#AND I FORGET I MADE THE THEME TOO SO ITS LIKE

[5ungchan]

oooo what about sungchan and longing!

YOU LOOK BETTER UNDER THE NIGHTS SHADE

THE SCORE: 16 SONGS | REQUESTS AVAILABLE | FEEDBACK?

WARNINGS: smut— not too graphic, exploring the themes of longing, vulnerability and the complexities of intimate relationships with a subtle poetic flair. engulfed with imagery and sensory details, with some metaphorical language. i tried to make it introspective, but regardless— sungchan and his mean vibes.

AUTHORS NOTE: i haven't written anything new in a hot minute. mostly just working on older drafts, so the purpose of opening requests were to get the gears in my brain turning once more. so thank you for requesting! i hope it's not too shabby for your tastes.

there is nothing more painful than yearning. for what once was ⏤ for what never was anything.

the feeling of bare skin: a tight slap, and a quick snap against the surface of your vulnerable body. the feeling of his hips against your sensitive pelvis. the heat and its vibrant, tender sensations are unstoppable. an insatiable force to be reckoned with.

the constant ripple of feeling so full, the pulsating build that continues to go onwards and onwards. causing an irresistible urge to control the climax that seems to build within your core. twisting and turning, your stomach is absolutely churning. thoughtfully, manicured toes flexing inwards as you magnetize yourself to his body; holding on for dear life.

it's your kaleidoscopic delusions and the visions of him. unreachable, untouchable ⏤ a mind so incredibly far from reality.

it has you skyrocketing towards a certain high, one that leaves you forever wanting more. a smidge of lustrous creativity; an abstract and lewd possibility. yet, a complete dream come true. he was attainable physically, hell; you're half-way there. but he's locked up away, the thoughts inside his mind are unattainable. not for you, not for anyone. crumbling back from the atmosphere, you've fallen back onto the surface. forced to remain eternally grounded.

jung sungchan is an enigma. he won't listen to you as you call out his name. he won't look into your eyes, observing your delicately sculpted face and watching the way the syllables roll off your tongue so sweetly. any other man would beg to hear it come from you, reaching their sweet release merely seconds from hearing you recite such a beautiful sonata of heavy breaths, and short words of affection. and yet, he doesn't flinch when he hears the way your voice cuts off: gasping for air, as a soft, delicate moan makes its way past your lips. the curvature of your breasts lifting upwards in unison with the lungs within your body that seem to be working overtime.

the birth of venus began the moment sungchan had enveloped you within his arms, yet crumbled just as quickly the moment he neglected you. dried lips that should've been kissed, bare from the lack of saliva that should've coated them. all of your beauty painfully neglected as he's buried inches deep within your throbbing cunt.

you could've sworn you forgot the way he looked when he felt so turned on.

the pleasure plastered on his face was incredibly hard to forget, yet, it made you wonder if his eyes still gleamed. was his gaze still glossy, half-lidded, with his eyelashes batting against the grain of his skin? did he still shut his eyes suddenly, groaning in absolute ecstasy the moment he began shuddering with such pleasure?

all you wished for, was to look into those gorgeous, warm eyes of his. gazing into what seemed like the stars encapsulated within his irises, observing the way he became so fragile, rather than stuck in limbo, drifting through a period of toxic masculinity. the emotions that once was, is nothing more than a distant memory. no matter how present his actions were; his emotions were forever stagnant.

his head is leaning over your shoulder. the sound of his forehead occasionally shifting against the fluffiness of your pillow. the wafting smell of his subtle sweat and rather, overpowering smell of cologne. the soft and smooth notes of vanilla and orris butter. he's luxurious in the way he presents himself, even more so seductive with how he moves, and yet, it makes you feel undeserving. his reluctance to even cradle you like the delicate flower you were ⏤ to call out your name. it all solidifies it.

to him, you're nothing.

nothing more than the girl who always happened to be there at the right place, and right time. sungchan doesn't make love to you, he fucks himself into you like he doesn't care. regardless, for as long as he's here, you'll fool yourself into believing he does. he's come this far, hasn't he? far enough to feel how good you are for him. to lay there like the pretty girl you are, allowing him to wallow his thickness into your plunging wetness.

love sick. a complete utter fool.

with each and every thrust, you continue to allow him to torment your body with such dominance. exchanging a slice of your sanity with every movement. it would be a lie to say, he wasn’t addicted to the way you’re body exists with such a visceral filling. a plush pink, frail and plump innocence, sprinkled with such naivety. a filling that just so happened to pair well with his bittersweet, saccharine cream that he adorned your body in.

he's had his fill, yet you're left begging for more. turning your head to press your lips against his neck. soft tongue, pressing against the supple flesh of his jugular as he pushes himself further against your body. subconsciously agreeing to your actions, he moulds your frame into the mattress as you lick at his neck before puckering down to suck on the fragile skin. blistering and bruising at it, your hands make way to his shoulders with your fingernails digging into his flesh. it feels as though you're about to fall once more, holding onto him as if you're life depended on it.

"s-sungchan, you're going to⏤" huffing, a moan escapes past your lips, the words falling out of your mouth in increments, "gonna be the death of me, aren't you?"

your words are met with silence. instead, the sound of the headboard creaking against the wall continues to persist. despite the subtle hesitation in his thrusts as he pauses in between, just so he can pull his hips back and push himself into you harder than before. crying out, your hands make their way towards his hair, gently tugging at the soft, slightly wet strands. effectively shutting you up, but only for a moment.

"'m close," you whimper, as he groans in response. a stutter in his movements as his muscles seem to tremble atop you. "hold onto me tightly!" you protest.

and yet, it's far too late to be saved. you're falling from the sky as sungchan seems to purposely let you go. the way his body stops moving, allowing himself to release himself within you. the spontaneous jolts of his body as he unloads before collapsing to the side. filling you up with so many meaningless sentiments. before promptly removing himself from within you.

he's trying to catch his breath, staring at the dimly lit ceiling before it all comes crashing down. you yearned for him to wrap you in his arms, to allow you to rest your head on his bare chest as you listened to the sound of his heartbeat. the previous nights that were filled with a soft word or two, making his time with you feel so much more heartfelt. yet, he can't help but feel as though you make him claustrophobic. the impending doom of what you'd say next, constantly nagging him to do more than what he already does.

sungchan has had enough. sitting upwards in bed, he turns to look down on you.

"i think we're done here," he bluntly states. "i mean, i don't think i can deal with your whining and nagging. it's as though, what i'm doing, just isn't good enough for you."

his words bring a pang to your chest. your lips part wordlessly as you try to recollect your thoughts and say something, but they're just left speechless, quivering silently. the furrowing of your eyebrows makes the confused expression on your face quite clear. you're trying your best to keep your composure despite feeling completely humiliated in the moment.

"is it so wrong..." you begin, as you pull the bedsheets upwards to cover whatever dignity you had left. "to ask you to love me? to love me back, the way i do you."

"loved by me?" he questions. standing upwards, he begins to messily get dressed, scanning the room around for his belongings, "what, as if i owe it to you?"

you can't help but guffaw. watching as he peers at his phone, checking the time as if you were holding him up.

"you know what? yeah. i do think you owe me at least some sort of reciprocation."

standing upwards, you drag the bedsheet along with you as you approach him. you've become cerebral; completely raw.

"what're you so afraid of sacrificing sungchan?"

sungchan narrows his eyes in your direction, his eyes lifting from his phone as the blue hue illuminates his face. he's cold, appearing almost offended by the audacity you had to ask such a thing.

"for god's sake, don't start up this shit again," groaning, it's clear this had become a habit for the both of you.

"start what? all i want is an answer, a clear fucking answer from you. rather than you saying you're going to always leave, only to come running back," pursing your lips, you can't help but feel like he's finally left a distasteful feeling in your mouth.

gripping the bedsheet tightly around yourself, you watch as he steps forwards. glaring down on you as if you could handle him. pre-maturely confronting him, knowing well enough you wouldn't be able to deal with him.

"fuck...so that's what you want, huh? to be coddled like the fucking baby you are. 'think you're a princess yeah?"

leaning inwards, he comes in so closely. allowing his forehead to press against yours, the tip of his nose just brushing past yours as you feel how hot his breath is against your face. it's abrupt and rough, the way his slightly chapped lips press against yours. a sudden nip at your lip, and he welcomes himself inside, the feeling of his tongue against yours, the intrusive sensation of him kissing you, but doing it only to temporarily satisfy your needs. it feels as though you're about to choke, unable to follow his lead. yet, always complaining about how much you wanted him to give it to you.

the feeling of your body shuddering against his much bigger frame is hard to explain. as goosebumps seem to erupt across the expanse of your skin. sungchan wraps you in his arms, snaking them around your fragile body and squeezing so tightly at your waist. angling his head to push himself further onto you.

“this what you wanted, yeah?” he mumbles in between kisses, the obscene sound of your tongues clashing against each other. the messiness of how his saliva seems to seep into your mouth makes you feel as though he’s swallowing you alive.

the tears begin to gather at your waterline, dripping down your cheeks and hanging on the edge of your jawline as you feel sungchan bring his hand upwards to cup your face. using his thumb to swipe at a few stray tears.

"i know you love me," he coos as he pulls himself away. staring into your eyes, you can't help but feel like you're beginning to grow cold. sungchan was capable of draining your energy — of making you regret every decision you’d ever made.

“…but you can't expect me to love you back."

bringing his hand upwards to push aside a few strands of your hair, he tucks them behind your ear, "not today..."

his slender fingers continue to comb through your hair, as he gazes at you as if you're some doll. a prized possession of his, yet one that's overdue. there was always something more waiting for him. he’s gentle with his actions, but incredibly harsh with his words. expressing himself without a single ounce of remorse.

"...not tomorrow."

"then when?" you choke out. as the tears have become unstoppable, your heart has fallen to the floor, and he seems to continue trampling all over it. over and over again, he continues to fuck with your sanity. having absolutely no regards for you.

sungchan can't help but let out an airy laugh. his lips stretching into a soft smile as he peers at you with such disdain. after all, you’d allowed him to become nothing more than a tainted stain over your purity.

for you, what once was love; to him was never anything.

"for as long as you'll delude yourself into thinking i might change."

[wovenstarlight]

guy who makes themes and then gets jumpscared when they see people using them

[coridallasmultipass]

Personal vent post, how I tag things, apologies for this probably showing up in search results because I'm not censoring words (do not have the spoons rn)

-

So I'm getting really frustrated (at the situation, not at individual people! Sorry to vague right after getting a request, I was gonna make this post like a week ago) that multiple people have asked me not to tag Bro/Cal reblogs as Stridercest.

Stridercest does not mean incest, it means Strider/Strider relationship. I'm tagging it for followers who don't want to see Strider/Strider at all (or for those who do, too, I guess). On MY blog, it has NO bearing on whether or not something is incest. Lil Cal has been a Strider since Day 1 to me, way before any of the events after Act 6, as a pure vanilla puppet. A Strider by marriage, in my opinion. But I'm not opposed to calculating the amount of Strider that got put in Lil Cal, as I've done before. You also have Dirk/Hal which is also Stridercest, but not incest (at least in canon, sometimes it is incest in fan depictions). Or Guardiancest, which I don't think counts as incest in canon either (but usually always is in fan depictions). Even selfcest between one Strider (beta!Dave/beta!Dave in a time travel situation, for example) is still gonna be Stridercest to me.

The ONLY Stridercest I add the specific ship tag for is Bro/Cal, because that's otp5eva for me, separate from any other Strider stuff (Stridercest probably doesn't even make top 3 HS ships for me). Everything else only gets the blanket Stridercest in reblogs, because I already tag a lot, I don't have the energy to add nuanced tags for weird Strider situations, and whether or not that constitutes incest, or which version of a character it is, especially when the artist/authors don't usually make the difference explicitly stated in their own caption/tags, and sometimes it's vague on purpose! (I'm currently writing a fic where Bro and Dirk are the same person! I'm not gonna make the distinction a big deal.)

It's mostly frustrating because then I have to decide if untagging the relationship as Stridercest is going to make someone else following me uncomfortable who will then see it untagged.

Going forth, I am going to delete whatever reblog I made if I get this request from someone else again. I'm trying to remember names, so I don't reblog any future content that would conflict with their requests, but this has already happened with three people in like the past two weeks. Had to block one person for telling me to die because I tagged "Stridercest" on the post preventatively, as usual, because I care about tagging for my followers. (I literally checked their blog like 3 times to make sure they didn't have a DNI pinned, and I still got told to die for my efforts lmao.)

Literally, please just DM me privately (thank you to the other people who did, sorry for the trouble!), and I will either delete the reblog, or block you if you request that. I'm not TRYING to make people uncomfortable, which is the whole reason why I tag it to begin with.

So, I'm not un-tagging shit anymore, it's delete only from now on. I'm not going against my own blog rules I set both to try and accommodate my followers, and to make searching my blog easier for myself. (Used to not tag anything from like 2011-2016 or later, and I'm still in the process of back-tagging everything, since it's been so frustrating to find old fandom posts.)

[yuusakuhanazawashole]

[fvsm4x]

❝﹝ ᝰ 𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 part 4 ★ ˙ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི.ᐟ﹞

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Your boyfriend, who you loved more than anything, who was your will to live, broke up with you.

｡𝐂.𝐖: ex-boyfriend! Gojo satoru x depressed! female reader , sexual assault , attempted rape , dark themes.

｡𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4.2k+

｡𝐀/𝐍: I lied to y‘all, part 5 idk when

taglist: @3zae-zae3 @sexeyess @silkija @dancinhhillary @musicarose @vanevafu @labelt-san @cl16void @feellaaya @animechick555 @nanmiik @ichikanu @cupidszvlvr @pinksaiyans @phoenix666stuff @coffeeluvr96 @alpha-mommy69 @isaacdaholi @xx-rfg-xx @certainduckanchor @ambalikadubeyy-blog @r0ckst4rjk @xxemmarldxx x @starrylibras s @lady-cryptstone @sparklydhokla @hoeforchoso @sweetlilhoshi @getou0309 @n8mareee @integers @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @skittleabyss @softnorth @maliakealoha @avalordream @dazaisfavgf @thebacksack @darkphoenix3432 @mwtsxri @nothisispatrick300 @andioopsworld @sup-hoes-its-me @yihona-san06 @s3r-en-d1p-ity @mandysfanfics @adanfore @rainydayssmokescreens @luvvmae @aquamarine001 @chilichopsticks @tinyjeo @adoretaylor @girlsvvish @misfits1a

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

As you stepped out into the night, the cool breeze brushed against your face, signaling the arrival of darkness and a slight chill in the air. Seeking warmth, you slipped your hands into the pockets of your jacket and began to walk away from your apartment.

The night sky stretched above you, a vast expanse of inky blackness punctuated by the shimmering glow of yellow and white stars. The trees swayed and danced in the cold wind, playfully pushing strands of hair away from your face.

The biting cold weather caused your lips to tremble slightly, and your eyes threatened to release the tears you had been holding back since you were inside your apartment. The wind, instead of offering solace, seemed to intensify your emotions, pushing you closer to the brink of tears.

Why were you crying? Was it because Geto had found someone else? Someone who was more beautiful than you? But deep down, you knew that you didn't have romantic feelings for him. So why did you feel this pang of jealousy? Perhaps it was because he seemed so happy, while you were not.

They appeared to be blissfully happy together, almost too happy. Yes, there was no denying it - you were undeniably jealous. You couldn't help but imagine yourself in their shoes, with Gojo by your side, sharing moments of happiness, embracing each other with radiant smiles and blushing cheeks.

But that reality was no longer possible. Gojo had made it clear that he didn't want you. He had found someone else to shower with his affection. You had hoped to move on, to forget about your feelings for Gojo and find solace in someone like Geto - someone kind, gentle, and reliable, who would never hurt you or betray your trust like Gojo might.

But try as you might, you couldn't bring yourself to love Geto the way you loved Gojo. Gojo still held your heart in his hands, even though you wished he didn't. Why didn't you deserve to be happy? What had you done to deserve this treatment from Gojo? These questions echoed in your mind, leaving you feeling lost and hurt.

The desire for happiness consumed your thoughts, leaving you questioning why it seemed so elusive. It felt as though life had dealt you a cruel hand, and you couldn't help but wonder if you had done something to deserve this constant ache in your heart.

The decision to let Geto live with you in the apartment that Gojo had gifted you now seemed like a double-edged sword. On one hand, it had provided you with a sense of security and companionship during a time when you had nothing and no one. But now, with Geto having found a girlfriend, their presence together in the apartment served as a constant reminder of the past, of the moments you had shared with Gojo.

However, the thought of kicking Geto out of the apartment never crossed your mind. He had been there for you when no one else was, offering you a place to stay and a shoulder to lean on. The debt of gratitude you owed him was immeasurable, and you couldn't bear the thought of hurting him by asking him to leave.

But the reality of the situation was hard to ignore. With Geto now in a relationship, the dynamic between the two of you had shifted. The once frequent and cherished moments you spent together were slowly dwindling, replaced by the presence of his girlfriend. The pain of this change cut deep, reminding you of the void that had been left in your own heart.

It was a bittersweet realization. On one hand, you wanted Geto to find happiness and experience the joy that you had yearned for. But on the other hand, the thought of losing the closeness you once shared with him was almost unbearable. The loneliness that settled in your chest was suffocating, and you couldn't help but wonder if this was the price you had to pay for allowing yourself to love someone who didn't reciprocate those feelings.

As you continued to walk through the night, the weight of your emotions pressed down upon you, making each step feel heavier than the last. The tears that had threatened to spill earlier now streamed freely down your face, mingling with the cool night air. The world around you seemed to blur, as if mirroring the confusion and pain that consumed your thoughts.

In that moment, you longed for a respite from the ache in your heart. You yearned for a glimmer of hope, a sign that happiness was still within reach. But as you trudged forward, the path ahead appeared uncertain, and the darkness seemed to stretch endlessly before you.

As you continued your leisurely stroll down the bustling street, completely engrossed in your own thoughts, an unexpected interruption abruptly jolted you out of your reverie. Without warning, a firm grip seized your arm and forcefully pulled you aside, causing your heart to skip a beat and adrenaline to surge through your veins.

Startled and disoriented, you swiftly pivoted to confront the source of this sudden intrusion, only to find yourself face to face with two imposing figures towering over you. Their intense gazes, marked by dilated pupils and flushed cheeks, betrayed a mixture of desire and mischief. Smirking down at you, their eyes seemed to devour your presence.

One of them, his hand still clasping your arm, gradually allowed his fingers to glide up your forearm, tracing a tantalizing path towards your shoulder. With a deliberate and almost hypnotic motion, he entwined his fingers in your hair, playfully twirling it around his own digit. His voice, laced with a hint of seduction, broke the silence, "What brings such a beautiful lady like yourself here?"

As the words escaped their lips, a shiver ran down your spine, causing your heart to race in your chest. You couldn't help but feel a mix of apprehension and curiosity, unsure of what this encounter would bring. The intensity of the moment seemed to freeze time, leaving you suspended in a state of uncertainty.

Their gaze bore into yours, and you couldn't bring yourself to meet it fully. You felt a knot forming in the pit of your stomach, your thoughts racing as you tried to make sense of the situation. What did they want from you? Why were they looking at you like that? Fear began to grip you, making it difficult to find your voice.

Summoning every ounce of courage you had, you managed to muster a response, your voice trembling with a hint of caution. "What do y-you want from me," you stammered, your words barely audible. You hoped your timidity would shield you from whatever intentions they had.

Their smirks deepened, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of unease. Their amusement was evident, and it only fueled your anxiety. What were they finding so amusing? You felt their presence so close, their breath grazing your ear as they whispered. It sent a chill down your spine, making your heart skip a beat.

„Oh, we're just looking for a little adventure. And it seems we've stumbled upon someone who might be up for it.“

The mixture of fear within you intensified. You knew you had a choice to make, but indecision clouded your thoughts. Should you let fear dictate your actions, or should you embrace the unknown and venture into uncharted territory? The thought of the latter sent waves of panic through you, but there was also a strange allure to the idea.

Summoning all the courage you could find, you forced yourself to meet their gaze, though your eyes quickly darted away.

You mustered a response, your voice barely above a whisper. "Uhm- I don‘t think I‘m up for that little adventure of yours…" Your voice trailed off, your words lacking the conviction you wished you had.

Their eyes sparkled with newfound interest, and you couldn't help but wonder what you had gotten yourself into.

The person standing before you leaned in closer, their eyes sparkling with mischief and a sly smile playing on their lips. Their words were laced with an enticing promise, "Oh, come on," they said, their voice dripping with seduction, "we guarantee that we'll give you an unforgettable experience."

Feeling a surge of discomfort and unease, you instinctively took a step back. Their gaze was fixated on your smaller form, making you feel vulnerable and unsafe. Your lips trembled slightly as you averted their intense gaze, desperately trying to maintain some semblance of control.

With every intention of escaping this unsettling situation, you slowly began to walk backwards. But your attempt at retreat was abruptly halted when a hand forcefully grabbed your face, yanking you back towards them. The grip was rough, and it sent shivers down your spine.

"Where do you think you're going, miss?" the person holding your face sneered, their voice dripping with an unsettling mix of dominance and aggression. They pushed you further into their personal space, their other hand wrapping possessively around your waist, leaving no doubt about their intentions.

A whispered plea escaped your lips, your face contorting with fear and your eyes welling up with tears. You knew all too well what they wanted, but you refused to let anyone use your body against your will. The weight of their desires and the intrusion into your personal boundaries felt overwhelming.

Why did these things always seem to happen to you? Why did Gojo have to betray your trust and cheat on you? Why did Geto have to replace you? And now, why did these strangers feel entitled to possess you?

A sense of despair washed over you as you contemplated your seemingly endless streak of misfortune. Perhaps, you thought, you didn't deserve happiness after all. Maybe you were destined to endure these hardships. But deep down, you couldn't fathom what you had done to deserve such torment. The answers eluded you, leaving you feeling lost and helpless.

„P-please let me go.“ you whispered, your trembling hand instinctively reaching out to push against their chest, hoping to create some distance between the two of you. But instead of relenting, they tightened their grip on you, their hold becoming even more suffocating. The room suddenly felt smaller, as if the walls were closing in on you, and the air grew heavy with an unspoken tension. Panic coursed through your veins, causing your heart to race and your thoughts to spiral into a frenzy of fear and desperation.

What had you done to deserve this? Why did it seem like these unfortunate circumstances always found their way into your life? It was as if the universe had conspired against you, casting you as the perpetual victim of misfortune and suffering.

Maybe, just maybe, in another life, you deserved to be happy. Perhaps there was a parallel existence where the scales of fate tipped in your favor, where joy and contentment were your constant companions. It was a fleeting thought, but one that offered a sliver of solace in the midst of your current turmoil.

The hand that had been on your face now moved, sliding down to your neck, gripping it tightly and pushing you closer to the person who had trapped you. Just as their lips were about to meet yours, a voice abruptly chimed in, shattering the tense atmosphere.

"Oi... what the hell do you think you're doing?!" The voice came from behind, and you swiftly turned your head, your heart sinking even further as you recognized the unexpected intruder. It was Gojo. What was he doing here? His presence sent shockwaves through your already tumultuous emotions, leaving you even more bewildered and distressed. His expression mirrored your own surprise, as if he had stumbled upon a scene he hadn't anticipated.

"Get away from her!" Gojo's voice boomed, cutting through the tension like a blade. He swiftly moved towards you, positioning himself as a protective barrier between you and the ominous figure that had threatened you mere moments ago. The stranger, who had been momentarily caught off guard by Gojo's sudden arrival, now wore a scowl, their arrogance faltering.

"This doesn't concern you. Mind your own damn business," they sneered, their voice dripping with disdain. "Give me back the girl. She was certainly enjoying herself," they added, a twisted smirk forming on their lips.

Gojo's gaze shifted from the stranger to you, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of your tear-stained face, frozen in fear and anguish. His protective instincts kicked into high gear, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. "Enjoying it? I don't think so," he retorted, his voice laced with a mixture of fury and concern. "Look at her—she's fucking crying."

The question echoed in your mind, reverberating with confusion and disbelief. Why was Gojo, of all people, coming to your aid? What compelled him to intervene in this dangerous situation? But in that moment, as you stood there, vulnerable and broken, his unexpected support offered a glimmer of hope.

"These are happy tears," the man sneered, taking a menacing step towards Gojo and aiming a punch at his face. With lightning-fast reflexes, Gojo caught the man's fist and twisted his hand, eliciting a cry of pain from his adversary.

"Happy tears, huh? More like pain tears," Gojo growled, forcefully throwing the man to the ground before turning to confront your shocked and motionless figure.

As Gojo stood before you, his eyes blazing with determination, he extended a hand towards you, offering his help. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with concern. You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do next.

"I-I'm okay- thank you," you muttered, taking a step back from him. Confusion and a whirlwind of emotions churned inside you as you struggled to make sense of the situation. The man who had replaced you, who had broken your heart, was now standing before you offering assistance. Memories flooded back, the pain of his betrayal still fresh in your mind. Where was his girlfriend? Why was he here?

Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over, and you quickly wiped them away, refusing to let him see your vulnerability. You couldn't bear the thought of appearing weak in front of him, especially after three long months of trying to move on from the heartbreak.

Feeling a mix of embarrassment and anger, you turned away from Gojo, avoiding his gaze, and took a step forward to leave him behind. But just as you thought you could escape, a hand grasped your wrist, halting your movements.

As you turned around, your eyes met Gojo's figure standing there, his posture tense, his gaze lowered, and his expression a mix of emotions. His voice was gentle as he released your wrist and asked, "Hey... are you sure you're okay?" His concern was palpable, evident in the way he studied your tear-swollen eyes, a clear indication of recent distress.

Gojo's heart twisted at the sight of your tears, aching with the uncertainty of their cause. Was it his fault, or the dangers you had faced? The sight of you in pain tore at him, leaving him feeling helpless in his desire to ease your suffering. Despite the complexities of your shared history, his instinct to protect and console you remained unwavering, even though he felt clueless about how to mend the fractures in your heart.

"I'm fine, thank you for your help," you replied, avoiding his gaze, the weight of the moment suffocating you. You just wanted to escape the intensity of the situation. The air around you felt heavy with unspoken words and unresolved emotions, creating a tension that seemed to thicken with each passing moment.

"Hey... um," Gojo began, his voice soft as he struggled to find the right words. His fist clenched as he averted his gaze, his internal turmoil evident in the way his brows furrowed with self-reproach. The silence between you was pregnant with unspoken apologies and unaddressed grievances, adding layers of complexity to an already fraught interaction.

"I messed up, I'm sorry," Gojo finally admitted, his voice tinged with regret and a hint of desperation. The vulnerability in his tone was a stark contrast to his usual confident demeanor, revealing a side of him that you rarely saw – a side that was raw and exposed, stripped of its usual facade.

Your eyes widened at his admission, your heart racing with a mix of emotions. You searched his face for any signs of deception but found none. The lines of worry etched on his face, the sincerity in his eyes, all seemed to point towards a genuine remorse that tugged at your heartstrings, stirring up a whirlwind of conflicting emotions within you.

"I'm so, so sorry, y/n," Gojo continued, his brow furrowed with genuine remorse. "I know I've hurt you in ways I may never fully comprehend. I can't erase the past, but I want you to know that I truly regret everything I've done." His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken truths and unaddressed wounds, creating a palpable tension that seemed to envelop the space between you.

You listened to his words, sensing the sincerity in his voice, yet the wounds he had inflicted remained raw. You were torn between the hope of reconciliation and the fear of trusting him again. The foundation of trust that once bound you together had been shattered, leaving behind a jagged edge that seemed impossible to mend.

As Gojo stood before you, his apology hanging in the air, each word felt like a heavy weight on your shoulders, a painful reminder of the hurt he had caused. Memories of being replaced, evicted, losing your job, and discovering his betrayal flooded your mind, a storm of pain and betrayal you had tried to bury. The ache in your chest grew with each passing moment, the conflicting emotions swirling within you like a turbulent sea.

"I'm sorry, please give me another chance," Gojo pleaded, taking your hand in his, holding on as if his life depended on it. His touch was warm against your skin, a stark contrast to the coldness that had settled between you. The weight of his hand in yours felt both comforting and suffocating, a reminder of the bond that had once held you together, now frayed and fragile.

As you felt his hand in yours, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over you. The warmth of his touch stirred memories of happier times, of shared laughter and stolen moments of intimacy. But beneath the surface, a current of pain and betrayal still lingered, threatening to pull you under.

You looked into Gojo's eyes, searching for answers, for a glimpse of the man you once knew. His gaze was earnest, his expression a mix of regret and determination. The vulnerability in his eyes mirrored the turmoil in your own heart, a silent plea for understanding and forgiveness.

"I don't know if I can," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. The weight of his apology, of the past that loomed between you, felt like a heavy burden you weren't sure you could bear. The wounds he had inflicted ran deep, leaving scars that seemed impossible to heal.

The realization that Gojo had a girlfriend sent a wave of conflicting emotions crashing through you. Doubt and insecurity gnawed at your insides as you grappled with the implications of his relationship status. Would he betray her with you again, repeating a cycle of deceit and hurt? The mere thought of being entangled in such a web of deception made your stomach churn with unease.

His words echoed in your mind, a cruel reminder of the comparison he had drawn between you and his girlfriend. "She's better than you," he had said, a dagger to your already wounded heart. The question lingered like a shadow in your thoughts - if she was indeed better, why did he seek you out again? Was it a game to him, a twisted manipulation of emotions that would end with you cast aside once more?

"You have a girlfriend," you spoke, your voice tinged with a mix of hurt and skepticism. "Right now, it feels like you're just repeating the same pattern that hurt me before."

His grip on your hand tightened, a silent plea for understanding and forgiveness evident in his touch. The warmth of his thumb tracing soothing circles on your palm offered a sense of reassurance amidst the storm of emotions swirling between you.

"I know it's complicated, and I understand your hesitation," Gojo began, his voice tinged with regret. "I never intended to hurt you. But being with her made me realize the depth of my mistakes with you. I can't change the past, but I want to make amends, if you'll allow me."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, mingling with the unspoken questions and doubts that clouded your mind. Would history repeat itself, with Gojo playing with your emotions once more before discarding you like before? The memory of past wounds still fresh, the scars still tender, made it hard to trust in the sincerity of his intentions.

Gojo's gaze met yours, his eyes filled with a complex mix of emotions - remorse, longing, and a glimmer of hope. His grip on your hand remained firm, a silent plea for a second chance, for understanding, for forgiveness.

"Me and her broke up," he confessed, his eyes avoiding yours as he gazed down at the ground, his expression pained.

As he uttered those words, a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swept through your mind. Did he seek you out because he wanted to rebound from his recent breakup? Would he just use you as a temporary replacement until someone better came along, only to discard you once again?

You knew deep down that you deserved more than being someone's second choice. You craved genuine love and loyalty, to be someone's priority and not just a convenient option to fill a void.

The ache in your heart intensified at the realization that Gojo had only turned to you because of his recent breakup.

"So, you only want me back because you're no longer with your girlfriend? How could you, play with my feelings like this?" you questioned, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

As you stood there, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air, you couldn't help but feel a mix of anger, hurt, and confusion swirling within you. Memories of the past flooded your mind - the times he had come to you for comfort, the moments of laughter and intimacy you had shared. But now, it all felt tainted by the realization that perhaps it had all been a facade, a temporary distraction for him until something better came along.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your trembling voice as you continued to confront him. "I thought what we had was real, that you cared for me beyond just a temporary fix. But now, I see that I was just a convenient option for you to turn to when things got tough with her.."

His eyes met yours, a flicker of guilt and regret passing through them. "I didn't mean to hurt you..p-please," he began, his voice filled with remorse.

But your walls were up now, your heart guarded against further pain. "Intentions don't erase the damage done," you replied, tears spilling down your face.

„At least give me a new chance- I promise…I‘ll be better..please..-“ he begged, falling to his knees and looking up at you.

As he knelt before you, his voice filled with desperation and his eyes brimming with tears, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over you. His words tugged at your heartstrings, stirring up memories of happier times and the love you had once shared. Despite the pain and betrayal you had experienced, a part of you still longed for the connection you had with him.

His hand holding onto yours felt familiar, comforting in its own way. You could feel the intensity of his emotions radiating off him, his vulnerability laid bare before you. The urge to comfort him, to offer reassurance and forgiveness, warred with the anger and hurt that still lingered within you.

You gazed into his pleading eyes, searching for sincerity and remorse. The guilt began to gnaw at you, whispering that perhaps he deserved a second chance, that people make mistakes and can change. The inner turmoil threatened to overwhelm you, clouding your judgment and weakening your resolve.

A part of you wanted to believe his promises of change, to hope that things could be different this time. The idea of rebuilding what was broken, of finding a way back to the love you once shared, flickered in the depths of your heart. But another part of you, the part that had been wounded and scarred by his actions, hesitated to let down your guard once more.

But it wouldn‘t hurt to give him a second chance, right..?

[hwalovs]

Days and Nights (M)

Pairing; Mike Schmidt x reader Word count; 2635 Warnings; this is pure smut, maybe a little plot. Kissing, whining, dom/sub themes, unprotected sex (wrap it you freaks), they get right to it, breeding kink? kind of?, they'reliterallyinloveshutupbro

Description; Being the day shift guard has its perks, you get to leave at midnight, you get to leave for lunch while all the fast food restaurants were still open, and you get to see the cute night shift guard before you leave.

A/N; i am feral for this man, I don't know what happened. one day i watched the movie, the next im frothing at the mouth for another white boy. this is so short i might write something longer for him.

after finding my fic reposted on wattpad, I'm going to make clear; DO NOT REPOST THIS WITHOUT ASKING OR WITHOUT PROPER CREDIT.

I will only let this pass once, as for my other fics, DO NOT REPOST THEM.

THIS IS NOT EDITED

Mike was hired two months before you, first seeing you before he started his nightly shift at the pizzeria. You were standing outside, reading through a book before looking up when you heard his car door shut. You smiled, and dropped your book back into your bag before walking over. Your car was parked further away from his, but you went out of your way to walk up to him. 

From then on, you two were friends, always seeing each other after your shift and before his. You always made sure his badge was straight, and he always made sure to tell you to get home safe. Sometimes you both would stop to ask each other about your days, he talked about his sister, and you talked about your cats. 

One day, he got there a little early, wanting to get in and use his time to sleep, to try and find more clues about what happened to his brother. He found you asleep at the security desk. Snoring softly, the monitors flickering in and out. He smiled, setting his stuff down besides yours before walking closer, bending down so he could see you more clearly. One of your cheeks was squished against your arm, your breathing even. 

“(Y/n),” he cooed, reaching up to move a piece of your hair. You stir, slowly opening your eyes before realizing who it was in front of you. Shooting up, you rub your eyes and stutter, looking at him, and then the clock.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t even realize I fell asleep!”

He smiles, standing back up and leaning against the desk. He watched you rush around with tired eyes, collecting your stuff while rattling on how active the animatronics were. 

He found you like once or twice, but never regularly. Sometimes he would find a forgotten coffee cup, and he would smile before throwing it away. It was the little things about you that he was slowly picking up on. He remembered each one, and wanted to learn more about you. 

Mike knew he was in too deep when you were getting ready to leave one day, packing up the rest of your stuff and flashing him that dazzling smile you always did. It made him forget the Dream Theory book resting in his bag, or the pills that accompany it. He forgot for just a second why he was there so early, why he was itching to fall asleep at the desk in the first place. 

You stand from the chair, badge catching the light, and when you sigh and roll your neck, whimpering at the tight knot, he shivers. He shouldn't, he knows that, you're his coworker, someone who endures the same nightmare he did- but he couldn’t stop the thoughts of you underneath him, whimpering as he sunk deeper inside you, stopping when his hips were flush against-

“Mike!” 

Your voice felt like ice water, rattling him until he was back in reality. He shifts, hoping that his sweatshirt covers how hard he was. There was a small part of him, deep within his brain, that did hope you saw, that you’d offer to help him. 

“Yeah?” He clears his throat, swallowing when his mouth waters. Smiling, you tilt your head, and he feels his stomach drop. 

“Did you hear me?”

He curses himself, “yeah! Yeah.”

Your eyes narrow, “what did I say, then?”

You were teasing him. You had to be, you were smiling again, and as you walked closer, he tried to rack his brain, trying to remember what you were saying. 

“Cat got your tongue?” Your voice is quiet, and you’re right in front of him. He can smell your perfume, can see the shine of your chapstick that's on your lips. 

“I- uh-”

“You’re so cute,” you chuckle, and it throws him off balance. He almost falls from the whiplash you’ve given him. You usually don’t stop to talk to him like this, you usually pack up and bid your goodbyes, warning him on the animatronics movement- but with how close you were, that he could smell your perfume, he realized he didn’t care. You were here, in front of him, calling him cute.

“What?”

You lean in close this time, your breath tickling his ear. 

“You heard me, Mike. Or are you lost in your thoughts again?”

Your lips press against his and it's the only thing he can think about. Your lips taste like strawberries, and your mouth tastes exactly like he thought it would. Your hands are in his hair, and his are gripping your waist tightly. 

He wonders when he’ll wake up, if this is a dream. When you lightly bite his lip, he moans, and comes to the conclusion that you’re real, and you’re kissing him. 

Pushing you both from the doorway, he backs you up to the desk. Kicking the chair away, he blindly reaches behind you to push away the small controllers that litter the top. He hears something crash onto the floor, but pays it no mind when you're sucking on his tongue. 

His hands reach under your thighs, lifting you onto the desk, and your hands fumble at his belt, the fog that settled on his mind clears for a moment, and he pulls away.

“Here?”

You furrow your eyebrows, before smirking and leaning forwards, “you don’t want it?”

“I do- I really do-”

“Then what’s stopping you?” He tries to think, but can’t when it's only youyouyou on his mind. Flooding his senses, invading his thoughts and making him feel crazy ever since the day he met you. His jeans are tight, and he can feel the precum that's pooling in his underwear. 

“Fuck,” he surges to kiss you again, reaching down to unbutton your jeans. He slides his hands into the waistband, and you use the edge of the desk to push yourself up, letting him yank the jeans off in one fluid motion, your panties going with it. 

The desk was cold on your skin, but you didn’t care when Mike lifted his shirt, biting into the fabric and pushing his pants down far enough to free his cock.

In any other situation, Mike would have you in his bed, pillow under your hips while he eats you out for hours on end. He knew you would taste amazing, just like he knew your mouth would taste amazing. You were perfect to him, and that's the only thing on his mind when he was pressing into you. 

Mike's cock was thick, stretching you out perfectly, a slight burn following. You didn’t stop him, though, because his eyes were locked onto where his cock was slowly sinking into you, and his hands were shaking at the warmth you brought him. 

The monitors behind you continued to show the empty space of the Pizzaria, but it was at the back of both of your minds. Mike’s shirt was still caught between his teeth, his stomach smooth and perfect. He didn’t make a sound until his hips were flush against yours, and the whine he let out made you clench around him. 

His eyebrows furrowed, and he finally looked up at you, pupils dilated, curly hair a mess. Reaching up, you pull the shirt from between his teeth, the fabric wet, and grab the back of his head to drag him into a kiss. His lips are hot against yours, and his tongue licks into your mouth desperately. He moans as he tastes you again, and you grab his hips, trying to pull him further. 

When you pull away, you suck onto his bottom lip, looking at him through your lashes, “look at you,” you coo, “you’re so pretty, baby.”

He whines, blushing as he grinds against you. Finally finding a slow rhythm of deep thrusts. It lets you feel all of him, and lets him feel all of you. He stretched you out so well, and it almost felt like you could feel him in your stomach. He was perfect. 

“You’re so warm,” he whimpers, forehead resting against yours. Pulling at your vest, you manage to throw it to the floor with his, the metal badge chiming against the linoleum. He seems to understand what you’re doing, reaching for the end of your t-shirt, pulling it up quickly. The office was cold, your nipples hardening underneath your bra. You grab at his shirt next, his arms raising so you’re able to throw the shirt to the floor. His hips falter, but he continues.

Mike begins to leave kisses down your neck, biting your bra strap to push it to the side, letting it fall down your arm. He grabs the top of your bra, yanking it down and groaning at the sight of your exposed chest. 

“Fuck,” he curses, licking his lips before surging forwards, wrapping his lips around one of your nipples, tongue swirling the bud. Your head falls back against the top of the monitor, moaning loudly. 

Mike pulls away, a string of saliva connects his bottom lip to your nipple, but you lift your head to move closer, licking the spit from his lip to kiss him again. 

There was a heat slowly building in your gut, and you wrap an arm around Mike’s shoulders, trying to make him go harder, to go faster, but he just looks at you with a smirk.

“What is it? Huh?” He asks, his breath heavy. You whine, nails scratching at his skin. 

“Mike-”

He tsks, “common, baby,” he coos, “talk to me.”

“Please- Mike please- harder, fuck me harder,” theres a heat in your cheeks, and you feel your eyes burn at the building coil in your gut. 

Yet, Mike only looks at you with a growing smile, “Harder? You want me to fuck you harder, baby? But why?” He whines, “You feel so good like this.”

“Oh my god,” you moan in frustration, hand reaching in between you both to reach your clit, but his hand grabs your wrist, pinning it behind your back. 

“What is it, baby?”

There's that teasing smirk again, and you can feel your eyes burn. Your orgasm was right there, yet he was slowing down, causing it to be pushed further away. 

“I wanna cum, please, Mike- Please make me cum,” a sob threatens to spill from your lips, but Mike shushes you, kissing you softly. His stubble tickles your cheeks as he lays kisses onto your skin. He bites onto your neck, moaning as you clench around him again, sucking until the skin is bright red. 

He grabs onto your hips, leaning back to look down at where he disappears into you, and begins thrusting harder, letting go of your wrist to allow you to grab onto his shoulders once more. Bringing a hand to his mouth, he licks the pad of his thumb before snaking it between your bodies, rubbing tight circles around your clit. 

Throwing your head back, you almost cry at the hot coil in your stomach threatening to snap, and you can feel the tears that roll down your cheeks. 

“Please- Please, make me cum- wanna cum so bad-” you begging, pleading, in jumbled words that Mike can barely make out. Your legs are locked around his waist, pulling him closer. 

When you cum, your thighs tense around his waist, almost stopping him. Your mouth drops open, and a soft whine falls from your lips. You're clenching so tight around him, Mike almost cums himself, but bends down to bite onto your shoulder to stop himself. He refuses to cum yet, he wants to keep making you feel good. To see you fall apart around him again. 

He leaves another kiss where he was biting down on you, pulling away to leave kisses across your cheeks, before finally stopping to kiss you once more. You're breathing heavily, thighs shaking from the intense orgasm. 

Sliding out of you, he whines softly, pulling you from the desk so you’re standing, he only smiles at your confused face, grabbing your neck softly to pull you into another kiss, tongue licking into your mouth.

“Turn around, baby,” he sighs, holding your hips as you do. The table digs into your hips as you bend down, breasts pressing flat against the cold surface, but he tsks, grabbing your neck once more to pull you back up. His thumb was below your jaw, pressing against your pulse point just enough to feel your heart race.

He uses his other hand to press onto your lower back, making you arch, then reaching down to grab his cock once more and slide through your folds. You were so wet, cum slowly beginning to drip down your thighs. In one smooth thrust, Mike presses his hips flush against your ass, his hand still lightly gripping your neck to keep you against his chest. 

“There you go,” he whimpers, pressing kisses along your shoulders. He starts to thrust again, and you have to bite your lip to stop from moaning loudly. 

He felt so much deeper like this, hitting the spot inside you that had your eyes rolling back. 

There was still a buzz from your orgasm, but it was quickly building into another. Your thighs were shaking, and your palms were flat on the desk, nails digging into the wood. 

“M’gonna cum again-” you moan, knees almost buckling as the rapidly building heat. Mike smiles from behind you, but moves his hand from your waist again, snaking it down once more to circle his fingers around your swollen clit. 

“Again? You gonna cum for me again, pretty girl?”

“Oh my god- Mike-” You’re cumming before you even realize it. Head blank except for the thought of him-

His grip on your throat tightens just slightly, and you reach up to grab his wrist. His hips falter, breathy moans filling your ears as he presses your hips harder into the desk. You knew there would be bruising, but at the moment you didn’t care. You would let Mike do anything he wanted to you, as long as he kept making those heavenly noises for you. 

“You feel so fuckin’ good baby,” he slurs, “my pretty baby- you’re just perfect f’me- Perfect fuckin’ pussy too-” 

“Mike, please” you whimper, arching your back more for him. 

He hums, thrusting harder into you, “that's right baby-” he leans forwards to tilt your head, locking eyes with you, “say my name.”

“Mike-”

He groans, head rolling until your noses touch, “again, say it again baby- please-”

“Mike!-” 

“I’m gonna cum- fuck-” 

Your hand is wrapping around the grab onto him, nails dragging across his skin, “Inside me- please cum inside me- wanna feel you so bad-” 

Mike’s thrusts stop, grinding against you as he spills inside of you. Uttering your name under his breath like it's the only thing he’s ever known. 

You were everything he’s ever wanted. To have you clenching so tight around him, to be able to have you like this was like a dream to him. He never wanted to wake, he wanted to stay here with you forever, but as you both collected yourselves, his cum sliding down your thighs and dripping onto the floor, he knew better than that. He’s sitting in that uncomfortable chair again, watching as you slide your jeans on. You forgo your panties, reaching down to unzip his bag, smiling as you let them drop inside. 

“Do you wanna go on a date?”

You laugh, and it fills the room with a brightness he knew only you could bring. 

“I think we’re way past going on a date.”

“Then how about dinner? I make a mean Spaghetti and meatballs,” he smiles, and feels like his world is complete when you lean down to press a kiss to his lips, “I’d love that.”

[eyeheartboobiez]

shower sex w/ jason

ask: I’ve been craving backshots with Jaybird(possibly in the shower)and reader being blackout cockdrunk, I don’t know if you’re comfortable with degradation, praise/degradation or slightly mean!Jason so I’ll leave that optional(if you’re not comfortable with that forget I ever said that). And ofc filthy dirty talk is always welcome 😉

a/n: @nyxx01 IM SO SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG I HOPE U LIKE IT

wc: 800-ish

tw: subspace themes, spelling errors…

"Shut up and take it."

The steam radiating throughout the bathroom was nothing compared to what was actually happening in the shower. What was supposed to be a simple wash after a night out, abruptly turned into something much more pornographic.

For hours now, Jason had been plowing into your entrance, not thinking too let up in the slightest. You were surprised the water hadn’t gone cold considering the two of you had been at it for hours now.

Despite the hot water cascading down your skin, your nipples grazing the tile of the wall, or even the slight clutch of Jason’s hand around your throat, you felt completely stripped of all your senses. 

Absolutely weak in the knees by now, your body had gone completely limp from being handled so brutally. The sobs of pleasure slipping from your lips were the only signs of life from you. 

As the rhythm of Jason’s thrusts shook your entire body, you were sure you’d have fallen over by now had it not been for his iron grip around your torso. "Jace,” you huffed, “Jus’ gimme a sec-"

A piercing smack shrilled through the air, loud enough to be heard between the pouring water and your shameless moans. You didn’t even realize how much your rear stung until you noticed callused hands teasingly rub at the stricken area, “Nuh uh, you don't get to talk. Not right now."

The vigilante moved to grip you by your elbows, his hips still thrusting at an unforgiving pace. Tears stained your cheeks as you began to cry, the saltiness of your cries somehow finding a way to stand out against the tap water around you. 

"Aww, you crying sweetheart? I thought you wanted to be treated like a whore t’night, hm? Thought this was what you wanted, baby.” His teases did nothing but add to your arousal, only hurting you on a surface level.

“I should just spread you open and pound you till tomorrow, huh?" He cooed. “I’d finally fuck the brat outta you. Maybe then you’ll start being good ‘fa me.”

You practically shuddered at the thought, desperate to be filled with more of Jason’s cum. His feigned sympathy made your eyes water even more.

However, that dream was quickly shut down. His sudden talkativeness was a telltale sign that he was close to reaching his peak.

Not even a minute later, you felt his hips shudder vigorously against your backside, the grip on you tightening as he was pushed over the edge. Ropes of cum pulsed from the girth between his legs, penetrating deep within your sensitive hole

“Mmmf, there we go.” Groans sputtered from his mouth, languid praises rumbling from chest, “That’s it hon, give it to me.”

Following him in sequence, you reached your final orgasm of the night. Your knees buckled and convulsions took over your body as you felt the climax rush through you. 

Before you could hit the floor though, the Gothamite was quick to catch you in his arms. Gently, he sat you down on the floor of the tub, making sure to angle you away from the pouring water.

Feeling the ground beneath you, your senses were slowly coming back to you. While you weren’t necessarily dickmatized anymore, your thoughts were still a bit hazy.

The water rinsing you down, a fresh towel drying you off, butter massaging its way into your skin; everything happened in a blur. But, even while your mind was still trying to catch up with the world around you, you knew that you were in good hands.

“C'mon doll, help me out a little here.” Blinking into reality, you looked to see you were sat on the edge of your bed, dressed in one of your boyfriend’s tee shirts. Jason was standing between your legs, attempting to wrap your hair for the night, but your drowsy figure was no help whatsoever.

Straightening up, you moved to make the job easier for him. “There ya’ go,” he muttered, the low timbre of his voice only lulling you further to sleep, “Look at you bein’ so good for me now.”

Once your mane was taken care of, you hastily made your way under the sheets, the soft fabric covering you in a blanket of warmth. After making sure you were comfortable, the batboy made his way over to his side of the bed, settling himself in right beside you.

Although, just as you were about to clock out for the night, Jason squished your cheeks together, forcing your eyes to meet his, "Maybe next time think twice before flirting with the bartender, hm?"

You knew he was still irritated with you, but the goodnight kiss he left on your forehead told you he’d get over it. Sooner or later.

a/n: this reads like a wattpad fic (derogatory)

[casualhedonists]

✩ it don’t need your loving, it just needs attention ✩ (chapter five)

pairing: Coriolanus Snow x reader

warnings: NSFW (18+), snow being snow, themes of sex work (not the reader), cuckolding, eventual smut, fake relationship, unprotected sex, themes of voyeurism & mild exhibitionism, murder/violence mention (but no actual murder) , MAJOR manipulation/gross power dynamics + generally darkish themes, some power play, lots of switching between dom/sub dynamics, oral sex, thigh riding, face sitting, degradation, dirty talk, edging/orgasm denial, roughhousing, eventual piv, one chapter specific dubcon scene (pls tell me if i forgot anything!)

chapter: 5/6

words: um. 9.5k (sorry? but also you're welcome??)

chapter warnings: this chapter contains a scene that falls solidly into dubcon territory, so please proceed with caution, stay safe out there.

moodboards

series masterlist

a/n: WELL. here we are, almost at the end of our little rollercoaster ride. i've lost brain cells over this chapter, almost cut it up into smaller chunks, but ended up leaving it as long as i originally planned (longer, in fact. whoops). as always, feedback is very welcome + encouraged (i love hearing/reading your thoughts as things progress) buckle up, please do take note of the dubcon warning, prepare for the angst, and most importantly, enjoy!

i do not give permission for my work to be reposted/translated anywhere, under any circumstances.

He was back to ignoring you again.

But this time, the feeling was mutual. You’d never felt as thoroughly rejected as you did the night he had you walk back to your room, legs weak, wrapped in nothing but his shirt.

Once upon a time, this scenario would have been one you dreamed of, but reality often falls flat on its face. You wouldn’t have dreamt of walking away from him like this if you’d known it would feel this empty.

Humiliation ran rampant through your body, starting with the tears you blinked away as you left his room, closing the door behind you, and then flooding over as you stepped into your own room, slumping on the bed, curling up into yourself and weeping, pressing your still aching legs together but too upset to finish yourself off.

You kicked yourself for getting carried away, for getting too loud, too possessive with his face between your thighs and your hand in his hair. For getting so caught up in the moment, briefly forgetting your games, and for believing even for a second that you would be on the same page.

This push and pull had begun to wear you thin, and you were tired. So, you slept. Until nearly midday the next morning, when Lucille knocked on your door to remind you it was time for your monthly PR debrief.

The good news, though arguable at this point, was that your arrangement hadn’t been affected by recent events. At least, not on paper. Cordelia ran you through each gala, public appearance, and dinner, barely noticing your preoccupation, rambling on about speeches, coordinating outfits, dates and times of events, what to say and how to say it.

For you - and you could only imagine, Coriolanus too - everything had changed over the span of a month. 

Your shame made you abnormally quiet, head hung low, gaze averted, nodding along as Cordelia prompted either a response or approval from you. Snow just stared, glancing at her only when completely necessary, but otherwise, he didn’t take his eyes off you.

He was enjoying this. The sick fuck. You were glad when the meeting ended and you could scamper into the library, eager to lose yourself in a story of any kind other than the one you were living.

This went on. By day, you barely looked at him; by night, you tried over and over to prove that your own fingers were enough to keep you satisfied. To convince yourself that you just wanted him, you didn’t need him.

Because if you needed him, then he called the shots. He would win. And victorious as he may seem, the game wasn’t over yet. You’d slipped up in a moment of vulnerability, he’d tricked you into a corner just to prove his point.

You wanted him, you didn’t need him. But if you did… well.

He was going to have to need you more.

You held back this time. Keeping your cards safe, close to your chest. In a strange way, you found a kind of solace in your arrangement. Recent events had caused it to feel unstable, breakable even, but the meeting had ensured that it was all still on the right track. It allowed you to take a small piece of what you wanted from him without guilt or repercussions. After all, it was planned out to benefit you both. Then, when you were ready, and with a gentle hand, you began to weaponise it, loading it up in the barrel of a gun aimed directly at Snow.

You didn't have much left, but you had this. You knew where your promiscuity had led you. This time, you wanted to pull on his heart strings. Make him feel remorse, or whatever similar emotion he was capable of. Make him soften to you. Torture him with almosts that were never enough.

So when you took, you took cautiously, tentatively. You deepened your usually light kisses to what was just past socially acceptable, only to pull back when Snow began to lean in, turning away and smiling at the people surrounding you, or full-on entering into conversation with somebody else. You'd brush your thumb against his when you held hands, waiting for him to look at you, drawing your hand away when he did. You'd offer smiles to everyone but him, talk and laugh a little louder when you could feel him watching.

You pretended he didn’t exist. You could feel him begin to simmer. It wasn't as brazen as your usual game, but it was working.

Until it wasn’t.

“Something’s wrong, what is it?”

Lucille’s face dropped, her shaking hands lowering from the zip she was struggling with. You were getting ready for a luncheon, and you’d picked out an emerald green dress, one of your favorites for daytime events.

“I’d hoped you wouldn’t notice, ma’am. I apologise. It’s my brother, he… it’s getting worse again.”

“Sit down for a second. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

You listened to Lucille open up uncomfortably, visibly nervous that you would offer your financial support as you’d done before. But you didn’t, sparing her from having to turn you down.

Lucille was stubborn - she would never accept your charity. She was more than happy to work for her wages, and frequently worked longer hours. As months went by, you’d brought her pay up as high as you could without her noticing. But now things were getting more critical, and you knew there was only one thing you could do.

“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? Go and see your brother.”

“But you’re not dressed-”

“I’ll take care of it. Go home, Lucille. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

She smiled softly.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

You’d tried with the zip, you really had. You didn’t want to have to knock on Snow’s office door with two favors to ask instead of one, but the dress was tight and the zip kept getting jammed. So, there you stood, dress half undone at the back, heart in your throat. You counted your blessings; at least it wasn’t his bedroom. You didn’t think you could face him at all in there. You heard typing from inside.

“Come in.”

You pushed the door open, feeling like an intruder.

“Sorry, I just… Could you help me with this?” Your hand tightened behind your back, holding the dress together.

He narrowed his eyes. He was already in his suit, typewriter on the desk in front of him.

“Lucille forget how to do her job?”

“I don’t need snide right now. Please, Coriolanus? I’ll explain when I’m not half naked. It’s drafty in here.”

You tried to make it clear in your tone that this wasn’t some ploy. You weren’t sure you had many of those left to offer.

“Fine.” He sighed, and stood, making no motion towards you, so you crossed the room, gripping onto the fabric, turning your back to him.

His hand came to rest on your waist as the other took the zipper, and you tried not to flinch at his touch. You pressed your lips together as he carefully zipped you up, cold metal sending a chill down your spine. Or maybe that was just him. You felt your eyes slide shut and your lips part as his hand lingered on your waist. You couldn’t hear anything but your heartbeat and the tick of his grandfather clock.

“Is that okay? Not too tight?” His breath on your neck gave you goosebumps, you hoped desperately that he wouldn’t notice.

“No, it’s perfect. Thank you.”

The second his hand fell from your waist, you missed it. You carefully met his eye; he was looking at you like you had something he wanted.

So why hadn’t he wanted you? You’d been right there, and he’d turned you down.

He cleared his throat.

“I should finish this letter before we leave. Was there anything else?”

You paused.

“Actually, there is. Could I ask you a favor?” You glanced off to the side, suddenly very interested in the knots of wood on his desk. What helped was that you'd never seen inside this room before, and you hid behind your curiosity like it was a lifeline.

“What is it?”

“It’s…” you lowered your voice, “it’s about Lucille. Her brother, actually. He’s in the hospital again. The family can’t afford the medical bills to keep him in for as long as he needs. I’d like to foot the bill, but I can’t do it anonymously. I thought… well, I was wondering if you could pull a few strings.”

You were overexplaining, something you weren’t at all used to doing, but these days, just being in the same room as him made you nervous. You stared at his desk, at the lack of photographs on it, the single pen laying to the side, the smoothness of the glaze.

It was quiet for a moment.

“Consider it done.”

You looked up.

“Really?”

“Did you think I’d say no?” He asked.

“I- no, but…”

“It’s something that matters to you.”

You blinked, dumbfounded at how simply he put it.

“Yes. It is. Thank you, Coriolanus.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ll make sure it’s anonymous.”

“Thank you. Or, I mean…”

He looked at you, and you wanted to melt. Wanted to throw strategy out the window, god, but -

You couldn’t. It hadn’t worked last time. You’d hoped to avoid a stalemate, but here you were, sat right in the middle of one.

“The car’s coming in a half hour. Are you almost ready?” He asked.

“Yes. Almost.”

The luncheon was going well, at first. You were at the head of a large table, sat beside Snow, straightening your salad fork as he stood up to make a speech. You’d been glancing at him throughout the afternoon; it wasn’t so hard to anymore. It felt like his willingness to help Lucille without question, just because it was what you wanted, had more of an effect on you in five minutes than the entire week of your teasing had on him. One conversation, and the tides had changed.

As he began talking, you started to realise that your gentler approach may have been affecting you more than it had him. The party was transfixed; people loved to hear him talk, and you were proud. He had a certain way with words; you knew better than anyone. You’d fallen victim to them.

You weren’t sure why his words affected you – you’d been there, you’d agreed when Cordelia had suggested he say something nice about you in this particular speech, really make the crowd swoon, lay it on thick - but when he started to talk about you, about how proud he was to have you by his side, how strong you were-

You knew he was just reciting a script written for him, but you couldn’t help it. The tears began to quietly fall. You thanked whatever higher being was listening for not letting anyone notice.

Or so you thought.

It was just typical that out of all the people that could’ve noticed, the one person who knew better was the only one who did.

The rest of them would’ve brushed it off as you simply being moved by emotion, honored by his kind words. You blinked away your tears, taking small, polite sips of your wine. It was painful because you knew it wasn’t true. None of it was, you knew he could never say those words and mean them.

And he knew that too.

It was dark when you got home, and you trailed behind him awkwardly on your way upstairs.

“Can I have a word?” his voice was gentle, and it set you on edge.

“Sure.”

You stood awkwardly in the hallway, then he led you into the office. He leaned against his desk, and you shifted your feet where you stood, eyes on the floor, on the art on the walls, on anything other than him.

“You were upset today.” He started.

You swallowed.

“It won’t happen again, I promise.” you kept your voice steady. He paused.

“If that was my fault, I apologise. If I took it too far, if I upset you-”

You weren’t sure which part he was talking about, but you finally looked at him in a sort of distant defiance.

“Do you even care if I’m upset?”

“Of course I do. Especially when it’s something that affects you… publicly.”

You huffed, forcing yourself to stare him down.

“Because that’s all that matters, right? What the public sees?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Sure it is. It’s okay, Snow. I’m a big girl. And I can take a hint, too. So don’t worry about me, I’ll be just fine. Business as usual, right?”

He just stared, puzzled. You took a breath.

“Look, it’s been a long day. Can I go, or are you going to keep me here all night?”

The silence was like smoke, clouding between you. His brow furrowed, calculating. Then he sighed, long and heavy, and you tried not to let it phase you.

“Fine. Go.”

You nodded.

“Goodnight.”

You’d never been more relieved to get away from him. Your broken walls were starting to build back up. You wouldn’t let him break you, you couldn’t. You were stronger than this.

That night, for the first time, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was truly what you wanted.

“Darling, you look ravishing.” Lilian drawled. “It’s a pity Snow is so far across the room, and can’t appreciate you. If I dressed half as nicely as you did, perhaps my dear husband wouldn’t be screwing the maid.”

A scandalised chorus of giggles erupted from the group. It was a pretty dress, one of your best. Long and smooth black fabric, ruched at the waist, with a deep cut up the leg that was just acceptable for an evening gala. You stood tall, champagne glass in hand, gossiping with your friends.

Well.

Friends was being generous. You kept few true friends, and they would hardly be gossiping in a circle like this.

Acquaintances was a better fit. Pawns if you were being brutally honest. Politicians’ wives, senators’ mistresses, a chancellor’s daughter or two. Pieces of chess, really, in this bigger game. Anyone who could help you climb higher, whisper carefully spun words into open ears at your whim.

“I just know George would rip that dress off me the moment I got home. He might not even be able to wait, and just pull me into a closet here instead.”

Another eruption of giggles.

“Well, I’m flattered, my darlings.” You smiled. “This is one of my favorites. Coriolanus treats me well.”

“I’m sure he does,” a suggestive glance from Lilian, “in all the ways one would expect, I assume?”

You gasped in mock modesty.

“Lilian,” you drawled, “I certainly hope you’re not suggesting I disclose our-”

“Oh, just tell us dear, please. We’re all dying to know. You’re always so coy about it. What’s he like?”

You pulled your lips into a knowing smile, your perfectly painted face helping you slide into this facade. You scanned your eyes across the ballroom, across to Snow. He stood talking to a group of men, colleagues of his. You recognised their faces.

It had been four days since the luncheon. Four days since your outburst. Four days of hiding away. You’d been dreading tonight’s gala, but it gave you an excuse to dress nicely, and as soon as you’d arrived, you and Coriolanus has gone your separate ways.

“Well,” you hummed, masking your uncertainty as anticipation, “he can be a slight tease.”

A few dramatic gasps sounded through the group, and you turned back to face them, their eyes wide and expectant.

“Salacious. Do tell.” Another voice piped up with a giggle.

“He can be fun to toy with. I do enjoy pushing back, but sometimes he takes it… a little far.” You said carefully.

“My, who would have known? But you get what you want, my dear, surely.” Lilian asked.

You smiled, glancing back at him, suit pristine with a white rose in his breast pocket. You hated how good he looked. He was smiling politely at the group of men around him, but you could tell from the tick in his jaw that something was bothering him.

“Sometimes, I do. Others, I wait for my chance to push his buttons right back.”

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that? I don’t suppose,” she pressed, “that you’re in one of those… entanglements at the moment?”

“Lilian, darling, you know I don’t kiss and tell.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Another giggle sounded from the group.

“Oh, my.” Lilian repeated, glancing between the two of you. “I do hope you’ve been making him suffer.”

“Well, I’m playing a longer game this time, so I’m afraid there hasn’t been as much fun lately.”

Lilian sucked in a breath, like the perfect idea had just dawned on her.

“Well, I see no moment like the present. You’re here, you’re dressed marvellously, I propose you walk right over there and show him just what he’s missing.”

A chorus of yes and do it and we’ll cheer you ons rang out. Loosened by the champagne, you looked across the room at him again. You could do it. He wouldn’t be able to react, it would be the most perfect torture. You suddenly decided that you were done making small moves, done playing it safe like this was some schoolgirl crush. It was time to step up to the mark again. Take your power back.

Your group could sense the newfound determination in you. You smiled, slow and cunning.

Show him what he’s missing.

Simple. It’s what you did best.

“Watch and learn, ladies.”

A hush fell over the group as they watched you run a hand through your hair, handed your glass to one of them, and pressed your lips together. Before you’d left the house you’d added a swipe of red lipstick, dark red, almost bloodlike. It always made you feel more confident and tonight, you needed the pick me up.  

The middle of the ballroom was practically empty; the dancing was over, and everyone had long since gathered in groups to the sides. So you turned heads when you stepped out, the only one on the floor, black satin hugging your frame like a second skin. You didn’t look at them, you made a steady beeline to Snow. You felt more and more eyes on you as you crossed the room, heels clicking on the floor. They all watched, waiting for… something. Coriolanus didn’t look up until you were a mere few steps away, now deep in some conversation he was going to forget very shortly.

Blue eyes flashed to yours with a confused apprehension, but you didn’t give yourself time to think about the twitch of his brow, or the looks on the faces of his colleagues. You didn’t think about the way he opened his mouth as if to say something, only for it to be swallowed away.

You didn’t think about any of that.

Because your lips were on his.

Hot and hungry, teeth clashing, your hand grabbing the back of his neck as he leaned in, surprised at first, then warm, wanting. Lips tugging at yours like he was starving.

It was sinful.

You’d never been kissed like this before. Your fuzzy brain wondered how you’d gone through life not knowing what this felt like, the press of his lips devouring yours, heated and messy.

He kissed you like breathing, like you were his oxygen supply. His hand slid to your waist and pulled you in, and you heard the echoes of chuckling coming from around you, morphing into a few light claps.

Then, just as you felt him fully melt into you, your hand slipped higher to the nape of his neck, grabbing a fistful of perfect platinum curls, and tugged.

It was nothing but an affectionate display to the people surrounding you, but a brazen reminder between the two of you. It was your way of showing you hadn’t forgotten, that you wouldn’t be made to feel ashamed, to cower in a corner while he got the better of you.

Not in this lifetime.

The second it happened, his breath hitched, and his hand tensed on your waist. You were the only one who caught it, getting high off the satisfaction, finally pulling away.

You weren’t sure you’d ever seen a prettier sight; his blown-out eyes, his face stained with scarlet.  

How’s that for tasting your own medicine.

Watching him attempt to collect himself was sweeter still. Watching him reset his face into one of distant amusement. He let out a small laugh, glanced at the rest of the party.

“Everything alright, doll? Had a little much champagne, perhaps?”

His colleagues chuckled, but you didn’t look their way. You stood your ground. Offered a sweet smile, but he could see your slyness.

“Oh, I’m swell. And I think I’ve had just enough, actually. I’m gonna go freshen up.”

You turned on your heel and made your way through winding halls to the bathroom, riding an adrenaline high. You picked up a glass from a server’s tray along the way – the champagne had dried out, all they were serving now was posca, which while disgusting, worked a treat to take the edge off. It wasn’t long before the door swung open and you saw Coriolanus appear behind you in the mirror.

“This is the ladies’ room, handsome.” You looked away, continuing to reapply your lipstick.

He stepped closer.

“What was that kiss about, sweetheart?” Straight to the point.

“Nothing.” You shrugged.

“Didn’t feel like nothing.”

“That’s called acting, Snow.”  You rolled your eyes, vaguely aware that your words sounded a little jumbled. You put the tube of lipstick away. “We had an audience. A rather expectant one at that.”

He folded his arms.

“I don’t like it when you catch me off guard like that. Not with people around.”

“Seemed to like it plenty to me.” You mumbled.

He didn’t answer, pacing past you to the other sink, grabbing a towel and wiping it against his face, where the red had stained his skin. It only served to spread it around further, and if you weren’t already smugly entertained by the marks you’d left on him, now it was just plain funny.

He glared at you when you laughed.

“Don’t give me that look. Here,” you offered, stepping across to him, taking the towel and wetting it, “let me.”

You wiped at a patch, but he snatched the towel back and took over.

“No, you’re rubbing it too hard. It’s-” he glowered at you – “fine. Do it your way.”

You went back to lean against your sink and took another sip of posca, admiring the ornate decorations in the room. A little excessive, a little new money for your tastes.

There was a rap on the door.

“President Snow?”

“Just a minute.” He said coolly.

“You’re in a mood tonight.” You remarked, and he huffed.

“Running a country can get exhausting. Don’t expect you to understand.”

“Right.” You said flatly. “Because I’m just a brainless pawn like everybody else.”

He looked over at you, at the drink in your hand.

“How many of those have you had?”

You shrugged again, and he tossed the towel into the sink, walking over to you.

“Answer me.” His voice was stern, and for a second, you soaked it in, drenched in the danger as he approached, closing in. Your tongue slipped out to wet your lips, and your eyes followed his as he moved to stand in front of you.

“Shame you don’t have someone to let all that frustration out on, isn’t it? Sounds like that could be helpful.”

His eyes pierced yours.

“Doll-”

“I’m just saying, it’s a pity you don’t.” You moved to bring the glass to your lips, anticipating the burn in your throat, but he gently stopped your hand.

“Okay, that’s enough.”

“Posca? It’s my first glass.” You smiled, eyes batting.

“You know what I mean. I think you should stop.”

You looked at the glass, then back at him, and pried your hand away, slowly and pointedly taking another sip.

“Sweetheart.” He warned.

“What, are you punish me? Gonna make me beg for you then kick me out again? Already did that once.”

He gave an incredulous half-laugh.

“That’s what this is about? You’re not really going to be mad about that forever, are you?”

“That depends. How long is forever?”

The door knocked again, and he worked the glass out of your hand.

“Drink some water. Sober up. We’ll talk about this when we get home.”

You sighed, heading for the door, but glanced back at him, his face still a stained mess. You brushed a finger against your own cheek to mirror his.

“You missed a spot.”

You sat in silence in his office, feeling a little like a schoolchild caught misbehaving. His typing was the only sound in the room. The seat was low; almost as if it was there to point out his authority over anyone who sat in it. Knowing him, it probably was.

He’d managed to clean off the rest of your lipstick, but his face looked rubbed raw, uncomfortable. A tall glass of water sat on the desk in front of you.

“Thought you said we’d talk.”

“Not until you finish that glass. I’m not talking to you inebriated.”

“Seriously?”

He shot you a look from behind his typewriter.

“Fine. Whatever.” You reached for it and took a few sips. He looked back down again. A few folders cluttered the desk, and in your boredom, your eyes scanned them. They looked complicated; legal.

“What are you writing there anyway? Or am I too dumb to understand?”

He offered another unimpressed glance.  

“It’s a new bill I’m trying to pass. Except apparently, I’m the only one around here with their head screwed on enough to work on it.”

You waited as Snow pushed the typewriter’s lever, carriage sliding the page as he began writing the next line. You sipped your water.

He sighed. “One day I won’t have to mingle with these idiots anymore. They’ll just listen to me, and obey.”

You took that in.

“Do you feel that way about me?”

He studied you for a second, and stopped typing.  

“No. Not really.”

“But you wish I’d be more… compliant.” You stared at the floor.

“Not necessarily.”

“You sure? Didn’t seem to like it the other night.”

His eyes narrowed. Knowing this conversation was a game of chess like any other. But lately the stakes were higher than ever.

“Never said I didn’t like it. Just that you were out of line.”

“And where is that fucking line?” You snapped. “I’m serious, Snow, because we’ve never talked about it.”

“You want to talk, all of a sudden? Okay, sweetheart. Fire away.”

You put the glass down on the table, heavier than intended.

“I just don’t understand you, Coriolanus. I mean, first you don’t want me, then you do want me, then you don’t again. And now what? I don’t know what I’m supposed to think when you don’t give me anything to go off.”

He watched you carefully, and you wanted to shake him, to scream, anything that would give you answers. You stood, unable to sit still, and started pacing.

“You know what’s worse? I don’t even know if you want me here anymore. I don’t know how to act around you because I never know what you’re thinking. At first I thought all this, the whole push and pull, was just some control thing. But-” you laughed, airy and insane, “you know what I realised? You’ve had me fooled, Snow. All this time I thought we were equals, but now I think I finally realise.”

He frowned, waiting for you to continue.

“You pay for my company, if you think about it. We trade services, don’t we? You get something from me, I get something back. I live in your house, eat your food, wear nice clothes. At the end of the day, that’s just it, isn’t it?”

“What?”

You shrugged, tears filling your eyes as bitterness took over, so strong you could almost taste it.  

“I’m no better than a whore myself.”

You’d never heard a louder silence. If that hadn’t just taken everything out of you, you’d have begged him to say something. Instead, you just stared, eyes blurry with tears, as he seconds seemed to stretch into minutes, and you gave up trying to read his mind, because his expression was indecipherable.  

After what felt like hours, he took a long breath.

“Sit down.”

You glanced at the floor, then took a step towards your chair. He stopped you.

“Not there. Here.” He nodded at the desk in front of him, and you swallowed thickly, stepping around the desk, getting awfully close to him, and pulling yourself onto the desk, legs pressed together. He stood, looking down at you. 

“That’s really what you think of yourself?” He asked, voice steady and controlled.

You kept your eyes averted.

“Am I wrong?”

He lifted a hand and brushed his fingertips against your jaw, tipping your head up to look at him. And when you looked at his eyes, you knew exactly what he was feeling. He wasn’t hurt, or upset.

He was mad.

“Tell me something. What do you think I’d do if I heard someone talking about you that way?

“I don’t-”

“I’d have them executed. And you expect me to stand by and let you talk about yourself like that?”

You felt a tear spill down your cheek.

“I don’t know, Coriolanus, you tell me. Am I disposable to you?”

“Of course not."

“But you’d replace me if I left.”

“What makes you think I’d let you leave in the first place?”

A chill caressed your spine.

“That’s right. I’m keeping you here, doll. If I made you doubt that, I apologise. But you’re no whore. Though sometimes, I…” He trailed off.

“What?”

His eyes were on your lips again, hungry. You wondered how someone could switch from distant to depraved and wanting this quickly.

“Sometimes I wish you were. Because it’d make it a lot easier for me to take what I want. If you were, then I’d have no hesitation in ripping your clothes off right here. Fucking you on my desk, or up against the wall, not caring if you cum. Not caring if you enjoy it. If you were a whore, I’d have fucked you in every room in this house, twice over. I wouldn’t let you sleep.”

His hand was on your thigh, the now-creased fabric of your dress crumpling as it slid up. You weren’t sure when your eyes had fallen shut, your hot breath mixing with his as his thumb rubbed against your skin.

Your voice was pathetically quiet.

“Then why don’t you?”

He sighed, tone shifting into something tense, something you could cut through with a knife.

“Because you’re fucking impossible, you know that? I can barely think when you’re around. I don’t know where the games begin or end. I don’t… I don’t understand this power you have over me. I thought you knew, you must know that you’re under my skin. I don’t know if you’ll ever stop playing with me. It drives me fucking insane.”

You opened your eyes, hand gripping his wrist and pulling it from your thigh. You slid off the desk and took a step away from him.

“You think I’m playing with you? The only time you pay an ounce of attention to me is when you’re trying to fuck with my head, Snow. I said my piece, you heard me and you still didn’t care. So please, for both our sakes, stop torturing me. Just… come find me when you decide you want me again, okay? Let’s leave it at that.”

You made for the door, which you slammed with such an impressive force that it even took you aback.

You replayed his words in your head that night until you fell into a deep sleep, and when you woke, you felt like your dreams made more sense than he did.

“Tigris!” you exclaimed, catapulting into the blonde’s arms. The people who stood scattered around you in the manor’s large ballroom spun their heads around at your display. A few even dodged to the side as the momentum that you’d built running down the stairs nearly knocked her over.

A few days of silent glances and fewer exchanged words had passed. And now, you were just happy to be hosting in the comfort of your own home, and to finally see Tigris again. You wondered if she noticed how you hugged her, if she wondered - like you did - if you’d ever let go.

“I’m so happy you’re here. How’s your Grandma’am?”

“She’s quite well, she’s sorry she couldn’t make it. You look beautiful as ever. It’s been too long!”

“I know! I don’t think I’ve seen you since your birthday, which makes me the worst friend ever.” You groaned, scrunching up your face in shame.

“It’s okay! I know busy Coriolanus keeps you with all these functions. You must be going out of your mind by now. How are you holding up?”

The two of you walked to the edge of the room, where prying eyes had settled down after your greeting.

You looked at Snow, stood across the ballroom, dressed in a pristine suit with a champagne glass in hand, talking to yet another group of men who worked for him – ministers and such, a little higher ranking than the group from the other night – and spared you the occasional glance. As if he was keeping tabs on you. It wasn’t long before Tigris caught on and politely inquired.

“I don’t understand him, Tigris. I think he hates me.” You sighed.

“What? No, he could never. He has a soft spot for you, really, and I have it on good authority.”

“I’m not so sure anymore. I think I’ve pushed it a little far this time. I think… maybe we both did. I’m in uncharted waters, here.”

“Look, I know I don’t know all the ins and outs of how this thing between you works, but I don’t think he could ever hate you for doing anything. Coryo – I mean, Coriolanus, he does care, contrary to popular belief. It’s just that his way of showing it can get a little…”

“Fucked?” You offered, and she laughed.

“Yes, exactly. Now, I’m not going to lie to you and say that he’s an angel on earth, he’s had to do things to get to where he is now. Things that even I don’t know the extent of, and they’ve… changed him.”

You rarely got the chance to speak with Tigris alone these days, with Snow usually playing chaperone, or keeping one or the both of you busy, but it had always been easy to slide right back into conversation with her like you’d never been apart.

You’d first met Tigris at a Plinth gala years ago, on the same day you’d met Snow. The two of you had talked and laughed and she had an easiness around her, she wasn’t shallow and judgemental like a lot of the girls you’d grown up with, though you never knew why until many months later. Snow had placed a large wall between his life before the Plinth endorsement, and after. Few people knew the conditions he’d grown up in, but after countless hours with Tigris, you’d begun to assemble small pieces. Despite your closeness with her, you knew from her warnings that Snow had a sort of temper when it came to this topic, so you approached it with caution.

“Changed him how?” You inquired, finally.

“Well… It wasn’t always fancy balls and lunches with him. It never was, with any of us, as you know, but especially for him. He’s… had a different experience. Grandma’am and I, we’ve known hard times, but we haven’t seen what he’s seen. Not even close.”

“What kind of things?”

She glanced over her shoulder, making sure nobody was hovering.

“He’d kill me for telling you.”

“You know I won’t say a word. But you don’t have to tell me, if it’s too much to ask.”

 She took in a breath, and sipped her drink, voice dropping to a whisper.

“This stays between us, okay? Coriolanus has… been out there. In the districts, I mean. Before all this. And I can’t go into detail, he’d have my head if I…”

You swallowed.

“The districts? But… why? I don’t-”

“Tigris, lovely to see you, it’s been so long.” A male voice interrupted, and you quickly excused yourself, slipping away to let the two of them talk.

After mulling it over in your head and making small talk with a few more guests, you snuck out of a side door and into the hallways, winding upstairs until you were finally met with Snow’s bedroom door. The sound of voices and music a mere echo below you, you pushed tentatively, and stepped inside. It was strange, being in there alone, for the first time since he’d turned you away. But you paced the floor, looking for something, anything, that would answer the questions you had. Why the districts? Why couldn’t Tigris tell you what had happened there?

Glancing back at the door, you began thumbing through his closet, peeking inside drawers. You’d already given his room a once over, but you worked more meticulously this time, every corner you unsuccessfully turned over only fuelling your curiosity. You walked around the room again, getting frustrated.

You headed back to the door, scanning the place, and retraced your steps a third time. Knocking a little on cupboards and anything that appeared the slightest bit odd or out of place. It was a perpetually tidy room, neat as ever, save for the desk which contained folders you were sure weren’t for your eyes, but that didn’t stop you. You kept on, trying your best not to leave any stone unturned, and most importantly, trying not to move anything out of place.

Eventually, you moved to the smaller desk drawers again, rifling through them haphazardly, annoyed by the lack of evidence you were finding. One of the two drawers had very little inside it, just a pencil and a pocket dictionary, and as you pushed your hand further inside to feel for anything else, you noticed it felt smaller than the first. Shallower. When you knocked, it was hollow.

It had a false bottom.

Your father used to keep his cigars beneath one of these when you were growing up, so you knew what to look for. You felt around the edge until you touched a small, metal handle, then emptied the drawer, hooked your fingers into the handle and pulled. You frowned at first, there was less in the hidden compartment than there was above it. But you peered inside, and there lay two items: an old photograph, and a silver dog tag.

Suddenly, it all made sense. His efficiency, his drive, his orderliness.

Military. The districts. The dog tag.

You unfolded the photograph, caked in a layer of dust, and it hit you like a ton of rocks.  

Coriolanus was a peacekeeper.

But why? When? And why keep it a secret?

In the photograph, his hair was buzzed, and he was in a uniform you recognised immediately; if only because of the annual reaping ceremony shown in every building in the Capitol. He was standing next to a boy with dark hair, also buzzed. You recognised him as Sejanus Plinth, you’d never met the kid but you’d been to his funeral with your family, and had seen enough pictures to know.

You knew that the Plinth family had backed Coriolanus’ education, that he became their new heir, a protégé of sorts, but not that he’d been friends with their son. Not that they’d been this close, at least. They weren’t smiling in the photo, stood pin straight and alert in what looked like barracks.  

You folded the photograph and placed it back where you found it. Your hands lingered on the dog tag, though, despite the logical side of your brain screaming at you to put it back, leave the room and pretend you didn’t see this. But the louder part egged you on as you pulled it out of the drawer, examining the engraved words, running your hands over the name SNOW and, further down, DISTRICT 12.

You’d heard bedtime stories from your mother while growing up, about the war, the Hunger Games and why they existed, and why it was never safe to set foot in the districts, not even the richer ones.

They’re beneath us, she’d said. They’re dangerous. Barbaric. And 12 was notoriously the poorest, most dangerous of them all.

Coriolanus had now become more of an enigma to you than ever before, and a thousand new questions flooded your head.

You closed the drawer halfway, holding the chain, pulling out a chair in front of the mirror to sit down. You turned the tag over in your hands, as if it would start giving you the answers, if only you looked hard enough.

Why was he sent to 12? Why couldn’t he talk about it?

Despite the conditions Snow grew up in, there was respect behind his family name. It didn’t make sense why someone of his social standing and education would leave to be a peacekeeper, of all things, and in 12, of all places. A strange sort of pity filled you, wondering what he could’ve seen out there. What he could’ve done. It all drew you in as you got lost in a world of what ifs.

Despite yourself, you pushed your hair from your neck, and as if in a trance, wrapped the chain around it. It fell heavy and cold against your skin, sending a chill through your bones. You were so busy staring down at it, so lost in thought that you barely noticed the sound of the door pushing open. Or the floorboards lightly creaking. Or his reflection in the mirror. You didn’t notice any of that, until the door swung shut with a bang.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Coriolanus had had a long day, most of which he’d spent simmering over work and you. He’d kept his eye on you that evening; on the way you’d thrown yourself into Tigris’ arms, and talked, transfixed, and he hated not knowing what was being said. A strange feeling set in as he saw the two of you get deeper into conversation from the other side of the large room, a deep-seated uneasiness stirring him up as he drowned out the tales of his associates’ incompetence. It felt like a breath of relief when he sent someone your way to interrupt whatever talk you were having, pretending that Tigris had been looking for him earlier. He focused on your brief tour of the room when the distraction worked, eyes flitting around like you were preoccupied.

When he saw you dart away from the ballroom and up one of the stairwells, he followed you as soon as he got the chance.

He’d wondered if you might act up today, but this wasn’t what he was expecting. When he saw you, the all too familiar glint of silver around your pretty neck, something shifted in him. Something he’d done a very, very good job of keeping at bay during his first few years of presidency.

Rage.

Your eyes met his in the mirror.

“Coriolanus, I-”

His hands were on you before you could finish your sentence, hauling you out of the chair, fingers wrapped in a death grip around your arms, squeezing as he pushed you to the wall with a satisfying thud.

“What, you can explain? I highly doubt that.”

“I’m sorry, I just-” You gasped as he squeezed tighter, gripping your wrists.

“Do you even know what this means?” He seethed, dog tag pressed between his fingers, chain pulling at your neck.

The forest. The birds. The gunshots that deafened him for weeks.

“I didn’t know… I’m sorry. I never knew you were a peacekeeper, Coryo, I-” He flinched, saw the way you winced the second it passed your lips.

Snow may have been cold, but his eyes were fire. And you were only stoking it.

“So I’m Coryo now? Who the fuck told you call me that? Was it Tigris? I saw you talking to her, don’t lie to me.”

“No.” You shook your head. “She didn’t tell me anything, I promise. Please. It was just me.”

He moved in closer, eclipsing you altogether, grip on the chain so tight he was certain you’d be able to feel it pinching the back of your neck, digging a mark into your flesh. He let the sadistic part of his brain take delight in it, in the way your eyes widened, face pleading.

Whatever this game was between you, you’d gone too far this time.

“How did you find this?” He snapped.

You were crowded against the wall, unable to move. Tears started to brim, and you didn’t answer, he wasn’t sure you could. You just shook your head over and over, repeating I’m sorry like a broken record.

“Take this off. Now. Take it off.” He ordered, dropping it back to your chest, stepping away a little so you could lift your shaking arms over your head, removing the chain. He snatched it from you, gripping it in his palm, looking down at it, and you breathed out in relief.

“I didn’t mean to… I was just looking. I had so many questions. I didn’t know what I’d find.”

“And? Are you fucking satisfied now?” His voice chilled you to the bone as he looked up at you again.

You shook your head. Apologised again. Wished you could apologise in any way that would matter, but it was too late. You’d never been more afraid in your life, anticipating what might happen, remembering echoes of rumors you’d heard, of Snow poisoning his enemies, of sending them to hang. Some you knew to be true, but others you boiled down to rebel gossip.

Now, you weren’t so sure. These were the eyes of a man who’d dropped his mask, and it was like staring into a dark void. You could get lost in it, and never find your way back.

“Please. Don’t… I won’t tell anyone, I promise. You can trust me.”

He scoffed.

Stupid girl. Hadn’t you learned by now, that trust meant nothing?

“Like I trusted you in here? I don’t think so. Can’t believe you had me feeling sorry for you. Probably just made it up so you could lower my guard then turn around and stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“I didn’t, Coriolanus, I swear.” You pleaded. You were crying, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“I’ve been very patient with you, little girl. But this is where I draw the line. You have no idea how far you’ve pushed me. And you don’t even realise it, you’re so caught up in your little crush. Do you know how easy I’ve been going on you? The things I’ve let you get away with… I’ve killed people for much less.”

“You’ve…” You trailed off, barely hearing your own words, barely processing a thing. He laughed, low and dark.

“Does that scare you, sweetheart? Does it make you afraid?”

Eyes frozen open, you just stared. You felt your jaw go slack.

“Good.”  

Coriolanus toed an invisible line, one that had never been crossed before. You wanted him to show you he wanted you? Fine.

He looked down at the chain wrapped around his fist, but he didn’t pocket it, or place it to the side. He unwound it, and slowly pulled it over his own neck.

Your eyes dropped to where it sat in stark contrast, heavy and shining, garish against his fancy dress shirt. You felt your blood run cold.

“Get on your knees.” You heard him say. Your eyes darted back up.

“What?”

When he spoke, it sounded like someone else was talking. Someone you didn’t know at all.

“You heard me. Get on your fucking knees. Right now.”

What could you do? This was what you’d wanted. Just… not like this. Not when your hands were shaking in fear, and you had no idea what this Coriolanus was capable of.

Your head said yes; your heart wept. But you were far past listening to your sorry heart.

So, you obeyed. Legs all but giving in as you lowered yourself to the ground, knees meeting cold hardwood as the chill cut through your dress.

His fingers slipped under one of the straps.

“Take this off, baby.” He murmured, distant, like he wasn’t all there. Your head hung in shame, eyes on his feet as you pushed the straps from your shoulder, top half of the dress falling down. You heard his zipper slide down, and you shivered. No longer sure if it was in fear or anticipation.

“Head up. Look at me. Good,” he said, when you obliged, “now let’s see what this pretty mouth’s really good for, shall we?”

More tears welled up as his hand brushed your jaw, hooking a thumb to your bottom lip, pushing your mouth open. You couldn’t help the way your tongue grazed over it, tasting salt, whining when you realised it was the taste of your own tears. When your eyes fell open again, you finally caught a look at him, hard and tip weeping, and your brain filled with nothing but want, eclipsing your fear for a mere second, enough to bring Coriolanus to the ground again. He may have done terrible, unspeakable things, but he was still a man. A man who wanted you.

And why did that make your heart beat out of your chest? It thrummed like a hummingbird as you took in the sight of him, unbuttoning his shirt as he waited for you to move.

You’d seen how big he was from a distance. You’d felt him between layers of fabric, and you’d imagined this a million times over. But now, as he stood waiting in front of you, you hesitated, because it all finally felt real. Your mouth watered despite yourself, seeing the mess he’d already made, any more and he’d start dripping -

“Go on, sweetheart. It’s not gonna suck itself.”

Your eyes squeezed shut as you let him past your lips. The heady taste of precum filled your mouth as you ran your tongue along the shaft slowly, trying to start steady. He wasn’t having it. His hand twisted through your hair, pulling you in closer, making you gag a little. You instinctively lifted a hand up to his thigh to brace yourself, and he laughed.

“Giving up so soon? Thought you’d try harder than that.”

He pushed further, and the indignant sound you made as you adjusted only served to spur him on.

You tried to focus on breathing through it, but he slipped in and out your mouth unevenly, and faster than you could think, catching you off guard. He looked down at the way your mouth struggled to take his length as if you were a piece of art, like he was mesmerised by it, and that feeling was encouragement was enough to keep you going. His hand twisted harder in your hair, making a fist, and he swore when you hummed in discomfort.

“Look at you.” He said, strung-out and shaky. “You strut right in here from your silver spoon life, and think you can call the shots? You’ve bitten off more than you can chew, sweetheart. You have no fucking idea what the world is really like. What people are like. What they have to do to survive.”

He moved faster, and you let your jaw go slack. You were barely moving now, he was starting to fuck your throat like he owned it. You’d started to cry again, and when you looked up at him, it was a blur. The furthest you could see was his chest, shirt unbuttoned and falling to the sides, and the dog tag, silver catching in the low light, swinging against his chest as he moved. You closed your eyes again, trying to go somewhere else in your head. Trying to breathe through your nose, to focus on being used, on how good you were making him feel, on finally being his. It was all you had left to hold on to.

But he was unwinding you with his words, knowing just where to press to make it sting, to make the tears fall harder.

“You don’t have any fucking shame about it either. Touching yourself on my bed and wearing my clothes, like you’re – fuck, that’s it - like we’re married or something. Like you’re worth more than everyone else. But look at you. Maybe you were right after all. Maybe you are my whore.” he gritted out.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you tried desperately to catch your breath between sobs.  

“I mean, you sure look like it now, on your knees for me, making a mess of your pretty face. So fucking good. You’re sucking me off better than she did, and you’re barely even trying.”

You hated it. Hated the way his thumb brushed painfully gently against your cheek, dusting away a tear as his cock bruised the back of your throat and you tried not to gag around him. Hated the way his words twisted around in your head, and how fucked up it was that your broken brain took it as praise instead of punishment.

Most of all, you hated the throb between your shaking legs, panties soaked through and probably ruined. Humiliation seeped through you as you imagined it dripping down your legs and onto the floor. Your salty tears spilled down your face, mixing with your spit and his precum. Hating every second, until your head went blank, and you didn’t feel much of anything anymore.

You weren’t sure exactly how it happened.

One second, he was pulling your hair, twitching in your mouth and spilling down your throat, and the next, in what felt like a flash, you were on the floor, loud, wrecked sobs spilling out of you as you held your knees to your chest, face hidden. He was on the floor too - when did he get down? - and his voice was soft, oh so soft and gentle, saying something you couldn’t quite make out, dull and repetitive past your ringing ears.

“- so sorry. I’m so sorry, baby. I know I - I didn’t… I took it too far. Can you hear me, sweetheart? Look at me. Please, look at me. I’m right here.”

You pulled your head from your hands, and through blurred eyes, you looked at him.

This wasn’t a face you’d seen on him before. His brows knitted, lips apart as he stared at you, like you were some wounded animal he wanted to save.

“Talk to me, sweetheart. Please.”

“I can’t…” You trailed off.

“You can tell me.”

Another wave of choked back sobs took over you. He held your jaw up like you were something breakable. Like maybe you’d broken already, and he was holding you together.

“I can’t do this.” You whispered. “Not like-”

He nodded, brushing a tear from your cheek.

“Okay. It’s okay, baby. Tell me what I can do for you. Just say the word.”

You caught your breath, and he flinched a little as you collapsed into his arms. The cool metal of the dog tag pressed into your cheek.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.” You cried.

“I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t realise how far I’d pushed you until… I know I can’t make it up to you, but I’ll try. Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it. If you want to leave, I understand. I’ll make the arrangements.”

“What? No, that’s not…”

He cut you off, looking into your eyes.

“Decide tomorrow, okay doll? You don’t have to think about that now.”

“I didn’t know about… about the districts.” You hiccupped. “About you. You didn’t want me to know. I ruined everything, I-”

“Listen to me. It doesn’t matter anymore, I promise you. It’s okay, baby.”

You nodded into his chest.

“Here.” He leaned away from you, and you looked up in a question. He took the chain from his neck and placed it in your palm.

“You can have it. So long as nobody sees. You can throw it away, wear it around the house, whatever you want. It’s yours.”

You pressed it between your fingers. It cooled your hot skin like a salve.

“Thank you.” You whispered. Your head sank back onto his chest, and when you spoke again, it was barely audible.

“Coryo?”

He tensed for a second, but relaxed again just as quickly.

“Yeah?”

“Can I stay with you tonight?”

His hand brushed gently against your hair, and you relaxed into it.

“Of course you can.”

a/n: baby's first dubcon scene!! (screams cries and throws up bc navigating that was scary as fuck) p.s one more chapter left!! do we think they'll get their shit together?? who knows!! (i know)

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[patrophthia]

hi babes!!!, I saw your 1K follower event!! ( CONGRATS BTW!!! ), and I was wondering if I could get a fic based off of promise or bewitched by laufey for Theodore nott!!, I don’t really care which song you pick I literally love them both sooooo much!!, I was also wondering if you could make reader like a sunshine personality!, you don’t have too dew about it!!, only do it if you wanna!! <33, anyways that’s it please and thank you!, once again congratulations!!!!🫶🏻🤍,

( made this pink so it matches your theme! )

thank you sweetheart!!! for making it pink and everything and yes i love writing sunshine!readers and love love laufey,,, i went with bewitched bc promise makes me bawl my eyes out but here it is!!

you’ve bewitched me | theodore nott

pairing: theodore nott x reader

genre: fluff, new relationships!!, domestic fluff, it’s so sweet your teeth will rot, reader is mentioned to be shorter than theo

part of my 1k celebration event !

Theodore Nott is well aware of magic and Wizardry alike, he knows of charms and potions like the back of his hand. He knows the effect it might have on a person, how long it can last, and how it tastes —trust him on this, he’s had people slip love potions in his pumpkin juice countless of times before (he tried reaching out to the Professors for assistance but Snape only ended up putting students who looked at Theodore too weirdly into detention, didn’t really work though, seeing as he got slipped another potion a week later). 

But, since he knows it oh so well then why was he having the hardest time trying to come up with why he feels so drawn to you? Why he so incredibly desires you? And why does he miss you so much even when you’re still here, next to him, as you’re bidding him goodbye? 

You’re smiling at him, and it’s soft; it’s so sweet, you’re so sweet to him, it hurts his heart. He doesn’t want to let you go, and neither do you. But it’s getting late, and he knows you have an early class tomorrow —so does he. Your hands are in his; the both of you standing in front of your common room. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” You say lowly, not wanting to disturb the sleeping painting. You’re caring, and Theo loves it. You’re good to the people around you, you’re good to him; and he wonders if you’ve casted a spell on his heart and head to make him think so highly of you. “Breakfast?” 

“Mhmm,” he hums first, nodding. “Breakfast,” he repeats after you, his hand not loosening its grip on yours. “I’ll see you at breakfast.” 

“You will,” you murmur. “Oh! And before I forget,” you say, slipping off your (well, technically his) jacket of your shoulders. “Thank you for this.” 

You nudge it over to him and Theodore doesn’t  make any move to take it. “Keep it,” he says, the position of the jacket is awkward —uncomfortable even, laying between your joint hands as it fell pathetically to the floor. He’s not letting go of you anytime soon, and neither is he accepting his jacket back either. “It looks better on you.” 

“But it’s yours,” you tell him and he’s stubborn, still not accepting it, “and if I keep it then it won’t smell like you anymore.” 

He tries to think straight, to stand his ground on how the jacket is yours now; but when your reason is so so (what’s the word?) endearing, how could he ever say no to you? 

So he finally lets go of your hand, picking the jacket up and tossing it over his shoulder as he hopes that you don’t notice just how badly he’s falling for you, how he’s practically falling apart as he stands before you right then and there. 

And when you smile at him, even brighter this time, with you going on your tippy toes as you did so. “Goodnight, Theo,” you say first, then you kissed him, so quick and so chaste that he barely get to savor you before pulling away. And when you tell him: “I promise to dream of you.” 

He can’t help but press his lips back onto yours, one, two, three, more times before finally letting you go. 

It’s when he watches you leave when he finally understands why he feels so completely drawn to you. You’ve bewitched him; through and through, and he could only hope that your curse will not wear off anytime soon. 

— from bee: theodore nott makes me SICK to stomach,,, i want him so bad

[jyoongim]

A Deal With God

Themes: fem!reader, Morningstar!reader, Angst, mention of character death, secrets, religious themeAlastor being Alastor, fluff, slight smut, deal-making,  soul possession, Lilith a shitty mother/wife/sister, established relationship, difficult family dynamic, there’s a trope in here I just don’t know what to call it?

Chapter 1

chapter 2

You had ordered Niffty that some rooms needed to be spruced up and took the liberty to tidy up the lobby yourself.

You hummed to the sound of the song playing on the radio as you neatly stacked whatever plans Charlie was coming up with in the night.

Charlie.

Your heart ached for the Princess.

After Lilith left, the Princess had founded a hotel to help redeem the souls of the damned.

You were unsure of her plan, but you could never deny her.

damn those puppy eyes.

So here you were, seven years later, helping your niece with her wild endeavor.

But you weren’t alone; 

“Aaahh just the doll I wanted to see!” A radio-like voice chirped.

Alastor.

You smiled in greeting to the lanky demon.

Alastor, the famed and fearsome Radio Demon.

You were a bit skeptical when he showed up at your door, but when he offered to help Charlie you took him in.

Who were you to say no to help? You needed the extra hands.

”Hello Al, did you need something?” The tall demon smiled down at you as he shook his head.

”Nooo just thought I would check in. How’s Charlie’s new plan along?” You laughed “ooh their a coming thats for sure” nodding towards the board she had made the other night.

An idea popped into your head “Why don’t you make a commercial Al ” He went to make a comment, but you interrupted him “A proper commercial. The sinners need to know the benefits of the hotel and that there is hope”

you waltz up to him, a soft smile on your as you batted your eyes at him ”pretty please?” You wrapped your arms around him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

He hummed, seeming to mull over the thought, chuckling

”fine fine”

You grinned “Thank you”

He whistled as he walked out the room, you smiled after him, getting back to your task.

Your phone ringed and you answered without seeing who called. “Hello?”

A nervous laugh responded “Heeeyyy bitch”

Lucifer.

You rolled your eyes “Hello to you too Luci ”

He groaned at the nickname.

”Ugghh so hows things been….” He wanted something.

“Whaaaaat? N-Nothing what makes you think I want something?” 

he couldn’t see your face, but you were making a pointed face.

”Okay okay its just- hows-hows Charlie?” He asked.

You frowned “Charlie is fine, through it wouldn’t hurt if you came by and saw your daughter Luci”

You hadn’t forgave him for setting Charlie up to chat with Heaven months ago when he should have been the one to settle things between them.

Charlie might have a optimistic view of the world, but she lacked experience. You should have been the one to be at that meeting.

But nevertheless.

”I-I don’t know about that…” he trailed off. But you were quick to fix that avoidant nature of his.

”Come to the hotel. Come see what your daughter is trying to do. No one would take this seriously if the King doesn’t approve himself. If not that, just come see your daughter Luci, she needs more than just me around” you felt bad for guilting him but this had to be done.

Charlie was growing into an excellent leader, you were sure she would make a great queen one day.

”so you’ll be here tomorrow? Great see you then. And don’t forget…I can see you so don’t make me drag your ass here tata”

———————————————————————————————

Charlie had gathered everyone to the lobby to come up with ways to recruit sinners to the hotel.

 Charlie was nothing if a perfectionist and always took on more than she could chew.

”Hey babe maybe its time to use some of that royal privilege” Vaggie suggested, she gave a quick look in your direction, making Charlie shake her head feverishly

”no no no my auntie has already done so much! I can’t ask her to do anything else”

You smiled, but chimed in to support Vaggie “She’s right Charlie.” Your niece gawked at you.

You approached her, slipping a arm around her shoulder in comfort “Now I know it’s been rough and weird between you and your father buuuuuuut I took the liberty in inviting him here” she groaned “what? Noooooooo” you shushed her whining

“Now now you’ll get to show him that what you’ve been doing is good for the kingdom. That your heart’s in the right place. He’ll help I promise”

Charlie rested her head on your shoulder, groaning in defeat

”w-when will he be here?”

”Oh in a hour”

”WHAT?!”

———————————————————————————————-

“OH Charlie its so good to see you!” Lucifer exclaimed pulling his daughter into a tight hug.

You smiled, giggling as Charlie choked out a response to her father. You pulled him away from her, giving him a hug

”Nice to see you too Luci” the King blushed and looked around.

”sooooo this is what you two have been up to? It sure got some….character ” he said nervously.

“Well we had some help” you gestured to Alastor. Lucifer eyes narrowed slightly “uuuhhh hhhuuuhh suuurre and who might you be?” Alastor eye twitched before quickly shaking his hand “Alastor! Pleasure to meet you sir… I must say you are…much unimpressive than what I imagined” he mused, causing the man to deadpan.

You cleared your throat “Alastor here has been a tremendous help with the hotel. I don’t know what we would have done without him” you praised.

Lucifer growled as Alastor wrapped an arm around your waist pulling you into his side.

Alastor sneered at the monarch “Aaah yes what creative ladies I have here. I am HAPPY to fulfill any wish they desire” he grinned down at you, giving you a slight squeeze.

”hmmmm sister dear why don’t you show me around” he whacked Alastor’s hand with his cane and pulled your arm away from him with a tight smile.

Charlie and Alastor followed the two of you as you gave a quick briefing of the hotel, letting Charlie take over and show her dad around.

You sighed happily, it was nice to see Charlie interact with her dad. You hoped that he would see the big picture and offer her some guidance and support.

You leaned your head against Alastor’s shoulder, turning to return to the lobby

”Let’s leave those two to catch up shall we?”

He huffed but followed you anyway.

———————————————————————————-

“Well it is a very good plan b-but I don’t know Charlie” Lucifer sighed. Charlie’s face dropped. “Daaad this is the only way to prove to Heaven that sinners deserve a second chance”

Lucifer looked away from his daughter “Charlie you don’t understand-” she huffed,frustrated “what don’t I understand?  That my own father don’t believe in me? If Auntie can why can’t you?” She was holding back tears.

You were on the fence at first too, but you were willing to help her out. You supported her crazy ideas and even encouraged that she gave it her all. 

Yes it might have been far fetched,  but you believed that Charlie could do what Lucifer could not.

”Heaven wont listen to you Charlie! They didn’t listen to me. What makes you think you can change their minds?” 

You knew it was a tough question.

Charlie didn’t know the hardship of how Heaven operated.

How much Lucifer had spent centuries trying to convince them that humanity was capable of doing amazing things.

Hell, if sinners had mortal souls why couldn’t they change after death?

But you knew. Heaven was convinced that the rules were black and white. Hell was made to punish the most severe sinners.

of course this is flawed for several reasons

Hell was a punishment to all who fell.

Lucifer knew this.

But why couldn’t things change?

Charlie turned to you, a look of frustration and sadness on her face. You intervened. “Luci just one meeting. One meeting with Heaven so Charlie can at least try. I know you can’t see that things could change, but think about the possibility. Why should a sinner be damned if there’s a second chance? Heaven shouldn’t be able to decide what a person’s soul is capable of”

Lucifer sighed.

You always had a way of making him see possibilities in things.

If you believed in Charlie, then that must have meant…

”what are the odds in this succeeding” he asked you

You blinked. 

You knew what he was asking.

Your sight of everything was always nearly right.

”Theres a few bumps to sort out, but it’ll be fine” you said.

he grimaced.

”Ill even go to Heaven with her” you offered.

Charlie was going to need all the backup she needed up there.

Angels could be a piece of work.

Lucifer sighed, before turning to his daughter “Fine. One meeting-” Charlie launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his small frame and she jumped around

”thank you thank you thank you!”

He smiled, returning her hug.

Charlie ran off to find Vaggie and tell her while you watched Lucifer.

”It wont stop anything” he said as you ushered him into the office.

You hummed, pouring a cup of tea as you looked out the window into the city on the horizon.

”You don’t know that” you whispered.

Silence filled the air between the two of you.

”H-have you…you know” he started to say nervously

You turned to him, seeing him fiddle with his wedding ring.

Your stomach curled.

”what” you growled out unintentionally 

he swallowed “Have you seen Lilith?”

You stilled. Your wrist burned in warning

promise me

”I can’t tell you that” you said curtly.

Lucifer glared at you “you’ve been saying that for years!”

”and you always get the same response” you said back

He stood up and angrily approached you.

”Have you no shame? I know you. You can’t lie to me!” He was starting to raise his voice

”Luci calm dow-” 

“NO! You can see everything! Everything and everyone! so tell me sister have you seen my wife…have you seen Lilith?!”

he was grabbing your arms, shaking.

You hated the look of despair on his face, hoping that you would at least tell him something.

But your wrist burned at his question, and your anger of being put in such a predicament got the better of you.

You hissed at him “No.” you held his glare, before he sighed letting you go. He ran a hand through his hair, backing away from you “Im sorry i-i didn’t mean that”

You clicked your tongue at him sighing

”Oh Luci…” you cupped his cheek, you couldn’t tell him where she was, no Lilith made sure of that,but you could show what you’ve seen.

Lucifer’s eyes widened as flashes of his wife appeared in his mind. He didn’t know where she was,but she seemed…happy.

”I know you worry about Charlie but I will never let anything happen to her. Heaven can act all high and mighty, but surely someone up there will see reason” you said to him, breaking him out of his trance.

He shook his head slightly, giving you a soft smile, nodding.

“Sooooo you and that bellhop…” he wiggled his eyebrows at you teasingly. You tensed, looking away embarrassed. He laughed “Oh? Shy? Not you” you glared at him, folding your arms across your chest in defense “w-what? Theres nothing wrong with me trying to pursue someone” you grumbled. Lucifer smiled. It was cute at how flush you were. 

You were always the serious one.

Never really doing things for yourself.

You always held duty and responsibility above all things.

So seeing you blush over some tacky, old times fuck  guy was refreshing.

So he teased “Oooh no the Queen can do anything or anyone she likes”

You growled at him, making him laugh harder as he gave you a hug and bid you goodbye as he teleported, leaving you with your thoughts.

“Well that was interesting” you whipped around to see Alastor walking from the shadows.

You laughed nervously, “Alastor! I didn’t hear you come in…how muuuch of that did you hear?”

He smiled down at you, tilting his head “ooooh nothing I wont repeat my dear” he tapped your nose.

He rested a hand on your lower back to escort you to your room like a proper gentleman.

He kissed you goodnight before venturing off to his radio tower. He had to organize some of his thoughts.

Alastor knew you were powerful he admits only that! but he hadn’t expected you to be the Queen of Hell itself.

Yes you were the Princess’s aunt but he just chalked it up to you just having power by blood alone.

The Queen of Hell….hmph. 

Pride swelled in his chest at the thought as well as a wicked smile graced his lips His darling was one of the most powerful in all of Hell that gave him a power trip and a lingering thought

How the fuck were you the Queen? 

Just how powerful were you?

And one last thought before he turned on his broadcast

How could he use that power you wielded?

@dasimp777 @projectdreamwalker @fairyv-ice @stygianoir @k1y0yo @thewinchestah @imgonnadielaughing-blog @purplecatsandhearts @blinderthanabats-blog @saphiresai @th3-st4r-gur1 @evedenn @queenariesofnarnia @yoitsnetto @alastor-simp @alastorsaries @alastwhore666 @alastorsdear @peachedtv

@tpks @siiv3r @markster666 @okay-babe @strawberrypimp666 @coleisyn @simphornies @lunaramune @alastorsdarling @prosciuttosblog @ioniiaa @fizzled-phoenix @horrorartsworld @polytheatrix @dennsfz @yourdoorisunlocked @stawberrypimpsimp @alishii @alleystore @preciousbabypeter @yunimimii @peachedtvs @karolinda007-blog @chewbrry @aviradasa

comment below so i can see if I’m missing anyone who wants to be tagged…ALSO each chapter is linked to the last and next…

[elliespassagerprincess]

super confident!ellie x really bold and forward reader at a party and they’re both just bored and the more ellie talks to reader the more shes stumbling over her words by how quickly she responds to ellie’s lines and ellie knows she’s fucked bc she cant stop thinking about the girl that she fucked at the party yayyyyy

Rose - (ellie williams x reader)

hi anon! i had so many ideas for this, i might make a part 2 because yes or ill make a different version ughhhh...i hope you enjoy it<3

Pairing: ellie x fem!reader

requests are open! send me your silly thoughts

warnings: sexual themes

Summary: in which she cant forget you

authors note: i submitted my application, lets see if i get accepted because i will lose my mind if i don't

masterlist

The smell of weed was the first thing that reached Ellie's nose when she walked into the house.

Mid term exams has had her stressed and she's barley been out. Whoever said college would be easy, lied because she's never been this stressed.

She needed to blow off some steam and what better way is there than to get blackout out drunk and to fuck a random girl she'll never talk to again.

It was too early in the night to make a move. She need to wait for the straight girls to get drunk, and for the overly emotional girls to come her way.

She sat on a couch scanning the room. So many victims, so many options.

Who will be the lucky girl tonight?

"You know its gross to eye fuck innocent people?" she heard a voice talk next to her.

A small frown appeared on Ellie's face when she turned to you.

Holy shit, who are you?

Her eyes scanned your body.... fuck

Maybe you'd be the lucky one

You noticed her staring and you rolled your eyes before saying: "Take your pervert eyes off me"

Oh you were feisty.

Ellie never had a problem with women. Most of them threw themselves at her, all she needed to do was say a few words and give them a small smile and they'd be moaning her name minutes later.

She was confident that she'll get you too. She just needed to pull out all the stops when it came to you.

Ellie chuckled at your comment "I'm not a pervert, I'm just checking to make sure you don't have a weapon on you?" she joked.

"What weapon? My strap on?" You snorted.

oh.

Ellie wasn't expecting that.

"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?" you teased at her sudden silence.

Ellie shook her head quickly gaining her composure.

"Has anyone ever told you that you were pretty?" She quickly tried changing the subject.

You hummed "quite a few... has anyone ever told you that you suck at flirting?"

Now this made her jaw drop.

You didn't giggle like she expected, you didn't give her a shy smile.

What the fuck is happening?

"You're boring" you state, you got up and left.

You left the Ellie Williams speechless.

The longer the night went on the more her mind drifted to you. Her mission of finding someone to fuck ended as soon as you came into the picture.

She wanted you. She was on a mission to find you. But between all the people grinding up against each other she thought that would be impossible.

"Hey there loser" she heard your voice she immediately turned to you.

"h-hey" did she just fucking stutter?

"Did you find someone to fuck yet?" you asked she shook her head.

"Maybe we can..." Ellie went silent, too shy to finish her sentence.

She made two scissors with her hands and she made a scissoring motion "you k-know.... me and you"

You laugh at her. You fucking laugh at her.

"Don't be pathetic, use your words"

Ellie felt humiliated. Why were you telling her what to do? Normally she was the one giving orders. Ellie decided that its time to switch roles. She wanted to be in charge.

"Well lets go to the bathroom and ill show you what i can do"

"so you're saying im some kind of cheap fuck?"

"N-no i mean... i meant like-"

"see fucking pathetic"

Ellie was sweating, her cheeks were tinted in a dark shade of pink.

What were you doing to her?

You gently took her hand "show me where your dorm is" was all you said.

The rest was a blur to her.

Lips passionately touching each other, clothes flying off, your fingers in her. A tiny rose tattoo on your left shoulder. She's never cum so hard in her life.

After tonight she knew you fucked her over.

No one had made her this nervous, no one has ever made her finish this hard, no one had ever made her this submissive.

Who are you?

Ellie groaned when she heard her alarm go off. She rolled over to the side of the bed you were laying on, but you weren't there.

She opened her eyes to a cold empty bed.

"Fuck" she sighed.

She never got your name, she doesn't have your number, she doesn't know anything about you.

The memory of you on top of her, you moaning was all she could think about.

Fuck, how she just forget that? How could she forget you?

The only thing she remembered was the rose tattoo on your left shoulder.

"Fuck rose who are you?"

<3

[sterredem]

Espresso

Charles leclerc x Singer!reader

Face claim Sabrina Carpenter

Summary Y/n releases a new song for 2 reasons

It was also a request

Warning none, not proofread

A/N this is I think one of my favourite I have ever made an my best(?). I really like it! It took a day to make it (working on and off on this). It is pretty long but I love it! I also tried a bit of a change to the theme! I hope you like it!

Sorry to the person that requested it that it took so long! I wanted to make it earlier but than I was watching Star Wars with my mom and fell asleep so I had no time.

Don’t forget to Like, comment and repost! And give me feadback! It helps a lot! Let me know what you thought about it!

Part 2

Instagram

Liked by Charles_Leclerc and 2.689.638 others

Yourusername Suprise! I thought I would put out a little song before Coachella! And for celebration of something special🩵🤍

View all 10.738 comments

Conangray So exited!🩵🤍 liked by author

User1 instant coffee boost

GracieAbrams I know what it is!🩵🤍

Yourusername 🤫🤫🤍🩵

User11 NO DONT SUSH GRACIE

GracieAbrams 🤫🤫

User2 so exited!

OliviaRodrigo Love the song!🩵🤍💜

Yourusername 💜🩵🤍

User12 SHE HEARD IT?!?! Liked by OliviaRodrigo

User3 SO EXITED! I will go to Coachella so I hope I will hear it!

User4 Why did Charles Leclerc like?

User5 who is that?

User4 he is and Formula 1 driver!

User5 Oh I heard of him! My dad watches it!

User6 but why would he like? It is so random!

User4 so real! No body else likes!

User7 Taylor, billie, girl in red and now Y/n?! We are getting spoiled!

User8 the cover art is so pretty!

Charles_leclerc 🩵🤍

Yourusername 🤍🩵

User9 OMG?!?!

User10 I hate coffee but I will love espresso

User13 THANK YOU MOTHER

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Charles_Leclerc added to his story

Yourusername replied to your story

Omg! Charles! So weet

Of course min amour

❤️❤️

🤍🩵

Carlos_Sainz replied to your story

Simp

Stut up

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Twitter

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Instagram

Liked by Charles_Leclerc and 2.589.085 others

Yourusername Espresso out tonmorow🩵🤍☕️

Music video out soon

View all 4.795 comments

OliviaRodrigo Love the song!☕️🩵🤍 liked by author

Conangray ☕️🩵🤍 liked by author

TaylorSwift Amazibg song!🤍🩵 liked by author

GracieAbrams I love coffee 🤍🩵 liked by author

Charles_Leclerc 🩵🤍☕️ liked by author

User1 The comments?!?!

User2 girls don’t want boys they want Y/n Y/l/n

User3 I think I’m gay

User4 Love the song

User5 love this new era

User6 arrested?! So exited for the music video and song! 🩵🤍

User7 arrested for being too gorgeous

User8 love the aesthetic

User9 beautiful women ❤️❤️

User10 ISSHJEHAKGS HOW ARE YOU SO GORGEOUS?!?!?!

Yourusername Thank you love😘💋

User10 ISBHEBEBSJSIGSN I LOVE YOU

User11 ☕️🩵🤍

User12 ITS ME ESPRESSO

User13 song of the summer!

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Instagram

Liked by TaylorSwift and 1.584.962 others

Yourusername my give a fucks are on vacation… espresso out now🩵🤍

View all 4.147 comments

TaylorSwift 🤍🩵☕️

Conangray Espresso…

OliviaRodrigo love it!

GracieAbrams It’s me espresso!🩵🤍

Charles_Leclerc thinking bout you every night

User1 this WILL be stuck in my head forever. And I’m not complaining

User2 SONG OF THE SUMMER FOR REAL

User3 real pop music is back!

User4 literally Brabie!

User5 can we just talk about the cover art?!?!

User6 literally a pop princess!👸

User7 SONG OF EVERY SEASON

User8 CHARLES’ COMMENTS!????!!!!! IS IT ABOUT HIM?!?! Liked by Charles_Lecelerc

User9 GORGEOUS WOMEN. Liked by Charles_Leclerc

User10 I’m in love with you. Liked by Charles_Leclerc

User11 Anyone sees Charles like and dislike the comments?!?!

User12 how many letters are there in Espresso?!

User13 ATE

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Instagram

Liked by CarlosSainz and 2.784.952

Yourusername Espresso music video out now☕️

How many cups have you had today?🩵🤍

View all 5.832 comments

GracieAbrams 🩵🤍☕️

Conangray 📹📽️🎥🎬🎞️🩵🤍☕️

OliviaRodrigo 😘🥰💋

TaylorSwift 🤍🩵☕️❤️😘🥰🫶

Charles_Leclerc ☕️🫶❤️🤍🩵🥰💋😘

Carlossainz love the long☕️☕️

User1 WHAT IS WITH ALL THE EMOJIS!?!?!??

User2 Love all the singers and drivers comments

User3 it’s called espresso bc you get a caffeine boost from this song

User4 people’s pop princess 👸

User5 you’re THAT girl

User6 Obsessed

User7 angel🤍

User8 LOVE THE MUSIV VID

User9 HOTTEST PERSON ALIVE

User10 I love you

User11 WHO IS IT ABOUTTTT?!?!?!

User12 the smile 🫠🤭🥰

User13 I CANOT GET OVER HOW PRETTY YOU ARE

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Instagram

Liked by Charles_Leclerc and 1.926.825 others

Yourusername @coachella weekend 1, thank you to my incredible band, dancers, crew, team, friends, family for this special night I'll always remember. just a blue motel and a dream

And a special thank you, it was an honor to wear 2 custom @roberto_cavalli looks on this day in memory. rest in peace.

see you next weekend!

View all 3.725 comments

Charles_Leclerc 🩵☕️🤍

User1 LOVED TO SEE YOU!

User2 love the last pic

User3 u are so perfect

User4 icon

User5 love the T-shirt

User6 princess, queen, everything

User7 Y/n y/l/n always eates and leaves no crumbs

User8 my queen

User9 loved the chill vibes and the intro of Espresso

User10 star✨⭐️🌟💫

User11 stunning!!

User12 Amazing! One of the artists that I loved seeing live!

User13 SOO PROUD OF YOU!!

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Instagram

Liked by yourusername and 3.373.829 others

Charles_Leclerc Photo dump?

View all 1.583 comments

Yourusername love the aesthetic

Charles_Leclerc Yeah, I got inspired

Landonorris ?!?!?!?!?!?!

User1 he thought that with the thirst trap and Leo we wouldn’t notice the soft launch

User2 and it worked

ScuderiaFerari ❤️

CarlosSainz trying something new

Charles_Leclerc always

User3 THE 1ST PUCTURE🥵😍

User4 soft launch?!?!

User5 she is probably just using him for money

User6 AWWW LEO IS SO CUTE

User7 the 90s beach aesthetic? Loving it! It’s giving Y/n Y/l/n!

User8 2 SHIRTLESS PICTURES?!?! WE ARE GETTING FED!! THANK YOU MYSTERIOUS GIRL!!

User9 so hot

User10 dog dad era

User11 never beating the babygirl allegations

User12 what is going on with all these side quests?!

User13 Charles surfer era when??

User14 who got u smiling like that?? Maybe some twisted humor??? (Iykyk)

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Twitter

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Instagram

Liked by TaylorSwift and 4.378.167 others

Yourusername The other special thing fans the 2nd reason of me releasing Espresso. happy anniversary love🩵🤍

comments are limited

TaylorSwift So happy for you! He’s a keeper,

GracieAbrams Such cuties!

ConanGray love y’all or whatever (jokes on you so happy for you!)

OliviaRodrigo switch en up like Nintendo🤍🩵

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Instagram

Liked by Honeymoon and 2.372.839 others

Yourusername Coachella weekend 2

that was one of the most fun shows I've ever played. I can't believe i got to sing Don't Know Why with the one and only magnificent @norahjones .... I can't believe my keyboard is haunted... and i can't believe you guys were already singing along to all the words in espresso. I feel so lucky. thank you to everyone who came to watch !!!!

the biggest thanks again to my team, crew, band and dancers for all your hard work and making such a dream show come to life. Love you alllll

Comments are disabled

|———————————<3—————————————|

Instagram

liked by Charles_Leclerc and 1.936.729 others

Yourusername what’s your favourite lyric

View all 7.472 comments

User1 MY “GIVE A FUCKS” ARE ON VACATION

User2 I’m working late cause I’m a singerrrrrrr

User3 HE LOOKS SO CUTE WRAPPED ROUND MY FINGERRRRR (I don’t have any boy)

User4 “switch it up like Nintendo” is iconic

User5 too bad your ex don’t do it for ya

User6 OMG I just realised; if it is about Charles than that is about Alex!!!

User7 my twisted humorrrrrr make him laugh so oftennnn

User8 THE WHOLE SONG GIRLLL

User9 I CANT RELATE TK DESPERATION (continues to lives in desperation anyway)

User10 I know I Mountain Dew it for ya😎😎

User11 obsessed with the whole song

User12 The best song EVER

User13 all of them

|———————————<3—————————————| instagram

♫ y/n y/l/n - Espresso

Liked by Charles_Leclerc and 3.738.926 others

Yourusername coolchella

View all 5.527 comments

Chappelroan Ya exactly

User1 Exactly

User2 THE 7th PICTURE HAHAHAH

User3 cutie

User4 LOVED SEEING YOU!!

User5 SABCHELLA

User6 Cus I’m a singaaaaaaaaa

User7 CHAPELLL

User8 👸👑

User9 POPSTAR PRONCESS

User10 who the boy from the past post??

User11 GORGEOUS

User12 MOTHER

User13 ❤️❤️

|———————————<3—————————————|

Instagram

Liked by Charles_Leclerc and 5.835.180 others

Yourusername heard someone was copying me🤷‍♀️

All jokes aside, Happy 1 year anniversary my love🫶 I am so happy to be sharing my time with you. Thank you for all the support and being with me through it all.

To the fans; thank you for being with me through it all and supporting me. Fans, meet Charles, Charles meet my fans. I hope you can learn to live each other and simp over me together (yes this is a direct attic at you charles (he ruined my plan with liking)(and how can you soft launch and put Leo in the same post??!!))

Love you all! See you sometime else!

View all 9.537 comments

Charles_Leclerc Love you mon amour❤️🫶

Yourusername 🩵🤍🫶❤️

Landonorris WHAT THE FUCH

Carlossainz I knew already!!

TaylorSwift So happy for you all

GracieAbrams ❤️ He is the only one I trust you with!

Conangray He’s okay I guess

OliviaRodrigo You left me for a man?!?!

Yourusername I’m sorry my love. Let’s run away!

OliviaRodrigo Already packed my bag

Charles_Leclerc ????!!!

Yourusername nothing to see here my love

User1 WHAT?!?!

User2 OMG I LOVE IT

User3 I LOVE THEM ALREADY

User4 LOVE THE REACTION FROM SOME OF THE DRIVERS (Lando)

User5 OMG HOTTEST COUPLE ALIVE

User6 SGE A DOG MOM TO LEO!!

User7 ‘switch en up like Nintendo’ for real

User8 POWER COUPLE

User8 LOVE THAT THE AESTHETIC IS STILL THERE

User9 THE PICTURES🥵😍 WE GET CHARLES THIRT TRAP Y/N THIRT TRAP AMD THEM TOGJETEHR????

User10 SO HOTTTTT

User11 THE CAPTIONNN🫠🫠🫠

User12 SHE IS A WAG NOW!!

User13 Can’t wait to see her paddock fits!!

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[featherandferns]

god's test (fic)

jj maybank x fem!reader | inspired by this song amongst others

content warning: abusive parents; allusions to s3xual abuse; drug use/misuse; sexual content (female and male receiving; p in v); unhealthy relationships; brief mentions/discussions of fertility | Some heavy themes in this so please feel free to message if you're unsure.

word count: 18k.

blurb: what if the Pogues never found El Dorado? Life in survival mode at the age of twenty-two sure had lost its shine. In that tarnish, JJ wonders if your relationship has too.

“To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, til' death do us part.”

JJ sits crossed legged on the floor of his living room. To his right is a half empty can of Coke and to his left is the plastic case for the VHS tape which is currently whirring in the player, displayed on the TV through grainy, wibbly lines. His bright blonde hair sticks every which way. The Goodwill sourced t-shirt is too big on his frame but his dad insisted he’d grow into it, and to stop his moaning and bitching. Be grateful, was his last warning. The shorts on his skinny legs seem to be getting smaller everyday, perhaps because JJ only seems to get taller. That slight discomfort is a lost thought right now. Instead, JJ is glued to the wedding video on the screen. Glued to the image of his mother, smiling up at his father, the two of them unaged and undamaged. The two of them are in love. 

“I do,” JJ’s dad, Luke, says in an almost unrecognisable tone. Then, he leans forward at the officiant’s approval and kisses JJ’s mother. JJ misses her deeply. His heart squeezes at the sight of her smile, turning to the camera with a beam. He finds his own lips twitching up too as if her happiness is contagious. Then the tape cuts suddenly to the reception. It seems a small affair with only a handful of friends and family. JJ can place his uncle and aunt, who cradles his cousin Ricky in her arms, and a few more of his dad’s crowd of so-called friends. His mother can be seen in the background talking to her parents - JJ’s grandparents. They’d made themselves scarce after she walked out on JJ and his dad. Never once did JJ think he’d lose not only his mother but his grandparents too. Loneliness likes company, it seems. 

Another sudden cut and it’s his parents dancing. Their first dance. The dark lighting of the hall messes with the low-quality cam-corder's exposure. They’re painted in rays of shadows and glow almost ethereal-like as they sway to the music. Luke whispers something in his new wife’s ear and she giggles, soundless as the crooning voice of Rod Stewart sings their wedding song: ‘Have I Told You Lately’. JJ grins. He decides then and there, at the big age of eight, that that’s what he wants. That sort of happiness. As if blinded by the cinema of it all, he forgets the reality. The mess that surrounds him in the neglected house; the absence of his mother and the recklessness of his father; the strange definition of love that’s been tied to the Maybank name. 

So distracted by the tape, JJ doesn’t hear his dad rouse in the other room. He doesn’t hear the sound of the creaking door or the aching floorboards, and when he finally catches sight of Luke staggering down the hallway, it’s too late. His dad has caught sound of the song and it’s as if he’s intoxicated again, only now with rage. He glares at JJ and makes a b-line to the television screen, coming face to face with his hidden wedding tape. He had no idea JJ had found it and stashed it for his own safe keeping. 

“What the damn hell do you think you’re doing?” he barks, turning to JJ. He grabs him by the shoulder with one hand and hoists him onto his feet. JJ’s tiny body floods with terror. His feet go numb and cold and his face burning hot. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, huh boy!?” 

JJ flinches at his father’s tone. His lip quivers. “I…I only wanted–”

“You only wanted to what, huh? Stealing things like the no-good son-of-a-bitch you are, eh?” Luke hollers, spit flying from his mouth and onto JJ’s rosy skin. 

“I just wanted to see mama,” JJ blubbers. 

“You ain’t ever seein’ her again, you hear me?” Luke shouts. He tosses JJ back onto the floor. He lands on his backside with a smack, flinching at the feeling, and looks up to see his dad aggressively messing with the player. A new wave of panic comes over JJ as he jumps to his feet, darting forward for the tape before his dad can snap it in two. To JJ, it isn’t just a stupid VHS. It’s his mother. 

“No! Gimme it!” JJ screeches, scratching and clawing at his father’s arms as he attempts to wrestle the tape from his hold. His small hand latches around it moments before Luke’s own smacks him clean across the cheek. The force sends him flying onto his side, reuniting with the floor. Sobbing, JJ clutches the tape close to his chest. His dad yells abuse at JJ, tumbling cuss words in casually amongst his berates. Keeping the tape close and safe to his stomach, JJ manages to his feet and faces up to his father. An anger that he’s never known before takes control. “I hate you!” 

Before his dad can lunge for him again, JJ darts for the front door. He almost trips down the stairs in his hurry. The sound of his dad’s footsteps behind him sound like a giant’s, pounding against the floorboards. He chokes on his sobs as he sprints away from the house. I’m never coming back, he thinks to himself. That’ll show him. He doesn’t dare check to see if his dad is following. Not until he’s well away from the house, almost completely shot of breath, panting and heaving, no tears left to cry. Finally, he stops. He looks down at the tape with shaking hands to find it safe and intact. Luke and Marie’s Wedding Tape, it says in black sharpie across the front. He hugs it against him as if hugging his mother.

The moment of tranquillity is broken by a loud whoop and holler. His head flashes to the side to find a girl climbing on the old pier. It’s nearly completely decayed, broken down by a hurricane a few years back. Now it’s just pillars of wood, splintering and misaligned.

Some adult on the new pier is yelling at you. “I’ll tell your father, missy! You listenin’? You get down from there now!” Beside them are some friends, blissfully ignoring the warnings, cheering you on. You turn to them and JJ catches sight of your smile. It reminds him of his mother’s and a warm feeling sparks somewhere in his chest, as if lighting a match in a damp cave. The sun twinkles above your head and that’s when JJ notices the streak of hot pink in your hair. Woah - Cool. And then you’re falling - hurling yourself into the air and flying down into the water - out of sight. He takes a step forward, as if to do something, and waits anxiously with the others for you to re-emerge. You break to the surface with a cackle. Your friends erupt in cheers and you giggle, splashing water as if aiming for them despite being metres down below the pier. And then you look straight at JJ. It's just for a second, only a second, but a second was enough. Eight-year-old JJ Maybank was in love.

6 Years Later

Confidence is a powerful armour. It makes you almost untouchable. Nobody messes with the mouthy kid. The kid who gets in fights; the kid who makes the room laugh. JJ knew what it was like to be on the bottom of the food chain and he was never going to willingly put himself there. At school, he made himself a staple. A delinquent, known for his short fuse and reckless choices. It kept the bully’s off his scent and gave him a good outlet for the repressed anger and hatred he held towards his father. Though, the older he got (now fourteen), the more JJ fought back. His dad could no longer throw him to the ground as easily. Not now that JJ had taken up working out and picking fights in the school yard. Luke wasn’t the only one who knew how to throw a right-hook now. And the most important lesson JJ had learnt? Never let them see you cry. 

The downsides? Cut lips, lingering bruises, and detention. So much detention. 

“Nice of you to join us, Maybank,” the teacher mutters, not bothering to look up from his newspaper as JJ loiters into the classroom after school on Thursday. 

“Happy to be back, sir,” JJ casually returns. He scribbles his name down on the sign up sheet, confirming his attendance, then scans the room.

There’s the regulars: Tommy Peach, who’s always doing time for selling whatever pills he can get his hands on in the parking lot; Ashley, who has a habit of smoking in the girl’s bathrooms; Colin, who got spotted with a gun in his backpack just the other day, supposedly just to ‘show it off’; and Pearl, who skipped three classes in one day (her record being four and a half). He catches her eye and winks - they’d made out behind the bike shed last week. You can spot the one-time offenders easily. They’re usually hanging their head at the very back, biting back tears, full of shame for letting down mommy and daddy. JJ had a certain distaste for them. He supposed it was because he knew his father could give less of a crap if JJ wound up in detention. If anything, JJ preferred it. Less time for him to be in his house and less risk of getting a beating for some slip-up. This time, the new offender is Patty Grayson - a goody-two-shoes smarty pants who had forgotten her homework. JJ’s surprised they didn’t let it slide given her track record. Finally, his eyes land on another new timer. 

You’re not hanging your head as if praying for forgiveness, nor are you sobbing your apologies into the abyss. No: you look rather comfortable and - if anything - bored, as you lounge in your seat. A bottle of silver nail polish sits on the desk as you paint your nails. As if feeling his stare, you glance up and meet his gaze. You frown. Right, yeah, I’m being weird. JJ decides to take a seat next to you. He watches you in his peripheral vision for a while as you paint and paint. At one point, the teacher heads to the staff kitchen for dinner, giving a half-arsed warning about sneaking out. Pearl is happy to skip detention, probably addicted to the thrill, but everyone else stays sat. Suddenly, you look at JJ. 

“Can I help you?”

“Huh?”

“You keep looking at me,” you say, irritated. 

“I do?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, y’know…” You quirk a brow, waiting for his reply, and JJ scrambles for one. “Your hair.”

You frown. “What?”

“Your hair,” JJ uselessly repeats. 

“What about it?”

“It’s purple.”

“Yeah. I dye it. It’s not my natural colour, idiot,” you reply. 

“It looks nice,” JJ tells you. You’re visibly taken back, blinking at him for a second. 

“Oh,” you mumble, lifting a hand to pet it, “thanks.”

“You ain’t ever been to detention before, right?” JJ checks, finding it easier to converse now that you’ve calmed down. 

You laugh. It sounds just the same as when you were little, from the first time JJ saw you, but only deeper. More mature. “Cause I’m good at not gettin’ caught, unlike you.”

“Oh, you been keepin’ tabs on me or somethin’?” JJ grins. 

“You hold the record for the most detentions, Maybank. Sorta puts you on the map," you say with a roll of your eyes. 

Holy shit, she knows my name. 

“Maybe you’ll have to teach me your ways some time,” JJ smoothly quips. 

Shaking your head, you turn your focus back to painting your nails. “I work alone.”

Like some dork, JJ watches you for a while. Something tells him you know he is as there’s this little smile on your lips. His eyes trail down from your face to your arms and soon to your hands. Your knuckles are bruised and scabbed over and JJ frowns, curious and concerned despite having only just officially met you. Ever since the day at the pier back when he was eight, JJ had been vaguely aware of your existence. You were in the year above at school and undeniably cool. He’d seen you skating in the parking lot, caught you getting lectured for shoplifting at the local grocery shop for a candy bar, noticed you helping (who he assumed was) your dad fish, and seen you from time to time in the halls. The only person who was aware of his infatuation was John B, who tortured JJ relentlessly for it. Over the years, your hair has undergone many changes. At one point it was buzzed completely off. He didn’t see you much that year, come to think. Now it hangs just past your shoulders, a deep, enticing purple. It caught him off guard because only last week it was royal blue. Not that he was keeping track or anything…

“Here.”

JJ snaps out of his daydream to find you holding out something to him. A thin, white stick, rolled rather wonky. 

“You want some?”

“Won’t we get caught?”  JJ reflexively asks. 

“Boo. Pussy,” you teasingly return, retracting the offer. You briefly glance to the doorway before retrieving a lighter: bright, shiny silver and square. You light the end and take a drag. There’s a sweet, sickly smell that comes from it. 

“I ain’t a pussy,” JJ counters. There’s a smirk on your face as he takes the joint from you, guiding it to his lips to inhale. It catches uncomfortably in his throat and chest, making him cough. Laughing, you consolingly pat his back. He clenches his eyes shut: so embarrassing. 

“You good?” you giggle. 

“Never better,” JJ manages out through his chokes, giving you a shaky thumbs up. 

“First time?”

He shakes his head but you’re unconvinced. Smiling, you dig about in your pocket to retrieve a set of house keys. JJ watches as you scratch something into the metal of your lighter. He takes another hit of the joint as you do so, managing better this second time around. As he goes to hand it back, you trade him for your lighter. 

“Here,” you say, passing it to him. He takes it and looks at your inscription. JJ. His lips twitch in a smile. Glancing to you, you light-heartedly explain, “your first stoner lighter.”

As you finish taking another drag, the teacher’s footsteps sound from down the hall. Cool as a cat, you put the joint out on the underside of your chair and slip it back into a little metal box decorated with Powerpuff Girls stickers. It slips safely into your bag just as the teacher rounds into the room. At first, JJ worries you’re caught, as the teacher’s finger singles you out. But then he tosses his thumb over his shoulder. 

“Your dad’s here early to pick you up,” he tells you. 

If you’re happy to be leaving early, you don’t show it. If JJ didn’t know better, he’d even say you’re reluctant as you pack up your stuff. Shucking your backpack over your shoulder, you flash JJ a smile, rising to your feet. 

“Well, hopefully I’ll see you around, Maybank.”

“Yeah, same here,” JJ says, smiling. 

You walk past the desk and head out the door. JJ’s sure it’s the effect of you rather than the weed that leaves him feeling more dazed than ever before in his life. 

Two Years Later

What better way to lay-low than by throwing a kegger? JJ’s logic was undisputed. Not only had he encouraged the Pogues to hang onto the money and the gun that they'd found in the motel room, but he also got them to throw a last-minute gathering at the Boneyard. Honestly, his genius should be rewarded. 

As he mingles through the ever growing crowd, the sun growing darker by the minutes, JJ peruses the options. Some tourons had shown up: clueless but eager as they got roped into drinking games and conversations, and hit on constantly by locals. The kooks were mostly keeping to themselves, happy to drink the beers and cans brought by the people on the cut. Typical. Pearl catches JJ’s eye and she tips her cup at him in greeting from across the way, a seductive glint in her eyes and a telling message in her smile. JJ lazily tosses a hand up in return. They’d hooked up a few times now but he wasn’t feeling it tonight.

As if guided by fate, you come perfectly into JJ’s line of sight. You’re drinking from a red solo cup, chatting with some of your friends, pretty in an oversized tee and shorts. Again, just as you had in detention two years prior, your eyes catch onto his. This time, you smile. Saying something to your friend before heading over to JJ (who’s half certain he hit his head earlier and might be hallucinating). 

“Enjoying yourself?” JJ asks the minute you’re in front of him. He’s taller now. Ever growing in his confidence; sex does that to a guy. It makes them feel invincible. 

“I’m guessing your group is the one to thank for this kegger then?” 

JJ grins. “We know how to throw a good party.”

“I’ll say,” you smile. “I wish there was more music though.”

“You dance?”

“Sometimes. If I’m with the right person,” comes your sly response, smiling up at him. “You look different since detention.”

JJ would like to think so: that was two years ago. “Really? Different how?”

“Taller. Fitter.”

“Hotter?”

You laugh as you say, “you’re pretty sure of yourself, huh?”

“I was told confidence is sexy,” JJ returns. “What’d you think?”

You don’t say anything but JJ knows he isn’t crazy when you take a sip of your drink, your eyes scanning over his body leisurely as you do. You give a small hum. 

“So, got tired of the purple?” JJ asks, gesturing to your hair. It’s long now and seemingly your natural hue again, like it was that day at the pier all those years ago. There’s now little strands of tinsel in it that reflect different colours in a silverish shine depending on how the light hits it. Your nose ring is new too, though JJ noticed that the minute you had that done. He noticed you a lot, even if he never spoke to you. You never did to him so he just assumed to stay clear. Besides, there was a rumour that you went out with Tommy Peach a few months back and JJ didn’t feel like getting his ass handed to him. JJ was good at fighting now, as unfortunate as that was to admit, and he was aware he was in good shape, but Tommy was feral and tall. God knows why you wanted to go out with a scumbag like that, but JJ supposed he wasn’t much of a step up either. 

“My dad hated it,” you say. “And I wanted a change.”

“Shame. I liked the purple.”

“So you don’t like it like this?” you wonder. “Bummer. I was gonna try and shoot my shot with you but guess I’ve lost my chance…”

JJ’s eyes somehow don’t fall out of his head. He chuckles, almost nervously, and clears his throat. “Say what?”

You roll your eyes . “When a girl gives you her lighter and says she hopes she sees you around, JJ, it’s her way of saying ‘you’re cute, we should hang’.”

Oh. 

Laughing, as if hearing his inner monologue, you shrug. “Guess I got tired of waiting for you to make the first move. Lucky for you, I’m two beers in and that seems like enough confidence to come over”

“Two beers? I don’t wanna be taking advantage of you,” JJ teases, making you laugh. 

“Can’t believe you’re accusing me of being a lightweight when you nearly died after smoking your first joint.”

“Woah! Low blow!”

“I thought I’d murdered you! I was scared you were allergic or some shit,” you giggle. 

JJ grins down at you and tries to retrace his steps to how he got here, stood on the beach, talking to you and having you actively hit on him. It feels like a wet dream he’d concoct on lonely nights. He stays in that borderline stupor as the two of you talk and talk. You’re funny, but JJ already knew that, and you’re an adrenaline junky too, but JJ knew that as well. The two of you like the same kind of music so that leads to a huge discussion which almost becomes an argument of who was better: Kid Cudi or J. Cole? The more the drinks flow, the more your hand finds solace on his thigh, and the more his on yours. Soon enough JJ's foot’s rubbing leisurely at your ankle, personal space a long disputed myth, and he’s fighting the urge to kiss you. He’s not sure why he’s dragging it out when you’re obviously into him. Maybe he just wants to keep the anticipation alive for a little bit longer. After all, he’s wanted this since he was eight years old. 

The moment is interrupted by someone hollering your name. As you look up, JJ realises how dark it is. It’s officially night now with the moon high in the sky. A few people have pulled on sweaters as the evening has cooled, especially with the seafront breeze, but JJ feels burning hot. He spots someone waving at you and beside them is a girl crouched in the sand. You cuss and get up. 

“That’s my friend. I better go help,” you hurriedly explain. You pass JJ your empty cup and give an apologetic smile. Then, you press a brief kiss to his lips. It's so brief that it barely feels real, and JJ doesn’t register it until you’re already walking away. “I’ll be back soon! Sorry!”

JJ watches as you hurry over and help out your vomiting buddy. Sighing, bummed, he looks around and tries to track down his friends. The alcohol hits him when he stands, flooding from his brain, down to his body like ice cold water. He staggers for only a moment in the direction of John B, filling up the cups in his hands on the way as if willingly ignoring his body’s messages. He whistles out to catch his best friend’s attention, offering him one of the cup’s of beer. But Sarah Cameron and her douchebag boyfriend Topper make their way past, and something inside of JJ seeks mayhem. He offers it out to her instead but Topper tries to lay claim. 

“That’s nice of you man, but I didn’t ask you,” JJ returns. “If you said ‘pretty please’, maybe. But you didn’t.”

“Oh! Pretty please!” a squiffy Topper checks. 

“Yeah,” JJ replies. “So, Sarah, I promise–”

The beer hits JJ’s face in a non-refreshing wake-up. His anger tips quick like a nuclear bomb. His hands come up to Topper’s shirt, grabbing him before shoving him back. John B’s hand comes up to JJ’s chest, firmly trying to hold him back. 

“You’re so funny man!” JJ sarcastically urges. Before he can push it further, Topper says something that has John B lurching at him and soon enough, a full on fist fight begins. Pope is quick to intervene with JJ, holding him back, and no matter how much the latter struggles, he can’t seem to get to his best friend. Concerning seeps into the anger as he watches Topper lay into John B, kicking him into the water. And then pride when John B starts to fight back. “Give it to him, man!”

The night feels as though it’s split into two as JJ loses himself in watching the fight. His conversation with you might have happened years ago as his attention homes in on the flying fists and chants of the watchers. And then it all turns sour. Topper holds John B down into the water, face smushed into the sand, and all he can hear is Sarah begging for him to stop. JJ fidgets nervously, eager to do something, unsure of what. Then, another genius idea. 

It feels out of body as he retrieves the gun and checks the safety. As he makes his way over to the water and presses it against Topper’s head. It doesn’t feel like he’s in control of his body when JJ clicks the safety off. Topper stills beneath him.

“Yeah, you know what that is,” he warns through clenched teeth. “Your move, broski.”

Nothing but the waves. Nothing but his heartbeat. Nothing but John B’s choked breathes in the water. 

“Put the gun down!”

“Did you say something, princess?” JJ asks Sarah, focus on Topper’s hands. Eventually, they lift off John B’s weak body. The rich asshole repeats that they’re good and JJ shoves him down. But he’s still so angry. He’s always so angry. The mentality comes back from when he first started school. Never be the weak one. Never let them get the upper hand. Assert your dominance. He raises the gun into the air and turns to the dying crowd. “Okay, everyone, listen up! Get the hell off our side of the island!”

The gun fires twice, the recoil minimal. It cracks in the silence of the night. A few people scream, alarmed, and then they start to run. 

JJ comes back to his body when Kiara shoves him. An argument breaks out between himself, Pope and Kie, and as the two others rush to help John B (who collapses back into the waves), JJ finally remembers the night. The whole night. He remembers you. As he looks out into the mass of bodies rushing away from the scene of the almost crime, he spots you. You look conflicted, for only a second, and then you leave too. 

Shit. 

The next day, JJ kills the time in the mid-morning with target practice in the back yard. The cops had swung by earlier and he thought it right to celebrate keeping the gun. Your whistle sounds like a birdcall. JJ’s head whips around at the sound, startled, and it seems to amuse you. He lowers his gun and frowns, confused at the sight of you. 

“How d’you know I live here?”

“I have my sources,” you smile, tapping the side of your nose. You wander leisurely into his back yard toward him as if you’ve been there thousands of times before. Nodding to the gun in his hand, you quirk a brow. “So, they didn’t take it off you?”

“Let me off with a warning,” JJ shrugs. “They couldn’t find the gun and have no proof that I kept it…”

“Ah. Loopholes,” you hum. 

When you come to a pause beside him, JJ awkwardly scratches the back of his neck. “Look, I’m real sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“Freak me out how?” you frown. 

“With the whole…gun…thing.”

Laughing, you shake your head. “That ain’t why I left JJ.”

“It ain’t?”

“No! I mean, Topper looked as though he wasn’t gonna let up, so,” you say, shrugging in agreement with JJ’s previous actions. “I just can’t go back to prison anytime soon. My dad’ll kill me.”

“Back to prison?” JJ says. He shouldn’t be as impressed (or turned on) by that as he is. 

“Ooo, the big scary place, I know,” you grin, teasing, before randomly making a grab for the gun. JJ barks out a laugh, holding it up and out of reach. “Come on! Lemme have a go!”

“You ever shoot before?” JJ asks, eyeing you up. 

Rolling your eyes, you nod. “We have a BB in our house that I fire around all the time. I wanna see how this one feels.”

“I don’t know. I shouldn’t give a weapon to a known criminal, right?” JJ says, tone almost flirtatious. 

“Come on. You can do the whole ‘let me show you’ thing.”

Lowering the gun, JJ chuckles, befuddled. “The what?”

“You know! When guys wanna feel a girl up they pretend to teach them how to do stuff. Like a tennis instructor or something. They’re all like ‘let me show you’.”

“You tellin’ me you got a tennis instructor?” 

“Yeah, and a mansion with three yachts - now come on!”

Shaking his head, laughing, JJ relents. He hands you the gun, safety on, and partly to follow along with your joke, but mostly to feel your body close to his, JJ stands almost fully behind you. He checks which is your dominant hand and guides your arms up into position. He shifts the position of your fingers. Your hair catches slightly in the wind and the smell of fruit and herbs dulls his senses. When he speaks again, you giggle. 

“Your breath tickles,” you mutter. 

“It does?” JJ checks, purposefully speaking even closer against the skin of your neck. You squirm and laugh and JJ has no idea how any of this happened, but he sure as hell isn’t complaining. “You gotta keep still.” 

As if to coax you to do so, JJ plants one of his hands on the side of your waist. Your breathing seems to catch with that, all giggles dead on your tongue, and JJ struggles to bite back his smirk. His chin rests comfortably on your shoulder as he follows your line of vision. You click the safety off under his instruction and then fire. He feels the power of the gun run down your arms, the recoil making your body jilt only slightly. Clicking the safety on again, you lower the gun and turn your head. Eyes half-hooded, you look up from his lips into his eyes. JJ notices a small, relatively fresh cut under your eye. Was that there last night? That train of thought derails when your tongue peaks out, dampening your lips. JJ loses all patience. His lips are on yours, kissing you, hand tightening just so on your side. You carelessly drop the gun to the floor and turn in his hold. Hands on his face, on his shoulders, around his neck, in his hair…JJ kisses you until he’s not sure what his name is anymore. Even then, he kisses you still. 

From there, the two of you were intertwined in one another’s lives. There was no other way to put it: JJ adored you. It was as if you constantly shared a common thought: JJ had never met someone so like himself. Two sides of the same stone. The Pogues noticed it easily. You didn’t exactly have to ask to join the gang. The fact that JJ trusted you enough to bring you around spoke volumes to his friends. They’d never met one of his previous situationships or flings before, and from that they could recognise this was something different. Seeing the two of you together just drove that point home faster. Birds of a feather. When the wild goose chase surrounding the Royal Merchant cropped up, you joined that too. Pope joked that there was something wrong with your amygdala, which upon explanation meant that you seemed to have a pretty low fear factor. It came after you literally wrestled Barry for the gun when they got held at gunpoint. All you’d done was shrug and said that you’d known “true fear” and that wasn’t it. Nobody knew what that meant, including JJ, but he had a feeling that he might after he dropped you home one time. 

The Chateau had become almost as familiar to you as it was to JJ. The pair of you had claimed the porch as your go-to smoking spot. One Tuesday afternoon, you sit sprawled in the armchair: head on one armrest and legs swung over the other. Your now lilac highlighted hair dangles in two braids. JJ is keeping himself entertained by tracing his eyes up and down your legs, over your stomach and chest, up to your dozed out face, and back again. The two of you were smoking hash, passing it back and forth leisurely, sharing mindless musings about life and the world and what things might be like if you actually found the gold. 

“I’d buy a house,” you say. 

“Lame.”

“A big house,” you continue, ignoring him and gesturing in front of you as if visualising it. “It’d be pastel blue with big white shutter-style windows and a wrap-around porch. There’d be one of those porch swings sat out front. Oh! And flowers. A shit ton of flowers.”

“You can’t even keep a cactus alive,” JJ snorts. 

“I’d hire a gardener. Duh,” you say, rolling your eyes. 

“Anything else?” JJ wonders. He keeps a mental checklist: blue house; white shutters…

“A dog,” you smile. “And a cat.”

“Alright then.” Maybe it’s the manner that he says it that has you looking at him, amused. “I’ll do it.”

“You’ll ‘do it’?” you chuckle, raising your brows. 

“Yeah. When we find the gold–”

“If we find the gold–”

“When,” JJ insists, making you laugh, “I’ll get you your house and your dog.”

“Don’t forget the cat,” you warn, pointing at him. 

“Christ, lady! And your cat.”

“Good,” you smile.

You look back to the ceiling and slip your eyes shut, sighing contentedly. JJ chuckles, shaking his head, gazing at you as if you sculpted the planets and personally hung them in the solar system. It’s short lived bliss, however, because your phone pings. Then again, and again, until it’s nothing but an ongoing buzz of noise. JJ frowns at it and you quickly reach over to the window ledge where it’s precariously sat. The moment your eyes scan the screen, you sit up. Everything about your demeanour shifts. JJ sees the second you switch to panic. 

“I gotta go,” you mumble. You swing your legs off the sofa and stand. JJ’s quick to follow. 

“Everything okay?”

“I just gotta go home right now,” you reply, already making your way down the porch steps. JJ ditches the spoon pipe on the coffee table and catches up. 

“I’ll take you on my bike,” he says, grabbing your hand and guiding you to it. You don’t argue and he doesn’t ask for an explanation for the urgency. Wordlessly, the two of you climb on - your arms tethering around his middle - and JJ starts the engine. Speed limits become a pleasantry rather than a courtesy as JJ speeds to your house. Your phone doesn’t let up the whole journey and with every ping, JJ bumps it up by another mile per hour. It’s a skidding halt when he stops outside your house. He’d only been there a handful of times before, usually to pick you up. Similarly to JJ, you didn’t like going home all that much. You’re climbing off the bike before JJ shuts the engine off. Seemingly at the sound of the engine, your dad emerges in the front door. You turn to JJ. He doesn’t recognise the look on your face. 

It terrifies him. 

“JJ, you have to leave - now,” you tell him. 

He frowns, brows tugging together. “What’re you–”

“Just leave. Go. Please, JJ,” you push, glancing between him and your approaching father. Something softens in your tone, akin to desperation. “Please.”

JJ looks to your dad just as he passes the threshold of the porch, then looks to you once more as if needing approval. You nod as if understanding. The same thought, always shared. Then JJ’s turning tightly in the makeshift drive of your house and starting off down the road before your dad reaches you. He acutely registers the funny feeling, tight in his chest as if something was squeezing his heart and lungs in a vice. It was the same feeling JJ got whenever he went home. 

The same feeling JJ got whenever he saw his own father. 

As the months went on, the relationship you and JJ shared was soaked in marjuana and sweat. Smoking in the morning and fucking through the night. Not only did you encourage JJ’s idiocy, but you joined it. It was as if you were there to enable the other. Shoplifting beers, pier jumping in the thick of night, skinny dipping before dusk, pulling crazy stunts with the others that nearly wound up getting you killed more times to count. But just like JJ, you were loyal. It was as if the minute you became a Pogue, you wore it like a military title, nothing short of honoured. You’d lay your life down for the group and for the hunt for gold.

JJ wasn’t sure who said I love you first. He’s not even sure if either of you ever said it. You don’t have to say I love you to say I love you. Besides, two avoidant, daddy issue riddled teenagers didn’t make for the most textbook healthy relationship. The two of you would fight and it was bad when you did. But it was a rarity. There was little time for blow-out arguments when you were running from one place to another, chasing lead after lead. Hell, even when you seemed to have time to breathe, something else always came up. 

“I never make good grades in school. When I get out, I act like a fool. I come in the party and cause a commotion. Yeah, I’m smooth they call me lotion.”

JJ cracks up with the others, breaking his beatboxing rhythm, as Pope loses his verse. He has a more than comfortable buzz going: energised by the beer and mellowed out by the weed. JJ thought he could handle his stuff well until he met you. This was the first time in a long time the two of you had properly partied together, outside of sharing a joint or doing edibles on an evening. You were about seven cans deep, one joint smoked and two lines of coke snorted. Your hair, now red, was damp from the hot tub; your nose ring sparkling in the disco ball’s reflecting light. JJ tried to keep his attention on the gang but no matter what, his eyes kept running back to you. The bikini top you’re wearing is truly a cruel design. Whoever invented it hated anybody who admired the female figure: they designed it to torture them. The liquor certainly didn’t help the situation, nor did your knowing glances and sly smiles. 

"Think Kanye might have some serious competition there," you sardonically quip.

“Alright, alright, let’s hear it then,” Pope challenges, turning the focus to you. Everyone ooo’s dramatically as you laugh. You take a hit of your freshly rolled joint and shrug. As you rise out of the water, moving to sit on the outer edge of the hot tub, the gang erupts into cheers. JJ's mesmerised by the way the droplets of water race down over your tits, trickling down your chest.

“Okay, alright, well someone gimme a beat, at least,” you say. 

JJ’s happy to indulge. Laughing, you bop your head along and try to follow. 

“I failed the first grade in school, but my teacher told me I’m a cool dude. The kids in the playground scattered, cause my bars would leave them battered–”

The gang whoops and you crack up, trying desperately to stay on track. JJ’s trying desperately not to stare at your chest and lose track of his makeshift beat. 

“When I fuck they call me lewd, cause I get freaky when I’m in the wrong mood. My boy never seems to complain, but his dick might be in some pain.”

JJ practically chokes on his laughter. There’s a symphony of cheers and jests and (in Pope’s case) groans from the others, and you throw your hands up in surrender. 

“Y’all asked for it! I’m jus’ saying!” you giggle, sinking back into the water. You take another hit of your joint and wink across to JJ. His dick twitches uselessly in his swim shorts as you do so. Such a fucking tease.   

“You two were made for each other, Goddamn,” Kiara chuckles.

The pair of you laugh it off but JJ feels his heart stir at the notion. Maybe it’s the weed talking or the alcohol intoxicating his thoughts, but the more time JJ spends with you, the more he’s certain that you two were meant to find each other. There’s no other explanation for it. You were an entire world in one small human being, filled with stories and secrets, some of which he might never know, but most he’d spend his life wanting to. 

As the night stretches on and the drinks continue to flow, the mood simmers down from a bubbly celebration to an almost sentimental reunion. The hot tub has been abandoned as the mosquitos began to gather and the air began to cool, and JJ was sick of hearing you and Sarah drop hints about how you were “turning pruney.” So now you sit in the deck chairs with Kiara and Sarah and John B, watching JJ and Pope wrestle. Grappling on Pope’s upper arms, JJ tries to get the upper leg. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, go for the leg,” he lightly encourages his lesser violent friend. With that, Pope tackles JJ onto the floor. He hits the ground with a gentle smack. “You got a new technique now, huh?”

Pope rises in victory, pretty drunk, arms in the air. JJ laughs, sitting up to notice a beer extended out to him in offer from you. He takes it with a grin, having two large swigs. 

“I’m done. I’m out of here,” Pope announces to nobody in particular, walking away from the campfire. 

“You want a round two?” 

“Yeah, I think I’ll take my losses,” Pope replies. JJ begins wandering back over to you with a shrug just as Kiara suddenly gets up from her seat. She flashes Sarah some kind of look that girls must track better than boys, as Sarah and yourself gape at her. 

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. Way to be discreet!” JJ hollers after them. When he steals Kiara’s chair, sitting beside you, you’re still giggling. 

“Okay, am I just oblivious or did nobody else notice them vibing on each other?” you wonder, looking to the others. 

“Dude. Seriously?” JJ sniggers. 

“I didn’t notice!”

“How could you not– You know what? It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. Only one of us needs to be the love expert here,” JJ reassures, stretching his arm out over the back of your chair in what he thinks is a rather suave manner. You snort, gently brushing it off. 

“Love expert? Uh-huh. Sure, kiddo.”

“Kiddo,” John B mutters, amused. 

JJ scoffs, grinning at you. “Oh really?”

“Yep,” you return, not quite sure what you’re arguing over now. JJ decides to put an end to it by squeezing the sides of your exposed stomach, tickling your skin and causing you to squirm. As he does so, John B mumbles something about being out of beer. Sarah follows him and leaves you and JJ in the company of the music, the cicadas and chickens. 

“Thought you danced,” JJ says, referring to the music, thinking back to the night at the kegger. 

“I might do later.”

JJ just nods and the two of you smile at one another, the playfulness of the moment easing away the same way the arousal had earlier in the hottub. 

“You’re so handsome,” you quietly tell him. "My good looking boy, huh?"

JJ chuckles, looking down, bashful whenever you threw compliments like that at him. He could handle ‘sexy’ or ‘hot’ rather well, took them in stride, but words like handsome were like flakes of gold being sprinkled in his hair. They felt valuable, especially when they came from your mouth. Not always the best with words, JJ thanks the self-medication for what falls out of his mouth next. 

“You’re the prettiest Goddamn thing on this planet.”

You’re visibly stunned and JJ wants to high-five himself. Giving him a coy smile, you lean your head back against your seat, staring into the star scattered sky. 

“God, I could just stay here forever,” you sigh. 

JJ mimics your actions. He traces the stars and tries to see if he can make constellations of your face. He glances at you and notices how they reflect on your eyes, as if scattering diamonds into your irises to make them shimmer. Your skin is kissed amber by the fairy lights strung in the branches above. Everything just makes you glow: ethereal. A foot kicking his own snaps JJ out of his lovesick stupor. A rather amused John B smirks knowingly down at him. 

“It’s creepy to stare, man,” John B joshingly berates. 

“He does it all the time,” you mumble. “That’s why I asked him out.”

Sarah laughs at that and you crack up too, but before another conversation can begin, your laughter dies down and your brows furrow. 

“What was that?” John B asks, as if reading your mind. 

“Your chickens?” JJ wonders, having heard nothing but the incessant clucking of the birds. 

“It sounded like a car door,” you mumble. JJ, distracted, begins to cluck like a chicken, hoping to lighten the mood, more drunk than he thought he was, but your hand presses over his mouth to silence him. You rise to your feet slowly and JJ decides to follow. He squints into the distance. 

“I think someone’s here,” John B mutters. 

“Up the trees. Quickly” you instruct, fast to take action. 

You shut off the music as Sarah hurries to put out the fire. JJ decides to help her, tossing handfuls of sand atop of the flames. He looks to the tree to find you already a decent way up. He stands by the bottom of the other tree with John B to help give Sarah a boost, aware of the fragility of her stitches, and then lets John B go up before himself. He settles on the same branch as you, a hand protectively settling on your waist. You’d already taken a rather reckless course of action in Charleston with Renfield, trying to tackle the taser from his hands to buy all of you more time to run. In case you felt the urge to drop from the trees in some surprise attack, JJ could now hold you back. 

Sure enough, only a couple of minutes later, Rafe and Barry creep into the backyard. JJ feels you stiffen and he tightens his grip just slightly in reassurance. They didn’t know you were in the trees. God bless your quick thinking. Barry makes his way into the house, gun raised and ready, whilst Rafe studies the spots you’d all been relaxing in only moments prior. 

“Where the hell are you?” he mumbles to himself. 

None of you speak. None of you dare breathe let alone move. JJ looks to John B and Sarah, who look just as troubled as he feels. Rafe was unpredictable. Unstrung. And it was easy to assume that JJ was not on Barry’s nice list, that was for sure. As they sit and lie in wait, praying not to be spotted, Barry and Rafe seem to decide that nobody’s home. As he’s about to take a sigh of relief, Rafe fires the gun up into the trees. His heart jumps and his chest heaves. The bullet ricochets off the trunk of the tree near his back. You flinch in JJ’s hold at the gunshots and the shock nearly has you losing your balance. JJ quickly shifts his hand higher up your side, leaning as close to you as physically possible to whisper in your ear. 

“I got you,” he reassures. 

Barry thankfully ushers Rafe away at that point but none of you dare move until you the car is long out of sight. Sighing, you relax against JJ and him against you. It was ironic how the two of you were no strangers to violence and yet, the same spark of fear was alight anytime either of you were faced with it.  

You see, the same way ‘I love you’ didn’t need an explanation, neither did yours and JJ’s homelives. JJ never intended to introduce you to his father and he never met yours. More times than not, you’d meet and hang and sleep at the Chateau. If you spent time at one of your two house’s, it was when it was empty. The cuts and bruises that would appear on either of your bodies never came with questioning. Somehow, someway, the two of you knew how and where. You’d soundlessly clean them and console the other and the whole thing would be as forgotten as a terrorist attack: over, in the back of the mind, but never fully erased. The anger JJ felt whenever he saw you after you’d had a run-in with your father was different to that which he felt when he had a run-in with his own. Deeper, darker, more vengeful. One night, it reached its crux. 

JJ wakes up with a start. At first he isn’t sure what snapped him out of sleep. Then, he hears it again. A faint creaking in the floorboards from the main body of his house. His house that he now lives in alone. What if his dad came back? JJ gets out of bed dressed in nothing but a pair of sweatpant shorts. He slowly picks up a spanner that’s laying on his bedroom floor, ditched after a day trying to switch out the deck of his skateboard, and pushes his door open carefully. He slowly inches down the almost pitch-black hallway. The only light is that from the window: moonbeams that shine through the glass. 

At the sight of your silhouette, JJ lets out a heavy sigh. The spanner falls to the ground with an echoing thud. 

“Jesus Christ, you scared the crap outta me,” JJ says with a relieved laugh. He makes his way across the room to you but his smile fades when he notices how stiff you are. “You a’right?”

This close, he can begin to make out your face through the dark. It’s haunting.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” JJ breathes, horrified.

Dark bags sit under your eyes which are hollowed out as if you’d been lost at sea, a vacant stare that almost looks past him. Your lip is quivering. Small, shaky, shallow breaths come in and out of your mouth. The worst part? The blood. 

His hands fly up toward your face and your eyes clamp shut quickly as preparing for a hit. JJ freezes before he touches your skin, slowing his movements, trying to ease his own panic. His eyes scan your features, counting the injuries, trying to see the damage beneath the gore.

“What the fuck happened?”

You don’t talk. Nothing but that same ominous silence. You’re in shock. JJ’s seen it before from when he pulled over at a motorcycle crash. It’s as if the mind retreats in on itself and guards from the unpredictable. JJ swallows and clenches his jaw, trying to steal himself. 

“A’right, we, uh, we gotta clean you up,” he manages. He carefully links his fingers through yours and feels your barely tangible grip. Then he guides you into the bathroom. Lowers you gently onto the toilet seat. In his peripheral vision, he sees no sign of movement or acknowledgement as he retrieves the beloved first aid kit from the bathroom cupboard. It balances precariously on the edge of the sink as he digs about for cleaning supplies. 

JJ starts with your face. Your upper lip is busted at the edge, coated in dry blood but already beginning to scab. When you get in as many bruise ups as JJ, you learn to have a strange appreciation and fascination with the human body in how it heals. The antiseptic must sting but you don’t even blink. You just stare past him. Even before, you’d never been this detached. You might be angry or frustrated or even upset, but never absent. Never this. The blood around your eye comes from a gash just across your right brow. There’s an impressive bruise on the apple of your left cheek and a telling pink handprint that refuses to fade on your right. The fury begins to chip at JJ’s resolve.

Following your bizarre routine, JJ moves to unbutton your shirt, to check for any signs of internal bleeding, broken ribs, open cuts or ugly bruises across your upper body. The minute his fingers brush your sternum, your hands fly up. He’s not even sure how he winds up on the floor and it takes a moment to piece together the seconds and register that it was you. Frowning, thoroughly alarmed, JJ’s head shoots up to find your chest heaving. You make a noise as if you’re crying but no tears fall. His lips part in horror and his mind scrambles for any explanation other than the obvious. 

“Woah, woah, woah, hey,” JJ hurries, rocking onto his knees and planting his hands reassuringly on yours. Your whole body is shaking. “It’s a’right, yeah? Jus’ me. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

Your eyes clamp shut and the tears begin to fall.

"You're safe now."

After a trembling inhale, you begin to sob. Heartbroken, hideous, harrowing sobs. JJ feels tears swirl in his waterline at the sight and sound. He knew you better than anyone - better than the Lord himself - and to see you so far from who you are was like seeing someone’s body turn inside out. Unsure of what to do, he wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace and lets you fall into him.

You just cry. 

Later, JJ sits outside the bathroom. His back is pressed against the door. Inside, he can hear the slosh of the bath water from time to time when you shift. He meddles with the rings on his fingers. His teeth gnaw on his lower lip. JJ assesses his options. He knows the “right” thing to do and he knows the “wrong” thing to do, and he knows the one he prefers out of the two, even if he shouldn't. His eyes flit over to the pile of your clothes that he’d taken out the room with him, back turned to give you privacy when you changed (as if you hadn’t given your body to him countless times before). The blood stained shirt. The shorts that had a telling rip at the crotch, the zip practically shattered. The missing panties. His throat turns thick and his eyes clench shut, forehead falling down against his clenched fists. He tries desperately to breathe through the anger. Before he can reach any sort of conclusion, he hears you get out of the bathtub. A few minutes later, the twisting doorknob prompts him to stand. You stand dressed in his clothes and offer him a small smile, and JJ feels his whole body sigh with relief. 

“How you feelin’?” JJ asks. 

You shrug, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Exhausted.”

“Anything hurting still?”

“No,” you say. You walk past him and into his bedroom and he follows. Climbing onto his bed, you wrap yourself up on his side in the blankets. JJ heads to the kitchen to grab some water and pain meds before coming back and joining you, sitting against the headrest, unsure whether to touch you or not. You seem to answer the question for him. You cuddle into his side and nestle your head against his upper chest. His hands coil safely around your body, holding you close, and he plants a kiss on top of your head. Then he finally speaks. 

“We need to go to the cops.”

You sigh and close your eyes. “JJ, no–”

“You don’t even gotta press charges but they have to know.”

“I don’t want to do that.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because you know how it is, JJ,” you argue, sitting up to face him. “It’s my word against his and he never technically did anything. They’ll take one look at him and listen to my story, and then probably get me to recount it a million times over to a million other strangers. To a million other men. It’s humiliating and it’s pointless and I don’t want to do it.”

“It ain’t pointless and there’s nothing humiliating about it,” JJ insists. “You’re the victim here–”

“Don’t call me that,” you snap, glaring at him. 

Sighing, JJ closes his eyes and clenches the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his cool. The last thing you need tonight is another fight. Besides, it’s not as if you’re wrong. JJ trusted the police as far as he could throw them; he didn’t doubt that they’d be useless. But the thought of you going back to your dad and for him to get away with what he did…JJ didn’t know what other option you really had. Your fingers gently wrap around JJ’s hand, easing it away from his face, coaxing his eyes to meet yours. 

“Two more months, JJ.”

He sighs again but you’re quick to continue. 

“Two more months and I’m eighteen and he isn’t my legal guardian anymore! I don’t have to deal with the whole rigged court system or with a foster home - I can just be rid of him for good.”

“Two more months? You think I’m gonna let you go back there for two more months after this?” JJ scoffs, eyeing up your injuries. His stomach churns and jaw ticks at the thought of what could’ve happened if you hadn’t managed to get the upper hand. You sigh and look away. 

“I don’t know…Maybe he won’t do it again.”

“If he does it once, he’ll do it again,” JJ mutters. He remembers having the same thought the first time his dad hit him. It was an accident. He apologised. He didn’t mean it. By the end, JJ was on cloud nine if he went a week without a smack. But your situation was somehow even heavier than that. His stomach churns again. 

“I don’t know,” you repeat, sounding nothing short of defeated. 

JJ just tugs you back against his chest. You trace a finger over his chest in swirling patterns as if personifying the state of his mind. Maybe you could live with JJ. I mean, you practically already did. The two of you were rarely away from the Chateau these days, and once you were eighteen - just as you said - your dad had no hold on you. Maybe if the Pogues could get the cross then JJ could finally afford that big pastel blue house for you, with the wrap around porch, and guard dogs to sick ‘em anytime your dad came within a fifty mile radius of you. Maybe–

JJ’s eyes widen. It hits him. His best idea to date. 

“Marry me.”

JJ isn’t sure he actually said it for a while because you don’t speak. You don’t even move. 

“What did you just say?” 

“Marry me.”

You immediately start to laugh. You shake your head against his chest. “Jesus Christ. Did you slip and hit your bed whilst I was in the bathtub?”

“I’m serious. Marry me,” JJ says. Maybe it’s his tone that cuts off your hysterics. You quickly break out of his hold again and look at him, studying his expression. Your eyes widen. 

“Holy shit, you really are serious,” you mumble. 

“Marry me,” JJ repeats as if those are the only words he knows how to say. 

You laugh, bewildered, “JJ, we’re seventeen.”

“So.”

“So? So…We’re seventeen!” you cackle. “We can’t get married JJ.”

“Who says?” JJ shrugs, beginning to smile. You haven’t said no. 

“Um let’s see,” you mumble, lifting your fingers to count. “The court…The law…Our parents.”

“We don’t have parents.”

“Maybe not good or present ones, but we still have legal guardians, JJ.”

“Those are all technicals–”

“-Technicalities-”

“-Whatever. Point is, those are irrelevant,” JJ says, wafting it away. His hands grab yourself in a tight clutch. Your mouth remains perfectly parted, slightly upturned at the corners. It only pushes his smile. “I know you’re it for me. I ain’t good at all the sappy-dappy-love-crap, but I’ve been in love with you since I was a kid–”

“--JJ–”

“--And I don’t want anybody else! Ever. We’re a team, ain’t we? Hunt for gold together, spend our life together.” When you study him in silence for a while, JJ tags on, “I mean, I’m gonna do it eventually so I might as well do it now.”

“That is insane reasoning to propose, JJ,” you laugh, shaking your head at him. Even if your face is half beaten beyond recognition, JJ knows you’re the most beautiful girl on the planet. The moment he knew he shared the same earth as you, JJ wanted you to be in his life. And you still haven’t said no. 

“I love you,” JJ says, plain and simple. Shaking his head slightly, he grins. “P4L, right? I mean, we really got nothing to lose here.”

You stare at him and scoff, quiet and underbreath, almost fascinated. Your eyes slip shut and JJ begins to grin because he knows. A deep, heavy sigh, and you laugh again. 

“God help me, I must have gone crazy,” you mutter. Your eyes open into his. Then you smile the prettiest smile the world has ever seen. “Yes. I’ll marry you, JJ Maybank.”

JJ wastes no time in connecting his lips with yours. You giggle against them, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, holding him closer and closer. When you break apart, barely a hair’s width between your damp lips, you smile as you speak. 

“My good looking boy.” 

Five Years Later

Whiskey isn’t quite caramel. No, it’s more tawny. More gingerbread coloured, especially in this hue, illuminated by the crappy bar lighting hanging above JJ’s head. His knuckles knock against the side of the cool glass, mesmerised by the sound of his metal rings clinking, distracted in his drunken haze by the bobbing of the three ice cubes in the liquor. 

“JJ.”

His head sluggishly lifts at the sound of his name. He comes face to face with the long-time bartender, Corbin. 

“It’s last orders, man. You wanting a refill?” Corbin asks. 

JJ sighs and shakes his head. “Nah, I better not. What time is it?”

“It’s nearly one,” Corbin replies. 

JJ nods then repeats, “nah, I better not.”

“You wanting to settle up for that now?” he wonders, glancing down at JJ’s half full drink. 

JJ swallows and rubs tiredly at his eyes. “I, uh…Just put it on my tab for now, a’right?”

Corbin sighs. “Look, JJ. I’ve known you a long time so I’ve been letting it slide but this tab’s starting to stack up. You gotta pay it sometime.”

JJ shoots him a glare; his emotions twisted by the alcohol. “And I’m gonna. I just…Things are a lil’ tight right now so I can’t settle it just yet.”

Corbin decides not to push the topic. He does as he’s asked and adds JJ’s three whiskey on ice beverages to his resume-like tab. When he leaves to square things away at some other end of the bar, JJ glances around the room. 

Corbin’s bar, Grub Bucket, hadn’t changed in anybody’s lifetime. JJ could recall coming out here as a kid on the hunt for his dad and sneaking past the intimidating bikers out front, weaving through the drunken fools of Kildare to find his dad almost paralytic near the pool tables. The smell was the same too: musty and beer drenched and tired. JJ wonders if he finds the smell comforting - nostalgic maybe. At the sight of several patrons leaving through the door into the pitch-black night, JJ remembers himself and the time, and he downs the last of his drink. The bitter sting is soothing on his tongue and eases the ache, and it goes down easy like a crisp, cool apple juice back in grade school. 

He staggers out the bar and stumbles the familiar route home. It’s as engraved in his mind as the journey to the shops or the docks. Home appears through thick overgrowth. It’s a piece of shit trailer, obvious even in this lighting, that’s discoloured and dirty on the exterior. There are weeds that protrude from below the body of the home and gas canisters lined beside overflowing trash cans and countless fishing, surf and mechanic crap. The recycling bin is always full of empty wine bottles and cans of beer. 

The stairs creak in concern as he makes his way up them. The third is broken in the middle and even intoxicated, he has the sense to avoid it. A squeaky door that needs the entirety of his body weight to open, his shoulder slamming into the upper left, and the instant smell of damp desperately trying to be combated with some cheap candle from Goodwill. 

There’s few rooms in the trailer. A kitchen with about one empty counter to cook, that shares the same area as a living space. A couch that JJ found abandoned on a roadside sits before a crackly television, divided by a thrifted coffee table. The World Atlas was proving useful keeping the latter piece of furniture upheld on the far right leg. The area is littered with belongings, tight on space and storage. Trash takes up a lot of space too, as much as he hates to admit it. A strategically placed poster-print conceals a concerning dent in the wall that may signify rats at one time had made this trailer their home. That could explain the steal that JJ got it for. 

The bathroom is where JJ’s legs take him next. Here, with the door closed, he can turn on the light. It takes three flicks of the switch and the buzz that it generates might remind a war veteran of a looming grenade. The shower is permanently discoloured and runs warm perhaps once a year, so JJ skips that stage. Instead he looks into the dirty mirror. His exhausted face greets him through blurry vision and speckles of toothpaste. A well-used toothbrush is rushed around his mouth and he spits into a dusty sink that drains frustratingly slowly. A quick piss and JJ is all washed up. 

He’s careful not to turn on the light when he makes his way into the bedroom. By now, it must nearly be two in the morning. The boots come off first, followed by his shorts, socks and shirt. Clad in only boxers, JJ can make out the bed through the dark and slides under the covers. His eyes slip shut and his body tries to relax.

“It’s late.”

His eyes clench shut. Shit.

“I, uh, didn’t know you’d still be awake.”

“I was waiting up for you to come home,” comes your mumbled response. JJ looks over to you: your back facing him as he lies on his. 

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Hard not to when your husband’s out until two in the morning without texting or calling.”

 JJ’s brows knit together. “My phone died,” he mutters. 

“Convenient.”

Sighing, JJ runs a hand along his forehead and rubs tiredly at his eyes. “Look, I’m really fuckin’ tired, a’right? It’s been a long day and I just wanna–”

“You’re tired?” you hiss, turning over and sitting up. Fuck. “You’re fucking tired, JJ? Where the hell where you!?”

“Out!”

"Oh! Out! God, I don't know why I didn't think to check there!" you tunefully say.

JJ grits his teeth. The exhaustion and booze make a sticky concoction, flammable to the smallest fuse. “I don’t have to fucking give you a play by play of what I’m doing. I’m my own fucking person.”

“Okay, sure, JJ. You can finish work at five in the Goddamn afternoon and not reappear until two in the Goddamn morning without a text or call. I mean, what a fucking evil wife I am for worrying about you being - oh, I don’t know - dead in a ditch somewhere or sat in a fucking cell. I mean, I’m just bitter to the bone.”

At your spiel, JJ sits up in bed, propping himself up with his elbows. “Yeah, it’s such a fucking Goddamn surprise that I’m in no rush to come home when this is the fucking greeting I get!”

“Don’t come home at two in the morning and you won’t get this type of greeting!” you screech back. 

The two of you meet eyes through the dark. Your faces are contorted in anger: brows tugged close together, lips downturned in ugly frowns, tired eyes narrowed at one another. 

“Jesus Christ - what? You need me to give you a text every two minutes or some shit? Tell you where I am every two seconds?” 

“Right, yeah, that’s what I said, JJ,” you argue, gesturing violently with your words. “I said, ‘send me a text every time you take a breath of air’. No, no, you’re right: I said, ‘put a tracker in your fucking penis and then maybe I know where it’s going’.”

He studies your face a moment and scoffs, shaking his head. “I don’t know what you’re try’na incinerate there but–”

“It’s insinuate - you fucking idiot - and I think you know damn well what I’m referring to,” you spit. Your voice sounds almost as bitter as the liquor JJ was drinking peacefully only an hour ago. Maybe he should have just stayed at the bar. 

“Go on, then. Say it with your fucking chest, then,” JJ urges, sitting up in bed too. 

You glower at him. “Pearl.”

“Oh my fuckin’...” JJ can’t help but laugh right in your face. It’s ludicrous! It only seems to worsen your rage, not that JJ could care at this moment. “You really think I’m out hooking up with someone? Is that seriously what you’re accusing me of?”

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” is your all-to-quick reply. “You spend all night in a bar and come home smelling like booze. Wouldn’t be surprised if you were hooking up with her, or some other whore. I mean, who else would want you?” 

JJ can’t think clearly through the blinding rage. His vision goes blurry and this time, it isn’t from the alcohol. There’s the distant fear that he might crack a tooth from how tightly he’s clenching his jaw. He feels his fist close up around the sheets. 

“You better think really fucking hard about what you just said to me,” he lowly says. 

Your brows raise. “Is that a threat?”

JJ doesn’t reply. Decides it might be best not to. It’s hard to side with that thought process though because a smirk slowly but surely begins to sneak onto your face. There’s this viciousness in your eyes that JJ used to be unable to recognise, before El Dorado. Before life got somehow all the more real. 

“Starting to sound like your dad now, huh, Maybank?”

Don’t say anything. Don’t say anything. Don’t say–

JJ leans in close to your face. Can feel your heavy breath on his cheeks. See the emotions swirling like a thunderstorm in your eyes. The thin veil of tears in your waterline. He hardly recognises his own voice. 

“I wish I was fucking some whore. Anything’s better than being in this bed with you.”

Your whole demeanour shifts. It’s palpable. The room is hot and suffocating. The words hang in the air and JJ hates himself for not being sure if he even wants to take them back, even if he doesn’t mean it. He just wanted you to hurt. And what an awful thing to want. 

JJ hates this. He hates how the two of you know just the right buttons to press and just the right things to say to make the other furious. To break one another down. When two people fall in love, you learn everything about the other. It’s not just the intimate details - how somebody looks naked, the way they react to every touch, every kiss, their favourite song, the way they talk when they’re drunk - but also the sensitive stuff. The traumas and the skeletons and the insecurities. 

“Get out,” you spit. 

“Get out?” JJ laughs incredulously. 

“Get out! Get the fuck out of this bed now,” you seeth. JJ doesn’t move. As if possessed, you grab at your pillow and toss it at him. “Get out!” Toss your book too. 

JJ dodges them, bats them away. “You’re fucking psycho! Do you fucking see yourself!” he shouts. 

“Get out! Get out, get out, get out!” you scream. 

But JJ doesn’t. He should. In fact, he should go for a walk and let the two of you calm down, and then discuss it in the morning with a civilised conversation, just as you would do when you were both younger. But JJ was never the one to make the right decision. Instead, he feels himself smile. Then, he settles leisurely on his back, snuggling into the sheets like a child returning home after a long day out. His body aches from a hard day’s labour at the docks, stomach empty save for the booze. Even with his eyes closed, JJ can see your glare. It’s ice cold and sends shivers along his spine. 

“Fuck you, JJ,” you mutter. 

Another rustle of the sheets, the mattress dips, heavy footsteps, a slamming door, and you’re out of the room. The door shivers in the rickety frame and the noise seems to echo around the room. JJ slowly opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling. He runs a hand along his jawline as he sighs, feeling the ever growing stubble that he can’t find the motivation to shave. He used to, wanting to keep up appearances for the job market, but it seemed futile now. Pointless. The feeling of satisfaction that came from winning the fight was fleeting, passing as quick as a poppers-buzz. Now, the ugly emotions seep in as JJ wallows in the lonely silence. The emotions JJ usually wards off with whiskey and beer and weed and cocaine. The guilt and the shame and the self-loathing. The sympathy and the heartache. The awful things he said to you bounce around in his head like a ping pong ball. The awful things you said to him bury deep in his heart.  When he closes his eyes again, trying to mellow out his breathing and drift off, he can hear your sniffles through the door.

You never used to hide your tears from him. 

Sighing, JJ clamps his hands over his face and fights the urge to scream. Why does he do this? Why does it keep happening? Why can’t you both just stop? 

After thirty minutes, sleep is nowhere to be seen. The sniffling has stopped in the other room but JJ doubts you’re asleep either. Soon enough, he can’t stand the internal struggle anymore. He gets to his feet and makes his way into the living room before he can lose his nerve. 

You’re lying on your side on the sofa, bundled up with a moth-nibbled blanket. JJ can’t see your face from here but he knows you’re awake. Dating you for five years meant he learnt to pick up on things like that. Walking over, he comes to the back of the sofa and reaches over to gently place his hand on your shoulder. 

“You awake?” he rasps. 

A pause, and then, “yes.”

“Come to bed.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve got that stupid interview tomorrow and you’re going to hate yourself for sleeping on this fucking thing in the morning.”

And I can’t fall asleep unless you’re next to me. 

“You remembered I have an interview?” you mumble. 

“Course,” JJ mumbles back, as if embarrassed that he remembers something his wife told him. “So come to bed.”

You don’t say anything else. JJ has a million things he could say. They’re things that he should say and that he wants to but it’s like his mouth is soldered shut. He can’t let them pass as if they might incriminate him. Oh no! She’ll know I care about her! Instead, he swallows and removes his hand, sighing as he turns to return to the bedroom. 

“Well, I’m going to bed,” he says. Again, there’s no response. 

Only after JJ has closed the bedroom door does he hear movement from the sofa. By the time you reappear, he’s already in bed, curled up on his side, facing the wall. You make your way to the right of the bed. There’s the thud of the blanket joining the floor before you sneak under the sheets and shuffle about until you’re settled. 

The two of you don’t cuddle that night just like you don’t most nights. Neither of you apologise. Neither of you say a word. But just as JJ’s about to drift off, he feels the faintest press of your lips to the back of his bare shoulder. 

When JJ wakes up in the morning, you’ve already left. His head hurts the moment he opens his eyes. Groaning, he tosses the sheets off and sits up on the edge of his bed. JJ’s aching back was a common companion to his life since El Dorado. He’d fallen funny on the adventure and seemingly fucked it up for life. Lifting heavy cargo at the docks probably didn’t help much but what choice did he have? You both needed the money desperately. 

The hunt for the gold went sour. Not only did Ward Cameron steal it and use it, but Rafe stole the cross and melted the timeless relic down into chunks. At first they thought El Dorado - the timeless mystery - was a possibility. JJ believed it too. In trying to get himself and John B there, he’d got himself in pretty hot water back in Kildare. That and the eviction notice plastered to his dad’s house meant that coming back home, empty handed, meant tough living. At first, the two of you persevered. You took the loss as best you could and started out on your life together. A courthouse wedding marked the beginning of your new life, gold-less but not loveless. The Pogues threw a party at the Chateau afterwards. JJ sent out an invitation to his dad at his last known address but he never showed. You never invited yours and thankfully he stayed away. Not long after was he arrested. That was a good day. You’d sold your father’s house and used that money to buy the trailer you and JJ now resided in. It was supposed to be a temporary spot but you fell on rough times. That was almost four years ago. 

The day at work dragged on like any other. After missing one shift at the local grocers, JJ was fired and had to take the next available job to let the two of you meet rent. Now he spends his hours (nearly seven days a week) fixing up old fishing rigs. It was gruelling work: lifting and slamming and hammering and loading. Even in the September air, the summer less stifling than before, JJ works up a sweat. He doesn’t have enough food to spare for things like pack dinners so he goes off an apple during his breaks. Sometimes Pope would offer JJ some food if they crossed paths but JJ didn’t want to be a charity case. He was aware how frail the two of you looked though: having about one semi-decent meal a day. Just as the day begins to wrap to a close - the amber sun low in the sky - does Billy, his employer, come over to JJ as he’s scrubbing his hands. 

“Goddamn oil, swear to God,” he mutters under breath, scratching tirelessly at the skin. 

“Hey, JJ, we gotta talk,” Billy sighs. 

JJ looks up and wipes his hands dry on his shirt. “What’s up?”

“Look, uh…” The moment Billy clears his throat, JJ knows what’s coming. “I hate to do this, man, but I gotta let you go.”

“Dude, seriously?” JJ sighs. 

“Look, it ain’t your fault, Jay. I just…The business is going under and I can’t keep all you guys on anymore. I hate to do this to you, I really do, man. I've got your last paycheck here but you, uh, don’t gotta come in on Monday,” Billy not-so-delicately tells him, digging in his pocket and retrieving a white envelope. As he hands it over, he adds, “sorry.”

“Yeah, well,” JJ sighs, taking the money, “sorry don’t pay the bills, does it?”

Before Billy can reply, JJ pockets the paycheck and sets off from the docks towards his truck. He had to trade in his bike a few years back when the two of you married: a truck seemed more practical, especially for the plans you had. The anxiety seeps in as he starts his engine and only rises the closer he gets to home like a flood caused by a running tap in a home. Rubbing at his heart, trying to alleviate the nerves, JJ takes a breath and turns up the drive. He never used to feel this way when coming home to you. In fact, it used to be the highlight of his day. Now he just prays that he can get through the door without the two of you falling into an argument. 

You’re standing at the stove, steam billowing up from the pan that you’re stirring, and at the sound of JJ shoving his way through the entrance, you turn and offer a small smile. It seems like an olive branch for last night. 

“Hey,” you say. 

“Yo,” JJ hums, closing the door. He heads for the pile of envelopes on the cluttered breakfast bar and flicks through them. Every FINAL NOTICE makes him cringe. One is already open and he slips the letter out, but you speak before he has a chance to read a word. 

“We got a week until they shut the gas off,” you tell him. 

“Well, I got the solution to that.”

JJ tries his best to smile as he holds the envelope up. Gasping, you abandon the stove and grin, taking it from him and scanning over the amount. He’s ashamed by his surprise when you wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him. He doesn’t have a chance to respond; you’re back at the stove, stirring dinner, within seconds. 

“Yeah, well, that’s the good news,” JJ says. 

Frowning, concerned, you look over your shoulder to him. “There’s bad news?”

JJ can’t meet your gaze as he tells you, “I got let go.”

“What? But I thought–”

“Yeah, me too,” JJ sighs, shaking his head. He leans against the fridge and feels it shudder at his weight. The bottles of cheap wine clink together tellingly and JJ tries not to cringe. “Anyway, how’d your interview go?”

You shake your head, looking back to the pan. “They said they’d let me know in three or so days but I don’t know…They were hard to read.”

He watches you in the artificial light, your now naturally coloured hair looking almost unrecognisable in the glow. You’d stopped dying it a couple years ago because you thought it might make finding work easier. It didn’t. Two ex-convicts, one of which had arguably the worst reputation in Kildare, who disappeared for several months at a time as teenagers. No high school degree, no college degree, no qualifications or former training, and no reputable name to fall back on. JJ contemplates coming over to you and wrapping his arms around your middle, pulling you against him. He wants to dance with you in the kitchen to non-existent music and then cuddle up on the couch, sharing a joint and putting the world to right. But he doesn’t. Instead, JJ stays by the fridge. 

“I’m sure you’ll get it.”

“Maybe. You going back to the job centre tomorrow?” 

“Maybe,” JJ echos. He should. It’s hard though. It feels as though every time one of you picks yourself up and dusts yourself off, you get kicked to the dirt again. Jobs felt as unstable and unpromising as a rebound relationship. If either of you can hold down a job in the shaky economy that was the Cut on Kildare, then something in the house needs replacing, and you’re somehow still as broke as you were to start.

Neither of you bring up the argument from last night even though you should. Instead, you eat your dinner in mostly silence as the radio drones on in the background about the weather and the news. JJ’s apology lingers on his tongue but with every mouthful of his grits, it gets brushed away. It stays that way as the evening drags on. One glass of cheap red wine turns into two and three. Somewhere in the tipsy haze, the two of you find one another, naked under the sheets. His bare chest brushes against yours as he kisses desperately at your neck, thrusting into you. As his hands caress along your familiar figure, it feels as though you’re miles away. Or maybe it’s him. Maybe he isn’t the one that’s present, as if standing across the room, watching it all unfold. Your heavy breaths in his ear don’t excite him as they did before. The feeling of your walls squeezing around him doesn’t send him spiralling the same way it used to. It feels as if he’s just going through the motions. Chasing the brief wave of euphoria and distracting himself from the maelstrom of anxiety that is his mind lately. No job, no family, no future.  

“Harder, JJ,” you sigh against his shoulder, your breath warm on his damp skin.

He hardly registers your words and only responds when one of your hands coaxes his hips deeper. Something about the new angle hits JJ just right. His eyes slip shut, a groan falling past his lips as he shudders against your body. He comes rather quickly: the white hot pleasure fast as it passes through him. He lingers inside of you a moment. You lay stone still underneath him.  

“Did you just come?” you ask. 

“Yeah, I just came,” JJ sighs, pulling out of you. Sighing, chest heaving, he flops onto his back beside you. He can feel your stare the same way he did last night. As if trying to escape it, his eyes slip shut. 

“Are you fucking serious, JJ?”

“You know your body better anyway. Go to town,” JJ mumbles. He’s aware of how douchey he sounds but he feels a thousand miles away. He’d only disappoint you anyway. It feels like all he does is disappoint you. 

“Fuck you,” you mutter, climbing out of bed and heading presumably to the bathroom to piss. The door slams the same as it did last night. More arguments and JJ will have to replace the hinges. Just another thing in the house that’ll be added to the list of repairs, with the thing at the top being your relationship. As JJ works through the list in his mind, he drifts off to sleep. He isn’t sure if you ever came back to bed. You’re gone when he wakes up in the morning.  

“I don’t understand man,” John B says. “Why don’t you two just get a divorce?”

JJ’s head snaps to face his best friend. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m just saying–”

“--John B–”

“--You guys are miserable,” he finishes, not letting JJ cut him off. Groaning, JJ shakes his head and paces away. “It’s not like divorce is frowned upon in your family! Your parents did it, hers did it - hell, mine did it too!”

“I don’t wanna divorce her,” JJ says, turning around. He takes his cap from his head and runs his fingers through his hair. It’s damp with sweat from the humid heat of the day. He’d been at his lifelong best friend’s house since eight in the morning, helping to clear up the yard and fix the jetty. Whilst unemployed, JJ may as well keep himself busy. As always, the conversation had veered into relationship territory: John B and Sarah, and JJ and you. The fight was two weeks in the past. You hadn’t let JJ have sex with you since. JJ wasn’t sure if he even wanted to. It just made him feel more confused and disconnected. He didn’t like being the reason you were upset.  

“There’s no shame in it,” John B assures. “You guys were a good fit when we were teenagers but now you’ve grown up and life’s gotten hard. That’s okay.”

“She’s it for me, JB,” JJ states. He wanders over and lovingly pats him on the back, making his way to the cooler for another beer. “I ain’t giving up on us.”

“Cool. So, you’ll just stay stuck in a loveless marriage for the rest of your life then. Awesome,” comes John B’s sardonic response. 

“It’s not loveless. It’s just…going through a rough patch.”

“A two year long rough patch?”

“It’s not as simple as ‘divorce her’,” JJ sighs. The crisp crack of the beer sounds like heaven’s gates opening. “She’s the girl of my literal childhood dreams. And things have been hard for her too. We don’t mean to fight, we just…do.”

“Denial is a six-letter word my friend. You know what else is?”

“Don’t say it–”

“Trauma.”

“JB–”

“I get it! Your dad was shitty and you’re trying to break the cycle! But maybe you can’t! Maybe there isn’t a cycle! Maybe that’s just life!”

“Look, I don’t therapise you so how about you don’t therapise me,” JJ suggests. He tosses a beer to the brown haired man. His face isn’t all that different from when they were young. The crows feet around his eyes are deeper set, as are the laughter and frown lines along his forehead. The stubble on his beard challenges JJ’s. “I’m not gonna give up on us. We just need to reconnect. I feel like we’re always at odds.”

Sighing, John B relents. He clinks his can against JJ’s in an informal cheers. “Well, I hope you’re right and you guys can figure it out. I just want you happy, man.”

Happy. JJ hardly knew the meaning of the word these days. 

He lingers at John B’s house until sunset, when Sarah returns from the hospital. She’d managed to get a spot on a nursing course and was blazing through it. She’d tried to get both you and JJ employed there too but the criminal check killed any chance. She offers for JJ to stay for dinner but he declines, saying that he should head home. The walk back is filled with unnecessary diversions. He goes to the pier where he saw you jump as a kid. He goes by the grocery store that the two of you used to shoplift beers from. He wanders along the coastline where you used to skinny dip in the dead of night. Somehow, JJ ends up outside what used to be his home. Nobody had bought it after the bank repossessed it. Sitting in dilapidation, nature reclaims the isolated structure. It’s barely recognisable to JJ. Seeing it in such a way makes JJ question if his childhood was even real. The traumatic memories feel as though they don’t fit well on this canvas: it’s too peaceful and serene. He leans down and grabs a large rock from the floor and hurls it towards one of the windows. It shatters through the glass and thuds as it lands on the floorboards inside. A small smile pushes onto JJ’s ageing face. That’s better. He continues to walk home. 

It’s pitch black outside by the time JJ makes it back. He wonders if you might have gone to bed as he walks up the porch steps, dodging the broken one, reminding himself to fix it. The house is cast in a warm glow from the living room floor lamp when JJ walks in. The kitchen has been cleaned up and for once seems almost homely. His eyes are immediately drawn to your frame, sat crossed legged on the sofa. A large shoebox sits on the coffee table, the lid off, and a stack of old VHS tapes sit in a pile to its right. There’s a bottle of open red wine and a half filled glass too. You’re looking down at something. 

“Hey,” he says, closing the door behind him. 

“Hey.”

“What’re you doing?”

You finally look up. You’d put your nose ring back in and it shines under the gentle glare of the lamp. A smile blesses your features. “I was going through the closet to see if I could sell some old clothes and found the picture box. Remember how we were gonna hang some up when we first moved here? I think we still should.”

JJ grabs a glass for himself and joins you on the sofa. You smell like soap and shea butter. He pours himself a glass of wine.

“Look,” you say, holding the picture out for him to see. He places down in his glass on the table and takes the photo from you. JJ chuckles quietly under breath. It’s of John B and JJ when they were younger; they sit on their surfboards, legs submerged in the water, hair damp, smiles brimming and big. “Cute, huh?”

“Very cute,” JJ agrees. He places it amongst the pile of scattered pictures strewn across the table and picks another out. It’s of Kiara, pulling a stupid face as she lounges outside the Chateau. Sarah throwing up peace signs. A candid of Pope and John B playing cards one afternoon. You, dangling upside down from the slats of the jetty, lilac hair barely scraping the surface of the water. 

“I like this one.”

JJ leans into you to see the picture in your hands. He smiles at the sight. One of the Pogues must have taken it. You both look about eighteen. You’re sat on one of the deckchairs that resided outside of the Chateau, talking vivaciously, hands gesturing wildly and smiling wide. JJ’s just staring at you, a lovesick smile on his young face, chin resting on his fist. For a while, the two of you sit in the drip-drip-drip of the kitchen sink, staring at the picture as if in a trance. 

“You used to adore me,” you whisper. 

JJ’s brows knit together. He looks down at you. “I still do.”

Your laugh is sad. Your eyes remained trained on the moment frozen in time. “Not like you used to. Not like before.”

“Before what?” JJ mumbles, heart suddenly heavy. 

You look up and meet his gaze. Whatever emotion is on your face makes JJ want to cry. “You know what.”

He shakes his head, his lips quivering. “That’s not true.”

“Everything changed after that.”

“It’s not true,” he says again. His hand slips up, cupping your cheek, and his body sings when you lean into his hold. “That weren’t your fault. It never was and never will be.”

“But would you still have married me,” you begin to ask, voice turning thick as the tears start to build, “if you knew? If I knew before.”

“Yes,” JJ swiftly answers. 

“JJ–”

“--You’re it for me,” he says. His forehead gently falls forward, resting against yours, needing to be closer. “Girl of my dreams.”

“Even if…” You take in a shaky breath, trying desperately not to cry. “Even if I can’t give you a family.”

“You are my family. I got everything I need right here.” 

Something between a sob and laugh shakes your body. You sniff and nod fervently against him. JJ sweeps his calloused finger across your cheek. He feels the warmth that radiates from your skin. Inhales the soothing smell that is you. Counts the smattering of blemishes and freckles and scars that decorate your skin like cracks in an antique painting. They don’t take from your beauty - they just speak to the value. 

“I’m sorry,” he hears himself say. 

It’s your turn to frown now. Opening your eyes, they shimmer with unshed tears. “What’d you mean?”

“I’m so sorry I let you marry me,” he says in brutal honesty. “This ain’t the life you deserve.”

“JJ–”

“You deserve so much more than this. More than all this scrimping and saving. You deserve your house. Your pastel blue house, with those white shutters and the porch - that damn wrap around porch - and your cats and dogs.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. Your own hands come up, cradling his face just as he has your own, and you smile dotingly up at him. For the first time in months, JJ feels as though he recognises you. JJ feels as though he recognises himself. 

“I don’t need all that, JJ,” you tell him. “That’s just stuff. Things. You said it best: I have everything I’ve ever needed right here.”

“You don’t gotta say that,” JJ gently argues. “This trailer isn’t a house, baby.”

“No, it ain’t,” you agree. “It’s a home. It’s our home.”

“Baby,” JJ sighs. His eyes slip shut, unable to look at you, feeling nothing less than a failure. 

“You remember our wedding day?” you ask him. JJ can’t help but snort. 

“Course I do.”

“Remember our vows?”

His lips can’t help but upturn as he follows your train of thought. He was always good at following your mind. 

“For richer–”

“--for poor,” JJ finishes. 

The caress of your finger along his jawline has JJ close to tears. 

“We’re gonna be okay,” you tell him softly. “We're gonna get through all this. It’s just God’s test, that's all, and we’re gonna pass it, and it’ll be okay again. I promise.”

JJ manages to open his eyes and face you. You’re smiling up at him, gazing as if he was the entire solar system laid before you, and the anxiety slips away as suddenly as winter changes to spring. 

“My good looking boy,” you whisper. 

JJ’s never been good with his words. But sometimes words aren’t needed. 

His lips find yours like a bird migrating home. You immediately hold him close to you, tilting his face with yours to deepen the kiss. His tongue brushes against yours. The taste of red wine is strangely erotic and it spurs JJ on. He sighs against you, pushing deeper as if to consume you. Your fingers slip into his hair; nails teasing at his scalp, combing through the sea salt treated strands. JJ’s hands sink away from your face, tracing along your arms, down to your waist. You sink into the cushions of the sofa on your back as JJ climbs atop. His lips map across your cheeks, along your jaw, find home on your neck and collarbones. 

“I missed you so much,” he confesses in a breath against your sensitive skin. 

The removal of clothes is like a ritual: each piece commemorated with kisses and love bites and praises. Your hands explore one another’s naked bodies as if it were your first time. Like a blind man regaining sight, JJ is in awe of your effortless beauty. The way your back arches at the trace of his finger along your sternum, down to your weeping cunt. You clench helplessly around his digits as he fingers you, slow and sensual, savouring every moan and whine. 

“Missed you so fucking much, baby,” JJ sighs against your thigh. Presses kisses against the stretch mark decorated skin, like watering tree roots. “So fucking pretty.”

“JayJ,” you croon, eyes clenched shut, a balled up fist rubbing helplessly at your forehead. 

His tongue laps at your clit, suckles at the wet, driven by the feel of your fingers knotting in his hair. You climax with a gasp, soaking his fingers and lips, overstimulated until you’re gently pushing him away and pulling him up to you. He’s painfully hard as he kisses you. When your hand softly takes hold of him, he sighs against your mouth. 

“I missed you,” you tell him between kisses. Your hand rubs at him in long, meaningful strokes, thumb occasionally teasing over the tip. JJ groans against your chest, eyes pressed shut, trying to revel in the feeling of having you so close, having you jacking him off, whilst trying desperately not to come. But you know him better than anybody else. You know when to guide him to your entrance, coating him in your slick. JJ kisses at your nipple as he sinks into you. He doesn’t feel miles away this time as he fucks you into the sofa. Doesn’t feel like he’s stranded across the room as he makes love to you for the first time in months, maybe even years. 

Your begs and pleas and praises are like words from the lord being spoken into JJ’s ears in your breathy whimpers. Harder, deeper, feels so fuckin’ good, faster. JJ’s no better, slurring anything that slips into his mind as he sinks in and out of you. So fuckin’ wet, prettiest fuckin’ pussy in the world, tell me how bad you need it. His hand holds an almost mean grip on your hip whilst his other finds your left. JJ intertwines your fingers as the two of you chase your highs, the digits slick with sweat, slipping in the hold but never letting go.

"I'm s'close," you whine, hooking your legs over his hips, driving him deeper.

"Fuck, feels so fuckin' good," JJ grunts, ploughing into you. "So fuckin' good for me."

"Please, JJ," you gasp. You're so close. JJ fucks you hard and fast. "Please, please, please..."

You come first, gasping and panting against JJ’s ear, and he follows, moaning desperately against your clammy skin. His eyes slip shut as he rests atop of you. 

JJ blinks awake, somewhat disorientated. For the first time in forever, his aching back isn’t the first thing he registers. Instead, it’s the steady rise and fall of the warm body underneath him. He slowly lifts his head to find you, sleeping soundly, still naked. He’s soft inside of you and gently slips out with a small shudder. You stir only slightly but soon drift back off to sleep. JJ gets up carefully so as to not disturb your slumber. The bathroom doesn’t feel as grimy when he goes inside to pee, and his face looks younger, lighter, refreshed, when he checks the mirror as he washes his hands. After tugging on a pair of boxers and an old t-shirt, he returns to the living room. You’ve curled up on your side, snoring quietly, and JJ smiles. How could he forget how beautiful you are? He lays a blanket over your body and plants a kiss to your hair. Then, he begins to tidy away some of the pictures. As you requested, he leaves out some that he thinks you might like to be framed, one of which is from your wedding day: the two of you laughing as you smush cake against one another’s mouths. His eyes fall on the tapes and he picks them up, flicking through them. He takes pause at one. Luke and Marie’s Wedding Tape. He stares at it like the box of Jumangi, both terrified and enticed.

JJ powers up the TV, ensuring it’s on silent, and turns on the old tape player. By some miracle, it still works. He slips the tape in and swallows the lump in his throat, and sits on the sofa beside where your head rests. You’re still dead to the world, snuggled up cosy in your blanket cocoon, and JJ’s weirdly grateful for your company as the tape kicks to life. It’s grainy at first, the picture wobbly, but soon enough the image comes to life. His dad who JJ hasn’t seen in years stands young and stupid at the altar. His mother who JJ wouldn’t know if she passed him in the street stands young and forgiving opposite. They’re speaking soundless words, smiling. JJ isn’t aware that he’s started crying until a teardrop lands on his hand. He wipes his cheek absently, eyes fixated on the screen. He watches as they dance: giggling, graceful, giddy. Just as you were the day JJ laid his eyes on you. 

Maybe John B was right. Maybe JJ did want to break the pattern. It wasn't either of your faults that you both reacted to adversity the way you did. Years of built-up anger and rage and pain with nowhere to go but within was like a boiling over crockpot of disaster. Two borderline-abandoned, abused teenagers married at eighteen? Of course you didn't have the blueprint for how to be a functional couple. Neither of you knew the definition of compromise, or backing down, or making peace. All you knew was pain and betrayal and self-defence. But that could change. It would take time and patience, but it could. JJ wanted it to. He was sick of working against you. You were a team before and you would be a team again. JJ never wanted to go to war against you, not when you were the best soldier on his team. JJ had always feared love because he feared what it would make him. Would he be like his father or his mother: resent or retreat?

As JJ's eyes sweep down to your sleeping self, he decides what he'll be. He'll be neither. He'll be himself. He'll be resilient.

One of JJ's hands raises and his fingers lovingly stroke at your hair. You don’t wake, just shift a little, and a barely there smile slinks onto your face. 

“Don’t give up on me, baby,” JJ mumbles, petting the strands of your ever changing hair. His good looking girl. “These times are hard and they’re makin’ us go crazy, but don’t give up on me. Cause I meant every word.”

For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish…

"Til' death do us part."

[cevansbrat0007]

Off the Market

Summary: Ari learns that you're not the sharing type. Which is fine by him, because neither is he.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Jealous/Possessive Reader, Oral Sex (mentioned), Discussions of Public Sex, Mentions of Disordered Eating, Polite Fat Shaming, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: This story is part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Be sure to check out the follow-up fic, A Man Starved. Not beta'd. Not beta'd. All mistakes my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

“So?” You ask before taking another sip of your milkshake. The thick and creamy treat goes down easy, which makes the amount of time it took to get to you well worth it. “What’s the verdict?”

“Not bad.” Your companion mumbles as he eagerly gulps down his own shake. “Not bad at all. But just so we’re clear, drinkin’ one of these isn’t gonna get you out of our deal.” He stirs the drink with his straw before plucking out the cherry and popping it in his mouth. “Remember you swore on it.” He holds up his pinky finger as a reminder.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sugar.” You tell him as a smile flits its way across your lips. Without thinking, you go to feed him your own cherry. You find yourself giggling at the way he playfully nips at your fingers, his tongue lapping at the traces of whipped cream. 

There went your big Beast of a man proudly living up to his nickname, as per usual. Thank goodness you were the only couple dining outside today.

“Hey. How come yours tastes better?” Ari pouts suddenly, sending you into another fit of giggles.

“We got the exact same thing, honey.” You roll your eyes at him before returning your attention to the menu in your hand.

“Bird?” His growl comes out soft and silky. And it immediately has you on high alert. Because you recognized that tone. 

It meant you were in trouble.

“Um, yes?” You try ducking your head behind the oversized, laminated piece of paper. Maybe if he couldn’t see you anymore, he’d just let it ride.

“Did you just do what I think you just did?” 

“Well, I suppose that depends on what you think I just did.” You sneak another sip of your chocolate shake, doing your best to forget about all the extra unnecessary calories you’re putting into your body right then. After all, you and your man had a deal. And you aimed to see it through. 

“I think you just rolled your eyes at me.” Ari rests his elbows on the table, leaning forward on his arms in an attempt to get your attention. “Now, just because I gave you a pass back the boutique–”

You blow out an annoyed breath. “That wasn’t my fault! You kept making me model the most ridiculous pieces for you, even when I knew they wouldn’t fit.” You peek out from behind your menu long enough to scan the area for Stella, your waitress. Of course she’s nowhere to be found. 

Which, oddly enough, was fine by you. There was just something about the woman that seemed to ruffle your feathers a bit. Although you couldn’t quite put your finger on the reason why. 

“Except they did fit.” Your bounty hunter surprises you by yanking the menu from your grasp. He then tosses both yours and his onto a nearby empty table. “And maybe if you would’ve allowed me into the fitting room with you earlier, we could’ve scored you another bathing suit. I still think we should go back for that sweet little black and white number. That ass was made for it.”

“It was too small. Just like the other ones.” You counter, feeling your cheeks heat at the intimate praise. The burn only intensifies when you recall the way he’d simply let himself into the fitting room after you’d vetoed your third bathing suit. It had been his pick, which meant he felt that he was well within his rights to, as he put it, “see for himself”.  

One Hour Earlier

“Baby.” He said, chuckling softly. “If a woman expects a man to wait outside and do it patiently, then perhaps she ought to give him a little show.” When you balked he’d simply shrugged and picked up an ice blue monokini before handing it over to you, silently demanding that you try it on. With him right there in the flippin’ fitting room. 

And he hadn’t felt the least bit compelled to help preserve your modesty by looking away as you’d changed. Instead, he’d had the gall to take a seat in a chair that was tucked away in a corner.

“This is completely inappropriate!” You hissed, clutching the forgotten suit to your chest. “Wh–what if someone comes by?” 

“Then I expect you’ll have to be quiet then, won’t you?” He held a finger to his lips, playfully shushing you. “That way it stays our little secret. Now, how about you model the pink one for me?”

“I’ll model whatever you want once we get back to your place.” You tried, your entire body had been practically vibrating with embarrassment. 

“Nah. I’m afraid that ain’t gonna work for me.” Ari had leaned back in his chair then, leisurely crossing his long legs over his ankles. “See, this Beast of yours is itchin’ for some instant gratification.” He’d locked his fingers together before resting them on his firm stomach. “And I ain’t leavin’ until I get it.”

“Guess we’ll be in here for a long time then, huh?” You’d responded rather snippily. “Because I’m not about to–”  

“You know, sweetheart, now that I’m thinking about it, I just realized you haven’t fed me yet today.” 

“I thought we were gonna grab a bite after..?” The knowing look that passed between you two had been enough to make you feel weak in the knees. “Umm...”

“You know how I get when you make me go too long without a taste.” His piercing blue eyes had dropped to your (thankfully) still panty clad pussy. “I’m gonna need a fix, baby. And soon.” You’d watched him cup his impressive cock through the fabric of his jeans. “Otherwise I might start gettin’ antsy.” The silky purr of his voice alone had been enough to have your thighs clenching.

“Don’t – ooh! Behave yourself, damn you!” You’d done your best to ignore the way your core had spasmed with need. “There will be no funny business in this fitting room. You are not getting us kicked out of this store, Beast!”  

“But I’m hungry now. Starving actually.” He’d pressed, a wolfish grin spreading across his features. “And all I can think about is sinking to my knees and burying my face in that gorgeous pussy. Right here. Right now.” 

You'd watched as he rose from his seat, his big body crowding your smaller one. “Wanna taste all that sweet, wild honey of yours when you cum on my tongue like a good girl.” You’d also squealed none-too-quietly when he pinned you against the wall. 

And although the man had seen fit to warn you of his plan, you still hadn’t been prepared for his boldness. Even less so when he dropped to his knees in front of you, his nimble fingers tugging at the edges of your panties.

“Ari…” You'd breathed, rising on your toes to graze your lips along his bearded jaw. “We can’t. Not here. Patience, sugar.”

“Like I told you, I’m about out.” He’d responded on the heels of a groan. “But I might be able to find some more. Maybe. But only if…”

“If what?”

“If you stay the night once we get back to Bell’s Creek. I wanna spend the rest of the evening getting all tangled up in you. Especially after I managed to work up such a sweet tooth.” Ari had brushed mouth over your covered mound, loving the way your nipples pebbled at his words - his touch.        

“I accept your terms.” You’d told him with a soft giggle as heat suffused your cheeks. “Now let me go so I can model these last few for you. It’s about time we get a move-on to our next stop -- no more kisses. Oh God, Ari! Be patient!”

“I’m not trying on another thing after I stuff my face, honey.” You mumble as you take another sip of your drink. “We’ll just have to come back another time. Plus, you’ve already spent more than enough on me.” 

“You’re worth it.” 

“You should’ve at least let me pay for half.” You start to protest, feeling uncomfortable with being doted on in such a way.

“Already said no. And you ain’t payin’ for lunch either, so you’d best not get that pretty mouth all twisted up to ask.” 

“How about we–” You find your conversation interrupted by the arrival of your waitress, Stella. 

“Hey, ya’ll!” She chirps as she comes around the corner, her blonde ponytail bouncing behind her as she finally makes her way to your table. “Sorry it took me so long to get back to you. How are those shakes treating you, hm? Pretty good?”

“They’re great.” You and Ari respond at the same time. 

“I just knew you’d love ‘em!” She responds rather animatedly, her freshly manicured fingers lightly brushing over Ari’s shoulder. He doesn’t seem to notice. But you do. Because it’s not the first time it’s happened. “Looks like you’re doin’ alright over there, handsome. Can I get you another one?”  

“No, thank you.” Your Bounty Hunter hums, his gaze locked on the menu as he works to make a final decision. “But I do think we’re ready to order.” 

“Yep.” You readily agree, even as your eye twitches. “We sure are.” 

Stella makes an innocent show of turning away from you, her gaze focused on Ari. “I bet a big, strapping fella like you would be interested in one of our steaks. Our beef is grass-fed and sourced locally. Which means it’s always fresh, never frozen.”

“Actually, I think we’re both gonna have–” You attempt to interject, only to be shut down without so much as a glance in your direction. 

“Did you happen to see our line of Skinny Gal Salads, buttercup? They come with all the flavor, but only half the calories. They’re listed on page two if you wanna take a gander while I walk your lovely friend here through tonight’s specials featuring our signature porterhouse.” 

Your waitress’ audacity hits you so hard you almost feel a headache coming on as an unexpected fury burns in your belly. A belly that could probably stand to benefit from one of those so-called Skinny Gal salads, but then again that would go against the deal you’d made last night.

Which involved you and your man enjoying a couple of worry-free milkshakes and bacon cheeseburgers. You’d promised that you would try to relax and not get so caught up in all of that internal calorie counting like you usually did.

So, like it or not, a deal was a deal and you aimed to see it through. Regardless of what your waitress had to say about it. And if the woman was smart, she’d take her hand off your man’s arm before something happened to it.

“Now handsome, did I hear you say you were visiting from Bell’s Creek?” Your waitress cocks her hip against the table while she ignores you in favor of cozying up to your Beast. “Because it just so happens that I have a friend there that I like to visit from time to time. Do you happen to know–” 

“Actually, I’ve heard amazing things about your barnyard cheeseburgers. So I think we’re gonna have two of those with bacon. Extra bacon. Please.” You tack on the last word, which is spoken through gritted teeth. 

Finally, Stella turns to you and offers a patronizing smile. “Can I interest you in a side salad with that, buttercup? It comes with a spritz of our homemade red wine vinaigrette.”

Ari sits back in silence, apparently content to watch whatever the fuck was transpiring between you and this bottle blonde heifer with a notepad. Which was fine. You were a big girl who knew how to take-up for herself when the situation called for it.    

“I want fries, sugarplum. But who knows, my friend might want one of those skinny ass salads to go with his meal. Does that sound good to you, baby?” While your eyes never leave hers, you manage to catch a glimpse of a smile from your companion. 

“I, uh, would also like fries.” He coughs. You can tell he’s trying not to laugh, which only serves to piss you off even more. “But thank you.”

“That’ll be all, honey.” You politely growl, snatching Ari’s menu from him before your waitress could use it as an excuse to touch him again. “We’ll let you know if you need anything else.”

“But you haven’t heard the specials.” Stella turns back to Ari, a soft pout gracing her plump lips. “It just might change your mind. You might find yourself wanting something…better.”

Oh, no the fuck she did not. Your man was fine with his choice. You. The burger. All of it. Be gone, bitch!  

“We’re good.” You snap, seething inwardly. “You couldn’t possibly have anything more special than what he’s already got goin’ on in front of him, right here. Right now.”

Your waitress stares you down, but you refuse to be the one to blink first. If your eyes gave up and fell out, you had faith Ari would collect them for you before safely guiding you home. Your man was a gentleman like that.

“I guess I’ll go ahead and get these orders in. Two burgers, heavy bacon, coming right up.” The smile she gives you now is much more brittle and it doesn’t meet her eyes. But you also can’t bring yourself to give a fuck.

This woman needed to remember to stay in her lane before you ran her off the road.         

“Thanks.” 

“Welcome.”

And then she’s gone. You find your glaring at her retreating form. You’re actually in the middle of fantasizing about what would happen if you took a pair of scissors to her annoying ass ponytail when you hear your name being called.

“What?” You snarl as Ari comes back into focus. And what the hell was he grinning about? Didn’t he realize that that pretty face of his was in slapping distance?

“You’re really something, baby.” He murmurs, his gorgeous blue eyes dancing with mischief. “You know that?”

“Meaning?” At the moment, you were in no mood for anyone else’s bullshit.

Ari leans forward in his chair as one of his big hands comes to rest atop yours. “I just meant…I’ve never seen you jealous before. It just surprised me a little is all.” He finishes with a shrug. “I didn’t expect for you to…to…”

“Didn’t expect for me to do what, Beast?” Your tone softens as you watch his head dip, his bearded cheeks tinged with red. He perks up when you give his hand an affectionate squeeze, flipping your positions slightly so you can lace your fingers through his. 

“Claim me.” 

Those two simple words are enough to send you reeling. Is that really what you had just done?

“It’s no secret that I like you, Bird. A lot.” His voice drops an octave as he works to explain himself. “Every time I see you, it’s like there’s something in me deep down inside me that screams mine. I guess I wasn’t sure if you felt the same way about me. Until now.” 

Was he being serious? Of course he was! This man had never struck you as the type to joke about any of this.

“I like you too, Ari. But what I didn’t like was watching our waitress flirt with you like I wasn’t even here. I almost fucked her up with my spoon for touching what’s mine.” Ari’s perfect teeth sink into his plush bottom lip, his nostril’s flaring as his mind works to process your admission.

“Say that again.” The command rumbles out from somewhere deep in his chest, compelling you to obey. “Louder”

“You’re mine, Ari Levinson. For today. Tomorrow. For however long this magical thing between us lasts – you belong to me.” You breathe, butterflies filling your belly. “You’re officially off the market, you got that?”

“I hear you, Bird. Loud and fucking clear.” The grin on his face soon proves to be infectious. “And you have no idea just how happy I am to hear you say that.” Ari opens his arms to you then, beckoning you forward.

The next thing you know, you’re up and moving before you’ve even registered what’s happening. All you knew was that your man needed you. Which meant you needed to go to him. Now.

“I always want you, Ari. Even when I shouldn’t.” You tell him as you gracefully slide into his lap, looping your arms around his neck as you do. 

“I know the feeling.” Ari murmurs, brushing his mouth over yours. “Which is why I want to do something special once we get back to Bell’s Creek. Before I have to leave again.” The startled look on your face has your Bounty Hunter rushing to finish his thoughts before you can verbalize your confusion.

“What do you–?”

“I’m only gonna be gone a few days, baby. Three, maybe four, tops.” One of his large, slightly calloused palms presses against the back of your neck, drawing you in closer to him so that he can take your lips again.   

“Oh.” Comes your lame reply.

“I’m coming back to you, Bird.” Ari rests his forehead against yours as you try to calm your racing heart. “You have my word. But I still wanna do something special for you – for us – before I go. Will you let me do that without a fight?”

“Okay.” 

“Okay.” Feeling content, Ari leans in to capture your mouth with his own once again. After behaving himself all day, it was time for his reward.

“Wait.” You place your hand on his chest, halting his advances. “You’re still mine wherever you go. I don’t care if it’s fucking Siberia.” You grab a fistful of his shirt, hauling him forward. “You’ll still be mine there too. You with me?”

“Fuck yeah I am.” Ari growls, using both of hands to cradle your face as he slants his lips over yours once again. The kiss is as passionate as it is raw. Your tongues dance together, both fighting for dominance. But this time your Beast lets you win.

Desire burns in your belly as you savor the sensual victory. You bury your fingers in his hair, tugging at the chestnut strands. Meanwhile, one of Ari’s hands goes to grip your hip, making you moan when he gently molds and kneads your curves. 

Jesus Christ! You suddenly felt as if you were wearing too many clothes. 

His lips skim along the column of your throat as you pant. You were always so fucking needy for him all the time. It made it almost impossible for you to resist him during moments like these.

You’re so lost in each other that you don’t even bother to look up when you hear footsteps approaching. “Will these be separate checks or…oh.” You hear your waitress stammer as she tries to collect herself. “I’ll, um - I'll just bring the one.”

Ari briefly pulls away, eliciting a soft whine from you. “Thanks. And while you're at it, we’ll be taking our food to-go.” 

“Bye, Stella.” You giggle as you give a little wave before playfully nipping at his jaw, not even bothering to glance over at the other woman’s face. You knew it was petty, but staking your claim on this man in front of your so-called rival felt so damn good. Especially after a day like today.

Frankly, the only way it could get any better was if you could make yourself utter those three magic words – the same ones you’d been practicing in the mirror last night. But right now they simply wouldn't come. They kept getting stuck in your throat.

Oh well. Guess you’d just have to try again tomorrow.

END

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romanticism. charles leclerc

“ being charles leclerc’s assistant was a piece of work. you loved him though. ”

charles leclerc x reader

a warning — crude language, mentions of food, alcohol consumption, semi-mature scenes.

word count: 2.8k

“Do you want a biscuit?” He pointed to the box of red, racing-themed biscuits, mouth already full with one. “Please don’t tell anyone.” He added as an afterthought, and you snorted to yourself, setting down a notebook to take a gingerbread man decorated as him.

The instagram handle for the baker was loud and proud on the box, and you took a photo of the little Charles, making a note to post it later.

Qualifying hadn’t gone very well for Charles, hence the angry biscuit-eating. He’d ended up third, but an incident in the famous tunnel of the Principality had cost him three more places. His white suit was blinding in the tiny room, and his frustrated little huffs as he flung things this way and that made you slightly on edge.

You had been scrambling to catch up with him this season; you had been dealing with a family crisis until Miami, leaving Charles with some guy as his assistant for the past races. You had thought he was decent at first, but Charles was a precise guy; if he was relying on you to keep it together at work for him, then you’d better fucking do it the way he wanted. Even you didn’t mess with Charles on a race weekend. He was so nervous or upset or he was the happiest guy in the world - it didn’t matter, you just had to be consistent, comforting and take things as they went.

You swore he could’ve kissed you when you arrived on Monday.

But here you were on Saturday, still uneasy; Monaco had always freaked you out - you didn’t believe in the curse because Charles scorned it, but a part of you had anticipated that a stroke of bad luck would always have its way here. It was nine in the evening, and the crowds were still insane. You were prepared to walk back to your apartment at this point, even if it would take you about an hour with the blocked off roads. You handed Charles his clean clothes to change into after his shower, and you were about to go home for the night -

“Do you want to have dinner with me?”

You tilted your head. You knew Charles’ new girlfriend had arrived this morning, surely he’d do something with her?

He must’ve seen the look on your face, and his unsureness- the way he couldn’t believe what he were saying- made you embarrassed.

“No, it’s alright. Get a good night’s sleep. I’ll struggle to get back to mine anyway.” You said abruptly. “Must I make you an Instagram post while you’re in the shower?”

He nodded, unlocking his phone. You immediately went into Google Drive to get some pictures as he left, when a message from Alexandra came in.

You blanched; usually, bar your forgetfulness, you put the phone on the do not disturb function so that you didn’t see what he was getting sent- but the full stops and seriousness made you guiltily keep a finger on the notification.

You’re being ridiculous. I can’t give up my job to come cheer you on. I know it’s Monaco but I thought I made it clear. I can’t make it after all, C. My job is equally as important as yours. You’ll be fine.

You inhaled sharply; she was pissed. You thought she was reasonable, but you knew how much it meant to him to have people here; he struggled in Monaco, and even if he didn’t admit it he was so anxious to please.

I’m sure she’ll have a little fuckin hug and a kiss for you. I’m not a cheerleader, that’s her job, Charles. Watch her under the podium instead. Or maybe not after all- I saw you got P6

Talk tomorrow

Your eyes widened. Was she talking about you?

You were being too nosy. You selected the pictures and put them together, locking his phone on the caption section so he’d write what he’d like. As you opened the door to leave, he was there, his eyes meeting yours; and he must’ve known that you knew something because he lowered his gaze.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” You said quietly, patting his arm. “Sleep well.”

There was a desperation in his tone when he asked you again to supper.

Well, how the fuck could you say no? He was clearly desperate.

“I’ll invite Joris and Lorenzo, and Arthur.” He said quickly, and you sighed; “The usual?” It was a little tapas restaurant 15 minutes away.

You closed the door then, confused, and walked away, opening your phone to call Joris for a lift.

❤️‍🔥💿💌🍓

You were in the front seat surrounded by the familiar smell of Joris’ car; you two had become good friends- always together, waiting, working because of Charles.

You were busy typing about the gingerbread man when Joris asked you about the lack of Alex (Charles had probably been talking about her first Grand Prix together with him).

You paused. “They seem to be having some sort of rift. Not sure. Ask him.” You said shortly; you tried to stay out of his love life as much as you could. You’d liked his previous girlfriend to an extent, but the final events leading up to their breakup made it awkward for you to say goodbye. You tried desperately to be professional but at that point you were a really close friend of Charles’.

Joris nodded. You two did enjoy a paddock gossip now and again, but when it involved Charles alone you really weren’t into it.

You ended up taking longer to get to the restaurant because you made him stop at your house - you weren’t going to turn up in Ferrari gear - and showered, put new clothes on and sprinted back to his car in the drizzle.

Walking through the restaurant to your table in the corner, Joris was busy chattering on about the home GP content he was busy with; you were fiddling with your hair, your bracelets, your clothes, irritated to be there. Trying to be normal around Charles in non-work situations like he didn’t fucking employ you always stressed you out.

Not to mention he was being so awkward as of late.

You slid into the bench next to Lorenzo, giving him a warm pat on the arm as Joris sat on your other side. Charles was smiling at the sight of you - you greeted Arthur, and then him, and you were presented with some iced tea (no one drank next to Charles on a Saturday before the race).

You were lost in the conversation between Arthur and Charles (Arthur hadn’t done so well in F2 today either) when Lorenzo caught your attention.

“How are you?” You adored the way he spoke French; it was low and comfortable, in the kind of way that reminded you of a warm hug.

“Alright.” You said, giggling, and he nodded seriously. He knew about your stress - he’d never raced as intensely as his two brothers - and you’d always found him a comfort.

He was busy telling you about something - a trip with his girlfriend - when you heard the distress in Charles’ tone and turned to him. He was staring at the paella in front of him.

Joris was silent; Arthur just looked lost.

“What’s wrong?” You said quietly, and you noticed a few stubborn tears in his eyes that he was dying not to let fall.

“I’m just not feeling good about the race.” His tone was terribly melancholic, and you felt a bit frozen. “I- Cha-“

Lorenzo was stiff; you blinked.

Charles sat up straight. “It’s okay. Sorry.” His tone indicated no more talking about it, and Joris launched into a conversation about something, Arthur hurriedly joining in. You made eye contact with him sternly; we were talking about this later.

❤️‍🔥💿💌🍓

Supper had come and gone, the bill had been paid, and you found yourself alone in Charles’ car at 10:53 pm on the way back to your apartment.

“Please come in.” You had said to him, after he refused to go home immediately to sleep; promising a cup of tea before he got home.

You had dropped your keys by the front door and entered, your cat greeting the two of you. “What’s wrong?” You said, starting the kettle with a tenderness in your tone you could never replicate with anyone else.

Charles was just sighing, complaining, choking with emotion as he spoke of his fears - dear God, he was struggling - you poured milk and sugar, biting a lip, and eventually it became too much that you brought him in for a tight hug in the light of your kitchen, a song playing in the corner.

You pulled away, and to your surprise he was looking into your eyes softly, a gentleness in his expression that freaked you out. You felt your body soften as his hand met your hip, and you knew, despite yourself, you could never refuse him.

“Cha…” you murmured, gaze on his lips. Holy shit, this was so wrong.

He let out a little sigh that had you going insane, and you turned around to fetch the tea, overwhelmed; this was the only way you could prevent whatever what was happening, not happen.

He murmured your name again, and you turned around slowly, guiltily watching his beautiful face, certain feelings you’d suffocated return just like that.

His hand met your arm, gentle pressure prompting you to put the tea down. You gasped quietly as his hand on your hip brought you together, eyes wide and wanting.

He met your lips with his, and it was like a wildfire that burned, bright and haunting, kissing you everywhere, his touch burning, thigh in between your legs, arms and hands touching you everywhere, you were gasping and he was moaning, the desire in the air thick, scary, and his facial hair tickled you in a delicious way that made you shiver, eyes lidded, dark, and suddenly he was moving to take his shirt off and you stepped back, terrified, lonely.

“Charles, you have a girlfriend.” You said lowly, hair messy. You noticed your lipstick all over his lips and face.

He looked scared of himself. “Fuck. I have to go. I need to sleep.”

“And talk to Alex.” You said, scaring yourself with the heaviness of your tone, and he was gathering his things, tea forgotten.

When he left, you waved him out, mouth wobbling, and you burst into tears after closing the door, clutching your mouth, your sobs shaking you, sinking down to the floor.

❤️‍🔥💿💌🍓

You’d agreed to lift Joris the previous night, so you were glad to ditch seeing Charles until you really had to - an hour later, you walked into his driver’s room; he was doing some exercises with Andrea while the social media intern videoed him. You stayed out of sight of the camera, leaning against the wall, trying to distract yourself from the previous night’s events.

You were wearing more makeup than usual to hide your puffy eyes from the tears last night, determined to act as if nothing had happened. You really hated that Charles had cheated on his girlfriend with you; you could put it down to him being vulnerable, but you were at fault as much as he was.

When everyone had left, Charles was left on the couch staring sheepishly at you. You crossed your arms, an invisible ocean separating you two, you two continents.

“I told Alex.” He said calmly.

“And?”

“She said she can’t be with me if I’m not being faithful and she’s not there all the time. We’ve only been together three months. She’s not into it.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “It was my fault. I made a move when I wasn’t meant to. I’m sorry for putting you in that position.”

From the way he was moaning yesterday, you weren’t sure if that was true.

“Okay.” You snort, moving to open the door. “Driver’s parade in 20 minutes. I’ll see you later?”

He nodded, waving a goodbye as you left.

❤️‍🔥💿💌🍓

P6, like he started.

It was consistent, Joris had joked in your ear as you shook your head, trying not to laugh. He’d had a pretty good race, the team hadn’t fucked up, it was just the way it went.

He had been busy with press and much more before he ended up back with Andrea where you and Joris had been waiting for about three hours (you were also a bit drunk; you’d had too many glasses of champagne from Paddock Club).

“Hi!” You giggled, high-fiving him. “Good job.” Joris also cackled, and Charles shot you a glare. “Are you drunk?”

“No.” You said firmly, shaking your head. “I am very sober.” You said, and Joris nodded seriously. “We had a little bit of champagne.”

Andrea gestures to the bottle that was on the table beside you. “What’s that?”

“For Cha! A well done.” You beamed, and presented it to him. Charles couldn’t help but laugh. “I am going to have to drive you two back in her car, no? Put my bicycle in the back.”

You and Joris were squealing with laughter at the idea, and the two standing before you were laughing at you.

“Come, you fucking idiots.”

“No! You can’t insult me, you kiiiiissssed me,” you giggled, and Joris didn’t catch it, but Andrea did, shooting Charles a glare, who if looks could kill, would’ve shot you dead. He looked so pissed.

“Come,” he snapped, and Andrea said that he’d take Joris.

❤️‍🔥💿💌🍓

He pulled up to your apartment. “Come in.” You said, and Charles scoffed. “Not for a long time now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You looked so vulnerable, rain falling on your head as you peered down at him. “Are you taking my car? I’ll come fetch it tomorrow.” You said softly. “Thanks for taking me. I’m sorry, I was stupid. I needed to relax for one fucking minute this week.”

Charles’ eyes softened, and he opened his mouth to say something before he closed it, nodding curtly, and drove away.

You couldn’t differentiate the raindrops from your tears, forcefully wiping them away.

❤️‍🔥💿💌🍓

You knocked on his door at midday the next afternoon, wanting to thank him before flying to Spain. You hated the energy he’d given you since you’d kissed; it was wildly different and you loathed it.

He answered a minute or so later, glasses on and a scruffy jumper, eyes tired. “Hi,” you were out of breath all of a sudden; he was so terribly attractive.

He looked surprised to see you. “I came to say thank you. And get my keys.”

“Come in. Do you want coffee?” He said instead, and you felt a bit of déjà vu from two nights before, hauntingly familiar.

You loved his apartment. The red and white was a colour scheme you adored, and you sat on the sofa while he made you a coffee, one spoon of sugar and a splash of milk just how you liked.

“I want to say sorry for how weird I was this week. I just hate the Grand Prix in Monaco, you know?” You said hurriedly, and he set down the coffee, sitting down next to you. He laughed. “I know. I know.” It had been this way since 2021- when you had started working for him- and he kept having shit races here.

He held out his hand. You squeezed it. “Let’s move on from it.”

He smirked. “Am I such a bad kisser?”

Your jaw dropped, throwing your head back laughing. “Cha!”

He was dead serious. “Why do you want to move on?”

“I work for you?” You said, disbelievingly, and his mouth twitched. “Charles, come on.”

He picked up the mug and took a sip.

You quite literally wanted to die.

He set it down again, looking seriously at you. “I don’t regret the kiss, if you want to know.”

You stare at him. “It literally broke you and your girlfriend up.”

“I like you.” He shrugged. “More than her. More than I thought.”

You laugh, bringing the coffee to your lips. “And when I saw your lipstick on my face…” he trailed off, blushing, “Fuck.”

You swear you were as red as a mother fucking tomato at this point.

“Slow down.” You retorted, trying not to spit the coffee out.

“Kiss me.”

You stare at him again. Was he fucking delusional?

“What?” You hiss.

He rolls his eyes and kisses you.

You’re pulled onto his lap, breath gone, kissing him as hard as you can. Your head is thrown back as he goes for your neck, and the sounds he’s making make you moan.

“You’re really hot with glasses on,” you tell him, and he falters, giggling, before carrying on.

This time you let him take his shirt off, matching him.

You fall back onto the couch. Those eyes on yours, the eyes of your beautiful boy.

❤️‍🔥💿💌🍓

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thank you, monaco 💋💋

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lorenzotl Padel boyssss

user i wish I had your job girl

carlossainz55 Please give me a shirt @charles_leclerc

maisonde.monaco ❤️‍🔥💋

user So glad to see you back in the paddock again!!

thanks for reading bestie ❤️‍🔥

masterlist

[talxns]

Academic Articles that Analyze Queer Readings of Batman and Robin (Brudick)

There actually exist multiple!…but the ones I want to introduce right now talk specifically about how the creation of the batfamily was DC’s attempt to dissuade brudick readings. and that it can be argued that DC is still doing the same thing today.

The first article is called “All in the Family: Homophobia and Batman Comics in the 1950s”, published in the International Journal of Comics Art in Fall 2000 by Chris York. It was not available for free online, but I bought a digital copy of the volume it was published in and provided screenshots because it’s been 24 years and I hate the fact that academics are behind paywalls so I’m sharing.

This article was actually infamous because DC refused to grant permission for the use of their panels in this article.

Click for better quality.

Notable Quotes:

“National [Periodical Publications]’s biggest step, however, was the introduction of other members of the Bat-family, which would give them permanent female counterparts and solidify their heterosexual status.”

“It is clear that, although Batman and Robin remain partners, their interests are no longer as the Dynamic Duo, but as a Bat-family.”

“Taking the focus of the comic away from Batman and Robin was exactly what these superfluous characters were designed to do.”

The second article, published in the Iowa Journal of Cultural Studies in 2005, is called "Domesticity, Homosociality, and Male Power in Superhero Comics of the 1950s" by Mark Best.

Good news! This article is available online for free and it’s a great read.

Notable Quotes:

“In contrast to the Marvel family, however, the Batman and Superman families were modeled more after the familial relations of the nuclear family and the gender expectations of the domestic ideology.”

“One way the genre attempted to contain any “subversive” potential, including the possibility of homosexual readings of the comics, was through the narrative device of the “super­ hero family.””

Here is more academic reading with the themes of Batman and homophobia, written in 1991. This article is referenced in the former piece.

In summary:

(lest we forget) Batman has had queer readings since its inception, specifically between Bruce and Dick.

The creation of the batfamily served to curtail those brudick readings

It seems pretty obvious that the same attempts are STILL being made by DC, now with the exaggerated push for explicit familial titles like “father” and “son”. And are still working if you see any discourse online from fans who strictly oppose brudick on the basis of their “father/son” relationship (which seems to me a more modern emphasis compared to in the past, maybe i’ll make a different post about that later.) They are unknowingly parroting Freddy Wertham’s concerns and eating up DC’s new strategy of distancing Bruce and Dick, just under an accusation harder to argue against nowadays. It’s gauche to criticize queerness nowadays, but consider it incest and suddenly it’s acceptable to bash again.

I just find it incredibly fascinating that brudick had been discussed and analyzed in multiple academic articles! And reading some comments I saw lately of people exclaiming “I can’t believe Brudick is this popular!/Who on earth is shipping Brudick!?!” made me sigh and really want to pull these out. Brudick has been a thing before all of us were born. DC’s propaganda/internet purity culture has been doing too good of a job lately. We have to remember our roots.