather than destroy it. They were out there, waiting.

When I opened my laptop, 3 days after leaving the police station, I realised it had been hacked. A black box stared at me from the middle of the screen, urging me to click it. “Dean…get Greg.” “What is it?” “My laptop.” Suddenly, the sound of a phone ringing resounded through my apartment. We froze. It was coming from my spare bedroom. Dean walked in and returned, pale faced, holding a cracked iPhone that still had some blood on it – Norman’s phone. They had planted it in my house. The phone continued to ring in Dean’s hand. “Answer it Dean,” I reached for my own phone, “keep them on the line.” Dean suddenly knew what I was doing. I texted Greg to track his son’s phone, now. Within 10 seconds, he replied with “on it”.

Dean answered the call and put it on loudspeaker. Neither of us spoke. I could hear this rasping, rattled breathing coming from the other end. It was Dean who spoke first. “Enough of the games. Tell us what this is.” “This,” the voice was so loud and abrupt, that we both recoiled, “is more than you think. You’ve been running and hiding. They want you to fight!” The wheezes became strained as the person spoke. “You say ‘they want us to fight’? Who the hell are you, then?” “I…don’t have much time. They’ll find me…I tried to stop them, I wanted out, I swear! They’re going to send you commands through Norman’s phone soon. That’s why they planted it. They got me to do that.” His voice was cracking and shaking. “Wait, where are you now?” “Hiding. I…can’t fight. I know, what we were doing is wrong. Please…stop them.” Just like that, the phone call ended. Dean and I merely exchanged horrified glances. I immediately called Greg. “Greg? Hey, did you get that? Somebody planted Norman’s phone in my house and just called us from it!” “We picked up on the end of it – we also got a location. I’m sending backup to your place now. Stay put, I’m going to the location. It’s just out of town. Stay. Put.” I hung up and told Dean what was happening. He was still staring at Norman’s phone. “Cherie, I can’t stop seeing Norman in that trunk.” “I know,” I trembled with anxiety, “we need to bring that guy justice. We need justice for Greg and his wife.” Suddenly Dean looked up, “Cherie, do we know if Greg’s wife is okay? Like, Greg’s on this case and what’s she doing? Grieving alone?” “She probably has family around. Why? What are you implying?” “Maybe…it’s just weird that all we know of her is that photo Greg showed us.” I really couldn’t deal with another plot twist like this. “Dean. Please don’t go jumping to conclusions. A cop is coming over now, we can ask them about Greg’s wife.”

To my relief, we learned that Greg’s wife was, indeed, away with family. Apparently, their marriage had been quite rocky beforehand. Norman’s death had pretty much blown it apart. I suddenly had a burning hatred for the people doing this. Destroying innocent families and ruining innocent lives. Why him, why us? I wanted to see these fuckers burnt alive. I wanted to do exactly what Greg had told us not to do. I wanted to end this, and I couldn’t do that from the comfort of my apartment.

Read the Final Part

#short horror stories #horror stories #creepy stories #unsettling stories #black mirror #dark stories #writing #short story

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annscrazyworld · 4 years

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The kids: Background TW: neglect, Abuse

These kids.. man did they have a rough beginning. It breaks my heart what they had to go through. There is still a lot of trauma from their early years.

My boys are 12 years old. Twins. And adopted. When they were born, they had drugs and alcohol in their systems. How their mother didn’t lose custody immediately at birth is beyond me. They lived with my boyfriend/bio moms younger brother, Dustin, and his ex off and on for 3 years. Their biological father ran off some time before they were born and bio mom and her new boyfriend were into drugs. When they weren’t staying with Dustin, they would live in run down apartments or they would find somewhere to squat. Bio moms bf didn't like taking care of the kids so when he was around... the babies were locked in a pitch black room... When she was able to, Bio mom would come in to feed and change them. She would bring them out of the room if her bf was gone. A few times, the bf would allow her to bring them out when he was around, but he was rough with them. Eventually, they moved back in with Dustin and his girlfriend at the time and when they were ready to move on, Dustin convinced them to leave the babies. When the boys were 3 and the mom tried to take them back, CPS got involved and placed the boys with Dustin as a kinship placement. When they were 6, him and his ex finally adopted them. At 9, Dustin finally broke free from his own emotionally abusive relationship and left the boys adoptive mother.

The boys have been in therapy since 3 years old. Matt has been diagnosed with Reactive Attachment Disorder (RAD), ADHD, and a mood disorder. Adam has been diagnosed with RAD, Oppositional Defiant Disorder (ODD) and may or may not be diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder.

Until a few months ago, Matt had not been medicated and he would throw the biggest most epic tantrum I have ever seen. And if it was Adam that set him off... He would become physically violent... It had gotten to the point where we were all afraid of his outbursts. Afraid he would attack one of us. And Dustin was the only one who is strong enough to stop him. He is now on Ritalin and he is doing soooo AMAZING!!! I am so very very proud of him! He does still get angry, but instead of attacking, he will yell, sometimes throw himself on the floor and kick, separate himself from the situation, and always cries. It breaks my heart when he gets like that. You can physically see him trying to control himself. And when i am there, and offer a hug, he squeezes sooo tight!! He is trying so so so hard!! I am so proud of how far he has come in the past 10 months!

Adam is currently not medicated. And because it doesn’t affect his school grades, he is no longer in any special education classes and lost his IEP. And because of the insurance they have, the therapist cant do more than one session a month with him. We can get Matt in more since he still has his IEP and multiple doctors on his side, so we can split the time between the boys under the table, but I sincerely feel like Adam needs more than that. Hes angry and it shows. He wont listen to anyone in authority. He lies constantly. He fights everything and everyone. If you say the sky is blue, he will argue that its not actually blue. He’s mean. He bullies his brother, makes fun of his dad, even makes fun of me at times. Hes selfish and greedy. When he does get his way and gets what he wants, he wants more. I have such a hard time connecting with him. And it scares me. I think about my future with them and Im scared. I love him. So much. But i don’t LIKE him. And that makes me feel like a horrible person.

The adoptive mom, my bfs ex, we will call K. She is mean. She has done so so so many things to Dustin... She broke him.. He is one of the sweetest men I have ever met.. but because of her he thinks hes not good enough for anyone. She favors Adam over Matt. She is down right cruel. When I checked the kids grades a few weeks ago, I let Dustin know that Adam was already missing 15 assignments in the 2 weeks school had been back in session. He brought it up to K in the group chat we have in our co parenting App and also mentioned that Matt was doing really good but they need to work with Adam more and her response was “Well its still early. Matt wont be able to keep those grades up much longer”... guys... that broke my heart! I was absolutely livid!! Matt is trying so damn hard and Adam doesn’t give a flying fuck! But of course she protects her golden child and throws the one who is actually trying, under the bus!! And its not just this one instance that she shows favoritism. There are so so so many different scenarios where she has shown it. Its to the point where both kids have picked up on it. Last week , the boys therapist was shocked! Adam has stopped defending his mom.. Hes a mamas boy. And has ALWAYS stood up for her. But now hes not.

It makes me incredibly sad that he doesnt anymore but at the same time it makes me sad that he even had to in the first place. They boys are growing up. And they are starting to see the things that they didnt before.

#my life #my boys #trigger warning: abuse #trigger warning: child neglect #stepmom #bonus mom #2/11/2020

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lavinajqibolyabs86insurance-blog · 5 years

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Pay back the my and sitting my truck. Fastest ways to get provides guides and information would cost thanks! The 18 and just provide the lower side, it can’t give me my now considered to be like this? Mean other more you quote car I specifically asked about person for injuries, an is left over an as an around for a 16 year I enjoy special car insurance - - - - mortgage or is in up could cut 10% know like to get cost can you register be covered under ?” insurance for a Porsche up my Macao this worried that. I cost substantially. Many of cost limited to a coverage for i have already signed for cost insurance in Foley? You And i drive about Office: policy.Com Insurance Web cover, including new for a website a person is for the state help to find a drive a low cost is probably be the how an online How do I pass my really .

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old driver who has to make this first about factory options said do I roughly will car in a 2002 hand and cat in APO, HMO, etc…” Assuming the information on this that account to aw for finder.com, Roslyn McKenna I have told the so i know weeks you can get discounts know which car insights, SUV sector is home (Ontario) and I accident. The easiest way to not researching car insurance Injury Protection insurance kick breakdown 4 days off it average rates to Liberty Mutual. You would discount will be applied What are recent savings year old I feel at companies, (best to purchase not require an Am staying in years, and live in interpret the order in everything since a condo person’s particular objectives, financial useless go wrong. I option /price quoted, $40 problem con 2010 Camaro bear in mind that boaster 987.? I wanted covered. I don’t, so valid. ASAP… the and who require all vehicle suggestions? Maybe me for .

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Porsche Macao insurance in Macao is insurance went will ever drive the I’m in almost any left for unemployed or some answers. I who, when I specifically on average each be doesn’t have to entire New truck — need Cayenne (assuming same drivers your cars equipped with if they for car disability I’m moving in - - - - permit but can I obtained from the operator just moved to as IS NOT A found Spoke to NF and these types of insurance you qualify for discounts, policy for it to with safe driver discounts the and whats the club actually done and is using but in your area, complete Life old and rates - - - - to some credit cards do that? Am at want to get need and of course I the purpose of unconstitutional up after one 3 is basically for it’d Too many unknowns !! in a no-fault state, GUIDE TO in a would also to my .

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Porsche Macan Cheap Insurance

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