#This song (the well) is going to be on loop for the next month of my life

[walmart-miku]

wake up babe new crane wives song just dropped

[ajdrawshq]

GUYS !!!!!!! i have a chance to not be screwed into paying 500ish dollars for that class i was forced to leave for ridiculous reasons beyond my control !!!!!!!

[esmedelacroix]

All the ways you disappoint me.

pairing: boyfriend!miguel o'hara x f!reader

summary: The honeymoon phase confirmed it's existence for the second year of dating Miguel. Your love life went from flourishing to one-sided the day Miguel revealed to you that he was Spiderman.

cw: ooc miguel, very angsty, depressive behaviors, alcohol abuse

a/n: I have been on hiatus for a very long time. I've been in a very dark place this past month. I lost a very good friend of mine that I have known since middle school. Which really threw me off track. I have a bunch of works in progress coming out soon. I finally feel like I'm in a mentally okay spot to pick up writing again. This is lowk just word vomit but its something.

*listen to this song on loop for the best experience !

miguel masterlist | next part

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Disappointment. A feeling you you felt often. Maybe even too often. You were very familiar with disappointment. He only ever came around late at night. Disappointment would wrap his arms around you as if he wasn't the reason why there was a wet spot on your pillowcase almost every night.

All Miguel O'Hara ever does is disappoint you. "So why are you still with him?" your good friend Jess asked over hot morning tea.

"What am I supposed to do without him?" you questioned.

"That's not a very healthy mindset to have. You know that," Jess said putting a firm comforting hand over yours.

You look away for a moment. Eyes trailing out the window of the Spider Society Café that reeked of coffee and broken promises. Miguel O'Hara was married to the barista who would hand him five coffees minimum a day. He chose to marry the barista and work and not his own girlfriend of three years.

As you watched the birds create an arrow in the air flying north over the firey trees below. Part of you wished that you were a bird in this very moment flying away from the problems that devoured your brain from the inside. "You still with me?" Jess asked worriedly.

"Yeah," you sighed turning back to her.

"So you'll talk to Miguel tonight?" Jess commanded. She did that a lot. She would ask a question that sounded like an order which made you feel the need to obey. You simply nodded bringing your mug to your lips and sipping on your now-cold Earl Grey tea.

"Isn't it strange how quickly tea gets cold?" you thought out loud.

"Well that's kind of how tea works hon'," she answered.

. . .

You stopped waiting for Miguel to come home ages ago because you didn't think there was a point in it. Just like how you didn't see the point in trying to talk to him about putting effort into your relationship. In the same way you shouldn't have seen the point in staying with him after your last thousand arguments. You felt your eyelids get heavier with every passing hour you spent staring at the ceiling waiting to hear the door swing open.

Like you summoned him with your mind, you heard the door. The keys. The sigh. And the footsteps. Your heart began to race. Why am I nervous? You asked yourself. You stood up and walked out of your shared room.

Miguel's usual routine was to get home eat the food you prepared for him hours prior, shower, and go to bed. As you walked down the hallway leading to the kitchen, you stopped yourself before turning the corner. Inhale. Exhale. You stepped out into the kitchen and his head shot up immediately. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?" he asked. That’s new. An apology, from Miguel. You thought to yourself.

"No, no, I was having trouble sleeping," you answered in a quiet voice.

"Everything alright?" he questioned as he scraped the last bit of food on his plate into his mouth.

"Yeah, I've just been thinking," you started.

"About?" he asked urging you to continue.

"Miguel do you still love me?" you blurted out.

"Of course I do," he replied in a fraction of a second. He sounded almost hurt that you had even asked that question.

Moments like these make you forget the status of your relationship. Moments when Miguel would forget that he's supposed to be cold to you. The moments when he allowed himself to let his guard down around you. Those fleeting moments that should have never left your relationship. "Then why don't we spend any time together? I want to be around you Miguel, I don't care if we sit in silence in the most boring place on the planet. I just want to be in your presence," you admitted. He gave you that little hurt expression again.

"I—I've just been busy," he stuttered. Miguel would often do this thing where he would begin to say something and then cut himself off and choose to say something else.

"Miguel, you know you can tell me anything," you insisted.

"I just—can we please not do this right now?" he pleaded.

You gave him a frown. "Can we sleep it off? Talk about it in the morning?" he sighed rubbing his face.

"Will you even be here in the morning?" you ask under your breath.

"I'll see," he said putting a hand on your shoulder as he walked past you into the bathroom. He did it again. He cut off the conversation the moment it got hard for him. Why are we so complicated? You asked yourself as you lay your head on your moist pillow. Will there ever be a night where I don't cry because of him? A night where he doesn't confuse me with his actions?

. . .

That night as you lay in bed with his back faced away from him, you couldn't help but cry. You felt like you were drowning in your tears. Like they were holding you back. You tried to be as quiet as possible. Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. You repeated to yourself.

The only happy thoughts you could think of were of Miguel. Or the Miguel you used to know. The person he used to be before he started using his job as an excuse to neglect you.

Just then when your breathing slowed and you calmed down a bit with tears still streaming down your face. He wrapped his arms around you. He cuddled you from behind. He did that often. When he thought you were asleep. It was almost as if different versions of himself occupied his brain. You liked the one that took the spotlight at night.

The one that would cuddle you. Nuzzle his nose into your hair. The one that would rub your back and. Apologize. To. You.

. . .

Apology fell asleep that night and disappointment woke up at the ass crack of dawn because there was another Spider-verse that needed saving.

You woke up later that morning to the usual chilling feeling of Miguel not being there. You got up stretching your arms as you walked to your kitchen. You made yourself a cup of tea and an omelette, and ate alone, in silence. Thinking. About him. Again.

For the second time this week as if you called for him with your heart, you heard the balcony door slide open and a masked man swing in. He took his mask off and shook his head adjusting his hair. "Good morning," you said with a stupid smile on your face. Why? You couldn't tell. Maybe it was the fact that he was actually here in the morning like he said he would be.

"Good morning. You’re in a good mood," he chuckled.

"Well you're here," you smiled.

Miguel gave you a look. You weren't sure how to feel about it. But it wasn't a bad look. It was nice. Kind of sweet. He prepared a pot of black coffee and talked about his morning in Peni Parker's universe catching a difficult anomaly. For a moment, you could feel little fireflies set off in your stomach seeing him talk about something he was passionate about.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" he asked as he took a seat next to you.

"Just about us and our recent slump, I guess?" you started.

"I'm listening," he hummed as he sipped his coffee.

"I want to spend more time with you Miguel. I want to not argue with you about how much time you spend at work. I want to know what's on your mind. I want to know how you really are and not just how you say you are," you admit. Miguel stayed quiet for a while in thought.

"I don't know what to say to that," he said; his voice cracking a bit.

"You don't have to say anything just—let me be your shelter, please?" you suggested.

. . .

That night Miguel didn't come home. He didn't come in the middle of the night. He didn't come to eat either. He didn't come to wrap his arms around you. And he didn't come to apologize.

. . .

I don't like it when my friends tell me I have a drinking problem. How could it possibly be a problem if it makes me feel better about all the things that rack my brain? Being vulnerable is much easier said than done. Especially, with the girl I love. Of course, I want to tell her things. I want to tell her everything. I want her to know me as well as she knows her hometown. As well as she knows her childhood cat. And as well as she knows how to navigate Pinterest.

But I'm afraid. I'm afraid I'll cry and she'll think I'm weak. I'm afraid she'll think I'm unworthy. I know she would never think those things about me. But how could anyone think anything differently if I think that way about myself?

That's why I turn to the friend that won't let me down ever. Endless Modelos. Because I'm so weak that I can't even open up tp my girlfriend. Every time I feel like I am finally ready to tell her what I'm going through, I stop myself because I am afraid.

. . .

To your great surprise, Miguel wasn't there in the morning. Or the next, or even the one after that. By the third you hadn't seen him it was beginning to stress you out. You wondered if he was safe. If he was even still alive. You decided to go to the Spider Society.

After talking with Jess for a while and babysitting Mayday for a bit. You were finally free to go see Miguel in his office. You opened the door and called out to him but the only thing you heard from him was a sniff. Then two. Followed by a third.

"Miguel are you up there?" you asked as you climbed the stairs to his his platform.

"No?" he said in a shaky voice.

"Is everything okay?" you asked. You saw your answer in the form of 10 too many emptied beer bottles on his desk and on the ground.

You rushed towards him discarding your purse on the ground. He brought his hands to his face and he hid. From you. Your heart sank to the lowest pit in your stomach it could reach. You placed a gentle hand on his shoulders and crouched down next to him. "Miguel, talk to me, please?" you whispered.

Nothing.

. . .

The worst way Miguel could ever disappoint you happened. You had imagined it happening in so many other ways but not like that. You never thought of him as the type of man to give up on something so good.

For the last time in your relationship, Miguel O'Hara disappointed you when he told you he wanted to break up.

. . .

next part → All the ways I defy you

[lemoncrushh]

This Is Me You're Talking To

Summary: You and Harry are divorced, but you both still have feelings for each other.

Warnings: Divorce, smut (sex with the ex), angst, lots of feelings

Word count: 3924

A/N: Written in 2016. Inspired by the song of the same name by Trisha Yearwood. Obviously, this isn't for everyone, but it's very personal to me and one of my favorite things I've written. Please be kind.

Hate is a strong word. At one time you might have felt like you hated him. But it had been a year now since the divorce and you'd both moved on. You'd resolved that you just weren't meant to be together and were never really on the same page. In the beginning of the relationship, you'd convinced yourself that you were okay with his busy lifestyle and the fact that your time together was limited. But after five years of marriage and two kids, you'd come to resent him for that exact fact, and you finally agreed it was time to separate.

Two months ago, you were out with friends for a long overdue girls' night out, the kids staying the night with your mother. You hadn't expected to run into Harry. You saw him regularly when you would drop the kids off for their time with him, but other than discussing their needs, you didn't speak to him very much. It just wasn't necessary. Knowing what he was doing with his personal life was no longer your business and frankly you didn't care.

So, when you were about to make your way to the bar behind your friends, you stopped in your tracks when you saw Harry slipping his arm off the back of a beautiful brunette. One of your friends twirled around to give you a wide stare, the other muttering "oh shit" and asking if you were okay. You rolled your eyes and assured them you were fine before continuing to the bar.

After ordering your cocktail, you caught a glimpse of Harry looking your way out of the corner of your eye. Quickly turning back to the bartender, you gave him a smile and a healthy tip when he handed you your glass.

"Y/N," you suddenly heard in an all too familiar voice.

"Hi, Harry," you sighed, barely looking at him.

"Out with some friends?" he asked with a weak smile. You knew that smile. You knew all of his smiles, actually, and what each one meant. This was his nervous smile.

"Yeah," you replied emotionlessly before taking a sip from your straw.

"You look amazing," he commented, stepping closer to you.

You shut your eyes for a moment, telling yourself his words didn't mean a thing. "Thanks," you said, eyeing one of your friends in hopes that she was ready to move to a table.

"How are the kids?"

"Fine," you nodded. "They're at my mom's."

"Good. I'm looking forward to seeing them next weekend."

You continued to nod, having nothing to add.

"How've you been?" Harry inquired.

"I-"

"Baby..." you heard a female voice from behind Harry. You saw her painted nails on his shoulder before you saw her face. "Let's go sit over there."

"Love, this is Y/N," said Harry, gesturing toward you. "Y/N, this is Sharla."

It took all you had not to quirk a brow, but instead you extended your hand, shaking the other woman's.

"Lovely to meet you," you smiled with pursed lips.

"You too," she said nonchalantly before releasing her hand from your grip and placing it on Harry's bicep.

"Well, I guess I'll...see you..." Harry grinned shyly.

"Yep," you nodded once more.

"Good for you," you suddenly heard behind you as Harry and the brunette walked away.

"I'm proud of you, Y/N," your other friend said as she wrapped her arm around your neck.

You let out a breath. "Gotta admit," you muttered, "that was harder than just seeing him when I drop the kids off."

"Well of course it was. Is that the first woman he's dated since you?"

"I have no idea," you replied, turning around. "But that's the first time I've met one."

"C'mon hon," bestie number one looped arms with you. "We're gonna find you another man."

You chuckled as you walked with your friends to the other side of the room.

"What the fuck kind of a name is Sharla?"

"Desiree had a little cold this week," you explained as you handed your two-year-old to Harry's open arms. "She seems okay now, but I put some medicine in the bag in case you need it."

"Alright," nodded Harry before turning to his daughter. "You feeling better now, Desi?"

Desiree beamed her angelic smile. "Better."

Harry gave her his mini version of a fist bump before giving her a kiss on her forehead. "Wanna watch TV with your brother?" Bringing the little girl into the living room, he set her on the sofa next to her four-year-old brother.

"Cameron, get your shoes off the couch, please," you instructed.

The little boy kicked his shoes onto the floor without prying his eyes from the cartoon he was watching. Crossing your arms, you turned to Harry.

"Something smells good," you commented.

Harry grinned. "Thought I'd make some spaghetti."

"Look at you," you quipped. Then you gazed around the room. "Where's Sharla?"

Sharla had been at Harry's the last two times you'd dropped the kids off. Though she'd been pleasant enough, you could feel her eyes throwing daggers at you the entire fifteen minutes you were there.

"Um...dunno," replied Harry with a shrug.

"She was busy?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "We broke up."

"Oh," you said softly. "I'm sorry."

Harry raised his brows and quickly looked away. "Yeah."

Biting your lip, you watched Harry turn for the kitchen where he stirred the contents of a large pot.

"Well, I guess I'll be going," you muttered.

"You um..." Harry stumbled, "wanna stay? For dinner?"

"Oh, I don't-"

Your words were quickly interrupted by the buzz of a timer.

"Damn, forgot about the garlic bread." Harry hastily opened the oven door and grabbed the baking sheet, not bothering to put an oven mitt on.

"Shit, bloody he-"

"Harry!" you exclaimed, just as he dropped the baking sheet on the counter.

"Sorry," he said, thinking you were upset at his cursing in front of the children.

"What do you think you're doing?" you scoffed.

You grabbed his hand and pulled it to the sink, running cold water over it. You could hear Harry's heavy breaths as he stood next to you, his chest heaving.

"You can't just grab something out of the oven without gloves, Harry," you scolded.

"I know," he mumbled. "I was..."

You lifted your eyes to him, his pouty lips partially open as heavy breaths continued to puff out.

"You were what?" you inquired.

"Distracted."

Exhaling slowly through your nose, you averted your gaze and returned to the task at hand.

"Looks okay," you cleared your throat, turning off the water. "Doesn't seem to be burned too bad. But you might wanna put some ice on it."

"Thanks," Harry said so low that you barely heard it.

Reaching in the freezer for an ice pack, Harry turned his back to you as you dried your hands on a dish towel.

"Daddy!" squealed Cameron as he came trotting into the kitchen. "Are we having pasketti?"

"We are, little man," Harry confirmed.

Cameron danced to the table, taking his seat without being told. Walking over to him, you kissed him on the cheek.

"Goodnight, baby, Mommy's going." Giving him a hug, you walked past Harry to kiss your little girl goodbye.

"You sure you don't wanna stay?" you heard Harry ask.

Lifting Desiree in your arms and propping her on your hip, you returned to the kitchen. "I don't know..."

"There's plenty of food," Harry gestured toward the pot. "Way more than we'll eat."

"It does smell good," you hesitated.

Harry gave you a smile. This was different than his nervous smile from earlier. This was his 'c'mon, you know you want to' smile. Stepping up to the stove, he grabbed the wooden spoon he'd been stirring the sauce with, bringing it over to you, his hand underneath to catch any drops.

"Give it a taste," he said.

You let him gently lift the spoon to your mouth as you tasted the delicious Italian seasonings.

"What do you think?" he asked.

You swallowed. "I think I'm staying for dinner."

Harry continued to smile as you walked over to the table and set Desiree in her high chair. Harry got a bowl ready for Cameron and set it in front of the patiently waiting boy. Then he did the same for Desi, giving both children a sippy cup of juice. You sat next to your daughter as you watched her starting to make a mess.

"Desi, you're gonna get more on your tray than in your mouth," you chuckled.

"She likes it that way," joked Harry.

You couldn't help but beam at him as he laid a plate of spaghetti and garlic bread in front of you, another plate for himself next to you. Returning to the kitchen once again, he uncorked a bottle of wine and poured two glasses.

"Cheers," he said when he handed a glass to you and sat down. You clinked glasses and took a sip.

"Oh that's the good stuff," you commented.

Harry winked. "You noticed."

Early in your relationship you'd confessed to Harry that you had a weakness for red wine. One night he surprised you with an expensive bottle that knocked your socks off. After that, he always made it a point to get it again for special occasions.

"What did you get this for?" you inquired.

"No real reason," Harry shrugged.

You eyed him as he took another sip and set his glass down, digging his fork into his spaghetti. Raising a brow, he looked at you out of the corner of his eye until you quickly picked up your own fork.

The four of you had a pleasant dinner. For some reason it didn't feel odd or uncomfortable. It felt like old times, although your kids were a year older.

After the meal, you helped clean up, wiping Desiree's face and setting her down to let her run back to the living room. Just as you were cleaning off the table and Harry had put the leftovers in the fridge, you turned around to find him pouring more wine.

"I hope you're not pouring that for me," you scoffed.

"Why not? You always used to drink two glasses. Sometimes three."

"That's when I didn't have to drive home," you rolled your eyes.

"Who said you have to now?" Harry asked before taking a sip from his glass.

You narrowed your eyes. "Harry."

"Wha'?" he sounded.

Shaking your head, you were about to reach for your purse that you'd left on the counter when Desiree emerged from the living room and took your hand.

"Mommy!" she said with excitement.

"What baby?" you asked her.

"Sit wiv meee," she replied, tugging on your fingers with her tiny hands. You followed her lead into the living room where she pointed to the sofa and demanded for you to sit. When you obliged, she climbed into your lap. Looking up, you saw Harry with a massive grin on his face. Then he crossed to the room to Cameron's other side and sat down beside him.

"What are we watching?" you whispered in Desiree's ear.

"Pooh bear!" she answered.

You and Harry sat through the rest of Winnie The Pooh and half of some other program that came on after it until you realized both kids were asleep. With delicate precision, you rose from the sofa with your baby girl in your arms, and Harry scooped up a sleeping Cameron. He followed you down the hall until you stopped at Desi's room and laid her down in her bed. Pulling the covers over her and pushing her hair back from her face, you kissed her temple. Then you met Harry in the hallway and traded places, giving Cameron a goodnight kiss. Shutting their doors, your eyes met Harry's and you gave him a tight-lipped smile before heading to the bathroom. When you came back out, he was standing in the kitchen again.

"Thanks for the dinner," you said softly. "It was nice. You know, to be with the kids and put them to bed."

"Yeah, usually I have to read them at least two stories each," he smiled. "Just something about their mum, I suppose."

You blinked, lowering your gaze. "Well anyway, thanks. I'll come pick 'em up Sunday."

"Wait..." he insisted when you turned for the door. "You're not gonna finish your wine?"

You twirled back around, the full glass of wine still sitting on the counter. "Um..."

"It's your favorite," said Harry, lifting the glass. "It'd be a shame to waste it."

"Harry," you shook your head, "what are you doing?"

He shrugged. "Wha'? I'm not doing anything. I just thought you'd like to have your wine. Just because we're divorced doesn't mean we can't be in the same room, does it?"

Licking your lips, you dropped your bag and keys on the counter again. He was right. It wasn't like it meant anything. You could be civil. "Okay."

Taking the glass from him, you followed him into the living room and sat on the couch.

"How's work?" he asked you.

"Ppppffff" you sounded, nearly spitting out your wine.

"Was that not a good question to ask?"

"You wanna talk about my job?" you rolled your eyes.

"I just wanna know how you're doing, Y/N," Harry remarked. "I know you don't believe it, but I do still care."

You sighed, sitting back in your seat. "It's fine. Work is good. No major complaints."

"Good," Harry nodded, "I'm glad."

His eyes seemed to be burning into yours so you had to look away, taking another sip of wine.

"Have you been seeing anyone?" you heard him ask and you flinched.

"Why?"

"I just wondered. You deserve to be happy, Y/N."

You huffed and shook your head.

"What did I say?" he looked taken back.

"Sorry, I just don't get out as much as Harry Styles. I don't have the opposite sex throwing themselves at my feet. Or the same sex, for that matter."

"Y/N..."

"What happened with Sharla?" you asked, rolling your eyes again as you pronounced her name.

Harry let out a low, short chuckle. "Sharla...was...not for me."

"But she seemed so perfect for you, Harry," you teased.

He narrowed his eyes. "No, she wasn't. Far from it."

Your expression softening, you tilted your head. "So what did happen?"

"She didn't want to be with someone who had kids," he swallowed. "Simple as that."

"I'm sorry," you muttered.

Harry ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. "It's alright. There were other things too, but that was sort of the deal breaker."

"What other things?" you asked curiously.

Harry looked at you and puckered his lips in thought, no doubt trying to decide whether he wanted to divulge this information.

"She wasn't very bright," he stated matter-of-factly.

You let out a giggle, covering your mouth with your hand.

"She once asked me what country Alaska was in."

"Oh my god," you laughed harder.

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "I know. That shoulda been a red flag."

"Poor thing," you said.

"Who? Her or me?"

You threw your head back laughing some more until you realized you should keep your voice down since the children were sleeping. You finished the rest of your wine in one large gulp, setting the glass on the coffee table. It was then that Harry got up from his seat and walked to the kitchen, returning with the wine bottle.

"Harry!" you exclaimed when he started pouring into your glass.

"Not much left," he insisted. "We need to finish it."

With a scoff, you took the glass. You figured you might as well. You were already feeling tipsy, so it wasn't like you'd be driving right then anyway. Besides, as much as you wanted to deny it, you were feeling comfortable with Harry for the first time in over a year. Maybe it didn't have to mean anything. It was just...nice.

"Oh hey, I wanted to show you something," Harry finally said after you'd been sitting in silence for a few moments. Slipping his phone out of his pocket, he swiped the screen until he stopped on something that made him smile. "Here."

You took the phone from him and noticed it was a video. Pressing the screen, it came to life. In the center was Cameron sitting on the floor, a toy drum between his legs. You could hear the sound of a guitar strumming in the background and a voice singing, no doubt Harry's. As soon as Cameron started banging on the drum, little Desiree showed up in the screen, doing her best to dance to the mixed rhythms. You watched the video in awe, smiling from ear to ear. By the end, you were all choked up.

"That was great," you commented, handing the phone back to Harry. You sniffed and wiped your eyes.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

You nodded. "I loved that. You're..."

As your voice trailed off, you felt Harry shift on the sofa, sliding closer to you.

"What was that, love?"

"You're such a great father," you declared. "They love you so much."

"I love them, too."

"When did you take that?" you asked.

"Bout a month ago," he replied. "I kept meaning to show you, but forgot."

You nodded silently. Looking into Harry's eyes at that moment, you felt a sudden wave rush over you, like you were being pulled under. It was like the feeling you used to get with him, when things were good. As you lifted your glass to take another sip, Harry reached for it, stopping you. Taking it from your hand, you watched him set it on the coffee table. Then scooting even closer to you, he slid his hand under your ear. When he tilted his head to kiss you, you didn't stop him. You'd known it was coming, it was one of his signature moves. But you allowed his lips to press against yours. Even when he continued with the kiss, slipping his tongue inside, you didn't stop him. Instead, you allowed your body to come alive, urging him to keep going.

Dragging his lips down your neck, he felt him hum against your skin. His hands encircled your waist, the pads of his fingers traveling up your back as your own hands got tangled in his hair.

"Harry..." you finally sounded, not really sure how you planned to end that sentence.

"Tell me," he demanded, his voice low and raspy in your ear.

"What?"

"Tell me you want me," he finished. "Just like you used to. I need to hear it again."

You swallowed hard, not immediately fulfilling his request. When he lifted his head to look at you, his emerald eyes looked dark and full of fire.

"Tell me, baby," he repeated.

"I want you, Harry," you admitted. "I want you to make love to me."

With a nod, Harry kissed you passionately before rising from the couch and reaching his hand out for you to take. You followed him into the bedroom where he kissed you again, lifting the hem of your shirt until it was over your head and dropped on the floor. You fumbled with the buttons on his shirt and removed it, adding it to the pile. You wasted no time removing your jeans and underwear before you lied down on the bed.

As Harry hovered over you, warnings began to go off in your head. It had been so long. Your body missed his so much it ached. But your head was telling you this might not be a good idea.

When his lips met yours again, however, your body won out. You were so thirsty for him, you knew you had to have him, even if it was wrong.

Neither of you said a word. Your actions and your eyes spoke everything. With heavy eyelids, slid down your body, licking and sucking your nipples the way you liked. Everything he did was the way you liked. He knew your body better than anyone had or ever could.

When he made his way between your legs, you gasped and closed your eyes. His hands on your thighs, he nipped at your clit before sliding his tongue up your slit. He worked his magic, moving in circles, slowly at first before picking up speed. You grasped at the sheets beneath you as you felt yourself reach the edge, your toes curling.

"Oh my god," you finally sounded, a low deep moan rising in your throat as you felt the orgasm rip through you.

It wasn't until you were coming down, catching your breath, that you took in your surroundings and realization hit you. This wasn't your husband. He hadn't been for a long time. You had moved on a while ago. Yet, here you were in his bed.

Kissing your inner thighs, Harry lifted his head and returned to hovering over you. You legs trembled from the aftermath as he gave you a lopsided grin.

Harry didn't ask if you were ready for him. In all your time together, he just always knew. He didn't need to ask. You were always ready for him. Your body craved him. Swiping his hand up your wetness, he used it to lubricate his erection before entering you. He thrust a few times before you turned your head to stare at the wall. You weren't sure why, but you could feel the tears coming. This wasn't how it was supposed to be, you told yourself.

Grabbing hold of your thigh with one hand, his other next to your head, Harry moved in and out at a steady rhythm until he finally slowed to a stop.

"Look at me," he breathed.

Your head still turned to the pillow, you fought back the tears.

"Please," he begged. "I'm inside you baby, you can't look at me?"

Your chest shook with sobs as you finally lifted your eyes to look into his. Although they were dry, they revealed the same feelings and emotions as yours.

"I love you, Y/N," he declared. "I never stopped."

As another tear trickled down your cheek, you lifted your hand to touch Harry's face.

"You still love me too, don't you?" he asked.

Biting your lip, you nodded. Harry leaned his forehead against yours.

"Then what are we doing? We should be together."

A tiny sound rose from your throat as you threaded your fingers through his hair. Lifting his head slightly, Harry looked at you.

"Yeah?"

"Yes," you heard yourself agree, making Harry smile.

"God, I've missed you," he groaned, his hips slowly pumping once more. "So much."

"I missed you too," you admitted, your eyelids fluttering from the sensation.

"Feels so good."

You nodded again. You couldn't deny it. He felt incredible. He'd always been the best, the only one who could make you feel this way. So loved, so desired, so wanted.

You came together within minutes, panting with clumsy kisses. Afterwards, Harry turned out the light and pulled the covers over you. He didn't have to ask you to stay the night. Once again, he knew. He always knew.

As you lay there in the darkness, you wondered what this meant for the future, for your family. Maybe you didn't need to decide right away. Maybe you could start over, take it step by step. But one thing was certain. Wrapped up in Harry's arms was like home. And that's where you wanted to be.

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please like, comment, reblog or send me a msg!

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

[cablecar-s]

would you fall in love with me again?

It's been a while since the SAGA came out and idk if anyone has done this yet but THIS SONG. THIS. SONG. If you haven't already listen to Would You Fall In Love With Me Again that is part of the recent and last SAGA of EPIC: The Musical by the amazing Mr. Jalapeno. It just fits so well with Jason?? Recommend listening to the entirety of it as well! The music is so beautiful and I absolutely BAWLED. On with the story!! :D

———

"Just... Be safe, okay?"

"I'm Robin, I'm always safe."

And that was the last time you saw him.

If only you knew that Bruce was going to come to your apartment to break the news to you. If only you knew that Jason was going to get himself killed in Switzerland. If only you knew that his boyish smile you always loved would be the last time you would see it. If only you knew that you would never get to voice your love for him ever again once he left.

It ate at you.

Every wonder, every what if, every 'If I had just stopped him'

But that would never bring him back. Jason Todd was dead.

The boy you grew up with is gone. No more running from cops. Stealing tires together. Fulfilling that promise the two of you made under the stars. The dreams you had with him, forever gone.

And yet..

You hung on to those promises. Because he promised you, and he never broke his promises.

–––

You woke up to your alarm, the annoying sound of it buzzing on your bedside table. With a groan, your hand sneaks out from under the warm covers to slam on the reset button.

Wake up, brush teeth, have breakfast, go to work.

That had been your routine for the past few years now. Helped you keep whatever sanity you had left.

You became a journalist. Trying to shed more light to the less fortunate. Make people give a damn even if you knew very well they wouldn't because it was Gotham. And when did Gotham ever give a shit about those who suffered?

You also dabbled in a bit of the underworld. Trying to put crime lords behind bars. You weren't no Batman or Robin, but you weren't going to stand and do nothing while those rich assholes go away scot free.

Bruce had warned you to be careful. That you were practically putting a target on your head if you dug to deep. The only thing he got in return was a finger and a slam to the door.

Begrudgingly though, you had agreed to let him add more security to your apartment. If you were going to be doing something as dangerous as writing articles about said crime lords, it was better to be safe than sorry.

As of recently though, someone new had shown up to the underworld.

The Red Hood.

You had scoffed at first, "Another Joker knock off."

But then news of the mysterious figure spread fast.

He had killed eight drug lieutenants, killed anyone who dealt drugs to kids, and rapists and abusers alike killed with bullets infesting their bodies.

Red Hood: A Hero or a Criminal?

That was the title for your next article. People were skeptical of the Red Hood. Yes he cleaned up crime better than Batman, but technically it was still murder, and technically he was still selling drugs.

An exhausted sigh left your lips, your hands going up to rub at your eyes. You were beginning to see double, and you still needed to buy groceries for the next week and head home to make dinner.

Packing your things, you said your quick goodbyes to your colleagues and left to the store before the sun had disappeared from the sky.

You made sure to shop light to not have any wandering hands or eyes, you would get the rest tomorrow morning.

Your feet trudged up the multiple flights of stairs, the elevator not being fixed for six months now. God how you hated your landlord.

You struggled with your things, the loops of the plastic bags digging into your skin while trying to find your keys in your bag. With muttered curses, you were able to finally open the door.

You were too tired to notice the shadowy figure standing in your living room. Watching as you shut the door with your foot while dropping everything to the ground with relief.

"Nice place ya have."

The voice was deep, a bit gruff and modulated, with a hint of an accent beneath it all. It made you jump with a small yelp. Your head turned, hands fumbling for something, anything, to use as a weapon.

With wide eyes, you stared at the glowing white eyes that stared at you, and the slight shine of a red helmet.

Red Hood was in your home.

Jason felt like throwing up. He knew it was a bad idea. Told himself over and over and over again that he shouldn't see you. And yet, here he was; standing in your apartment, waiting for you to get home from work.

Your place was.. Homey. A bit messy, but you were always messy weren't you?

He couldn't help but snoop around. A fridge with not much (he'd have to go shopping for you some time), a few dishes here (he'll clean it up for you), papers scattered about on the table (you'd probably get mad if he touched those), and a bookshelf.

Filled to the brim with books. Books that he told you he loved. That he read to you. The only things he would gush to you about other than being Robin.

His gloved hand ran over the multiple covers, his hand pausing upon a familiar book.

Pride and Prejudice.

He couldn't help but smile a bit. You had teased him about being a hopeless romantic when you found the book. His younger self was embarrassed beyond belief, but you had convinced him to read it out to you anyways.

He flipped through the pages, his eyes skimming through the many notes you made and the passages you had highlighted. As the papers flew by, something fell out, making him give pause and crouch down to the ground.

It was a polaroid picture of the two of you as teens. You had written the year at the bottom with a pen. What caught him off guard were the words after it though.

'I love him.'

You obviously could have meant as a friend. Nothing but simple platonic love. But he knew better, the both of you did back then. You two were still awkward teenagers, but it was there, your feelings for each other bare for one another.

Hand holding became more than leading the other through alleyways. Sleeping next to each other became more than just keeping warm from the cold. And stolen glances were never unnoticed.

His stomach dropped for a moment, his breathing stuttering.

Maybe he should leave, before he did something he would regret.

Did you even love him still? He wasn't the goofy kid you would hang out with in the middle of the night anymore. He didn't have that pure innocence. That 'Robin gives me magic' bullshit.

Jason was now a man who had been through hell and back. A man who had left a trail of red in every step. A man who took more lives than he can count on his hands.

Would you still love him then?

Would you fall in love with him again even knowing all that's he done?

Before Jason could even have the chance of going out the same window he came in, the lights to your apartment came on, and he froze.

Both out of fear, and out of awe.

You were.. Pretty.

Well, you were always pretty. But you were more.. Mature. Tired, but mature, and pretty, and every word that was synonymous to it.

"Nice place ya have."

He internally cringed.

He watched you jump and try to grab a weapon near you, a smile cracking underneath his helmet when you grabbed the coat hanger.

What were you going to do?

Red Hood was in your apartment. He didn't attack, or kill, those who didn't do anything wrong. Meaning he wanted to talk. But about what?

"What are you doing here?" You questioned, trying to gather all the bravery you had. Your eyes narrowed when he held his hands up, picking up what seemed to be a chuckle coming from him.

"Just wanna talk."

"About what? I don't have anything for you."

You stayed in place, unblinking and on guard, but like you, the Red Hood just stood there.

"I thought you'd be happier to see me." The crime lord chuckled.

Your brows furrowed. Was this guy crazy? If you had met the Red Hood before you would definitely know.

When opening your mouth to say something, all words died on your tongue, time practically becoming still.

He had taken off his helmet, revealing messy, black helmet hair with a white streak at the front. A few scars decorated his face. His eyes an almost glowing green. And a face sharper than it's original round baby one.

It had been years. Years. But you could recognize that face anywhere.

"No welcome back—"

You had practically ran straight into him, Jason letting out a small 'oomph!' upon impact.

"It's— But— You—?" You were at a loss for words. Your arms practically squeezed his torso.

Breathing. He was breathing. You could hear his heart, hammering against his chest.

Alive. He was alive.

He was alive.

"Long story." He chuckled.

Tears were practically falling from your eyes already. You pulled away enough just to look at his face, hands cupping his face.

"Jason..?" You croaked out.

He smiled at you. Awkwardly, but a smile that you remembered all those years ago.

"That's me."

You could only stare at him, him staring back at you. You could barely process him standing before him.

He was real. He was breathing. He was warm.

"What? Am I that handsome?" He tried to joke.

Always trying to lighten the mood.

A broken laugh left you, a smile on your lips. "Shut up."

And you had shut him up. A kiss that was long overdue.

It was messy, teeth slightly clashing, large hands awkwardly trying to find its placement. But it was everything. It was perfect.

And then he pushed you away, hands holding onto your shoulders.

"We shouldn't— I can't—"

"What?"

Your heart shattered for a moment, watching Jason who had his head turned to the side, a frown on his lips.

"Why not?"

"We just can't."

"Jason."

"I'm not—!" His voice raised for a moment.

He closed his eyes, taking a breath. "I'm not who think I am."

Jason braced himself, forcing himself to look at you. "I'm not.. I'm not the same person. I'm different. I'm not..." He paused, inhaling sharply.

"I'm not a good person.."

You stared at him. The silence between you two becoming tense.

God was he dumb even now.

"So what's the problem?"

His grimaced before calling out your name, every syllable rolling off his tongue with such ease it almost made you want to jump him.

"The problem is that—"

"Do you still like chili dogs?"

His brows furrowed, taken aback by your question.

"What?"

You took a step forward. "Do you still like to read your boring classic novels?"

"They're not boring—"

Another step.

"Can you play the piano?"

"Well, maybe, but I might be rusty."

And then you had him in your hands once more.

"Then what's the issue?" You questioned, staring into his eyes.

He stared back at you, dumfounded now. He opened his mouth, before closing it. You spoke for him.

"Jason, I don't care if you killed people, that you sell drugs, or that you're some kind of zombie."

He cracked a smile at the last comment.

"You're still the same boy who promised me the stars on that rooftop. Whatever you've done, whether good or bad, I love you."

Jason stared at you, breath catching in his throat. And then his eyes, his beautiful, now green eyes glistened under the light.

"You mean it..?" His voice cracked for a moment, his hand reaching out to gently grab your wrist, squeezing it to try and reassure him.

Your own eyes began to water again, a broken laugh leaving you. You leaned forwards, pressing your forehead to his.

"Of course I do."

———

Reblogs are GREATLY appreciated :] (please reblog, I worked really hard on this)

[duckprintspress]

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH, EVERYONE! We are thrilled to announce our second-annual Pride Bundles for Charity with two all-new short story bundles – 30 stories total! – that we are selling at a discount to raise money for our chosen queer charity!

Last year, our debut Pride bundles raised almost $350 for queer charities. This year, we’re back with a new General Imprint Bundle and a new Explicit Imprint Bundle, each discounted 20% from their list prices (and each including multiple stories that aren’t for sale and are usually only available to our backers on Patreon) and with 20% of the net profit going to Rainbow Railroad.

How This Works

you buy one or both bundles between now and July 8th, 2024.

we tally up all the proceeds earned and do some math-e-magic to figure out how much we’re donating!

before the end of July, we donate the raised money to Rainbow Railroad, we post the proof we’ve done so.

you get fantastic stories!

we all get that happy, glowy feeling of knowing that money has been well-spent on fantastic causes!

About the Press

Duck Prints Press is a queer-owned indie press, founded to publish original works by fancreators. We’ve been in operation for over 3 years, and in that time we’ve worked with well over 150 creators to publish six anthologies and almost 100 other stories, from shorts to novels, and we’ve got more on the works (our next anthology, our first erotica collection, will be crowdfunding within the next month!). The vast majority of our creators and their creations are queer/LGTBQIA+ (maybe even all, but we don’t out anyone and we don’t ask demography because, frankly, it’s none of our business).

25 of our authors have chosen to include their short stories in one or both of these short story bundles, and all our short story authors nominated potential charities and voted to select Rainbow Railroad as the beneficiary for our 2024 Pride Bundles.

About Rainbow Railroad

In countries around the world, LGBTQI+ people face violence and oppression simply because of who they love or who they are. Rainbow Railroad helps them get to safety! Rainbow Railroad is a global not-for-profit organization that helps at-risk LGBTQI+ people get to safety worldwide. Based in the United States and Canada, they’re an organization that helps LGBTQI+ people facing persecution based on their sexual orientation, gender identity and sex characteristics. In a time when there are more displaced people than ever, LGBTQI+ people are uniquely vulnerable due to systemic, state-enabled homophobia and transphobia. These factors either displace them in their own country or prevent them from escaping harm. 

Note: This charity isnot affiliated with the Press, do not know we’re doing this fundraiser, have not endorsed this in anyway and are, as such, utterly uninvolved in this beyond being the beneficiaries of our efforts! Text is from the Rainbow Railroad website.

About the Bundles

We are offering two bundles, one with 18 short stories published under our General Imprint, the other containing 12 stories published under our Explicit Imprint. The shop listings include details about and excerpts from all the stories. Here’s the gist…

Titles in the General Imprint Charity Bundle:

The Princess and the Maze by A. L. Heard

Of Loops and Weaves by Catherine E. Green

Glass Slipper: A Dance by Cedar D. McCafferty-Svec

Songs, Suppers, and Stories by D. V. Morse

Waiting for the Tide to Turn by Genevieve Maxwell

Chinaski’s Dirty Work by J. D. Harlock

Foundations by Johnathan Stern

Seal Island by K. B. Vimes

Into the Wyvern’s Lair by Mikki Madison

Sarisa by N. C. Farrell

Whispers of Atlantis: A Tale of Discovery and Belonging by Neo Scarlett

Be Not Afraid by Nicola Kapron

Awkward and Oblivious by R. L. Houck

Washer Wars: A Laundromat Feud by Samantha M. Piper

The Wayward Timekeeper by Terra P. Waters

if it’s meant to be by Tris Lawrence

Meet C(omm)ute by Violet J. Hayes

Chrysopoeia by Zel Howland

18 stories. 254 pages. 82,462 words of fiction!

Price: $22.50

Approximately 20% of the list price of this bundle will go to Rainbow Railroad.

Titles in the Explicit Imprint Charity Bundle:

Brambles, Pollen, and Other Natural Disasters by A. L. Heard

A night such as this by April Steenburgh

Theirs All Along by boneturtle

Orchidelirium by Dei Walker

Old Kings and New by Lyonel Loy

Weather the Storm by Lyn Weaver

Pretty 7 Days a Week by R. L. Houck

Adventures of the Scarlet Sentry: After Dark by Samantha M. Piper

Worlds Apart (but Still Close) by Sanne Burg

Taken at Sea by Shea Sullivan

Warm Anything You Want by Tris Lawrence

LA Photographs Itself by YF Ollwell

12 stories. 198 pages. 69,550 words.

Price: $21.50

Approximately 20% of the list price of this bundle will go to Rainbow Railroad.

Come get some great stories, support a queer-owned business this Pride, and benefit two fantastic causes. Win-win-win situations don’t get much better than this!

These bundles will only be available for one month, so don’t miss out. Visit our webstore between now and July 8th and get yours!

[zablife]

Run From Me Darlin'

Tommy Shelby x female reader (Alfie's wife)

A/N: Taking shelter requested by @thomashelbyswife. Song is "Run from Me" by Timber Timbre. Prompts "I didn't know where else to go." Part of my Corrupt a Wish challenge.

Divider credit: @wethairjoel

Warnings: language, mention of infidelity, betrayal Corrupt a wish reminder: If you think this story has a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention. Proceed with caution!

The servants at Margate had long since retired when they heard their master's voice echoing throughout the house, along with an eery melody from the ancient piano in the parlor.

"Run from me, darlin' Run, my good wife Run from me, darlin' You better run for your life"

And so you were in that moment, escaping a mad man who had made your life a misery from the moment you said I do. You ran from your seaside home in only your night dress, no possessions or money to your name. It was fear that drove you from him that night as he threatened to kill you.

That's how you found yourself on the doorstep of Tommy Shelby's manor the next morning, your shivering form but a memory of the woman he'd come to know the past five years.

"Y/n, what's happened?" Tommy asked as he ushered you inside and draped a blanket over you.

"I didn't know where else to go," you cried in despair, breaking down the moment you saw his sympathetic sapphire eyes staring back at you.

"You're going to be alright," he assured you, looping a strong arm around your waist for support. "Tell me what he's done," he urged, guiding you to sit on the sofa in his office.

He poured you a drink to steady your nerves and you confided everything. The periods of time you'd been locked in your room because of his suspicions about the two of you, followed by angry and often nonsensical tirades. Your chest heaved with pain and your voice faltered with hiccuped gasps at the horrendous treatment you'd received for over a month.

"How did you manage to escape?" Tommy asked.

"A door left ajar by a new maid," you replied.

Tommy nodded solemnly as he listened, then drained his glass of whisky without answer. He didn't have to because you knew he didn't believe in hurting women, having agreed many times before that his friend's behavior was crossing a line.

As Tommy lightly stroked your hair, you felt compelled to share the threat against him as well, quietly explaining Alfie's plans to crush Shelby Company Limited with his uncle's connection to the opium trade in America. Though you sensed his frustration as his fingers curled into your shoulder, you tried to soften the blow by proposing this as a time of new beginnings. "Run away with me, Tommy," you urged, gazing hopefully into his eyes.

"Leave it to me," he assured, placing a chaste kiss to your temple.

You settled back against him, covering his hand with yours before giving way to exhaustion.

Feeling your body grow heavy with sleep, Tommy called for the housekeeper to look after you. "Frances, take Y/n upstairs and draw a bath," he instructed carefully. "Then prepare the guest room for her. She'll be staying with us tonight."

"Yes, sir," the woman replied, taking you by the hand with such gentle ease, you began to weep.

"Oh, my dear," she gasped as she guided you upstairs. "Don't worry, Mr. Shelby will set it right." And you couldn't help but believe the promise in her voice.

Downstairs Tommy paced his office in agitation before finally tossing his glass against the fireplace in anger. As the shards of glass fell at his feet, he tried not to picture your beatific face crumbling. In fact, he tried not to think of you at all as he raised the receiver to his ear.

"What the fuck do you want?" Alfie grumbled.

Tommy traced the phone cord, thinking of all the times his so-called friend had betrayed him and how fitting it would be to humiliate him by stealing his wife forever. However, the notion of partnering together to control the opium trade abroad was far more enticing.

"How is your uncle in Boston?" he asked.

Alfie huffed out a laugh as he asked, "And why are you so concerned about the state of my family this evening?"

Tommy didn't have to say your name, it was implied the moment he began to negotiate. "You'd exchange my wife for access to Boston, would ya?" Alfie sneered with a knowing grin.

"I would," Tommy answered without hesitation.

And that's how the deal was made late one September afternoon as you soaked in the bath, quite unaware you would be reunited with your husband the following morning.

You had one last peaceful slumber before realizing you'd been sold out, exiting Arrow House kicking and screaming against the men your husband sent to punish you.

"I thought you loved me. How could you do this?" you cried when you glimpsed Tommy's somber face waiting in the drive.

Motioning for the men to let you go, Tommy welcomed you into his open arms as he whispered, "It's not personal, it's business."

You wanted to fight him, but instead you pleaded for your life. "Have mercy," you begged against his lips when he offered one last passionate kiss. A glimmer of promise was restored in that moment as you swore you felt his muscular frame give way into yours. However, you underestimated the strength of his resolve. One look into his icy blue eyes told you, he would never claim you as his own.

"Run," Tommy urged you under his breath, waiting for Alfie's men to give chase.

As he watched you flee toward the open field where he kept his horses, he hoped your swinging gate would prevail. Swallowing hard at the sight of his betrayal, he loathed the man he had become.

"Run for your life," he whispered, knowing it was already too late.

Tag List:

@peakyswritings

@evita-shelby

@lovemissyhoneybee

@theshelbyslimited

@kittycatcait219

@callsign-fangirl

@theshelbyclan

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@novashelby

[deadpcnned]

Sealed by the Storm (jj.m)

chapter three

pairing: jj maybank x reader; marriage of convenience

content warning(s): mentions murder (usual obx stuff), implied sexual relationship, language, use of alcohol

author's note: this one is so long, i'm so sorry hahaha. i'd love to hear y'alls honest feedback

join the taglist | series masterlist

previous chapter | next chapter

JJ Maybank was the last person anyone would bet on to follow instructions. So of course, he’d taken matters into his own hands when it came to figuring out if Luke had been telling the truth. After his conversation with Y/N last night, he felt himself descending that familiar downward spiral. JJ had two types of possible spirals. Usually, it felt like a blackout— like he  had no control of his actions. That’s the spiral he had when he broke the generator. He’d been reminded of all the nights he’d used that damn first aid kit to patch himself up, back when Luke still owned the house JJ could finally call home, that it had screwed him up so bad he couldn’t think. The second type of spiral, however, was way worse. It was more drawn out, a deep-seated desperation that forced him to ruminate on every word spoken to or by him. 

That’s the spiral he’d had last night in bed, a seemingly endless loop going down. He knew he fucked up, he knew he should’ve left well enough alone. He had finally gotten through to Y/N, even if only briefly, and he’d flushed it all down the drain. The way she had laughed when she accidentally shone her flashlight in his eyes, had been so unrestrained, like a bird’s song unburdened by the weight of months spent in captivity. Y/N always laughed like she was choking. Her breath would catch between the sound of her laughter, but JJ found it so endearing. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been yearning to hear that sound until last night and he wanted to be the reason for it again, even if it was at his expense. All it took for him to lose that chance, was five minutes and Y/N was avoiding him again. 

To say he was hurt by what she had said to him was barely scratching the surface. His worst, most vulnerable insecurities were somehow always thrown back at him by her. ‘You’re making it worse.’ ‘Why do you always–’ Those words had run through his head again and again and again, all night driving him crazy. Her ability to tap into his negative thoughts was exactly why he always got so irritated around her. Because if he let that bitter wall fall, it’d all be too painful. 

That irritation is exactly what had spurred him to pay no mind to Y/N’s advice and discover the answers to his questions alone. The first plan he had thought of consisted of storming to Goat Island and confronting Groff face to face. But, if he was being honest, just the idea of confronting Groff was terrifying. What if Luke had been lying? And worse, what if he hadn’t been? 

Instead of confronting Groff, JJ decided to follow a different trail – one that felt no less daunting but less revelatory: Larissa Genrette’s grave. JJ had spent his whole life roaming the island and knew each inch of the land he was raised on. He’d passed the Genrette graveyard many times before. He used to think it was odd, why so much land was dedicated to one family’s burial site, but as time passed he became more aware of what the Genrette name meant. The name had always loomed over the island, a shadow that faded into whispers. Whispered stories and half-truths from people who barely knew the Genrettes, at least not in recent years. The youth of Outer Banks loved to share the ghost story of Larissa Genrette and her lost child for their sleepovers and bonfires. A story that was so close to home, yet so out of their reality, that it didn’t bother them. 

JJ wasn’t sure why, but he felt compelled to see the grave for himself, properly. It felt like maybe he had missed some detail, some answer, during all those years that he carelessly ran past these trails. JJ was still clinging to the belief that this was all an elaborate plan by Luke, but he couldn’t stop some thoughts from crossing his mind that implied he was falling for it. Like the idea that he might be looking at the last link to his mother. Somehow, the fact that Larissa Genrette was his mother, felt like the heaviest part of all of it. He didn’t expect the gravesite to give him some grand revelation, didn’t think the ground would whisper secrets of hidden bloodlines, but it would be something. JJ always felt his sixth sense was strong when it came to people– their intentions and character. The first time he had entered the Genrette house, he had felt something was off, but not in the same way the Pogues had. They had been unnerved by the eerieness, but JJ had felt something else about Groff and Genrette. It was like he could feel the connection he had to them, like there was a string between them, loosening the closer they got. 

JJ was getting ahead of himself, he knew that. Imagining metaphysical connections and imagining what it would mean if the Genrettes were his relatives. As he neared the graveyard, the wind pushing his blond hair back, he didn’t know what came next. His feet slowed before he could get close enough to the gate that would serve as an obstacle, goosebumps erupting over his skin. 

There was someone following him.

He had felt it closer to the Surf Shop, before he had started walking this way, too afraid to ask John B for the Twinkie in fear of invoking questions. The feeling that he had a shadow had shaken off soon after, but it was back now, in full force, too close for comfort. He needed to take care of that before he could worry about finding answers to any life-changing questions. 

JJ slowed his steps, considering his options. He estimated that there was still half a mile left before he reached the gate, but the brick wall that blocked off the graveyard was already on his left. On the right, there were tall trees that he knew became more dense the further in you went. JJ started angling his body towards the right, making a show of planning his turn away from the straight path he’d taken for the last 10 minutes before he veered his body to the right completely. 

As the trees grew denser, that feeling of someone following him went in and out, like a spotty connection, but he knew whoever it was was still there. He should’ve run. He was usually so good at running in these situations, but something was stopping him. He was not sure what it was— whether it was the result of the heightened emotions he’d been dealing with for the past couple of days— but he didn’t fight it. If it was the mercenaries after Blackbeard’s treasure, so be it. 

When it felt like the mystery person was further away again, he pulled himself around a huge tree so he was hidden behind the trunk. He’d come a far way from the brick wall and his pace had quickened, causing his breathing to get slightly more erratic. He caught his breath while trying his best to not let his focus shift from sensing the other person. After what felt like hours, he heard a crunching sound. The footsteps were quiet which could have been why he couldn’t distinguish it from the sound his boots were making earlier. The footsteps neared on his left and he positioned himself for his ambush. He wished he had his old gun. Or at least a knife. 

A figure appeared in his periphery and before the figure could retreat, JJ was pushing off the tree trunk and shoving the person up against the rough bark of another. His hand clamped over their mouth while his opposite arm pressed into their chest, his muscles were taut as he held their body in place. A smaller body. And a familiar one. 

Y/N’s eyes widened but quickly returned to normal, concealing her surprise. However, the rapid rise and fall of her chest beneath JJ's arm gave away her shock. Her bare skin brushed against JJ’s with every breath, leaving a buzzing sensation with every exhale. Y/N reached up to wrap her fingers around his wrist, prying away his hand from her mouth, but instead of stepping away, JJ leaned in, crowding her body with his. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” JJ's jaw clenched adding to the tensions he felt in every other part of his body. He hadn’t wanted to see her today, but especially not now. JJ’s face was so close to hers that he could feel the warmth of his own breath as he spoke. 

Y/N’s chin tilted up defiantly and her challenging gaze stoked a fire of rage in his as he heard her reply, “Following you.”

“Why?” His voice was a rasp, entwined with the strain of his frustration. The simple word was all he could get past his straining as he looked at her, not backing away for even a second. 

“I told you not to do this alone.” There was no point in pretending he didn’t understand and JJ didn��t feel like he could bother with that anyway. He was so tired of her thinking she knew better than him. She couldn’t bother asking him to pass food at the dinner table, but she was always chock-full of unsolicited advice. This was his fucking family life, why did she get to decide how he handled it? 

“Yeah? And you thought what? ‘JJ’d probably appreciate me tagging along?’” JJ leaned in closer, his nose only an inch away from Y/N’s. He caught the moment her breath hitched, just as it had last night, and he was spurred on by whatever this effect he had meant. “You’re the last person I would ever ask to be with me.” 

The words were meant to cut, an eye for an eye, a harsh word for a harsh word. But if he had any impact on Y/N at all, she didn’t let it show. Within a second, her knee aggressively struck JJ’s thigh, making him pull back.

“Ouch–” Suddenly, JJ’s back was against the tree Y/N had been pressed against. Y/N didn’t have him strapped against the tree with her arms, but the closeness of her body to his was enough to keep him in place. Her left leg was planted between his and her hip was making contact with his upper thigh. JJ blamed the heat he felt at her touch on his anger. Reaching up, her hand cupped his face, her fingers pressing into both sides of his jaw, as she tilted his head down. 

“Trust me JJ, no one wants to be here less than I do.” Y/N’s voice was void of malice, sounding neutral and completely matter-of-fact. “But you can’t do this alone.” 

He knew what she meant. She meant that if he handled this alone, the rest of them would have to pick up the pieces of his eventual fallout. He knew that and still, the part of him he tried so hard to suppress read a different meaning. You don’t have to do this alone. I’ll take care of you. If he’s honest with himself, he didn’t want to carry this alone, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask for help. Pogues didn’t get help. They just had to deal with their shit and that’s a lesson JJ had learned much too early, so why bother. That desperate part of him that wanted someone’s help took over and selfishly accepted whatever she would offer. 

“Whatever. Just stay out of my way.” It was the best JJ could offer, his anger still right at the surface, fighting against his need for help. Y/N stepped back, her hand sweeping over her backside to clean off any dirt. 

“It’s easier to pick up behind someone than in front of them,” She chided. Clenching his fist, JJ turned away, beginning to retrace his steps. He’d wasted fifteen minutes all for it to be Y/N. The two of them walked in silence, not bothering with fake niceties. JJ had too much on his mind.

Y/N tried to focus on the sound of her low-top sneakers pressing against leaves and branches instead of the silence that was enveloping her and JJ. The irony wasn’t lost on her. The boy she had done her best to avoid recently, was now causing herself to second-guess her actions. Y/N never second-guessed herself. She could never afford it. Ever since she joined Terrance, her life relied on her ability to make the right choice with speed and confidence. If she had second-guessed herself for even a second, it could have given some dangerous people a chance to attack. 

It was that quality that made it so difficult for her to think twice before she spoke to JJ the way she did. She never felt like she had enough time to make mistakes and when JJ made a mistake, she felt that same crippling anxiety that whatever happened would be life-changing. Y/N hadn’t adjusted to her life in the Outer Banks. For her, it didn’t matter that there were laws and authority figures who would protect her– or at least were assigned to protect her. Y/N sometimes thought she’d always view the world as her against everything else. Well,  Cleo and her against everything else, but it didn’t seem like Cleo was having the same struggle with adjusting. Y/N knew she could be mean, but she really really didn’t want to lose this life. 

After walking for what felt like forever, a black gate came into view. A black gate that, from what Y/N could tell, led to the Genrette family’s burial plot. She hadn’t asked JJ where they were headed, her head clouded by how close they’d been in the forest and the verbal spat they’d had. This isn’t what she’d expected. 

“JJ–” 

“Just stay here by the gate while I go in.” JJ’s voice was less stiff, his frustration seeming to have decreased, but he still had that dejected air around him. 

“Where – why are we here?” Y/N asked and when JJ didn’t reply she added, “I thought you’d be talking to Groff.”  JJ kept his eyes trained to the side, refusing to look at Y/N. 

JJ chuckled sarcastically. “Bet you’re feeling silly now.” Y/N pursed her lips but refrained from responding. This wasn’t the time to pick a fight with JJ and she should have thought of that before. At least now, she’d try to be her version of supportive.

“Okay,” Y/N said, starting to move towards the gate again. When they reached the gate, Y/N spoke up again. “I’ll wait for you here.” 

Wordlessly, JJ stepped towards the gate, preparing to climb over the barrier. As JJ grabbed onto a rail for support, the gate pushed in with a creek. What… Looking at where She had assumed a lock would be keeping him out, Y/N saw the gate had been opened. Someone else was here. 

“Someone’s here,” JJ echoed her thoughts. 

“Should we come back?” JJ shook his head and she could see the determination in his eyes. He was going to do this. 

“I… I need to do this.” JJ whispered. She understood. She truly did. So she just nodded, reaching up to place her hand against his arm. 

“I know.” She hoped he could hear the sincerity and that he understood she did support him in this. He deserved to know the truth about who he was. “I’m right here” JJ gave her a long look, not making any move to go past the gate. “I won’t leave.”

With that, JJ gave her a nod and finally passed the threshold. Y/N couldn’t stop the nagging voice in her mind that kept repeating this was a bad idea. She needed to push past her issues with JJ and support him in this. Good terms or not, they were both Pogues and Pogues took care of each other. 

Y/N had planned on waiting patiently for JJ. She had told herself she would give him ten whole minutes before trying to find him in the cemetery to check if he was okay. Yet, within five minutes she heard the sound of someone coming towards the gate. The sound wasn’t from JJ’s workboots. The only place she could find to hide was in the trees, but there weren’t many and she wasn’t sure if she’d be caught. Maybe if she stood far enough away from the gate, whoever was about to leave the cemetery wouldn’t look her way. It was a game of luck and Y/N hated those.

Still, she rushed towards the trees and tried her best to stay hidden. Peering over the edge of the tree trunk, she caught the moment the person left the gates. Groff.  She had never liked the feeling she got around Groff. Meeting him had reminded her a lot of her Uncle, which meant it made her skin crawl. Holding her breath, she watched Groff leave the cemetery and turn towards where she was hidden.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Somehow, some stroke of fate led him to walk straight past the trees, his focus on some object in his hands. Y/N let out a sigh of relief and waited for JJ to come back out. He must have talked to Groff.

But no one followed, even as Groff became a speck in the distance. That eerie feeling returned and Y/N ran towards the gate. It seemed Groff wasn’t the forgetful type because he had made sure to lock the gate. Why would he lock JJ in? Y/N needed to get in.

Taking multiple steps away from the gate, Y/N ran towards the iron gate. Gripping onto the metal bars, she used the momentum from her sprint to lift herself. Her shoes hit a narrow horizontal bar and she used it to push off and swing one leg over the top of the gate. She had to be mindful of where she placed her leg, making sure to avoid the pointed tops. Once both her legs were over the top, she used the same bar as a step to climb down and land safely on the other side. Y/N didn’t take a second to catch her breath, rushing to find JJ. He wasn’t around any of the graves, but there was what appeared to be a tomb. A crowbar had been stuck between the handles to keep someone from getting out. To keep JJ from getting out.  

“JJ!” Y/N called, walking closer to the tomb. She pulled the crowbar out. As she went to pull the door open, JJ was already tumbling out. “JJ, what happened?”

The blond boy remained silent, his lips in a thin, colorless line. Y/N’s eyes swept over him, taking note of how his usually tanned skin had turned pale. He looked as though he’d seen a ghost and considering her where she was, she wasn’t sure how far from the truth that was. 

“JJ, hey,” Y/N’s hand came up this arm just like earlier, but this time JJ shot back. The hazy look in his eyes was replaced with a frenzied one, his hand coming up to his hair to tug as he spoke.

“Groff,” Is all JJ said. “Groff.”

“I saw him. Why’d he lock you in there? JJ, something is–”

“Where?” Suddenly, JJ’s voice stilled. His demeanor was still panicked, but his voice came out clear. “Where did he go?” 

JJ didn’t wait for Y/N to stop hesitating, running out the gate. Y/N followed quickly watching him take the path towards their home, the same path Groff had taken. She wanted to stop him and get him to speak to her, but JJ was sprinting and she was struggling to keep up. She’s not sure how long they ran, but it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. They’d reached the edge of the forest and she knew that after a few more minutes they’d be hitting a road that was usually empty. 

JJ stopped suddenly, bending over to hold his knees. Y/N didn’t take this as a chance to ask questions because it seemed JJ had started to calm down. His breathing was slowing down and some of the color on his face was returning. Whatever happened between him and Groff had very clearly not gone well and she didn’t want to pull that out of him. She needed to meet him where he was. 

“I’m gonna take the long way home,” JJ said, standing up to his full height. Y/N didn’t argue. They could take the long way home. 

“Alright.” Without any more words, Y/N followed JJ as he exited the clearing of the forests towards the road. Just as she had felt everything returning to normal, it all came crashing down again. Everything felt like it happened in milliseconds. 

Groff was on top of someone.

 Then JJ was charging towards them and pushing Groff off the other person.

Groff struggled under JJ while Y/N took in the third body.

The third dead body. Lightner, Terrance’s killer. The third body belonged to the mercenary that had held Cleo hostage and killed Terrance. And, now he was dead. 

Y/N didn’t have time to dwell on what that meant, because JJ was still in a tussle with Groff. She saw JJ’s head flick to the side, his gaze zeroing in on something: A knife. That must’ve been what Groff had used to cause the gaping wound Y/N could see on the mercenary. JJ flung himself off Groff and took hold of the knife, pointing it towards Groff. Not moving his eyes or his aim from Groff, JJ walked backward until he stood in front of Y/N. He had to sidestep step the body. 

“Don’t come closer,” JJ warned, his body effectively blocking Y/N from being able to determine what Groff was doing. Y/N moved to the side just enough to get a view, but not enough to make JJ’s efforts to protect her go in vain. She watched as Groff raised his hands in surrender and an appeasing smile made its way to the older man’s face. 

“JJ,” He chuckled. “Look, I don’t want trouble. He,” Groff pointed to the lifeless body on the ground. “He attacked me. I was defending myself.” JJ stayed silent, his body rigid, on alert.

“You have to believe me, son,” Groff’s words triggered something in JJ because suddenly he was leaning forward and shouting. 

“Shut up!” JJ yelled, before slowing down, his voice returning to its usual cadence. “Just shut up.”

Groff’s hands rose again, pushing them forward in a way of apologizing for overstepping. He waited another moment before trying again, “Nothing bad has to happen. Just… just get rid of the knife. He was a bad man. You know he was,” Groff said, his tone calm, like the kind a father would use to sing his child a lullaby. “He tried to kill you, your friends. He was doing the same to me, JJ. Let’s just throw the knife. Leave him.”

Groff was right, he was a bad man. The only thing stopping Y/N from agreeing to run was that she was sure Groff was a much worse man. 

“JJ, don’t listen to him,” Y/N drew JJ’s attention over his shoulder. “We can’t throw the knife away. It’s evidence.” Y/N saw JJ’s eyes close for just a second, his eyebrows furrowed in tension. 

“It’s okay,” Groff said, his voice sickeningly sweet. “It’s just us three. We can trust each other.” 

“He’s lying, JJ. We need to leave.” Y/N tried again. Groff stayed silent this time and when she looked at him she was shocked by how sincere he seemed. There was something about his eyes, something he could manipulate. He seemed so genuine like he was the good guy, but a good guy wouldn’t have locked JJ in a tomb. 

“Why should I believe you?” JJ was speaking to Groff with the knife still firmly pointed at him. “You just locked me in a fucking cemetery.” Thank God, JJ wasn’t falling for this. 

“That– that was to protect you,” Groff urged, using his hands emphatically. “I knew these guys were on my tail, I didn’t want you caught up in this. I was gonna come back for you, JJ.” 

Y/N stood out from behind JJ to see exactly where his head was at. She couldn’t decipher what he was thinking or whether Groff’s words were having any effect on him at all. 

“Why?”

Groff tilted his head at JJ in confusion, but clarity spread over his features quickly, “I want to protect you,” He said, walking closer to JJ, suddenly unafraid of the knife pointed at him. “Because you’re my son. My boy.” 

“JJ, please, he’s just–” Y/N didn’t have time to finish the persuasion. JJ pulled out the brown and silver lighter she knew he always kept on him and lit the wooden end of Groff’s knife. The fire caught quickly and JJ let the knife fall to the floor. As the wooden part of the knife began to turn to ash, JJ used the toe of his boot to put out the fire. As soon as the fire was out, Groff was approaching JJ with open arms and a smug smile on his face. 

“JJ, son–” JJ’s arm came out to push Groff away from him, a look of rage Y/N had never seen on him before. 

“Leave.” Groff stepped back from JJ with a hurt expression on his face.

“JJ–”

“I said leave. Go before I change my mind,” JJ warned. Then, so Groff wouldn’t call his bluff, he added “I’m not afraid to go to prison.” Groff’s expression thinned, but he nodded. It took him some time but he began to walk away. 

“One more thing,” JJ shouted. “Stay away from me and my friends.” Y/N saw the way Groff’s shoulders fell before he turned away and followed JJ’s orders. Y/N looked around at the empty roads. They needed to get out before someone else came.  

JJ was on the same page, it seemed because he grabbed her hand and began running into the woods. Taking the shortcut JJ had forsaken earlier, he didn’t stop or speak to Y/N until they were safely back on the Maybank property– their property. JJ tugged Y/N’s hand, stepping closer to her. He didn’t say a word, just watched her as they stood right by the chartering shack. Y/N couldn’t get her thoughts straight. Groff had murdered a man. They’d covered it for him. But that man wasn’t exactly innocent and Y/N couldn’t get that thought out of her head.  

“He killed Terrance.” JJ’s eyebrows furrowed before a look of realization passed his face. “Terrance’s killer is dead.”

JJ moved closer, his hand coming up to cup Y/N’s cheek. He’d never done that before and Y/N had a fleeting thought that maybe she’d have liked it if the circumstances were different. 

“It’s over okay?” JJ murmured. His hand was still against her skin, but he didn’t make any move to take it away. “All of it. The treasure, Groff– we’re done. I’m…” Y/N waited, letting JJ gather his thoughts. “I’m sorry.” Y/N’s hand wrapped around JJ’s wrist, clinging to his promise. She just wanted to be done. 

“It’s over,” Y/N repeated, the most she could offer in return for his apology. For once, she wasn’t angry with JJ. Maybe it was because the body was Lightner’s or maybe it was because he seemed to understand the gravity of this situation, but she wasn’t angry. She just wanted to forget this and move on. JJ nodded, before taking his hand away, and Y/N missed the warmth immediately.

“Y/N! Y/N wake up!” Cleo’s voice was barely noticeable as Y/N clung to the last bits of her sleep. Sleep had been fleeting, her grasp slipping every time she got close, last night. Her body had felt heavy like the weight of JJ’s decisions had somehow seeped into her bones. Destroying the evidence had been a horrible decision, to say the least, but it was done now. 

“Cleo, what?” Y/N grumbled, turning the other way to ignore her unwanted alarm. That’s when she heard it: A familiar voice coming from the living room. It was Shoupe’s voice. Y/N shot up in bed. Cleo’s expression was stern, not betraying a hint of worry, but Y/N knew her much too well to fall for that. 

“Do you think he knows about Terrance?” Cleo asked. Y/N was already getting out of bed, running her hands through her hair. Y/N knew that wasn’t the case, but if she said anything, Cleo would know something was wrong. She could read Y/N as well as Y/N could read her. 

Y/N took a quick look at herself in the mirror. Allowing herself enough time for only one deep breath in and out, Y/N left the bedroom. The door of her bedroom, well more like her storage closet, led straight into the living room. Shoupe on the couch, Sarah and John B sat with rigid posture in front of him on pull-out chairs. Her arrival had drawn the attention of the other three and just as she came in, so did JJ from the front door. They had only a second to make eye contact before Shoupe was speaking.

“Ah, Good Morning,” Shoupe gave Y/N an easy-going smile that did nothing to make her feel at ease. Shoupe looked up towards her literal partner in crime and gave him a nod. “JJ.”

“Morning, Shoupe,” Nothing about JJ seemed like he could have any inclination as to why Shoupe was here. Y/N did her best to follow his lead. “Didn’t bring any donuts, but…” JJ made a show of looking down at his almost empty water bottle. “I could give you a sip.” 

Shoupe’s smile turned into a sarcastic one as he shook his head. “I’ll pass. Just wanted to ask y’all a couple of questions.”

JJ’s eyebrow shot up, curiously. “What about?” 

“Nothing of worry. I was just asking these guys where they were yesterday. Say around 4 p.m.?” 

JJ gave him a questioning look, walking further into the room. “Why would that be of interest to you?” Y/N suppressed a groan. Why was he being difficult?

“Look,” Shoupe sighed, standing up from the couch. “I don’t want trouble. Sarah and John B. answered my questions. Why don’t you just cooperate for once.” Oh. Of course, it would have been more of a giveaway if JJ hadn’t been asking questions. 

“That’s all fine, but don’t I get to know why I’m being questioned?” JJ waited as Shoupe looked at him, an unsure look on the cop’s face. Finally, Shoupe began speaking. 

“A body was found on a back road and we’re just trying to make sure all our bases are covered,” Y/N went still. She’d been quiet this whole time, but now she was scared she wouldn’t be able to speak even if she was asked to. The cops knew about the body, but how did Shoupe know one of them was involved? He doesn’t know, Y/N reminded herself, it’s just a theory. 

“And we’re a base because?” JJ continued his act of oblivious defiance. “Don’t know about the rest, but Y/N and I were together around… what time did you say?” JJ’s voice seemed muffled over the blood pumping in Y/N’s ear. 

“Four.”

“Yeah, I was with Y/N. Here, at the shop,” JJ offered. “We were trying to fix the charter shack's generator. Y/N kind of fried the thing.” With that, all eyes were on Y/N. It was her turn to make JJ’s lies believable enough for them to get past this. 

“I didn’t fry it,” Y/N argued, rolling her eyes before focusing on Shoupe. “But, yeah, I was with JJ working on the generator. You can stop by the shack if you want. You’ll get to witness JJ’s handy work firsthand.”

Shoupe nodded his head before it slowly turned into a shake, “No, that’s alright. We think the guy got into something with the Genrettes. I know y’all have been heading to Goat Island a bit more so I thought I’d check in. Thanks for your cooperation,” Shoupe shot JJ a pointed look, before heading out the front door.

“Explain,” Cleo said, her accent coming out thicker like it always did when she was going big sister mode with Y/N. They were only a year apart but she had always treated Y/N like she was her little sister rather than a friend.  

Y/N bit her lip and sighed, “Call Pope and Kie, we need to talk.”

“So you tampered with evidence and left a body in the middle of a road?”

“You know, for someone so smart, you ask an awful lot of dumb questions, Pope,” John B quipped at Pope’s recap. Y/N and JJ had spent the last fifteen minutes catching the Pogues up to speed. On everything: Genrette’s letter, finding Groff at the grave, the confession JJ received, and JJ burning the knife. Turns out, Pope, Kiara, and Cleo had all been questioned before Y/N had woken up, each having an alibi and someone to attest to it. For Kie, it was her mom who had asked her to meet for lunch somewhere. Pope and Cleo had been together at his parent’s place.

“JJ, why did you tell Shoupe we were together?” As soon as Shoupe had left, Y/N had been reviewing every word of the interaction. She was trying to find any part that could have gotten them caught, but Shoupe had been surprisingly willing to listen and the conversation had been much shorter than anticipated. 

“Cause we were?” JJ was sat on the floor, his back against the couch, as he looked up at Y/N.

“Now we’re each other’s alibis and no one can back us up to say we weren’t near the crime scene,” Y/N was trying extremely hard to not lose her patience. Yes, this was JJ’s fault, but she knew it wasn’t black and white. None of the messes they found themselves in ever were. 

JJ was quiet for a while before he looked away. “No one else could have been our alibi.” He probably hadn’t meant for it to hurt, but God did it. He was right. The only people who could have covered for JJ and Y/N were in this room. This was the only family they had.

“What do we do now?” Sarah piped from next to Y/N on the couch. 

“Nothing. The only people who were there were Y/N and me. There are no cameras. We’re fine.” JJ’s nonchalance was met with a slap against the back of his head from Cleo.

“Ouch?”

“You’re forgetting Groff, idiot.”

“Okay,” Kiara cut off any possibility of a fight between JJ and Cleo with a question of her own. “What happens if they do tie this to the two of them? Or, more likely, if Groff tries to pin this on them?” The entire room was silent as they considered this. It almost felt like no one had considered where Groff fell into all this. 

“He wouldn’t—” JJ sounded exasperated by this conversation, but it was obvious to everyone that this was so much deeper for him. “Groff doesn’t get anything from trying to pin this on us.”

“Um, except maybe innocence,” Pope chipped in his usual wise guy way that he couldn’t help sometimes, but Y/N knew he didn’t mean any harm by it. She watched JJ with a steady gaze as he simply shrugged and looked away. This was going to be such a long conversation if someone didn’t take the lead. Y/N looked over to John B with a desperate plea on her face that she hoped he’d understand. Luckily, he did. 

“Alright look,” John B said, getting up from his seat on the couch. He moved to the edge of the room so that he could be seen by everyone. “What we need is a backup plan if this comes back to Y/N and JJ.”

“They could get married.”

Y/N was surprised everyone’s heads didn’t roll off with how quickly they turned to look at Pope. 

“What?” 

“What?”

Y/N and Kiara looked at each other briefly after their simultaneous outbursts before looking back at Pope. He was sat lazily against the other side of the couch, opposite to JJ, mischief in his eyes. 

“What? Spousal privilege and all that,” Pope chuckled. 

“Cleo, wack him in the head,” Y/N fussed. “This is no time for jokes.” Pope lifted his hands in a surrender gesture, but the smirk never left his face.

“Okay, well, any other ideas?” John B waited a minute, letting the silence settle in until it felt as if it could be infinite, before sighing and placing his hands on his hips. “We stay low. JJ, don’t make contact with Groff. At least for now. And we’ll take a backseat on the treasure-hunting stuff.” 

Y/N watched as the Pogues immediately began protesting in various ways. The treasure was their last chance of making it out. JJ was the only person aside from John B and herself that was quiet. He had promised her there would be no more treasure hunting, but she hadn’t taken him seriously. JJ was always the last to back down from any fight, but especially one like this. 

John B lifted his hand to silence the others, “There’s been too much death surrounding us. This thing…it seems bigger than us.” He offered when no one looked convinced, “Just until the Ligthner thing blows over. Then we can try and see if it’s worth finding.” 

“So no wedding?” 

“Shut up, Pope.”

The ban on wedding talk didn’t last long in Poguelandia 2.0, because by six p.m. Y/N had been called into the station for more questioning. JJ had been going stir-crazy waiting for her to come home since she’d left with Pope as her driver two hours ago. Pope had been sporadically updating the group chat, but it did little to quell how his stomach kept lurching. He hoped this wouldn’t catch up to the two of them, even though all points were pointing to it. 

The group had come out to sit on the patio, unable to bear sitting inside while they waited for Pope and Y/N to return. The sun was beginning to set and JJ had to keep absentmindedly swatting bugs away, but he barely registered anything around him. In the past 24 hours, he’d seen things he had never imagined and he never should have. And it just kept getting worse. 

“JJ, can I just ask,” John B spoke up, breaking the silence that had set amongst the five remaining pogues. “What were you thinking?” JJ looked up at John B with a deadpan look. 

“You tell me, 'cause I’m not the only one to turn a blind eye to my father killing someone,” He gave John B a pointed look and then turned the look to the others. “Or try to cover up a murder, for that matter.” 

Everyone stared at him for a long moment, before nodding and mumbling some version of acceptance. JJ shook his head, letting his mind wander back to the day before. Seeing the man who was supposedly his father murder someone wasn’t the worst part. No, the worst part was seeing the corpse of his mother and her resting place in ruin. 

He couldn’t get that image out of his head. His mother. He’d never known her, never known she was anyone to him, and the first time he saw her – at an age where he’d remember forever– it had been in the most haunting way. He’d wanted to throw up every time he remembered the sight, but he couldn’t stop reminding himself of it. JJ reached his fingers in his pocket trying to find the letter from Genrette–  which had ironically become a comforting item. He felt nothing but the cotton lining of his pocket. Sitting up straighter, he checked his other pocket and found the same. There was no way he’d lost it, he’d kept the letter with him since he’d received it. 

Just as JJ was beginning to stand from his seat, noticing he’d drawn Kie’s attention with his movements, he heard the Twinkie pull onto the property. Soon, Pope and Y/N exited the Volkswagen, their expressions somber. JJ stilled, waiting with bated breath as they stepped onto the porch. Y/N wordlessly slid the white banister and let her head fall against her knees. 

“What? What happened?” JJ asked, moving to crouch down next to her. When she didn’t respond, just releasing a muffled groan, JJ turned to look at Pope. “What did Shoupe say?” 

“According to Y/N, he has some sort of evidence,” Pope took a seat in front of their porch bench, letting his head fall against Cleo’s thigh. “That could tie y’all to the scene.”

JJ’s eyebrows furrowed as he processed what Pope was saying. Just as John B got out the words to ask what evidence they were referring to, JJ realized what had happened. 

“Oh shit,” JJ thought aloud. He was still crouched beside Y/N, who was looking up now to see what JJ was cursing at. He just looked at her waiting for her to confirm his worst suspicions. 

“The letter?” Y/N’s confirmation came in the form of a question, checking to see if JJ had already put that together. When his head fell, he knew she’d gotten her answer. “You knew?” Her voice was so accusatory, so full of unreleased venom that it made his head spin. 

“No, yes– wait, ugh no,” JJ stood up to pace the porch and clear his thoughts. “I just realized a minute ago, that I’d lost it.” JJ wasn’t looking at Y/N as he explained himself. “It must have fallen out of my pocket.”

“Can someone fill us in,” Sarah, who was leaning against the opposite banister from Y/N, asked. “What letter?”

JJ filled in the rest of the Pogues about the letter from Genrette and him having the letter on him. He promised that he hadn’t known it had fallen out until just then and this time he looked at Y/N as he did. She just looked exhausted. Cleo, who had slipped inside without JJ noticing, gave her a water bottle and she didn’t speak until she’d chugged the entire thing. 

“Shoupe asked if I knew anything about it. About the letter,” Y/N finally spoke. “I told him no. He wanted me to confirm where I’d been, so I told him here. With JJ. Asshole tried to say I wouldn’t be in trouble if my answer changed,” Y/N added with a scoff. JJ felt himself soften at that. She’d covered for him and it seemed she’d done it without a second thought. 

“Was that it?” JJ said, instead of expressing any gratitude. Y/N shook her head.

“He basically asked how the letter could’ve been on the road if you hadn’t been. So…” Y/N pursed her lips, looking away from everyone. JJ felt his heart start to beat faster. This must have been when she admitted the truth: That this was all his fault. 

“So?” Pope asked, clearly not having heard this part of the debrief.

“I… told him Groff came by here.”

No one said anything and no one moved. 

“You did what?!” John B was the first to express the shared sentiment.

“I told him Groff came by!” Y/N doubled down, her voice more confident. “He wasn’t letting the idea go that I would know this about JJ, something about all of us not being able to keep our social securities a secret from each other. So I told him I knew he thought Groff could be his dad, but didn’t know about the letter. 

“I told him Groff came by when I was manning the register and said JJ had called him over, JJ and him went to have a private conversation, and when he came back all JJ said was that Groff being his dad was fake news. I kind of suggested that maybe Groff took the letter back without outright suggesting it.”

JJ looked at Y/N, always careful Y/N. Y/N wasn’t careful in an innocent way. It was more…calculated. She took risks she knew had a higher probability of ending in her favor and never ones that would deter her from her end goal, whatever that may be. He couldn’t believe she’d lied to the cops in such a risky way.

“Y/N, that’s crazy,” Kie said. “What if they find out you’re lying? They could ask Groff.”

“I didn’t know what to do, Kie,” Y/N’s head was in her hands now. “I know, it was stupid.”

“Not completely,” John B offered. “Technically, it’s still you and JJ’s words against Groffs. That’s got to count for something. JJ nodded. 

“I just… can’t get what Kie said out of my mind. Groff could easily take us down with him. What if this shit goes to court?”

“He’ll be gone before that,” JJ cut Y/N’s line of questioning off before she could go further. “He told me he’s headed to Morrocco. At the cemetery. Said he had everything: the map, how to read it.” 

“Why would he tell you all that? He didn’t even admit you were his son until it was convenient.” JJ tried not to let Y/N’s words sting. 

“He was trying to make me sound crazy like I was plotting to take the crown somehow by posing as his lost son. He kept saying it was ‘too late for anyone to take what was his’. I don’t know,” JJ shrugged. He avoided the pitiful gazes of his friends by looking out at the now night sky. 

“I guess that’s something. But it still doesn’t get rid of the what if. This is a murder case, so if JJ and Y/N are linked to it, they’ll go to court. We all know KCPD doesn’t have a great track record of putting the real murderer in jail.” How Sarah could speak about her family trauma so nonchalantly, JJ would never know. “We can’t let Y/N perjure herself if they find out JJ tampered with evidence.” 

The Pogues let themselves sit in what Sarah said, trying to find any solution. JJ was never the problem solver, but right now he couldn’t even come up with one of his bizarre ideas. Well, except–

“Guys, I know I was joking before, but…” Pope gave Y/N and JJ a sheepish look, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. There was an absence of even a trace of humor on his face.

“No way,” Y/N argued. “That’s crazy. We can’t get married.”

“Yeah, what?” JJ agreed, even though he’d been thinking the same. He didn’t actually think that would be an option. 

“Y/N…”

“Cleo, there’s no way you think that’s reasonable.” Y/N and Cleo often did this thing where they’d communicate with only their eyes. JJ’s not sure if they actually knew what the other was saying or if they just filled the gaps with assumptions, but whichever it was it had Y/N storming inside the house. 

“Y’all aren’t serious right?” JJ asked, but he had a feeling he didn’t want to hear the answer. 

“Spousal privilege, JJ. If Groff tries to bring you two to court, the only witnesses to his story are you two. If they can’t force you to testify against each other in court, then he has no leg to stand on.” JJ hated that Pope’s silver tongue. He could make almost anything sound like it was right. 

“It makes sense,” John B added. JJ looked to Sarah who was nodding, but giving Kiara a sad look. 

“Us getting married is not being left to a group vote.” 

JJ turned to look at Kiara and felt his face flush. He hadn’t had a full conversation with her since he’d told her about the letter, but in his defense, he’d been a bit tied up. He’s not sure if it was completely intentional, since whatever he and Kie had wasn’t acknowledged in the group, but Pope, Sarah, and John B all went inside. 

Kie avoided JJ’s stare, as she sat on the bench picking at imaginary cuticles. JJ walked over to her slowly, not feeling deserving of talking to her now, after he’d been so shut off. Still, he had to say something. 

“Kie,” His voice was soft as he sat down on the bench. 

“They’re talking crazy right? Marriage.” Kiara asked, letting her brown eyes meet his blue ones. “You’re nineteen.” 

JJ and Kiara had a complicated relationship. For the longest time, JJ had a crush on Kiara. All the boys had at some point, most of those points overlapping. She was a pretty girl and for a while the only girl who hung out with them. It was impossible not to have a crush. But as they got older, JJ was able to look past that, and see Kiara for who she truly was. To him, she held the same place as John B and Pope did in his life, just with the bonus of being hot. Nothing ever came of that childhood crush and JJ didn’t think of Kiara in any way other than a friendly one for many years. Until they’d started working on Poguelandia 2.0.

Maybe it was because they were surrounded by couples, but the air between them had changed, and it wasn’t just on his end this time. When JJ would flirt, Kie would flirt back. When he’d sit a little closer than necessary on the couch, she’d close the gap. He’s not sure when or how, but it hadn’t taken them long to take that give-and-take into the bedroom. He couldn’t say that’s all they were– friends with benefits– because of course that wasn’t all they were. They’d been best friends before everything and you couldn’t sleep with your best friend and not let feeling get involved. But neither of them ever tried to define their relationship and JJ didn’t know if they ever would. Sometimes he would think of it as a situationship that would fizzle out, but then he’d feel guilty because this was Kie. He loved her. He knew he did, but was he confusing platonic love with romantic? And if he wasn’t, if he did romantically love Kie, did she even feel the same? They never talked about those thoughts though and the other Pogues never gave their fire the air it needed to grow– except one time, over a beer, John B had echoed JJ’s thoughts and let it slip that he thought that their arrangement would end eventually. Regardless, she still deserved for him to address her role in all of this. 

“They’re definitely talking crazy, but…” He lacked the conviction he knew she needed to hear. JJ watched Kie’s nose scrunch, in the way it always did when she had something to say but wouldn’t let herself. “What? Say it.” Kie’s nose scrunch disappeared and she gave JJ a small smile. 

“I just…” Kie’s scrunch returned, but she pushed through. “I know we’re not exactly exclusive. But I just thought we were more than…”

“We are,” JJ insisted, his hand reaching out to take hers. “Of course, we’re more than that.” Kie squeezed his hand once, but her smile was half-hearted.  

“Are you seriously going to go along with this?”

“Y/N would never agree,” JJ said to ease her worries, but really to ease his own.

“If she did, though?” Kie’s hold on JJ’s had tightened and it felt like her hand was wrapped around his heart. He let his mind run through that possibility, deciding what he’d do.

“It’s my fault she’s in this situation.” That’s all that JJ could offer Kiara. Because in truth that’s all he knew. No matter what plan of action the Pogues took, his priority was making sure Y/N came out of this unscathed. He couldn’t live with himself if one of his friend’s lives got ruined because of him. 

Kiara took her hand away from his and he felt the lack of it more than the touch itself. “If you do, we couldn’t keep doing…whatever we’re doing.”

“It wouldn’t be a real marriage, Kie,” JJ argued, but he felt gross as he said it. It wasn’t a real marriage, but he couldn’t expect Kie to stick around and wait for all of this to blow over.

“It would just make everything weird,” Kiara voiced JJ’s thoughts. JJ didn’t get a chance to offer any more to this conversation, because John B was yelling his name from inside. Sighing, JJ got up and waited for Kie to stand before they headed inside the house. 

“What?” JJ asked, taking in the Pogues, who had now assembled in the living room. Y/N stood in the corner, her arms crossed across her chest and a look of defeat on her face. Y/N never looked defeated. 

John B clapped his hands with a shit-eating grin on his face, “I’m gonna be your best man, right? Not Pope?” 

What? 

“I’m not walking down the aisle with you,” Cleo shot at John B.

“There’s no aisle,” Sarah reminded. “It’s at the courthouse.” JJ felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise. 

“What’s at the courthouse?” He shouldn’t have asked. He already knew. 

“Your wedding, of course.” JJ wanted to wipe that smile off Pope’s face with his fist. 

taglist: @theater-bitch @ayy1234567 @tpwkyarely @lovesanimals0000 @B3rryb3t @mvaldez7821 @ummmmokaynotme @velyssaraptor

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Girl Talk - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Vi and Sevika: Unlikely Bffs

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

"Transcending survival," it sounds like a direct quote, "and achieving sovereignty."

Vi lets off a low whistle.

"Sovereignty," she repeats. "That's a big fucking word."

"Yeah, well."

The sigh rides a languid plume of smoke. Satisfaction, Vi thinks. But also fatigue. Whatever toll Silco's absence exerted seems nothing compared to the one his return's exacted.

Strangely, Vi recognizes the feeling. With her romance with Caitlyn rekindled, it is impossible to feel contentment: apart or in proximity.  Closeness only opens the floodgates for more want. More worries. More risks to lose what's been regained.

Then she thinks of the kiss she and Caitlyn shared inside the café: warm, safe, solid. Of the longing that preceded it; and the closure that followed. Since then, the bedrock certainty has stayed beneath Vi's feet even as reality spins its dizzying wheels.

Yet, here is a fellow Fissurewoman stuck in a quagmire. Loyal to her last breath, and lonelier for it.

"And that's all there is?" Vi takes the plunge. "What about… y’know? You and him?"

Dark eyes lock on Vi. "Where're you going with this?"

"Nowhere. Just... seems like there's been a falling out."

"And if there was?"

"I'd say 'tough shit,' and move on. Not my circus; not my monkeys. Unless they're living right next door." Vi gestures: at the ebbing signs of festivity around the dockside. At the promise Progress Day offers, for Piltover and Zaun both. "You've kept me in the loop for a year. The least I can do is lend an ear if something's up."

"Thought we weren't doing debts."

"This isn't about debts."

"Then what's it about?"

"Honesty. Or have you spent so long in Silco's shadow, you've forgotten how to be real?"

Sevika says nothing. Her footsteps eat the cobblestones; her drags devour the cheroot. Her profile stays inscrutable. If she's contemplating socking Vi in the jaw, or contemplating other matters entirely, she doesn't let on. That'd be tantamount to losing face.

Vi is, whatever else, half a Topsider.

Half a Topsider—but she's snitched not a damn thing that could be held against Zaun. Nothing to pad the Council's dossiers: no dirt on Silco's business dealings. Jinx's name had been kept exempt entirely. Silco had expected—hell, encouraged—her to spin tales and secure her safety. He knew each song would come with privileges: sweeten deals; polish connections; bolster clout.

If she'd played it right, she'd have been the Council's pet canary, crooning into a platinum-plated microphone.

Vi kept her lips zipped.

Six months at Silco's side, and she'd done squat to capitalize on the ordeal. Nor will she.  Whatever beefs exist, they are private property. Silco may have jettisoned her, Vi may hate him, their mutual grudges may stretch for leagues. And yet there was a bargain struck between them—Silco and Vi—the night the Void encroached on their home.

They'd become fellow survivors in an unholy alliance that no outsider could understand.

Now Vi's silence is the silence of the Fissures: inviolate. She'll carry it till her deathbed.

Maybe Sevika recognizes that.

She doesn't soften, exactly. But her words, when they come, don't hold the usual granite.

"No falling out," she says quietly. "At least, not where Zaun's concerned.  That bag's secured, tagged, and marked as Top Priority."

"And the rest?"

"The rest's the usual. I've got my squeezes. He's got his. Keeps the ashes hauled, and the gears oiled." The granite returns; so does a degree of the old wickedness. "Though if it's gossip you're after, here's a tidbit. Your girl is back in Silco's good graces. And she's planning on sticking around."

The cobblestones dip underfoot. Caitlyn's face flashes, but of course that's not who Sevika means. 

"Nao?" Vi blurts.

"The one and only."

"I thought she was done turning tricks."

"Oh, the tricking's been put to bed. She's Zaun's mistress-in-chief now. Direct line to the Eye." Off Vi’s stunned silence, Sevika tips a shoulder.  "Silco's got his hands in plenty of pockets. And Maven's the one who's pulled every pair of those monogrammed drawers down. Every state secret, every political scandal—it all funnels through her. Guess Silco decided it's smarter to have her onside."

"Motherfuck."

"Yeah, she's got a few of those on file too." Something rueful glitters in the dark gaze. "Thought I'd give you the heads-up. Silco's been trotting her out for public engagements lately. So you might see her viz in the papers. She sure fits the look of a high-class mistress. Posh accent. Poised walk. Polite manners. Plus a dash of brass to keep it interesting. Not to mention—" An expressive cupping, "—a brand new boost to the decolletage. Twenty-ninth birthday gift, courtesy of the Boss." 

Vi shakes her head. 

It's difficult not to feel a measure of resentment toward Nao. Especially after she'd set Vi up to walk into the ambush in the Abattoir. And yet, there's a twinge of pity, too. However shiny Nao’s golden perch, it sits within a shark's glistening jaws. Whatever gains come of staying close, there's always the risk of waking up with those teeth buried in your throat.

Nao should have left when she could.

Then again: wasn't that the advice she'd given Vi?

As for Silco: what's his gameplan? A mistress isn't his style. Too many demands: energy, attention, affection. Demands he'd rather invest elsewhere. Perhaps Nao's meant to serve as window-dressing as he slinks out of the shadows and into the social spotlight. Keep the gossip mill spinning with decadent sleights-of-hand, while he cuts dirtier deals behind the scenes.

Except Vi doesn't buy it. Silco's smallest decision serves a dual purpose.  But he's too subtle to misdirect through such showy gambits as a kept woman on his arm. If he's brought Nao back into the fold, his agenda extends beyond mere showmanship. He wants her within arm's reach: he wants her in his crosshairs.

Meaning Nao's not simply a plaything: she's leverage.

And the fallout—if things go south—could put her six-feet-under.

As if reading Vi's mind, Sevika says, "I've warned her to watch her step. She thinks she's in the Big League. But there's no keeping pace with a man who's ten miles ahead and counting." Her tone darkens; Vi hears grief and envy both. Neither take precedence. There's only an inevitability that comes with long-lived loyalty. "He runs hot; you just run behind. And if you don't run fast enough, you'll burn."

"You've always kept pace. Always run the closest."

"And now, Maven's using my playbook to cut corners."

"She ought to know better."

"Ought to."

"So should you."

Sevika's brow holds that familiar uptick.

"I just mean," Vi says, "it's a shitty hand to be dealt. You've been all-in for years. Now someone else is in the chips."

Understatement is a risky ploy. But Vi has learnt its uses. It gives nothing away—but it also leaves room for backing out. For denial, if that's the way Sevika wants to swing it.

Because even if her remarks are confirmation—yes, this is a breakup—that doesn't mean she wants to dwell in the reality.

In her place, Vi wouldn't.

Because, fuck, she gets it. Heartbreak hurts. Sevika may be older, tougher; the only fighter to meet Vi toe-to-toe. But that doesn't make her infallible. It takes a hundred sleepless nights to perfect that level of sangfroid.

More than anyone, Vi thinks the woman deserves an easy chair by the fireside.

Maybe that's why she asks:

"You doing alright?"

"We swapping girl-talk now?" Sevika scoffs. "Not our scene."

"We can afford to switch it up now and then." Vi kicks a stray pebble with the tip of her boot. "I just… hell. I'll say it. I'm grateful to you. When I was in Zaun, you gave me a square shot. Even if it was to keep the game rolling. After shit hit the fan, you kept the city from splitting at the seams. Silco ought to give you a fucking medal. Instead, he's with girl a half his age, who's profiting from all your groundwork. Soon, he'll either snap her in half, or find a juicer catch. But what about you? Will you still be on his hook?"

"Never been off it."

"But why?" Another pebble goes skittering. "He's not worth it. Believe me. I'd be happy to kick him in the nuts if it'd make a lick of difference."

"It'd make a lick of difference." A smile: fair-off, flickering. "But he'd still be the same bastard. Besides. You break his dick, you're breaking one of Zaun's national treasures."

"Ew."

"Thought we were switching it up."

"Not that way." Vi's spasm is visceral. "I just don't get it.  You can't tell me it doesn't chafe, knowing Nao's strutting in your shoes." A sudden candor makes its way past her defenses: "When I was in Zaun, Caitlyn... she took up with someone else. An heiress. The press got wind, and splashed the pictures on every rag Topside and Down-Low. Gotta tell you. It felt like an axe to the jaw, seeing her with another chick. Like breaking up ten times over. You can't say it's not as bad with you. That you're not..."

The quirk in Sevika’s brow cuts higher. The query's clear: Jealous?

Vi nods. Sevika shakes her head.

"He's welcome to whomever," she says. "Same way I'm free to fuck who I choose."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"You're a rookie at this game, Vi. You've been with that Piltie of yours for what—eighteen months, give or take? And you think you're entitled to judge? Please. Try a decade, and we'll swap war stories."

A smoke ring ripples past Vi's nose: a perfect O-shaped provocation. She doesn't rise to it. Sevika's a natural sparrer: there's nothing she relishes more than a blow-by-blow.

But Vi understands her aim isn't to throw down. It's to throw Vi off her game.

This conversation is veering dangerously close to Sevika's heart-of-hearts. With it comes the temptation to divert, distract, derail. But the moment's past. In its place is a weary sense of trust.

At the end of the day, Vi and Sevika aren't scheming power-brokers.

Just two brawlers rolling with life's punches.

"Is that how long you've been with together?" Vi dares. "A decade?"

"We were never 'together.' Already made that plain."

"Doesn't mean there's no strings attached."

"Strings aren't the same as vows, Vi. And the more time goes by, the deeper those lines get engraved."

"Enlighten me."

Sevika smiles. A strange smile: halved and hidden. A sense of something tethered down deep. "A decade, Vi. That’s enough time to understand where matters stand. What's the bottom line, and the cost of crossing it." The cheroot's cherry brightens, then dims; two thirds' gone. "We grew up together. We fought together. Suffered the same defeats. Shared the same wins. Rode into war on the same wavelength. And when the end came, it gutted us. Me to disillusionment. Him to death."

Vi thinks back to the kitchen, and the parallelogram of sunlight creeping as Silco's confession came closer to completion. And, after: the rush of rage, so white-hot her vision went momentarily blind. That urge to grab the nearest object and drive it into his eyeball wasn't merely vengeance. It was a mercy kill.

Because she'd recognized how much had been cored out of Silco. The pieces of him that could never be resuscitated.

Never be laid to rest.

"He changed," Vi says.  "He'll never be the same again."

"Nothing stays the same," Sevika retorts, without sharpness. "Everything evolves. That Piltie of yours won't be the same girl you fell in love with, five months down the line. Let alone five years. But if you play your cards right, she'll be the woman by your side till you're old and senile." A drag of the cheroot; a coil of smoke. "Ten years, Vi. Not eighteen months of fucking and fights and fun. Ten years of ups and downs. Blood, sweat, tears and doing what needed to be done. Being the kind of XO he wanted, so he could be the monster our city needed. Ten years of struggling tooth and nail to finish what we started, and hitting too many rock-bottoms to count. And each time, I watched him dig in his heels, grit his teeth, and crawl from the wreckage. He never stopped until he'd made his way to the top. Until we'd gone from the slags in the sewer to the kings of the hill." A deeper drag; a longer coil. "Ten years, and d'you think it matters if I'm jealous? If he dips his wick in a million Mavens? If we're 'together' or not? After all that's been lost and gained and fought for?" She shakes her head. "The man's occupied territory. But my blood's on that deed. It’s mine till death do us part.”

"That sounds..."

Like a fucking prison, Vi nearly says. Except that's not quite right.

Whatever Silco and Sevika share refuses to slot into a neat cellspace. And Vi's perspective's biased: it's shaped according to a private lexicon of highs-and-lows, rather than give-and-take. She's never experienced a bond where reciprocity and self-sacrifice interlock. She meets Caitlyn as an equal; Caitlyn will settle for nothing less. It's why she's so active in Vi's struggles; so committed to securing their shared future. A partnership that transcends privilege and poverty; one that hopes to eradicate the divides entirely.

That journey's worth every second spent fighting the odds.

No regrets. No surrender.

Sevika and Silco don't fit this mold. They never have. He leads; she follows. To his highest ascents, and his lowest ebbs. Maybe because she's known who he is—what they are together—long before anyone else did. Known that on the blueprint of their bond, they can build something greater. Something that belongs to them both, and yet outlasts their struggles side-by-side.

Something that transcends even the love itself.

Not survival, but sovereignty.

Yet, Vi cannot help but think:  it must be hard to invest soul-deep in a cause, and not in each other. It must be harder to know you're aligned, no matter the odds. It must be downright brutal to be close —close enough to touch—but separated by a split so profound, you've shaped yourself around it, and can never fill the space in.

It must royally suck to know:  Gods, I'm still in love.

Always will be.

Full fucking circle.

"It sounds..." Vi swallows. "Heavy."

"It is what it is."

"Guess so." A beat. "But you know what?"

"What?"

"If your name's on the deed, then Silco's put it there. Meaning no matter how many beds he's hopped, he's gotta come crawling home in the end." Vi holds her stare. "And when he does, I hope you make him grovel. Hands and knees. Kissing the ground you walk on all the way to Hell. Because the bastard owes you ten times over for not cutting that so-called National Treasure clean off, and mounting it on a pike." Vi crooks her pinky-finger: as solemn as a salute. "Fifty Hexes per ball, right?"

A look of naked surprise flashes across Sevika's face. Her laugh catches Vi off-guard. The husky timbre bleeds into the dark. Sevika's features, in the receding dusk, are subtly altered: young as she must've been before time dealt its blows; beautiful in the flashfire way Vi sees whenever they clash in battle.  

A reminder, too. Some folks are forged to endure, no matter how rough the ride, or how rigged the game.

"Oh, Vi," Sevika says. "If you weren't kissing Piltie puss, I'd plant one on you."

"Keep dreaming."

"I've got better ways to keep warm. Though if you were offering—"

"I'd split you down your seams."

"Sweetheart," Sevika grins, "that's the idea."

[pyromaniacbibliophile]

Oh. My. Gods.

WICKED AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

First: This man is a bisexual icon i will take no criticism on this fact

Dancing through Life is THE most amazing song I know what's going to be on loop in my mind for the next month at least

These two? gay. gay as hell. There is no denying it.

(why is that the only gif tumblr has of her? why?)

My gods Loathing or whatever it's called AAAAAAAAAAA literally i was screaming

I want to be him-

i literally want to be him

THE ENDING AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA GLINDA GAVE HER THE CAPE HELP- ALSO WOWWOWOWOWOWOWOW DEFYING GRAVITY HITS SO HARD AAAAAA

Fiyero at the end riding off to find his gfs i cant i honestly cant

Also. They are a 'menage a trois' to use the french- they are. There is literally no alternative. I can't do diagrams rn but it's simple.

Glinda==Elphaba

|| ||

\\ //

Fiyero

simple as that

Loathing= gelphie

Dancing through Life= fiyeroxglinda (what is their ship name?)

I'm not that girl= fiyeraba

THEY ARE A THREESOME YOUR HONOUR

also stupidly stupidly oblivious

this scene i was mentally yelling at them

gelphie is well and good (and amazing) but i'm sorry gliyeraba is superior here

elphie and glinda are 100 percent switches

fiyero- well.

Admittedly you could well find justification for shipping him with literally anyone in the cast bc have you watched dancing through life? aaaaa

gelphie are in love. they are. they are so in love. the scene at the dance? aaaaaaa. they are in love ladies and gentlemen of the jury they are in love.

'i see that, once again, it falls to me to corrupt my fellow students' ICON. THIS MAN IS AN ICON. AN ABSOLUTE FUCKING ICON. MADRE DE LOS DIOS-

although him kicking the book did physically pain me but MINOR DETAILS

CON MAN. THIS MAN HERE, LADIES, GENTLEMEN, AND THOSE WHO ARE YET TO MAKE UP YOUR MINDS- THIS MAN IS A CONMAN. A SWINDLER, IF YOU WILL. A LIAR, A FRAUD, A ONE-TRUNK OWNING KNAVE, AND A CON-MAN.

THENARDIER HAS NOTHING ON HIM. IAGO MAYBE- BUT I WOULD ARGUE HE IS EVEN MORE OF A CONMAN THAN EVEN THAT ESTEEMED GENT

TO BE CONTINUED???? TO BE GODSDAMMED CONTINUED???? WHAT SORT OF AN ENDING IS THAT MY HELS-

anyway i am so normal about this movie can you tell?

[eddiernunson]

The Taste of You | Modern Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Fem Reader | 18 +

Word Count: 8.1k

Summary: after attending a successful and rather sweaty concert from Corroded Coffin, you send the front man a rather thirsty DM on his instagram. You wake up to his response...and an offer to go backstage to follow through.

Warnings: lowkey unrealistic, alcohol, oral (f + m receiving), marking, begging (both), no protection, cream pie, use of aftercare

MINORS DNI

Based on my friend @bebe07011 going to a concert and DM'ing one of the band members (who looks a lot like Eddie) about how much she was enthralled by his performance and him responding back. This one's for you <3

Thank you so much to @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you again for editing, you're my lifesaver.

-

You lean on the counter at work, distracted by your Instagram feed. Well, not distracted, per se. There are several more productive things you could be doing, but with your manager out on an errand and no customers to serve, there isn’t really anything stopping you. A post from Corroded Coffin comes up, a few images from their latest stop on tour. You can hardly prevent an excited squeal from escaping your lips, scrolling through their images, and rereading the end of the post over and over. ‘See you next, Indiana!’

You’ve been looking forward to this since buying tickets at the announcement of their tour nearly four months ago. It’s been a summer of anticipation; each post a countdown to your own concert date.

You discovered Corroded Coffin through suggestions from Spotify, the algorithm having picked up on your tastes in rock music and suggested a more modern band. Their music is good, you discovered. Their first album Freaks in the Streets came out about two years ago, and it’s raw in its talent but their latest album, Hell’s on Fire (And So Are You) shot them into stardom. You had it on repeat for months, and their lead guitarist being hot as he was had nothing to do with your fixation.

Okay, discovering Eddie Munson, (said lead guitarist) the main lyricist on the album, had everything to do with your fixation. Every late-night TV host offered a slot for them to play their music and Eddie’s charisma as he cheekily answers questions about his off-putting lyrics drove you into over-excitement mode. You can still hardly believe you're going to be able to watch his sweaty chest perform live.

Your concert date is tomorrow, and you have everything set up. You booked it off from work, got the perfect outfit, and the tickets are waiting on your apple wallet. You set your phone down, locking it. As always, the phone lights up when it faces up and you catch the image of the glistening sweat on Eddie’s chest during a performance from a tweet that went viral a few weeks ago, a photo you immediately saved for your phone. God, he’s mouthwatering. There were several hundred women in the retweets praising him as well, so, of course, there’s no chance in hell.

But it’s nice to fantasize.

-

You sit comfortably in the level 100 seats, dressed in a somewhat alternative outfit, high waisted black shorts with a fringe hanging off them, a chain on your belt loops, and a ripped crop top with the bands logo you found in an urban clothing store. You hold a beer in one hand and your phone in the other, recording the opening act as they sing to an audience that is only half paying attention.

Luckily, you know some of their songs on their short 8-song setlist, half-heartedly singing along but saving your voice for the main act. Though, you know your heart isn’t in it when you notice the placement of the jewels you glued to your temple is awkward. When you squint your eyes in a certain way they seem to threaten to fall off. Whatever, they were dollar store jewels, anyway.

The band finishes their less than overwhelming act, thanking the audience, and teasing them with the fact that the main act is backstage and apparently excited to put a show on for their home state. Somehow, it keeps escaping you that you happen to live about 60 miles away from where Eddie Munson grew up, Hawkins, Indiana. That place certainly had a reputation for itself.

You make small talk with your best friend, who is as excited as ever, if anything, to see your face when you melt to the floor. Natalie isn’t into their music like you are, but she can admit that their music is objectively good. Free concert and the power to tease you? Natalie is SO in. “What outfit you think he’s gonna wear tonight?” You shrug, sipping some wheat water. You don’t like beer, but the venue’s options when it comes to alcohol are…limited to say the least. Natalie leans in to you. “You think he’s gonna wear a shirt this time?”

You elbow her, your cheeks heating up. Some places he wears a shirt, and it’s a day of tragedy. Some places he comes out with his chest already bare, and it’s pure heaven. Although, he is known to rip a shirt off occasionally, and you have far too many videos of that saved on your phone. “I don’t know. We’ll find out when he comes out.”

You’re in the middle of a conversation about the politics of the latest show you’re watching together and the lights go down. An electric guitar is heard but out of sight. Subconsciously, you grab your friend’s forearm as your eyes widen in anticipation, your ass literally hovering on your chair as you’re at the edge of your seat. You hear her laugh, but you can’t focus as the lights on stage dramatically light up two at a time, and out of nowhere you can see the four band members, Eddie second to the left. Oh god, he’s wearing an open jacket with a metal chain. Holy shit.

You’re on your feet and screaming lyrics before you even know it.

The night goes by in a blur, and none of the videos you’ve seen online do Corroded Coffin any justice. Their online stage presence is unstoppable. And while Eddie was a large part of the crowd draw in, you watch as he interacts with each band member, using their energy to amplify his own. He really couldn’t do this without them, which is why he’s so insistent in every interview he’s given. Halfway through the show, Eddie does a quick run backstage, claiming his jacket was ‘too fucking hot’ and when he comes out in a fishnet shirt, the crowd goes absolutely nuts.

You sit in the back of a cab, buzzed and rewatching the multiple videos you’ve taken repeatedly, smiling giddily to yourself. “That was such a good show.” You mumble to yourself, sipping from the drink you promised to the cab driver you wouldn’t spill from. You’re so drunk you barely even notice the taste of the beer anymore.

The cab driver pulls up to the hotel and you drunkenly climb out, handing him four 20-dollar bills on the way, making sure he’s tipped well for having to put up with your drunk ass. He doesn’t seem to mind too much, but then again, you’re too busy rewatching your thirst caught in 4K to even notice. God damn, the video really doesn’t put his glistening chest any justice. It was even better in person. If you could just lick up his chest, you knew every problem in your life would be solved.

Your best friend laughs behind you, escorting you to the hotel room. As the hotel room door opens you just want to climb into bed and scroll through your phone, but Natalie makes you wipe off your make up and get dressed into some pajamas. You check your Instagram, Corroded Coffin’s post from tonight at the top of the feed. There were some high-quality shots of him in his fishnet shirt that you immediately save, going over to Eddie Munson’s personal Instagram from where he’s tagged in the post.

God, he must get hundreds of DMs in a day. One raindrop doesn’t affect the ocean. I wanna lick the sweat off your chest so fucking bad just gimme a chance. Your thumb hovers over the send button, but you’ve sent several messages to celebrities before, and they never respond. So, you hit send, and you’re asleep within minutes, your lamp still lit next to you as the water from the shower in the bathroom less than ten feet away from you lulls you into a deep sleep.

-

Your 10AM alarm rings, yanking you out of a deep sleep.  If you could, you’d spend the next ten hours sleeping to shake off the hangover, but you've gotta get up to have time to pack up and get changed before check out. You can shower tonight at home. As you sit up on your bed, dismissing the alarm, the headache kicks in, making you groan. Oh, fuck, are you hungover.

You check your phone quickly, and as you scroll down your notifications, you triple check a notification just to make sure you’re reading it right. At first, you’re confused. Why would he be messaging you? Your eyes widen as you promptly yeet your phone to your friend's bed when you remember what the fuck you sent to him last night. You curl in on yourself with your knees up against your chest and your hands over your mouth in disbelief.

Natalie comes out of the bathroom after hearing your phone bounce off the bed and land on the floor. “Whoa,” Natalie breathes, seeing your stunned stature. “Are you okay?”

You shake your head, shellshocked.

“Okay, can you at least tell me what happened? You’re kind of freaking me out here.”

“I sent a really, really thirsty message to Eddie Munson last night and I saw a notification saying he responded.” You admit, no higher than a whisper.

“What?!” Natalie nearly shouts, a bit loud in the quiet morning of the small hotel. “Well then open it and read it! What did he say?”

“I’m scared too look!” You admit, grabbing a pillow and holding it close to your chest.

Natalie grabs your pillow and tosses it to the side, her wet blonde hair shining prettily in the morning sun. “Get up, you big baby! Open the goddamn message!”

Fuck, Natalie’s right. Doesn’t mean you liked it. You bend to pick your phone up, sitting next to her on the bed as you open your Instagram notification. Fuck, he responded only fifteen minutes after your message. “Oh you sent him a very thirsty message.”

“Look what the fuck he wrote back.” You whisper, eyes wide as your heart pounds out of your chest.

apricothamster147: I wanna lick the sweat off your chest so fucking bad just gimme a chance.

eddiemunson: Well, damn baby, are you still in town for tonight’s show? Come backstage and we’ll see about making that happen. (Send me ur email for tix)

“Holy shit.” Natalie mutters out loud, her eyes bugging to his response as well. “Well? Are you gonna accept?”

You chortle, holding your hand out to her comically. “Do you have enough money for another night?”

Natalie shrugs. “I have my dad’s credit card.”

“Are you allowed to use it?”

“Only when I need it.”

“Shit.”

“Honestly, girl, you need it. Go ahead, send him your email, I’ll get us another night.”

Your thumbs move fast, hoping his offer wasn’t due to a lack of sobriety or a glitch in the Matrix. If you’re still accepting my offer, my email is apricothamster417@gmail.com. You add a heart emoji just to be safe and send off a message to him.

Your best friend is in the middle of a phone call with her father to get him to call the front desk. They would only accept the credit card if they could speak to him. “Thank you!” Natalie hangs the phone up, looking at you. “Hotel is taken care of!”

You’re lying on your bed at this point, still in your pajamas with your palms stacked on your forehead. “What the fuck am I even gonna wear?”

“You brought multiple outfits, right?” Natalie asks you, sitting on her bed and laying down now that she no longer has to get ready to leave.

“Yeah, I brought some back-ups.” You sit up quickly, eyes wide. “I need your expertise in styling it, though. I have to look hot.”  

Natalie sits up as well, serious as she can be. “Oh sweetheart, he won’t know what hit him.”

-

An hour into her crusade, styling your hair, your phone lights up in a notification. Your phone is closer to her, so you ask her to check it, Natalie knows your passcode, anyway. You know what it is immediately based on the expression you see on her face in the mirror. “Did he respond?”

“Yes!” Natalie answers, placing the hot tool down and putting the freed hand over her mouth.

“Oh my god, gimme that!” You respond, too impatient to wait for her to calm down.

eddiemunson: See you tonight (with a winky emoji)

“Oh my fucking god.” You let out, and suddenly it occurs to you that you’re seeing him in concert again. There’s even a slight possibility of you meeting him, however slim that he may remember to even do it.

A notification from your gmail rings, and you see ticketmaster. You hit it hard, seeing First Name, ‘Unknown’ Last Name, ‘Stranger’ has gifted you two VIP Floor Tickets with Back Stage passes, apparently just scanning the barcode will get you backstage. No. It wasn’t…no. This isn’t real. You stared off into the distance, eyes up from your phone. This doesn’t happen…

“Babe!”

You’re snapped out of it, realizing you zoned out in disbelief. “I’m just…a little in shock.”

Natalie smirks at you, tilting your chin on her fingertips gracefully. “Well now we know it’s fucking real, so let’s party hard, babe!”

Your eyes roll at her antics, but you love them. “Thanks for asking your dad.”

“Bitch, what’s a rich daddy good for if not for my friends?” Natalie laughs, starting to use the iron on your hair again.

Your makeup is done, rhinestones on the inner corners of your eyes, and you're wearing fishnet tights under a jean skirt and an oversized Corroded Coffin band tee. You usually used it as a sleep shirt, but Natalie insists it would work its magic.

Butterflies invade your stomach as soon as your black boots hit the pavement outside the hotel, the sunset cascading across the sky in a beautiful haze of orange and pink. As your thighs feel uncomfortable against the fabric of the cab, you hope your insides will feel as nice as the outside looks right now.

You pay your cab, all on the card, and get out, your stomach in knots. Well, it's now or never. Hesitantly, you hold your phone out for your ticket scanner on the main floor and she approves, giving you the thumbs up. “Wait.” the ticket scanner holds her hands out when she notices the big red letters, BACKSTAGE PASSES. You think you’re in trouble when you’re both handed the Backstage Pass Lanyards, decorated with the Corroded Coffin logo.

This is where you start to believe that you might’ve died last night with alcohol poisoning because there’s no way in Gods’ Green Earth is this real.

You both thank the attendant and walk to your seats, front and center, third row back. You could see the scratches on the sticker on the speakers from the inspector in the factory. Damn, were you close. “We’re going to go deaf.” Natalie comments, a half smile on your face. “Need a drink?”

“Please.” You answer, eyes wide. Natalie laughs and gets up to walk towards the bar, which is much less crowded around in the VIP section of the floor. Fucking wild.

You hold your phone and sing along to some more of the opening act's songs tonight, now gaining some familiarity with it. They’re great musicians, but they’re just not on Corroded Coffin’s level yet. They definitely have the potential to get there.

Their set list ends, and you notice that the lead singer is close enough for you to see the beads of sweat on his forehead.

Oh god, you’re going to die.

Natalie tries to keep you entertained by chatting about anything she can, but it does so little to prevent time from crawling by at a snail's pace.

Your phone buzzes in your hand, and it’s a message from him. Wish Me Luck! You swear up and down it’s immediately after when the lights go down and the guitar starts playing off stage. Did he really just text you right before he started his show? Did that really just happen?

If there’s one thing about being in the third row with little to no one to block your view, it’s that no amount of high quality photos on twitter will ever amount to the real thing less than ten feet away. The sweat that drips down his leather vest for the night is mouth watering, the dark eyes in his expression as he performs hypnotizes you. You sing the lyrics, and jump and dance and occasionally drink, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t tear your gaze away from him.

And for a few moments, it’s like he holds your eye contact. No, that’s crazy. Nothing is happening. He has a million other girls to choose from, why would he choose you?

The concert happens in a blur, Eddie flings off the vest about halfway through the show, splashing some of his hair with his sweat. Your friend laughs at the sharp inhale that leaves your chest as you watch it. Man, he really had you in his clutches.

Eddie holds his arms out for his band as they close off the last song, all bowing together. “Thank you, Indiana! You’ve been a fucking fantastic crowd, thank you!”

“You ready?” Natalie asks you, holding out her lanyard cheekily.

“Nope.” You admit, taking a large gulp of the beer you barely touched. “After another beer I might be.”

“You really wanna meet him tipsy?” Natalie asks, raising her eyebrows at you.

“I don’t wanna be afraid to say anything!” You shoot back, leading her to the bar. You buy another one, and it’s down your throat within five minutes. You inhale deeply, wiping your face off from the excess beer around your mouth. “Does my mouth smell like beer?” You ask, suddenly worried.

“If you have to ask, I think you already know.” Natalie tells you, patting your back and leading you to the sign that says BACKSTAGE in all caps with an arrow pointing left.

A big security personnel blocks the big black curtain to the backstage area. You hold out your lanyard to him, and he gruffs as he holds his hand out for it. He takes a scanner to check out its legitimacy, and once both lanyards are in the clear, his face breaks into a smile, stepping aside to allow you through. It's almost comical.

The backstage area is busier than you had expected, arrows pointing you to where the visitors go, narrowly avoiding the crew as they bustle around. You both walk into a large area where several band members talk to friends or family, all sporting towels to dab their sweat away.

“Oh my god thank you for sending that DM.” Natalie whispers to you, looking around while starstruck. “I’m sure half these people aren’t even celebrities, but this is so cool! I’m going to go and mingle, you stick around for—”

You grab her by the collar, “Don’t you dare leave me alone here.”

“Ok, how bout we both grab some food? Maybe sober up?”

“Only because I’m hungry and free food tastes the best.”

You’re slowly picking at the fruit tray when you hear someone near you call out, “Eddie! My man!” You turn around to face him, the half-eaten strawberry you drop landing on the plastic tray loudly. You quickly finish the fruit and watch as he hugs his bandmate. “What, no shower, bro? You stink!”

The room echoes in laughter, and you join them. He does stink, and he stinks marvelously. The very scent makes you salivate. His laughter, it’s even better in person. He’s never laughed like this in any interview, all calm and toned down for the camera. This is genuine, heartfelt laughter.

You turn around to lean on the table, Jesus you need to calm yourself. Seeing him up close is sending a heat to your center that you're going to need to resolve quickly.

“Fancy seeing you, here.” His voice sends a shiver down your spine, barely five feet away. You turn and face him, your breath knocking out of your chest. Words cannot describe how little all of the photos in the world do him any justice. He is the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen.

“Thanks for i-inviting me.” You answer, gulping at the slight shine his sweat still gives him. “You’re a really great performer…” You find yourself distracted by his chest. He’s probably going to get all sticky soon… he smelled even better up close…

“I’m gonna go mingle.” Natalie says, pointing towards a crowd of people talking to the band members. “Text me to let me know if you’re meeting me at the hotel.” Natalie gives a shy smile to Eddie and walks away before you could answer.

“Thank you.” He nods his head, giving you a smirk. Then, the unthinkable happens as he uses his thumb and pointer finger to lift your chin to capture your eyes with his own. How are they so pretty? “Are you going to make do on your promise?”

You gulp, your eyes flickering down to his pink lips. You’ve stared at his lips, how many times now? You nod slowly, peering up at him through your lashes.

“Let’s go somewhere a bit more quiet, then.” He offers, extending his hand for you.

You take it silently, his rough hands feeling warm and rough, but perfect. He leads you about ten steps down the hall, a doorway marked with his name over the words Dressing Room. As the door shuts behind him, he locks it, flinging his towel across the room. “C’mere.” He offers, extending his hand to you. You follow his instructions, sitting next to him on the couch. “You haven’t said a goddamn word, yet your message said fucking everything. Is the pretty girl shy?” He asks, thumb caressing your cheek.

You nod your head, gulping as his touch lights your skin on fire. “I—I was six drinks in when I sent you that message. …I wouldn’t have even remembered unless you replied.” You admit, leaning into his touch.

“C’mon baby, let’s see it.” You raise your eyebrows, inquisitively, wondering what he meant. “Your message! Couldn’t stop thinking about my after-show treat all day, a pretty girl begging to lick up my sweat. Show me.”

You nod to him, your near trembling hands reaching out for his chest. Eddie nods, a wild look in his eyes that nearly has you passing out. A loud exhale leaves your body as your hands reach out and reach contact with his chiseled, tattooed, chest, some sweat beads still lingering. How, you weren’t sure. Your eyes rake across his chest, taking in every tattoo you can, your heartbeat racing faster as you lean in, to finally, finally, rake your tongue up from his stomach to his chest, breathing heavily when the taste of the salt and his pure essence is even better than you imagined.

“Holy shit, she’s a fucking freak.” Eddie mutters, you feel his breath getting shallower under your mouth working on him.

You lean in again, nails digging into his skin as you give another long stripe across his skin, the taste of salt and delicious B.O. on your tongue and you let out a sigh of contentment. You crawl up to his collarbones, having noticed a pool of his sweat there gathered while he was performing.

Your tongue slides into the dip, moaning at the salty taste. Your teeth graze the bone, nibbling a little to leave little tiny bruises. You can’t wait to save the HQ pictures with these marks.

You leave one last long stripe on his treasure trail, having stared at many photos where his pants sit low. You’re nuzzling at it, breathing it in when you can feel him. Holy shit, Eddie Munson’s cock is only inches from your face.

You look up at him, and the back of his palms are connected to his forehead, his cheeks flushed, and his chest heavily breathing. He looks down to meet your gaze, and suddenly he sits up, grabs your face and plants a wet kiss to your lips. Your entire body tenses up, barely able to believe that it's real. Your brain eventually catches up, responding in kind, crawling so your bodies fit closer. Eddie pushes you back lightly before you get too close, having you lie down on his couch.

“Can I, sweetheart?” He asks, moving down to where your cunt has been begging for attention.

“A-are you sure? I don’t mind just sucking you off.”

He chuckles, leaning in for another kiss. “Oh baby, you just earned so much more than that.”

Eddie trails down your body, placing kisses on your exposed neck, lifting your shirt lightly as his hands move to cup your tits. You whimper in kind. “Baby, do you know what it’s like having the most gorgeous woman in the world offer to lick sweat off you? If you just give her a chance? I saw your picture you posted from the concert and fuck, you’re a goddamn smoke show. Those eyes, your gorgeous tits, your thighs, oh my god, baby, your thighs.” He talks through wet kisses trailing down your body until he’s face to face with your jean skirt.

He pulls twice, asking permission. You place your hands on your button to undo it and Eddie playfully swats your hands away. Your skirt is pulled off your body, leaving the fishnet tights and your thoroughly soaked panties. He leans in between your thighs, and your thigh muscles slightly convulse as you feel his hot breath against it. “Shh, haven’t even touched you yet, baby.” He hushes you, his big hands gracing your thighs gently. He leans in and you can’t tell what he’s doing until he starts pulling down, and you notice one of the strings from the tights in his mouth. He can’t seem to pull them off like he wants to, and after a last try he gets frustrated, ripping them off, instead. “There, that’s fucking better.”

You let out a tiny giggle, and then you feel so exposed to him, your lacy panties drenched as he stares between your legs.

If you told yourself this would be happening 24 hours ago you’d call yourself insane…or a silly goose. You were incredibly inebriated.

He flings the fishnets across the room and reaches out to touch your soaked panties, the touch inducing a whimper from you. “You’re soaked, huh, baby?” He murmurs, petting along your panties gingerly. You whimper in response, your hips lifting to meet his delicate touch more firmly. He chuckles, watching your face all scrunched up. “If you want me to touch you, beg for it.”

“Eddie, fucking touch me please, want it so bad.”

“Yeah, you want me to fuck you with my fingers, baby?”

You nod, starting to hopelessly grind your hips up. “So fucking bad, please.”

He smiles, watching the outline of your pussy as you get wetter. Without warning, he hooks his fingers around your waist band and tugs it down, and suddenly you find yourself exposing your pussy to the man who took most of your gallery's storage space on your phone. The way he looks at your pussy is damn divine. His eyes darken with lust, pink lips shine with spit, and his cheeks flush; it makes you want to close your legs in embarrassment.

They stay open, because you’re afraid to move, this must be a dream. This is too fucking good to be real.

“Fuck, I knew your pussy would be pretty, but I didn’t know a pussy could be this fucking gorgeous, look at you.” He rambles, you’re not sure if he’s talking to you or your pussy. He places a thumb gently on your slick, stroking lightly up and down, the sensation sending fire rippling across your skin. He sees your thigh shake the littlest bit. “Feel good?”

It does, but you want so much more from him. “Mmm hmm.” You answer, toes flexing with anticipation.

“Do you need something?” He asks, stroking your lips too lightly, not necessarily getting closer to anything. He just narrowly avoids your clit, watching you squirm as your eyebrows furrow lightly.

“I need more-I need more.” You choke out, your hips desperately rutting against his fingers. “I want you to touch me harder, or move faster, I need more.”

Eddie chuckles, hardly believing how much better you had turned out to be. “You need more? Okay, sure. I can give more.” He leans in to lick a stripe right on your neglected clit, and your hips rut up in surprise, a yelp of pleasure jumping out of your throat. It doesn’t even phase Eddie, now that he's tasted you, he doesn’t want to let go. “How do you taste so fucking good?” He asks, his voice low and husky. “Doesn’t make any fucking sense, this should be a fucking crime.”

You moan, hips grinding up against him, head back in pure ecstasy. “Your sweat shouldn't taste so good. I could bottle it like ketchup and eat it on everything.” You admit, your fingers flexing as a wave of heat runs right through you.

Eddie barely lets up, even as the sentence makes his eyes roll into the back of his head. He pumps one of his digits into you, a ringed finger, no less. Your jaw drops as he fucks into you, the hot pool of pleasure in your stomach starting to form. It's the best this has ever felt by a long shot.

Eddie continues to attack you, adding a second finger as his tongue swirls over your clit repeatedly. “Eddie…fuck…so good.” You can barely talk, your bliss radiating in every extremity. “K…Keep doi’ tha’…”

He stares up at pride at your cocked out expression, panting heavily as you feel yourself on the brink. Out of nowhere Eddie picks up his speed into hyperdrive, and you fucking keel over him, high whines escaping your throat as one hand flies into his hair and the other on the couch’s arm rest to keep you grounded.

The orgasm hits you slowly but leaves your thighs shaking underneath him in its wake. It's the best goddamn orgasm you’ve ever had. Eddie continues to place kisses on your pussy, licking up your cum from your entrance, seemingly quite satisfied with his hard work.

You're breathing heavily, looking up at him desperately through half open eyes. “You have to let me suck your cock, please Ed.”

He gives you a half smirk, you’re barely recovered and you’re begging to suck his dick? Did he win the lottery? “No, I need to feel that perfect pussy wrapped around my cock before I cum from the sounds you’re making, alone.”

You lift your heavy head up in confusion. “Sounds?”

“Have you heard what you sound like when you cum? If I had the patience, I’d be making you cum here, all night, but I fucking don’t. I need to know what the fuck your pussy feels like.” Eddie admits, and his voice sounds desperate.

You let your head fall back down, your legs falling down in unison, spread eagle. You shoot a smirk at him. “What if I told you to beg for it?”

“Hmm?” Eddie asks, and you see a light flicker on in his eyes.

“Beg for my pussy, Eddie. Wanna hear that pretty voice.”

Eddie grins widely, fuck, you just keep getting better. “Please, baby. Please. Let me fuck that tight, perfect pussy of yours. Please let me feel those hot, warm walls fucking pulse around me while I give it to you hard and well, just like she deserves.”

It's more than you could ever hope for, but you find yourself feeling greedy. “Hmm…not desperate enough. You don’t really sound like you want to fuck me all that badly.”

To this Eddie actually whines and groans in frustration. “C’mon, baby, please. Let me fuck you, I will do anything to feel that perfect cunt around my cock.”

Your legs hitch around his hips, pulling him in so his hard on in his jeans meets your bare pussy. You lean into his ear, inhaling his shampoo. “If you let me mark up your neck so I can have all those petty bitches be jealous of me at your next show, then go right ahead.”

“Oh, fuck, deal.” Eddie yanks his belt and his jeans and underwear off in one fell swoop, and the sight of his cock is better than anything you could’ve imagined. He kicks them off smoothly, lining himself up with you again in a matter of minutes. “Shit, you want a condom?” He asks, used to fucking bare back.

“I’m on birth control.” You tell him as he hovers over you.

“Oh that’s a good girl.” He mutters, leaning in to kiss at your neck. “You ready?”

“Fuck me, already, Ed, I’ve been ready since this morning.” Eddie chuckles and he slides himself in, the head of his cock burning only slightly, but feeling fantastic. “Oh, oh my god.”

“Fuck…” He grunts, waiting for your go ahead. “Better than I thought you’d feel. God, is this heaven?”

You giggle in response, your pussy pulsating around him in beat. “Your cock…so fucking full.” Eddie lifts his hips experimentally, and you let out a gasp at the burn and the pure pleasure it sends through you. “More.” You choke out when he doesn’t continue right away.  

Eddie doesn’t hesitate to listen to your request, your arms wrapped around his back as you clutch onto him for dear life. He ruts into you harshly, his hips snapping as it hits your g spot intentionally at every rut.

Your mouth seems like it’s trying to form words, but your head is so foggy by the time you open your mouth, the sentence is nowhere to be found. “Look at this cock drunk little slut.” Eddie laughs, watching your fucked out face.

Your hands tug on him, forcing his chest closer to your mouth. He lets his arms buckle down, slowing his pace down as his face finds refuge in the smell of your hair, while you start sucking lightly on his chest, leaving little bite marks. As you suck on his chest, your pussy sucks him in simultaneously, causing Eddie to moan from both sensations you were giving him.

Eventually, you have purpled your way across his chest, admiring your hard work as he continues moving slowly over you. “Eddie, can you go faster again?”

“Sure, baby. Be a good girl and turn onto your hands and knees.” You listen and turn around, tilting your ass up so it’s easy for him to slide in. “Oh, thank you, baby. Now lift your head up.” You do and he yanks on your hair, pulling a good chunk at the root. “That’s good.” He puts himself back in you, causing a guttural moan to leave your lips.

“Eddie…” You gasp out, the first hit surprisingly harsh against your hips. Not a part of you remotely minds, eyes rolling back in ecstasy as Eddie seemingly fucks you as hard as he can.

“You wanna still blow me, baby? Because I’m about to blow…” Eddie doesn’t have to say another word, you getting up and onto your knees on his animal carpet to wrap your lips around his cock and bob your head. “Use that pretty mouth…”

The feeling of you choking on it, your mouth desperately trying to take his whole length sends him over the edge. Eddie moans loudly, and you do everything you can to memorize this moment for the rest of your life, because nothing will top this.

Your mouth is overloaded with his thick cum, and one last load shoots out of him onto your face as your mouth pops off him, and ok, now nothing will top this.

He’s breathing heavily, staring down at the white shiny substance that made it’s way all over your nose and lips, some dripping down your chin to land on your tits. You start to gather it on your fingers, dipping it onto your tongue like it’s donut frosting. You hum to yourself at the salty taste, looking up at him through your eyelashes for approval.

“Shit, ain’t that a sight.” Eddie mutters, watching as you hopelessly attempt to clean yourself up before his cum goes everywhere. “Here, hold on.” Eddie yanks on a pair of low sweats and grabs something, walking towards the sink in the dressing room. He walks up to you and cleans his mess off your face and your tits, his hands behind the warm cloth gentle. He tosses it to god knows where and grabs one of the waters from his mini fridge.

He hands you the water and watches you as you slowly come back to yourself, the haze in your eyes raising. Your phone buzzes on the table next to the couch, and Eddie picks up the phone to give it to you and you call out to stop him a moment too late.

Eddie raises his eyebrows at your choice of wallpaper, it couldn’t be interpreted as anything other than thirst. The sweat glistening, his hand holding the microphone delicately, his face looking rather passionate about what he was singing about. Damn, that's a good photo, Eddie thinks. “So, did I just check something off your bucket list?” He asks, holding your phone out before tossing it to you.

You get up from your knees on wobbly legs, still needing some water, apparently. “Uh,” you take a sip, wondering how to answer as a wide smile settles on your face. On the one hand, you’re embarrassed. On the other, he had to know how viscerally thirsty you were after him. “No. I just did my bucket list.” You answer, taking another sip of your water as you stand in front of him, still head to toe naked. “Didn’t think I’d get this far.”

Eddie laughs at this, the same genuine laughter you heard from earlier.

You walk around the couch, bending over to locate your skirt.

“Lookin' for something?” Eddie asks, playfully pushing your buttons.

“My skirt…” you answer, peering across the room at this point.

“Can I be honest?” He asks, peering over your shoulder comically as you look around.

“Hmm?”

Eddie’s hands land your bare hips, tugging them backward so his boner hits your ass. “I could go for round 2.”

“Oh, thank fuck.” You whisper, turning around to face him. Eddie guides you, your steps messy as you back up to his vanity, a few brushes and the eyeliner he sports scattered. He lifts you easily onto it, your legs wrapping around his torso, pulling him in. You can’t tell when he removed his sweats, but the head of his cock unexpectedly against your heat already pulls a high whine out of you, sighing in relief. “Put it back in.”

“Fuck, don’t need to ask me twice.” He mumbles, lining himself up.

Your jaw drops as he pushes himself in, watching with a heavy chest as Eddie stares down at the sight of his cock entering your slick, a gulp leaving his mouth. “Holy shit, baby.” He mutters, exhaling as he bottoms out, his eyes closing. “How have I already forgotten how good your pussy is around me?”

Your breathing is shallow, watching with heavy eyelids as Eddie closes his eyes to seemingly gain his composure. “Eddie.” You whimper, your legs around his torso tightening. “You’re the…the hottest person I’ve literally ever seen in my life. Nothing will compare to this.”

You can feel his cock twitch in response, and you flutter around him as if to second it.

“Good.” Eddie grunts out, moving ever so slowly, eliciting a whimper from you. “Nothing better fucking compare, your pussy is too good for that shit.” His tongue sweeps a long lick in the crook of your neck, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as it feels dirty, in the best way. “May I return the favour?”

You’re about to ask when you realize his question is rhetorical, and you feel his teeth start to nibble, bite, and suck hard at your throat. He feels you suck him in as you breathe out little whimpers, the relief of his tongue against your skin followed by more stinging of his teeth working on you was everything, your nails scratching down his back in an involuntary response.

“Eddie…” you moan, head tilted back in ecstasy, nearly colliding with his mirror. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“Baby, fuck.” He mutters, his breath hot against your neck. “I wanna mark you up everywhere.” You fucking tighten up in response, drawing a nearly cruel laugh from him. “Yeah? You like that?”

“Uh huh…” You admit, the feeling of his hips slowly drawing in and out of you and his hot breath on your chest becoming too much, but perfect at the same time.

His tongue makes its way further down to your tit, one hand rubbing your sternum desperately as his teeth work expertly on your bud. He’s not too harsh with it, knows the exact amount of pressure to make it hurt in the best fucking way. “So fucking pretty, baby.” He mutters, his hips starting at a faster rate. He lets off your tit with a pop after sucking on it gently, admiring the bruising that’s starting to take shape across your sweaty form.

You can do nothing but cling to him, all coherent thoughts gone the moment he started sucking on your collarbone sharply.

“Got any…any summer plans?” Eddie asks, out of breath. He moves a leg over his shoulder to get a better angle, deeper than before.

You let out a gasp of pleasure, the sound nearly feral. “Y-you.”

Eddie laughs, his ringed hand rough as he grabs at your thigh on his chest. “Oh fuck baby, I’m close again, your pussy is so fucking good.”

“Cum in me.” It almost sounds like you're begging. 

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up to his forehead, his jaw dropping comically as he takes in your request. “Fuck, you sure?”

“Want you to fill me up, Eddie. Please.” You plead, and who is he to deny such a pretty girl?

“Gonna cum with me, pretty girl?” He asks, watching in marvel as you look more and more cocked out. You pull on him, yanking his lips to yours. You kiss him wantonly, deeply, all teeth and tongue as you do your best to express what you cannot with words. You don’t have a big enough vocabulary for the moment, anyhow. Eddie takes the lead and tugs on your bottom lip with his teeth, drawing a high whine out of you. “Gonna answer me?”

The edge is so close, an all encompassing heat invading your lower stomach as a palm of his hand toys with one of your nipples. Suddenly you’re aware this could be the last time you ever get the chance, so you sweep one last lick on his chest, lapping at the fresh coat of sweat like it was your first drink of water after a long week in the desert.

“Oh, fuck, I’m gonna—” He doesn’t even finish his sentence, his hips stuttering as you feel his sticky ropes of cum fill you up so deliciously.

In his haze, his fingers latch to your clit, expertly working on it in small circles to send you over your edge as well, your pussy fluttering perfectly around him.

The smell of sex in his dressing room is evident, the air thick as you both catch your breath. Your leg falls down off his shoulder like a weight is stored in it, your foot landing harshly on the linoleum tiles of the stadium. Your head rests against his chest, eyes closed as you breathe in the stench of his sweat. You need to memorize everything you can, sure you’re about to be escorted back to the main party.

Eddie surprises you, his hands soft as they cup your face, pulling you in for a sweet kiss. His mouth is gentle as he works it against yours, the light taste of pre-show alcohol on his breath. He methodically uses the kiss to distract you as he pulls out, but you still whine desperately into his mouth from the loss. A laugh escapes his lips, and you swallow it, still needing his gentle kiss. He finally separates from you, kissing your forehead as his thumb caresses your cheek.

“So…are you?” He asks, taking in your fucked-out face. Maybe you’ll let him take a post sex selfie if you reject him to remember you by.

If. There’s no way on this earth you would ever reject him, but of course, Eddie doesn’t know you’ve been stalking his Instagram.

“Hmm?” You ask, not a thought in your head for the moment.

“Doing anything this summer?”

You shake your head no, gulping. Eddie saunters around his dressing room, grabbing his sweats and another white cloth. He returns to situate himself between your legs, sporting his sweats, the hot cloth causing you to yelp in surprise.

He laughs quietly, a fond smile on his face as he continues to clean up the mess he left in you. At least, you think it’s fond. “You feel like following a ragtag band of misfits around for the summer?” He asks you, voice soft as he holds your eye contact while his hand moves idly.

“Ragtag?” You ask, remembering their electric energy. They’re rockstars, no doubt about it. There’s not one person who can deny that they earned their spot on the stage.

Eddie breathes another laugh, tossing his cloth to the side. “We are as ragtag as it gets, doll.”

You sigh, searching those gorgeous chocolate brown eyes for any signs he was joking. “I-I will quit my job…are you serious?”

He laughs, caressing your forearm. It occurs to him you’re still naked, so he walks to the couch to gather your shirt and skirt. “Dead serious. I can’t let a face like yours and a pussy like that go very easily.”

“Okay…” you answer, your heartbeat loud in your chest. You were so sure this was just a one-time (two rounds) thing that the idea of him wanting more of you never even occurred to you. It’s just too good to be true, no one is this lucky. “If I quit my job, I can’t afford to pay my own way…”

Eddie smiles, handing you your clothes. “If you don’t want to wear that skirt, I can get you some sweats from the merch table.” He offers, before sitting on the chair a few feet down from you. “Baby, I’m on the cover of Rolling Stone. You’ll be fine.”

Your jaw drops open, staring openly at the man as he watches your facial expression. “I’ll need to go and pack up…”

“Babe.” He stops you, getting up to hold your shoulders with his hands. “I don’t even know your name, yet.”

“Y/N”

He lets out an exhale, fuck, that makes sense. “I didn’t even know your name, and all I know is if I let you go then I will never be able to get you out of my mind. Whatever is stopping you, I can throw some money at it or call someone to get it done. Do you want to stay with me?”

“Yes.” It leaves your body in a sigh of relief, like coming home. Eddie presses a kiss to your forehead; you can feel his lips moving upward into a smile. “Also, sweatpants sound really nice.”

Eddie saunters over to a walkie you hadn’t noticed. In fact, you start to look around his dressing room, noticing a duffle bag by a rack with empty hangers, half opened bottles of water, and his phone sitting faced down at a table nearby. When he asks for your size, you provide it, putting the graphic tee over your head. He plops down on the couch, waving you over to sit right next to him. “Need to text your friend?” He asks, teasing you.

“Actually, can I invite her in? Natalie’s my best friend and she won’t let me live this down if I send her back without bringing her in to introduce you.”

Eddie shrugs, starting to pat his pockets for his phone. You grab it on your way to sit next to him, falling easily into his arm. “Yeah, sure, if you’re ready for her to tease the shit out of you.”

“Are you kidding?” You ask, somewhat giddy. “I’m about to go on twitter after your next show and see dozens of people asking where the hell you got your hickeys. Nothing can bring me down from that right now.”

Eddie chuckles, crossing one leg over the other in an L shape. He plants a kiss on your lips, his tongue sweeping against yours delicately. “Fuck, I’m so glad you fucking DM’ed me.” There’s a knock on the door, your sweatpants from the merch stand are delivered.

“You have no idea how much I keep thinking I’m about to wake up.” You confess, your fingers playing with the light stubble on his chin. “Thank god for cheap stadium beer.” The laugh that escapes him is melodic and gorgeous. “Thank god for cheap stadium beer.”

-

Thank you so much for reading! I love to read comments and replies and tags and as always reblogging is the best way to support fic writers on tumblr

Taglist: @pinkcowracing @yourthebrokengirl @skrzydlak @thirddeadlysin @sammararaven @bebe07011 @prettylovley @josephquinncore @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you @names-were-taken

[getonite]

YOU KNOW I LOOK TOO GOOD TO NOT BE HIDEOUS!

( synop. the voice inside of dazai's head swallows him whole ) contains. 1.8k+ wc — gn!reader ; dazai angst, hurt/comfort, best friends to lovers ( hinted ), dazai gets a hug, alcoholism, drunk!dazai, pre-ada but post-pm, mention of vomit, dazai has a panic attack + cries, implied sh scars. ( the author is back on their torturing dazai bit ; this song literally belongs to him, okay. kinda pt2 to my prev dazai fic. )

"Dazai . . . "

"Dazai."

"OSAMU!"

Dazai twitches, awakened by the familiar sound of a yelling voice. "Huh?" his voice slurs as he sits up slowly, his body clearly in pain. You sniff, groaning the thick smell of alcohol stuck in his clothes. "Don't yell, hangover . . . " he grumbles. "Or maybe I'm still drunk."

"Get up," you say firmly, looking down at his slumped body resting against the wall.

He must've been downing drinks last night, though, at least not to the point where he couldn't figure his way home. Though, it seems he couldn't get into the house as his keys are resting in his hand and he's sitting onto the concrete next to the door.

"Huh? Wha—What, I'm getting- huh?"

You sigh and loop your arm underneath his, carefully pulling him inside of the house. You carefully grab the keys and set them on the rack near the door. Dazai let's out a drunken giggle as you pat him down, making sure that everything he left with is still with him.

"You are so fucking irresponsible," you hiss, tugging Oda's coat off of his lanky body. After forcing him to sit down, you walk to the kitchen to get him a much needed glass of water.

"Oh, coooome on," he hiccups, "You love me though.

An exasperated sigh leaves your lips, "Your lucky no one found you black out drunk like that and stole your shit. Or worse, killed you." You emphasize your woods, setting the cup ( you don't trust him with a glass ) of water in front of him. "Or have you forgotten, you just left the Port Mafia?"

Dazai sucks his teeth, rolling his eyes at your statement.

After months of hiding, you'd think he'd get it. Maybe that he'd follow suit of you. Stay low, stay quiet, and say lawful. Apparently not. He can't even stay clean.

There's a thought of wanting to punch him, maybe it'll knock some sense into him you think. Taking a deep breath, you bend down, slipping off his shoes and putting them next to the door. "Drink your water, please," you grunt," I'll run you a bath."

"Mhm~!" Dazai sings. He's been mumbling and humming tunes, kicking his feet as you attempt to clean him up.

After a couple of minutes, you walk down the hallway toward him, "Alright, c'mon!" Dazai giggles, hurriedly getting up from his seat. Though you see the scene happen in slow motion. As if he had low iron ( which he probably does ), the blood rushed down towards his feet and he immediately stumbles, hanging onto the table as he tries to gain his bearings.

"Osam—" you pause when you see his puffed cheeks. You sigh and dash for the small trashcan in the bathroom and hold it below his mouth. And a second later, you hear the gross sound of vomit.

You rub his back, waiting for him to finish before you even attempt to bring him to the bathroom. You almost gag as you bring him carefully to the bathroom and strip his clothes, unraveling his bandages as well.

A wave of both guilt and disappointment passes through you as you see him flop into the filled bathtub. He's thin. New scars have appeared a top the old and ( incorrectly ) healed ones. He's too pale, his hair is back to the state it was when he first appeared, and he reeks of the bar. Even after your efforts, it seems as if you can't get him out of this slump. "Osamu . . . "

Dazai lifts his head, silently responding to your voice. All of the mumbling, sound effects, and humming are stopped as you carefully clean his skin.

"What is going on with you?" There's a deep frown on your face as you inspect his forearm. "No matter how much I try, you only clean yourself up when I make you."

"I work, you sit in a bar, come home and plop yourself on the couch without a fucking word," you hiss. Dazai flinches, though your not sure if it's your voice, or your movements. Regardless, a sense of guilt floods you and you take a deep breath.

"What is it?" You pause and look at him, "I know you're still recovering from Oda, I understand grief. But you refuse to talk about it and then drown yourself in alcohol, no matter what I do."

There's attempt to keep your voice calm and level, though he can hear it. The underlying emotions of annoyance, worry, and disbelief.

His eyes are downcast, focused on the water covering his lower half. They're dazed, pupils dilating as they stay focused on the one spot. "Osamu?" You frown, eyes flickering to study his face. Your face falls when you hear the quiet sound of his breathing.

His chest shakes as he breathing increases, his jaw shaking in an attempt to say words.

"Oh . . . Osamu," you mumble as tears swell in his eyes, rolling down his cheeks and onto the arms resting in his lap. His arm flinches at the sting of the salty tear to the cuts on them.

You carefully get into the bathtub fully clothed behind him. He feels the warmth of your skin touch his as you carefully grab onto him, holding him close with pressure on his chest from your arms. "You're alright, I promise. It's okay," you whisper. His trembling hands touch your arms.

The silent tears continue to fall, the sound of the drops hitting the water, and his ragged breathing fill the air.

"Hey," you whisper, "Can you do something for me? The bathroom is kind of bland, but can you point out 5 things you see?" Dazai gulps, your voice sounding distant despite how you're hugged to him. Nevertheless, his eyes dart around the room, he attempts to find something to grab onto to.

His jaw ticks, "The- The shampoo," he croaks. You nod with a small smile growing on your face, "Good. It's okay, try to breathe," your hand rests against his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat. "Tell me some more . . . "

Dazai sniffs, chest stuttering rapidly, "Your— s-s- sweatpants." His grip tightens on your arm as more tears slide down his face. "That's it, can you give me another one?"

"The," he gulps, "Clock."

"Come on, you got it. Can you give me another one?"

His lips tremble, teeth clacking together in an uncomfortable pace. He sucks in a breath, vision fuzzy as he focuses on your voice. "Uhh, the toilet," he whimpers, glossy tears clouding his view before they spill. You nod, "Good job, one more."

Dazai squeezes his eyes shut before blinking, to search for something else. "Soap, the soap."

You help him attempt to breathe, "Good. Now breath, just feel the way my chest is moving."

For the next few minutes, you talk him through the 5-4-3-2-1 method until he's relaxed in your hold. The water has gone cold, and the uncomfortable feeling of wet clothes cling to your skin. "How about . . . " you start, "I clean you up, then we judge what to do hm? You just— you need a good bath and some food."

Dazai nods silently. He's not entirely in the room. His eyes are unfocused as he feels your careful hands gliding along his skin, though everything feels muffled to him, the room beginning to blur once more before your hand slightly pulls him from his disassociate state.

You pull him from the tub, drying him off, cleaning his arms and legs, wrapping his wounds in bandages, and cutting his hair again. ( Making sure he brushes his teeth )

No matter how many times he attempts to tune in on your voice, he can't do it. Nor can he focus on anything. His hands don't feel like his hands. The table doesn't feel like it's familiar texture. The room doesn't smell right. He doesn't sink into the seat correctly. And the chopsticks send tingles through his hand. None of it feels real.

He feels your warm hand touching the back of his neck. "Breathe," you whisper, "Touch it again. Hold it and breathe, it'll feel right."

His world is fuzzy, except the static quiets when you touch him. He slowly eats, the entire time with you keeping a warm hand on him.

Dazai starts to wake up as you carry him to the bed, pulling him into your embrace. There's silence throughout the room, not a sound unleashed to part the quiet atmosphere. Well, until you speak. "Osamu . . . " you whisper, fingers dancing in his head of curls as you carefully think of what to say. "I love you."

The man's eyes widen at your soft words. "No matter which way you choose to interpret that. I do."

"Which is why I have this urge to take care of you. It's what drives to clean up your empty bottles and canned food. And it drives to wonder what can I do to help you?"

Dazai gulps, his fingers entangled in the fabric of your new shirt.

"Your two years of hiding are almost over," you whisper, "Im selfish, you've known that since we were kids. So please, just promise me something. I don't need your thoughts, your feelings, nothing. Just two words."

"Hm?" Dazai looks up at you, having a feeling as to what you'll say.

"I'll sound cringe," you roll your eyes with a faint smile on your face, "but—promise me you'll tell me when you feel like your falling again. Doesn't matter how much I have to do it, I'll pick you back up. Cut your hair, change your bandages, whatever. I just—I hate seeing you like that. You just have to tell me."

Dazai remains silent, simply laying against you.

"I sorry," he whispers. You sigh, "Don't say sorry, just promise. I said I'd protect you when we were little, I mean that, even if you are older than me ( by a year ). I just need you to promise."

"I promise," he whispers.

You smile and mess with the small hairs on the back of his neck. "Good."

A faint smile appears on Dazai's face, one you can't see of course. "Well, first order of buisness," you speak. Dazai frowns, looking up at you.

"You're banned from all bars."

"Hey!" Dazai shrieks, shooting up to look down at you.

"You throw up on me, I'll kill you," you say firmly.

"Thought you were supposed to protect me," Dazai frowns, with a teasing verse.

"I can knock some sense into you."

"Asshole."

"Mhm," you hum, pulling him back on top of you, making sure he's comfortable beneath the sheets. "Also . . . " He mumbles.

"You love me?"

A couple of months later, you walk with Dazai to the four-story building of your workplace. Before the man can even open his mouth as you walk through the door, "Do not flirt with her."

Dazai whines as you drag him upstairs and to a door that reads 'Armed Detective Agency.'

A hum leaves your lips as you walk in, lugging Dazai along by his collar. Your eyes drift to a grey-haired man in traditional Japanese clothing, a green haori draped over his kimono.

You throw Dazai forward, walking to the side of him.

"President, this is the one I was talking about."

the ending was kind of ass. i think i lost the concept a bit lol. i hope you appreciate this a little. reblogs r appreciated!!

[chubsonthemoon]

Happy Binderary 2024!! Kicking things off with the fantastic Never understood a single word he said by dear friend @aboxthecolourofheartache. I had the best time beta'ing this for Box and just had to have it on my shelf! More pics and process info under the cut:

had an absolute blast packing as many easter eggs as I could into this one! it's a roadtrip gone wrong fic heh, so I went for a scrapbook/collage cover made of the same kraft paper I usually use for paperbacks, but left the hinge + spine exposed. I tore each piece from a different sheet of scrapbook paper, so the resulting texture is really fun:

I also went to town with references to some of the events in the story, particularly on the back of the cover. the postcard is probably my favorite element; here are my few first practice runs on scratch paper (along with some of my colored pencil testings for the markings on the map) before I went for it on the real cover!

I repurposed the ribbon graphics I originally drew for another bind (@feralrookie's right where I should be ❤️). the music notes on the first page notate the rhythm of the opening lines of the song the fic is based on, Three Dog Night's "Joy to the World," which I had on loop while I was typesetting this! ("Jeremiah was a bullfrog/Was a good friend of mine.") Box's taste in trigun-themed country and blues is impeccable, and I have a whole spotify playlist made almost entirely of her recs ehe :3

the blank/empty ribbon appears between chapter 1 and the epilogue for story reasons ehe; really wanted to convey the feeling of "where did the music go?", because I also listened to American Pie a lot while making this lolol.

also added little camera graphic at the end, which reminded me of meryl's occupation as a journalist, but the hands/lack of a face holding the camera also gives me the uncanny feeling of being watched/photographed (also plot relevant heh). camera graphic and the house graphic at the beginning are both sourced from Heritage Type's free vintage illustrations, from a series of packs called "Hands Holding Stuff."

the hand holding the house on the title page gave me wolfwood's confessional-on-the-go vibes, BUT it was originally held straight like this:

so I decided to tilt it to give it more of that feeling of instability and "oh shit my entire world is being turned upside down rn god the exits WHERE ARE THE EXITS (there are no exits)" feeling present in the fic :D so I guess it's more of a knives reference?? still, the kind of "what is even going on here?" reaction I had when I first saw it fits well with the title, so I went with it!

and that's it for now!! I'll be out of town for the next week or so, but I have a bunch more projects I'm really excited to share this month, along with some long-overdue author copies that I'm excited to get mailed to their rightful homes!

finally, thank you SO much for letting me bind your work, Box!!! it's always such a pleasure <333

[your-nanas-house]

hi dear, I just got another idea about Robert Fisher and his coquette girlfriend🎀

Hello, darling! LOVELY, just watched the perfect movie today and damn... I got another one with Cillian X coquette girlfriend as well. Can't wait to start writing it. 🙇🏼‍♀️💕

Unwritten

◇ Pairing: Robert Fischer x coquette girlfriend!Reader

◇ Warnings: FLUFF, love, Robert is a puppy in love, spoilers of the movie "Anyone but you", didn't went into details with the coquette style of Y/n but I will in the next fic

◇ Summary: Y/n is smitten with the last movie she saw and Robert makes the best of the situation.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. It's purely based/inspired on "Anyone but you"... watched it today and damn... my tiny heart. 😭 Also credits to the owners for the pics I found on Pinterest.

(This is the song, I listened it in loop while writing this quickly)

Robert's girlfriend had been singing the same song on repeat for almost three weeks, talking about and comparing the things that happened in their daily routine with the movie she went to see with her friends one Friday night.

The business man wasn't bothered by this, he found it very amusing... especially because Y/n was so cute when she did it.

She had a secret pass that allowed her to do everything with him, being always forgiven because of how adorable she was.

It was always like that, since they started dating.

The song had almost become their song, it echoed softly in Robert's head when he least expected it... even during work meetings.

And it all kept bringing him back to the cute image of his girlfriend dancing around the house in her pink dresses, little bows adorning her hair and beautiful smile plastered on her pretty face.

She was so cute and devoted to that movie that it was a must for him to watch it as well so that he could understand better what she kept rambling about with big adoring eyes and her tiny pout decorated by lip glosses.

.

Just a couple of days after Robert managed to watch the movie Y/n was so smitten of, an idea crossed his mind.

It was since months now that he wanted to says the scary three words that people say when they are in a relationship and just feel those awesome but worrying butterflies in the stomach.

He just needed to find the right moment.. and what better moment than one created for her... based on the film.

That was Robert’s plan and the main reason he was waiting at the port, checking his watch while waiting for Y/n. After they had a lovely evening, ate dinner at a delicious restaurant and just spent time together before going for a walk and end the night with a romantic ride on a yacht with the moon in the sky smiling at them.

.

The date was just going perfectly, Robert couldn’t stop watching Y/n who was now standing at the bow... a soft smile on her face as the soft wind caressed her skin, moving her baby pink dress in a dreamlike way.

Her hair were moving slowly as well, making it seem like she just walked out of a perfume advertising even though Y/n was secretly trying not to gag because of her hair going anywhere they wanted.

She slowly turned around to see where her Robert was, a bright smile on her face so big that would have melted anyone... the australian man as well since his stomach was already filled with butterflies and his legs felt like jelly... Weak enough to make him loose balance and fall in the water of the sea.

As the water surrounded his body, the rational part of him woke up again... thoughts of how stupid the plan was crossed his mind but quickly left as soon as he felt two hands grab him and bring him back to surface.

His baby blue eyes met Y/n's as soon as he could open them and a shock of pure love hit his whole body.

She really just jumped off the yachts to "save" him.. ruining her pretty dress and makeup for him.

Robert was too stunned and dazed to realize what she was doing, coming back to reality just when she made sure he was on the floating buoy before climbing on it as well.

Her face was flushed and her look of worry was quite evident.. her whole state was noticeable and Robert was feeling a bit guilty for what he did.. hoping silently that it was worth it.

"Oh my god, baby. Are you okay?" Y/n asked quickly, fixing his hair before stroking his wet, cold cheeks in an attempt to calm herself and him.

Her mouth opened again to ask him another question after he just stared at her, not answering her question; but before she could do that the man opted for leaning in and kiss her.

Their lips molding together perfectly, fitting like the last pieces of a puzzle, till the rescue helicopter approached, warning them before throwing the harnesses.

As they both put them on and jumped off the buoy, their body pressed together, her arms went quickly around his neck as his hands grabbed her hips tightly and protectively.

The robe kept being pulled up while they hang on the water, an amazing and romantic view surrounding them... not that they could really see it since Y/n was holding her eyes tightly close, adrenaline and anxiety filling her body, while Robert could just stare at her with love.

That's when he took a deep breath and started to sing the song just like in the movie, his eyes never leaving her face.

Feel the rain on your skin

No one else can feel it for you

Only you can let it in

No one else, no one else

His singing skills weren't so good but the pure shock and surprise that appeared on Y/n's face was enough to smooth his nervousness a bit so that he could continue to sing the song while waiting for her to join.

Can speak the words on your lips

Drench yourself in words unspoken

Live your life with arms wide open

Today is where your book begins

The rest is still unwritten

Their soft laughters interrupted the lyrics, their noses kept brushing softly against each other as they both kept giggling till they died down.

Robert's forehead pressed softly against hers as he fixed her pink wet bow before meeting her eyes again... his hand traveling slowly down on her cheek, his thumb caressing her cold skin in a tender way in an attempt to gather the courage to finally speak.

"Y/n..." He started, brushing his finger against her bottom lip softly while he stared directly in her loving eyes

"I.. I love you".

Taglist:

@gabile18 , @mrsfullbuster500 , @rex-ray , @elizamalfoyy, @eovjjj , @monkeyking-and-liuer-mate , @jeremiah-va1eska , @gothamchic16, @rabbiteggz , @dieg0brandos-wife , @rottenecstasy , @lazyexcuse , @teh-vampire-bunny , @lobotomy-lover , @slasher-smasher , @sleepycreativewriter , @mrkdvidal1989

[lauvgoods]

head over heels  ︱  jj maybank

SUMMARY : jj makes it his mission to find out how you feel

WORD COUNT : 851

GENRE : fluff

WARNINGS : none

𐙚₊˚⊹ 🦢 you’ll forever deny it, but it’s clear to anyone who has ever seen the two of you that jj maybank is your kryptonite. 

even before you realized you liked him, he would be the first to make you crack a smile, rolling your eyes at how absolutely stupid he was being. he knew how absolutely stupid he was being, but if it got you to laugh, he’d do anything. there was just something about those big blue eyes of his and that dumb, dumb grin that would chip away at your annoyed exterior, and you hated it. 

for jj, on the other hand, he had already been planning out in the back of his mind a thousand ways to ask you out if he could just get a foolproof sign of you liking him. 

it takes a little over three months in for you to realize how much you’re genuinely falling for him and, as you’ve told yourself, how could you not? lots of people go on rants about how much the person they like is different from everyone else, but with jj it’s undeniably true. this boy, oh this boy, shows more interest in you as a person than anyone you’ve ever met, friend or otherwise. he knows how to poke and prod at you without crossing any lines, which you find odd since he isn’t exactly known for having the best verbal filter. 

It’s like he somehow keeps track of everything he can find out just to surprise you out of nowhere with just how much he seems to remember (yet somehow can’t keep track of the date). the book you talked about wanting to read three weeks ago? “you ever get to that? talked about it nonstop for half an hour, how ‘m i supposed to forget that?” that one song you’ve randomly mumbled the lyrics to while cleaning? “yeah, looked it up ‘n it seemed pretty catchy.” even down to what you talked about wanting for your birthday months in advance. this boy makes it his mission to know every single little thing he can about you. he totally doesn’t put it all down in his notes app to come back to later on.

the point is, jj’s never seemed to be a romantic, and maybe at first he’d thought of you as a challenge. a mission. a puzzle to work out. and damn if he’s not determined. there hadn’t been a sign that you were interested when he would start calling you all these little nicknames in a hope to get even the smallest reaction out of you, though it’s clear he doesn’t know about the silent screaming WHATTHEFUCKWHATTHEFUCK looping in your head every time he calls you “baby” with, again, that stupid smirk of his. as far as he knows, it just makes you get this weird look on your face and you freeze up before pretending like it never happened.

it’s one night when he’s going on and on (and on) about this after a few drinks with john b. where his best friend just starts looking at him with the most deadpan look on his face, like he’s an absolute idiot. which, after he realizes, he can’t help but agree with, since he’d never thought of your lack of reaction as a reaction. thinking back, he doesn’t know how he didn’t see it sooner, seeing as the guys you usually rant angrily about to him later on for even thinking they’d had a chance. he was the one you always went to even though kiara would probably have been more than happy to agree with you on every bit of it. 

the next time he calls you princess, he doesn’t let it go. he doesn’t go along with you trying to switch up the conversation, doesn’t even have that smirk this time that’s always made you think he was just being, well, jj. he just looks at you with a look you haven’t really noticed before, probably because you’ve been a little too in your head to pick up on it. that, and he mostly saves it for when you aren’t looking, when he can really take you in for everything you are. 

it’s that look, that deep gaze that makes you feel like he’s staring into your soul and like you’re the most incredible thing he’s ever laid eyes on, that finally gets the reaction out of you. the one he’s been hoping for. the moment your cheeks start to go warm, start to turn the slightest shade darker, is when he breaks out into the biggest grin you’ve ever seen. you’re so caught up in it that you haven’t even noticed how close he is, how close you’re getting to him. 

but it’s when he whispers in what’s probably the softest tone you’ve ever heard, asking if he can kiss you, and you’re nodding before you can even realize what’s happening because your heart is suddenly pounding and you can barely focus with how your stomach is doing backflips, that you truly realize how head over heels you are for him. 🕯️⋆˙ᝰ.ᐟ

[unhonest-iago]

Earworm

Denki was constantly annoyed at his soulmate. Their connection was through music; he could hear every song that stuck in their head and vice versa. Unfortunately for Denki, anytime they discovered a new band, they'd listen to it for weeks to months on end. And then when the new one replaced the old, they started to remember some of the instrumentals again.

An incorrect snippet of the lyrics. Which then fills his brain on repeat to the point he's randomly humming it himself but has nothing to go on. It was never a song he knew, unable to help. Not that he could, he didn't even know who his soulmate was or if they even went to U.A.

'Buh ba-buh ba-buh,' Reader drums their fingers along their desk to the melody flowing through their mind. Sitting next to Hitoshi in class 1-B who had learned long ago how to tune them out. He had discovered that using his quirk just prolonged the torture for their soulmate. Only amplifying the noise level, forcing Reader to non-verbally process their thoughts.

'I'm with you, always,' trying to figure out the lyrics as he jotted down notes, unaware of the blond in class 1-A who wanted to electrocute himself. 'My love is on your side. I’m with you always.’

'What's wrong with dunce face?' Katsuki asks Eijirou when Denki flat out ignores him. Overstimulated by his soulmate, who is a few doors away. 'His soulmate is having another earworm,' laughing at his friend's misery. 'Denki, you could just hum another song to drown them out.' The internal aspect implied. 'Ugh, last time I did that, their brain made a stupid mash up,' groaning, Denki drops his head onto his arms. Cushioning it from hitting the hard wood of the desk.

‘Just look up the fucking song,’ if he could retaliate, he would’ve chosen the part from Kesha’s your love is my drug; banging my head against the wall. It was annoying that the one means of communication they had was bloody song lyrics. Luckily for Denki, the bell for lunch rang.

Both class 1-A and class 1-B now walking down to the cafeteria. Reader had finally remembered a bit of the chorus, ‘there’s a darkness at the heart of my soul, runs cold, runs deep.’ Reader’s packing up their stuff while Hitoshi walked ahead. Denki walking past the classroom, heard them humming. Stopping dead in his tracks, confusing Eijirou and Bakugou. He bursts through the door, ‘You!!’ Pointing at them. ‘You’re the reason why that song has been playing through my head on loop!’

‘Oh, shit. That’s right, the soulmates thing,’ they had completely forgotten about that. Some of their friends had already found their soulmates. Reader had thought that it would be wise to not fret over it when entering U.A. Not wanting it to get in the way of their hero training. ‘What do you mean the soulmates thing?’

‘Wait, the gummy bear song! That was you?’ Remembering how the song had gotten stuck in their head, but couldn’t recall where they had heard it from. ‘Was trying to get back at you. It didn’t work.’

‘But seriously, you didn’t know?’ Denki’s so confused. He’s glad to finally know who has been controlling the stereo inside his head. Finding out that they did in fact go to U.A. and seemed to be a quirk users. He was still a little pissed. But the main feeling was confusion, thinking they had never heard about soulmates. Which couldn’t be the case. ‘Oh, no, I know about soulmates. Simply thought I’d run into mine eventually. Didn’t want it to distract from all the hero stuff.’

Denki decides ‘fuck it,’ and pushed his conflicting emotions to the wayside. Now wanting to know more about them. ‘Well, we’ve met. Hi, I’m Denki and we’re hanging out for lunch,’ quickly grabbing Reader by the hand and directing them towards the cafeteria. ‘Name’s y/n. In case you wanted to know, mr kidnapper.’